White Hot (Hidden Legacy #2)(102)

Rogan cried out, his voice pure agony. The spell spun one last time. David hurtled toward me. His circle came apart, absorbed by the larger arcane design, and suddenly we were in the same space, about eight feet across. He charged toward me, his fist thrusting like a hammer. I tried to dodge, but his knuckles smashed into my chest. Something crunched. A sharp burst of pain tore through my insides. I forced myself through it and lunged at him, throwing all of my weight at him, aiming for his neck. He must’ve expected me to go down, because he barely managed to dodge. My hand locked on his forearm. Agony swelled in my shoulder and rolled down my arm to my fingertips.

David Howling screamed.

He flailed in my hands, spit flying from his mouth as my magic pulsed from my fingers into his body, a whip of pain shocking him like a live wire. He screamed again and punched me, hammering his fist into my shoulder, my head, my side, wherever he could land it in a desperate rush to knock me off him. I hunched my shoulders, trying to hide from the barrage, and hung on. Blood filled my mouth. His hand slapped my face, his thumb trying to gouge my right eye. I jerked away, my fingers still locked on his wrist. Only one of us was getting out alive. I wouldn’t let him kill me. I wouldn’t let him murder anyone else.

Glowing worms swam before my eyes. I had to let go or the shockers would kill me.

I unlocked my fingers. He stumbled back, foam dripping from his mouth, his eyes insane, and I raised my foot, leaned back, and kicked his kneecap. He howled, spun away from me, and dropped down to one knee. I had seconds before he shook it off and strangled me. I jumped on top of him, grabbed his head, and pushed it straight down on his neck. His vertebrae locked and I twisted.

Nari’s terrified face flashed before me. I’ve got it. I won’t let him hurt your daughter.

Bones crunched with a dry pop. I let go and David fell facedown, his head jutting at an odd angle.

A strange sound echoed through the cistern and I realized it was Rogan laughing.

Around me the power of the circle melted, the lines once again mere chalk, and I saw him on his back on the floor.

My feet didn’t want to move. I staggered over and dropped by him. His eyes were open. His chest barely rose.

“Connor?” I turned his face toward me. “Connor, talk to me!”

“A wart, huh?” His voice was weak. “Good speech.”

“I read it in some fanfiction on Herald.” I was so tired. I just wanted to sit here for a little bit. But sitting meant death. “Come on, we’ve got to get you up. We have to get out of here.”

“You go,” he said. “Get help. I’m good here for a bit.”

Lie.

I glanced up. David was dead, but his magic had done its damage. The floor was white with frost. We were already past the point of being cold. We had to get out of here or we’d die.

“No, you’re not. The cistern will take hours to warm up.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Lie.

“Go get help. The faster you get someone here, the better my chances. I’ll be fine.”

Lie.

“You’re at your limit,” I said. “You will freeze to death before I can get back.”

“No.”

Lie.

“Stop lying to me!”

He raised his hand and stroked my cheek with his fingers.

“Listen to me.”

“We have to get out of here!”

He focused on my face and for a moment the old Rogan with steel-hard eyes resurfaced and melted back into Connor. “That nightmare you had with the cave and the rat, it wasn’t yours. It was mine. I don’t know why or how, but you attuned yourself to me. You’re sensitive to my projections. You pick them up even when I don’t concentrate on sending them to you.”

I tried to pull him upright, but my arms were so weak.

“I project when I’m under stress. The moment I pass out, my mind will react and try to purge all this shit from my head so I can rest. I’ll project while unconscious and you’re exhausted. You have no defenses. If you’re still here, you won’t be yourself. You’ll be me. You won’t know where you are or what you’re doing. I need you to go now, Nevada.”

“No.”

He was looking at me like I was the only thing that had ever mattered. “If you don’t survive, none of this is worth it to me. I love you.”

“No.”

“Yes. This was never about both of us getting out. Leave. Now.”

“Don’t you pull this hero bullshit with me. Get up. You’re Mad Rogan. Get up.”

“God damn it,” he snarled. “Get the hell away from me.”

“Get up or I’m dying here with you. I’ll lie down right here on the floor.”

“Get out of here!” He tried to sit up. His eyes rolled back in his head. I grabbed him before he hit the floor. He was heavy. So heavy. He slumped over me, limp.

Tears wet my cheeks. “Connor, please. Please. I can’t carry you. Please wake up. I love you. Don’t leave me.”

His skin was cold. He stopped breathing. Oh God. Panic slapped me. I pushed him back and put my head on his chest and heard the beating of his heart, distant and weak, but steady. I pressed my cheek against his nose. A faint flutter of air escaping warmed my skin. Still alive. I straightened. He wasn’t waking up. Think. Think . . .