by Nora Roberts
fiery red ball.
Her breath came fast and harsh, and her fingers fumbled over the double knots in her laces.
He started to back out, then tossing the bag of cookies aside, crouched down. “I’ve got these. I’ve got them.”
“Get out! Oh, shit.”
She grabbed the bottom of her tank, yanked it over her head.
“I’ve got it.” He dragged off her boots, the socks, and when she threw her head back, when he saw the change glint in her eyes, gritted his teeth, pulled her belt open.
“Hold on.”
“I can’t.”
She moaned, and he heard bones begin to creak, shift.
“Riley.” Sasha stopped in the doorway.
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it. Don’t fucking bite me.” While her spine arched, Doyle flipped open the button of her cargo shorts, yanked them and the panties beneath down her legs. Then hooked his fingers in the sports bra she wore, and dragged it over her head and clear.
Naked, she twisted away, rose on all fours.
Her shoulders bunched, and the muscles bulged. Her hands curled, with nails lengthening, going sharp, as skin became pelt.
Again, she threw back her head, and somehow caught between wolf and woman, howled. And the woman was gone.
The wolf growled low, then ran for the terrace doors. In one spring she landed on the stone rail, in another she leaped into the night.
“Oh, my God. Riley.”
Sasha dashed to the terrace, ran out a step behind Doyle. And saw the wolf land neatly, impossibly on the lawn on the other side of the pool. With one glance toward them, she turned and loped into the grove.
“I didn’t know she could . . . It seems an impossible jump.”
Magnificent—he couldn’t block the reaction—fierce and magnificent. “Apparently not for her.”
“She needs to run,” Sasha remembered. “She told us she needs to run right after the change. All that energy. Why were you . . .” She glanced at the scattered clothes, cleared her throat. “Not my business.”
“And not like that. Annika asked me to bring her up some bloody cookies, and she was on that bloody phone of hers. With the guy she’s been after. She wasn’t paying attention, and neither was I. She was excited, whatever he told her got her juices running, and she started the change while she was still dressed.”
“You helped her.”
“She couldn’t get her damn boots off, then . . .”
Sasha laid a hand on his arm. “You helped her. Even if she’s embarrassed by that, and snarls—ha—a little tomorrow, she’s grateful for the help.”
On a sigh, she turned back into the room. “I’ll pick up her things so she doesn’t . . .”
Doyle turned to her when she trailed off, saw the sight come into her eyes. More magnificence, he thought. He’d never known three women more compelling.
“They’re coming. She sends him, transformed as one of us has transformed. For me, for my blood, for my blood to feed her.”
“She can forget it.” Firmly, Doyle took her shoulders. “Get Bran, get your bow. I’ll tell the others.”
“While we’re five, and weaker, she watches.”
“Let her watch. Go!”
He unclipped Riley’s holster from her belt, clipped it to his own, and called the others to arm as he ran down the steps for his sword.
Inside, Sawyer grabbed more clips, shoved them in his pocket. He could admit, at least to himself, he wanted nothing more than one clear shot at Malmon. He shoved a spare knife in his boot and hurried out to join the others.
“In the grove?”
“No time.”
Bran pointed to where Sasha’s gaze was locked. It resembled a cloud, dark and boiling, spewing out of the sky and filled with storms.
“Riley.” Quickly Annika took his hand. “She—”
“Sun’s down, moon’s up. Let’s make sure they can’t get to her, wherever she is. We’ve got this.” He gave her hand a squeeze, released it. Drew both guns.
He took out the leaders, one shot, and the light flared, flamed them.
“On your six!” Doyle shouted, and Sawyer whirled. A second cloud rolled over the west.
“Sasha and I have the west.” Though he’d armed himself, Bran left the gun holstered. Lightning bolted from his extended hands. “Sawyer and Annika the east. Doyle—”
“Some of each.”
Sawyer emptied both clips, dodged a razor swipe of claws as he reloaded. However much he trusted Annika’s skill, he kept her in sight, ready to defend, protect while she shot charges, flipped to kick, spun to shower the light through the dark.
But he saw nothing of Malmon.
“Come on, fucker,” he muttered, ignoring the backwash of blood and ash splattering from Doyle’s whirling sword. “Show yourself.”
Something rushed past him; he caught the dark blur, felt the sudden shock of pain from claws raking his arm.
He turned, tried to follow the blur, hold it in his sights, but it moved like Bran’s lightning, and erratically at that.
But his heart bounded to his throat as he realized that blur was a zigzagging arrow aimed at Sasha.
She released a bolt, struck her target, drew another.
“Sasha! Move, move.”
She hesitated only a second at Sawyer’s shout, retreated two quick steps to the side. He saw the blood bloom on her arm, heard her quick cry of pain.
Because his gun was useless—she was too close—Sawyer ran toward her even as Bran yanked her behind him. Sawyer moved to block her from attack, but the attack changed directions so fast Doyle’s sword cleaved down, met only air.
Now blood seeped from Sasha’s leg.
“Take her in, get her inside.” Sawyer laid down suppressing fire. “We’ll hold them off.”
“No, there’s too many.” Shaking off Bran’s hold, Sasha fired another bolt.
Sawyer saw the blur, the leap of it. Fired. Missed. He saw Bran once again yank Sasha behind him, knew in that instant Bran would go down.
The wolf all but flew out of the dark, its howl fierce and as deadly as its fangs. Another instant, the blur took form, hideous form, raw red skin, bumpy with scales, wild yellow eyes in a long narrow face crowned with nubs.
The wolf sank those fangs into the demon’s shoulder—Malmon’s shoulder—and its scream shattered the air. The demon struck out, its face contorted with rage and pain. The blow sent the wolf tumbling through the air. When it struck the ground, it lay still.
“Keep them off her.” On a one-handed handspring, Doyle flipped to the wolf, sweeping his sword out to destroy the birds that swooped low to attack the fallen.
In seconds the five circled the wolf, forming a wall of defense. Sawyer caught one last glance of Malmon, took aim, but the dark swallowed the demon and the birds.
And the night went still with the silent moon gliding overhead.
“Riley.” Sasha fell to her knees. “Oh, God, Riley. Bran.”
“Let me see her, let me see. You’re bleeding, a ghrá.”
“Riley. How bad is Riley?”
Blood ran down her arm, onto fur as Sasha laid her hands on her friend. “She’s alive. I feel her heart.”
“Stunned, at least. We’ll get her inside.”
“I have her.” Sheathing his sword, Doyle crouched, lifted the unconscious wolf.
With a nod, Bran lifted Sasha. “You’re losing blood, as is Sawyer. Annika.”
“I’m not hurt. I’ll get what you need.”
“I’m all right. Riley first.”
“You’re not all right, no, but you will be. Lay Riley on the table, Doyle, and get towels.”
“Let me check for breaks.” After he laid Riley down, Doyle ran his hands over her, checked legs, worked over her body. “A couple of ribs, it feels like, but Christ, they’re knitting. I can feel the breaks fusing. Heals fast as a wolf. I feel a little . . .”
“Yeah, me, too.” When his legs buckled, Sawyer simply sat on the floor. “T
here’s a burning, and a weakness.”
“Poison, no doubt. Get the towels, Doyle, and water. Annika,” Bran said as she rushed in. “Help me here. I need to clean out the wounds, but we’ll want the potion, six drops for each. You’ll do that now, and quickly.”
He chose another bottle out of the kit as Annika measured the potion. “It will hurt,” he murmured to Sasha. “I’m sorry for it. Look at me, open for me.”
She gasped as the liquid met the gash, then simply closed her eyes. “It’s better.”
“Almost. And I’ve your leg to do as well. A few moments, just a few more. Sawyer, go ahead and drink that. There now, there, fáidh, they’re clean, and purified. The balm will soothe.”
“Sawyer first.”
“I’ve got him, finish her.” Doyle took the bottle, crouched by Sawyer. “Ready?”
“Go for it. Shit, shit, fucking shit.”
Annika pressed a kiss to his head as the burning seared the gashes on his arm, and he felt Sasha—partner in pain—take his hand.
“He would have done worse, much worse, if you hadn’t warned me.”
“I couldn’t get a clear shot. He’s too fast, and then you were too close.”
“He wanted my throat. I had an instant to feel that from him, but you’d shouted and he missed the mark. You saved my life, then Riley saved Bran’s, which is the same to me. Please, Bran, please, see to Riley. She fell so hard.”
“Just another moment. Annika, you’ll treat Sawyer with the balm.”
“Yes, I know how. The wound is clean. It’s deep, but it’s clean.”
“Yeah, it is, I can feel it. And I can stand.” Steady again, Sawyer got to his feet. “You must have something in the magick box for Riley.”
“Nothing broken.” Once again Doyle ran his hands over her. “The ribs are healed already.”
As he spoke, the wolf’s eyes opened, tawny and clear, met his. The low growl had him lifting his hands, holding them palms out. “Take it easy.”
“You were hurt,” Sasha said as Riley shifted and jumped nimbly to the floor. “Will you tell me if you have pain? Let me in?”
Their eyes met, and Sasha’s lips curved. “He wasn’t copping a feel. Will you take some medicine? But the fast can’t mean . . . All right. At sunrise. Go rest awhile.”
The wolf gave Doyle one last, long stare, then stalked out of the kitchen.
“You were talking to a wolf. I mean, sure it’s Riley, but—”
Grinning, Sawyer shook his head. “A wolf. Like Dr. Dolittle.”
“She’s got some pain, not severe, and she’ll sleep awhile. It’s rare for her to sleep when in wolf form, but it will help the healing. It’s not really talking,” Sasha explained. “It’s more she can let me read her feelings, and they more or less translate into words. She understands us perfectly well, and I can get the gist of what she wants me to know.”
With a sigh, she looked down at the blood on the floor. “We need to clean this up.”
“I will clean it. I wasn’t hurt. You should rest, and you, Sawyer. It helps you heal, too. Is that right, Bran?”
“It is, and they will. We’ll talk about all this in the morning.”
“There’s a question I’d have liked to ask before she walked out on us.” Doyle glanced at the doorway. “That was Malmon, I take it.”
“It was,” Sasha told him. “But not Malmon any longer.”
“So man into demon. And a demon who was just bitten by a werewolf—or lycan, as she prefers. Will the demon be turned by the bite?”
“Good question,” Sawyer said. “And would that be good or bad news for our side?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Because she wanted to surprise everyone, Annika slid out of bed very early. Quietly, she pulled on one of her dresses—one with all the favorite colors swirled over it, like a rainbow storm. With a glance back at Sawyer, she slipped from the room while he slept. As she went downstairs, she braided her hair. She wanted it out of the way for the work she would do.
She’d watched the cooking many times, and had been allowed to help. But today she would cook breakfast by herself while the others rested. Doyle had said the night before that because of battle and blood and the diving they would do that day, they could take a day off from the calisthenics.
Annika liked the calisthenics, but she suspected she was the only one who did.
She sang to herself as she chose pans and pots, and what she needed from the big silver box that kept things cold. The night had been full of fear and blood, but she had a good, strong feeling about the day to come.
If she could make a good breakfast, with no mistakes, the day would be bright. Pouring herself juice, she shook her head at the machine that made coffee. Everyone liked coffee, but she didn’t. She’d rather do calisthenics.
She drank the juice, so cool and fresh, then took a deep breath, hugged herself. Now she would make the bacon.
As the sun peeked through the eastern windows, she had a platter of bacon in the oven on the low, the way Sasha showed her, and a nice pile of the bread of France—French toast, she corrected herself—as Sawyer had showed her.
She would make the scrambled eggs and the potatoes that Bran made on his turn. Riley would be very hungry after her fast. And when everything was cooked, and in the warm, she would set the table.
She heard someone coming, too soon for her to finish as she’d hoped. But smiled when she saw Riley.
“Good morning! I can make you coffee.”
“Okay. I smell bacon.”
“I made bacon.” Delighted, Annika opened the oven, remembered the big mitts that kept hands protected from burns, and pulled out the platter.
“I’ll say you did.” Riley took a handful at once. “Enough for an army.”
“I made too much?”
“I feel like an army,” Riley said with her mouth full. “French toast?” Without waiting, Riley grabbed a piece, stuffed it in.
“Is it good?”
“It’s great. I’m starving. Where’s Sasha?”
“Sleeping. Everyone’s sleeping but you and me.”
Riley ate more bacon. “You’re cooking solo?”
“By myself? Yes, a surprise. Sawyer and Sasha and you were hurt, and Doyle said no calisthenics.”
“Yay.”
“Do you have pain?”
“No, all good.” Still eating, Riley turned to the coffeemaker.
“I’ll make it! You can sit. I like to make coffee, but I don’t like to drink it.” She made a big mug, set it down, then hugged Riley. “You saved Bran and Sasha. I think you saved us all because when you came, the evil things went away.”
“I ran too far. I should’ve stayed closer. If I’d been back sooner—”
“I think you were here when needed. The demon Malmon hurt you, but you hurt him more, I think.”
“He clocked me a good one. He’s Hulk Smash strong.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Seriously strong. The coffee’s good, Anni. I think you’ve just graduated to regular kitchen rotation.”
A beaming smile followed a quick gasp of joy. “Do you really think?”
“Don’t know why it would thrill you, but yeah, I definitely think. Hey, Sash, looks like Anni leapfrogged into your slot today.”
“Oh, Riley, you’re all right.”
“I am now,” she said and ate more bacon.
“Annika, you . . . you made all this?”
“Riley says it’s good. I can be on rotation. Will you put me on the chart for cooking?”
“I will, and thank you for stepping in for me.”
“You feel good?”
“I’m fine. We’re all fine. Since you’re breakfast chef, I’ll set the table.”
“I can do it.”
“Let me help.” Sasha ran a hand down Annika’s arm. “After coffee.”
It pleased her so much she wanted to dance to see everyone eat her food. To have Sawyer kiss her as he reached over for more.
<
br /> She’d made a meal for her family, and of all she’d learned it seemed the best.
“First question.” Doyle looked at Riley. “Will he turn? Malmon.”
Riley scooped up eggs. “That’s something I’ve been thinking about most of the night. I’ve never bitten anyone—human or demon. Big-time violation, though that’s for humans, and he’s not. Not anymore. And the answer is, I don’t know. New territory. I’m going to consult some experts on it, but it may be completely new territory.”
“If he does, when?” Sawyer asked.
“Not this moon. If he were human, he’d be pretty sick for this round. Chills, fever, and when the moon began to wane, he’d be fine again. Until the next moon.”
“But he’s not human,” Doyle pointed out.
“Got that, and I’m going to consult, but I don’t see any way for him to turn, if he turns, straight off. In any case, the first change is hard, especially for someone infected and not prepared and trained. The thing is, I don’t know if a lycan bite infects a demon. I’m not sure anyone knows.”
“It may be wait and see then.” Considering, Bran drank more coffee. “I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been. I couldn’t see him, not clearly, and that I need to work on.”
“But you could,” Doyle said.
“I could see him.” Still eating, Riley nodded. “Ugly son of a bitch, which is nice and ironic as previously he considered himself God’s gift. With apologies to God,” she added, and ate more. “I could see him, and see he’d homed in on Sasha. He’d have gone through Bran to get to her, but getting to her was the goal.”
“She wanted me dead—and wanted my blood. She’ll have some of it.”
“I didn’t stay close enough. I was distracted, and the change started before I’d taken care of things. Thanks for helping me with that.”
Doyle shrugged. “Never a problem to get a woman out of her clothes.”
“Cute. But it . . . Changing in front of anyone is . . . It’s a private thing, and I reacted to how it went down. So I wasn’t as close as I should have been. If I had been, she might not have the blood.”
“If you hadn’t come when you did, she’d have Bran’s blood, too, and I might be dead. So let’s table any timing issue.”
