She redirected her energy, sending light spearing from her body. The brightness dispelled the suffocating shadows, but in the moments it took for her to shed Weyvèl’s darkness, he’d vanished.
“Behind you,” screamed Fletcher.
The frigid touch of necromagic lashed Khyvette’s haunches. At the same time, coldness clenched invisible talons around her twelve-chambered heart. It was a ghostly echo of Fletcher’s feelings. It had never factored into Khyvette’s equations before, but for the first time she understood its poison and potency.
Fear.
From a tactical standpoint, she would have ignored the necromagic and wielded offensively, shattering her enemy’s defenses while he was focused on attacking. But she was no longer fighting for herself—she had to protect the tiny mortal on her back. For s
