Wild Things

Gabriel reached out his hand. After sucking in a breath, Mallory linked her fingers with his. She closed her eyes as magic began to spill out and through the shifters again. I closed my eyes and savored the hot rush of raw, unmitigated power. It was the life force of the earth, called up by the predators who gathered together to celebrate their community.



And then it transformed.



Mallory must have unlocked some magical gate of her own, because a new stream of magic—younger, greener, brighter—began to mix with the magic of the Pack. Her hair lifted like an indigo halo, and her lips curled into a smile of satisfaction and contentment. Of relief.



Together, the magicks swirled and danced around us, invisible but tangible, like an electric breeze. This wasn’t defensive or offensive magic. It wasn’t used to gather information, for strategy or diplomacy, or to fight a war against a supernatural enemy.



It simply was.



It was fundamental, inexorable. It was nothing and everything, infinity and oblivion, from the magnificent furnace of a star to the electrons that hummed in an atom. It was life and death and everything in between, the urge to fight and grow and swim and fly. It was the cascade of water across boulders, the slow-moving advance of mountain glaciers, the march of time.



The shifters moved around the circle, grabbing our hands and pulling us in, connecting us to the magic. Magic flowed between us like we were transistors in a circuit, connecting the shifters to one another and us to them. We moved in concentric circles around the center totem, heat rising until the air was as warm as a summer’s day, until sweat beaded on my forehead.



This magic was lustful, almost drowsy with sensuality, and I felt my eyes silver and my fangs descend in an answering call. This was the magic of feasting and fucking, of savoring the blood of a kill and calling the Pack to dine.



Mallory’s eyes were open now, her hair damp with sweat, her body shaking with power, but her hand was still linked to Gabriel’s, and she smiled with more contentment than I’d seen from her in months.



A year ago, I’d assumed my relationship with Mallory would continue just as it always had—that we’d be friends who shared silly inside jokes, griped about our jobs, dreamt about our futures.



And then I became a vampire, and she discovered she was a sorceress.



Our lives were never going to be the same. They would never be as simple, as predictable, as they had been those years before. Instead, they’d be overlain by our responsibilities, by our strengths, and by the burdens we undertook because of them.



For the first time, I realized that was okay.



Our friendship wasn’t limited to habits, to circumstances, to neighborhoods. We were friends because we were connected together, because something in our souls called to each other, understood each other. That connection, that spark between us, would remain even if our lives had changed completely. I hadn’t accepted that before.



I could accept it now.



I searched for her in the circle so I could let her know that I finally understood, that I’d come to terms with it. But I moved so quickly, my feet dancing to keep up with the shifters beside me, that I couldn’t get my bearings, couldn’t find her in the crowd.



Something strange flitted in my chest. A pinprick, sharp and uncomfortable. Not tangible, but a hidden note of magic. A bit of the current that wasn’t meant to soothe or celebrate but to incite.



I tried to ignore it, thinking I was just being paranoid, that the quantity of magic was triggering some protective instinct.



But I feared that wasn’t right. I’d felt magic before—many varieties, many flavors—even mixed into the current tonight. This was different. Panic began to bloom like dark roses.



The hand on mine tightened, as if the shifter at my side had felt my wavering fear.



I looked for Ethan, found him five yards away, eyes closed as he swayed in time with the shifters around him.



I pulled my hands free, breaking the circle and pushing through bodies to get closer, to put him in reach in case my fear was real.



Ethan, I told him. Stay where you are. I’m coming for you.



Sentinel, he said, obviously surprised. What’s wrong?



I didn’t have time to answer, because I’d been regrettably correct.



The sky blackened as a thick, dark cloud began to spin above us, angry with sound and magic. The shifters stopped, the furious dance coming to a stumbling halt as they, too, cast their gazes on the threatening sky.



“A storm?” someone near me asked.



I moved forward until I reached Ethan, grabbed his wrist. But he didn’t even look at me. He stared at the sky as it broke open, revealing the truth of the cloud.



It wasn’t the forerunner of a storm, but an attack.



All hell broke loose.



Chapter Four



GHASTLY, GRIM, AND ANCIENT



They looked like the harpies of Greek and Roman mythology. Bodies of pale, thin women. Massive wings, the feathers so deeply black they gleamed like velvet. They were naked but for their long hair—straight and black, with thin braids tied throughout—and their silver, crested helmets. Supernatural battle armor, I feared, as they spun above us like a supernatural tornado, blotting out the stars, the magic that accompanied them fierce and unfriendly.



“Ethan,” I yelled over the rising din, adrenaline beginning to rush through me. “Nobody told me harpies existed!”



“I imagine nobody knew it until today,” he said, pulling a dagger from his boot and gesturing for me to do the same.



When the dagger was in hand, I looked for Gabriel. He stood a few yards away, shouting orders and sending his own sentinels in various directions. He and Mallory exchanged a glance, and I saw him weigh the choices, the decision.



He made the call and nodded at her and, I guessed, authorized her use of that magic he’d been so careful to train up. Catcher had no such hesitation. He’d gone to Mallory, grabbed her hand, was already pointing into the air, discussing what looked like strategy.



Gabriel unleashed a bloodcurdling yell, a call to arms. Light erupted across the clearing as shifters changed into their animal forms, the transition as stirringly magical as their ceremony had been. Changing into animal form was rough on clothes, so some shifters disrobed before they shifted, leaving shirts and pants in piles on the ground, ready and waiting for when it was time to shift back.



The smaller creatures, pairs of sleek red foxes and coyotes, ran quickly for the shelter of the woods. The larger animals prepared to fight: the Brecks—big cats; the Keenes—big wolves. I recognized Gabriel’s great gray form as he sprung into existence.



Jeff, a shockingly large white tiger with deep gray stripes, appeared beside him and roared with fury enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck. Fallon stayed in human form, a hand on Jeff’s back, perhaps to remind both of them that they fought together.



Ethan was beside me, dagger in hand, poised for action. I had the urge to drag him into the trees to keep him safe. But he tossed the dagger back and forth in his hands, his history as a soldier peeking through his eyes, which were fixed on the harpies and flat with concentration. He wasn’t leaving now.



The swarm of creatures descended, growing larger as it sunk toward us. I watched them fly for a moment, circling around the meadow but avoiding the trees—and the torches that lined them.



Suddenly, they let out a horrific scream as sharp as nails on a chalkboard and dive-bombed the clearing like dogfighting World War II planes.



What had been a celebration . . . became an unexpected battlefield.



The shifters who remained on the field weren’t afraid of battle, and many of them leaped, meeting the harpies in the air. The human portions of their bodies might have been thin, but harpies were strong. Some overbalanced, hitting the ground in a tumble of fur and feathers that shook the earth; others batted away the shifters with a dip of wings that sent wolves flying.



A harpy spied us, the only vampires on the field, dropped her head, and dove toward us.



“I’m open to suggestions,” I yelled to Ethan over the din.



“Stay alive!” he offered back, blading his body toward the harpy, limiting her access to vital organs. I did the same, moving closer beside him so we were a combined vampiric weapon, immortal and strong, although my heart raced like life was a delicate and fragile thing.



And wasn’t it?



“I don’t suppose you know anything about harpy anatomy?”



“Not a lick, Sentinel. But they look like ladies to me!”



A lot of help he was.



The sound was ferocious now, the beat of her wings as loud as a jet plane, sending gusts of air across the field. She was close enough that I could have seen the whites of her eyes, if she’d had any. Her eyes were solid black; regardless the shape of her body, they carried no visible trace of thought or humanity.



She extended her arms and scratched out her claws, their tips aimed at our necks. We dropped to the ground, her smell—pungent and sour—streaming past as she flew above us.



“She did not get perfume for Valentine’s Day,” Ethan surmised, spinning to watch her bank and turn back for a second shot. The width of the harpies’ wingspan helped them rise and fall quickly, but their turn radius was substantial. It took seconds for her to spin back in our direction, but only a moment for her to dip again. She’d learned the mistake of her first effort and, instead of swiping at us on the move, came straight for us and didn’t veer.



We hit the ground, rolling away in different directions to avoid the claws on her feet, which were as black and sharp as those on her hands.



She decided to follow me. I was on the ground, a few feet away from the spot where she’d fallen to earth, and it wasn’t far enough. She followed and scratched, talons raking at my arms and abdomen with vicious effectiveness.



The claws had looked pointy and sharp, but they were jagged like serrated knives, and they tore at flesh instead of slicing through it. They were weapons of destruction. She scraped my face, and the skin burned like fire beneath her nails.



Fear turned to fury, but it took me a moment to remember the dagger in my hand, and I thrust it upward again and again, the knife bouncing off bones I couldn’t see, hitting no true target but causing enough of a painful nuisance that she backed off.