Page 58 of Magic Claimed
She could do this. I had to believe it. She’d told me her scales were nearly impervious to damage, so the moment the black dragon was distracted, I raced for The Portal, pulling a seething mass of water behind me.
The rubble was almost too hot to approach, so I stopped and focused on the brilliant colors of my water magic surging and flowing around me. The flood rose to my knees, and instead of tugging gently or coaxing it along, I pulled it up in a wave and threw it forward, inundating the flames with an unstoppable wall of water.
I heard a hiss and was instantly enveloped in a cloud of steam, so I shut my eyes and pushed for more. More.More.There was so much water, and I could feel it sapping my energy, but I kept going. I had to make sure the flames were out. That no one would be hurt.
“Raine, stop.”
When I finally opened my eyes, I was kneeling on the sidewalk. I had no idea how long I’d been there.
Before me was a steaming pile of jumbled bricks, broken glass, and shattered timber. The interior of The Portal was clearly visible just beyond—tables and chairs charred black, the floorboards scorched through, now dripping with water.
The flames were gone, but in the short time they burned, they’d done so much damage. The shelves that only yesterdayhad been filled with glimmering bottles of fae liquor were shattered and empty. The kitchen door hung sideways, half off its hinges, and the windows of the upstairs offices had completely blown out.
And worst of all, the bar itself—that gleaming walnut surface with fifty years of polish and worn spots and memories—was cracked down the middle, a huge, ugly scar that ran from top to bottom.
It was like seeing a part of my soul cracked open and trampled on. And it hurt—even more than that slash from a fae blade—to see this place that had meant so much to me lying in ruins.
But far more than the place, it was the people that mattered, so I pushed to my feet, staggering a little as I scanned the rubble, frantic for any signs of life.
“Raine, it’s over.”
But the dragon…
“The dragon is gone.”
That wasn’t Logan’s or Kira’s voice. So who was talking?
A hand fell heavily on my shoulder, and I looked up.
Tairen-li-Corva stood beside me. Her face was gray and drawn, her eyes haunted, but her grip on my shoulder was firm.
“It wasn’t him,” I blurted out. “It wasn’t Callum.”
Her eyes closed. “I know.”
“Then… who was it?”
Her fingers clenched—so tightly that I knew they would leave bruises.
“That dragon was once my closest friend. My confidante. My shield and my most trusted seneschal.”
“Itcouldn’t be…”
“It was Morghaine,” she confirmed. “I would have known her anywhere.”
But that was impossible. Morghaine had been tortured by the fae. Her wings cut off. Her eyes blinded.
“How…”
Tairen’s eyes opened, and I nearly cowered away from her. Rage shimmered in her amber irises, alongside shock, pain, and other emotions probably too deep for words.
“They must have stolen her magic,” she muttered hoarsely. “I could never have imagined…”
The truth punched me like a fist to the gut.
Morghaine had also been Elayara’s prisoner. She’d had her magic drained over and over again, and while most of that magic had been used to fuel Elayara’s plot to overthrow the Fae Court, at least some small part of it had been bound to a magical artifact, to be used by anyone who could learn its secrets.
That dragon? Not a dragon at all, but a human using stolen magic.
