Chapter Eighteen
John
Faith stalks me and I retreat, drawing her away from the others. We move down the hall toward the open area and at one point, someone opens a door. The cait sidhe’s scream drives whoever it is back into the room.
This is our fight, and there will only be one winner.
The hallway ends and, in an attempt to lead her further away, I dart up the stairs.
This floor, the third level, must be Prince’s inner sanctum.
There’s a dimly lit landing and a door my claws won’t be able to open.
I pivot, unhappy to have been caught in a dead end. Fortunately, Faith hasn’t followed me.
That moment of relief is brief. The swish of a cat’s tail draws my attention to the bottom of the stairs. Faith. Crouched as if she intends to leap on someone, or maybe she’s satisfied with keeping me out of the general melee.
I pause, listening hard. Prince’s voice carries up from the lowest level. He doesn’t sound distressed. He’s laughing, and—I wait until I hear the second voice again— de Lisle is with him.
If Rob is able to hear de Lisle, there’ll be no stopping him, and while the Lord of the Greenwood would survive a battle with a horde of vampires, the rest of us might not. Without giving the situation any more thought than that, I leap down the stairs.
Faith is waiting.
She sits back on her haunches, fangs bared, when I stop some four steps from the bottom. I could leap over her and be halfway to the lower level before she could react.
Or if her reflexes are better than mine, she’ll disembowel me for my trouble.
I stare into those demonic cat’s eyes, berating myself for my own stupidity.
Her fangs shine and her eyes glow with triumph.
I need something to distract her. Footsteps, running hard down the hall.
From where I wait, I cannot see who’s coming.
Whoever it is causes Faith’s attention to shift, the half-second break I need.
I leap, aiming to the left, away from those deadly claws.
Faith isn’t distracted for long. She lashes out, catching me on my rear leg.
I land and pivot to face her, the pain of my wound an afterthought.
A strange wolf joins her, as do a pair of vampires.
Their fangs are out and one carries a machete.
Sonny and Nasir come up behind them, both armed, both deadly.
From below, Prince demands to know what’s happening. I pace, attention narrowed, fixed on the cait sidhe. Yes, she has allies now, but they don’t pose much of a threat.
She does.
Sonny and Nasir call out to one another. Distant running footsteps. The cait sidhe’s tail twitches. My own muscles tense. Time slows.
Faith screams, limbs coiled as she prepares to pounce. If she and I were swordsmen, we’d be locked together, blade against blade. Instead of iron, we’ve got our wills. There’s movement around us, people fighting, humans, vampires, shifters on four legs and on two.
Faith and I wait.
Something will trigger our battle.
Something dire.
Something that sounds a lot like, “Fuck, Fritz is down there. What the fuck is he doing with Leander de Lisle?”
Those words set me free. I don’t know who spoke, but I do know if Fritz Fitzwilliam has joined forces with Leander de Lisle, something is very, very wrong, and soon, Robin of Loxley will be in the middle of it.
I will be there for him as soon as I destroy the cait sidhe. With a leap, the fight begins in earnest.
Marcus
I come down on four paws. David has also shifted, his wolf both larger and much darker than my shaggy brown. Connor says something, his words lost in a burst of flame and a loud crash.
“Fuck.” He somehow cuts through the noise. “Is that a dragon?”
Nasir? It must be. My wolf perceives things differently than my human eyes.
The three of us jog around the corner of the house.
Through the trees, I make out a pair of winged creatures, flashes of gold and green and ruby red against the blackness of the Pacific.
They fight, spewing gouts of flame at each other, a roaring chorus of rage.
I shoot Connor a worried glance, but his attention is on David. For all I know, they’re practicing telepathy. Which, fine, chat later. We gotta get inside.
I nudge David, and when he doesn’t move, I step around him, heading for the door. He passes me before I’ve gone three feet, and I automatically take my position at his right shoulder. My wolf knows what to do, even if on two legs I wouldn’t have dared step into that spot.
“I’ll cover you.” I can feel Connor behind me, a warmth, a presence, a specific scent. Deep forest touched with floral hair product. David nudges the door open, and, slowly, we enter.
We’re in a small foyer, and through an angular archway, I see chaos.
A stiff breeze comes off the ocean and carries sparks through the gaping hole in the window, shattered glass covering the floor in front of it.
A vampire with Sonny’s flaming blue eyes holds an automatic weapon in one hand and a long, curved blade in the other, squaring off against at least three dudes who want to take him down.
Will—for it can only be Will—is leaping up a grand, curved stairway and sliding down, weapon in hand, firing shots as he goes. From some distant place a cat screams, followed by a growl I know in my bones.
John is in trouble.
At the center of it all, a pair of figures stand with swords drawn, one blade glowing green, the other a brilliant silver.
They circle each other, and a third figure moves in the opposite direction.
Strands of liquid light stream from the third man, as if he’s weaving a barrier around the combatants.
“All right, Nottingham, are we doing this?” It’s Rob’s voice. Rob’s smile. He’s there. The Lord of the Greenwood.
His opponent’s only response is to thrust his blade. Rob dances away, and then a pair of wolves run in our direction, distracting me from the fight.
David lunges, ready to take them both on. Hell, he’ll take all of them on. Rather than fight, they skirt around us, heading for the door. Outside, the dragons clash in a swirl of flame, streaks of deep orange and yellow. Fire so bright it makes me blink and fills the air with the scent of ozone.
Connor moves toward an enormous fireplace, weapon drawn, chasing a vampire who’s backing away across the broken glass.
Will takes one more slide down the banister and runs to join Sonny.
The two of them stand back-to-back, Will’s laughter carrying over the general cacophony.
Some of Prince’s allies are fleeing, but not all of them.
Not enough of them. Soon, Will and Sonny are surrounded.
Someday I’ll have time to study the weird loyalty vampires have for their sires, because the one Connor chased over to the fireplace is now standing behind several others, a display that’s probably meant to show strength.
From my angle, he looks weak.
A deep growl rolls through me, distracting me and drawing my attention to the stairs.
John. He’s up there somewhere.
When I move, David curls his lip at me, a warning that slows me for a moment. A lynx slips down the steps. The source of the cat’s screech? No. It comes again, almost human in its wailing. The lynx is heading for the door with the same determination as the wolves. I let it go.
This is where I make my choice. My alpha says stay. My heart says get the fuck upstairs. Ignoring David’s growl, I start to move.
John is up there. I know it, and I need him to be okay. It’s as simple as that.
David nips me, tipping his muzzle toward the door. He wants me to leave. Well, he’s going to have to do more than growl and nip, because John needs me.
Later, I can make David understand. Maybe. If he ever speaks to me again.
With a roar loud enough to vibrate my bones, the dragons clash again. I take off at a run. At the bottom step, I glance over my shoulder. David’s got his fangs bared, either at me or the general chaos, and Connor has joined Sonny and Will. They’re still outnumbered, but the fight is more even.
Hell, in a fight, David’s worth more than any three wolves.
My heart beats a hard and irregular rhythm, and, crouching low, I climb the stairs.
Just past the midpoint, I stumble, startled by another cat’s shriek. This time, there’s no answering growl. John has to be okay. I fling myself up the remaining steps, though when I reach the top, I freeze.
John’s wolf is laid out on the ground, a giant cat on his back, its claws dug in. His eyes are the blackest onyx and blood runs from many wounds. The cat can’t get to his throat or his heart, but there’s a scarlet pool forming around his belly. He’s not giving up. He can’t.
And then his eyes close.
For the second time, my wolf reacts before I can think, leaping at the cat. I hit it hard enough to knock it off John, though he gives a grunt of pain as claws are torn from his flesh.
The cat’s legs flail. I lower my head, teeth bared, ready to meet it. The thing is bigger than I am and way more likely to kill me than the other way around. The cat regains its feet. I tense for the hit.
With a growl that could come from the earth itself, John knocks me aside. He leaps at the cat, catching it before the thing can react. With a heavy swing, he drags his claws across its throat. The cat cries out with little of its previous fury. Blood streams down its chest.
John stands over it, breathing hard. I manage to get to my feet, shaking from adrenaline and fear, and take a position at John’s right shoulder. Together we watch the cat drag itself down the hall, leaving red streaks on the carpet.
We should probably make sure it’s dead—a shifter that powerful is a bad enemy to have. It’s John’s call to make, though, and I lean against him. His body shakes with fine tremors, as if he’s struggling to stay on his feet. He needs to shift to heal himself.
I just need to shift.