Goody Magic Academy, Year Three

Chapter 28

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

T he second part of the high priestess’ command hung in the air, and I fought it with every ounce of willpower, clenching my teeth so hard I thought they might shatter. But it was like trying to hold back the wind. My jaws were wrenched open against my will, a guttural roar of despair escaping as the fire within me surged forth.

The world became a blur of orange and red as flames erupted from my maw, scorching the air with their intense heat. Time itself seemed to slow as I helplessly watched the inferno engulf Jaxon.

The stench hit me first, making my stomach heave—acrid and sickening, the unmistakable odor of burning flesh and hair. Then came the screams. Jaxon’s agonized cries pierced the air, each one a dagger to my heart. I saw him recoil from the flames, his body twisting in a desperate attempt to escape them.

“Enough,” the high priestess ordered, her voice cutting through Jaxon’s howls.

My jaws instantly snapped shut with such force that pain lanced through my skull. The abrupt silence was almost as horrifying as the screams had been.

Jaxon lay before me, his body a horrific patchwork of blood and burns. Somehow, impossibly, he was still alive. His chest rose and fell with ragged, pained breaths. The sight of him, broken and suffering because of my actions, shattered something inside me.

Hot tears slid down the scales on my cheeks, sizzling as they hit the floor. Rage boiled within me, my entire being screaming to turn my fire on the high priestess. But I was paralyzed, trapped in my own body, unable to move except with her command.

“You must escape her control, Peyton,” a haggard male voice called from behind me. “It’s the only way.”

I swung my massive head around, focusing on my father at the back of the church. His gag had come loose, his face a mask of determination despite his obvious pain and weakened state.

Ari’s snarl cut through the air. “Shut up,” he growled, lashing out with his razor-sharp nails. My father’s cry of agony as Ari’s claws raked across his flesh sent a fresh wave of fury through me.

Doubt gnawed at me. Would shifting break her control? As if reading my thoughts, the high priestess’ voice boomed through the church. “I command you not to shift,” she bellowed, her words slamming into me like half a dozen physical blows.

“Draw on your witch powers, Peyton.” Jaxon’s voice, weak and pained, reached my ears. “They can help you.”

The high priestess’ response was immediate, but I thought I caught a hint of fear in her voice. “No. You are my slave. No power in the world can change that.”

Uncertainty warred with determination inside me. I didn’t know if I could do it, but I had to try. I refused to hurt the people I loved any longer. Closing my eyes, I reached deep within myself, searching for that well of power I knew was there.

At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, I felt it—a familiar, tingling sensation that started in my core and then spread outward. My talons dug into the stone floor, and suddenly I had become connected to the earth beneath the church, drawing strength from its ancient power.

Water began to seep under the double doors and flow beneath me, cool against my heated scales. Sunlight burst through the windows, shattering the gloom and bathing me in warmth, like liquid fire flowing through my veins. A whirlwind sprang up around me, whipping at my scales and stirring the air into a frenzy.

The four elements surged through me, wild and powerful. For a moment, I thought I might be torn apart by the sheer force of it. But then suddenly everything clicked into perfect balance, and the high priestess’ control over me shattered like glass.

My body began to change again, but this time there was no pain, no resistance. My dragon form melted away smoothly, scales receding, bones shifting, until I lay on the cold stone floor, human once more.

I panted heavily, my naked skin hypersensitive to the cool air and rough stone beneath me. I was utterly exposed and completely vulnerable, but for the first time since entering this nightmarish place, I felt something else: hope.

The high priestess’ face contorted with rage, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Damn you,” she spat venomously. She spun toward Balthazar, her robes swirling around her like a storm cloud. “Balthazar—kill her.”

Balthazar’s lips curled into a cruel grin, his red eyes gleaming with bloodlust. He advanced on me, a wicked blade suddenly materializing in his hand, its metal gleaming in the dim light of the church. “Sorry, Peyton,” he purred, his voice a mockery of tenderness. “You picked the wrong side.”

Terror gripped me, icy fingers of fear clutching at my heart. I scrambled away from him, my bare skin scraping against the rough stone floor. My breath came in ragged gasps and each movement sent jolts of pain through my battered body, but the survival instinct drove me on even as panic threatened to overwhelm me.

Balthazar loomed over me, the blade raised high above his head. Time slowed to a crawl as I watched it begin its deadly arc toward me. I could see my own terrified reflection in Balthazar’s eyes, death staring me in the face.

Suddenly, before I could process what was happening, a blurry figure appeared in my peripheral vision and came between Balthazar and me. The sickening sound of metal piercing flesh filled the air, followed by an agonized scream.

Jaxon crumpled, his body falling onto mine like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and I felt something warm and wet spreading across my skin. With mounting horror, I realized it was Jaxon’s blood.

The blade protruded from Jaxon’s chest, buried to the hilt. His eyes, filled with desperate love, met mine for just a brief moment before the light in them went out and they fluttered closed.

“No!” I screamed, the word tearing from my throat in a raw, anguished cry. “Jaxon! Jaxon!” My hands clutched at him frantically, feeling the warmth rapidly leaving his body. I could smell the metallic scent of his blood mixing with the acrid stench of his burned flesh, a horrifying cocktail that made my stomach heave.

Balthazar’s cold laugh cut through my grief. “He’s dead,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “No supernatural can survive a hellish blade.”

The words swung into me like a wrecking ball, driving the air from my lungs. I cradled Jaxon’s lifeless body against me, feeling the sticky warmth of his drying blood coating my skin. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with his blood on my cheeks.

The church was silent save for my ragged sobs echoing off the stone walls. Jaxon’s sacrifice ate away at me, threatening to consume what little strength I had left. In that moment, cradling the body of the man I loved, I felt more alone and vulnerable than I had ever been before.

But beneath the crushing grief, a defiant spark of rage stirred. Jaxon had given his life to save mine. I couldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain. As I held him, a new resolve hardened within me. This wasn’t over.

As if in answer to my desperate, unspoken prayer, a deafening crash made the entire church shake. The massive wooden doors exploded inward, splinters and debris flying through the air like shrapnel. I instinctively ducked, shielding Jaxon’s lifeless body with my own.

Through the cloud of dust and wooden fragments, a blinding light pierced the gloom and my eyes widened as a magnificent silver dragon burst into the sanctuary. Its scales shone like mirrors, reflecting the chaos around us. With a thunderous roar that shook the very foundations of the church, the dragon spewed a torrent of fire.

The stream of silver flame engulfed the broken pews and the desecrated altar, intensely hot, washing over my bare skin in waves. The acrid smell of burning wood mixed with the already oppressive odors of blood and decay created a noxious cocktail that made my eyes water and my throat burn.

Members of the Bloodborne Brotherhood scattered like cockroaches exposed to light as they dove for cover. Even Ari, the demon who had seemed so formidable mere moments ago, scrambled to get away. The fear in his eyes was palpable, completely different to his earlier bravado.

My heart leapt. This could only be Raven Acosta. Help had arrived, but was it too late?

Amid the chaos, only Balthazar and the high priestess held their ground. Their unwavering stance sent a chill down my spine, despite the inferno raging around us.

I clutched Jaxon’s body tighter to my chest, my skin still sticky with his blood. “Please, please,” I muttered, my voice barely audible over the roar of the flames. My hands trembled as I grasped the hilt of the hellish blade still protruding from his chest. With a nauseating, wet squelch, I yanked it free before tossing it aside. “Wake up,” I pleaded, shaking him gently. “You’re a vampire. You can’t die.” But his badly clawed and burned body remained still, his eyes closed, his chest motionless.

A flash of movement caught my attention. The high priestess, her face contorted with malicious determination, was aiming the Dragon Nexus at Raven. Realization struck me like lightning.

“Raven!” I screamed, my voice raw with desperation. “Shift!”

My warning came too late. The Dragon Nexus pulsed with an otherworldly power, tendrils of energy lashing out toward the silver dragon. Raven’s agonized shriek cut through the air like a chainsaw.

The high priestess’ lips curled into a triumphant smirk. “You will die,” she crowed, her voice oozing malice. “And once you’re dead, Raven, I’ll kill every supernatural being with a mixed bloodline. Purebloods will rule again.”

Her words sent a wave of horror washing over me. This was bigger than just me or Jaxon. The fate of all mixed bloodlines hung in the balance.

Suddenly, a familiar, ragged male voice cut through the cacophony. “Peyton, quickly! Go get help! You can’t fight this on your own.”

My father’s words jolted me back to reality. I was naked, weaponless, cradling the lifeless body of the man I loved, while Raven fought against the power of the Dragon Nexus. The odds were stacked impossibly against us.

With every fiber of my being screaming in protest, I gently laid Jaxon’s body on the ground. Tears streamed down my face as I placed a final kiss on his cold lips. Then, summoning a strength I hadn’t known I possessed, I forced myself to stand.

As the world spun around me, a dizzying kaleidoscope of fire, silver scales, and malevolent faces, one thought burst into my mind with razor-sharp clarity: I had to get help. It was the only way to save Raven, to honor Jaxon’s sacrifice, and to protect all mixed bloodlines.

With a last, anguished look at Jaxon’s still form, I turned and ran, my bare feet pounding on the stone floor, driven by desperation and the fading hope that somehow I could turn this nightmare around.