by Alyssa Day
“We’re here. The party can get started,” Max called out, her cheerful expression and freckled nose belying what he knew about her deadly skill as a fighter.
Most of the wolves and a few of the vampires laughed.
“It was her role to break the ice,” Bane said quietly. “Now, we’ll see the show of power.”
Sure enough, a big guy who was built like a bulldozer crossed with a bear started snarling the minute he reached the center of the room.
“You don’t look so tough to me. Look like a bunch of wimps,” he growled, staring at Luke and then Edge, but careful not to meet Bane’s gaze.
Bane nodded to Reynolds. “Okay. We’ve gotten the preliminaries out of the way. Can we talk now or do you need to pee in the corner first?”
A shadow of a grin crossed the alpha’s face, and then he returned Bane’s nod and motioned to his man to stand down. “Let’s do it. I’m a busy man. Things to do, people to intimidate.”
“I know I’m intimidated,” Bane said in his driest voice, and the werewolf laughed.
“I can see that. All right. What do you know?”
Bane nodded, and one of his club members walked behind the bar and started handing out bottles of beer to the wolves. He and Reynolds took seats at a table in the middle of the room.
“The warlock named Sylvie appeared in the middle of your clubhouse without anybody scenting her?”
The alpha’s eyes flared hot. “She knocked your vampire off his bike and dragged him to our place, and he couldn’t fight back?”
Bane shook his head. “I’m not trying to start a pissing contest, and I’m not casting blame on you or your wolves. This is a special fucking party trick from a necromancer. Ordinary warlocks can’t pull it off easily, if at all. Vampires can’t detect necros, either, when they don’t want to be seen or smelled.”
The alpha accepted a beer from one of his men. “Yeah. That was exactly it. Dropped your guy off and called him a gift. Then she left. I’ve been waiting ever since for the other shoe—or, in her case, spike-heeled boot—to drop.”
“No word?”
Reynolds took a long draw on his beer. “None. You?”
Bane filled him in on their encounter at the wildlife preserve. “Nothing since then, which doesn’t make sense. Usually, when they come in force, they want you to know. Warlocks are more like hurricanes than spring showers. There’s no way this Constantin and Sylvie came on their own, unless they were just scouting, but taking such aggressive action either means they have an army to back them up or—worse—they’re so powerful they believe they’re a fucking army all by their own damn selves. Have you dealt with necromancers before?”
“Never. My dad had, though, he said. When he lived in Louisiana. Baton Rouge. Took the entire combined force of all the supernaturals in the city to get rid of them—and that was for only two of them.”
“We have at least two here, and the master, Constantin, is extremely powerful. We took care of three ordinary warlocks, but Constantin and this Sylvie are clearly necromancers, which is a big fucking problem.”
“Zombie magic? Pulling up the graveyards?” Reynolds’s eyes narrowed. “That is some unpleasant shit, especially in an area filled with cemeteries like Savannah.”
Bane drained his beer. “Yeah. Zombie shit. This is going to get really bad before it gets better. We need to coordinate or she might take over some of your wolves.”
Reynolds leaned forward, his face hardening to stone. “My wolves are not—”
“Your wolves are incredibly tough, but even two of my vampires, who have at least a small amount of natural immunity to blood magic, fell hard and fast to Constantin. Do you or your wolves have that?”
The alpha reluctantly shook his head, a muscle in his jaw jumping.
Bane leaned forward. “In Europe, the worst of the warlocks sometimes had entire packs of werewolves under their control. Alive or dead, didn’t matter to them. Is that what you want, just so you can prove you’re tough? To watch Max’s corpse be operated like a puppet by one of these bastards?”
The wolf’s eyes flared a hot amber, and Bane thought he’d gone too far, but as he watched, Reynolds visibly gained control over his anger.
“No. Never. So, let’s figure out a plan. First, we’ll—”
But Bane didn’t get to hear Reynolds’s plan for what they’d do first, because that’s when the howling started.
…
The parking lot looked like a scene from a gangster movie. At least ten werewolves, in various stages of turning to wolf, were attacking the VMC sentries who stood guard outside the clubhouse. Reynolds bellowed orders at his people, but they acted like they didn’t hear him, even when he forced a wave of pack magic through the area that was so powerful even the vampires felt it.
Bane grabbed the alpha’s arm and shouted at him, to be heard over the howls and screams. “They can’t hear you. They’re enthralled. Bound to the warlock.”
“How do we break the spell?”
“We kill the warlock. Until then, you can only restrain them—or kill them.”
Just then, a huge gray wolf raced toward them and leapt through the air, aiming what must be a couple hundred pounds of snarling bulk directly at Bane. Reynolds shoved him out of the way and threw himself into the path of the werewolf, shifting as he moved, and both wolves crashed into each other with a fury of claws and teeth.
Bane had never in his long life seen a werewolf who could shift that fast, but he didn’t have time to think about it, because more were coming at him.
“Don’t kill them, if you can help it,” he shouted at his vampires. “This isn’t their fault.”
“Sure. That’s going to be a fucking walk in the park,” Edge snarled, just before he whirled around and punched a wolf in the head so hard it flew back five feet and crashed to the ground.
Bane crouched, waiting for the three werewolves in wolf form racing toward him from three different directions to get within leaping range. The minute their paws left the ground, he flew up into the air, just out of reach, and shouted out a wordless cry of triumph when the three of them smashed into each other and knocked themselves out for the count.
But then he sped into the clubhouse and yanked a bag of restraints out of a locker. Before the fighting even died down, Bane had restrained seven of the werewolves so fast they almost didn’t even know what was happening.
He tossed the bag to Luke and walked over to Reynolds, who stood over two of the fallen wolves, growling at them when they tried to move.
“Only two of yours are dead,” Bane told the alpha. “One of mine, I see. Those warlocks have a lot to pay for.”
Reynolds, still an enormous black wolf, threw back his head and howled for his fallen.
“I’m with him,” Edge snarled. “We need to take these bastards down.”
Bane nodded grimly. “Yeah. We do. But first we need to find them. Where the fuck could they be? Go!”
Edge raced off to try to find the warlock or necro who’d cast the spells. Luke walked up to Reynolds, offering the restraints in his hand to the alpha.
Reynolds shifted back to human with what looked like only a minimum amount of effort and shook his head at the chains. “No. I’ll handle this without that.”
“I’ve never seen anything like the power of your shift,” Bane told him. “Maybe you’ll be able to break the magic binding with your alpha call, given enough time. It’s worth a try, at least. I’ve heard of it being done by the most powerful pack leaders.”
The werewolf caught a pair of sweatpants somebody threw at him and pulled them on. “It is worth a try. Thanks to you and your people for not killing them outright.”
“We try not to kill our allies,” Bane drawled. “We’re going out hunting. You do what you need to do with your people and then give me a call so we can coordinate efforts. I�
�m guessing you have more than these who might still be in danger?”
Reynolds swore. “Yeah, we have four who didn’t show up, but I don’t know why.”
Bane’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He started to ignore it but then thought, Ryan. But when he pulled it out to look at it, it was Meara, and it was a pin with her location.
Wolves. Hurry. Ryan’s here.
“I may have found your wolves,” he snarled and then shot up into the sky, headed for Whitaker Street.
Chapter Thirty-Three
At first, Ryan had no idea who or what they were, the four men who detached themselves from the shadows edging the street and coalesced into a choreographed quartet of menace around them. But in the light from the streetlamps, the Wolf Pack MC on the patches embroidered on their vests gave her the who of it.
The why was less clear.
“What is happening?” She looked to Meara, who was—shockingly—smiling, her fangs glinting in the golden light.
“Oh, boys,” Meara purred, moving to stand between Ryan and danger. “Did you ever pick the wrong women to try this on. If you wanted to mug somebody, you should have stuck to Broughton Street.”
“Shut up, bitch,” the tallest one snarled, and Ryan instinctively edged closer to Meara, who sighed.
“Okay, as much as I’d love to kill you all, I don’t want my human to get hurt. So how about this?” Her brilliantly golden eyes gleamed with inner fire. “Go home to your mommies.”
Compulsion didn’t work on Ryan, but she knew it would on others, so she watched eagerly as…nobody moved an inch.
“Yeah, my mother is dead, bloodsucker,” one of them growled.
“Then you can go to the cemetery and spend the night apologizing to her that you grew up to be such an asshole,” Meara said sweetly.
He growled, low and feral, but one of his friends put a restraining hand on his arm.
A different one stepped up. “And we’re warded against your magic, so you can give up on compulsion now.”
“Warded?” Meara scanned the group. “Since when do shifters use magic for warding? And don’t we have a treaty with your MC? What is this? Have you gone rogue?”
“Enough questions. Our new mistress told us we need to make a point with Bane.”
“New mistress? She doesn’t stink of rot, does she?” Meara said, taunting them.
“The mouthy one is his sister,” the ugly one—ugliest one—said. “The other one doesn’t smell like vamp. She must be food.”
“Do we kill them both here?”
The big one grinned with a mouthful of broken teeth. “They’re going to die, sure. But nothing says we can’t play with them first.”
“Incorrect,” Meara purred. “I say you can’t.”
Ryan, who’d been frozen for a few minutes while this all happened, reached into her purse, but not for her phone. This didn’t seem like the kind of situation that 911 would help.
“I also say you can’t,” she said. “And I’m sure as hell not food.”
The four thugs cracked up. Apparently, they weren’t used to the food talking back. Ryan realized she had never been so afraid in her entire life.
Which might be over soon, actually.
“Here we go,” Meara sang out, and three of the men—shifters?—headed for her, claws starting to extend, so yeah, shifters.
There are freaking werewolves in Savannah, Ryan’s amped-up brain shouted at her, but she had to focus, because yes, there were freaking werewolves in freaking Savannah, and one of them was coming straight for her.
Meara sprang into action, and it was like a martial arts movie on steroids. If Wonder Woman and Bruce Lee had a baby, it would be Meara. She kicked and punched and twirled, and two of the attackers were down on the ground, groaning, before their friend even reached Ryan.
Right.
Time to focus.
She burst into tears. “Oh, please don’t hurt me, sir, please. I’m a doctor, I can’t be part of this, please, if you’ll just let me give you my money, let me get my wallet…” She dug in her purse, shaking violently and cringing away from the oncoming shifter.
He let loose with a truly nasty laugh. “Pathetic. I can’t believe Bane’s sister would put up with even food who was so cowardly. Maybe I’ll break your neck now and do the world a favor.”
He reached out, almost casually, with one huge, meaty hand, and the tips of his claws scratched her face. Ryan ducked beneath his arm, cold and steady, all pretense over, and brought up the scalpel she’d hidden in her purse earlier, back at her place, back when she thought that vampires were the scariest things around.
And she sliced it across his carotid artery with every ounce of strength she had.
When he hit his knees, arterial spray splashing everywhere, she blinked, and a kind of false calm came over her, which meant she was probably going into shock.
Which I deserve, because now I’m a murderer.
Before she could process that thought, the shifter made a horrible groaning noise, and then he stood back up.
He stood up, after she’d just sliced open his carotid. He had to be dead—she’d killed him.
Somehow, though, he was still moving.
Yeah. Now she was going to die.
He took a staggering step toward her, but she was frozen in place, unable to move. Facing her own death without the ability to run, hide, scream, or fight back, because this was impossible, this could not be happening, this was insane.
A horrible roaring noise filled her ears or maybe her mind, like the death train at the end of the world was bearing down on her. She had about two seconds to think so this is how the world ends, and then the shifter looming in front of her suddenly flew up about twenty feet into the air and then hurtled back down to the middle of the road.
And landed on his skull.
Even Ryan, who’d seen horrible, horrible things while working in a hospital, had to look away from that, and when she turned her head, all she could see was Bane. He yanked her into his arms and flew with her about twenty feet away, kissing the breath out of her, and then he set her down on her feet next to a tree and raced off to help Meara.
“Stay there,” he shouted back at Ryan and, for once, she had no desire to do anything else.
“I don’t need your help,” Meara yelled at Bane, but then she screamed, and Ryan automatically started toward them, still clutching her scalpel, with some idea of helping.
Ryan St. Cloud, superhero, who thought she could help the vampires defeat the werewolves.
She shouted out an almost-hysterical laugh and started to run, but by the time she got back to where the shifters had attacked them, the three Meara had been fighting were all dead, and Meara was lying on the sidewalk, the side of her throat ripped open.
“Meara!” Ryan raced over to her. “I—damn. I don’t have my bag or any supplies. We need to call an ambulance—”
Bane put a hand on her shoulder. “Watch.”
“What?” But she looked at the ugly gash on Meara’s neck just in time to see it seal itself into a jagged red line and then fade even more, as far as she could tell in the dim light and with all the blood splashed on Meara’s skin.
Bane crouched down next to his sister. “You must take my blood. You’re in desperate need.”
Something was certainly wrong. Meara’s veins were snaking dark lines beneath her skin, and she looked like she’d lost twenty pounds in the last ten minutes.
“No,” Meara croaked. “No blood from family.”
“Damn it, Meara,” Bane snapped. “This is an emergency situation.”
Ryan swallowed, hard. This sounded like an old argument, but Meara might not have time to stand on this principle. There was, however, another option.
“Take mine,” she whispered, and both of them whipped their heads around to stare a
t her, in inhumanly fast movements.
“What. Did. You. Say?” Bane’s eyes shone bright, ruby red instead of his usual blue, and Ryan suddenly wondered if she should be afraid of this man who’d just saved her life.
The man who murdered someone right in front of my eyes.
She blew out a shaky breath and gathered her courage. “I said take mine. So long as it’s not, you know, all of it, you can take my blood to help you heal.”
Meara reached up and touched Ryan’s face. “So easily you offer what no one has freely given in more decades than I can count. You truly are a gift, Doctor.”
Ryan tried to smile. “Oh, I think we should be on a first-name basis, if you’re going to have your fangs in my throat. Or, um, could it be my wrist, instead? I just don’t want to look like I have a giant hickey, and—”
The sound of a motorcycle roaring up interrupted her inane babbling, thank goodness. Bane and Meara must have expected the arrival, because they didn’t look concerned.
It was Edge. He dismounted the bike and raced over to them then fell to his knees and scooped Meara into his lap, swearing the entire time.
“If you won’t take Bane’s blood, take mine,” he told Meara, savagely biting at his own wrist.
“No,” she protested, but Ryan could see how her gaze fixated on the blood now dripping from Edge’s arm.
“Yes.” He put one hand behind the nape of her neck and held her in place while he sealed his wrist to her mouth, almost forcing her to drink. After a moment, she did.
Ryan sank back on her heels, blowing out a huge sigh of relief. Admittedly, part of her relief was at not getting bitten, but—somehow, in such a short time—Meara had become almost as important to her as Bane.
Bane.
Where had he gone? She looked around to find him standing over her, staring down at her with those terrifying, glowing, scarlet eyes.
“You’re bleeding,” he growled.
“What? No, it’s his blood, the…oh.” She reached up and touched her cheek, which she only then realized was stinging. “Yes, I guess I am, but just a little. He scratched me before I…before I—” Her teeth started chattering; she was definitely going into shock.