Page 27 of Bound By the Beast Man

CORVAK

T he fight is a maelstrom of claws and dark magic.

I am locked in a brutal dance with three of the witches, their combined power a battering ram against my defenses.

A bolt of cold energy slams into my shoulder, sending a shock of numbing pain down my arm, and I grunt, forcing myself to push through it.

I am wounded, outnumbered, and beginning to tire.

But for every blow I take, I give one back, my claws tearing through their shimmering magical shields and finding the soft flesh beneath.

My leonine roar is a constant challenge to their arrogant power, a promise of the violence I will inflict upon them for touching what is mine.

Through the chaos, I see her. The silver-haired leader, the one who called Diana a specimen. She is circling the fight, her eyes glowing with triumph, a spear of crackling black energy forming in her outstretched hand.

She is behind me, her spell aimed directly at my back. I am trapped, unable to turn and face her without exposing myself to the three witches in front of me. A cold knot of despair tightens in my gut. I have failed. I brought her out of one prison only to lead her to her death alongside me.

Then, the world erupts in a flash of brilliant, white-gold light.

It is not the cold, corrupt magic of the Purna, but something warm, pure, and overwhelmingly powerful.

The blast slams into the silver-haired witch, throwing her backward with a shriek of shocked pain, her half-formed spell dissolving into harmless sparks.

The sheer force of the light momentarily stuns the other Purna, their attacks faltering.

I whip my head around and see Diana. She is on her feet, her hand outstretched, her green-gold eyes blazing with a golden fire I have never seen.

Awe, terror, and a fierce, soaring pride crash through me.

This is her power. And she is wielding it to save me.

The golden light fades, but its effect lingers.

The Purna’s concentration is shattered. The nightmarish illusions they had woven around the hollow flicker and die, the twisted trees and writhing shadows dissolving to reveal the simple, snow-covered clearing once more.

The sudden return to reality seems to disorient the witches, their perfect coordination broken.

This is the opening I need.

This is the opening she has given me. With a fresh roar, I seize the moment, surging forward with a renewed strength fueled by a potent mixture of rage and hope.

The three witches before me are no longer a cohesive unit. They are panicked, their attacks now wild and disorganized.

I am a whirlwind of fury. My claws find their mark again and again.

One witch falls, a deep gash across her chest. Another stumbles back, her arm hanging at a broken angle.

I am a beast of Osiris, a creature of honor, but in this moment, defending my mate, there is no honor, only a brutal, bloody calculus of survival.

I am a living wall, a barrier of claws and fury between them and her.

I risk a glance over my shoulder. Diana is not idle. She is chanting now, her voice low but clear, her hands weaving intricate, glowing patterns in the air.

The small, controlled light she practiced before is nothing compared to this.

She is gathering immense power, the air around her crackling, the snow at her feet beginning to melt from the sheer energy she is summoning. I do not know what she is planning, but I understand my role with absolute clarity.

I must hold the line. I must buy her the time she needs, no matter the cost.

The remaining Purna realize the true threat is not me, but the small, determined woman behind me. Their focus shifts. Their attacks become more desperate, no longer aimed at killing me but at getting past me.

Two of them charge at once, their hands blazing with dark energy. I meet them head-on, my body absorbing the punishing blows of their magic.

A deep gash is torn along my ribs, and the pain is a sharp, white-hot fire, but I do not give ground. I will die here before I let them pass.

My mistrust of her Purna heritage, the deep-seated prejudice that has been a quiet poison between us, is burned away in the heat of this battle. I see her now not as a witch, not as one of them , but as a warrior.

She is my partner in this fight, as fierce and determined as any manticore I have ever fought beside. I am putting my life, our future, entirely in her hands—in the very power that I once feared. It is a moment of absolute, unconditional trust.

I look back at her one last time. She is the center of a vortex of glowing energy, her hair whipping around her, her eyes closed in deep concentration.

She is magnificent. I turn back to face the advancing Purna, a bloody, defiant grin spreading across my face. I do not know what spell she is weaving. I hope it will be enough.

But as I brace myself for the next assault, I feel no fear. I have complete faith in her. I will hold this line for as long as it takes.