Wild Things

“Here!” Ethan yelled, pivoting back and forth behind her to let me get to my feet.



I stood, adrenaline numbing the cuts I’d already received, and wiped the dagger’s handle, slippery with the harpy’s wine-dark blood, on my pants. The smell of it was just as pungent as the rest of her body, more like vinegar than the penny scent of human blood. Even for a vampire, there was nothing appealing about it.



She turned on Ethan and flapped forward only a few feet off the ground.



That, I thought, was my chance. If flying was her advantage, I’d have to take it away from her. And I only needed gravity for that.



Distract her! I silently told Ethan. He obeyed, weaving back and forth as she tried to follow him, her wings too large for quick maneuvers.



While she focused on him, I dropped . . . and lunged for her ankles.



She screamed out, bobbing in the air as she fought off my weight, kicking at the vampire who’d become her uninvited (and literal) hanger-on. But I held tight, sinking my face into the curl of my arm to avoid the barbs at the tips of her wings, which were as jagged and sharp as her nails.



Gravity won, and the harpy pitched forward, taking me with her. I hit the ground, rolling quickly to avoid her frantically beating wings, but she kicked out and hit me square on the left cheekbone, which cracked and sang with pain strong enough to bring tears to my eyes.



As she rose again, I uttered a curse that would have had my prickly mother swatting my bottom in horror, and tried to climb to my feet but found the ground swayed a little. I made it to my knees, nearly retching from the sudden vertigo.



The harpy slammed to the ground beside me, her black eyes open, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, and a bloody wound across her neck, pale sinew and bone peeking through skin.



The sight didn’t help my dizziness, and I sat firmly on the ground again. I looked up to find Ethan standing over her, hands and dagger bloodied, eyes green and fierce. There were streaks of blood and scratches across his face, and worse across his shirt.



He crouched in front of me, looked over my face. “You’re all right, Sentinel?”



I blinked. “I’ll be fine. She got my cheek.”



“The bruise is already showing,” he said, offering a hand and helping me to my feet. “You’ll heal.”



“That’s what they say. But it doesn’t make the punch feel any better.”



A voice rose behind us. “Little help here!”



We glanced across the meadow, found Catcher and Mallory twenty feet away, lobbing blue orbs of light at a pair of harpies who easily avoided them, swiping at their heads as they bobbed overhead. The sorcerers looked tired; their font of magic wasn’t endless, but required recharging. They both looked wan and sweaty, like they’d need the recharging soon.



“I’ll help,” Ethan said. “Stay here until you’re balanced again.”



I’d have argued if I could have, but he was already on his way to Mallory and Catcher.



Before I could join him, a wolf was beside me, nudging my leg. I glanced down. It was Gabriel, his wolf form enormous, his haunches nearly reaching my waist. And although he was undeniably animal—from thick fur to the tang of musk—there was something very human in his eyes.



Fear.



He nudged my hand again. Odd, because it wasn’t like Gabriel to turn his back on a fight. And why would he be afraid?



The thought struck me with cold dread. Tanya, also a wolf, could have shifted. But Connor was only an infant; I wasn’t entirely sure if infants could shift. And in any case, she’d have to carry him away.



“Tanya and Connor,” I said, and he yipped in agreement.



We ducked to avoid the tips of claws and wings.



“I’ll get them out of here and into the woods,” I promised. “Keep Ethan out of trouble.”



I’m going to find Tanya and Connor, I warned Ethan, who’d already reached Mallory and Catcher and was joining his dagger to their efforts. Please keep yourself safe.



I . . . intend . . . to, he haltingly responded, between his own evasive maneuvers.



I ducked and ran to the highest point in the meadow, a spot near the tree line on what I guessed was the southern side of the field, in order to scan the battlefield. Most of the shifters had actually shifted, but there were still some who I guessed found it easier to fight this particular enemy in human form. Tents were crumpled to the ground and fluttering wings obscured the view. If I was going to find them, I was going to have to run for it.



It was like an obstacle course, but instead of paintballs, giant naked women dropped from the sky with daggerlike claws. That wasn’t nearly as romantic as it sounded. I darted from one tent to the next, looking for any sign of the queen of the Pack and the heir to the throne. But I found nothing.



I made it to a tree stump, dropped beside it as I scanned the part of the field closest to me. I saw nothing but fighting, harpies apparently intent on wiping out the Pack in one fell swoop. And I’d traversed only a third of the meadow.



“This isn’t working,” I murmured, cupping my hands around my mouth and screaming into the night, “Tanya!”



I strained to hear a response but heard only the yips of injured shifters and the squeals of pissed-off harpies.



“Tanya!” I tried again. And this time, I heard an answering call.



“Merit!”



The cry was too low to be close, but it was enough to signal her direction. I ran to the next obstacle, then the next, and finally found her crouched on the ground beside the totem, which now lay on its side in the middle of the clearing, sheltering her son with her body.



There was no fear in the magic that swirled around her, just a sense of determination. She was a mother, and she would protect her son, regardless the cost.



I ran toward her, put the dagger back in my boot, and extended a hand. “Long time no see.”



She smiled just a little. “I don’t think this is quite the party Gabriel had in mind.”



“I would hope not,” I said, “or he’s a horrible planner. Are you okay?”



“I think I twisted my ankle. Tripped over something in the field.”



I nodded. “I’ll help you get to the woods. The harpies can’t fly through the trees.”



Tanya nestled Connor in the crook of one arm, nodded, and grabbed my hand with her free one to pull herself upright. She bobbled a bit on her left foot but stayed upright.



My arm around her back, I scanned the sky, gauged the distance between the shelter and the trees, and prepared to run. If I could just wait for them to begin the rotation away from the woods, we’d have a few seconds to make a run for it.



A metallic screech rang out above us. We crouched as a harpy flew only a foot above our heads, sending Connor into a fit of tears.



“Ready,” I told her, trying to drown out the noise and the fire and the scent of blood and the snow of molted black feathers that fell from the sky.



The harpy banked and turned and gave us our chance.



“Run!” I yelled, and we took off at our stumbling pace.



She made it ten awkward yards before stumbling forward, nearly pulling me down with her. But I managed to stay on my feet and keep an iron grip on her waist. I kept her upright and she found her balance again, but her ankle wobbled beneath her. Shifting into her wolf form would allow her to heal, but we didn’t have time for that.



The piercing scream rose behind us, and I risked a glance over our shoulders. The harpy had seen us, and she’d turned our way.



Tanya tried to release my grip. “Take Connor. Run for the woods. Keep him safe.”



A nervous laugh bubbled up. “Are you kidding me? I’m not going to leave you here for the world’s angriest chickens. We do this together.” I pulled her free arm around my shoulder and put my arm back around her waist, tilting my body to take more of the weight off her ankle. Together, the sound of thwushing wings behind us growing louder with each step we took, we hobbled to the tree line.



The hair rose on the back of my neck. Gods, but this is going to be close.



“Faster!” I said, sucking in oxygen as we raced the last twenty yards, then ten, pulling her toward the trees with all the strength I could muster.



The harpy dipped, and time seemed to slow. Visions passed before my eyes, of friendships, of my nieces and nephews, of Ethan, and of the green-eyed child Gabriel had once hinted was in my future. Green eyes I wouldn’t get a chance to see if we didn’t make it.



I pushed harder, calling up every spare ounce of effort I could find, that same determination that had driven me through all-nighters in grad school and endless hours of ballet practice. It didn’t feel good, but that was irrelevant. You don’t stop until the job is done, my father was fond of saying.



Tanya wasn’t yet safe; my job wasn’t done.



We reached the stand of winter-bare trees, and the harpy banked, wings swatting the trees on the edge of the wood, black feathers ripped out by branches floating to the ground.



I helped Tanya sit down on a fallen tree, Connor now crying fitfully. Other shifters who’d taken shelter in the woods turned back into their human forms and looked out on the battle with horror.



I knelt down in front of Tanya, who tried to calm her son.



“What’s this about?” I asked, when her gaze met mine.



She shook her head, her eyes still wide with shock. “I don’t know. I don’t even—what are they?”



“Harpies, I think. Is this a fight with the Pack? Did the Pack piss someone off?” Perhaps by inviting vampires to his woods? I silently wondered, hoping this wasn’t because of us.



“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. This is so horrible, Merit. So awful.”



The bare limbs above us shook as harpies circled overhead, looking for a place to dive into the undergrowth. I pulled the dagger from my boot and stood up again.



“You’re going back.”



I nodded. “The Pack still needs help, and Ethan’s still out there. I don’t quit until he’s safe.”



There was bravado in my voice—the kind of bluffing I actually could manage—and it masked the fear. My allies were engaged in battles of their own, and I had only a slim and slender dagger to take down a woman-bird with an attitude problem.