by Eileen Wilks
Cullen climbed out of the Lincoln. Lucas greeted him with a single nod; the rest ignored him. Arjenie whispered quite audibly to Myron, “If you’ll excuse me? That means we have to go stand somewhere else now.”
Myron chuckled. “I believe you’re right. Silly custom, isn’t it?”
Benedict took Arjenie’s hand and led her to the spot he’d decided she should occupy between Lily and Cullen. Then he strode toward the other guards.
No one answered Lily’s question. She was about to repeat it when Lucas said mildly, “It would be very odd for a Lu Nuncio to fight a Challenge just before an heirs’ circle.”
Edgar’s color stayed high. “I do not discuss Wythe matters.”
“None of us would pry into an internal clan matter,” Javier said. “Unless someone means to call Edgar liar, we should drop the subject and proceed to the circle’s location.”
“But how odd it is,” Myron said, cocking his head to one side, “that Edgar didn’t inform us of this change ahead of time. Phone not working properly, Edgar?”
Javier frowned. “What does it matter? Rule has established most convincingly that a Rho may attend an heirs’ circle if his heir is unable to. He can’t very well turn around and protest Edgar’s presence now.”
“Nokolai is not the only clan here,” Lucas said in his mild way. “I, too, am puzzled at Edgar’s omission. Almost it seems he sought to take advantage of us with this … surprise.”
Edgar looked like he was going to explode. Instead he ducked his head a single time—not far, but baring the nape was an important cue for lupi. “I apologize. I apologize to all of you. I should have notified you I’d be replacing Brian, but I did not want any questions, you see? I am embarrassed.” He spread his hands widely. “Brian handled things poorly. You are right,” he said directly to Lucas. “No Challenge match should have been fought just before an heirs’ circle. If Brian placed me in the wrong with his actions, well, I compounded the wrong.”
“Is Brian well?” Rule asked again, but this time there was some warmth in his voice.
“He will heal,” Edgar said as he had before. “Enough about my scapegrace brother. We aren’t here to discuss him. Shall we proceed to the meeting place?”
“The man I sent to inform Etorri of our arrival hasn’t returned yet,” Rule said. “He should be here soon, though, and I prefer to hear from him before we go to the mesa.” He sent a long glance around the lot of them. “You will recall what I said about an enemy who may be aware of our meeting.”
“Certainly.” Javier had himself all smoothed out now. “You wanted the guards to be permitted weapons.” He shrugged. “It’s against tradition, and for little benefit. The mesa is the high ground. Even if your mysterious enemy is or can employ a sharpshooter, there will be nowhere for him to hide.”
“This mysterious enemy has a name. I shared it with you: Robert Friar. Among other things, I believe he was behind the attack on my Chosen. Because of one man’s sacrifice, the shooter failed. Friar dislikes failure. I believe he will try again.”
Every eye went to Lily.
Rule added quietly, “And while the mesa is the high ground, we have to get there.”
“We will keep Lily and Arjenie in our center,” Edgar said gruffly, “surrounded by bodies able to heal damage much better than theirs. If there really is any danger, both Chosens will be protected.”
Javier nodded. “Excellent idea, Edgar. Probably unnecessary, but none of us want to risk a Chosen. While we wait for the return of the Leidolf guard, we should make sure that all of us have honored the conditions of this meeting.”
Rule went still. “What do you mean?”
“I suggest our guards be searched.”
Rule’s eyes turned hard as glass. His upper lip lifted in a snarl. “I have had enough of poorly disguised insults. Call me liar or be quiet.”
Javier spread his hands. “I do not ask that you be searched, Rule. Lu Nuncios—and, of course, Edgar—will give our words that we are unarmed. That is for form only. None of us would go armed into a circle, I’m sure. But any of our guards might have grown worried, given your constant murmurings of danger, and decided to arm himself without our knowledge. Let us make sure, I say, that is all.”
For a moment Lily thought Rule would refuse. Or maybe punch Javier in the nose. Why this was a nearly intolerable insult when he’d taken other demands in stride, she didn’t know. Maybe the man smelled bad. “Very well,” he said at last, his voice cold enough to freeze the sweat on any sensible person. “Nokolai agrees, if the rest do.” He continued with arctic dryness, “I give my word I have no weapons on my person other than those bequeathed by the Lady.”
Cullen broke his long, uncharacteristic silence. “Excellent notion,” he said in a bright and silky voice. “I have a suggestion. We should all strip. Then no one need wonder what we might be hiding. I’ll go first.” Quick as a flash, he’d pulled his tank top off. It landed in the dirt. He toed off one of the disreputable Nikes he wore, then the other—no socks—and smiled sweetly as his hands went to the snap on his shorts. “Myron? Lucas? Javier? Who’s going to—”
“Call off your madman,” Edgar growled, “before he gets us all arrested.”
“Cullen.” Rule’s voice continued dry—but dry and amused now. “Perhaps that’s far enough.”
“Are you sure? I might have a grenade up my ass, after all. No way for anyone to know unless—”
“Enough.” Javier rolled his eyes. “As you stand in for the Rhej in the circle, we will accept your word, also.”
Cullen’s smile remained, but grew edges. You could cut yourself on a smile like that. “But not the guards’ words.”
“What does it matter?” Edgar demanded. “Wythe has nothing to hide. Robert!” He turned to face the guards spread out behind them. “Allow Benedict to search you.”
A lean blond man well over six feet with a hooked nose turned to face Benedict and held his arms straight out. Benedict didn’t move, didn’t so much as glance at him.
“If we’re going to do this,” Rule said, “best do it quickly. Wythe and Nokolai guards will search each other. Kyffin and Ybirra will do the same. When Scott returns, he and Lucas’s guard may ensure their mutual compliance. Agreed?”
“Foolishness,” Lucas said, “but very well. “
“Oh, all right,” Myron said. “Though Lucas is right—it’s a foolish sacrifice of dignity, which Billy possesses in much greater quantity than I, so I suppose he can spare a morsel of it. Billy! Please allow—ah, I think your name is Gil? Allow Gil to pat you down, then do the same for him.”
The man with the buzzed hair—who looked like he should be called Crusher or Bull, not Billy—moved toward the dark-skinned man on his left. Rule gave Benedict a nod.
George had waited with his arms outstretched. Benedict went to him. He was quick, efficient, and as thorough as one can be without the body cavity search Cullen had mockingly suggested. Within moments Benedict straightened. “Unless his phone transforms into a laser gun, he’s clean.”
“Permit him to assure himself that the same is true for you.”
Benedict looked bored. He tugged his T-shirt off over his head and held it out. “You’ll want to check that.”
The man took it, shook it, shrugged, and tossed it over his shoulder.
Benedict hadn’t left him many places to look. His shorts were knee-length khaki. Unlike most of the others, he wore a belt with them. His phone was clipped to it. George patted Benedict’s hips and butt, paying attention to the pockets, and ran a couple fingers inside the waist of his shorts, then knelt on one knee. Apparently he meant to check Benedict’s socks and shoes, but Lily didn’t see what he actually did. George’s body blocked her from seeing his hands.
She saw Benedict’s face change, a subtle disturbance rippling through his features. Then Benedict roared.
And things went to hell really fast.
THIRTY-EIGHT
BENEDICT slammed his fist into
George’s face. George flew backward several feet. He hadn’t yet landed when Benedict leaped at the man closest to him—Gil, Javier’s guard, who’d just finished patting down Myron’s Billy. Benedict didn’t land on Gil. He jumped past the man—seizing his head and twisting it as he did.
Gil never had a chance to cry out. His body slumped to the ground like an under-filled bag of sand.
Benedict landed on his toes already bending into his next move. He spun on one leg, the other one swinging through the air, his torso lined up perfectly with the outstretched leg to balance the kick.
Billy was in motion, too—rushing into the attack, trying to redirect the kick and upset Benedict’s balance.
Billy was lupus. He was fast.
Not fast enough.
Somehow Benedict altered the kick in midmotion, bending his knee and twisting his body to change the trajectory. Had he misjudged even a fraction, it would have been his knee rather than his thigh that smacked into Billy’s head— probably crippling Benedict, however much damage it did to Billy. Instead Billy fell to the ground, stunned or dead.
All that took three seconds.
Lily was slow to react. Sheer disbelief held her motionless. The lupi around her were a split-second faster. Even as Billy fell, Rule threw himself into a run. So did Edgar and Lucas. Javier howled and jumped … on Rule. From behind.
The two tumbled to the ground, rolled. Myron, who had just started forward, jerked to a halt near them.
“Furo!” cried the one remaining guard, dodging frantically as Benedict charged him. “He stinks of the fury!”
The fury? Oh, gods, this was bad. Lily started to reach inside her sling. Stopped.
“Circle him!” That was Cullen—who wasn’t a trained fighter, but he was blindingly quick. Maybe the only one faster than Benedict. He didn’t obey his own order. He rushed Benedict, moving so fast Lily couldn’t quite see what happened—but it resulted in Cullen veering at the last second when Benedict’s arm flashed out.
The sleep charms. Cullen had tried to use one. He couldn’t get close enough.
Lucas dashed in just as Cullen veered away. The flurry of motion was too quick to follow, but it ended with Benedict’s mouth bleeding freely and Lucas flying a dozen feet through the air. Edgar charged Benedict from behind. Benedict spun and slammed both fists on Edgar’s head. Edgar went down hard.
They needed Rule, who might be able to use the portion of the Nokolai mantle he held to stop Benedict. Maybe.
There was a solid smack of fist on flesh. Rule nearly won free, but Javier snaked out a foot, tripping him. Lucas and Cullen were distracting Benedict, giving him two fast-moving targets. Lily hesitated for one more second, looking over at Arjenie. The woman stood stock-still, eyes huge with horror. “Get in the car,” Lily snapped. “Lock the doors.”
“Furo?” Those huge eyes turned to Lily. “The fury? What’s that? What’s happening?”
“Madness. In the car. Now.” Lily didn’t wait to see if she obeyed, but raced toward Rule and Javier. Twenty feet away, Cullen danced and darted around Benedict like a rodeo clown keeping an enraged bull away from his target—Edgar, who was trying to rise. Lucas was down again, on hands and knees, shaking his head. The remaining guard cradled one arm close to his body and moved sluggishly, as if dazed.
In the second or two Lily had looked away, Benedict had struck again.
Myron had stayed near Rule and Javier. He jumped back as the entangled fighters rolled. “Javier! Stop it! We need Rule to—oh, damn,” he said, sliding sideways quickly to avoid them. “Not going to listen, are you?” He grimaced, drew back his foot, and kicked Javier in the head.
Javier went limp. Rule sprang to his feet and dashed toward the madman who was his brother. Lily followed as fast as she could.
“Benedict!” Rule shouted. “Freeze!”
For a split second, he did. For one shutter-click moment, he didn’t move. But only for that long. Then he charged Rule.
Rule danced aside at the last second. “Circle him! I’ll keep him busy while—”
“Hell, no, you won’t!” Cullen yelled back. “I’m faster.” As if to prove that he darted in—then back, ducking and dodging, giving Rule a chance to move closer while he weaved around blows that didn’t quite land.
Until one did. Cullen sailed backward, skidding across the dry grass in a cloud of dust to end up next to one of those terribly still bodies. Lily stopped just as Rule leaped on his brother’s back. Benedict threw himself backward. The two of them landed in a tangled pile, but Benedict had managed to twist himself around as they fell, landing with one knee in Rule’s back.
For a sickening second, Rule was still. Benedict reached for Rule’s head or maybe his throat—
A rock sailed in and hit him in the head.
He rolled off and in one smooth motion regained his feet, growling in a way no human throat should be able to do. Cullen stood ten feet away, another rock in his hand, grinning like a maniac. Half his face was covered in blood. He swayed slightly where he stood and his eyes looked fuzzy, as if they weren’t tracking right. “Want some more? C’mon. Come here.” He made a beckoning gesture. “Let’s dance, big boy.”
Benedict’s face contorted in fury—but instead of launching himself at Cullen, he moved sideways, his head swinging between Cullen and Rule—who’d gotten to his feet. As Benedict retreated, Lucas shoved to his feet and his guard moved closer, making part of a loose circle around Benedict. That guard still clutched one arm to his chest. Broken, probably.
He’d be the weak point. He must know it. Benedict would, too. He might be mad with rage, but even a fear-maddened beast knows which predator is injured and weakened.
Lily held back. She for damn sure couldn’t fight Benedict, and if she—
“Benedict.” Rule’s voice was low, so deep it could almost have been Isen speaking. “Submit. Now.”
Again Benedict froze. It lasted a full second this time.
It might have lasted longer if Javier hadn’t shot in from one side and tackled him.
They went down together. Rule dove in, seizing one of his brother’s hands with both of his even as Javier reached for Benedict’s throat—and took a blow to his ribs from Benedict’s other hand. Lucas skidded onto his knees on Benedict’s other side, reaching for that arm. Rule shifted quickly, using his knee to pin Benedict’s forearm. He dug into his pocket, popped something in his mouth, took it out and reached for Benedict’s bare skin.
Benedict bucked so strongly he toppled Javier, who bumped into Rule, knocking him away. And something small and silver went spinning off to land near Billy’s motionless body.
With Javier dislodged and Rule off-balance, Benedict’s legs were free. He used them to kick to his feet in spite of Lucas’s grip—or maybe Lucas helped, because he used the motion to flip Benedict.
Benedict landed well, though, and was on his feet before Lucas could close. Rule had regained his feet, too, and the two of them circled Benedict.
“Stop it!” Arjenie cried from back at the car. “Stop now!”
Myron came up beside Lily. He imitated Cullen by lobbing a rock at Benedict. This one, though, Benedict simply caught—and hurled back.
Lily ducked. Myron yelled something. Benedict charged. Arjenie slapped her hand against the car’s rear window.
Lily felt the magic as it rolled past her, quick as a flash fire but somehow bruised, a hot, squishy sort of power prickling her skin. As it hit, people fell—Myron, Rule, Benedict, Lucas, the lone remaining guard. Arjenie, too. She collapsed into a small heap beside the car. Everyone but Lily—and Cullen. Who had shields, excellent shields, and who was staring at her in the same astonishment she felt.
Lily shook that off, took four running steps, and slid to her knees beside Benedict, who was supposed to be immune to his Chosen’s magic. Turned out that was wrong. Whatever Arjenie did when she combined her Gift with glass, it had hit Benedict along with the rest.
She licked the silver disk Cullen ha
d given her and slapped it against Benedict’s bare chest. Then, for a moment, she just breathed … and noticed what she was touching. Mixed with the pine-and-fur of lupus magic was something oily. “Okay,” she said, looking around. Bodies everywhere. “Cullen? You okay?”
“Not seeing double anymore, which is a good sign.” He’d knelt beside one of the fallen. “Billy’s alive, but I think his neck’s broken. Potentially healable. Depends on his innate healing and the care he gets.”
“The others?”
“Gil’s dead. Checking on the rest.” He stood.
At some point in the past, Cullen had gone to medical school. Lily hoped he remembered enough. “Check the injured first. The ones knocked out by magic should …” Movement in her peripheral vision had her head swinging around.
The Leidolf guard had returned. Scott stood staring in horror about ten yards away—too distant to be affected by the blast from the glass, she guessed. “Check on Arjenie,” she snapped. “She’s next to the Lincoln. If she didn’t break anything when she fell”—unlikely, but best to check—“put her in the car and make her as comfortable as possible.”
“I—my Rho—”
“Is okay.” She thought. She hoped. “Move!”
He ran up to Arjenie.
“Edgar’s dead,” Cullen said flatly, rising from Edgar’s still body. “I think George twitched earlier, before Arjenie knocked everyone out.”
Oh, shit, oh, shit. The Wythe Rho. This was going to be bad. “We need to ask George some questions. Benedict didn’t go into the fury all by himself.”
“Didn’t think he did,” Cullen said curtly, moving to kneel beside George.
“She seems okay,” Scott called. “Out cold, but I didn’t find any injuries. Heartbeat’s strong.”
“Good. Soon as she’s settled in the car, come here and hold this charm on Benedict’s chest. Cullen, how long will it work?”
“Twenty to thirty minutes. He’ll come out slow, give us a chance to switch to a fresh one.” Cullen nodded at George, who wasn’t twitching now. “Broken jaw. Probably a concussion, too, but his pupils match. Good thing Benedict wasn’t trying to kill us.”
