Incantations and Inmates (Prisoners of Nightstone Book 2)

by Helen Scott

He started forward, the two of us circling each other. He’d seemed so cocky moments before, and yet now he seemed as if he were stalling for time. I wished he’d just backed down, and his foolishness irritated me.

  Best to get this over with, since he was pussyfooting around. My wolf would rip him apart without hesitation and I wanted to stay in control, so I moved toward him. He managed to slip through my grip and almost ran across the field before he reached the ring of shifters who blocked his path, before turning to face me again.

  “Enough,” I told him, beckoning him toward me. “You wanted to fight. Stop acting like a pup who’s in over his head.”

  Micah’s nostrils flared with anger. He headed toward me, finally. He wasn’t going to be able to lead the pack even if by some miracle, he managed to beat me after a performance like that. They’d all glimpsed his cowardice, and I could feel the rumble of their feelings underlying this fight.

  He feigned left then tried to move toward my right. He might remember I’d been injured there during a fight a year before; sometimes despite doc and the witches, injuries didn’t heal right, just as had happened with his leg. But I didn’t have long-term shoulder damage from my own wounds.

  He learned that when my fist slammed into his face. He staggered back, then tried to close with me. The two of us locked up; he tried to break my nose with his face, but I yanked away, using his momentum to throw him to the ground.

  He scrabbled to get up as I went after him. The look on his face was terrified.

  Suddenly my vision blurred.

  I blinked, clearing my vision, feeling sweat roll down my body. I’d been growing hot during our fight, but I’d barely noticed with the rush of adrenaline. Now I felt bile rise in the back of my throat, and weakness flooded through my muscles. I tried to shake it off.

  He was grinning.

  Something was wrong.

  I felt myself hit my knees. He jumped to his feet, then swaggered toward me.

  “Maybe you’re not as tough as you think you are, alpha,” he said.

  I stumbled forward, pushing myself to my feet even though the world seemed to lurch around me. I wasn’t meeting death on my knees. I wasn’t out yet, even though my vision was dark around the edges. All I could see was Micah’s wicked, smiling face.

  I still had the chance to wipe away that arrogance.

  Then suddenly, Nasima was there in front of me. Panic spiked in my chest, and I reached to push her away, only to find myself swaying.

  “Micah poisoned him!” she shouted. “Continuing this fight isn’t fair. He’s dying. He needs Doc.”

  Poison. Suddenly the fact that my muscles refused to obey made sense.

  “That’s not how this works,” Tisha said, her voice reluctant. “We have our ways, Nas. Once it’s started, it’s started.”

  “No,” Nas said, still standing between me and Micah. Her chin rose; I was very familiar with that spirited move, even though she stood in front of me, not even coming up to my shoulder. “This is my mate.”

  My mate. Those words were full of power; I felt them spread through my body, lending my muscles one more rush of adrenaline. Maybe it would be enough to let me power through the change, despite the sense of my heart slowing dangerously.

  Micah dwarfed her too, but she wasn’t intimidated. I let out a growl and dropped, letting the change take me over. I’d be sick as a wolf too, but maybe I would get enough strength back to finish this before Nasima could be hurt. Whether I killed Micah or he killed me, I needed to protect her from this fight.

  “Well,” Tisha said. “You could fight in his place. That’s your right if he’s your mate.”

  “No,” I growled out, fury lacing through my body.

  Nas looked over her shoulder and winked at me.

  “This is my mate. And those are our ways--I’m claiming the right to finish the fight in his place, as his mate.”

  For a second, shocked silence reigned.

  Then laughter spread through the crowd.

  I tried to fight my way toward them, but Tisha was there. “We’ve got to get you to Doc,” she whispered in my ear. “Or what she just did is for nothing.”

  I pushed Tisha away, roaring at her, but I couldn’t stand on my own anymore.

  But when Nas fought Micah, she managed to dance out of the way of his blows, her eyes wide and terrified but her movements sure, as if she knew what he was going to do next. I fought to stay awake, to keep watching her.

  She truly was my mate, even if she was no shifter.

  19

  Nasima

  Oh god, I was dead. There was no way I was going to survive this. Why had I said that? Fuck!

  My thoughts flew all over the place as I tried to remember how I'd seen Micah fight in my vision before. I knew exactly why I'd said it, why I'd volunteered my life, because if I didn't Ambrose's death was guaranteed. I would not allow that to happen. Plus, I was a fuck load tougher than anyone ever gave me credit for. After all, I survived my visions, even when I swore that some of them were trying to kill me.

  Micah lunged at me and I barely managed to dodge out of the way. I heard him snarl to my side and braced for the hit I knew was coming. I was a witch, I was no match for a shifter when it came to strength or speed. All I had was the advantage of my previous visions.

  I'd seen his weakness.

  When he and Lake got into it, Lake had managed to hurt him, crack one of his ribs, and even with his shifter healing, it was still a sore spot.

  His body connected with mine in a full football style tackle. He launched me off the ground and we sailed through the air for what felt like way too long. The stink of his sweat, his fear, his adrenaline, it all surrounded me in a cloud when we landed, and while Ambrose's scent made me want to rub myself all over him, Micah's scent just made me want to gag. In a strange twist the fact that our impact had knocked the air from my lungs and left me incapable of drawing breath was actually a blessing unless this guy wanted me to vomit on him.

  The length of his body pressed me into the ground, his weight preventing my lungs from expanding, until I knew I either had to act or resign myself to a death of suffocation by asshole shifter. I tried my hardest not to telegraph my movement, or the destination I intended for my punch to hit, so that I had the element of surprise.

  It was the fact that the punch landed at all that let me know I'd been successful. His howl of pain as I felt his ribs give way under the impact was more than a little satisfying. I couldn't lose my momentum though, couldn't back off and wait for him to attack again as I caught my breath. No, this was a life or death battle. Catching my breath would only last for a moment before it was taken away completely.

  I wasn't about to die at the hands of this asshole, this cheat, so I pressed my advantage. Raining my fists down on him as hard and fast as I could, hitting his ribs as often as possible. Each time I made contact, which wasn't every time I hit by any means, I felt the bones give way a little more.

  “I know you killed Jonah,” I said, knowing that I didn’t need to raise my voice for him to hear me, or for others to hear me for that matter.

  “Why would I kill my best friend?” he snarled right before I punched him in the ribs again.

  “Why would you meet with a guard in the abandoned area? Why would you poison your alpha with mushrooms you found there to win the fight? Why would you keep Lake and Tali’s secret? There are so many questions, but it seems like no matter how I look at it, it always comes back to you wanting power.” This time when I punched him in the ribs I didn’t withdraw immediately and dug my fist into the wound.

  "You fucking bitch," he hissed as he was finally able to get off me without me clinging to him like a monkey. "You think you can just walk in here and be queen bitch? You think you can figure us out that easily? Think you can beat a shifter, little witch? I'll show you how we fucking fight."

  Micah's nose elongated and his teeth pushed further through his gums until they were the long glistening fangs that were assoc
iated with wolves everywhere. Fear rolled through me, but I had no choice other than to shove it aside.

  I hadn't expected the half shift, for him to come lunging at me only partially transformed, but that was exactly what he did. Long clawed hands reached out toward me, trying to slice through my skin. He was desperate to end the fight. After all, the longer a witch stood against him, the weaker he looked. Plus he hadn’t denied any of what I’d said, whether that was intentional or not I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t look good for him.

  We were playing chicken, him trying to wait until I couldn't dodge out of the way to attack, and me trying to wait until the last possible moment to leap out of the way. The crowd had fallen oddly silent, and though I was trying not to pay them any mind, the way there were whispers and concerned looks rolling through them I was sure that even if Micah did put me down, they wouldn't accept him as alpha.

  The next time he attacked he was full wolf, his clothes and the weapons that had been hidden therein discarded on the ground in tatters. I dove under him, tucking myself into a ball, becoming as small as I possibly could, and hitting the ground with a thump. I let the momentum carry me forward, hoping that when I released the hold I had on my legs I would be somewhere close to the shiv I knew I'd see among his clothes.

  Seeing that let me know exactly how much of a cheat Micah was. Not only was he willing to poison Ambrose to get an unfair advantage but he'd brought a weapon with him just in case. For a beat, time seemed to slow and I wondered what would happen if I only injured him with the weapon and didn't kill him. Would the fight become invalid? Would he win by default because I was the one that actually used the weapon?

  I had no idea.

  I still didn't know enough about the rules for shifters, especially in Nightstone, to make a split-second decision. The only choice I had was to kill him and remove the threat entirely. If I didn't I couldn't guarantee the outcome. Hell, I couldn't guarantee it if I did kill him, maybe the pack would tear me to shreds if Ambrose wasn't there. I honestly had no idea. I'd rather try that route though than to let the threat to the pack and the stability of Nightstone live, even if the thought did sour my stomach.

  When I emerged from my roll I realized I'd gone wide from the clothing. I lunged toward it, only to have a wolf hit me like a ton of bricks. Now, he wasn't the only one with cracked ribs. I could feel that mine were a matching set when I took my next breath.

  I couldn't stop though, not now I was so close. We grappled and I managed to somehow kick him in the junk, which apparently hurt even as a wolf. He slumped off me, panting heavily as I scrambled over the ground. My fingers clasped around the whittled down toothbrush and I squeezed tight. Nothing but my own death would pry this thing from my hands now.

  Micah was suddenly looming over me. I hadn't even seen him move from where he'd been down on the ground. I had nowhere to run this time. No fancy tuck and roll I could do to get away from him. His growl reverberated through his whole body and shook me against the ground as he inched up my body, caging me with his legs. Saliva and blood dripped from him in various places, landing on me and making me flinch each and every time.

  A low huffing sound came from him and I realized he was laughing. He was a cocky asshole now that he had me trapped, making a show of how confident he was to the crowd. There wasn't a sound to be heard anywhere, like everyone watching was holding their breath, waiting to see what happened.

  Did they know I had a weapon? Was someone going to warn him?

  I had no idea.

  All I could do was wait for the last possible moment to strike though. I knew I wouldn't get another shot. Not like this.

  He stood over me, his wolf eyes staring down into my own with smug satisfaction as he opened his jaw, more drool spilling from him and landing on my face as he prepared to strike the killing blow. I expected him to rear back, to lunge at me, but he just slowly lowered his gaping maw over my head.

  I realized if I didn't act now I wouldn't be able to, that the opening I'd been waiting for was right in front of me. I briefly made sure I knew which end was pointy and as I yanked my hand up from the ground and sent it full force into his side I prayed that I would hit the right spot. I wasn't exactly well versed in wolf anatomy, but I figured that I had to at least be able to get close if I stabbed him in the neck.

  So that was what I did.

  Over and over again.

  The shiv went through the fur and his tough skin, sinking into his flesh up to my hand and coming away bloody. He was frozen in surprise and I wasn't about to waste that, so I stabbed him over and over again as he began to howl in misery, or at least try to. His jaw connected with my shoulder, ripping into the flesh there before pulling away, tearing a chunk of me with him.

  This had to be his last hope though, and I couldn't let the pain distract me, not from what I needed to do, not from protecting Ambrose or Christian. Pain was nothing. It would pass. I had learned that a long time ago and it had only been repeatedly reinforced since I arrived at Nightstone. It was because of that that I kept going, kept stabbing him.

  Blood dripped down onto my face as the action of impaling him on the shiv was all I could focus on. I wasn't sure how many times I stabbed him, or how long the pack let me go, but eventually, his body fell onto mine. Even then I didn't stop, not convinced that it was over.

  It was only when Tisha's face appeared in my vision with her hands up in a defensive posture that my brain started to expand to more than stabbing the wolf on top of me until he was dead. She reached out when my movements slowed and gently grasped my hand, the one holding the shiv before pinning it to the ground and extracting the weapon.

  Once it was out of my grasp other faces appeared and pulled Micah's body off me.

  My eyes couldn't seem to focus, as though a haze of red covered everything, and even after the weight of his body was gone I remained on the ground, not trusting myself to get up, or move in general, so I stayed where I was.

  Tisha was talking to me, I could see her lips moving, but I couldn't tell what she was saying, couldn't hear it over the ringing in my ears that seemed to drown everything out.

  When Christian's face appeared I started to cry. I knew he was dead. He had to be if he was in the shifter yard by himself without Ambrose for his protection. How had I failed so badly? Did that mean that Ambrose was dead too? What about Bane? Had he made it out of the condemned area of Nightstone?

  Everything seemed to crush in on me as I cried.

  Christian's arms wrapped around me, pulling me up off the ground like a rag doll before his fangs bit into my neck. Was this my body dying? Everything seemed backward. His venom began to flow into me though, I could feel it, feel the bones and flesh closest to his bite begin to knit themselves back together.

  After a while, I couldn't say how long, Christian pulled away. He licked the wound his fangs had made so the wound would close, then he picked me up off the ground completely and carried me back to my cell.

  My body felt numb, like I could feel that things were touching me, that I was being moved, but none of it felt like it was actually happening to me. The walls of my cell were familiar, the crack in the ceiling above my bed had been something I'd stared at multiple nights, at least the nights when I'd slept in my cell. It felt like I was saying goodbye to an old friend when I sighed and closed my eyes.

  The idea of not waking up again should have scared me, but I was exhausted, not just from this most recent fight, but from fighting for the last however many years to try and stay ahead of Bane, then fighting to survive in Nightstone. Everything had been a battle, and I may have just lost the war.

  20

  Christian

  My fangs ached with my anger, my need for vengeance over what had just occurred with Nas. Why had she tried to take on a full grown male wolf shifter? How the fuck had she succeeded? Why had the other shifters just let her step into the challenge?

  She’d saved Ambrose, this little witch who was far tougher than anyone though
t at first glance, but at what cost?

  She lay in my arms and was barely breathing. I had no idea how she was going to feel when she awoke, but I knew it wouldn't be fun. The damage to her shoulder was in a similar area to the wounds she'd suffered previously and it was starting to become obvious, at least to me, that if we didn't start taking better care of her then she'd probably lose functionality in her arm.

  Her skin was even paler than normal, instead of looking like poured cream, she looked more like fresh, cold snow. While I wanted to scream and shout and wreak havoc on everything and everyone who threatened her, it was how frail and weak she appeared that kept me in place. My arms were a cage, protecting her against any outside attack and I couldn't be that if I was off punishing those that needed it. They would get what was coming to them, but only after Nas was back up on her feet again.

  Doc appeared sometime later, flitting between patients like a moth around light bulbs, unable to choose. "How's she holding up?"

  "Fine," I snarled.

  "I would have been here earlier if Ambrose wasn't having such a strong reaction to the poison they used," she replied, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

  I couldn't stop the growl that leaked from me as she stepped closer to examine Nas.

  She stopped and put her hands on her hips. "If you're going to be like that I'll just leave you to it. I thought you might appreciate a professional's opinion, but I won't put up with one of your snit fits, not today, Vampy."

  Doc almost never raised her voice, and yet she just had. With me. The king of the vampires of Nightstone. I looked her over, really looked at her, and for the first time, I could see just how tired she was. It wasn't just a bad night's sleep, it was a bone-deep exhaustion. Her eyes were bloodshot and her clothes were rumpled. The normally meticulously slicked back ponytail was mussed and tangled. The small creases that were between her eyebrows seemed even deeper, as did the few lines over her forehead. Guilt rolled over me. We had been asking a lot of her lately, more than she was used to, and I thought it was starting to show. She was helping us, she was one of the good guys, I had to remind myself as I forced every muscle in my body to unclench so she could look at Nasima.