by N. D. Jones
Opening her mouth, Sanura sucked in the vapors, breathing through her nose and swallowing. She reached for her familiar, suddenly knowing what to do. I need you to help me, Assefa. You have to reach for me as I reach for you.
She waited, seconds, a minute, more.
Then she felt it, a raw burning in her gut. Not pain. Not discomfort but solar-hot power. Fingers sizzled, heart pounded, and the magic circle glowed fiery gold.
Sanura raised both arms, lifted them skyward and commanded in a booming, dictatorial voice that sounded nothing like her, “Heed my call. Listen to my demand. Bring my familiar to me.”
Silence.
Nothing.
Then…rampaging gallops in the sky.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The ground outside the force field quaked.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The adzes stopped their prowling.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The gallops were getting closer, louder.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Crackle. Thud. Crackle.
“Bring the cat of legend to me now!”
Crackle. Boom.
A murderous bolt of lightning filled the night sky, shiny, bright, and deadly. From the light, from the magic Sanura had controlled, came the one she needed. Her familiar who’d answered his witch’s desperate call.
In all his black-and-gray glory, golden eyes feral and promising death, the Mngwa roared.
The force field collapsed.
Mike fired.
An adze bellowed.
And all hell broke loose.
Mike fired again, right into the chest of the closest adze, the body exploding in gushy shards of black, bubbling up and over in an arc. The adze collapsed on its side, its jaw in a dead snarl, its grayish-black wings crumpled with scarred-over imperfections.
Strong and steady, the Mngwa slashed into the remaining adze, tackling it to the ground with effortless might.
Sanura couldn’t look away, riveted by the sheer power of her familiar in action. He was as fierce as the legends had depicted him, Merciless, the dominant cat ripped and tore at the adze until his muzzle was soaked in blood. As graphic as the scene was, the Mngwa wasn’t a mindless monster who killed indiscriminately. Assefa wasn’t a beast with fur and fangs. He had a heart, a profound wellspring of a heart that beat only to serve and to protect. To love.
As Sanura looked upon her savior, her familiar, she realized she was truly in love for the first time. In that crystal-clear moment, Sanura knew she couldn’t let him go. He was her other half, her soul mate. Fear or no, insecurity or no, she was not losing Assefa Berber.
Sanura collapsed, and dizzying blackness claimed her.
He had to see her, make sure she was all right. Dammit, didn’t mean for this to happen. Not her, not my Sanura.
The door to the room creaked when pushed, and Richard slipped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. A relieved sigh. He’d made it. He’d waited nearly an hour for the doctor, Makena, Mike, and that damn FBI agent…correction, scary-as-shit cat shifter, to leave Sanura’s room.
Yeah, he’d witnessed the man go from some big cat breed he’d never seen before to the scowling special agent he knew too well. Should’ve trusted my instincts that first day when the big bastard sniffed me and called me a liar. But Sanura Williams only dated full-humans, he’d foolishly told himself then. Or at least she had. Guess that changed in a big fuckin’ way.
Richard glanced down at his watch. Ten minutes. He only had ten minutes. It wouldn’t take the trio long to run down to the hospital cafeteria and come back.
“I think we could all use a mega cup of coffee,” Mike had said when they exited Sanura’s room. The midget detective loved his coffee, always glaring over the rim at Richard whenever he saw him, cup pressed firmly to his big, never-shut-the-fuck-up mouth. Mike should be the one in the bed hurt, not Sanura. Better yet, that agent.
Nine minutes. He had to move.
The dimly lit room beckoned. He’d always favored the dark, taking pleasure in the strength of the unseen, the unknown, the unknowable.
But he was tired of living in the darkness all alone, no light, no pulse, and no pleasure. No Sanura. My Sanura.
He reached her bed, eyes dropping to the white bandage circling her shoulder. Richard wanted so desperately to touch her, to let her know he was there. But he refrained, didn’t want to wake or startle her. Although, he was pretty sure the doctor would’ve given her something for her pain and to help her sleep. Still…
Richard sat in the chair already positioned at the side of her bed.
Eight minutes.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so damn sorry. I knew I should’ve found another hunting area for them when I found out you were a witch. But it’s so damn hard, scouting just the right spot, making sure they’d be safe during the day. That there’s plenty of food for them all.”
It always boiled down to food, to the hunt. He was so tired of it, years of endless hunting and hiding and never knowing happiness. Except those months with Sanura, an escape he’d craved more than the promise of a long life.
But that, too, was gone now, the blood link Richard shared with the adzes his only chance at the fabled Fountain of Youth.
Six minutes.
The Baltimore, D.C., and Virginia regions have so many witches. Good, easy hunting. The hunger headaches went away, the driving ache to feed them ceased. For a time. Then the witches went underground, shielding themselves, bringing back the pain, the uncontrollable urge to hunt, kill, live.
Five minutes.
“I’m also sorry about the girl. That was out of bounds, uncalled for. I was just…just so angry, frustrated, hurt.” Richard leaned closer. “I forgave you for lying to me all the time we were together, why couldn’t you forgive me for breaking up with you?” Closer. A whisper. “I didn’t mean any of the hurtful things I said to you. I just couldn’t be as brave as you, reveal my secret. They wouldn’t have liked that. They needed me. The same way they needed my father and his father before that.” And I needed them.
Richard glanced to the door, heard nothing. Three minutes. He stood.
“I just had to see you one last time. Tell you how much I love you.”
One trembling hand stretched out. He had to touch Sanura, her sleeping face so pretty, so precious, so perfect.
A solitary caress. Finger to cheek. So soft.
Richard smiled, then sighed sadly. It would have to be enough.
Two minutes.
A familiar hand reached for him, encircling the wrist of the hand still pressed to Sanura’s cheek. His smile deepened. She still knows my touch. Even in sleep, Sanura wants me. Me. Not the animal that killed my family.
One minute.
Sanura’s hand tightened.
And tightened.
And tightened.
Strong. So damn strong. Too strong.
Her eyes flew open.
Gold eyes. Gold fuckin’ eyes. No! “Let me go.”
Grip hardened; sharp nails dug deep. No, not nails. Claws!
Pain.
Understanding.
Fear.
Time’s up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“H–how? It can’t be. Y–you’re not supposed to be here. S–saw you leave.”
Assefa’s grip constricted, holding the sniveling math professor as hard as he dared without breaking his worthless wrist into insignificant bits of bone. Hard that, when all he wanted was to crush every conniving bone in Houghton’s lying body.
“H–how?” Houghton asked again, eyes wide with horror and disbelief.
The special agent slid from the bed, hand holding fiercely to Houghton’s wrist, forcing the man to back up when Assefa rose.
“I saw—”
“What Makena Williams wanted you to see—a witch’s illusion.”
“But I saw y–you leave.” Houghton shook his head.
No, what Houghton had seen was his FBI partner, Zareb Osei, walk out of the hospi
tal room with Mike and Makena. The judge’s eloquent magic did the rest.
“You set me up.” Houghton’s disbelieving eyes turned icy, his gaze mirroring that of the monsters he’d helped to hide, to hunt, to kill. Witches. Like Sanura and Gen. Like Elizabeth Ferrell’s parents. Innocents.
Thud. Thud.
Houghton’s back and head slammed against the nearest wall, Assefa having attacked without conscious thought. He lifted and squeezed, one unforgiving hand around the full-human’s neck. Can break it so easily. Deserves to die. Deserves to suffer.
Fingers lengthened, as did the claws. So much better to rip into you with.
Houghton’s heart pumped faster, feet dangled, kicking helplessly as Assefa squeezed. Ah, yes, the scent of retribution was strong in the air. The Mngwa wanted more, wanted blood, wanted the kill.
“P–please don’t,” Houghton pleaded, face taut with fear. Hands futilely pounded against Assefa’s outstretched arm, fingers digging but finding only hard, unsympathetic muscles.
“I told you I would destroy anyone who hurt Sanura.” A low growl. The Mngwa was so close, Houghton’s neck even closer. The large vein beat hard, faster, pulsing with so much blood, so much terror. Prey.
“I–I would never hurt Sanura.” A pathetic whine.
“You hurt her when you sent one of your bat friends after her niece.”
Claws pierced skin; blood trickled from five puncture wounds. The Mngwa licked his chops. So close. Wanted more.
“All because she didn’t want your sorry, hypocritical ass, right, Houghton?”
Claws sank deeper. The professor stopped struggling, throat crying out in pain. Eyes shed banked tears. Now you know how your victims felt, bastard.
“You pretended to be horrified when Sanura told you her secret. That revelation probably scared you to death, afraid the witch would unearth your own dirty little secret.”
The man tried to speak. Mouth opened, but he could only manage a feeble gulping of air.
Assefa didn’t need the professor’s admission. He knew all about Dr. Richard Houghton, his background investigation hurried but enough to put many of the missing pieces together.
“You should’ve just left Baltimore before things got hot for your adzes. That’s your MO, hunt for a time, and then leave the area as quietly and quickly as you arrived. But you stayed much longer than you should have.”
Yes, and Assefa knew why. Sanura. Houghton hadn’t lied. He did want her. In his own sick way, he probably even loved Sanura.
“You worked at ten different schools in the last eight years, normally small community colleges where adjunct professors come and go.”
Houghton sucked in a deep breath, his tall, lean body boneless, leaning forward, Assefa’s claws still embedded in his neck—shallow but relentless. The agent’s inhuman strength held him firmly against the wall.
“It must’ve been so easy for you, just picking up and moving on. No ties. No responsibilities. Just those freaks to keep fed.” Assefa lifted Houghton’s chin, the man’s head having fallen forward. “And you kept them fed, well-protected.” A snarl. “A damn human servant for those bloodsucking monsters.”
The chin Assefa held in his left hand quivered, but the man’s eyes remained fixed on him, tears flowing.
Assefa felt no pity for Richard Houghton. He didn’t know why the man would choose such a life. Perhaps it wasn’t a choice at all but a family inheritance. The agent knew exactly how easy such unwanted and ungodly legacies passed from one generation to the next, his own birthright one he wasn’t proud of. But a man makes his own destiny, lights his own path.
The professor was pathetic, too pathetic to hate, too pathetic to live, too pathetic to kill. Yet he deserved to die. Slow and painful, just the way Berber men were trained to dispose of prey. With an inward snarl borne of years of self-imposed control, Assefa released Houghton. The despicable coward fell with a thump. Disappointed, the Mngwa retreated.
The hospital room door opened. Assefa didn’t have to turn to know Mike and Zareb now stood behind him.
Assefa walked away from the sobbing, gulping math professor, Houghton’s blubbering excuses and apologies unimportant and far too late.
“Damn, kid, what did you do to the dickhead?”
“His throat is still intact, what more do you want from me?”
Mike snorted a laugh, pulled out a shiny pair of cuffs, and moved toward Houghton, a satisfied smile on the dwarf’s normally eat-shit-and-die face.
He didn’t watch as Mike cuffed the guy then handed him over to Assefa’s partner. He couldn’t care less, Assefa’s mind more on the recovering witch four doors down the hall than on the man who never deserved her love or trust.
“You can’t do this. I have my rights. You can’t—Sanura will wonder what’s happened to me. She’ll—”
“You have no damn rights here, asshole, so shut the hell up before I feed your hide to Assefa’s hungry cat.” Special Agent Zareb Osei’s harsh words mirrored Assefa’s sentiments. Between Assefa and Zareb, there was no good cop, bad cop. It was bad cop, worse cop. On any given day, they could be both.
Like the smart man he thought he was, Houghton shut the hell up. Few men challenged Zareb, especially when he glared at them from the height of six and a half feet.
Zareb had come to Baltimore when Assefa needed trusted backup, trailing Richard Houghton for the last two days, watching then reporting back to Assefa. The professor had been there when the adze had attacked Sanura, hiding in the darkness, watching, waiting, and then following the surveillance van to Sinai Hospital, never knowing or suspecting that those stolen glimpses of a hurt Sanura would be the last he would ever have of her.
“What you will do, doc, is walk quietly with me out of this hospital. Get in my car, like the obedient human servant you are, and watch the scenery pass as you say good-bye to your former life and hello to hell.”
Houghton sucked in a breath but wisely said nothing.
“No one will miss you. No one will think twice about the absence of a professor who’s like a rolling stone of the teaching profession,” Mike added. “Besides, you’ve already tendered your resignation, haven’t you, dickhead?”
No response.
Mike laughed. “Thought so. All your shit is in the trunk of your car. I checked while you were up here with Assefa.”
When Houghton thought I was Sanura.
“Get him out of here, Zareb.” Assefa was tired of looking at Houghton’s face, the one that shone so tender when he spoke Sanura’s name. Not the kind of love she needs. Not his. Mine.
“Let’s go, doc, our division chief can’t wait to have a nice, long chat with you.”
Then they were gone, the door creaking behind the special agent and the dead man. Houghton’s sobs drifted back, brushing against Assefa’s unsympathetic ears.
Assefa closed his eyes, breathed deeply and tried to catch the faintest whiff of Sanura’s scent. But all he could smell was Houghton’s fear, and the stench of the betrayal of the woman the professor claimed to love.
“What’s gonna happen to the dickhead once your division chief gets hold of him?”
Sighing, Assefa opened his eyes, the dwarf standing in front of him, bushy eyebrows raised, eyes curious.
“Chief Berber will have him interrogated. The interrogating agent will find out all there is to know about being a human servant to an adze. Fill in the blanks. Hopefully, shed light on cold cases.”
“And when all your chief’s questions are answered?”
Mike had to know the answer. He was an experienced dwarf of the world.
“She must never know.” Sanura wouldn’t understand. “We all agreed she could never learn what happened here tonight.” Sanura didn’t need to know that the man she’d given her heart and body to was responsible for the cruel slaughter of countless witches. Her sisters in magic.
“He’s no better than those bat freaks, Assefa.” No, he isn’t. “He deserves his fate and more.” Yes, he does. So
much more.
Houghton’s death would be quick, his body never found. It was the way of things with the Preternatural Division of the FBI, hunting killers and disposing of threats, incarceration never an option. Not our MO.
“I assume Makena is with Sanura.”
Mike nodded. “The best guard a witch could ever ask for.”
“Better than us?” Doubtful. Makena was a good witch. She’d demonstrated that with her illusion magic, but—
“You have no idea, kid. Have you ever seen a fire witch protect her cub?”
Fire witches were rare back home. Sudan boasted mainly water and wind witches. His experience with fire witches was limited to the Williams women and an FBI field agent no one wanted to partner with because she had one hell of a temper, setting the guilty aflame her preferred form of execution.
Assefa frowned.
Mike laughed. “For the love of Sybil, you and Sanura are a pair, both so damn good about being in control, showing the side of yourselves you think is acceptable, ignoring the other side, the other voice, the other you.”
Assefa glanced down at his hands. Claws gone, but the feel of Houghton’s neck remained. A glorious sensation. Flesh so easy to tear, so fragile, so—
He shook his head, a quick denial of the detective’s words. He and Sanura were nothing like Shirley Ardell Mason, their identities firmly established, their totems one with them, controlled, controllable.
“Thanks for your help, Mike,” Assefa said, surprised how deeply he felt those words. “I trust you’ll see Makena home safely?”
“Of course, the Williams women are mine to protect.” Mike extended one rugged hand. Assefa took it, the shake firm. “And yours, Special Agent Berber. Samuel Williams would approve.”
Hands still clasped, the moment stretched, an understanding forged, an unspoken vow made, a truce formed. Maybe even a friendship.
