Chapter 487
Fin clocked Dex’s reaction, and let out a breath, forcing his voice calm.
“If I let her go, she runs,” he said.
Dex’s jaw worked once. “Don’t put her down.”
Gavriel looked at Dex. Looked at Fin. Looked at Serena, whose pink eyes were blazing and whose body was vibrating with ancestral energy that was clearly not interested in waiting for two Alpha Kings to sort out their feelings.
Gavriel clapped once. Both Alphas looked at him.
“So we all just jumped off a volcano. Where are the mages?”
Both Alphas shook their heads at the same time. The clap annoyed them and worked in equal measure and Gavriel Sterling was well aware of both facts.
“SERENA!” Hyran’s voice sounded from above. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU! I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS!”
All three of their heads snapped up. Possessed Serena did not appear to give a flying fuck and was still trying to get out of Fin’s arms.
Pink parachutes drifted down through the canopy behind them.
Hyran landed first, stumbling once as his own parachute evaporated. Leaves were sticking out of his hair. Jungle debris clung to his armor.
He stood in the underbrush for two full seconds, then dragged a hand down his face with the slow, comprehensive exhaustion of a man recalculating his entire career trajectory.
“Teaching that girl magic. Was the single greatest mistake of my professional life.” He gave Dex a pointed, very offended look. “Control your woman.”
Gavriel snorted.
“I said this once, and I’ll say it again,” Hyran snapped, brushing leaves and ash from his sleeves with sharp, irritated motions. “Most prodigies test boundaries. Push limits. She shoves them down the stairs. I’ve seen tyrants with better impulse control. Every time I say this, she is possessed. Someone repeat that to her.”
Possessed Serena stopped struggling and looked at Hyran, blinking a few times, genuinely confused.
“Don’t look innocent over there,” he shot back, arms crossed. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You probably thought of that days ago and couldn’t wait to try it. That is how you work. Possessed you and regular you.”
Dex turned away from Hyran and coughed. The cough did absolutely nothing to disguise the laugh it was containing.
“It’s not funny. That,” he snapped, jabbing a finger in her direction, “was her curiosity having an orgasm. Fabricate parachutes on three mages. Sure. Why not, Serena.”
Fin’s mouth twitched once. Gavriel didn’t even bother hiding the grin.
Maelor landed next. On his ass. In the underbrush. His robes were covered in condensation from the steam, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and his professional appearance had been compromised beyond repair approximately ninety seconds into the descent.
He sat in the dirt for three seconds.
“I published four papers this year,” he said to the foliage. “Four. I am the youngest Master Mage in Nightspire history. I invented a diagnostic resonance technique that will be taught in academies for the next century. And I am sitting in dirt.”
Aeron’s boots touched the ground last. His parachute gave one final offended judder before winking out. He landed on his feet, barely, his balance catching at the last second, his composure intact by the thinnest margin.
He looked at the canopy. Looked at the jungle. Looked at the path of trampled foliage that three wolves and a Gamma had carved through the underbrush at Alpha speed.
“By the gods,” he said. “She is brilliant.”
Hyran’s head snapped toward him. “She’s WHAT?”
“The parachute constructs to force you and Maelor to come down, that is. Not the parachutes themselves. I’ve seen her do that shit already,” Aeron replied.
“I know what she did, Aeron,” Hyran snapped. “I taught her the foundation. I did not teach her to weaponize it while falling off a cliff. That part was freelance and the freelance is going to kill me.”
Hyran had barely finished the sentence when Serena finally managed to break out of Fin’s arms.
“Shit, Serena! Wait!”
She had already broke into a sprint, the others thundering after her. Roots twisted across the ground, vines swung low, and the whole place smelled like damp leaves and trouble, but she didn’t slow for a single heartbeat.
“I am RUNNING,” Hyran announced to nobody who asked. “Through a JUNGLE. On a VOLCANO. After a POSSESSED WOMAN. At my AGE.”
“I haven’t seen any runes yet,” Aeron said, ducking a vine. “Have you?”
“No,” Hyran replied.
Maelor tripped on a root, caught himself, and kept running. “My robes are ruined. These are Nightspire silk. Do you know what Nightspire silk costs?”
“Nobody cares about your robes, Maelor. You have a thermal weave suit under it anyways,” Hyran snapped, vaulting a fallen log with significantly less grace than the word ’vaulting’ implied.
“I care about my robes. My robes are the only professional dignity I have left, and the jungle is eating them.”
Aeron cleared the same log without breaking stride. “Less talking. More running. She’s pulling ahead. The wolves are all faster than us.”
“I am a MAGE, not a SPRINTER,” Hyran shouted between breaths.
“Evidently,” Aeron commented.
“I heard that.”
“You were meant to.”
A branch whipped across Maelor’s face. He let out a sound that was half yelp and half Nightspire profanity. “A BRANCH. The jungle just SLAPPED me. The JUNGLE is HOSTILE.”
“The jungle is a jungle, Maelor. It doesn’t have opinions about you.” Hyran stumbled over a vine, caught Aeron’s shoulder, nearly took them both down. “If she stops running, I am going to sit down wherever I am. I don’t care if it’s mud. I don’t care if it’s a swamp. I am sitting and the sitting will be PROLONGED.”
“She’s not stopping,” Aeron observed.
“I KNOW she’s not stopping. She NEVER stops. That is the PROBLEM. The problem has LEGS and the legs are FAST and the fast is RUINING MY LIFE.”
She skidded to a halt at the edge of a suspiciously smooth patch of earth. Her arm snapped out. Pink magic flared from her palm and a bridge snapped into place, spanning the clearing in a single construct. In the same instant, the ground where she’d been standing gave way, the smooth path dissolving into a churning pit of volcanic quicksand.