him. Next, he was a few feet away. Isai could see him easily, his dark eyes spitting hatred at him, that staff directing the lightning.
Isai directed his own electrical whips straight at Anatolie. The lightning forked in the air and wrapped around the columns Anatolie had sent at him. A shower of sparks rained down on all of them, hellhounds, Carpathian and mage alike.
Where are you?
Julija sounded scared. Forlorn. Terrified he had abandoned her. Isai turned toward her, deciding to get to her and fight from that position. Just as he chose to streak away, a loop caught his ankle and yanked him down. At once the hellhounds went into a frenzy as their quarry went from the air to the ground in seconds.
* * *
• • •
Desperately Julija fought to get the root off her hand and arm so she could shift. The ground moved under her. Rising. Falling. As if it was breathing. Her own breath caught in her throat. She could see the battle of lightning taking place a distance from her and knew something had prevented Isai from getting to her. Tears burned behind her eyes and her throat closed. She felt helpless. Without hope.
It is a snare. You know better, Julija. Take one step at a time. Close the wounds and rid yourself of the last of the book. I will join you as soon as I am able to do so.
There it was again—that complete calm. She had touched Isai’s mind on several occasions and never once had he closed it to her. She could see his every intention was to get to her. Anatolie had confronted him. He is a master of illusion, Isai.
She needed to hold up her end. Isai was battling so many things. Hellhounds were demonic. They had been programmed so they would obey Barnabas’s dictates, but his orders slowed them down and confused them. They were demons and wanted to feast on the flesh of the Carpathian, not be dictated to and forced to obey.
She took a deep breath and forced air through her closed lungs. Barnabas had more than once sent ahead such a spell, one to make her feel helpless, small and as if she couldn’t do anything but obey his every command.
That which is cloaked in shadow,
Bring clearness to my sight.
Taking on none of the illusion,
I surround myself with light.
Send back that which came along this path,
Tracking from whence it came.
Let the helplessness and shadow
No longer in my heart and mind remain.
Julija hurriedly began closing the numerous wounds on her body. She worked fast, but was meticulous, all the while trying various ways to rid herself of that last, stubborn root. As it fell away from her arm, she used several healing techniques to ensure not one bit of wood was left. She dripped blood on the scattered splinters so that they withered into black, crispy curls of ash there in the snow.
The scorpion and snake rushed back up her arm, clearly alarmed as she got shakily to her feet. She still felt faint and dizzy from lack of blood. When she tried to dissolve into mist, nothing happened. Nothing. She was left there, standing out in the open, once again caught by the foulest and most dangerous of all the mages she knew.
Barnabas stepped out of the blizzard of white. He looked—invincible. Cruelly handsome. He wore a suit, unlike Anatolie, who enjoyed wrapping himself in robes. He smiled at her, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
“Julija. You look worn. Exhausted. I don’t think your Carpathian lover is taking such good care of you. You need your master.” He sounded benevolent. “I have never been one to forgive grave sins such as yours, my pet, but I will admit I have missed our delicious games.”
Her entire body shuddered. Intellectually, she knew his voice was part of his spell. He enthralled the listener, hypnotized and mesmerized, much like a cobra. That’s how she thought of him now. A cobra, ready to strike when she exposed any weakness.
It is true that you are worn and exhausted, my love, Isai said softly, brushing love into the walls of her mind. You have lost far too much blood. Those things are very true, but you belong to no one but who you choose to give yourself freely to, Julija. You are strong. You destroyed the high mage’s book when no one else could do so. Every wound you’ve suffered, every scar you’ve gotten, is a badge of courage and shows