Howl of the unchosen
“Because you’re definitely sweating, I’m pretty sure.”
The flames spread, encircling us like a ring. The heat was fierce but contained, a barrier that held the rest at bay.
Mara’s image blurred, the illusion fluttering like a bad light. She pressed her palm to her chest, gasping to keep her false front intact.
“Stop this!” she screamed, her voice losing its razor. “You’re going to kill somebody!”
“Not someone,” I said coldly. “Just you.”
I flicked my wrist, and the flames leaped, pouring past her defenses. The illusion splintered like glass, giving way to Mara’s true self — a beautiful dark-haired sorceress with sharp eyes and a cruel smile.
Bab Populer