by Callie Rose
Motherfucker. They used a spell to reverse my shift.
I roll onto my hands and knees and reach inside for my wolf to bring him back out. But there’s too much witch magic still coursing through me, like a black poison caging my wolf. I can’t see through the smoke. If I can get to the meeting house, there will be a gun waiting for me. It will have to do for now.
As I stumble unsteadily to my feet, the smoke curls and parts ahead of me. A young witch appears like a ghost from the clouds, small and pale and entirely too young to be here killing people. She has her hands raised as magic pulses at her fingertips, but there’s fear in her eyes as our gazes meet.
Jesus. I don’t want to kill a fucking child. These people are more depraved than I ever could have imagined.
But I don’t have to make that life or death decision. Not this time, anyway. Instead, I hear another call rising over the mayhem. More doors slamming, more baying, more shifters joining the fight.
The North Pack and West Pack have come to play.
I grin as the noise intensifies through the smoke. The other two packs have been lying in wait, giving the East Pack a head start and lulling the witches into complacency.
They figured this would be an easy fight, so we let them think they were right. We lured them into the heart of the village where they’ll be easier to corral.
And now maybe the tides will turn.
The witch in front of me startles and darts away, vanishing back into the safety of the smoke. The way it parts and swirls around her tells me it’s a magical spell, one the witches have set up to protect themselves as they attack. If I can find the witch keeping the smoke barrier up, I can destroy them and give my fellow shifters an opening.
I try to shift to wolf form again, and relief floods me as I find that whatever spell forced me to turn human has faded. Once I’m back on four paws, I take off into the smoke, my sights set on finding the culprit.
I pass through the shadowy magic, figures appearing and disappearing from my vision as I move quickly. The wolves clearly have the upper hand now—we outnumber the witches. I find three on one, four on one, witches dead, witches bleeding out on the ground. They’re no match for the combined strength of the three packs, not even with their dark magic.
I leap over a dead wolf, then cringe as I hear someone else yelp nearby. Outnumbered, but still dangerous. Fucking witches, I think grimly.
Narrowly dodging another blast of magic, I duck behind the corner of a house and calculate my plan. Whoever’s controlling the smoke would need to be on the outside of it looking in, so that they can control where it goes and how it affects the coven as they fight.
Is it that bitch Cleo?
Part of me hopes it is. I want to be the one to take her out. My paws pound against the dirt as I head toward the outskirts of the village, determined to kill any witch I see along the way.
Magic bursts around me in earnest now, illuminating the smoke like lightning thrashing through storm clouds. As I run, my nails clicking on the hard-packed road below the din of battle, the blasts seem closer and closer. I duck and weave, cringing away from bursts of light. One blow lands near my paws, and I leap away as the ground erupts from the force of the spell.
My heart hammers in my chest. Fucking hell. Someone’s got a bead on me.
I put on a burst of speed and take up a zig zag pattern.
I’m passing through a crowd of fighters when a huge burst of magic billows toward me. I don’t have time to react, and I immediately think of the way the earth exploded beneath that last spell. I’m fucked.
But before the blast can hit me, a ball of black smoke hurtles over my head and meets the magic head on. A thunderous explosion rocks the village as the two magics meet and destroy each other. I glance over my shoulder to see Sable standing in the middle of someone’s yard, her arms and head both held high. Her eyes are wide, and smoke billows out from her as if it’s seeping from her skin.
Our gazes meet, and my heart clenches as I see both the terror and the strength in her.
She shouldn’t have to do this. She doesn’t have enough training, either as a witch or a wolf, to face this kind of threat.
But she’s doing it anyway.
Her movements are jerky and uncoordinated, her attack nowhere near as smoothly controlled as Gwen’s was when we fought against her. In fact, I’m not sure Sable is using sigils at all. Still, black smoke is pouring out of her, and she guides it as much as she can, hurling it outward with broad movements of her hands.
I don’t know how long she can last. How long any of us can last. I need to find the source of all of this—Cleo—and fucking end her.
I make a move to turn away, but I’m stopped short by a blast of power as it streaks by my snout. It’s not meant for me, or it would’ve taken me down before I had a chance to breathe.
No, it barrels right past me, on a collision course for my girl.
The world seems to stop, time slowing down so each millisecond lasts an eternity.
Sable is caught in a battle with another witch, magic swirling and crackling between them. Her dueling partner is strong, and it’s taking all of Sable’s concentration. She doesn’t see the new threat coming toward her.
I can’t scream her name, so I howl—louder than I’ve ever howled before, with more anguish and desperation in the sound than I ever thought possible.
Sable’s head whips around, her blue eyes wide. She’s got a barrier up against the other witch as magic barrages her. She can’t do anything.
I race for her.
I’ll take the fucking blow.
I’d die for her any day.
But I’m not close enough. I won’t reach her in time.
The black magic bears down on her like a fucking freight train, but before it can reach her, another wolf leaps forward, absorbing the blow only inches before it strikes Sable’s back.
I skid to a stop, my heart so loud I hear it in my ears, feeling my pulse pounding in my front paws.
Magic shimmers over the large wolf as he lies still on the grass, his human form emerging.
It’s Malcolm.
25
Sable
The sound of something landing heavily on the ground behind me draws my attention away from the fight I’m locked in. I shove another blast of magic at the witch who’s attacking me, making her stumble back as I glance over my shoulder.
My heart lodges in my throat, making it impossible to breathe through the shock and grief.
“No!”
Fuck. No.
Malcolm isn’t even supposed to be here. All three packs voted for him to remain hidden and safe, protected in his own house while we faced the witches.
But like every shifter I love, the old alpha is stubborn. He obviously couldn’t sit the battle out.
Black smoke crackles over his body as the wolf on the ground turns back to Malcolm’s human form. His pale, wan face is slack, and magic has twisted tendrils of smoke around his too-thin body.
He’s hurt. Maybe even dead.
And it’s my fault.
“Dad!” Archer appears out of the thick smoke in human form, bare feet slapping the ground as he rushes to his father’s side.
His face is anguished as he bends down and presses a hand to Malcolm’s neck, searching for a pulse. But I can see Malcolm drawing ragged, painful breaths, so I know that whatever hit him didn’t kill him. His expression grim, Archer slides his arms under the old man’s shoulders and starts dragging him toward the nearest cabin. A second later, Dare shows up in human form and takes Malcolm’s legs to help Archer carry him.
Amora steps up beside me, and the sharp crack of her rifle makes my ears ring. The smoke billows in the wake of the bullet, and the witch I was fighting earlier falls, magic fizzling out at her fingertips.
“We’ve got to get Malcolm inside,” she yells, raising her voice to carry over the din of the fight around us. “I’ll help you cover them.”
I nod, keeping my hands raise
d and hurling magic at any witch who gets too close. We all follow Archer, keeping him protected as he gets his dad out of harm’s way. Trystan’s still in wolf form, sticking close to Dare, Archer, and Malcolm as they move quickly. Amora and Ridge are both human, naked, their guns held at the ready and looking for all the world like trained soldiers instead of shifters.
A second after we enter the cabin, an unfamiliar brown wolf comes hurtling down the street and lunges through the door after us. She shifts in mid-leap and lands on two strong, sturdy legs.
It’s Hope, Malcolm’s nurse. She must have been following him. The way she looks equal parts angry and terrified tells me the old alpha didn’t ask for permission before he raced into battle. She takes Malcolm’s legs from Dare, and then she and Archer vanish into the back of the house with his father.
Dare bounds back out of the cabin, magic already shimmering over his body as he shifts back. His dark haunches disappear, nearly the same color as the black clouds obscuring our view. I can’t spare too much thought right now for where he’s going or why. Not with Malcolm hurt.
Ridge, Amora, and Trystan step outside the door to guard the house as the battle rages on, but I follow Archer inside. I doubt there’s much I can do to help, but I can at least be moral support. Malcolm is Archer’s whole family, his best friend. My heart pounds wildly at the thought of something happening to tear the two men apart.
Archer and Hope lift Malcolm onto the couch where she begins to look over the alpha, searching him for wounds. But even from my place by the doorway, I can see that the magic didn’t leave a single mark on his body. It’s all inside him, the spell moving and undulating like a demon beneath his skin.
The magic is eating at him from the inside out. There are no injuries that Hope can bandage. No physical wounds she can heal.
As that thought sinks into my shocked mind, I realize I hate it. I hate magic. I’d give anything for a life with my mates where I’m just a shifter. Where there’s no dark magic fighting for control of me. Where there’s no threat of witches getting control of my mind.
“Go!” Malcolm croaks, shoving Archer toward the door. “Protect... our p-people.”
“I’m not leaving you!” Archer growls, stepping back up to the side of the couch like a boomerang returning to the person who threw it.
Malcolm’s pained face turns hard. “Would you deny your alpha’s orders?”
I look between the two of them, struck by how much they look alike: the way their chins jut out, the way their brows pull together and their eyes glint like steel. Like father, like son.
“Go,” Malcolm says again, and this time, he means it.
“Don’t fucking die.” Archer’s jaw clenches as he looks down at his father, his eyes shining. Then he turns on his heel and strides past me back out into the smoke.
I shoot another glance at Malcolm. His breathing is labored, his skin ashen, but he’s in good hands with Hope. He’s conscious, he’s not bleeding, and he’s cognizant… for now anyway.
And he’s right. We have to keep fighting, or this will all be for nothing.
Squaring my shoulders, I follow my mate back into the battle.
Between the thick black smoke and the constant sounds of growling and shouting, the streets are chaotic. I lose sight of Archer in the melee and turn my efforts toward the scuffles breaking out near me, trying to harness my power and remember every sigil I ever studied. I blast a witch with a small binding spell, just enough to give Trystan an opening to finish her. Then I throw up a barrier between a male witch and Amora before his magic can get anywhere near her. I let the shield drop before she pulls the trigger on her gun, and blood blossoms on the man’s chest as he keels over in the street.
Archer appears beside me and aims his rifle as he gazes through the thick smoke. It’s almost impossible to see through, but takes a shot at a witch hiding between two houses in the distance. He misses, and I hear him growl as he tries again.
Despite the sure way he holds and uses the gun, and the way his beautiful face is set in stone, Archer’s cheeks are streaked with tears. My heart cracks into pieces for the pain he must be feeling. The blast Malcolm absorbed was huge, and he was already weak to begin with. The raw pain on my mate’s face mimics my own.
I don’t know if his father will survive this.
And I can’t fix it. I can’t fix it and save Malcolm’s life. I can’t erase that bone-deep agony on Archer’s face. I’m powerless to stop the hands of death, just like I’m powerless to stop the magic that tries to take control of me, that awakens in the night and threatens the men I love without my knowing.
All around me, gunfire and magic fill my senses.
Snarling wolves.
Howls.
Yelps.
Witches’ screams.
It’s all too much, pressing in on me from all sides. I want to end it. To stop it.
To fucking fix this.
My emotions have turned into a windstorm inside me. The magic churns beneath my skin, and my scars burn black. I feel like I’m lost in a panic attack, except I’m not. I’m just… wound up. Wound tight like a guitar string ready to be played.
Anger builds inside me, fury that despite all our planning, despite everything we’ve done, the witches are still tearing us apart. Power courses through my body, but I’m not in control of it. I’m not mastering it the way Gwen told me to.
But right now, I don’t care.
I just gather up every bit of magic and darkness and rage inside of myself… and I unleash it all.
The windstorm of emotions erupts from me as I throw my arms outward. Pure, unadulterated energy spirals out of me like I’m the heart of a hurricane. The blast is so powerful, it nearly knocks me off my feet.
It’s all the power and energy of the evil cloud inside me made manifest. I’m nothing but magic. I can no longer sense the ground beneath my feet or the fresh air on my skin. I can barely even sense my wolf.
All I know is magic.
All I know is black smoke, dark marks on my body, and the thrill of the power surging through me.
The wolves are still fighting around me, attacking the witches who’ve been caught off guard by the sudden torrent of magic swirling around them. I’m vaguely aware of the chaos around me, but I don’t let it distract me as I keep feeding more and more power out from my fingertips.
I hurl blast after blast at every witch I can see, my heart pounding so erratically that my chest aches. My hands shake, and it feels like the skin might be burning away from my fingertips as I open my mouth in a silent scream.
Then, off to the north, a sparkling plume of fireworks bursts into the sky. They’re magically created—I can tell by the black smoke interspersed among the dazzling sparks.
Figures race past me, some of them stumbling, some of them half carrying each other. Witches, with their faces looking hollow and terrified as they all run toward the fireworks. A cry rises throughout the village. “Retreat! Coven, retreat!”
As the witches flee, the wolves begin to howl their victory.
That keening sound finally penetrates the blank fury in my mind, and I curl my fingers, trying to cut off the flow of magic pouring out of me. It feels almost impossible at first, as if I’m nothing but a conduit for an electrical storm, a lightning rod someone placed in the middle of the village.
I lurch backward, curling in on myself as I draw my hands forcefully back toward my body.
The black smoke stops emanating from me, and I collapse onto my hands and knees, panting for breath.
“They’re running.” I croak the words out loud, even though I don’t know if anyone’s near enough to hear them.
The witches are falling back, cutting their losses and fleeing the village.
We held them off. We beat them back.
But what about the worst threat?
Cleo.
Where is she? It happened so fast, and I can barely remember parts of the fight, but I never saw anyone that struck me as the
coven leader.
Forcing myself to stand, I stumble down the street, searching the bodies on the ground and hoping one will stand out. Hoping maybe I’ll sense her as the presence on the other end of the bond.
But I don’t know what Cleo looks like, since I’ve only seen through her eyes when I’ve visited her mind.
I pray that she’s one of the slain, and the threat of our bond is over.
But somehow, I know she isn’t. She’s still out there.
Still connected to me.
And even if her army failed today, it won’t stop her for long.
26
Sable
“Sable!”
Dare’s voice is almost as hoarse as mine was earlier as he cries out, running toward me. I barely have time to look up before I’m swept into his arms, pressed against him in a bone-crushing hug.
I wrap my arms around him too, clinging tightly to him as I breathe in the scent of blood and smoke that clings to his skin.
“You’re alive,” I gasp. “The others?”
My heart stutters as I ask the question. I lost track of everyone when the magic overtook me, and as I remember the strange sensation of being nothing but a conduit for the power, a shudder runs down my spine.
Did I kill any wolves in my attack? Did I hurt any of my mates? I wasn’t even throwing spells, just pure, raw magic. I had no control.
“They’re okay.” I feel him nod, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on me at all. “What the hell was that?” he rasps.
“Magic.” I swallow, tears pricking my eyes. “I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s okay.” I can hear the strain in his voice. He still hates witch magic, and I almost can’t believe he can stand to touch me after watching what I just did. But his hand smooths over my back as he adds, “You took a shitload of the witches down, moonlight. Whatever you threw out knocked them back hard. Your magic didn’t kill them, but it gave us the opening we needed.”