The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(105)

“As a thrall,” Arthur shouted. “That will never happen, Mab. I’ll see myself in Oblivion first.” He adjusted his grip on the staff, wishing desperately that he could feel a spark of life in it.

“You will regret that choice.”

With an upward sweep of her hands, she launched two balls of crimson flame. Darting forward, Arthur swung the staff to meet the attack. The crystal caught one hellfire missile and sent it sizzling into the wet ground. The other shot overhead.

“Cybele, watch out!”

The blast struck the door jamb scant inches above her head. Sparks showered. She ducked behind the door. At the same time, a white cloud appeared, whirling about the crystal atop Merlin’s staff.

Arthur blinked against the sudden dazzle. His grip on the staff tightened. What was going on? The touchstone was dead...

Cybele. The magic was Cybele’s. Illusion only, but a very good one. How long the ruse would fool Mab—if it fooled her at all—was anyone’s guess.

Angling the staff high over his head, he strode forward across the stone-flagged terrace. White sparks poured from his palm. He sent the magic racing in spirals up the staff’s twisted shaft. The instant they reached the crystal, he redirected the stream at Mab. And hoped like hell she wouldn’t see through his ruse.

His hellfire struck the center of her chest. She faltered. If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he might have missed the flash of panic in her eyes. The trick had worked. Mab had seen only what Arthur and Cybele wanted her to see—the ancient power of Merlin.

The alpha recovered quickly. She deflected his next blast before it struck. His hellfire disappeared into the grass at her feet.

“Is that the best you can do with your new toy?” she taunted.

Arthur forced a large dose of arrogance into his reply. “It’s only the beginning of what I can do. Merlin’s magic is mine.”

“But, sugar, can a boy like you handle it?”

She fingered her whip handle, and then detached it from her belt. Three sizzling crimson strands of hellfire spurted out.

With a flick of her wrist, she launched the lashes at Arthur. He jerked the staff to one side. Not quickly enough. One lash snapped around the twisted wood. A second stung his forearm, burning like the fires of Hell. The third wrapped his left knee. He hissed in a breath through his teeth.

He twisted the staff, slashing it to one side, trying to free it. Mab yanked her whip back. Pain exploded in his knee. His leg flew out from under him. His arse hit the ground.

Behind him, Cybele let out a strangled cry. Mab threw her head back and laughed. Somehow Arthur managed to free himself and lurch to his feet. His knee felt like it had been pierced by a thousand burning needles. His leg barely held his weight. He leaned heavily on the staff.

The alpha yanked the final lash. The staff jerked. Arthur hung on with all his remaining strength. Cybele’s sparks regrouped. Forming a tight ball, the illusion shot toward Mab. Arthur shoved the agony in his knee to the back of his brain and sank his mind into the sky. The instant Cybele’s fake hellfire arrived at its destination a bolt of lightning hit the ground inches in front of Mab’s boots.

Fuck. He’d meant to actually hit her.

The alpha jumped back, spitting curses. Her attention dropped briefly from her magic. Arthur took the opportunity to wrench the staff free of the crimson lash.

Abandoning her whip, Mab launched a stream of hellfire directly from her palms. Arthur caught it with Merlin’s crystal. He sent it ricocheting back so quickly, and with so much furious anger, that Mab barely leaped out of the way in time.

“Mab.”

Her head jerked up. Her blue eyes narrowed.

His knee was on fire, his focus close to shattering. If Mab guessed how powerless he really was—how close she was to victory—he was finished.

He summoned every bit of confidence he could muster. Standing with legs spread wide, he held the staff aloft.

“I challenge you,” he shouted. “For the right to lead the Druid clan.”

She set her hands on her hips and laughed. “Do you really think you have a chance, sugar? Has the Ordeal damaged your brain that much?”

“Do you accept?”

“I won’t let you die, you know.” She gave him a cat’s smile. “Oh, no. You’ll submit to me. You’ll take my collar. You’ll live out your life as my thrall.”

He repressed a sick wave of dread. “Do you accept my challenge?”

Her smile grew wider. “If that’s what you’ve got your heart set on, sugar.” She lifted her arms.

“No. You know the law. The clan must stand as witness.”

She laughed. “I am the law, Arthur. And look around you. The clan is here.”

“Not all of it.” His gaze swept over her adepts. “My father’s family is absent.”

“They aren’t necessary. Tristan’s kin are bound to me.”

“Bound, yes. But not enthralled. Their oaths may be broken.”

“They won’t stand with you, if that’s what you’re hoping. Sniveling cowards, all of them.”

“Then let them watch the contest,” Arthur urged. “Let them witness my fall. They think I’m dead. Let them see I’m alive. Show them how thoroughly you fooled them seven years ago.”

Slowly, Mab lowered her arms. “Why, now, that’s a thought. One or two may even be angry enough to fight at your side. More fodder for my collars.” She smirked. “One can never have too many thralls.”