Page 327 of Scarlet Wars
Flanked by loyalists and a few other Chiefs, he moved instantly, every muscle coiled and ready.
Without exchanging a word, the six of us—Caden, Cara, James, Rachel, Sean, and I—closed in around the High Chief, our formation tight.
The latter didn’t speak. He didn’t gloat or threaten.
All eyes were on him, all defenses angled inward, waiting for the moment he’d inevitably lunge for the biggest threat in the circle.
For the one who had broken his bubble.
For the one he’d been trying to cage from the start.
For me.
And then he did.
He lunged.
But…the asshole went straight for Sean.
For half a heartbeat, none of us reacted, because none of us were positioned for it. There was no warning flare of light, no buildup of power. One second he was still, the next he was a blur of motion, translation sweeping in a deadly arc aimed straight for Sean’s heart.
Sean didn’t even have time to flinch.
“Sean—!” I cried, panic ripping through my chest as I realized I was too far away, too slow to stop it.
And for a horrible heartbeat, I was convinced I was going to lose my brother.
Until Jackson appeared out of nowhere.
He hurled himself between them, body colliding with the High Chief’s strike.
The sound of impact cracked through the air like lightning splitting stone, and Jackson staggered, blood blooming across his shirt in dark, violent red.
“Jackson!” I screamed, rushing forward, but the ground trembled beneath my feet.
The High Chief didn’t stop. He turned, and drove Jackson back with a flurry of precise, merciless blows. Caden moved to intercept, his energy blazing as he threw up a barrier that cracked under the next hit.
Sean caught Jackson before he could hit the ground, dragging him back while shouting for a Healer.
I was already moving.
“Here!” I dropped to my knees beside them, my fingers trembling as they hovered over Jackson’s chest. Blood seeped through his ribs in rhythmic pulses—fast, too fast—while his eyes were already fluttering. No time to hesitate. No time to think.
I pressed both hands to the gash in his chest, forcing my golden energy into him like a surge of lightning. All I could see was the blood, every pulse spilling out faster than I could seal it. I focused on the torn skin, the ruptured vessels, the jagged mess of muscle, trying to stitch it all back together.
The High Chief’s magic fought me—stubborn, wild—like it was slipping past the edges of what I understood. But I kept pushing as I tried to remember I was more powerful. My veins burned as I poured everything I had into closing the wound, stopping the bleeding. His skin rippled beneath my palms, the edges knitting together.
“Jackson,” I whispered. “You are going to be fine, I promise.”
His breath caught—shallow, weak—but still there. Still fighting.
A blast rang out behind me, and the earth lurched. James shouted something I couldn’t make out, followed by the harsh crack of clashing energy. I looked up in time to see the High Chief strike, and James barely dodge, his coat scorched at the shoulder.
I forced another surge of magic into Jackson’s chest.
His breathing steadied—barely—but it was enough.
“Go,” Sean said, gripping my arm. “I’ve got him. Go!”
