Free Sacrifices by Mercedes Lackey, Rosemary Edghill

disliked. Spirit swallowed hard, hating her own fear, wishing she were brave enough to offer herself in Dylan’s place. Nobody else had been as brave as Trinity. She’d stood up to Ovcharenko.
    Yeah, and she didn’t even make it as far as the next meal.
    “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” Burke walked up to the front of the room. He stopped directly in front of Ovcharenko. “You scared to?”
    Oh Burke, no! Spirit thought in horror. QUERCUS said we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves! But Burke didn’t know that. All he knew—all any of them knew—was that Spirit had told them not to draw attention to themselves. She’d been afraid to tell them about QUERCUS—she still remembered how hard it had been to get the others to take the danger they were all in seriously. Of course those days were past, but that just meant all of them were looking for someone to help them. If she told them about QUERCUS, they’d expect him to do something .
    And how could she tell Loch and Burke and Addie about QUERCUS and not tell Muirin?
    She wasn’t sure she dared tell Muirin a secret that big.
    Spirit whimpered softly as Ovcharenko smirked. He opened his mouth to say something—make one of his cheerful horrible jokes.
    He didn’t get the chance.
    Burke Hallows—big, shy, sweet, gentle Burke—waded into him like an enraged pit bull.
    The students scattered. Spirit heard screams. But she couldn’t move, and she couldn’t look away. Burke obviously meant to kill Ovcharenko—and Ovcharenko knew it. She could hear the fast hard slapping of flesh against flesh as attack and defense and counterattack moved too fast for her to see. Burke’s nose was already broken; blood streamed down his face and soaked his shirt. It sprayed the floor as he shook his head.
    Ovcharenko started forward. Burke spun and slammed an elbow into his face. The Russian spat blood and jumped backward. Burke sprang forward—and slipped on the blood-wet floor. The gym shook as he went down.
    Spirit didn’t realize she’d crammed her fist into her mouth until someone yanked it down.
    “Suck it up, Spooky,” Dylan hissed, squeezing her wrist hard enough to bring tears of pain to her eyes. “You want to show them he’s your weak spot?”
    She gave a tiny nod of understanding. Dylan stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. Spirit clenched her fists at her sides, digging her fingernails into her thighs.
    Burke was up again, and for the first time, Ovcharenko looked worried. He was a master martial artist, a trained killer, Bratva —a member of Russkaya Mafiya. But Burke was a Combat Mage, he was finally facing the man who’d had his foster family murdered, and for the first time in his life he was completely committed to winning. In five minutes he’d taken the worst Ovcharenko could throw at him—and he’d learned from it. Now he bared his teeth in a feral grin and moved in for the kill.
    Five seconds—ten—one of them had to tire soon. Ovcharenko’s last kick had broken several fingers on Burke’s right hand. Burke couldn’t use it now. But he pushed forward, using his greater size as a weapon.
    Ovcharenko grabbed his arm. Burke writhed and twisted, desperate to keep his elbow from being broken. Ovcharenko shouted in triumph as he flung Burke to the floor.
    But Burke had grabbed Ovcharenko as he fell backward. The two bodies hit the floor with one impact, then Burke rolled up on one knee and—so fast it all seemed to be one move—whipped Ovcharenko over his head as if he were a rag doll and flung him the length of the gym.
    Ovcharenko hit the wall with a crash and slid down it, limp and boneless.
    No one made a sound. Not even Ovcharenko.
    “Is he dead?” Zoey whispered into the silence.
    “No! Only sleeping!” an unfamiliar voice boomed cheerfully, and everyone jumped.
    The speaker strode into the gym—he must have been watching the fight from the other side of the doors. “But I can see that little Anastus is