Wyatt

The Battlefield

Even as he crested the hill between the trees and looked out over the endless lake, he could hardly believe he was there. This was a place he’d seen in his dreams, whenever he allowed himself to sleep. It had haunted him as a man, but when MacPherson took his body, he’d also taken the desire to sleep. It allowed Wyatt an odd measure of peace.

The setting sun cast a long shadow, yet turned the lake into molten gold. The last time he’d come here, it hadn’t looked like this. It hadn’t matched his dream so completely. Next to him, Jessica reined in her horse and studied the landscape.

“We have company.” The comment pulled his attention from the lake of fire to the group moving out of the shadows. If the shadow had come to life and formed the people bubbling out of it, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Jessica,” he told her as he raised his hand and shielded them. The first volley of gunfire didn’t even reach their position, but they had to draw them out. The pristine landscape wouldn’t be so beautiful for long.

She freed her gun. “Last words, now?”

Another column began to spill out from the trees to the west. There could be hundreds waiting for them. Were they all Fevered? Or were some merely hired guns? If he knew MacPherson, it would be all of the above.

“We have to make it to the hour of dawn.” Hardly comforting, particularly when the nights were still longer than the days.

“And you’re telling me this now?” Irritation flared in the words. “Do you want East or West?” The thud of boots seemed to echo through the narrow sleeve of rocks along the shore. MacPherson’s compound was nearby—hell, they could be standing atop it. If he engaged in magic, he might be cloaking it.

Why hadn’t he considered that sooner? “I wasn’t sure this would be the moment until we arrived.” The first gunpowder fueled bullet struck his shield. They were running out of time. “We must only hold them off, or pick them off. At dawn, everything changes.”

To his surprise, Jessica dismounted, then pulled three things from her saddlebags, before she turned the horse and whispered something to him. A slap against his haunches sent the gelding galloping away.

“Then you take east, I’ll take west. We’ll keep this area as secure as we can.” She was already looking at the column approaching. More bullets struck the shield he maintained. Not for the first time, he hesitated to just abandon her to the fight.

“Stay alive, Jessica.”

“I’m damn to hard kill, if you haven’t noticed. There are more Fevered to the west. Which means more for me to feed on. You’ll have to deal with the projectile lovers over there. And, Wyatt?”

“Yes?” Glancing at her, he drank in the sight of her straightening her hat and checking her weapons. She had two handguns, her rifle, and a pair of blades. Inside her duster was also her shotgun. Those were only the weapons he could see.

“They have a cannon.”

“What?”

Ripping his attention away from the dark beauty marching away from him, he braced himself for the explosion, which lit the shield before him with real fire. No sooner did the first cannon strike fade than another volley of bullets struck. The men moved like zombies, dropping to fire, then falling back to reload as the next row came up.

Beneath him, Goliath threw his head up and whinnied, then struck the earth with his hoof. Sparks exploded. The sound of roars and screams told him Jessica had engaged.

Stealing himself against the fear, he threw his faith into the path unfolding before him. At dawn, MacPherson would come. He would have no choice. The war about to rage would be failing him. His siblings would arrive with the light, and they would be fresh and fully powered. Whatever lived when he and Jessica were done would fall soon.

All he had to do was survive.

“Are you ready, old friend?” He didn’t have to ask the question. As he waited, not striking, the men below rushed forward and their cannon was reloaded. The second volley damn near blinded him with the force. He supposed he could stand here all night, driving them mad until they came at him.

That wouldn’t be much fun.

Odd how the thrill to war flooded him. No longer bound by oath or promise, he could let his powers loose. He could rain hell upon those that had gathered for this fight. Yet, at the same time, he quashed the irreverent joy. It was too intoxicating. These people might very well be victims, under his sway. There would be no pleasure in their eradication, only necessity.

Goliath’s ears swiveled to him, but Wyatt didn’t give the command. Not yet. His oldest friend would always be with him, ready to face the trial by fire. They had survived so much together. They had even survived death.

More screams came from the west. Screams of the dying and the defeated. His Jessica, the dark warrior of witchcraft and light, his counterbalance, waged her own war.

“You must become the rock,” he whispered Morning Star’s prayer. “The rock the river cannot wash away. Raise your voice, sing the songs of your ancestors, know their lyrics run in your blood, and exult with them as you dance.” It was like slipping into another skin.

“Thank you, my father, for teaching me the ways of the beautiful. Thank you to my mother, for showing me the ways of creation. For the eyes who only saw beauty, and for the ears that listened always for the song. Thank you to my people, for keeping my heart alive, so that I might understand that from creation comes destruction, and from destruction, rebirth. Thank you to my friend, who taught me the words to teach the ways to another generation—for hands to touch what the creators have wrought upon the world.” With every syllable falling from his lips, the bullets slamming into the shield slowed.

“Thank you to Jessica, for lighting the way, for guiding me back to who I have always been.” Then he raised his head, and stared down into the eyes of those who would kill him. “I am Wyatt Morning Star, son of Golden Hair, and this is your only chance to flee. I have come for the creature Adam MacPherson. Flee and save your lives. Stay, and I will add you to my prayers.”

The last rays of the sun faded and the night turned purple.

The army before him did not fall away.

“Thank you to the enemy, whose blood will salt the earth and pave the way for the next rebirth.” With a thrust of power, he struck outward and sent the men flying. The cannon overturned, and a scream told him some poor soul was trapped beneath it.

Within Wyatt burned two beings, the man and the shaman. The shaman had given them their chance.

The man would give no quarter.

Goliath screamed his own battle challenge, and they dove into the thick of it.

---

Quinn

Hell Night

---

The crowd she waded into was nowhere near as thick as the force going against Wyatt, but there were Fevered everywhere. Most had combat abilities. The gloves had come off, and the maw opened within her when the first blast of energy struck her. She absorbed the kinetic power and struck the closest person to her with the butt of her gun. Porting to the other side, she listened to their shouts of disbelief then shot the one calling out the orders in the head.

The man went down, and the wails increased in volume. Guilt nibbled at her as she ported again. Crisscrossing the crowd kept them off center. A man seized her when she appeared, and his arms were like iron bands. The maw feasted, silencing the spirit within him, and she lashed out with the energy she’d taken from the first Fevered. The man’s aggrieved scream shredded her.

Inflicting pain was never something she enjoyed. Alternating between running and porting, she went north of the crowd and went for another on the edge. Then the shifters came, and her heart squeezed. A dozen cats loped out of the woods, and she wanted to weep. Each one was a person, they all had her death in their eyes.

She had both guns in her hands and she fired. The explosion of sound included one cat dropping for every bullet she fired. In truth, she didn’t want to kill them. If they were being controlled, maybe she could track that Fevered. Porting, she left the cats scrambling and gripped the tree she’d landed in. It nearly cost her a gun, but she caught it.

Staring down at the surging crowd, she let her eyes adjust to the gloom.

Wyatt wanted them to survive the night, and she had no idea how long she’d already been in it. Surviving might mean ending all of these Fevered. Some were human, and when a bullet grazed her cheek, she ported again. This time, she targeted an area behind them again, then ran from the crowd into the woods they’d had to traverse to reach them in the first place.

Act.

A man loomed out of the darkness. Flames burst out of his fists. The maw surged, and she extinguished his fire then whipped him across the face with her pistol. Shock rippled through his expression as he collapsed.

Looking past him, she peered at the structure in the distance. Behind her, a shout rose. They’d figured out where she’d gone and switched to pursuit. As long as they kept coming after her, she pulled them away from Wyatt.

Satisfied, she waited ‘til the first rounded the bend, then ported to the structure. Magic swelled around it, and she bounced off the external wall. Blood poured from her left nostril, but she smiled.

“Hello, witches.” Holstering her weapon, she pulled out a small satchel from her jacket pocket. Igniting it with some of the flaming fists power she’d taken, she threw it at the wall.

The whole building caught—or, more appropriately, the shield did. Fire screwed with magic, particularly shielding magic. It also illuminated her location, which brought her crowd hunting for her. The first cat to reach her yowled and then froze.

Shaking its head slowly, it looked from her to the flaming building then away. Come on, she sent up the silent prayer. Muddle the control magic.

Then the cat shrieked and raced away from her, the flaming building, and the crowd. More screams came from the crowd, confusion tearing apart their ranks. Some of the Fevered turned on one another and flames leapt out onto the trees. Blood spattered the snow.

Lightning split through the dark and struck the earth at her feet. The blow sent her backwards. She had just enough time to blind port before she struck the fiery wall. Inside, she crashed into a dark-haired woman, bowling her over before she slid to a stop in a puddle of blood.

Sickeningly sweet scents of burning herbs muddied the air, underscored by the metallic blood.

“Witch killer,” another woman shouted and pointed a finger at her. The spell leapt, and she braced against it as it lashed around her wrist. A second spell came from the opposite side.

Binding magic. Twisting, she ported behind the first witch and pulled out a blade. Grasping her by her hair, she put the bone-handled cold iron to her throat. “Enough,” she ordered them. “You are violating the covenant of the earth.” Blood magic was only to be used in the most extreme circumstances, and never for harm. These witches smelled like they’d bathed in it.

“Witch killer,” a third woman said, even as a fourth woman joined her in the chant.

As they pushed closer, Quinn had to fight the nausea churning in her gut.

They had no eyes.

“Witch killer.”

One woman raised her hand, and the blood poured from a gash in her wrist. They were all doing it—the blood was theirs.

“Witch killer.”

The binding spells lashed out, and she threw the witch she held into the spell, letting her absorb it. The sight was horrible. Light ballooned, damn near blinding her, and the woman screamed as the binding spell cut through her. Slamming her foot out, Quinn kicked over the altar they’d created. They had circled the room with a spell of power. All she had to do was destroy a handful of the objects they’d tied their power to, and she could port out again.

Magic grappled for her, and she emptied her gun in their direction. Killing violated the oath to do no harm—an oath she’d never been allowed to make. They, on the other hand, seemed to be violating it without conscience. The lack of eyes though—the condition of the room.

Just what the hell had MacPherson done to them?

An urn smashed, and the ashes inside it struck the blood. A noxious black cloud rose from the combination, and the ropes of magic around the room fell away. Not waiting, she ported outside and staggered into the fresh air. The shield around the building collapsed and dropped the fire onto the wood. Black smoke billowed from the windows, and the screams inside tripled.

The spicy, almost cloying, aroma reached her.

Oh, hell… She barely had time to duck when the building itself blew up. Wood flew out in all directions. Fire raced out and over her. It licked at her duster and her boots. Her hat went up in flames, and she barely got it off and managed to roll in the mud and snow to put out the flames on herself.

Beyond the black scorch mark where the witches had been, the Fevered appeared. They’d definitely whittled down in numbers, and those that were left—well, they looked pissed and they were coming for her.

Forcing herself to her knees, she pulled up her rifle. Blood rolled down her arm, and the nosebleed increased. Pain thundered inside of her skull, and her lungs hurt with every breath.

How long ‘til dawn?

---

Adam

---

“Father!” Henrik’s voice warbled on the edge of terror. He streaked into the living area, his wet boots tracking all manner of mud, snow, and other substances across one of the white rugs. “Father!”

The frantic man’s voice irritated him. Turning, he pinned the acolyte with a look. Though Henrik skidded to a halt and fell to his knees, the stink of fear filled the room.

“They are killing all of them, Father.”

“They?” It was a single worded question. How many had Wyatt brought with him? His brother wasn’t so foolish as to come alone. Not when he failed the last time with a small army.

“The man called Wyatt and the demon woman.”

Demon woman?

“What demon woman?” He’d found a woman with Wyatt’s horse, but she had no power. None he could sense, though when he’d struck at her, she hadn’t blinked. “A witch?” That might explain what happened before the horse destroyed his projection.

The horse. What the hell had Wyatt done to the beast? In the years since he’d last seen it, the animal had gained immeasurable strength.

“The demon woman destroyed the house of witches.” Henrik choked out, flecks of spittle flying. “It is burned to the ground. Some of the cats have run. The standing army is falling. The one called Wyatt cuts through them as though they aren’t there. He destroys their weapons. Even the horse is doing battle.”

The man continued to blather on, but Adam barely heard him. Wyatt brought only one other with him? How could one witch destroy a coven? He’d cultivated that coven for decades, stealing away the children, blinding them, and allowing them to use their sight only on what he wished. They tracked the Blood for him. He’d managed to eradicate most of their blasted kind, so the loss wasn’t too terrible.

“Father!”

“Silence.” Henrik’s voice was giving him a headache. The man bowed his head immediately, and Adam began a slow pace of the room. Where were the Morning Star siblings? “Is Olivia Kane dead?” He’d almost forgotten about that order. If his men had been successful, it might have lured the Morning Stars back or kept them caged in their ranch prison.

Henrik didn’t answer.

Pivoting, Adam studied him. Sweat dripped from the man’s forehead and landed on the ground.

“Henrik?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his words barely audible.

“You sent your men, did you not?”

“Yes, Father. They were only waiting for the word. I already had them in the region.” Which all his men were trained to do, particularly since Miller went a little power hungry and went to fetch his wife. The fool’s errand had cost Adam some of his strongest Fevered, and his most talented. Whatever strange shield blocked Fevered presence hadn’t been there on his last visit.

Once he’d dealt with Wyatt, he could take his time to figure out its weaknesses.

“Well?” Why was Henrik not answering him? The delay irked Adam even more than he already was. Impossible to find men who would simply do as he wished.

“I don’t know if they were successful. We have had no word. From anyone there. It takes time to get messages in and out. Perhaps the message is on its way.”

Useless. All of them. Striding over to the man, he gripped his throat and lifted him from the ground. The ripe stench grew more astringent. “Do you have anything useful to tell me?”

Eyes bulging, the man’s lips fought to form words, releasing only a gargle of sound. Power surged through Adam and he crushed the man’s neck, holding him there until the life began to drain out of him. Opening his mouth, he drank in the power and added the pitiful amount to his own. When he finished, he dropped the garbage on the rug. It was already stained. It was the second body on his floor. A pity Cerisse hadn’t survived the search for Wyatt.

Turning away, he studied the stunned Rudy staring up at him. He’d been unconscious for hours; long enough that Adam had almost forgotten he was there.

“Is your mind still your own, Rudy Morning Star?” Adam hated the name Morning Star. It had been the bane of his existence, even as it was the source of his creation. When they were all dead, he could enjoy the life that should have been his. The life he’d taken, through strength and prowess.

Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone?

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Adam wiped the soil and blood from his fingers. Henrik really had made a mess everywhere. Outside, the wind began to howl and thunder cracked overhead. His weather Fevered were getting into the fight. Those madmen were perfect weapons.

With a foot, he kicked Rudy over onto his back. The man groaned, but he remained in his solid state. The pupils inside his eyes were large, almost overwhelming the color. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and a weak rattle of air escaped him.

Cerisse had used him to find a lock on his brother. Blood called to blood, but Wyatt had chosen this…insignificant peon as a brother even as he continued to try and destroy Adam. It made no sense. The shaman begged for life, and he’d given him life. Instead of embracing his creation, all he’d ever done was try to erase him.

Adam really didn’t understand him. He thought taking his body would have taught him a lesson. The living form was strong, the blood even stronger, but Wyatt had taken his abilities with him.

A pity, truly.

“You’re really not there anymore, are you?” Damn. He’d planned to kill him right in front of Wyatt. The man really couldn’t handle loss very well. After all the death he’d seen, one would think he’d get used to it.

Another kick, but Rudy only rattled out another breath. His eyes didn’t focus. Maybe Cerisse had burned through him too much. Glancing over at the woman’s corpse, he sighed. Truly disappointing.

Fine, he’d simply go take the witch—or demon woman, as Henrik had called her. Witches were dangerous to him, but they needed to be more than one. She’d rejected his projection; she wouldn’t be able to fend him off in person. No witch could.

“Maybe I’ll take his witch and make her my pet. It won’t replace what she’s destroyed, but I do like a challenge.”

Dropping to his haunches, Adam put his hand over Rudy’s mouth. The boy didn’t struggle. The rattling in his chest grew worse, then ceased. The last hint of spark in his eyes vanished.

Lingering a moment, he waited to see if he would move—wake, anything. Some Fevered reacted to the first fingers of death, the spirit within them firing desperately to escape the death of its host.

Cleaning of his hand again, he nursed another wave of disappointment. Still no reaction. Damn. At least if the spirit struggled, as it had with Henrik, he could have consumed it. Cerisse must have incinerated the spirit as she stole everything Rudy knew.

Rising, he dropped the soiled handkerchief on the corpse.

He had an appointment to keep.