Phoenix Reborn (Woodland Creek)(35)

He was right, of course. Twice she’d lost control and her fire had gotten the better of her. But she was older now, and wiser.

“I have learned to control it,” she said.

“Have you? And what if I told you that I will hurt that movie star boy toy of yours? What if I told you that I’ll destroy him? I’ll tell everyone what he is. Would you hurt me then?”

“If you do that, you reveal what you are as well,” she said. But the Vulture shifter was pushing her — causing her to grow irritated with the threat against Hawke. The young man’s welfare was her Achilles heel; there was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect him.

“Do I look like a man with something to lose?” the man said. With that, he stepped towards her, his motions jerky and unpredictable. He moved like someone who was off kilter, clumsy.

“Everyone has something to lose. Everyone has life in them.”

“I thrive on death. My only joy in life comes with the end of others’ lives. I have no interest in your notions of life’s pleasures. But I would enjoy ruining that pretty boy of yours.”

Ashling felt the fire well up within her, even as a bird of prey cried out overhead, warning her against herself.

“You will do no such thing,” she said. She had ceased to care about her own life, her own happiness. No one would ruin what Hawke was. And certainly not this worthless waste of skin. In both hands now were spheres of flame, this time larger than last. She held them steady as they rotated above her palms.

“So you prove me right,” said the infuriating shifter before her. “You would kill me out of rage. You are a danger to our kind.”

“I would kill you to defend someone I care about — someone I love,” she said. “In a second, just as anyone would do. So don’t force me.”

But Ranach had been right; he wasn’t a reasonable man. In a flash he’d shifted into his ugly Vulture form, its wrinkled red face perched atop a neck which bent twice in a twisted S-curve, giving the impression of two separate humps.

Ashling held the fire steady, waiting to see what he might do: did he intend to fly, to attempt escape?

His wings spread slowly, stretching wide to cast a dark shadow on the ground before him. And then her question was answered. No, not escape. He intended to hurt her. The Vulture lunged at her, opening his beak wide as he began to spew acidic bile in her direction.

Ashling leapt to the side, avoiding the stream even as it hit the leaves that had lain under her feet a moment earlier. The acid ate at them, disintegrating them immediately, as it would have done to her flesh.

She flung a fireball which hit the ground before him, causing a small tower of flame to shoot up. Then another, also narrowly missing as he wrenched his body from side to side in deft, albeit awkward, avoidance.

He could no longer speak, of course, but still, she felt him challenge her, deriving his own internal satisfaction from the idea that he was controlling her; that he held the power.

No. She wouldn’t allow it. This maniac didn’t hold dominion over her.

He had no interest in Hawke. She knew that now. He was only using the Golden Eagle shifter as another weapon against Ashling. It was her that he wanted dead — and after that, he would leave. Hawke and Woodland Creek could exist in peace, as long as the Vulture got his wish.

And so, surrendering, she put her hands to her sides.

“I won’t do it,” she said. “If you want to burn me with your disgusting acid, go ahead,” she said. “I will not kill you to prove you right. I will not become what you predict. I’m not a murderer. And I control my own actions.”

She was frightened of death. But inside her, pure joy. At last, she knew that she had nothing else to fear. She was the commander of her body, of her own destiny. And never again would she fear the world or its inhabitants. Never again would she fear herself.

Seeing that she’d rendered herself vulnerable, the vulture threw open his wings, preparing for another attack.

But he didn’t see the Eagle as it shot from the sky, a missile on a rapid path to collide with the Vulture from above. As it hit, the Vulture smashed to the ground with a brutal force. He twisted his head, trying to spew his weapon at Hawke, but the Eagle had his talons around the other bird’s long throat, twisting it, squeezing the life out of him.

“Hawke,” cried Ashling. “Don’t. Please don’t kill him.”

He wanted to, though. With everything in him, the Golden Eagle shifter wanted to tear the creature’s head off, to leave him to rot in the woods. This…thing…had threatened the woman he’d grown to adore. The most innocent, kindest woman he’d ever known. This was a creature of pure evil, of cruelty and malice. He had no place in this world.

He twisted again, feeling the Vulture’s bones begin to give way under his grasp.

“Stop,” said a commanding voice from within the woods.

Ranach stepped out, approaching the two birds, who were still bound in battle. He extended his right hand towards them, unafraid. Mumbling words that Ashling didn’t understand as he pressed his fingertips towards the Vulture’s face.

A moment later, Hawke released the creature as though he himself were under Ranach’s spell, allowing the other shifter to shake its ugly head before flying off, unsteady and awkward, seemingly oblivious to his injuries.

“What happened?” asked Ashling, stepping towards Hawke. “Why is he leaving?”