Seven – 04

The man beneath his hands was too hot already, especially for someone flat on his back on the Lake Michigan ice. Phelan jerked his cloak back from where it covered Thordin’s still body, watching his friend’s chest rise and fall in a shallow, shuddering breath. Keep breathing, idiot. She’ll drag you back from the dead if you don’t.

The lindworm’s teeth had left deep punctures and gouges in Thordin’s flesh; all Phelan could hope to do was staunch the bleeding until the fighting was done and they could get him back home.

The lindworm roared. Marin’s bowstring sang and Phelan’s head jerked up and he twisted, looking toward her, toward the monster they fought. It had changed direction again, racing toward them.

“A little help?”

Phelan swore and snatched his staff up from the ground gritting his teeth as he pressed his bare hand hard against the ice. Spirits and powers, answer my call. Please, answer me. He drew on the chill of the water, on the power that slept deep beneath Lake Michigan, praying he wasn’t about to wake something far worse than what they already faced.

Power swept through him in a sudden rush and he gasped, every muscle suddenly taut as he wrestled with the unexpected strength of what he’d called. It felt like he’d suddenly been dropped through the ice into the water beneath, cold enough to freeze his very bones.

I can’t. I can’t.

Bloody hell, hang on.

“Move,” he said to Marin through gritted teeth. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Move!”

She threw herself aside just as he lost his grip on the surging magic, a bolt of pure, ice-cold energy speared across the open expanse of ice and snow, heading unerringly at the lindworm as it charged toward them, eyes gleaming with hate and rage.

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