Magic Triumphs

I knew we had been living on borrowed time. The sands had just run out.

“Where does the Pack stand?” Curran asked quietly.

“Jim and I discussed it,” Robert said.

Jim’s first loyalty was to his people. The Pack lost a great deal in the battle with Roland. Sixty-two shapeshifters never came back to the Keep alive. Nineteen of them were under twenty. I remembered the bodies and the crying, the din of wailing that rose through the Keep when the bodies were retrieved. I still sometimes heard it in my sleep.

Fighting my father without the Pack’s help would be very hard.

“I’m here to tell you that the Pack will not stand against Roland unless directly attacked,” Robert said.

It hit me like a punch to the stomach. I had suspected this was coming and it still hurt.

“Given that the Atlanta metropolitan area is home to roughly eighteen hundred shapeshifters at last count, we consider any attack on the city to be a direct attack on the Pack,” Robert continued.

Wait, what?

“Which is why I’m authorized to bring you an offer of Mutual Aid. In case either your family or the Pack becomes aware of a citywide threat such as Roland’s invasion, we agree to assist each other.”

Curran had his inscrutable face on.

“Will the Beast Lord put it in writing?” I asked.

“If you insist,” Robert said. “But a verbal agreement should be sufficient. It was passed as a resolution by the Pack Council, so it’s on record.”

“You realized that after he dealt with us, he would come after you, and he would crush you alone,” Curran said.

“Pretty much,” Robert said. “We need you and you need us.”

I looked at Curran. “Are you comfortable with that offer?”

He mulled it over. I petted Conlan’s furry head. He yawned. Running around in the office and changing shape really made him tired.

“Is Roland named as the specific threat in the resolution?” Curran asked.

“Yes,” Robert confirmed.

“I’m fine with it.”

Robert looked at me. “Kate?”

“We agree,” I told him.

“Excellent.” He took the folder off the table. “Thank you for this.”

“Anytime. And, Robert? Could you please not mention that Conlan shifted?”

Robert narrowed his eyes. “Trying to avoid the stampede of excited shapeshifters?”

“Yes.”

“My lips are sealed.” He walked out.

We stayed silent for several minutes. Shapeshifter hearing was excellent, and Robert’s was off the charts.

“That went better than expected,” I murmured finally.

“They need us.” Curran grimaced. “I wish we had more time.”

My heart cracked. “Me, too.”

I had things to do. I would need to visit the Witch Oracle and let them know that we had to go ahead with the plan of last resort. My husband and my son would survive this.

The door of Cutting Edge swung open, and Teddy Jo walked in, frowning.

“Knocking, it’s a thing,” I told him. “You make a fist, lift it, and gently hit the door to let the person inside know you are out there.”

Teddy Jo shook his head. “Kate, there is some weirdness happening outside.”

Weirdness seemed to be stalking me. I got to my feet and stepped outside, Conlan in my arms.

Sunshine bathed the street, and thirteen people waited there, about thirty yards from our door. Long white robes with deep hoods hid their faces and swept the ground, shifting in the breeze. They stood in two columns, six people on each side, their arms crossed, their hands tucked into their sleeves, with a lone figure in a blue robe waiting between them.

Magic brushed against me. It felt old and deep.

The figures didn’t move.

“Is this a present from your father?” Curran asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” It felt like him, though. Ancient, dark, but oddly beautiful. Maybe this was his version of that phone call Erra was talking about.

Curran put his hand on my arm. His eyes had gone completely gold. The hair on his arm stood on end.

“What is it?”

“Derek’s not-loup scent.”

The figure in the center raised his arms. The blue robe slid down, revealing a young, dark-haired man, barely older than a boy. He was nude and built like a Greek statue, every muscle perfect. Dark-blue eyes looked at me from a beautiful face. A gash crossed his chest, carved deep into his flesh, and in the depths of the cut golden sparks flashed, as if he smoldered from the inside.

“Daughter of Nimrod,” the boy called out, his voice accented. “I await your answer.”

He lowered his arms to his sides and smiled. The wound on his chest sparked and ignited from the inside. Fire licked his flesh, spreading from the wound. The stench of burned human meat washed over me.

What the hell . . .

He kept smiling. His skin bubbled and he kept smiling.

I spun to Teddy Jo and thrust Conlan into his arms.

Wings shot out of Teddy Jo’s back. Wind fanned me, and then he was on the roof, out of the way, holding my son.

The door to Nicole’s Automotive Repair banged open and Mr. Tucker charged out, his placard clutched in his hands.

“Don’t!” Curran and I barked in the same voice.

Mr. Tucker grabbed the nearest hooded figure. “Your friend is on fire!”

A furry arm thrust out of the robe. Claws locked on Mr. Tucker’s windpipe, squeezed, and Mr. Tucker fell, his eyes shocked, a clump of his bloody flesh clenched in the creature’s claws. It happened fast, so fast; it only took a fraction of a second.

Sarrat was already in my hand and I was moving.

The twelve figures dropped their robes. White fabric flew, revealing bodies sheathed in short brown fur. They stood on two legs, hunching forward, their muscled arms dangling, each finger tipped with a claw. Their round heads leaned forward, their mouths wide slashes betraying yellow fangs. Big round eyes stared at me, cold and empty, like the eyes of an owl.

A memory punched me, sharp and vivid, borrowed from my aunt. A room in an ancient palace, shrouded in veils, the body of a child, and an abomination that looked eerily like these chewing on the stump of my uncle’s neck.

Curran shot past me and roared. The sound of his fury was like thunder. It punched the beasts. They screeched and cringed back in ragged unison.

The world turned red. Every instinct in my head screamed. They’d killed one of my people. They were an abomination. A corruption. They had to be purged. Rage boiled inside me.

The beasts rushed us.

The first creature swiped at me, raking the air with its talons. I shied away from its claws and slashed at it. Sarrat sliced through flesh like it was butter, cleaving the beast’s chest. Blood splattered me, drenching me with foul magic.

The beast screeched and swiped at me. I shied left, ducking, and cut across its outstretched arm, severing the extensors. The hand went limp. I thrust Sarrat into its side, puncturing the stomach and the liver, and freed the sword with a sharp tug. The beast dropped to its knees and surged back up. I buried Sarrat in its chest and kicked it off the blade. Tough bastards.

A second creature tore at my back, the tips of its claws carving straight through reinforced leather into the skin. My back burned.

I spun around, slicing in a frenzy, cut its jugular, spun around again, and severed the first beast’s spine as it tried to rise again. The second creature collapsed, blood pouring from its neck, and squirmed on the ground, raking at me with its claws. I beheaded it. Two down.

A body flew, knocked out of my way. Curran tore through the creatures, snapping bones and ripping flesh, his hands clawed, but the rest of him still human.

A third beast lunged at me. I dropped down, cut its femoral artery, and spun out of the way as it fell. It crawled toward me. I stomped on the back of its neck. Die, you damn bastard.

The boy was still burning. Ash formed on his chest, but he was still smiling, his eyes tracking me. How the hell was he still alive?

Behind me a sharp lupine snarl cut through the air. Derek lunged at the creature on my right, a short sword in his hand, and chopped through its arm with a brutal swing. To the right, Julie spun, the twin tomahawks in her hands chopping. The kids had arrived.