Final Prophecy 05 - Blood Spells Read Online Free PDF

energy.
    No! Iago’s rage flared through Rabbit, edged with the luminous green of demon vision. Tentacles of greasy brown magic lashed the god-ghost, only to wither and die when they made contact. The firebird’s body shone brilliantly, going almost pure white as the last of the Triad magic left Iago.
    With a trumpeting battle cry, the firebird launched itself out of the hell-link, which collapsed behind it, cutting off the telepathic connection without warning.
    Agony slashed through Rabbit’s skull as Iago’s claws tore out of his consciousness, but that pain was welcome. The pain racing from his head and heart, outward, and then in again to concentrate in his chest, wasn’t.
    No, he shouted inwardly, reaching for the firebird. Wait. I can—
    New pain cracked through his skull, a wordless lash of rejection that his heart translated as, You had your chance, half blood.
    Power thundered and the firebird disappeared, taking the Triad magic with it.
    And Rabbit was suddenly alone in his head once more.
    Gods! His eyes snapped open; his mouth worked with a silent scream as he returned to full consciousness, senses reeling. He was on his knees, clutching his nahwal ’s hand, screaming aloud as a cloud of red-gold power erupted from his chest and the firebird took form once again, back-winging away from him, eyes blazing with rage.
    “Wait!” Heart hammering, he lunged for the apparition. “I can handle it. I can—”
    But it was too late. The firebird gave a trumpeting scream, locked on to the man beside him, and dove.
    It hit Brandt chest high. And disappeared.
     
    Oh, shit. That was the only thought Brandt could formulate as agony hammered into his chest and red-gold power poured liquid fire into his veins, bloating his head and heart.
    Oh, shit. He’d been nailed by a Triad ricochet.
    Oh, shit. It hurt.
    Oh, shit. What the hell was he supposed to do now? What—
    Power exploded at the place where he and his nahwal were joined, searing his hand and sending currents of fire racing up his arm. Pain lanced through his chest and his heart skipped a beat; he’d heard the expression before, but he hadn’t really understood the dissonance of the off-kilter thudda-thudda until then.
    Despair tore his soul as his nahwal moved, not away, but into him, aligning itself so its front was to his back. He felt the chill of its flesh, the flow of ichor beneath its skin as its form overlapped with his, suffusing him with a clammy chill and an awful sense of invasion.
    He heard Patience call his name in a raw, frantic voice. He wanted to reach for her, wanted to make everything better. But he couldn’t.
    “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he rasped, the words setting his throat aflame. “I wish—” But he didn’t get to finish, because the Triad magic rose up like the cold, unforgiving water of an ice-fed river. And sucked him down.
     
    “Brandt!” The name tore from Patience’s throat as his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed into the fog.
    Yanking away from her nahwal , she dropped to her knees and scrambled to find him through blinding tears and the knee-deep mist. She found a leg first, followed it up to his armored torso and higher, to his throat, where she tried to find a pulse. Couldn’t.
    “He’s not dead. Not dead. Can’t be dead.” She repeated it over and over, babbling the words in a litany, petrified that if she stopped, he’d be dead. One dead, one mad, one survivor. Gods, let him be the survivor. Suddenly nothing else mattered.
    She fought the ground’s squishy roll as she hauled his upper body up across her knees, trying to get his head above the level of the mist. He was deadweight, limp and entirely unmoving, his skin cool and cast the same gray green as the world around them.
    But then she felt a flutter under her fingertips. Another. He had a pulse. And he was breathing, though the moves were weak. She shuddered with relief, ready to take whatever little she could get.
    “He’s not