Page 91 of Bound By Fury

“Don’t touch me!” I yelp, sinking into a crouch and narrowly sliding past them.

They growl as I scramble away, their disembodied voice barely audible over the rasp of my struggling breaths. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Hands wrap around my ankle and yank, twisting until I’m flat on my back.

They stand over me, cloak whipping in the now-gusting wind, and I crawl backward, my eyes never leaving them.

Fog begins to gather around us.

“What did you do with Fiona?” I spit, a gasping, feral instability flooding my chest. At first the feeling is too intense to identify, but then it tinges my tongue with copper.

Rage. Pure, unadulterated fury.

My skin starts to hum as I rise, my hair lashing at my face, and in the distance a clap of thunder startles us both.

“You must not have heard me,” I growl. “Where. Is. Fiona?!”

The loathsome monster leaps forward, but this time I don’t run. I lift my chin and hold out my hand, ready for them.

When they crash into me, I hiss, digging my nails into their forearms hard enough to draw blood.

They’re stronger than I expected, and they lift me in the air before bringing me crashing back down, knocking the wind out of me. I claw uselessly at the power in my core, winding it around my arms, coating my skin with it.

They straddle my chest as they pull something from beneath their cloak.

Moonlight glints off the blade, just like it did in my dream. I can almost smell the smoke. Can almost hear the chanting. Can almost see the lined face of the old woman before she pushed me into another dimension.

“Shh,” they coo, pinning my struggling arms with their knees. “This is only going to hurt a little.”

I squirm and fight. I squeeze my eyes shut and call the magic to myself over and over. I cough against the pressure of their weight against my chest. I’m going to suffocate like this if I can’t buck them off me.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” they grunt. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

Somehow I’m able to slip my arms from beneath their legs, and I strike them. I lash against their chest. I reach for the hood, attempting to expose them, desperate to look my killer in their evil, beastly eyes, but my arms are too weak.

My chest burns. I know the end is near.

“Please,” I beg, even though it disgusts me. But the words barely make a sound. There’s no air in my lungs to push past my vocal cords.

“Use your magic,” they hiss, fighting until they’ve pinned me once more. “Why aren’t you using your magic?”

I’m trying, I want to cry.

Why isn’t it working?

My lips move even though no sound will come out.

Please.

I am going to die.

Maybe it’s the trauma of the moment, the dull emptiness inside me, the realization that it was always going to end like this, but I turn my eyes to the sky.

There she is—Polaris, the guiding light. Glistening above us. Watching. Leading everyone in the world, it seems, but me.

Do something, I scream at her. Save me!

The stars are supposed to be some intrinsic part of me, some ancient blessing, some source of my power, so where are they when I need them most?