Sharon Ashwood - Enchanter Redeemed

Merlin’s breath stuck in his chest. The cloud of flying darkness said this was demon magic. Rukon recognized it, too, for the dragon released a stream of blinding, blue-white fire that wiped the flapping shadows from the sky. The spectacle of a fire-breathing dragon changed the somber mood in an instant. The crowd erupted in a collective gasp of wonder and glee. Cries of “Whoa!” and “Go, Merlin!” drowned out the sounds of battle.

But Merlin was just getting started. He scanned the field, giving an involuntary wince at the sight of the dinosaurs. The raptors pranced around Beaumains like naked chickens sizing up a worm. One bled but seemed oblivious to the wound, a primitive need to kill stronger even than pain. Merlin’s chest tightened with apprehension as Beaumains stumbled, his own injuries obvious.

Merlin’s next fire bolt split in midair to target the two raptors. The fireballs struck the earth with a thwump and crackle that fried both monsters to ash. This time nothing flew out of the smoldering ruins. Demons were hard to kill, but enough raw power did the trick. Without sparing the time or energy for satisfaction, he turned his attention back to Palomedes and the circling lions.

Clary—ignoring his orders as usual—was back at Merlin’s elbow in time to see Palomedes swing his blade at a shaggy-maned beast. The knight’s sword sliced into the lion’s hide, driving deep into the massive shoulder. The great cat roared, but the sound twisted into an unholy shriek as the beast dissolved into a flurry of blackness. Merlin flinched, every reflex recoiling at the sight.

“What just happened?” Clary demanded, her voice rising as she pointed at the sight. “Are those crows? Bats?”

“Demon magic does that,” Merlin replied, giving her a hard look. “The filth break apart and reform as some other monster.”

Her expression raised the hair along his arms, though he couldn’t say why. The scowl was Clary’s—he’d seen it often enough during their lessons—but there was something else, too. And then the look was gone, leaving him wondering if the battle with Vivian had left him paranoid.

Above, Rukon banked and turned to pass over the field once more. The wind in his huge wings rumbled like rippling thunder. Merlin gathered himself, every movement deliberate, and returned his attention to the lions. He hurled another ball of lightning that smashed into the pride and sent dirt fountaining into the air. One by one, the great cats burst into flurries of squeaking shreds of blackness. They swirled upward in a spiral, no doubt preparing to meld into some other, more horrific creature. Merlin searched for a fresh spell, something powerful enough to prevent a demonic attack on the crowd of innocent humans. Was this what the hellspawn had wanted all along? A means to infect this world with their evil?

If so, they had forgotten about dragons. A blast from Rukon’s flame scoured the bats from the sky. Merlin felt the clean heat on his upturned face, fanned by the stroke of Rukon’s wings. The stink of charcoal tickled his nose, but not before he caught a distinctive whiff of spice and sulfur. Vivian.

Then every thought was driven from his head by the roar of the crowd. They were on their feet, stamping and howling appreciation as the unprecedented spectacle wound to a new close. As if on cue, Rukon looped upward, climbing toward the open portal with another flourish of flame. The dragon rose with seemingly weightless ease and was soon swallowed by the azure sky of the Crystal Mountains. But his long neck curved backward for a last glance at Merlin. It didn’t take magic to read the message written in Rukon’s topaz eyes: be careful. And then the portal sealed with the efficiency of an invisible zipper, and the dragon was gone.

Merlin gripped Clary’s arm, holding her at his side while they stepped forward to take their bow. He was carefully blind to the knights below, acting as if their wounds and bewildered fury were all part of the entertainment. They’d finished the show. No one was dead and the demon magic dispelled. The audience was none the wiser. The only thing left was to exit the stage—and then he could start asking hard questions.

After three standing ovations, the audience finally let them leave. By then, Merlin’s temper was at a new peak. He dragged Clary into the corridor that led to the locker room, striding at top speed.

“Slow down!” Digging in her heels, she tried to wrench free of his grip.

He stopped, but didn’t let go as he turned to face her. The harsh overhead lights bleached the color from her face, adding to the shadows beneath her eyes. He crushed a rising panic that told him she was in trouble. “Very well.”

She blew out a long breath, but otherwise seemed tongue-tied.

He let his voice drop to something near a growl. “Let’s take this slowly. Start talking.”

She was shuddering as if plunged into Arctic waters. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Velociraptors? Really?”

“I didn’t mean to! I—” She broke off, her face flushed with confusion. She looked as if she couldn’t decide what to say.

Merlin’s chest tightened with foreboding. “If you didn’t mean it, then why did it happen?”

Clary sucked in a breath as if he’d struck her. The sound was loud in the echoing corridor.

Her expression gut-punched him. “What did Tamsin say about your wound?”

“She thinks it’s okay.” She pulled up her sleeve to show her arm. “It doesn’t look like much now. She fixed it.”

And yet Clary had started casting random spells far beyond her level of skill. That didn’t say fixed to him. Her gaze turned to him, now empty of everything but fear and pleading. The look broke him.

Like a man in a dream, Merlin reached out, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. They came away wet with her frightened tears. For that, he would have cheerfully sent every demon back to the Abyss all over again. As the pounding of his heart slowed, anger caught up with him, along with a profound sense of awe. Something had given Clary immense, even stunning, power. Demons were the obvious answer, but how?

Clary was the least talented student he’d ever taught. Could a mere scratch have changed everything? He really didn’t know. Demon magic followed different rules—if you could apply rules to its chaotic nature—and not even Merlin the Wise understood every last nuance. A hard knot of worry gathered in his chest. He could not resist the urge to touch her, brushing back a wisp of hair that was falling in her eyes.

Somehow that innocent gesture turned into an embrace. He’d sworn to himself that wouldn’t happen again, but her lips were against his, soft and uncertain. The first kiss ended, her breath warm and a little too fast against his face. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself this kind of intimacy—not just physical need, but with emotion attached. Everything around him—the concrete walls, the dull roar of the crowd—fell away, leaving only this woman and her haunted gaze. It was plain she was seeking reassurance, someone to catch her and put her on her feet again. If he was a better man, he’d be a little less literal about the catching part, but he couldn’t seem to take his hands from her waist.

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his costume. “What are you doing?”

This unguarded, vulnerable side of her destroyed his equilibrium. “Making certain you’re well.”

He pushed back the veil of her costume and tangled his fingers in her shaggy blond hair. She tilted her head, studying him from beneath her lashes. “You can’t tell anything by kissing me.” And yet she looked afraid that he might find something.

He released her, but didn’t back away. Her eyes were their usual color, like new leaves in the golden light of May. Her skin glowed the same delicate cream, her mouth still invited him—and yet something was different. It prickled against a sense that had no name.