She gasped, amazed at the way water and light could combine to birth such vivid color.
“I love you, Sophia.” Heath took her hands in his. Behind him, the gift he’d made for her glowed radiantly.
She tugged a hand from his grip to cup his cheek. “If I didn’t love you, there’s no way I would have let myself become mated to you.”
He snorted, shaking his head, and lifted her up for a long kiss that warmed her to her toes. They stayed that way for a long time, touching and laughing, clinging to each other.
It was when they sat on a bench outside a tiny restaurant in the city, finishing their fish and chips, that Heath’s phone rang.
Sophia fished it from his jacket pocket once she felt it vibrating, handing it over with a quick kiss.
“What’s up?” Heath asked Raphael, whose name had popped up on the caller ID.
“We have a problem.” The sound of breaking glass came over the line, followed by the clatter of something much heavier falling. “The Fey and a werewolf have attacked the firehouse. We’re outnumbered—we need you back as quickly as you can get here.”
“Where are they attacking?”
“They’re inside, coming from every angle.” A grunt, followed by a thud.
Heath took them back to the firehouse, placing them on the roof. He tore off his coat to take out the small gun. It grew before Sophia’s eyes, elongating into the weapon Éloy had given them.
“How did you know it did that?” Sophia asked, taking off her own layers until she wore only the turtleneck. She rolled up the sleeves and pocketed the Zippo she now considered hers.
Heath shrugged. “I thought I should keep it on me, and it cooperated.”
Another crash sounded from somewhere below them. “Are you ready?” Heath held out his hand.
“Always.”
They appeared in a hallway, directly in front of clashing metal. Alexandre fought a male faery, the former armed with two foot-long daggers. The faery used a sword that wasn’t touching his hands, stirring up a small wind to knock Alex off balance.
Alex cursed, and Sophia saw the cuts bleeding across his arms and torso.
“Watch my back?” Heath’s voice was guttural.
These faeries made a huge mistake, coming into this pack’s home.
Sophia nodded. For Heath, this was a matter of pride. Intruders had come into the firehouse, preying on his pack’s weaknesses. Even with a long-sleeved shirt on, she could see his tattoos shifting beneath the fabric furiously.
She’d get her chance to fight, but now was her mate’s time to release his powers upon these intruders. She almost felt bad for the faery until he looked up and noticed her, murder in his expression.
Chapter 16
HEATH’S rage tripled the moment the faery fixed his cold gaze on Sophia, his sword turning toward her midair.
Surprised, Alexandre looked at the male as if he’d lost his mind. He moved to stab him, but his knife wouldn’t penetrate the faery’s skin. With a low oath, he kicked the man in the back, who didn’t so much as stumble. The faery’s focus was on Sophia, a snarl tearing from his lips.
The man hardly seemed to notice Heath. He stood between the male and Sophia, allowing him to take one more menacing step in her direction.
Then he cocked the gun and shot the asshole in the head, an expression of shock etched onto the dead faery’s face.
“Here.” He handed her the gun. “You have nineteen bullets left. Use them wisely, because every faery here is going to be gunning for you.”
His words made him want to rage, but he took cold, merciless comfort from her ability to watch her own back.
Sophia took the weapon without a word, entered the nearest bedroom and emerged a minute later with a shirt. She tore it into pieces and wrapped Alex’s wounds, her small frown morphing into a tight line.
“They’re here for me,” she murmured, tying the last piece of cloth around a cut on Alex’s upper arm. “I hate that you are all caught in the middle of this.”
Alexandre spoke first. “You’re our packmate,” he said gently, ruffling her hair. He didn’t cringe as he moved his arm, but Heath could see the pain flaring in his eyes. “It’s our job to be here when you’re threatened.”
Sophia pulled Alex into a gentle hug, but her expression of fierce devotion was aimed toward Heath.
He let her see his love for her before he ended the moment, using his newfound ability to take them downstairs to the main floor.
The living room was in shambles around them, the television a shattered, twisted mess, the couches and chairs torn apart. Sebastian and Cael were each fighting two faeries, and they were losing.
As injured as they were, Heath couldn’t see how they were still standing. Blood was pouring from Cael’s stomach, and Sebastian’s right hand was hanging limply at his side. And yet they fought, teeth bared, jaws tight.
Sophia didn’t hesitate.
She hit one faery in the back of the head and the other in his upper spine, wielding the gun as if she used one every day. Attention sufficiently drawn to her, the other two faeries turned from Cael and Sebastian, unharmed, and made for Sophia.
She lifted her gun ruthlessly.
Sebastian tried to help Cael when his legs went out underneath him, swearing low when he couldn’t so much as soften his friend’s landing on the floor. Alex rushed to them, but Heath stayed close to Sophia as the faeries advanced toward her.
“Wait,” the female faery exclaimed, holding a hand out to the male. “Kiril told us to bring him the red-haired woman alive. You can’t kill her.”
“She must die.”
The woman moved to stand in the male’s way, and he cut her down with a swift twist of his sword. She crumpled to the ground, her head separated from her body.
Heath could see the disgust cross Sophia’s face, but her hands were steady. She shot the faery in the neck with a scream. “Damn Christabel,” she shouted, her free hand fisted. “Did she realize how many of her own kind would die because of what she’s done? That woman’s friend just killed her.”
“They were working for Kiril,” Heath said quietly. He bent down toward Cael, who was unconscious. He had to have been going on pure will.
“We’ve got him.” Alex grunted as he and Sebastian struggled to lift Cael between them. The steel in their expressions told Heath they wouldn’t stagger.
“Take him to the garage and call Aiyanna and Briony. Lock yourselves in.” It would be a blow to their egos, but none of them were fit to fight. A few more hits and Cael would be dead. Although slightly better off, Sebastian and Alexandre were on that same path. They needed to heal.
Alexandre’s expression was ragged, bitter. Oaths streamed from his mouth steadily, but he nodded, the action obviously paining him.
Impossibly, Sebastian looked angrier. His face was almost the same color as his hair. “Kiril’s here,” he spat. “Raphael’s fighting him.”
As an Omni, Raphael would have a better chance fighting the were than anyone in the pack whose powers were still bound. But his powers were new, still developing with experience.
Kiril had centuries to hone his abilities, which would have only become stronger after mating to a faery.
Heath quickly helped his packmates to the garage before returning to the ruined living room. Meeting Sophia where she stood, staring at the bodies with a mixture of grief and determination, Heath closed his hands over hers.
Her strength, her value of life—that’s what makes a great soldier.
Heath took them to every room of the firehouse, but there was no sign of Raphael, Kiril or any live faeries. His eye was no help, only staring out in shock.
If Heath hadn’t been a soldier himself before his exile, if he hadn’t honed those skills over the centuries to supplement his lack of powers, he would have panicked.
Raphael was his best friend, his only constant over centuries of punishment. Sure, he’d been a pes
simistic, surly bastard until Mary showed up, but he’d always kept a moral compass unlike anyone else’s in the pack. He wasn’t their Alpha because of the powers he wielded, but the restraint he constantly displayed.
This pack, this city, needed him, and there was a good chance Kiril could kill him in a fair fight.
Since they weren’t inside, Heath took them to the sidewalk in front of the firehouse. They can’t be far. A dead faery, blood smeared across his face and neck, lay at the foot of the stairs leading to the firehouse’s front door, solidifying Heath’s suspicions.
Now his eye cut a furious glance to their left.
He didn’t consider his air abilities but ran, Sophia alongside him, until Raphael and the man who must be Kiril came into view. Tall with light blond hair, he was obviously were. His back was to them, but Heath could see the blood running freely from his ears.
Mary was passed out on the ground behind Raphael, whose body was mottled with burns. If not for his scent, Heath may not have recognized him.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sophia pocket the gun, which shrunk cooperatively. She pulled out her Zippo.
“Yes, let’s see whose powers are stronger now.” Kiril turned to face them. He took in a deep breath, his mouth twisting into a scowl. He wasn’t unscathed, as the now-dead faeries had been. The skin on the left side of his body was skinned away, as if he’d been flung against the brick wall more than once, and many of his fingers were visibly broken.
Heath saw the knowledge that he and Sophia were mated sink in to the other were. “You whore!” Kiril shouted, aiming his flames at Sophia and Heath.
What a bizarre reaction for a man who’s mated. If he were mated to Christabel, how could he feel this way about Sophia? It broke every law he’d ever heard regarding the nature of werewolves, sending Heath on high alert. Something is not right with this man.
Heath wanted to move between Sophia and the onslaught of fire, but thought better of it. This is her element. Frowning, he didn’t protest when she blocked him from the flames, which smoothly turned around to barrel toward Kiril.
Behind the blond were, Raphael kept his stance between Kiril and Mary.
“I was going to take it easy on you like I did with the Hound back there, but…” Unholy glee in his light eyes, Kiril grinned, pushing his hands out.
The balls of flames turned into burning spheres of metal, changing course yet again, whizzing in Sophia’s direction with renewed vigor.
Unable to stand back anymore, Heath moved to Sophia’s side and slowed the spheres in the air while she extinguished the flames.
The metal melted in front of them, sliding through the air despite Heath’s attempts to block it. Ignoring his mate’s angry shove, he tried to put his body between her and the liquefied steel, but the liquid simply moved around him.
The metal hit her shoulder, causing Sophia to scream. It started to bubble on her skin as it spread down her arm. Drawing water up from the river, Heath stalked toward Kiril.
This was Sophia’s battle, but she was too injured to fight it. No one could have predicted what Kiril could do—Heath never would have thought it possible for a were to control fire and metal.
“She’s mine,” Heath growled, rounding on Kiril. “Stop what you’re doing to her, or I’ll kill you. I’m your problem.”
“No, she is.” Kiril flicked out his pinky, and a ball of flames morphed into molten steel is seconds, slamming into Sophia’s stomach. Still, she remained standing, her powers extinguishing the fire even though the metal itself kept burning her.
This could kill her.
The water reached them. A huge, liquid hand reached down to grip Kiril by the neck, flowing fast enough to make the were sputter.
Heath made the hard stream of river water slam Kiril into the walls of the alley again and again, at the same time sending a smaller stream to lightly sprinkle on Sophia, cooling her burns.
When Sophia dropped to the ground, Heath ran for her, slamming Kiril into the pavement.
“I’ve got him.” Raphael went to stand over the stirring man so Heath could take care of his mate.
“Sophia.” She was breathing painfully, her hands clutching her stomach. Gently, Heath kneeled beside her and tugged her fingers away so he could see the damage. He’d thought the metal merely burned her skin, but blood was seeping out, starkly matte against the gleaming silver steel covering her midsection.
Using both hands he gently lifted the metal from her, and only then did he realize what Kiril had done.
The steel had spiked on the inside, piercing her stomach at least a dozen times, some of the blades long enough to tear through to her back.
She was immortal, but this much damage could kill almost any creature.
“Shit.” Heath tried to stem the blood, but there were too many wounds for him to properly seal any of them.
He didn’t consider the way his life was tied to hers—Heath only cared that his woman, who he’d only just claimed for his own, was slipping through his fingers because of one man’s grudge.
Light footsteps sounded behind him, but Heath couldn’t have cared less. He had to figure out a way to save Sophia, but nothing came to mind; she was simply too badly hurt.
“Behind you!” Raphael’s shout made Heath finally turn to face two Fey women.
“Do it,” the blonde faery whispered. Beside her, the brunette leaned down to her haunches.
“Kiril did this to her?” she asked.
“Yes,” Heath ground out.
She tried to move his hands but stopped when he hissed at her, seconds away from giving them the same treatment he’d shown Kiril. Slowly, she moved her hands to dig into her oversized leather purse.
“You’re Sophia’s mate, aren’t you?” Her eyes weren’t on him, but he recognized a predator when he saw one. She knew every move he made, as he noted every breath each of the newcomers took.
One threatening move and he’d have them both so deep in the Mississippi the kelpies would never let them go free.
He nodded at the brunette while she pulled a glass jar from her purse, setting it on the pavement next to him.
“I thought Kiril was my mate,” she said in a conversational tone that belied the fury in her eyes as she watched Kiril with a bitter frown.
Christabel. Realization dawned, but he couldn’t reach into Sophia’s pocket for the gun—if he took his hands away from the punctures to her stomach, she’d lose too much blood.
“He used my friend Lilith to gain enough pieces of me—my hair, nails, blood—so a warlock could put a false-mating curse on me. I feel all the effects of mating with a were, like dying if he’s killed, remnants of his powers, love, while Kiril received a Fey gift no were has ever wielded before.” She glanced at Sophia
“You really should put that potion on her, or she’ll only keep bleeding. It’s expensive, but you’ll find most Fey have it around. Kiril isn’t the first to try and kill someone with steel spikes. Really, it was quite unoriginal, darling.” She aimed the last sentence at Kiril, snarling through tightly clenched teeth.
“Use it on yourself.” Heath wasn’t about to place Sophia’s life in the hands of the woman who’d burned the majority of her body less than a week ago.
The blonde sneered at him, but Christabel merely took a piece of the steel that had cut deeply into Sophia, wiped the blood off with a cloth she produced from her purse, and let it float in the air, turning, sharpening before Heath’s eyes. Then it pushed straight through Christabel’s raised hand, as quickly as a bullet.
Blood poured, and the blonde faery helpfully reached down to unscrew the lid of the jar, sprinkling a clay-red powder over Christabel’s hand. Instantly the blood stopped flowing, muscles and bone knitting together.
It was all Heath needed to see.
Jerking the jar from the blonde’s grasp, he dumped the entirety of its contents on Sophia’s stomach and arm, spreading the powder until each and ever
y wound was liberally coated.
“Why did you come to help her?”
“I didn’t.” A metallic, satisfied gleam in her silvery eyes, she rose to stand, her full attention now on Kiril. “I came for Kiril. He still has about six months until this spell wears off, and I plan to spend it alternately torturing him and making sure he doesn’t die.”
“The enemy of our enemy is our friend,” the blonde murmured with a wink before following Christabel to where Kiril was sprawled on the ground. Sophia stirred, and the steel next to her rose, floating toward the small group.
Raphael didn’t say a word to the faeries, but backed away a few feet, his arms folded across his chest.
Soldier to her core, Sophia reached into her pockets to take out the gun and lighter as she sat up, leaning back heavily against Heath’s chest. “That seriously hurt,” she murmured to him, letting her head fall to rest on his sternum. He knew she was watching the faeries and Kiril carefully, letting herself heal, saving her energy.
In a quiet voice that wouldn’t carry, Heath filled her in on what Christabel told him. In her shock she turned to face him, those turquoise eyes wide. “That’s so cold, using her that way,” she said, her sympathy apparent.
Heath brushed flecks of gravel from her face, nodding. No were would wish such a treatment upon their worst enemy. What Kiril had done was something so abhorrent that Heath was surprised the man had followed through with his plan.
He wondered whether the Elders were aware warlocks could conduct such a spell at all. If creatures realized this, so many lives could be ruined, and massive amounts of power placed in the wrong hands.
Mating was something one simply didn’t mess with.
The faeries stood with Kiril, whose hands and feet were shackled using the very steel he’d tried to kill Sophia with. A metallic collar wrapped around his neck, attached to a chain Christabel held. When he tried to open his mouth as if to speak, the collar visibly tightened, making him wheeze.
Why doesn’t he melt down the metal? Surprised the were wasn’t fighting back, Heath caught Kiril’s expression when the light hit his face; the man was terrified, the whites of his eyes growing, his battered body trembling.
Hunted Page 20
