Retribution (74 page)

Her limbs burst open, her body unfurling and arching, and as the bright light permeating from her flesh glowed red like the sun, a scream ripped from her throat.

All magic ceased as every conscious person on the glacier covered their ears against the piercing shriek threatening to bust their eardrums, and every alert eye snapped to Layla's flexed and floating form as she screamed like a banshee toward the cloudy moon. The haunting wail echoed off the snowy mountains, bouncing back into the basin in bloodcurdling waves, and even after the screech died in her throat, nobody moved. They just stared at her while keeping their ears guarded against the deafening reverberation.

Layla's eyes snapped open to a murky moon, and while her body was hers again, under her control, it was different.
She
was different. No longer pure of heart. She was a force to be reckoned with, and it was time for her enemies to pay.
 

The silk ribbons hanging from the front and back of her belt, along with the chiffon wafting from her biceps, thighs and hips, ripped away, gracefully dancing into the illuminated air around her. The fabric caught the wind and fluttered toward thick swells of rising fumes fed by burning flesh, and as the material disappeared into the morbid vapor, Layla raised her head, ready for retribution.

Waving her left arm through the air, she swept the bodies of strangers away from her crushed family, and at the same time, she aimed her right palm at her wounded hero, carefully floating him to the rest of their coven. As she settled him beside Catigern's motionless form, her left hand flashed again, and her magic grasped Kemble, Cordelia and all four of her grandparents, soaring them to Quin's side.

'
Fix him
,' she demanded, speaking into the minds of all six of them.

Before they could argue or move toward her, she launched the most secure shield she'd ever created over them, tightly encasing every person on their side of the glacier in a thick, silver fog.

She turned, setting her sights on Agro, and unrepentant hatred surged like fire through her veins, providing her with more tenacity, supremacy and potency than ever before. He was the condemned, and she was the executioner.

Quin knew he was in bad shape, but he wasn't dead yet, and as long as his lungs pulled in air, no matter how slowly, and as long as his heart beat, no matter how erratically, only one thing meant anything, and she was out there, outside her shield, extremely outnumbered and alone, while he was within, gravely injured and useless.

He'd been trying to pull himself together, literally and figuratively, when she'd grasped him with magic, and before he fully realized what she was doing with him, she'd isolated herself from everyone who loved her, tucking them into safety before facing the threat alone.

Cordelia dropped to Quin’s side, sobbing as she searched his wound, but he ignored her.

“Layla!”

The effort it took him to yell her name was shocking, and the toll it took on his body was terrifying. He cringed against the pain and felt his severed guts shift toward open air as his blood rushed with more vigor from gaping flesh, but he ignored it all and forced away the wooziness. His angry angel hadn't responded, and she was descending toward the ice with her focus on the Unforgivables, who'd recuperated from the shrieking assault on their ears and were watching her, anticipating her moves while planning their own.

Caitrin, Morrigan, Daleen and Kemble frantically attacked Layla's shield in an attempt to help her, performing every spell they could think of that might penetrate its foggy surface, and Serafin dropped to the ground next to Cordelia, examining Quin's wound. All of them were painfully aware of the broken bodies scattered around them, but they forced themselves to delay facing the horrifying sight until they could do something to help.

Quin refused to look at his side. He knew it was bad, and he already swam in desperation as he watched Layla calmly stalk toward her alert prey. “Layla...”

He choked and bitterly cursed himself. Then he cursed at his family. “Help her, damn it.” He braced himself and threw his own spell at her shield, but either the barrier was too strong or he was too weak, because it didn't make a damn bit of difference. His gaze finally left Layla's back and found Serafin's familiar, emerald eyes. “Stop the bleeding.”

Serafin hesitated. “A quick patch could…” His objection cut off as Quin grabbed his bicep and pulled him closer.

“Stop the bleeding.”

Serafin dropped his head in sorrowful agreement, and Quin's gaze shot to Layla.

He froze – his heart, his lungs, everything.

She was moving in for the kill.

Layla's senses were superb, all of them heightened, and her body felt foreign, her muscles stronger and harder. She had complete control over all of it, but it was nothing like the body she knew, so she’d moved forward much slower than she wanted to, adjusting to her new and improved attributes.

Already feeling at home in her durable skin, she bent at the knees then launched into an attack, sprinting toward the twenty Unforgivables who were foolish enough to attempt a physical assault.

They charged as if to tackle her, but when she was five feet from slamming into them, she lithely flipped over them, and in the split-second she was upside down, staring at their cloaked heads, her right hand swooped out, brushing fingertips across red velvet as she ensnared all twenty of them in a summoning spell. Her rotation continued, and before her feet returned to the ground, she’d plunged the trapped magicians into the bloody lake swamping the belly of the basin. When their cloaks disappeared beneath its churning surface, it froze over, sentencing them to death by drowning, and not one iota of guilt found Layla's heart as she returned her gaze to Agro.

He was watching her with his mouth hanging open, not doing a thing to stop her approach.

She moved further into the fray of enemies, incredibly alert to their actions. Several immobilizing spells flew at her – a cyclone, a flash of electricity, entangling vines – and she twitched a hand, catching them all and sending them back to their casters with perfect precision. More bothersome but relatively harmless spells came, and those she didn't catch, she dodged – leaping, sliding or soaring around them with ease.

They tried to grasp her with summoning spells, but she couldn't be grasped. The magic just twitched her skin before falling away. Her gaze flicked to the closest wizard, who braced and bent his knees, ready to attempt another tackle, but he was a fool.

He jumped, arms outstretched, expression determined, but she wasn't fazed, nor did she doubt success in the typically impossible feat she was about to attempt. She raised her right hand, squaring her stance as he rushed down on her, and while his longer arms enabled him to grab her shoulders, he couldn't hold her for long. The second his throat hit her palm, his body jerked to a halt, and her long nails sank through his skin like butter as she flexed her deadly hand into a tight fist. His warm blood flowed down her fingers to her silver clad wrist. Then his pulse slowed and disappeared.

A fireball flew at her – the first deadly spell to come her way since she set out on her trail of destruction. Spinning to the left, she used the dead man in her hand as a shield, and the flames rolled out around him, kissing the outsides of her arms and legs. She barely noticed. It felt like she'd submerged herself in a warm bath after standing naked in a cold bathroom. But when his cloak burst into flames, she tossed him aside, narrowing her eyes on the slew of ice heading her way.

The frozen blades were shaped and sharpened like circular saws, but she didn’t hesitate to charge them, sweeping her hand out in front of her as she went. Those in her path melted, and she was moving so fast, water splashed over her face. She blinked away moisture, and in that tiny moment of obscurity, one of the frozen blades slammed into her right shoulder. The impact jerked her body, and she glanced down, expecting her arm to come off, but the ice merely rolled over her bicep, slicing skin while leaving the muscle unscathed. She didn’t just
feel
impenetrable; she
was
impenetrable.

She looked up, finding the dumb expressions of the five magicians who’d cast the ice. Then she reached toward the sky and yanked her hands back down. Five bolts of lightning flashed, pulled from land and sky, and the magicians fried as the ice cracked.

Layla was only twenty feet from her target, and she could clearly see him standing in his protective circle, which had diminished from thirty magicians to twelve.

Guthrie had left the fight, moving away from the tumult to calmly view it, and he'd taken thirty soldiers with him. Layla could see them out of the corner of her eye as she headed for her goal, but they didn't concern her. They were just watching. Her attention was on the forty-two Unforgivables standing between her and Agro.

Thirty of them braced to cast their spells, and she slid to a halt, expelling torrents of fire from both palms. Her hands were flamethrowers, and as she swept her aim from one end of the crimson line to the other, the blaze devoured hydrated bodies like dry tinder.

The air was rank with burning flesh, a repugnant bouquet of death, but Layla smelled victory. The wall of fire had sucked its fuel dry, and the flames were subsiding, letting her find her target.

She was down to him and the twelve surrounding him. Easy. And she couldn't help but relish Agro's expression as she launched toward him, her eyes alert and wide, her lips twitching with a malicious grin.

“Shields,” he ordered, and the soldiers obeyed, each of them casting their own barrier around their puny circle, putting twelve layers of protective fog between Layla and her enemy.
 

She continued the hunt, landing in a crouched position atop the hazy dome. Then she looked down, finding Agro staring at her as if she were his best and worst dream come true. Soon he’d dream no more.

She slammed her right palm into the center of the shields, putting as much magic into the assault as she had strength, and the rainbow of hazes rippled away from her hand, exploding against their creators like seismic waves. A percussion of thuds could be heard as the soldiers hit the ice, and Layla dropped onto Agro’s back. She'd caught up with her prey.

Reaching over his head with her left hand, she hooked his nostrils and yanked, and her other hand stretched high into the air, summoning an icicle. She looked down into his huge eyes, and she caught a reflection of her own – empty black chasms emanating the hate he instilled in her. Her body trembled as she took the image in. Then a bloodthirsty scream surged from her chest as she brought her right hand down.

The sharp tip of the icicle disappeared inside his gaping mouth and pierced through his stretched throat, but she didn’t relent. She forced it deeper, into his chest, and her hand followed, melting the ice until it was gone and her arm was bicep deep in his body. She stretched her fingers, finding the bastard’s heart. Then she squeezed and yanked her arm free.

The lifeless body crumpled, and another scream burst from her diaphragm, soaring toward the heavens as she drained the blood from Agro’s heart.

Chapter 50

In the time it took Serafin to place a magical tourniquet over Quin's wound, Layla had carved her way through dozens of Unforgivables and was scorching another thirty with her flames. And Quin had been forced to lie still and watch every terrifying and heart-wrenching move.

She was already heading for Agro's protective circle by the time Quin got to his feet, faltering then stumbling then finding his balance, and he immediately began attacking her shield, ignoring the pain as he threw a barrage of spells at the silver haze. But his magic didn't even ripple hers.

When she dropped onto Agro's back, Quin halted, unable to breathe or move as he watched her rip out the heart of one of the most feared wizards in the world. And Quin’s heart broke for her. No matter how justified the murders were, they’d make her question her morality, make her wonder if she was evil. And looking at her now – eyes closed, chin raised, body blood-soaked – many would believe she was. She was clearly inhaling the smell of victory as she calmly hovered over her enemy’s slumped body, cradling his heart in her hand. But Quin knew better. She was feeling the rush now, a slave to vengeance, but his angel would return, and her heart would bleed for the lives she cut short.

Quin was about to fire more spells at her shield, determined to hold her, when a red blur caught his eye. He snapped his gaze to Guthrie and the other traitorous Unforgivables. They'd been on the sidelines, idly standing by. But now they were taking advantage of the calm and launching their own attack, and Layla had no idea it was coming.
 

Serafin's magic flexed over Quin’s guts as he roared. “Layla!”

He was too late. Her eyes were still closed when seven powerful magicians catapulted toward her, and she was taken by surprise, disappearing beneath a pile of crimson cloaks while Agro's heart rolled across the ice.

“No!” Quin unleashed a torrent of magic at her shield, but it wouldn't budge. He was useless. She was overwhelmed and he was useless.

Her shield suddenly dropped, and at first, Quin felt a rush of relief, but it was quickly replaced by terror when he discerned why the silver fog dissipated. They had her. They'd successfully shielded her brain and were flying away with her.

Quin shot into the air and soared after them, immediately realizing his injury would hinder his pursuit. He was slower in flight, sluggish in his agility and physical strength, and he was testing the durability of Serafin's bandage. With every move, the magic ominously flexed over his maimed insides, and he feared the pressure would disintegrate the magic. Swiping his hand over Serafin's work, he added another layer to the magical tourniquet. Then he summoned his cloak and secured it around his waist, adding further support.