Savage Prophet: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode 4) by James A. Hunter Read Free Book Online Page B

I tend to take the scorched-earth approach, so slinging around primal power in close quarters—especially where bystanders are a concern—isn’t exactly my strong suit.
    Despite my building hatred for the Guild, I didn’t want to see the lady hurt. And, believe you me, dropping a fireball on her ass—even if she wasn’t the target—would hurt like a proctology exam conducted with a golf club. Sure, I didn’t like her and yes, she was basically the antithesis to everything I am in the world, but even my brief time with her convinced me she was a legitimately good person. A good person who was also delusional and monumentally naïve, but a good person all the same.
    Certainly one who deserved to live.
    I scrambled to my feet as the shadow-warg flew through the air, throwing out my good hand—
    The hound slammed into a blue sphere that was suddenly encompassing Drukiski: an energy shield that’d prevent bullets, knives, or claws from getting anywhere near the witless Judge.
    The Gwyllgi fell back with a confused yelp of rage before promptly throwing its weight against the shield once more; a crackle of power from the impact shook a tacky picture from one of the walls in the guest room proper. Drukiski shrieked, hands flying to her mouth as the creature collided with the glimmering dome over and over again—the only thing standing between her and certain, gruesome death.
    With a growl and gritted teeth, I labored to raise my left hand, hoping to roast the shadow-warg while Drukiski was covered and protected by my shield. Try as I might, though, I couldn’t get my damn arm to work. Useless son of a bitch just hung there limp and worthless like wings on an ostrich.
    Then, before I could think of another plan, the hound did something I hadn’t prepared for.
    It flickered and faded, its skin taking on a translucent sheen as the beast dissolved into a walking shadow—a literal shade of its former self.
    It carefully extended its muzzle toward the protective barrier, which pulsed and flared, brilliant sparks of raw power flying away in a spray. Resistance built as the warg pushed inward; the blazing blue sphere began to vibrate, to shiver, from the mounting pressure. Then, in a blink, the warg’s short, snarling snout slipped through, unobstructed.
    The shadow-hound continued to press its weight inward, and though the shield was clearly slowing its movements, it wasn’t stopping them. Not completely. Inch by inevitable inch, it broke through. Drukiski let out a renewed round of frantic shrieks, creeping back, only to find her flannel-clad shoulder blades pressed up against the blue shield meant to keep the warg out. She was stuck, but I didn’t dare dismiss the shield, since it was the only thing keeping her breathing.
    Drukiski didn’t have long before the hound bypassed the shield completely, though, so I needed to do something. The fiery torment in my arm, however, made it a real bitch to think. To plan.
    “Drukiski, you’re gonna have to defend yourself,” I finally shouted. “I’m gonna drop the shield so you can get away, but you’re gonna be vulnerable for a second, you trackin’?”
    “No, no, no, no, no, gosh no,” she stammered, arms folded tight across her body, eyes huge and wild and terrified.
    “It’ll only be a second. You can do this, just focus.”
    Finally, she offered a curt, fearful nod of her head.
    “Good,” I said, trying to sound calm and cool and collected, like this kinda thing was no big deal. Not true, of course, but as a leader in a firefight you need to convince your fresh-faced subordinates that everything is well in hand.
    I gathered up columns of bedrock strength and earthen power, binding it with thick braids of will, then drawing molten flame from deep within the earth, pulling it toward the surface. “Hands up,” I called as I prepared my working, “tuck your chin—keep that thing from getting at your throat—and throw something powerful at it. Flame lance,