Cold Burn of Magic(58)

The man lashed out with his fist, but I anticipated the motion and caught his hand in mine. We stood there, seesawing back and forth. Confusion filled his face as he wondered why I was suddenly so much stronger than he was, but I didn’t plan on giving him a chance to puzzle it out. I brought my sword up between us, but he was still faster, and he finally did what I’d feared he would all along—he knocked my weapon out of my sweaty grasp.

I started to lunge for the sword, but the man slammed his hand into my chest, shoving me against a bookshelf. My head snapped back against the metal rack, and this time, not even the cold burn of magic in my veins was enough for me to shake off the white stars winking on and off in my field of vision. My legs went out from under me, and my ass hit the floor. The man stepped in front of me and raised his sword high, ready to bring it down across my chest. And all I could do was sit there in a daze and watch my own death happen— “Stop!” a sharp voice rang out.

At the sound, a chill blasted through the entire library, one that tickled my skin in a familiar way. Was that . . . magic?

The man attacking me immediately froze, his sword held overhead, the muscles in his neck and arms tensing, straining, and swelling, as though he were fighting against whatever strange, invisible force was holding him in place.

Suddenly, Devon was there, crouching down on the floor next to me. His hand wrapped around mine, and he shielded me with his body, although he never took his eyes off the other man.

“Turn around,” Devon said in that same sharp tone.

More magic surged through the library in chilly waves, and Devon’s hand went as cold as ice against mine. The man did as Devon commanded, although he still struggled against whatever strange power was compelling him. No, not a strange power.

Devon—Devon was doing this.

Somehow, with just his voice, he was forcing my attacker to obey him. The man who had been about to kill me was now doing whatever Devon said, like a puppet dancing to someone else’s tune.

Eyes wide, I looked at Devon. The corner of his mouth turned up into a grim smile, but he kept his green gaze on the other man.

“Protect us,” he commanded, a strange, hard, terrible crack of magic in his voice.

Devon’s hand went colder still against mine, as though I were squeezing an ice cube between my fingers instead of flesh and blood.

The puppet man let out an angry roar, but he did as Devon had said. He whipped around, raised his sword high again, and charged into the two men that were left—his own men.

The first guy blocked the puppet man’s blow, and he stared at his friend in shock, as if the puppet man had suddenly gone mad. Maybe he had, because the puppet man kept attacking his friend, swinging his sword at him over and over again.

And then, the unthinkable happened. The puppet man, the one Devon was controlling, buried his sword in his friend’s heart, killing him. Then he turned and did the same thing to the second man.

Still, as shocking as all of that was, I scanned the library for the last man standing, so to speak, the mystery man who’d been leading our attackers. Where was he— Devon let out a surprised hiss. One moment, he was crouched next to me, holding my hand in his magic-chilled one. The next, he’d been hauled upright by the mystery man, who had one hand clamped over Devon’s mouth and a dagger pressed up against his throat. Devon started to struggle, but the mystery man dug the blade into Devon’s neck, cutting him.

“You move, you speak, you die!” the mystery man snarled.

Devon’s eyes met mine, and his fear socked me in the stomach. But once again, it wasn’t fear for himself, so much as it was for me and Felix. Somehow, I knew that Devon couldn’t use his Talent, his magic—not unless he could talk.

The mystery man seemed to know it as well, since he kept his hand over Devon’s mouth even as he started dragging him toward the library doors.

“Kill her, you idiot!” he hissed at the puppet man.

My attacker blinked and blinked, then shook his head, as though he were flinging off the last of Devon’s magic. Then he turned toward me again.

I gritted my teeth, grabbed my sword, and scrambled up and onto my feet. I raised my weapon, ready to fight as best I could, hoping that I could kill my attacker and chase after Devon and the mystery man— Suddenly, Felix was there, stabbing his sword into my attacker’s side and yanking it back out. The man toppled to the ground—dead.

Felix and I both turned toward the mystery man, who still had his dagger up against Devon’s throat.

The mystery man let out a disgusted snarl, but he tightened his grip on Devon and kept backing him toward the library doors. Felix and I followed them, our own weapons raised and ready.

“Let him go,” I said. “And we’ll let you live.”

The mystery man let out a brittle laugh, but that was his only response— Devon drove his left elbow into the mystery man’s stomach, making him gasp with pain. At the same time, Devon shoved his right arm up between his neck and the dagger, so that the weapon only sliced into his wrist, instead of his throat. Devon hissed with pain, blood gushing down his arm, but he broke free of the other man, whirled around, and opened his mouth— The mystery man stepped up and shoved him as hard as he could, sending Devon flying backward into a bookcase. The mystery man let out another angry snarl, then turned and sprinted out the front doors.

Felix hurried over to Devon, while I limped along as best as I could. Felix helped Devon to his feet, then both guys looked at me.