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“Vámonos,” I breathed, and with a flick of my wrists, flames sprouted from my hands, licking at the metal without so much as singeing Poppy’s or Cairo’s skin. The chains glowed red, then white-hot, before disintegrating into nothingness. As the last link turned to ash and fluttered away, Cairo pulled Poppy into his arms, his relief almost palpable.
“Free at last,” Cairo murmured, his British accent sounding oddly comforting amidst the mayhem.
“Let’s not throw a fiesta just yet,” I warned, watching as King Zayn shook off another of Riker’s blows. “We’ve still got a king-sized bug to squash.”
Poppy, her English rose complexion smudged with soot and eyes bright with gratitude, nodded.
“Hey, Zayn,” I called out, mustering every ounce of sass I had left. “Ever been in a real scorcher?”
His eyes narrowed on me, but before he could reply, I clapped my hands together, and the air around us shuddered. Flames spiraled from my palms, twirling into a fiery maelstrom that surged toward him. The inferno roared, hungry and wild, a dragon set free to devour its prey.
“Is that all you got?” Zayn mocked, but his voice hitched as the flames licked at his defenses, sizzling against whatever magical barrier he’d conjured.
“Hardly a warm-up,” I said, even as sweat beaded on my forehead. But it wasn’t just from the heat; it was from the effort of holding such immense power.
I drew back, gathering the flames around me, and then thrust my arms forward. The air exploded in a cataclysmic boom, heat blasting outward in a shockwave that threw everyone but me to the ground. Through the tempest, I saw King Zayn stagger, his form flickering. If djinn could look panicked, he nailed it.
“Bet you’re feeling that burn now, huh?” I smirked as my fire magic singed the arrogance right off his face. Dust and embers swirled around us, the remnants of my explosive display settling like snowflakes forged in hell.
“Nice fireworks, Tessa,” Riker grunted.
“Thanks, I’ll add it to my résumé.” I kept my gaze fixed on Zayn. He was down, but not out, and I knew better than to count out a king before the endgame.
The king’s silhouette wavered before me, but then steadied.
That’s when it hit me.
I can win this. And I know how.
“Cover me!” I yelled, and with that, I spun on my heel, making a beeline for Riker’s bag of supplies. It lay haphazardly tossed aside in the chaos. But I had an inkling of what I might find.
“Qué demonios?” Elijah muttered, stealing one of my favorite Spanish curses.
“Trust me,” I called back without looking, my boots pounding on the scorched ground.
“Always do,” Helen said. She cracked her whip against the ground and then back up, sending debris into Zayn’s bewildered face—a nice touch, distracting enough to buy me precious seconds.
I reached Riker’s bag, its leather exterior holding strong—much like its owner. With a swift yank, I flung it open, rummaging through the jumble of gadgets, stakes, and what looked suspiciously like a half-eaten sandwich. Seriously, Riker?
“Did you find it?” Niko’s growl cut through the tension, not far from where I knelt.
Did he know what I was planning?
“Almost there!” I grunted, tossing aside a silver dagger and a vial of something I hoped wasn’t blood.
“Got it,” I hissed, fingers finally closing around the object of my sudden inspiration, triumphantly clutching the item. My team held their ground around me. Each of them was ready to leap at my command, their faith in my crazy plans both touching and terrifying.
“Let’s hope this works,” I muttered to myself, adrenaline singing in my veins. The heat from my recent fiery spectacle still clung to my skin, a reminder that magic was as much a part of me as my multicultural heritage.
“Distraction time,” I said aloud.
“Ready when you are.” Riker’s voice was steady. But I caught the twitch of anticipation in his stance.
“Okay, team, let’s go.” My lips curled into a grin, both predatory and exuberant. This was it, the moment of truth.
And I was all fired up.
Riker and Niko slid to the side and around until they were closing in on either side of the ifrit king. They moved like shadows. I could almost hear Riker’s muscles flexing, primed for combat, and Niko’s werewolf grace was a whisper against the chaos.
