Master of Wolves

by Angela Knight

  Quick as a snake, she sent the lashes snapping out. They wrapped around his shoulder, ripping through the thin fabric of his uniform and tearing into his skin. Caught off guard, Reynolds bellowed in pain. He glared at her as if considering striking back. Luckily, he didn’t quite dare.

  Celestine inhaled at the heady burst of emotion, drinking it in hungrily. The scent of his blood filled the air, and she shuddered, tempted to fall on him and whip the very flesh from his bones.

  But no. There was too much to accomplish before dawn.

  Instead she stepped up to him and lowered her voice to a deadly hiss. “You’d better damn well keep your new pack in line, Keith. If they give me any shit, you’re the one who’s going to pay the price.”

  He nodded tightly, sullen resentment in the set of his mouth. “Understood.”

  Her attention fell on the blood staining his uniform shirt, and she licked her lips. “In fact, plan to stay until dawn. I’m sure I’m going to work up quite an appetite tonight. Got that?”

  “Yeah.” Even as he glared at her, a hint of sick excitement flashed through the depths of his eyes.

  Celestine turned on one spiked heel and stalked away, satisfied. She had more than one kind of magic at her command. As long as Reynolds remained addicted to the other one, she could control him. And through him, the rest of his pack.

  Her anger began to fade into speculation. This might work out after all.

  Faith lay curled against Jim’s broad back, listening to his deep, even breathing. What he’d said kept running through her mind.

  Had she ever loved Ron? She’d certainly thought so at the time.

  Yet looking back on the way she’d felt when she’d discovered his betrayal, she realized Jim had called it exactly right. She’d been more angry at her own blindness than his lack of morality.

  She’d always known Ron played fast and loose with the rules, from hitting a suspect a little too hard to accepting the free meals cops weren’t supposed to take.

  Faith had been equally aware of his low opinion of women, whether they were crime victims or other cops. Ron’s attitudes had troubled her, but whenever she’d tried to bring them to his attention, he’d dismissed her as over-sensitive or humorless. He’d never actually used the word nag, but it had definitely been implied.

  In retrospect, she could kick herself for putting up with that kind of behavior. But Ron had seemed to know just where the line was. Just as she got ready to cut him loose for good, he’d do something sweet or seductive, and somehow she found herself giving him yet another chance.

  At least until the dispatcher incident.

  Brooding, Faith stared at the opposite wall, listening to Jim’s even breathing as he slept. A memory flashed through her mind of the hour after Reynolds had bitten her.

  Jim had known there was a chance she could die. He was, in fact, deeply afraid for her. He’d also known there was nothing either of them could do about it.

  Yet when she’d asked him what her chances were, he’d been completely honest with her.

  Jim had been equally honest about the Spirit Link. He could easily have avoided telling her that if they Linked, his death might kill her, too. He must have known the admission would hurt his chances of talking her into it, but he’d told her the truth anyway.

  All of which indicated a man very different from Ron—one who respected her strengths as much as he enjoyed her body.

  Jim London was the kind of man you could trust.

  The question was, what was she going to do about it? This Spirit Link he’d talked about was basically a proposal of marriage. If she accepted, not only would there be no possibility of divorce, but the death of one of them would doom the other. Even if the Link did convey some kind of combat benefits, she wasn’t sure she wanted to make a commitment that profound to a man she barely knew.

  Even one who made her feel like nobody ever had.

  “Sometimes I think my armor has fused itself to my skin,” Guinevere murmured to Morgana Le Fay as they met in the Great Hall to tackle the problem of finding the missing Black Grail.

  “I know,” Arthur’s half-sister replied with a grimace. She appeared a bit pale, the effect enhanced by the stark contrast of her black hair framing her face with an intricate coil of braids. She looked stern and beautiful in her magical armor. Guinevere only felt hot and untidy in hers.

  The comfort spell on it probably needed a little more juice. Gwen sent a short magical jolt into the featherweight plate and instantly felt cooler.

  “So we go to hunt this grail thief,” Morgana said, leaning one fist on the Round Table’s gleaming, intricately carved wood. “Are you sure you can punch through his shields?”

  Guinevere sank into her customary seat. “Well, he—or she—did send me that vision of its location. I still feel the echo. If you can give me a boost, I should be able to track it back to him or her.”

  Morgana nodded and moved to sit beside her. “We’ve boosted one another often enough before. Where’s Arthur? We’re going to need some vampire muscle if we locate it.”

  “He’s gathering a team to…” She broke off as an alien sensation crawled over her skin, triggering a sense of danger so acute, her every cell seemed to recoil in revolt.

  Morgana must have felt it, too, because she glanced at Gwen in horror. “Someone’s using death magic in Avalon!”

  Springing from their seats, the two Majae raced across the Great Hall and down the endless corridor beyond it. With every step they took, the sense of evil increased.

  Voices shouted, the sound carrying through the heavy doors of the hall. Steel clashed with the distinctive ring of enchanted blades. With a gesture, Morgana sent the double doors flying wide. Beyond them was a scene that froze them both in cold horror.

  The central square of Avalon was a seething mass of battling vampires. Magic flashed and boomed, splashing against hastily conjured shields or enchanted plate. Swords rose and fell, crashing against one another with the vicious ring of mortal combat.

  And over it all rang a horrifying chant. “Geirolf lives in us! We live in Geirolf!”

  For just and instant, Guinevere met Morgana’s horrified gaze. “Merlin’s beard,” Gwen breathed. “Avalon has been invaded.”

  The cops waited for Celestine in the ballroom, including Reynolds’s new werewolf recruits, who stood in a group looking variously anxious, pissed, or swaggering, depending on their respective personalities.

  “I want to talk to you!” Ayers, not surprisingly, was one of the pissed. His face was red with rage as he strode across the ballroom. He probably thought the werewolf had been acting on her orders. Celestine wouldn’t put it past Reynolds to tell his victims she’d double-crossed them.

  Still, the sullen fury on the chief’s face was not an attitude she had any intention of tolerating. Celestine stalked toward him, letting the lashes of her whip rattle across the marble tiles.

  “So it seems you won’t be immortal after all,” she said coolly.

  “You promised—”

  “Too bad,” she interrupted. “I need you as you are.”

  Ignoring his infuriated sputter, Celestine began to pace in front of the weres, flicking her whip on each turn like a cat swishing its tail. “Arthur and Korbal may decide to move against me before I have my forces assembled. In that case I’ll need shock troops.” She flicked a glance across them. “You will do very nicely.”

  “If you think we’re going to be your cannon fodder—” Ayers began furiously.

  Celestine whirled and struck out with her whip, hitting him hard across the face. Blood flew, and Ayers fell back with a shout, one hand clamped to his injured cheekbone. “Silence!” she raged. “I will not tolerate insubordination or disobedience!”

  Shocked, the chief stared into her eyes, holding his wounded face. She knew perfectly well that if he transformed, he could rip her apart. She didn’t let even a hint of unease show.

  Everything depended on the next few seconds. He was pa
ramilitary. If he accepted her authority now, she had him. If not, she’d loose it all.

  “You will obey,” Celestine gritted, calling her magic to snap and spark in her eyes, “or you will pay the price. Is that clear?”

  Ayers blinked hard at the magical shimmer. She saw the exact moment his nerve broke. “Yes ma’am.”

  Celestine nodded shortly, then turned to the others. They stared at her like birds at a cobra. Good. “How about the rest of you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The chorus was ragged, but fervent.

  Some of the sick anxiety lifted from her belly, and she nodded curtly. “Good.”

  Turning toward the rest of her men, she raised her voice. “Let’s get started, gentlemen. There’s much to do and damned little time to do it. Have you got the sacrifices?”

  “Here.” One of the cops stepped from the crowd, dragging a thin, terrified man in shackles with him. Bruises mottled the sacrifice’s face, and he shook in racking shivers. Behind them, Celestine spotted another man lying unconscious on the floor, also bruised and handcuffed. She could smell the alcohol reek all the way across the ballroom.

  “Emptied the drunk tank for me again, I see.” She wrinkled her nose. “I do wish you could find sacrifices that smell a little better. Where’s the third? You’ll need one to feed from.”

  A female voice made a thin, high-pitched sound of terror and despair.

  Interested, Celestine started toward the sound. “Who’s this?”

  The men stepped aside, revealed a bound, gagged blonde with impressive tits. “It’s the barmaid from the Silver Bullet,” one of the cops explained. He shrugged. “I always thought she was hot, so I went by and picked her up.”

  “Sheri?” Reynolds said. He’d transformed to werewolf form, either to heal his whip injury or to assume his usual role in the sacrifice. “You grabbed Sheri Miller?”

  The cop looked uneasy. “I thought you’d lost interest. I saw some guy coming out of her trailer tonight, so I assumed you two were definitely over.”

  Reynolds looked mildly interested. “Who?”

  “Never saw him before. Had this big Irish setter with him though, which I thought was a little odd for a guy taking a pussy break, but…”

  “An Irish setter?” Reynolds’s eyes widened and lit with sudden, ferocious interest.

  SEVENTEEN

  Keith Reynolds had turned into a monster.

  Sheri stared at her former lover as he leaned one hairy arm against the back of her chair. He towered over her, seven feet tall, his eyes shining yellow against the sable backdrop of his fur. She felt so sick with terror she wanted to vomit.

  When he spoke, he bared teeth like knives. “Who was he?”

  She didn’t dare lie. “A…a reporter.”

  Behind them, another of the cops drank from the gold cup the witch held. He screamed in agony and fell on the ground, writhing.

  Sheri swallowed and tried not to watch. They’d slit the two drunks’ throats and filled the cup from their gushing blood while the witch chanted some kind of spell.

  It was like a nightmare.

  “What was this reporter’s name, Sheri?” Reynolds asked with elaborate patience.

  She licked her lips. “Jim. He said his name was Jim Galloway.” Her mind spun frantically, trying to come up with anything that might save her. “He gave me his cell phone number.”

  Reynolds’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Where?”

  “It’s in my pocket.” Sheri had shoved it in her jeans when the cop drove up and told her she was under arrest. Confused, but thinking it must be some kind of mistake, she’d gone with him.

  Dumbass.

  Feeling numb, the waitress watched Reynolds fish the slip of paper out of her pocket.

  In the ballroom, another cop screamed.

  Faith had barely dropped off to sleep when a shrill jangling jolted her awake. She lifted her head blearily as Jim stirred, cursed, and rolled out of bed.

  “If that’s Charlie, I’m going to rip his head off.” He snatched up his pants and fumbled in the pocket until he found the ringing cell. Flipping it open, he snapped, “London.”

  With Faith’s werewolf hearing, she heard the woman’s terrified sobs. “Jim? I need help!”

  He looked at Faith, frowning. “Who is this?”

  “Sheri Miller.” She sobbed again. “From the Silver Bullet? We talked? You said to call if Keith…he….” Herbreath hitched, then exploded in a torrent of terrified words. “They’re after me! Please, you’ve got to help! They showed up at my trailer. I got away, but—”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m hiding. Lockwood Road. There’s some trees…”

  “You know where that is?” Jim asked Faith, who was already out of bed and getting dressed.

  “Not far from the trailer park.” She jerked a T-shirt on over her head, then picked up Jim’s pants and tossed them to him.

  “Okay.” To Sheri he added, “Find some brush and stay hidden. Put your cell on vibrate—you’re on a cell, right?”

  Another watery sob. “Yeah.”

  “We’ll call you when we get close. Just hold on.” He clicked the phone off and sat down to jerk the pants up his legs.

  Faith dragged her hair back into a ponytail and popped a rubber band around it. “Think it’s a trap?”

  He nodded grimly and scooped up the knit shirt he’d left draped over the arm of a chair. “No way in hell would she be able to lose Reynolds. But unless she’s got an Oscar stashed away we don’t know about, she’s scared out of her mind. We’ve got to rescue her.”

  Faith stuffed her feet into her sneakers. “Maybe you should use that key chain of yours and call us in some Fairy reinforcements. We could use a couple of big guys with swords right about now.”

  “Good idea.” Jim dug it out of a pocket as they headed for the stairs. “Hey, Diana,” he said to it. The key chain began to glow. “I need some help here, kiddo. I’ve got bad guys getting pissy.”

  The key chain glowed brighter and brighter, as if trying to punch through some kind of interference. Jim frowned. The last time he’d used it, his sister had responded right away. “Diana?” They reached the bottom of the stairs and strode out the front door. “Diana?”

  The key chain abruptly stopped glowing.

  “Shit. They must be off hunting vampires with Arthur.” He met Faith’s worried gaze. “Looks like we’re on our own.”

  Diana Galatyn paced her chamber like the wolf she was. “This sucks,” she snarled to her guard.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Lairgnen didn’t even flick a pink brow.

  “Do sit down, dear.” The Dowager Queen Oriana conjured yet another elaborate gown for her coming great-grandson. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “You’re nervous?” Diana whirled, both fists clenched. “Your grandson is off fighting evil vampires by himself, and we’re stuck here! You should be nervous!”

  Oriana looked up, her gaze patient. Though she was well over four thousand years old, she looked barely forty, a trim, dark-haired woman. Her gown was worked with exquisite magical embroidery—peacock feathers that shimmered and fluttered as if alive every time she moved. “Llyr can draw on the power of the Dragon god. He is more than capable of defending himself without your help.”

  “And I am more than capable of defending myself without the Fairy patrol!” She waved an infuriated hand at her guard, who stood around the chamber looking tense. Given the current alert, all ten of them wore full armor, gleaming and beautifully embossed. Diana was half-tempted to start a fight with them just for something to do.

  “Of course you are, Your Majesty,” Lairgnen said soothingly. “And once the heir is safely born, you may war all you like.”

  “What if Llyr gets hurt?” Diana aimed another frustrated glare at Oriana. “With the palace in magical lock-down, he won’t be able to call.”

  The dowager queen sighed and gestured, conjuring another outfit. “Dear, you’re not a magic user. There’s nothing
you could do about it anyway. We don’t want the palace full of evil vampires now, do we? Besides, Llyr is surrounded by the Magekind and our own people. If he needs healing, someone will do it for him.”

  Diana flopped down in an armchair and glowered at the Sidhe. “Did I ever tell you the story of the big bad wolf and Little Red Riding Hood’s grandma?”

  Faith’s stomach had tied itself into a solid knot of tension and adrenalin. Cop that she was, she ignored it. She knew she’d steady down when the fight started.

  Drumming her fingers against her knee, she glanced at Jim’s tight profile as he drove. The light from the dash painted a green gleam along his high cheekbones and stubborn chin. God, she thought out of nowhere, he’s so handsome.

  And that was only one of his endearing characteristics. There was also the courage and iron nobility. He hadn’t questioned whether they should risk their necks for the girl, even knowing she was probably leading them into a trap.

  It would be entirely too easy to fall in love with him. If I’m not already…

  Which was not a thought Faith wanted to examine too closely, particularly right now. Restless, she glanced at the car’s dashboard clock. Two A.M. She wished it was a little closer to dawn.

  Spotting the green glow of a street sign, Faith gestured at it. “The next right will be Lockwood.”

  Instead of turning, he pulled over, sending the car bumping onto the grassy shoulder before he braked to a stop. Jim switched off the engine and turned to her. “We’ll go in wolf form. Quicker and quieter that way.”

  Faith nodded. “Especially if we want to spot the rogue and the rest of the cops before they spot us.” She opened her car door and lowered her voice. “They’ll probably have those TASERs again.”

  Jim flashed her a grim smile. “Let’s try not to get shot this time.”

  “Gotta admit, riding the lightning’s not my idea of a great way to spend Saturday night.” They got out, leaving the doors open to avoid the thunk of closing them.