My daughter is safe. My people, and Hannah—all safe. They can make their own way from this point. Surely they can, and they will.
Darkness swirled in his mind as he fell onto his side, his head slamming against the rooftop.
He no longer felt wind or rain as his body numbed. Sounds faded.
The last thing he heard as he slid down the slanted roof was Hannah screaming his name.
“Garran!” Fear rode Hannah in cold waves and her heart nearly stopped beating as his limp body started to move down the sloping rooftop.
Without a second’s thought, she threw out a magic rope, the green glittering as it wrapped around one of his booted ankles.
Blood thundered in her ears as his greater weight pulled her up while his body dropped to the next level of the rooftop. He continued to slide down the opposite side.
Gritting her teeth, she gripped the rope with one hand and used her other hand to cast a rope that she wrapped around the base of the flagpole before she slung the end around Garran’s free ankle. The rope caught him just before he would have tumbled off.
Hannah scrabbled for purchase. She managed to fling the first magic rope around the flagpole as her body slipped and she hung over the side of the top tier of the roof. The edge of the roof dug into her belly but she ignored the pain and the thundering in her heart.
Dear Ancestors. Don’t let Garran be dead. Don’t let him be dead.
Right now all that mattered was Garran. Everything else faded away. Sights, sounds, smells, the rain—nothing existed but him.
The next moments passed in a blur as her muscles burned and strained while she pulled herself back onto the roof.
When she was on her knees, she wrapped the rope around her waist so that it held her securely to the flagpole. Rain made the rooftop’s surface even slicker, and the distance between her and Garran seemed greater.
With her sock-clad feet flat on the rooftop she jumped from the building’s top tier to the level below. She slid in an arc toward Garran, the rope holding her steady until she reached him.
Now that she was relatively safe from falling, she threw out another magic rope and fastened it around Garran’s other ankle and tied it to the flagpole.
When Garran and Hannah were both secure she drew him back onto the roof. She used her rope and the flagpole like a pulley to get him far enough onto the surface so he wouldn’t fall.
Heart pounding and head swimming with fear, she knelt beside Garran. She placed her palms over his chest and searched for his lifeforce.
Only a thread of it remained. Dizziness and pain almost claimed her. He was nearly gone.
“You can’t leave me, you bastard!” For the first time since she was a child, tears poured down her cheeks. The rain washed them away, but the heat of the tears burned her eyes. “I won’t let you die, Garran. I won’t let you.”
One of the D’Danann warriors landed on the rooftop with a thump before he raised Garran’s upper body. Hawk. It was Hawk. He had come to take Garran. She sensed it, almost as if she could hear his thoughts.
She sensed Hawk believed Garran should die belowground, in the home of his people. His body could be properly displayed, then entombed like a true king.
“No,” she said, barely able to see anything through her blur of tears. “Don’t you dare take him yet. I’ve got to heal him.”
Vaguely she heard someone land on the rooftop behind her but she didn’t let her focus waver. Two hands gripped her waist but Hawk said, “Wait.”
As Hannah cried, her heart breaking, she poured into Garran every bit of healing magic mixed with what dark powers he had given her. The green of her magic glittered between them, mingling with the fog of the dark magic he’d given her.
Life stirred inside him and hope welled within her. Something fierce and passionate developed inside Hannah. His thread of life was growing into a rope. But a thin rope. A fragile rope.
He’s coming back—but he needs more.
“I love you, Garran,” she said as she cried and poured every last bit of her own essence into him.
She felt life fill him at the same time it slipped away from her. The pounding in her chest slowed to nothing and she slumped as she gave up the last of herself.
38
Rain immediately drenched Darkwolf and Elizabeth as soon as the transference brought them to the tourist piers.
The battle he had visioned with his god’s power no longer raged.
It was over. His heightened senses absorbed the remnants of Fomorii rotten-fish stench along with the coppery scent of blood, human sweat, and something different.
Magic. He smelled dark, dark old magic.
Voices, the screeching of sirens, and the whump of helicopter blades overhead were louder than normal to his more sensitive ears. In the distance additional helicopters approached.
Elizabeth caught her breath and Darkwolf released his hold on her arm. Only the witches, Drow warriors, D’Danann, law enforcement, and human innocents remained.
Some of the human survivors fought to save others. White witches worked their magic as best they could.
All except for Janis, who remained in the midst of the battlefield, shrieking and crying.
The magical beings attended to their injured before disappearing with them. Any dead D’Danann and Drow warriors would have vanished the moment they were killed.
Where the hell was that bitch, Ceithlenn?
Dead, his powers told him, but he fought the information niggling at his mind. He still felt her, smelled her burnt sugar odor.
With a sweep of his gaze, he assessed the situation.
Dead human bodies littered the sidewalks and stretches of concrete, as well as the asphalt street.
Rain was quickly washing away piles of Fomorii silt scattered in every direction. Blue and red lights of emergency vehicles reflected on wet surfaces and the windows of the pier’s businesses.
But there was no longer a battle. No demons to be seen.
“A great many Fomorii have been killed but most were sent back to Underworld,” Darkwolf said as his power fed him the information. “The demons are gone.”
“What?” Elizabeth’s voice choked on the word. “All of my kind are—are—”
“Gone.” He glanced down at her, the former Fomorii queen once named Junga who now inhabited a woman’s body.
Despite the fact she’d been stripped of her title and she had abandoned the other demons to live as a human, it was obvious she felt something for others of her species.
Her expression grew fierce. “How did it happen?”
“The king of the Drow used a power gifted to him.” More information bombarded Darkwolf as he looked up at the building where the Drow warrior king was being tended to by a witch and two D’Danann. “But it may have cost him his life.”
“Good.” Elizabeth let out an inhuman, low rumbling growl. “He should die for sending the Fomorii back to the stinking depths of Underworld. No being deserves such a fate.”
Darkwolf drew his attention back to the scene then tilted his face to the sky.
“We need to avenge them,” Elizabeth said, but he ignored her.
An enormous black cloud, like thick smoke roiling from a tremendous fire, floated overhead, nearing him. It carried with it Ceithlenn’s burnt sugar smell.
The goddess had been killed.
Only her power and what she had stolen from Balor remained behind.
He glanced at the former Fomorii queen. Elizabeth’s voice was hoarse as she rubbed both of her wet arms with her hands. “That cloud. It feels as if it could eat us whole.”
Darkwolf laughed as he looked back to the sky, pleasure warming his skin in the ice-cold rain. Thanks to Balor’s power within him, he had the strength to take Ceithlenn’s magic for his own.
Purple fire snapped and crackled at his fingertips as he raised his hands, palms facing the cloud. He focused on his energy, his hatred, his fury at the goddess for what she’d done to him in the past,
and his desire for her magic.
Balor’s black magic that encased his heart and Darkwolf’s own purple magic twisted as one. It formed a powerful stream that shot from his palm and pierced the cloud.
The black fog swirled and swirled. Using all the magic he had, he drew the blackness toward him until it spiraled down like a funnel cloud.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth sounded frantic and concerned.
“Mine.” He laughed again. “It’s all mine.”
His entire body vibrated and rippled from his scalp to his toes as he soaked in Ceithlenn’s power. The more he seized the more strength he had.
Even the souls she had stolen filled him. Shock stunned him for a moment and he faltered as he felt the same satisfaction Ceithlenn had in stealing human souls.
But only for a moment.
“Darkwolf.” Elizabeth’s urgent voice pierced his concentration. “The Drow and D’Danann—they’re looking this way.”
Despite Elizabeth’s warning, he claimed the last of Ceithlenn’s power with pleasure. The cloud no longer hovered above him but filled his entire essence. His blood vessels even glowed purple through his light skin as power raged through him.
Yet exhaustion soaked him to his bones. The force it had taken to draw such great magic left him weak. The weakness would not last, but for now it made him tired and in need of rest.
“Darkwolf,” Elizabeth shouted before she screamed, a sound of agony.
Something pierced his arm and pain seared him as the force of whatever had hit him caused him to stumble back.
He cut his gaze to his arm and then to Elizabeth, who had fallen on her back, a bullet hole in her chest and an arrow in her belly.
His gut immediately clenched at the sight. They’d been struck by Drow arrows and she’d been shot.
More pain exploded in his shoulder as another arrow buried itself in his flesh and bone. Darkwolf glanced up to see his old enemies charging toward him, along with the PSF cop, Macgregor.
Darkwolf was far too exhausted, even with Ceithlenn’s and Balor’s powers combined with his own, to deal with this shit. He needed rest before he had the strength he needed to take them all on.
And he needed to save and protect Elizabeth.
A volley of Drow arrows and bullets sailed toward Darkwolf and Elizabeth, but he deflected them with a magic shield. It wasn’t made of the purple that had always come from his magic. It was a black, black shimmer.
He looked down at Elizabeth to see her lying slack, on the ground, another bullet in her throat.
A cry of rage rose up within him as he knelt at her side and grasped her hand. He let out a howl before he turned his furious gaze at the oncoming rush of D’Danann and Dark Elves and the PSF cop.
The desire to kill them, kill them all, made his whole body burn so hot that the rain on his skin sizzled and rose up in wafts of steam.
No, now was not the time to fight.
He ground his teeth, fear for Elizabeth and fury at those who had hurt her making him shake.
Darkwolf scooped Elizabeth into his arms before he used the transference to take them both away.
39
Trying for another clear shot, Jake kept his gun raised and aimed at the injured Darkwolf. Before Jake had the chance to fire, the warlock crouched, grabbed the wounded or dead demon-woman, and they both vanished.
“Shit.” Rain rolled down Jake’s face as he lowered his gun, his eyes still focused on the place Darkwolf had been standing.
At least Jake had buried two bullets in the demon-woman.
Drow and D’Danann had been running toward Darkwolf but came up short when he and Junga disappeared.
What the hell, anyway? The sonofabitch had grown to stand at least seven feet tall and was built like a Mack truck.
Jake hadn’t recognized Darkwolf at first due to the fog rising from the asphalt, the pouring rain, and the dark cloud that had surrounded the warlock.
It wasn’t until the black cloud started to clear that Jake got a good look at him. Darkwolf was a lot bigger, but his features were unmistakable. Jake never forgot a face.
He lowered his head and looked over the slaughter and devastation and ground his teeth. So many dead.
But the Fomorii were gone. They were finally gone.
Garran had done it.
Had the Drow king died like everyone thought he would?
Jake’s heart rate didn’t slow as his gaze swept the massacre. Where was Kat? He’d lost sight of her almost as soon as she’d arrived on the scene.
Damn it. Where is she?
What if one of the Fomorii got to her? Jake forced away the thought of Kat being murdered. She has to be here somewhere. He wasn’t about to let himself believe she was dead.
The Drow had vanished, the D’Danann were invisible from human eyes while their wings were out, and the gray witches were nowhere to be seen. They’d probably done their glamour-thing and slipped away.
It had been almost impossible to keep track of anyone during the confusion of the battle.
Cassia, though—he’d been aware of her, catching sight of her frequently as if he sought her out while he picked off Fomorii with his Glock.
He’d never seen Cassia fight with such intensity on her features and such power in her magic. To his relief she’d made it through the battle—yet she somehow looked as calm and self-assured as usual.
He hoped to God none of the other witches had been harmed. He’d seen several D’Danann and Drow taken down, and his own people, too.
At that thought he fisted his hands, his body tensed, and he wanted even more to take his rage out on something. He felt as if he could fight a Fomorii or two with his bare hands.
Jake shook off the tension and tried to slow his pounding heart as he forced himself to think like a cop, a professional. Not as a friend to so many of his officers and magical beings who’d been slaughtered.
I’ve got to find Kat.
His arm started to throb as he came down some from the intensity of the battle. He sucked in his breath and started toward the emergency vehicles and news vans. Police officers, SWAT teams, and military units had shown up and were crawling all over the place.
Jake holstered his Glock and ran in the rain toward the news van Kat had arrived in. The pounding of his heart grew harder as he dodged law enforcement and emergency personnel.
He came to an abrupt stop. Mutilated bodies slumped on the asphalt surrounding the van.
Jake broke into a run as he spotted a woman with short, dark hair lying on her side. His throat tightened and a sickening sensation settled in his gut as he reached the woman—
Kat.
He dropped to his knees beside her still body and he saw her shredded blouse soaked in blood.
An ache grew behind his eyes as he drew her into his arms. Her body was still warm, her familiar exotic scent mixing with the strong smell of blood.
Her eyelids fluttered and she looked up at him. “So,” she said in a scratchy voice, “this is what you’ve been off doing all this time. The feed from the baseball game was real.”
“Quiet, baby.” A surge of hope that she’d live speared his chest. He lifted her as he rose, cradling her, and he started toward the paramedics. Red and blue lights flashed around them. “The last thing you need right now is to be grilling me.”
Kat winced as he shifted her in his arms. “One of those—those beasts just slashed my side. I don’t think it’s serious.”
“You’re not taking any chances.” Jake reached the paramedics and came to a stop. “You know you should have listened to me.”
She coughed and winced again before giving him a half smile. “When hell freezes over.”
Jake took his gaze from hers and looked at the slaughter around them. “I think it just did.”
40
Darkwolf’s stone-encased heart throbbed and ached. His throat grew dry as he laid Elizabeth on the hotel bed. Blood seeped from around the bullet hole in her throat, the blood drip
ping down her neck to be absorbed by the green and gold bedspread. The blood surrounding the arrow in her belly and the other bullet hole soaked her dark blue T-shirt.
His own wounds had healed, the arrows falling out and onto the floor as he’d walked across the carpet, carrying Elizabeth.
The powers of two gods filled him now, and he knew she was still alive even before he pressed his fingertips to the faint pulse in her throat. Yes, she was alive, but not by much.
If she hadn’t passed out, all she’d have to do was shift into a demon and she would heal. She was just as vulnerable as a human when in human form.
His mind spun as he brought his shaking hands to the bloody skin around the hole in her throat. He was a god, twice as powerful as Ceithlenn or Balor, and he could do this. He could heal Elizabeth.
Darkwolf ground his teeth. He had to. He wasn’t ready to admit exactly why it was so important to him, but it was on the edge of his subconscious.
Anger and thoughts of revenge for what the Drow and the PSF cop had done to Elizabeth filled him and he had to force them back to concentrate on her.
She gave a shuddering breath and gurgled before blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth.
“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t let you die, Elizabeth.”
Tears bit at the backs of his eyes as he focused on healing her. He drew on his warlock healing powers and poured his god’s magic into the act.
His muscles tensed, his blood vessels glowed a brighter purple, and black fog rolled from him into the wound, into Elizabeth.
In healing her, he was giving her some of his magic. He knew that. He thought about stopping, but he couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Tears threatened to start when nothing happened, but then the bullet purged itself, like something forced it out.
Elizabeth gasped and arched her back, more blood spilling out of her mouth, before her body slumped on the bed again.
He concentrated harder healing her. The hole started to close as the bullet tumbled onto the bedspread.
The Shadows Page 34
