“Bugger off,” Laurel snapped. “Find your own man.”
“You cannot have all the men, Hollis,” Seiler intruded.
Women. They were their own worst enemy.
“He’s not a man,” Hollis retorted.
Laurel tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Uh, I think I would know if he wasn’t.”
“You should sit this one out, Evangeline,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “The Alpha is here now. In just a few minutes, this will all be over.”
“It’ll be over for you,” she corrected.
She stood at the mouth of the hallway, her dark eyes hard and wrathful, her fists clenched. But her frown gave her away. She knew he wasn’t a Mark, but she didn’t know who he was or remember their history together. She couldn’t recognize him through the glamour.
“What the f**k are you talking about?” Laurel demanded. “Why do you have blood all over you, Antonio? And why are you squeezing me so tight? I can’t breathe.”
His smile widened into a grin. “The better to kill you, my dear,” he whispered for her ears alone.
Gripping Laurel tightly to him, he set his hands on either side of her spine and extended his claws, ripping deep into her liver and kidneys. She would have screamed if he hadn’t restricted her chest. She looked at him with horror-filled blue eyes, her lips lovely as they parted to expel her last breath. He inhaled it deep into his lungs like a lover’s kiss.
His animal senses picked up the whistle of a blade, and he jerked to the side to narrowly avoid the flame-covered dagger aimed at his head. “You suck,” he taunted Hollis.
A rapid volley of blazing knives shot toward him. He dropped Laurel’s corpse and ducked.
Spewing a stream of German, Seiler tackled Hollis.
Regaining his footing, he took on his wolf form and lunged for the nearest investigator. His teeth perforated the jugular before they hit the hardwood. Sweet, syrupy blood gushed down his throat, and he growled with open-throated triumph.
Pounding came to the door and the guards yelled for entry. The cacophony created a unique and provocative requiem. It made him want to howl with joy, so he did.
Seiler and Hollis continued to fight like hissing cats. The second investigator withdrew a pistol from beneath her lab coat and aimed. The fired bullets pierced excruciatingly through fur and flesh, but the mask mitigated the silver that would otherwise slow him down. Finally, the gun clicked repeatedly with no report. Realizing the magazine was empty, the investigator screamed.
He vaulted forward and took her down for the kill.
In the “ghost hunter” house, the sound of panicked shouting in the neighborhood lured everyone to the window. The group stood shoulder-to-shoulder as a unit, exposing their backs as they watched the guards across the street scurry like ants.
“Why can’t they get in?” the brunette asked. “Look at them. They’re pounding on the doors and windows.”
“I should be there,” Callaghan said, tension gripping his powerful frame.
“Go,” the redhead said. “They need you.”
He shook his head. “I gave my word tae stay here.”
“We’re fine,” the brunette insisted. “We’ll just—Wow!”
“What the hell?” Roger’s tone was awed. “There are at least a half dozen of them!”
Wolves. Big ones. Running from the direction of Anytown in a cohesive pack. A large wolf with a white diamond patch on the forehead led the group.
The Alpha was here. After three weeks, the time had finally come. She had hated him once. Detested him for raising her grandson as a wolf rather than the mage he was. Her only child had died giving birth to his son, and Charles repaid her memory by ignoring Timothy’s magical birthright. She had done everything in her power to turn Timothy against his father, but now she looked to Charles as the deliverer of her vengeance.
“Ready to die?” she asked sweetly.
They turned and faced her. Callaghan scowled. “What?”
She smiled and killed the dog first, throwing a ball of pure, icy evil that the stupid creature chased and bit into. It screamed and rolled to its back, legs sticking upright and jerking quite dramatically.
“Jesus, Claire!” the brunette cried. “What the hell did you throw at—?”
Shedding the glamour of the Frenchwoman, Kenise revealed her true form. Then, she went after Callaghan.
She hit him with enough force to lift him from his feet and slam him through the nearest wall, embedding him in the drywall. He hung splayed like a starfish, his black turtleneck smoldering right between his pectorals. A direct hit.
That left her with the mortals, who stood frozen with shock. She smiled and rubbed her hands together.
She struck Roger next, knocking out the kids in order of threat level. The men first, then the girls. But when she turned to the brunette, the redhead lunged at her, toppling her to the floor.
Stunned by the unexpected attacked, Kenise began to laugh. A mortal taking on a witch? It was comical. Then, the redhead pushed up and smiled a cat-with-cream smile that chilled Kenise into silence.
The pink and purple dress changed, turning to black as if afflicted with a spreading ink stain. It swept over bare arms and legs, turning into long sleeves and floor-length skirts. The strawberry-blonde tresses lengthened, the hue deepening into a darker, richer shade of red. The pretty features morphed from fresh youth to stunning, bewitching beauty.
“Evangeline was right,” it murmured, in a gravely male voice so at odds with the highly feminine appearance. “She swore the traitor would come after the college kids if they were given the opportunity.”
Kenise gaped, her brain arrested in midthought by utter surprise.
The rapid clicking of canine paws turned her attention and her head. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Great Dane, who changed midstride, growing in height into a lumbering dragon. “Cain’s woman is a smart cookie,” it rumbled.
Roger pushed up from the ground, dusting himself off. He sighed over the gaping hole in his chest that went clear through to the other side, then altered into a faery of such blinding beauty Kenise was enamored with the sight of him. Tall and lean with pale blond hair, pointed ears, blue eyes, and a winsome smile, the prince was the most gorgeous creature she had ever seen. “I was certain the empty driveway and house would give us away,” he said. “You’re dumber than you look.”
The gravity of her situation sank into her stunned brain along with the horror sinking into the very marrow of her bones. Three Infernals. There was no way for her to fight them all off. She would have to appeal to their dark side and pray to Sammael that they could be lured home.
A groan came from the wall and Callaghan slowly roused. “ ’At wis a helluva dunt tae my heid.”
“How . . . ?” Kenise gasped, feeling her hopes die. She might have had a chance if only Infernals were present, but with a Mark around it was a long shot convincing them to return to the fold.
“We protected him with warding. Couldn’t leave him hanging out to dry,” the dragon explained in his guttural voice. “We like him.”
“What should we do with this, Aeronwen?” the redhead asked, looking at the brunette while gesturing to Kenise.
“Let’s train the Mark how to vanquish witches.” The brunette’s glamour fell from her like a shrugged-off cloak, revealing a gray-haired woman in a gray suit. A gwyllion. Incapable of creating her own glamour, which meant one of the others had created it for her while wearing his own.
Four powerful Infernals and a Mark. She had no chance. None.
The faery shifted into the guise of Pinocchio’s Blue Fairy. “I agree. No need to let her go to waste.”
“I don’t smell you,” Kenise managed through dry lips. “Any of you.”
The redhead’s smile lacked even a semblance of warmth or humor. “Did you think you were the only one who could create the mask? Once I had the materials, the rest was simple. Of course, I admire your pioneering spirit. The mask was very clever.”
“You are a traitor to your own kind!”
“My kind?” The gwyllion stepped forward. “My kind is those who want to keep me alive.”
“Sammael would take you back,” Kenise said quickly. “You have insider knowledge he desires.”
“You presume to speak for Sammael?” the faery asked quietly. “You are stupid.”
The redhead stood, removing her not-inconsiderable weight, but when Kenise attempted to regain her feet, she was restrained. With just a single snap of the faery’s fingers, her arms were splayed and palms staked into the hardwood in semblance of a crucifixion. Screaming, she fought the magic and broke free, only to be repositioned just as quickly as the first time. She continued to struggle until exhaustion set in.
Murder by numbers. There were too many of them. Infernals who had used her own creation against her. The plan had been perfect. Brilliant. They would have gotten away with it, if it hadn’t been for that meddling Evangeline.
“We can do this all day,” the faery drawled. “Or we can just get on with it and you can rejoin your dear Malachai in Hell.”
Malachai. Her spouse, lover, partner-in-crime. His contribution to her spell had made the mask possible . . . and it had cost them his life by Abel’s vengeful hands.
“Go help the others,” the redhead said to the dragon. Her gaze moved to the gwyllion. “Bernard and I will commence training.”
Callaghan came forward, shaking off the drywall debris. “I’ll ask fer explanations later. Right now, I just want tae know how to kill this bajin.”
Kenise closed her eyes and thought of Malachai.
CHAPTER 19
"What the f**k is the matter with you?” Eve shouted, yanking on Izzie’s hair. Smoke was roiling down the hallway, churning through the air like a tidal wave, clogging her throat and burning her lungs. Somewhere in the house, a window shattered.
“What is—” Izzie gasped for breathable air, “the matter with you? Attacking Garza—”
Gaining her knees, Eve yanked the blonde up by her hair and pointed at the wolf presently devouring the investigator’s throat. “Does that look like Garza to you?”
Izzie froze. Eve hauled back and socked her square in the jaw, knocking her out. She dropped the blonde back onto the floor and struggled to her feet, screeching when she was hauled upward and clasped back-to-front to a steely frame.
“Did you have to hit her?” Reed asked, his lips to her ear. He was scorching hot, as if he were giving off a great deal of energy.
“Yes, actually, I did.”
His hand fisted between her br**sts and ripped something from around her neck. Instantly, a surfeit of emotion poured into her—his and Alec’s. As soon as they reconnected, Alec shut himself off like a spigot, but Reed’s mind latched onto hers with something akin to desperation.
She looked down at his hand and in his palm saw the Sigil of Baphomet amulet—the official insignia of the Church of Satan, a symbol adopted by Sammael himself because he thought its design was clever. Reed dropped it, revealing a smoldering burn in his palm.
Her gaze returned to the wolf, who lifted his head and leered at her with his bloody, gaping maw. The pounding on the door stopped. A moment later the sounds of battle rang out in the yard—growling and barking, shouting and cursing. Screaming.
“Get Izzie out of here,” Eve said, tensing for her own fight.
“I’m not leaving you in here with him.”
“And I’m not leaving Izzie to the wolf, even if she is enough of a pain in the ass to deserve it.”
“Shit.” He released her. “Two seconds.”
She felt him collecting Izzie behind her, followed by the soft breeze that accompanied his shifting away.
“Can you take me in mortal form?” she goaded the wolf. “Or do you need to be in animal form to win?”
The wolf shifted before her, taking on the shape of a ghost she recognized. At least he should have been a ghost, considering she’d killed him once already. Recognition hit her hard, followed by an immediate chill down her spine.
“You,” she said.
“Me.” He smiled.
Eve’s heart dropped into her stomach. How was she supposed to kill something that wouldn’t stay dead?
“You’re going to break the steering wheel if you don’t ease up.” Giselle shouted to be heard over the roar of the Mustang’s powerful engine and the surrounding freeway traffic.
Alec glanced at his white knuckles, startled to see a visible sign of tension he didn’t feel. He forced his grip to relax. They flew past Gilroy, weaving through cars as recklessly as possible.
Forty-five minutes to Monterey. But then it should have been an hour and a half to Gilroy. He’d cut that travel time almost in half.
He was changing lanes between two cars when Eve hit his brain like a ton of bricks, blackening his vision and thrusting his head back against the headrest. Swerving, Alec lost control of the Mustang, the car fishtailing and skidding recklessly.
Giselle screamed. Car horns blared. Tires squealed.
Jerking the steering wheel, Alec fought to keep the sports car on the road. Vehicles flew by all around him. It was only by the grace of God that they reached the shoulder of the highway without hitting another car. Yanking on the emergency brake, he maneuvered the Mustang into an abrupt, violent halt just an inch shy of a guardrail.
“Jesus f**king Christ!” Giselle shouted, gasping. “What the hell was that?”
He unhooked his seat belt. “I have to go.”
“What?” Her hand whipped over and caught his. “Go where?”
“To McCroskey.” His gaze met hers. “He’s there already. He flew.”
She stilled. “Oh, shit.”
Alec pushed open the door and climbed out. “Just keep driving south and follow the signs.”