Page 171 of Spark of Sorcery
I rush closer to him, falling to my knees by his side. He’s a bloody mess, his skin ripped to shreds, and I can’t tell if he’s alive or dead.
I reach out my hand to touch him and his eyes flick open.
Horror registers over his face as he takes me in.
“Briony, don’t touch me!” he croaks, his voice broken, hardly more audible than a whisper. “Please don’t touch me.”
“Thorne,” I whimper. He’s alive but barely. And for how long?
I flip back my head, curl my hands around my mouth and yell up into the wide sky. “Help us! Please somebody help us!”
The world swirls away again, Thorne and the blood-stained earth melting away before my eyes.
And then I’m kneeling in the snow. The forest of the academy right before me. The sky dark with the approaching dusk.
A hand lands on my shoulder.
“Come with me. Quickly!”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Fox
I yank her up onto her feet, curling my arm around her waist, pulling my cloak around her shoulders and dragging her towards the academy.
Her frame trembles uncontrollably and when she looks up into my face, hers is as pale as the snow.
She yanks back at me weakly, trying to resist my effort to drag her away.
“No,” she shakes her head in desperation. “No, Thorne. He’s hurt. Dying. I’ve got to go back. I’ve got to help him. We’ve got to help him.”
There are tears on her face, running down her cheeks. Her green eyes are wild and full of fear. I grip her shoulders and shake her.
“Briony, he’s going to be okay,” I reassure her. Then Iwrap my arm around her again and pull her along, searching the darkness for whoever may be lurking in the shadows.
Did she see? Does she know?
“Fox,” she cries, stumbling in the snow, “he was dying!”
“Briony,” I say sternly, “the others have him. He will be okay. You, on the other hand …”
“Me?” she says in obvious shock, her wide eyes finding mine.
“Come on,” I growl.
I lead her the back way, avoiding others as I best I can, relief flooding my chest when we reach the staircase and I pull her down to the dungeon.
Once we’re inside my room, I lock the door with the strongest spells I know, then guide her to the chair before my desk, setting the flames roaring in the fireplace and striding over to the shelves at the back of the classroom. I retrieve a bottle of whisky hidden behind the books and two tumblers. Then I return to where she is sitting, shaking and sobbing.
I pour a stiff drink for her and one for me.
“Here,” I say, holding it out to her as I knock back my own.
She peers down into the amber liquid, back up at me and attempts to stand, but her legs give way under her and I’m forced to catch her by the elbow.
I push her straight back down into her seat.
“I need to know he’s all right.”
