One by one, each finally took in a breath of that poison and collapsed to the ground. They should recover as soon as the air cleared, but the deadly fog stubbornly stayed in place.
I tried to call up a wind to clear the air but could cause no movement. It was like the air was made of wet cement. The witches were causing this, making the gas attack even more deadly.
But they essayed no other attack. From the bands of magic force displayed, I could tell Mason had the entire coven locked down, neither able to relent. I knew Mason would prevail in a few minutes, but we might not get the grace of that much time.
I ached to help Mason, but the forces were so evenly balanced that my interference might release so much magic that we would all die.
The other two vehicles arrived from their entry points and disgorged squads of men in full riot gear: night-vision goggles, flak jackets, and gas masks. Each was carrying one of the railguns on their backs. The assailants raced out quickly, forming two rows.
The front row knelt, giving the rear row space to fire at the same time as the front row.
Could they see the smile on my face as I unleashed the spell I had prepared? The spell that reversed the magnetic fields of their railguns?
The leader gave the command, “Fire!”
The rear row of men was torn to shreds as the railguns of the front row fired backwards. In several cases, the railguns exploded from the force expended, taking out even more men.
The screams of our enemies were sweet music to my ears.
At a barked order, the surviving men hastily dumped their railgun packs and drew handguns. I had no doubt these were also loaded with silver bullets.
A savage grin split my mouth as I loosed the spell that rendered the primer in cartridges inert. Futile clicks sounded as hammers fell on duds.
“Let’s get them, Mike!” I said, expecting him to turn them into hamburger with the only functioning railgun left.
To my surprise, Mike dropped his backpack and pulled out his silver dagger. He was halfway to the first vehicle’s squad before I realized he was trying to avoid killing any more humans.
I faced my squad of rough men while still watching Mike. He was a whirlwind of destruction. But instead of using that magic dagger to slice and kill, he was cutting off his enemies’ gas masks.
I activated my loudspeaker spell, letting me be heard over the sounds of battle. “Come on, guys! Are you afraid of a pregnant woman?”
Hesitation vanished as they surged toward me.
I took a deep breath and howled, using the amplifier spell to make the howl even louder than their flashbangs.
It was glorious to howl with abandon. They must have heard me in Las Vegas. Hell, I probably shattered windows in the MGM Grande. The howl didn’t seem to affect my attackers. They must be wearing hearing protection.
The thought of shattered glass, along with Mike’s actions, gave me an idea. Before my attackers had made it to my position, I focused sound waves on each.
The Plexiglas in their gas masks was strong, but my howl was stronger. Eye shields shattered like soap bubbles, allowing the narcotic gas to enter. I screamed my throat raw to crack those masks.
They made it to me, but their movements were slowed by the drug and easily avoided. I ripped off each mask and smacked each of my enemies hard enough to leave them with concussions. They were soldiers, following orders and no longer a threat.
I let them all live, except for the leader, the man who had ordered the attack. His blood was just what I needed to soothe my raw throat.
The few conscious men pulled back in horror as I ravaged their leader like a dog with a rat.
When I stood, his blood dripped from my chin onto my top. Good thing I had worn black. I wiped gore from my mouth, then licked my fingers. Two of the attackers vomited before collapsing to the ground.
We turned back to the coven, still locked in battle with my magician. Lord, how long has this been going on? My packmates could survive a long time without breathing, but lack of oxygen would soon be fatal.
It took two tries to speak. Through shredded vocal cords, I said to the witches, “You can stop now and leave without dying. These humans can be given aid, and some will survive.”
Mike stepped up beside me, now wearing the railgun backpack. He flicked a switch and the railgun came to life.
I held up a hand to stop him before he could pull the trigger. Magician’s sight showed that the coven had formed the solid air shield into a curving ramp that would ricochet the rounds back at us.
Even through the mask, Plotnikov’s laugh was nasty. “You could beg for mercy, but there is no mercy here for animals or men.”
“No mercy,” I agreed. “Remember, I gave you a choice.”
I waved and used the last of my magical strength to create a small bubble of clear air just outside the door of the closest home.
“Thanks, Mason,” I said as misdirection. Everyone knew werewolves couldn’t perform magic.
The door opened and out stepped my surprise: Dr. Patrizia, Deshondra, and four of her Wiccan sisters.
The Wiccans started chanting, and the balance shifted.
“You betray your sisters!” screamed one of Plotnikov’s coven.
“You betray life by sowing death,” said Dr. Patrizia.
Now it was the coven locked in place, the balance of power tilted in Mason’s favor. The choking gas started to drift away from us, leaving behind the still forms of humans and werewolves.
Guided by Mason, the gas concentrated around the coven, thicker and thicker, extruding almost solid tendrils of malevolence. The tendrils touched their faces, seeking entry through the seals of their masks.
Plotnikov succumbed first, choking and gasping as she pulled off the now-useless mask. Her eyes grew unfocused as she fell to the ground.
Three more of the coven ripped off their masks and were rendered unconscious. The solid air shield wavered, then fell.
In an instant, I was among them, claws extended to slash the straps of their gas masks. I ached to slash and slash, ending their threat.
“Luna,” said Dr. Patrizia softly, “you promised you would try to avoid killing.”
The remaining witches fell to their knees and held their hands up. Mason allowed the poison gas to dissipate.
“Mike, immobilize them.”
Mike pulled out a handful of large plastic zip-ties and quickly handcuffed the witches, locking their hands behind them. There were shared smirks among the group. Escaping human restraints would be easy for a witch.
I felt for my packmates through our link. They were unconscious but breathing. They would need a few more minutes to recover. I sent healing energy to them.
Mason, finally able to move, whooshed in relief. He stepped quickly to stand beside Plotnikov, who was sitting on the ground with a dazed expression on her face.
Her expression cleared and she shook her head in anger. Magic gathered around her as she prepared to strike.
Then Mason placed his spread hand on her scalp, touching with only his fingertips. Electricity and magic sparked from his fingers to her head.
She jerked and convulsed as if struck by lightning, then fell to the ground.
“You said you wouldn’t kill them!” said Dr. Patrizia.
“That was Luna’s promise. I made no such vow.”
“Mason—” I began.
“Very well. I promise I won’t kill them,” said Mason as Plotnikov’s eyes blinked open and she forced herself to sit up.
Anger flashed in her eyes as she reached for magic. Anger, then horror, as nothing happened.
“What the hell did you do to me?” she screamed.
“I burned out the part of your brain that accesses magic,” said Mason in a voice dripping with hatred.
Mason turned to Dr. Patrizia. “I promised they would live. They will live; live without magic or the ability to cause mischief. In fact, she will live longer without magic.”
He stepped to the next wi
tch, a chubby redhead who was shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s not possible—”
She convulsed as Mason destroyed her connection to magic.
Plotnikov cursed and hurled herself at Mason. He laughed and sidestepped her attack. She ended up on her face in the dirt.
Mason moved to the next witch. She mustered a magical attack, attempting to shoot fire at Mason. Her lance of flame engulfed him for a moment, then coalesced into a ball of light above his left hand.
“Cute.” He placed his hand on her head. “Thanks for the light.”
Mason tossed the ball of light to illuminate the scattered bodies of the dead and injured military men.
“Maybe you should see if there is anyone over there who can be helped?”
Dr. Patrizia bit her lip in anger, then turned and murmured to her team. Two went back into the house and came back with first aid kits. The group moved to aid the injured men.
One coven member snarled at Mason, “I’d rather die than lose my magic!”
Mason nodded as if she had made a good point. Instead of touching her head, he made a fist. Red magic burst from his knuckles, forming a lethal blade.
The tip of the blade danced in front of her eyes. “Don’t worry,” murmured Mason, “this will be over in an instant.”
“Wait! Stop! I don’t want to die!”
“Then you shouldn’t have attacked my children.”
“Okay, okay,” she sobbed and put her head down. “Take my magic, please.”
Next was an African-American woman in her forties. She snarled, “Your mother would be so disappointed in you.”
Mason stopped and stared into her eyes. “You’re right,” he admitted. “She would never leave an enemy like you alive. You’re lucky I’m not more like my mother.”
Mason continued his butcher’s work on the remaining coven members. Some struggled, some tried to flee, some begged for mercy.
“No mercy,” I reminded them.
It was finally over. Several had soiled themselves during convulsions; two were staring blankly into space, those remaining regarded Mason with a hate that promised retribution.
Mike stepped up, buckling the railgun backpack tight. My pack trailed along behind.
I stepped over and touched my pack members. In moments, under the influence of their alpha’s aura, they were fully recovered.
“I’m glad that’s over,” I said. “I’m really happy we didn’t have to call out—”
“It’s not over,” said Mike as he powered up his railgun again. “The helicopter is still up there. The second wave will arrive in minutes.”
“What second wave?” I asked as the roar of heavy diesel engines came from outside the compound.
30
The nearest breached wall, where the armored vehicles had made their entrance, was suddenly blocked by a transit bus. The door opened and raggedly dressed humans ran out.
“What can humans do against us?” I asked. Then the stench arrived. Unwashed, filthy, and demon-infested, these were enemies more deadly than the soldiers. That bastard Marcus had had his demons infest the homeless population of Las Vegas to use against us.
I expected a magical attack as these enemies came at us with inhuman speed.
Matching my thought, Mason said, “They must be low-level demons, those without the ability to use magic on Earth.”
“Easy, then,” I said.
“No. They’re practically superhuman. They feel no pain, can drive those bodies like puppets, and work together.”
Mason turned to Mike. “Only head or spine shots can stop them.”
Mike nodded grimly and took his position in front of us. “A target-rich environment. I wish Logan were here to join in.”
The buses hadn’t just stopped here. The sound of tires screeching and double doors opening came from the other two entrance points.
“Gabriela,” I called to Dr. Patrizia, “you need to get inside that house.”
“We can’t leave our patients.”
Damn Wiccan ethics. There were only a few humans who might survive, but the Wiccans were willing to risk certain death to save lives.
I made a split-second decision. It would be faster to have my pack kill the rest of the soldiers. Without patients, Gabriela and her friends would be free to flee.
“Dammit!” I growled. “Pack, take those soldiers inside that house.” I shouted to Gabriela, “Now will you please get the hell out of here?”
Laughter came from our rear. The old coven-master cackled in glee. “If your pet magician hadn’t mind-raped us, we could help against those creatures. Now we’re all going to die.”
“As if I could trust this coven at my back,” said Mason.
I stared into her eyes. “Get your fat ass in gear and help the injured men.”
She shook her head, then paused. Escaping with the injured would be safer than staying out here. The group scurried away, dragging their two comatose members with them.
“We need more firepower,” said Mike. He started shooting with the railgun. The combination of his vision, reflexes, and training made each shot deadly. Even so, he would run out of shots before these hundreds of attackers perished.
Mike was whispering as he shot, so low that even I had a hard time making it out. No wonder: It was Latin. Mike was praying for the souls of the people he shot.
“I can get us a lot more firepower,” I said.
Bright moonlight, chill as night on a mountaintop, flowed from my hands, covering my pack in lunar energy.
The effect was instantaneous. Each shifted into their wolf form, a form many times deadlier than human.
My snarling monsters tore into the crowd of possessed, rending limb from limb, ripping out throats, and killing with abandon.
Mike adjusted his aim to avoid my packmates. There were still plenty of targets.
I had almost forgotten about Mason. Then the roar of flames rolled through our compound. Mason was using the element of fire to spray the attackers at our back as if he were using a flamethrower.
Bodies crisped and flesh melted under his attack. But those blinded, crispy-fried creatures continued to crawl forward.
“Leave it to Mason to take ‘firepower’ literally,” I muttered.
The demon-infested were closing in on three sides while more buses pulled up outside.
“Mike,” I shouted, “can you exorcise them?”
“The rite is only for a single demon. We face hundreds.” His voice was grim as he continued shooting.
“Mason, do you have any more of the demon-trap bottles?”
“The traps can only hold one demon. Even the circle in our garage could hold twenty at most.”
I stood beside Mason and added hurricane force winds to his flame attack, amplifying the destruction.
Under our withering attack, even demon-possessed humans retreated. They regathered near the shattered walls.
My momentary elation was squelched when even more buses pulled up to disgorge more hellish fighters. These new arrivals weren’t homeless wretches; they were dressed better, looked healthier, move more alertly than the first wave. A higher class of demon possessing a higher class of human. They gathered to renew their assault.
I stopped my hurricane, suddenly exhausted. “You don’t have any more tricks up your sleeve?” I asked Mason as his flame burned down to an ember.
“I have several spells in reserve, but a spell strong enough to eliminate this many demon-infested humans would also take out Las Vegas.”
A body dropped onto Mason, scrambling frantically to gouge out his eyes. I beheaded the monster in an instant and Mason regained his feet.
The aerial assault had given the others the idea to climb the nearby houses and attack by leaping at us.
Mike’s weapon went silent.
“I’m out!” he said as he dropped the railgun backpack. He pulled out his knife and stepped closer to the mob.
“Saint Luna,” said Mike, “it’s time to clear the bench
.”
Mixed metaphors, but I understood.
I opened my mouth and shouted—
31
“—Mom! I need your help!”
Doors burst open around the compound as my step-siblings raced out, led by my mother. Their howls—so different than my pack’s and yet so similar—froze the demons in place.
Even with their human halves subsumed by demons, the sound of a wolf pack froze our attackers in fear.
Avoiding the streets, which were clogged with the possessed, my step-siblings leaped over fences and through yards to get near us, howling all the way.
In moments we were surrounded by dozens of fit young men. Each carried a weapon: Some had knives, some baseball bats, some with scavenged two-by-fours.
Mom raced up, hair unbound and flying in the wind, a savage grin on her face. A barefoot madwoman in nurse’s scrubs, eager for a fight.
“Angela,” said Mason. “Thank you for accepting our invitation.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Mom looked at me. “Even with our help, this is still one-sided. These cubs are barely stronger than human tonight. Are you sure you can do that trick on us?”
“See for yourself, Mom.” I raised my hands and let moonlight explode from my palms, bathing Mom in lunar energy.
“Ohhh! That feels so good!” Mom’s claws extended to killing length and her teeth sharpened. Muscles on her bare arms writhed under her skin as they grew. The scrub top was suddenly too tight for her. She fought to keep her human shape, the better to communicate. “Is this how an alpha feels all the time?”
“You get used to it.”
“Now do the cubs,” growled Mom.
The demons had regrouped and shambled toward us anew. I had only a few seconds to zap the cubs.
“Have them line up and come here so I can shine on them.”
“That’ll take too long,” said Mason. He bent down and grabbed my ankles. He lifted my pregnant body as if I weighed nothing, allowing me to beam energy down at the group of werewolves.
Lycan Legacy - 4 - 5 - 6: Princess - Progeny - Paladin: Book 4 - 5 - 6 in the Lycan Legacy Series Page 52