Silverfall

by McKenzie Hunter

  “Return her magic,” he entreated.

  “I’ll do it on the way back.” The magic high was consuming me. That feeling of wholeness was something I was reluctant to be divested of.

  “And if we’re delayed returning, then what?”

  He knew what would happen: The witch would die and I’d have her magic. I dropped my eyes from his and kept them rooted to the ground, unable to hold his censuring gaze.

  “Erin,” he whispered.

  “I’m doing it now,” I blurted, irritated.

  “Not yet, I need to do a slumber spell. Once she’s awake there won’t be time for me to prepare it.”

  Cory’s movements were heavy. His shirt was ripped and dirt coated his pants. There were welts along his face and blood stained the left sleeve of his shirt. The adrenaline had worn off and the cut on my arm ached. The bruises from my fight were starting to throb and my leg hurt.

  Pulling out small vials, Cory dropped a pewter-colored powder into his hand, mixed it with two other substances, and blended it in his hands while we watched, me exhibiting more patience than Asher. Cory and my movements were so synchronized it was like a choreographed dance. Kneeling down in front of the witch, I said the words of power. Her eyes opened with the typical euphoric haze, but she was only given seconds to enjoy it before Cory said the incantation. It had a soothing melodic cadence, like a lullaby. She didn’t have time to react once she realized what was happening. The powder sprinkled over her face, the spell creating sparkles of color. Whoever found her would know that a sleep spell had been performed. It was one of the few easily identifiable spells. When the spell wore off, the dust would disappear.

  “Ready?” Asher asked, advancing toward the faint blinking light guiding us to the Conparco Shield.

  “Which one of us should tell him he’s still naked?” Cory whispered behind Asher, who hadn’t waited for an answer.

  “He knows and I don’t think he cares,” I said.

  “I don’t.” Asher’s focus was on the pulsing light near a bridge almost sixty yards away. Asher quickly dressed in his spare clothes and moved again toward the suspension bridge.

  The wooden slats of the bridge had gaps between them of about six inches. Asher moved along them with a steadiness that made it look easier than it was.

  “Keep looking forward,” Cory cautioned. If he’d told me to not look down, I would have, like most people. It didn’t take seeing the drop to know it would be far. After all, we were in a forest named for the nine circles of hell. Would any of this be easy or safe?

  Cool air whipped around me. The feeling of emptiness underfoot made me ever conscious that there wasn’t anything but aged wooden slats between me and whatever lay beneath. Training my eyes ahead, I fought the urge to look down.

  Any place other than Dante’s Forest, I wouldn’t worry about the bridge’s weight capacity, but here, in a forest where they expected you to leave unsuccessful—or maybe not at all—I worried about it. Shifters were dense, weighing significantly more than their appearance would lead one to think, and Cory’s muscled form weighed more than his slender frame would indicate. At the midway point, the bridge sagged more than expected. Heart pounding in my chest, I took several slow breaths.

  “Erin, go back. I got it from here,” Asher said. The way he moved over the slats was unnerving. There were definitely advantages to the lithe, predatory movements of a shifter.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Tell your breathing and heart rate that.”

  Glaring at his back was a big enough distraction to refocus, or maybe it was just spite; both of them were great motivators. The guide light’s brightening and erratic pulses drew our attention to it.

  Midnight wings eclipsed part of the sky. Ian, hovering just a few inches from our luminous guide which was still blinking its lights of urgency. Asher, the closest to our destination, moved faster, but no amount of shifter agility would get him there in time.

  Ian moved in and dipped away, taunting us with his victory. Cory had stopped moving and was leaning against the cable, his stance wide, eying Ian. His lips moved slowly, indecipherably. The energy that flowed from him was something I had rarely experienced. Telekinesis was difficult and required a lot of magic. Whereas witches excelled in spell weaving and casting, mages were better at telekinesis.

  The pulsing guide jolted out of the way when the metallic-blue pentagonal prism steadily rose, inching its way to us. Neck muscles taut, face reddened, perspiration glistening on his face, Cory extended his arm, fingers curled, beckoning the object to him. He was panting ragged sharp breaths as it moved faster. Ian soared toward it but missed it when Cory let the shield drop out of reach before bobbing it up and moving it closer.

  Come on, come on. Asher and I stilled, making sure we didn’t distract him. I should have kept the forest witch’s magic. But considering the time it took for us to make it to the bridge, it was good that I hadn’t. The chances of getting back to her in time to return her magic and prevent her from going to the other side would have been slim.

  Three times Cory was able to keep Ian from getting hold of the prism, but finally, Ian grabbed it and pinned it to his chest. Surges of energy came off Cory as he struggled to wrangle it from him. With a rough pull from Cory, the prism lurched Ian forward. Ian countered. Cory released the prism. A magic ball barreled into Ian’s chest, sending him back hard, unable to decelerate, dropping down and out of view.

  “Get off the bridge,” I commanded. Moving as fast as the bridge would allow, we turned and made for the edge. Ian shot up, returning fire equivalent to the magic Cory had sent to him. One of the cables flamed. The right side of the bridge collapsed. Asher, who was farther out, grabbed the other side to keep from falling and pulled himself off it.

  A cruel, vindictive smile curled Ian’s lips. “It will be a better course of action to force Neri and Adalia’s hand rather than mine.” He made a display of slamming the prism against the side of the mountain, chips of it breaking away and falling, debris flittering in the air. Unable to completely destroy the prism, he damaged it enough to render it unusable before letting it slip from his hold and fall into the abyss.

  He flew away, damage done.

  Anger can be masked, fury can’t. Asher’s not at all. It radiated off him like heat from a fire. He paced the ground while Cory rested against a tree.

  “There’s no way that witch at the entrance didn’t know he was here. I should’ve heard him, or at least smelled him.”

  “He could have come from a different direction,” I suggested.

  “Or the cave guardian cloaked him with magic so he wouldn’t be discovered,” Cory offered, drawing himself to his feet. It was obvious that he’d exhausted his magical reserve, so I followed him without mentioning my leg and cuts that I really needed healed.

  “You think he would have done that?” Asher asked.

  Cory shrugged, disappointment all over his face. “I don’t see why not. He’s forced to be here, why not amuse himself?”

  That’s what I thought as we made our way to the exit.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Asher.” I kept my tone low, trying to reason with an angry shifter who had given over to his wolf side and was stalking toward the cave that led us to Dante’s Forest. After the day we’d had, I felt like I had been through the nine circles of hell. “Asher,” I called again, his longer legs and preternatural speed making it hard for us to keep up with him.

  The third time I called him, I put steel and ice in my voice, which would either irritate the Alpha or speak to the man. He whipped around, his face calmer than I expected but his silver eyes granite hard. Knowing his anger was directed at the person who sent us on this fool’s journey, I didn’t take it personally.

  “We should have been told there was someone else looking for the Conparco Shield.”

  I nodded. “But what exactly will you gain from wolfing out on the man? I’m pretty sure if you do, this is the last time you’ll ever be allowed ac
cess. Are you prepared for that?”

  “That will be for the next person who guards it to decide.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I saw Cory blanch. Asher was exhibiting the same ruthlessness and irrationality that Cory had anticipated when it came to protecting his pack. They can give them a fancy title, corporation status, private planes, tax breaks, and a staff of terrifying lawyers, but in the end, that’s what they were—a pack. And Asher was the Alpha.

  I ran until I was several feet directly in front of him. The determination of his gait made me second guess myself. He could easily bulldoze me, but he stopped abruptly and when he attempted to go around me, I moved to block him again.

  “Just listen to me, okay?”

  Mussing his hair with his fingers, he was starting to show the toll of their failure. “What, Erin?” he blew out with an exasperated breath.

  “I’m angry, too, and to be honest, I kind of want to wolf out—”

  “You’re not a wolf,” he pointed out, obviously slighted by my claim.

  “I know, but I’m feeling pretty primal. It’s not even my pack, and I want to protect them from Ian, too. But once this is over, you don’t want an irreparable mess to deal with, do you?”

  It took moments to inhale the breath he took and even more time to exhale it. Several more breaths were taken before he appeared to be calmer, although his irritation was palpable as we made our way back to the cave. The boulder to the entrance moved aside and the same man was seated in the same manner, but the layout of the cave had changed. He was off to the side of where we had entered. It was difficult to not fixate on the logistics, and Cory seemed to be having the same problem. If Asher wasn’t preoccupied with shooting the throned greeter dagger glares, he might have been mystified as well.

  “There was someone else looking for the Conparco Shield,” I informed the man, despite knowing that he already knew.

  “I’m aware.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Asher growled.

  “Because it was irrelevant information. You said you were here to get the Conparco Shield. I directed you to it. I had no obligation to provide any more information than that.”

  “It would have changed things for us,” Cory said.

  “Perhaps. But it wouldn’t have changed things for me.” The dim cave light became a little brighter near the opening where we had entered—a less than subtle invitation to leave.

  “It would have changed our approach if we knew someone else was looking for it.”

  “Would it have changed your failure into a victory?” His tone was rife with cool indifference.

  Fury that felt like flames was coming off Asher. It wasn’t just the greeter’s smug twist of his lips but the miscreant shine to his eyes. Though his voice implied it was just another day at the office, he was amused.

  “Until next time,” the greeter said, waving us away. He slumped lower in the chair as he lazily palmed the armrest of his odd throne. Asher didn’t move at first, planted in position while Cory and I made our way out. I called his name and moved to his side to urge him along. The greeter kept a careful eye on us. Either he wasn’t watchful enough or it happened so fast, the sequence of events were just blurs of movement of Asher yanking the knife from my sheath, whizzing his way to the man, and plunging the blade into the man’s thigh. Magic was a miraculous thing and often quick and adequate to defend, but sometimes it couldn’t be executed with the swiftness necessary when dealing with a vampire or shifter.

  Asher yanked out the knife and walked toward the exit without preamble or any apparent concern about retaliation. He wiped the blood off the knife on his pants and handed it to me.

  “I didn’t kill him,” he noted.

  He was right about that.

  We showered on the plane and Cory slept in the bedroom. I was tired and wanted desperately to sleep in a bed rather than in the reclining seats, but when Cory was tired, he sounded like a car with an exhaust problem. After ten minutes in the cabin, Asher made a face and I figured it was at Cory’s snoring.

  Asher studied me, his gaze traveling along the lines of my face, the exposed skin under my ripped shirt, and to my tattered, painful-looking nails. We didn’t look like we had experienced the same day.

  “You’re still bruised,” Asher pointed out, taking a sip from his glass of wine. The alcohol wasn’t easing the tension between us and our conversation had devolved to small talk as we avoided discussing our failure and his enraged reaction. I wanted to be furious with him, but recalling the smug look and wily eyes of the witch made it difficult.

  I examined the bruises on my arm. “They’re better than we were,” I acknowledged weakly. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or fatigue getting the best of me.

  Mending my wounds was Cory’s final magical act before he nearly collapsed from exhaustion onto the bed. The cut was closed but the tree butt-kicking I received—something I never expected to say—left me bruised all over with minor cuts that I didn’t want him to exert magical energy to fix. My leg ached whenever I put weight on it, but it was better than before. Post adrenaline rush, pain flooded me.

  Asher was working on his fourth glass of wine and not showing any signs of being inebriated, which reminded me why a person should never drink with shifters. When the attendant refilled his glass, she poured a little more in mine. Asher would be fine; I would be a little drunk.

  He took another sip from his glass. “What do you think is the penalty for killing someone from the Veil?” he asked.

  “The loss of your magic,” I informed him, relaying all the information that Mephisto had given me.

  “Do you trust your source?”

  I nodded. I trusted the information, but whether the source, Mephisto, could be trusted was debatable. Asher expelled a slow breath. He didn’t look hopeful and I definitely could understand that. After the experience in Dante’s Forest, I wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic either.

  His question was sobering. Placing my glass on the table, I clasped my hands together and considered him. Finishing off his wine, he put his glass next to mine, then reclined in the chair in silence. Several minutes ticked by before he spoke.

  “I can’t see this Veil. Even when they opened it in front of me, I couldn’t see it.” I’m sure it had to be difficult believing it existed, but the evidence was there. A person was there, and with a blink of the eye, they weren’t and remained missing from the world we lived in.

  Asher went on. “We don’t have the Conparco Shield, and even if I thought Neri and Adalia would abdicate, I’m not sure it would be enough to satisfy Ian. I think he’d want more and won’t stop using us to get it. We have nothing to bargain with.” The anguish and sorrow in his voice had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with what he was deciding to give up for his pack. If it were true that killing someone from the Veil was penalized by the loss of magic, would he be affected? Shifter magic was so different, there might be an exception.

  If his ability to shift was lost, could it be reversed? Could he be changed again? This was where things got complicated for me. Maybe I was selfish or blinded by desire, but my perspective on death changed when it didn’t involve me delivering the kiss and me gaining magic. It was compartmentalized. Was Ian deserving of death? This level of power-thirst should have some repercussions and punishment, but was it deserving of death?

  “I can’t imagine you without your wolf,” I admitted.

  “Me neither,” he admitted softly.

  “Then don’t test it.”

  “I can’t let this keep happening to my pack. Once a month, during the full moon, we have to change. Volition isn’t our own. The only option we have is to change before the full moon and stay in animal form so we can feel like we have some modicum of control that night. We accept that; we are called by the moon. But having someone do it to you, losing that control, it’s demoralizing.”

  “You won’t lose your wolf, and you and Sherrie won’t have anything to worry about.�
�� Asher raised an eyebrow at me. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it—I just am.”

  Might as well admit it. If I made something up, he’d know I was lying.

  “If you can do that, I will be in your debt.”

  I was racking up favors.

  It was a lesson I should have learned years ago: Never drink with shifters. The polite thing to do was to allow your glass to be filled each time theirs was, but it wasn’t the wisest thing to do. Alcohol languid and a little fuzzy, I slipped back in the chair, sipping on water after realizing my mistake.

  “What is it with you and Mephisto?” Asher asked. His voice was warm and rich, but curiosity sparked in his eyes when he looked at me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “At his poker game. I saw the way he looked at you and how you responded to him. It seemed like more than a professional relationship. Did I misread something?”

  “Yes, you misread it.”

  I wasn’t ready to discuss the peculiarity of my situation with Mephisto, especially because I wasn’t sure about it myself. Was it his magic that drew me to him, or was Cory right that Mephisto was my type and there wasn’t anything more magical about the attraction than pheromones and lust? I wanted it to be more. To lay the responsibility and the cause at the feet of my addiction. My magic wanted his magic. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “That’s funny,” I continued. “He seems to think the same about me and you.” I decided to blame that confession on the four glasses of wine.

  Me and Asher. Not likely. It’s not that I hadn’t thought about it, and seeing him naked on multiple occasions hadn’t chased the idea away. The only thing that had resolved was a feeling of betrayal when he pilfered an object I had been hired to find. We were on a ceasefire, but I wasn’t sure if I could ever truly trust him.

  “I can see that,” he admitted. A rakish look whisked over his face. “I tend to have chemistry with a lot of people. It’s the nature of the beast.”

  “Which beast, the wolf or your bountiful arrogance?”