Darius hits the wall ten feet up. He drops to the ground and is back up before he has fully landed, charging again.
I see what is happening before Darius does. The torn skin at Zion’s throat where the first bite went in is already knitting closed under that weird, dark sheen. The strip of meat Darius ripped free is no more than a pink shine at the surface now, sealing as I watch.
The third charge from Darius lands, and Zion takes the hit, skidding back two yards on his bare feet until the floor under him cracks. His arm hooks the wolf’s neck on the way past, and he spins.
Darius hits the opposite wall hard enough that the concrete spits dust. This time, the gray wolf does not get up immediately.
My turn.
I growl toward Violet, warning her to stay back.
I know she will not. The sound is not even out of my throat before Violet has pushed off her wall, the blue light of her magic coming up at her fingertips weakly. My paws move at full speed, my head aimed at the center of Zion’s spine.
I hit him, and he flies off his feet. Both our bodies slam into the concrete together, my jaws working at the meat of his shoulder, tearing strips, tasting the weird heat in his blood for one full second before he throws me off him.
I am airborne.
I land hard on my torn side, and my shoulder joint gives way with a sound I hear inside my own bones. I get up, counting on my remaining three legs to hold me, and they do.
Darius rises, too, swaying on his paws.
At the same time, Violet’s magic hits Zion in the chest.
The blue arc catches him just as he is standing up, punching him backward across the floor in a long slide. His bare feet leavedark drag marks on the concrete. He stops at the far wall, and his head hangs for one second.
One second.
Then, he gets up.
He rolls his shoulders again, the torn meat at his back, his shoulder, his throat, all of it closing as he stands there. I watch the worst of the damage seal itself in front of me. He shakes himself out, loose and easy, and comes off the wall again at a walk.
“Better,” he says to Violet. His tone of voice has not changed.
Darius hits him a fourth time, going for the throat again. Zion catches his jaws in his bare hands and holds him there at full extension, the wolf’s hind legs scrabbling at his thighs. Zion’s biceps barely flex.
He starts to pull. The bone of Darius’s jaw creaks.
Violet’s magic comes again, wider this time, and Zion ducks under it without releasing Darius. The arc smashes a chunk out of the wall behind him.
I’m only on my three legs, but my teeth find the back of his calf. I tear deep enough to feel the cord of muscle separate.
Zion drops Darius.
He turns to me without losing his footing, almost lazily, and his backhand catches me across the head.
The lights in the chamber double and triple.
I am on my back on the floor, and I do not remember going down.
“Lucas!” Violet’s voice from nearby.
I shake my head clear. Across from me, Darius has rolled onto his elbows, blood streaming from his nose into the fur on his jaw. He pushes himself up but does not stay there. His left foreleg gives with the first step, and he is back on the floor.
Violet sends a third arc of magic. Zion bats it aside with one bare arm. The blue light shatters against the wall behind him in ashower of bright dust. Violet sags against the concrete, breathing hard. Her well has dried up.
Zion stands in the center of the arena now. Skin closing. Wounds sealing. His chest is rising and falling, but easily—the breathing of a man who has just finished a brisk walk.
He looks at the three of us with what appears to be pity.
