Page 135 of Shattered Stars
His mouth moves and, though I can’t hear what he’s saying, I read the words on his lips: “Get away!”
Then I scream as he throws himself to the ground, a bolt exploding just where he’d stood one second ago.
I curse, ripping away the stupid netting of my dress. I can’t run in this, I can’t breathe. Then I’m moving again. I’m nearly there, nearly by their sides – where I’m meant to be, helping them, protecting them.
That dangerous magic, that dark magic, the magic that both scares and delights me coils through my veins, coming alive, my blood soon as hot as the fire, my fingertips sparking. I’m going to destroy anyone or anything that harms one single hair on my mates’ heads. I lift my arms, ready to strike.
Then something catches my eye.
One of the dragons has a girl cornered, the blazing drapes at her back, the beast blocking her escape. It roars, smoke whooshing from its nostrils and the girl lifts her arm to protect her face, her pale blonde hair coated in ash.
Summer. Summer Clutton-Brock.
The dragon snaps its jaws at her and she shoots magic at it, magic that bounces off its scales like raindrops bouncing off a tin roof.
The creature prowls closer. She can’t step backwards; the flames are hot at her back.
I hesitate.
The crimson magic hisses with pleasure. She deserves this. Summer is a bully and a bitch. She’s made my life hell. She’s abused me, hurt me, humiliated me. Stolen something preciousfrom me – the only link I have to my mom. And I’m not the only one. She makes everyone’s life here at the academy a misery and she relishes in doing it.
I should let her die. Let the dragon snap its jaws right through her. Rid the world of her. I owe her nothing, nothing at all.
I screw my eyes closed, my hands balling so tightly my nails pinch into my palms. I struggle against it, against the dark thoughts, against the anger, and vitriol, the need for revenge. I beat it back as it hisses and protests, attempting to seduce me with all its promises. How good will revenge taste? How sweet?
My body shakes, the magic burns in my blood, roaring for release. I beat it back. My teeth grinding together with the effort.
Then I scream, thrusting the magic deep, deep inside me, and then I fling my arms to the right, sending powerful – light – magic lightning through the air and into the side of the dragon. It howls in pain, stumbling backwards, then sideways, attempting to twist its head to examine the gaping wound on its side.
Summer’s head snaps in my direction and our eyes connect: hers in astonishment, mine in determination, and then she’s running for cover, running from the danger.
“Rhi!” A hand lands on my shoulder and I jolt awake from what felt like a dream, all that hot angry magic hissing away as a calmness overcomes me. “Rhi, are you okay?”
Tristan. He no longer looks like the suave, sophisticated heartthrob from fifteen minutes ago. His hair is tangled, his shirt ripped, blood oozes on his arm.
He shakes me a little.
“Is she okay?”
My gaze flicks from Tristan to the speaker. Spencer. Spencer Moreau, looking even more beat up than Tristan. His entire body is covered in soot and ash – his entire unclothed body –scrapes and cuts up and down his legs, his arm, his torso, his face.
“Sp-Spencer?” I say.
“We need to get her out of here,” Spencer yells at Tristan, deflecting away a flurry of bolts that come cavorting towards us.
I pull against Tristan’s grip and then all our heads are snapping to the Great Hall’s entrance, people screaming and racing from that direction, as more of these fighters – soldiers – charge through the grand doorway.
“What the fuck?” Tristan gasps. “There’s so many of them.”
Spencer smacks him on the arm.
“Tristan!” he says, drawing his friend’s attention to him. “You take her and you go! Take her somewhere safe!”
Tristan frowns, opening his mouth to argue, but then Spencer falls forwards onto all fours, his body jerking and jolting, just like I’ve seen before. Only this time it doesn’t stop. His body morphs in size, grows even larger, even stronger, doubling in stature. His head twists and distorts, jet fur sprouting all over his skin. It happens so quickly I wonder if I’m seeing things. One moment Spencer Moreau, right there in front of us, and then … and then … the werebeast. Black like the night. The werebeast that attacked me.
I spring back in shock as he leaps forward, but he’s not coming for me. He charges straight into the wall of soldiers, bowling them over like tenpins.
I take my chance, shaking Tristan’s hand loose from my arm, and running again.
