Page 94 of Burdened Bonds
“We can’t just leave them here to suffer.”
“They won’t be able to go anywhere unless we heal themand I don’t have enough in the tank,” Tristan says, yanking me backwards towards a set of spiraling steps.
“We can’t leave them,” I say, tugging my arm free of his grip.
“Spencer,” he says, “we’ll come back for them.” I scoff. “I promise you. We’ll form a plan and we’ll come back.”
Is that usual Tristan Kennedy bullshit? Making promises he has no intention of keeping just to secure his own way? Except, there’s something genuine in his tone, something I can’t help believing.
“The priority is getting you out,” Jacob says, and he uncurls his body, standing to his full height. He’s massive, nearly seven foot.
“Me?” I say.
“Four fated mates,” he says, holding my vision. “It must mean something. You need to return to her.”
Tristan’s gaze flicks from me to Jacob. I don’t know if he’s right but I see the determination in the were’s face. I nod, then follow Tristan up the steps, Jacob right behind me, and at the top we face another locked door, one I can tell is fortified with complex locking spells.
“I know how to open it,” Tristan says, “but you have to be ready. There’ll be guards on the other side and as soon as they see you with me, they’re going to know and they’re going to try and stop us.”
“They’re not going to succeed, though, are they?” I say, slapping my palm on his shoulder. “We weren’t the two best dueling players for nothing.”
He chuckles. “Ready?”
“Yes,” I say and Jacob growls his agreement.
He waves his right hand, brow crinkling and slowly the lock slides open. I hold my breath as the door creaks open and blink into the light.
As expected there’s twenty guards waiting for us. Several faces I recognize as the men who’ve punched, kicked and spat at me over the last few days.
I don’t even draw breath, I blast them with magic, springing forward, my body transforming as I do. They scatter, too afraid to hold their ground, but I’m on them anyway, ripping at flesh and snapping my jaw through bone, not feeling a single blow of their magic or their fists.
36
Tristan
The two beasts– one black, one brown – tear through the men like creatures possessed, magic bouncing off their raised fur, men unable to hold back the force of their power. I’m barely required to do a thing – just deflect some fire and take out one or two men who make it past the raging wolves and come at me.
It takes less than a few minutes and then the men we’d faced are dead, the beasts’ mouths dripping with blood. The black beast turns its great head and looks at me, its eyes the same chestnut brown as Spencer’s.
Is my friend in there somewhere? Can he see and hear me? Is he in control or not?
The beast barks as if impatient and I point down the winding corridor the way the warden had brought me. Analarm blares, and red lights flash overhead. The noise from the prisoners grows a thousand times louder.
The beasts race down the corridor, their claws scraping against the stone floor and I chase after them.
Those won’t be the only men we face and soon magic comes colliding around the corner. It skims over the beasts’ fur and I duck, letting it hurtle over head. We slow our pace, taking the next corner with caution. More men, more fire. They’re no match for the beasts. I remember how Spencer had fought at the academy – strong and powerful, determined to protect Rhianna. Tonight, the two beasts fight with an aggression and power that’s almost beautiful if it weren’t so destructive. The beasts tear apart the men we meet and I smash apart any locked doors we encounter. Then we’re in the main yard of the fortress, the drawbridge raised again right in front of us.
The sounds from within the main fortress are louder than ever. The prisoners know an escape is in progress and sparks of magic splinter into the air, the sound of walls cracking, bars snapping clear in the night.
The chaos means there are no more guards here to face us, only the raised drawbridge blocking our exit.
The black beast stops before it, sniffing at the wood, its great shoulders heaving, its fur damp with sweat and blood.
“How do we get through?” the beast asks me, his voice deeper, older – ancient sounding.
I hurry to his side, inspecting the complicated-looking mechanism. I have no idea how to work it. I raise my arm.
“Fuck it,” I say, and the bridge releases, crashing across the moat, freedom stretching into the distance beyond.
