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Riker’s fists clenched, but any response he was about to make was cut short by the screech of stone against stone.
A group of statues lining the walls—the previously blank walls—began to shudder and shake. They contorted, limbs stretching until they were no longer just carvings but living, breathing nightmares with razor-sharp claws and mouths exhaling fiery breath.
“Ah, enchanted statues. Because regular old booby traps are so last century,” I said, rolling my eyes even as I readied myself for combat.
“Watch their movements; these kinds of golems are generally slow to start—but they’re strong once they get going,” Riker advised, his knowledge of supernatural creatures coming in handy once again. As the statues lunged, he danced between them with surprising agility for someone his build, landing precise strikes that turned animated stone into lifeless rubble.
“Really not a fan of performance art,” I muttered, ducking under a swipe that would’ve given me a close shave. My new magic hummed beneath my skin, itching to be unleashed, but this was Riker’s show. And I didn’t want to give away what I could do too soon.
“Try to keep up!” Riker called back, the muscles across his back rippling as he threw a punch that sent another statue’s head clean off its shoulders.
Watching Riker work was like seeing poetry in motion—if poetry involved a lot of crunching rock and dust clouds. With every move, he dismantled our granite assailants, each blow a combination of brute strength and supernatural know-how.
In mere moments, the threat was neutralized, and we stood in a graveyard of marble limbs and shattered faces. I wiped a smear of dust off my cheek and grinned at Riker. “Next time, let’s stick to live targets. They make less of a mess.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” The glint in Riker’s eye told me he enjoyed the challenge. “Besides, their mess is just…wetter.”
“Point taken.” I began leading the way once again. “But let’s save some energy for King Zayn. I’ve got a feeling he’s not going to roll out the red carpet for us.”
“Unless it’s made of flames,” Riker added, his smile fading as we continued our descent into the heart of heat and danger.
As we pressed on, my fingers grazed against the walls. A whisper of warmth, out of place in the cool dampness, brushed across my senses. I halted, raising a hand.
“Trapdoor,” I murmured, bending to let my fingertips hover above the disguised entrance.
“Where?” Helen’s voice cut through the darkness.
“Right beneath our feet.” I outlined the edges with a spark from my fingertip, revealing the hidden seams. “Watch me and follow me exactly. There’s bound to be a nasty surprise if we get this wrong.”
One by one, we descended into the abyss below, the trapdoor giving way to a narrow staircase that spiraled downward.
As we reached the bottom, the shadows stretched and twisted, taking on lives of their own. In the opaque gloom, I could barely make out the forms materializing before us—King Zayn’s djinn minions. Their fiery glows pulsated, painting the walls with dancing light and casting our faces in grotesque masks.
“Company,” I hissed, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline and fire coursing through my veins. With a flick of my wrist, a shimmering dome of flames erupted around us, a shield from the incoming assault.
“Nice trick, Tessa,” Riker said, crouched and ready, even as a minion’s fiery whip cracked against our protective barrier, sending sparks raining down.
“Looks like they’re hot for you, Riker,” Helen teased through gritted teeth. “Can’t really blame ’em.”
“Keep the flirting for later,” I shot back, the corners of my mouth twitching upwards despite the danger. Heat licked at my skin, urging me to unleash hell.
“Flirting? That’s rich coming from—” Riker started, but another barrage from the djinn cut him short.
“Focus, people,” I snapped.
The fiery dome flickered as another minion lunged, its form more ember than flesh, and with a surge of concentration, my flames roared higher, engulfing it.
“Ready for me to drop the shield?” I asked.
“Do it.” A low growl rumbled through the chamber, and all heads turned. Niko’s transformation was swift, his human shape contorting and expanding until the werewolf stood before us, a towering mass of muscle and fury.
“Show-off,” I said with a smirk, even as relief flooded me. Niko, even in this monstrous form, was a sight for sore eyes.
His snarl echoed off the walls, reverberating through bone and sinew. The minions hesitated, their flames dimming as if chilled by his presence. I dropped the shield, and with a leap that highlighted his size, Niko landed amidst our assailants, fangs bared and claws slashing through the air with deadly precision. Each swipe sent djinn scattering.
“Less howling, more mauling!” I called out, igniting another orb of flame in my palm and tossing it toward a cluster of enemies. Niko needed no further encouragement; his assault was relentless, efficient, every ounce of his being honed for combat. He didn’t speak—werewolves weren’t much for conversation mid-rampage—but his growls spoke volumes.
“Talk about unleashing the beast,” I breathed out admiringly.
