For a terrifying moment, she thought Ry was unconscious, or dead. His body was fully spread over hers, a shield protecting her from the worst of the blast. Before she could even sob in the breath to scream his name, he was up and dragging her to her feet. “Are you burned?” She shook her head, aware only of the throbbing, and the smoke that was beginning to sting her eyes, her throat. She could barely see his face through it, but she saw the blood. “Your face, your arm—you’re bleeding.” But he wasn’t listening. He had her hand vised in his, and was dragging her away from the flame. Even as they dashed down the hall, another window exploded. Fire roared out. It surrounded them, golden and greedy, unbelievably hot. She screamed once as she saw it race along the floor, eating its way toward them, spitting like a hundred hungry snakes. Panic gripped her, icy fingers clutching at her stomach, squeezing her throat, in taunting contrast to the heat pulsing around them. They were trapped, fire writhing on either side of them.
