Blood Challenge

by Eileen Wilks

  “Foolishness,” Lucas said, “but very well. “

  “Oh, all right,” Myron said. “Though Lucas is right—it’s a foolish sacrifice of dignity, which Billy possesses in much greater quantity than I, so I suppose he can spare a morsel of it. Billy! Please allow—ah, I think your name is Gil? Allow Gil to pat you down, then do the same for him.”

  The man with the buzzed hair—who looked like he should be called Crusher or Bull, not Billy—moved toward the dark-skinned man on his left. Rule gave Benedict a nod.

  George had waited with his arms outstretched. Benedict went to him. He was quick, efficient, and as thorough as one can be without the body cavity search Cullen had mockingly suggested. Within moments Benedict straightened. “Unless his phone transforms into a laser gun, he’s clean.”

  “Permit him to assure himself that the same is true for you.”

  Benedict looked bored. He tugged his T-shirt off over his head and held it out. “You’ll want to check that.”

  The man took it, shook it, shrugged, and tossed it over his shoulder.

  Benedict hadn’t left him many places to look. His shorts were knee-length khaki. Unlike most of the others, he wore a belt with them. His phone was clipped to it. George patted Benedict’s hips and butt, paying attention to the pockets, and ran a couple fingers inside the waist of his shorts, then knelt on one knee. Apparently he meant to check Benedict’s socks and shoes, but Lily didn’t see what he actually did. George’s body blocked her from seeing his hands.

  She saw Benedict’s face change, a subtle disturbance rippling through his features. Then Benedict roared.

  And things went to hell really fast.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  BENEDICT slammed his fist into George’s face. George flew backward several feet. He hadn’t yet landed when Benedict leaped at the man closest to him—Gil, Javier’s guard, who’d just finished patting down Myron’s Billy. Benedict didn’t land on Gil. He jumped past the man—seizing his head and twisting it as he did.

  Gil never had a chance to cry out. His body slumped to the ground like an under-filled bag of sand.

  Benedict landed on his toes already bending into his next move. He spun on one leg, the other one swinging through the air, his torso lined up perfectly with the outstretched leg to balance the kick.

  Billy was in motion, too—rushing into the attack, trying to redirect the kick and upset Benedict’s balance.

  Billy was lupus. He was fast.

  Not fast enough.

  Somehow Benedict altered the kick in midmotion, bending his knee and twisting his body to change the trajectory. Had he misjudged even a fraction, it would have been his knee rather than his thigh that smacked into Billy’s head— probably crippling Benedict, however much damage it did to Billy. Instead Billy fell to the ground, stunned or dead.

  All that took three seconds.

  Lily was slow to react. Sheer disbelief held her motionless. The lupi around her were a split-second faster. Even as Billy fell, Rule threw himself into a run. So did Edgar and Lucas. Javier howled and jumped . . . on Rule. From behind.

  The two tumbled to the ground, rolled. Myron, who had just started forward, jerked to a halt near them.

  “Furo!” cried the one remaining guard, dodging frantically as Benedict charged him. “He stinks of the fury!”

  The fury? Oh, gods, this was bad. Lily started to reach inside her sling. Stopped.

  “Circle him!” That was Cullen—who wasn’t a trained fighter, but he was blindingly quick. Maybe the only one faster than Benedict. He didn’t obey his own order. He rushed Benedict, moving so fast Lily couldn’t quite see what happened—but it resulted in Cullen veering at the last second when Benedict’s arm flashed out.

  The sleep charms. Cullen had tried to use one. He couldn’t get close enough.

  Lucas dashed in just as Cullen veered away. The flurry of motion was too quick to follow, but it ended with Benedict’s mouth bleeding freely and Lucas flying a dozen feet through the air. Edgar charged Benedict from behind. Benedict spun and slammed both fists on Edgar’s head. Edgar went down hard.

  They needed Rule, who might be able to use the portion of the Nokolai mantle he held to stop Benedict. Maybe.

  There was a solid smack of fist on flesh. Rule nearly won free, but Javier snaked out a foot, tripping him. Lucas and Cullen were distracting Benedict, giving him two fast-moving targets. Lily hesitated for one more second, looking over at Arjenie. The woman stood stock-still, eyes huge with horror. “Get in the car,” Lily snapped. “Lock the doors.”

  “Furo?” Those huge eyes turned to Lily. “The fury? What’s that? What’s happening?”

  “Madness. In the car. Now.” Lily didn’t wait to see if she obeyed, but raced toward Rule and Javier. Twenty feet away, Cullen danced and darted around Benedict like a rodeo clown keeping an enraged bull away from his target—Edgar, who was trying to rise. Lucas was down again, on hands and knees, shaking his head. The remaining guard cradled one arm close to his body and moved sluggishly, as if dazed.

  In the second or two Lily had looked away, Benedict had struck again.

  Myron had stayed near Rule and Javier. He jumped back as the entangled fighters rolled. “Javier! Stop it! We need Rule to—oh, damn,” he said, sliding sideways quickly to avoid them. “Not going to listen, are you?” He grimaced, drew back his foot, and kicked Javier in the head.

  Javier went limp. Rule sprang to his feet and dashed toward the madman who was his brother. Lily followed as fast as she could.

  “Benedict!” Rule shouted. “Freeze!”

  For a split second, he did. For one shutter-click moment, he didn’t move. But only for that long. Then he charged Rule.

  Rule danced aside at the last second. “Circle him! I’ll keep him busy while—”

  “Hell, no, you won’t!” Cullen yelled back. “I’m faster.” As if to prove that he darted in—then back, ducking and dodging, giving Rule a chance to move closer while he weaved around blows that didn’t quite land.

  Until one did. Cullen sailed backward, skidding across the dry grass in a cloud of dust to end up next to one of those terribly still bodies. Lily stopped just as Rule leaped on his brother’s back. Benedict threw himself backward. The two of them landed in a tangled pile, but Benedict had managed to twist himself around as they fell, landing with one knee in Rule’s back.

  For a sickening second, Rule was still. Benedict reached for Rule’s head or maybe his throat—

  A rock sailed in and hit him in the head.

  He rolled off and in one smooth motion regained his feet, growling in a way no human throat should be able to do. Cullen stood ten feet away, another rock in his hand, grinning like a maniac. Half his face was covered in blood. He swayed slightly where he stood and his eyes looked fuzzy, as if they weren’t tracking right. “Want some more? C’mon. Come here.” He made a beckoning gesture. “Let’s dance, big boy.”

  Benedict’s face contorted in fury—but instead of launching himself at Cullen, he moved sideways, his head swinging between Cullen and Rule—who’d gotten to his feet. As Benedict retreated, Lucas shoved to his feet and his guard moved closer, making part of a loose circle around Benedict. That guard still clutched one arm to his chest. Broken, probably.

  He’d be the weak point. He must know it. Benedict would, too. He might be mad with rage, but even a fear-maddened beast knows which predator is injured and weakened.

  Lily held back. She for damn sure couldn’t fight Benedict, and if she—

  “Benedict.” Rule’s voice was low, so deep it could almost have been Isen speaking. “Submit. Now.”

  Again Benedict froze. It lasted a full second this time.

  It might have lasted longer if Javier hadn’t shot in from one side and tackled him.

  They went down together. Rule dove in, seizing one of his brother’s hands with both of his even as Javier reached for Benedict’s throat—and took a blow to his ribs from Benedict’s other hand. Lucas skidded onto
his knees on Benedict’s other side, reaching for that arm. Rule shifted quickly, using his knee to pin Benedict’s forearm. He dug into his pocket, popped something in his mouth, took it out and reached for Benedict’s bare skin.

  Benedict bucked so strongly he toppled Javier, who bumped into Rule, knocking him away. And something small and silver went spinning off to land near Billy’s motionless body.

  With Javier dislodged and Rule off-balance, Benedict’s legs were free. He used them to kick to his feet in spite of Lucas’s grip—or maybe Lucas helped, because he used the motion to flip Benedict.

  Benedict landed well, though, and was on his feet before Lucas could close. Rule had regained his feet, too, and the two of them circled Benedict.

  “Stop it!” Arjenie cried from back at the car. “Stop now!”

  Myron came up beside Lily. He imitated Cullen by lobbing a rock at Benedict. This one, though, Benedict simply caught—and hurled back.

  Lily ducked. Myron yelled something. Benedict charged. Arjenie slapped her hand against the car’s rear window.

  Lily felt the magic as it rolled past her, quick as a flash fire but somehow bruised, a hot, squishy sort of power prickling her skin. As it hit, people fell—Myron, Rule, Benedict, Lucas, the lone remaining guard. Arjenie, too. She collapsed into a small heap beside the car. Everyone but Lily—and Cullen. Who had shields, excellent shields, and who was staring at her in the same astonishment she felt.

  Lily shook that off, took four running steps, and slid to her knees beside Benedict, who was supposed to be immune to his Chosen’s magic. Turned out that was wrong. Whatever Arjenie did when she combined her Gift with glass, it had hit Benedict along with the rest.

  She licked the silver disk Cullen had given her and slapped it against Benedict’s bare chest. Then, for a moment, she just breathed . . . and noticed what she was touching. Mixed with the pine-and-fur of lupus magic was something oily. “Okay,” she said, looking around. Bodies everywhere. “Cullen? You okay?”

  “Not seeing double anymore, which is a good sign.” He’d knelt beside one of the fallen. “Billy’s alive, but I think his neck’s broken. Potentially healable. Depends on his innate healing and the care he gets.”

  “The others?”

  “Gil’s dead. Checking on the rest.” He stood.

  At some point in the past, Cullen had gone to medical school. Lily hoped he remembered enough. “Check the injured first. The ones knocked out by magic should . . .” Movement in her peripheral vision had her head swinging around.

  The Leidolf guard had returned. Scott stood staring in horror about ten yards away—too distant to be affected by the blast from the glass, she guessed. “Check on Arjenie,” she snapped. “She’s next to the Lincoln. If she didn’t break anything when she fell”—unlikely, but best to check—“put her in the car and make her as comfortable as possible.”

  “I—my Rho—”

  “Is okay.” She thought. She hoped. “Move!”

  He ran up to Arjenie.

  “Edgar’s dead,” Cullen said flatly, rising from Edgar’s still body. “I think George twitched earlier, before Arjenie knocked everyone out.”

  Oh, shit, oh, shit. The Wythe Rho. This was going to be bad. “We need to ask George some questions. Benedict didn’t go into the fury all by himself.”

  “Didn’t think he did,” Cullen said curtly, moving to kneel beside George.

  “She seems okay,” Scott called. “Out cold, but I didn’t find any injuries. Heartbeat’s strong.”

  “Good. Soon as she’s settled in the car, come here and hold this charm on Benedict’s chest. Cullen, how long will it work?”

  “Twenty to thirty minutes. He’ll come out slow, give us a chance to switch to a fresh one.” Cullen nodded at George, who wasn’t twitching now. “Broken jaw. Probably a concussion, too, but his pupils match. Good thing Benedict wasn’t trying to kill us.”

  “Not funny. Do you have any idea how long Rule and the others will be out?”

  “No. Rule should come around first, though.” Cullen rose. “He heals quick, and he’s got a full mantle, unlike the rest of them. That will help.” He headed for the Lincoln. “And I wasn’t joking. If Benedict had intended to kill instead of damage, we’d have more than two dead.”

  “He didn’t have time,” Lily said dryly. Her arm was hurting. She hadn’t noticed it much in the middle of everything, but now it pulsed with pain in time with her heartbeat.

  Stupid arm. It hadn’t done a damn thing.

  “Cullen’s right,” said a groggy but welcome voice. Rule sat up slowly. “I believe you haven’t seen Benedict fight before.”

  Lily had been told often that Benedict was the best fighter in the clans. That he was something special. She hadn’t known what that meant, not really. It was still hard to believe she’d seen what she’d seen. “Ten to one will keep even the best fighter busy.” Even if he cut it down to seven-to-one in the first three seconds.

  “I wouldn’t say that he held back, exactly.” Rule grunted as he rose. “Damn, those ribs feel a lot worse now than they did with the adrenaline going.”

  “Your ribs? Rule, if they’re broken—”

  He waved that away with the hand that wasn’t clutching his side. “They’re not badly enough displaced to put my lungs in danger. He could have broken my back instead. He didn’t. He didn’t hold back, but some part of him found non-lethal blows.”

  “Not in every case,” Cullen said grimly. He’d popped the trunk and was pulling out a large white case with a red cross on the front.

  “Sir,” Scott said, trotting toward Rule. “Lily said to—”

  “Then do as she told you.” Rule glanced at Cullen. “How many died?”

  “Gil and Edgar.”

  Rule’s face went tight. After a moment he said, “George is alive?”

  “Unless he’s got injuries I didn’t spot, he should make it.”

  “We need to talk to him.”

  It sounded like Rule’s mind was running along the same track as Lily’s. “He did something, all right.” Scott settled to the ground on the other side of Benedict’s peacefully sleeping body. She let him take over as holder-of-the-charm and used her freed hand to reach into her shorts’ pocket. “Benedict’s coated in some kind of oily magic. I’m guessing it’s from one of Dya’s potions. It’s what was done to Cobb, but not administered in a drink.” She glanced at Cullen as she pulled out her phone. “Is there such a thing as a tactile potion?”

  “Probably.” He set the backboard down beside Billy but headed to George.

  “Lily.” Rule’s voice was sharp. “Who do you mean to call?”

  “9-1-1. We need ambulances, stat.”

  “9-1-1 will give us police, also. If you call this in, Benedict goes to prison—probably for life, though only if they allow us to continue applying the sleep charm. If not, he’ll probably kill more people and they’ll shoot him. If he lives, Arjenie will have to take the cell next to his. She’ll spend her life in prison as well. The mate bond will no longer be secret.”

  Lily scowled. “There are two people dead. There are others in need of immediate medical attention. We’ll have to sort it out later, prove that Benedict wasn’t acting under his own volition.” Using magic in the commission of a felony was a felony. Investigating that, finding the real perp—that’s what her job was about.

  Rule just looked at her. “Arjenie said her sister’s potions were undetectable. How will you prove Benedict’s innocence to the law’s satisfaction?”

  “I—” She wanted to say the potion was not undetectable, dammit. She was detecting it right now. But her word wasn’t evidence. No doubt there’d be screams about conflict of interest again, too. She might not be allowed to handle the investigation. “I don’t know yet. That doesn’t mean I won’t figure it out.”

  And someone could die while they argued about it. Lily flicked on her phone.

  “Lily.” Rule moved with that eerie speed he seldom used when he w
asn’t fighting. He crouched next to her and placed one hand on her wrist. “I had to make a difficult decision in Nashville when we spoke with Cobb. I’m asking you to make a difficult decision now.”

  “You’re asking me to cover up a crime.”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at his hand on her wrist. He applied no pressure. He could have easily wrested her phone away, taken the decision from her. He could have said that if she failed to prove Benedict innocent, he’d be convicted and given gado. He might survive with his sanity intact . . . for the first few years. Rule could have pointed out how little Benedict deserved that, no more than Arjenie deserved what would happen to her. Or that with the Great Bitch active in their world, Nokolai and all the lupi needed Benedict.

  He could have told her he couldn’t stand to lose his brother.

  Instead he waited. He trusted her to know these things. He trusted her to make the right decision.

  Lily put her phone back to sleep and slipped it in her pocket. Nausea twisted in her belly. She didn’t know if she’d made the right decision. She didn’t know. “We need medical help. And someone could have seen the fight and called it in already.”

  “I’m the medical help, for now.” Cullen studied the unconscious George. “I think I got his jaw back in place, but I should tape it up.”

  “You can’t set a jaw that way.”

  “You can’t. I can. I’m not saying I did it right, but the bones are lined up better than they were. Wouldn’t try it on a . . .” His voice drifted off. He bent closer, then looked at Rule. “Rule.”

  Rule moved quickly to crouch next to Cullen. His back was to her, and the two men kept her from seeing George. “Is he—”

  “Awake,” Rule said curtly. He bent lower as if the man had said something, though Lily didn’t hear anything. “No. Edgar is dead.”

  This time Lily heard George. He keened, a high-pitched sound of grief.

  One of the other bodies groaned. Lily looked over and saw Myron stirring. She pushed to her feet and headed to him, arriving just as he sat up, holding his head in both hands.