Page 16 of As Above, So Below

As I near the base of the stairs, a tiny tug resonates in my chest and I freeze.

What?

The hunting instinct?

How?

I don’t have a list. I lack a name.

It pulls again, coaxing me to the left, and my head swings, hands flying to the center of my chest as I meet the shadowed stare of the male beside the pillar. The sensation continues to unfurl, coaxing me up the stairs in his direction.

Planting my feet firmly, I refuse to move.

This should not be happening.

Whatever this is, it isn’t as harsh as the hunting instinct. It doesn’t feel like a tightening yoke demanding to be followed. Instead, it feels like a gentle reminder, a familiar whisper. How is it possible for something to feel familiar when I’ve no idea what it is?

Lowering his arms, he pulls himself from the pillar, stepping in my direction. At the same time, the chanting stops, silence sweeping in, and I whirl. The crowd stands unnaturally still, hidden faces forward, arms returned to their sides.

A powerful, feminine voice cuts through the air and I whirl again. It’s the figure in silver robes at the top of the stairs. The language she speaks, it’s not one I know—neither commontongue nor Malbolge and—

Recoiling, I stumble back a few steps as my skin begins to sting and burn, and I hear Ylara cry out.

Yggdrasil.

The language of the heavens.

Hissing to offset her sound, I shrink under the power of her words. The song-like language of the nyraphim, of the goddess of life, carries an inherent magic designed to accost demons. Forcing my eyes open, Ylara climbs onto the altar, perching herself at her target’s feet, ready to claim his soul the instant his life ends.

It shouldn’t be much longer.

Gods, don’t let it be much longer.

I’ve no desire to test how much Yggdrasil I can withstand before I burst into hellfire.

Finally, the female stops, and the relief is immediate.

“May we bask in your presence, Celesta,” she says, her voice so low I would have missed it had I not been focused on her.

My innate bucks and churns, begging for release, for freedom, and the pull in my chest yanks my head to the left. The male is walking down the stairs, inmydirection.

“Ylara!” My shout rings across the courtyard and her head snaps toward me. “Something isn’t right!”

Too late.

In a swift motion, the silver-robed figure plunges the dagger into the chest of the man on the altar. White-hot pain sears through me, and my shadows lash out in all directions, thrashing wildly. Barbed tendrils wrap themselves around me, creating a protective shield, stealing the view of my surroundings.

“Ylara!” I scream, the pain forcing me to my knees as I clutch at my chest.

Fire.

My entire body is on fire, and I’m going to burn like dry tinder.

Eyes squeezed shut, my innate continues to roll, desperately fighting against this unknown magic threatening me. The protective cocoon grows higher, thicker, ready to claim the life of anyone who dares touch it.

Biting back another scream and teetering on the edge ofconsciousness, the pain subsides, replaced by a cooling wash. It calms my innate, dissipating my shadows, and I fall onto my side, trembling.

It’s done.