Returned

by Samantha Stone

  “Free yourselves and join me, a woman who is neither human nor warlock. I seek no power for myself but to save my man.” She projected an image of Alex in her mind, letting the love she felt for him soar through her, pure, bright, and tinged with only the manic worry she felt for him. That was the kind of energy she needed. He was all she needed—not energy or magic.

  She’d have given up everything she had—hearing, wings, immortality, hell her own two legs—if it meant getting him back safe. He was her mate; his life hers, his pain her own.

  Right as she was beginning to wonder how, exactly, talismans containing conduits from all over the world could possibly travel to her side like she called for, they did.

  Some in the form of pure, blinding light, and others appearing as coins, books, flags, chairs—anything—started to appear, sticking in the dirt like a beach chair in the sand.

  “You’re free now,” she told them, having heard from Sebastian and Briony that they’d freed every spirit in Gris-Gris. They’d wanted to stay, but it didn’t mean the conduits, poofing into the now small-seeming room at a rapid rate, would make the same choice.

  “No one who wishes to stay with me has to. Forevermore, you can either belong to me and my mate or do…whatever it is freed conduit spirits do.”

  I’m going to go sit by an ocean. I’ve always wanted to do that. A female voice sighed, and the shadow of a woman walked away, waving before moving through the wall. The container she’d been trapped in fell to dust like Alex’s books had.

  Several others—most of the others—were freed. Shadows, some adding commentary, others merely leaving as quickly as they could, faded away, as did their physical ties. It still left Leila with a room full of objects, which she took to mean added up to a vast amount of power at her disposal.

  It was, after all, the last vestiges of warlock power left in the world.

  It was strange enough talking to a cat like she had been, but it was even weirder to address a pile of what appeared to be junk from an antique store.

  “Can you arrange yourself into something alive-seeming, please?” she suggested. “I’m not sure if my sanity can take much more of this looking at a silver dollar and speaking to it.”

  A brown hare took form, taking away the pile of waste that had been littering the floor. It was so large it almost resembled a small kangaroo. All the power in the world had chosen the shape of a bunny.

  Go figure. Leila shook her head.

  We can always change shape, a male voice said helpfully. Murmurs of agreement sounded, as did a few protests.

  I like bunnies! a young girl cried.

  “This is fine.” Leila tried to smile at them, but felt it falter. “Before you say anything else, please stay out of my head unless you feel you need to read my thoughts.” She took a gulp of calming air, which did nothing but remind her Alex might not be breathing at this very moment.

  Not true. He had to be, or else she’d be dead too. The thought wasn’t as reassuring it should have been.

  “I need to go to him.” She sprinted to the door of the room, her wings lifting her between steps, and let Beau in. He barked at her, a clear reprimand, but licked her cheek all the same before loping over to the hare and sitting with his front legs caging the conduit in.

  If it minded, it didn’t show it. The rabbit blinked.

  “Now. Please, find him.”

  Air gathered. Her new conduit was about to send her through the element just as Cael and Heath could. Before she left, she called to Gris-Gris.

  “I owe you!” My life, she added silently.

  We will collect, multiple voices whispered in her ear.

  And she was slammed into a hard floor covered in shadows, her palms and knees splashing into puddles of crimson.

  Her heart stopped.

  Blood.

  Chapter 21

  ALEX and Brendon were sorely outnumbered. While there weren’t as many warlocks as other creatures—there were close to ten floats in total across the world—there were enough to overpower the two of them. Easily.

  That might not have been the case if Alex hadn’t used up his energy to make them forget Leila’s existence, but what else could he have done? His options were to either die fighting, knowing Leila had a chance for safety, or probably die fighting with the knowledge that once he was gone, she’d join him soon after.

  He couldn’t take that risk.

  So here he stood, in a ballroom he figured wasn’t situated in New Orleans, surrounded by every warlock in existence. And they were angry.

  To his surprise, he and Brendon weren’t the only ones who’d gone against their floats. A woman with shoulder-length purple hair kneeled on Brendon’s other side, where she had been hurling French curses until someone cast a spell that made her gag every time she attempted to speak.

  The metal robes binding his wrists also effectively bound any magic he possessed as a born witch—but it didn’t affect his elemental powers at all. He brought a flower to bloom out the window when it would have otherwise remained wilted.

  If anything could save him, Brendon, and the strange Frenchwoman, it was control over the earth. It still might not be possible.

  Murmurings about traitors rumbled through the crowd. They kept their distance, allowing at least six feet of space between warlocks and their hostages.

  “I’m sorry,” Brendon had whispered when Alex first arrived, thrown to the hard floor face-first. The other warlock was already bound, and from the looks of it, had been beaten. “Talya tore through the spells surrounding my house and found my plans to stop the killings. Word was out that one betrayed her float, and it brought speculation to us.” He nodded his dark head at the woman beside him, who appeared to be worse off than either of them. Cuts marred most of her exposed skin, and she kept a protective arm wrapped around her side.

  “I’m the reason they found you,” Brendon had confided, shame darkening his eyes. “They saw you in my notes. I’m so sorry.”

  What Brendon did, creating evidence that could be used against himself by the float, was arrogant beyond Alex’s comprehension. But it was done, and Alex was here.

  Ropes or none, he had no intention of letting these men and women kill him and then turn around to murder so many thousands of men and women living somewhat peacefully around the world. It wasn’t just for the power either. No, warlocks were fearful of finally being wiped out because the other creatures had stepped up and decided that taking lives to steal energy was no longer acceptable.

  It never had been.

  There were too many warlocks to count standing in this room, ready to execute their traitors, followed by their weakest. Then they would cast the spell that would devastate the world.

  No one told Alex as much, but his inhuman hearing served him well, and these men and women didn’t attempt to keep their plans a secret. They thought their prisoners would die soon, after all.

  Unfortunately, they were probably right.

  Alex had only one chance to kill everyone at once, effectively keeping the spell from being cast so his pack and Leila would be safe. He’d have to devastate everything around them, and because of his, Brendon’s, and the other woman’s bindings, they wouldn’t be able to escape. It would hurt them as much, if not worse, as they wouldn’t have the ability to so much as hold up a hand against a falling rock.

  That didn’t stop him. While the warlocks ignored him, some talking about drinking later and others discussing a world without witches, Alex decided to take his shot. If he allowed them to weaken him further, his opportunity would slip away.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured to Brendon, and he meant it. The woman’s purple head shot up, her eyes narrowing, but she didn’t say anything.

  Brendon merely shook his head without looking at either of them.

  Clenching his fists, Alex called to the earth around them. He wanted it to rotate, twist, sink, whatever it took to make this place collapse. But first,
he had to block any exits. Thick vines wove together outside a window, crawling up to blanket the building like a swaddle no one could escape.

  A moment away from commanding the rocks and dirt underneath them to give way, Alex coughed. He did it again, his throat burning, and wondered who spelled him. What had they done?

  It doesn’t matter. Surprised he wasn’t hacking up blood with the force of his coughing, he doubled his efforts to concentrate on his task. It worked.

  The floor moved beneath their feet, and the very walls that held up the room moaned bitterly as they buckled.

  More. If he wanted a ballroom full of immortal warlocks dead, they needed to be demolished, or else they’d simply heal and murder at a later time. Alex’s anger alone would have destroyed them all had his bindings not stopped the escape of the magic running through him.

  So he had to work the old-fashioned way—as a mere, underestimated werewolf.

  Truthfully, it wasn’t a bad creature to be.

  Fighting back the searing pain rolling through his shoulders and down his limbs, he rocked the earth beneath them, hard enough to finally break the walls’ studs and bring the ballroom crashing down. Despite the unexplained aches pressing into his muscles like Charlie horses from hell, he felt stronger than ever.

  He pulled vines over himself, Brendon and the other woman, hoping it would be enough to protect them against the devastating force of crumbling wood and stone, not to mention the large slabs of heavy rock he brought up higher than the ceiling, only to throw it down to where warlocks stood.

  They were obscured in his vision, first by great puffs of falling dust, and then by the vines, which gave away who pulled off his stunt. Still, he could hear panicked screams and agonized moans. Better yet, the room became much quieter with the silence of the permanently dead.

  The warlocks fought back. Alex had to flatten himself to the floor before a pole reminiscent of a sharp jousting stick went straight through the vines as easily as if the plants were cotton candy, coming out to land on the other side of their small green fort.

  Alex lowered three large trees in that direction

  Smaller weapons entered just as effortlessly, one cutting straight through Alex’s arm, another lodging in his side, and a third nicking his ankle. The same attack got the woman’s shoulder and Brendon’s middle, leaving a hole in his midsection the size of a fist.

  The cracked marble floor underneath them was covered in blood now, but the area under their dome of protective vines wasn’t enough to hold it all. It seeped beyond the plants, showing the warlocks their weaknesses and giving them another weapon against him.

  If anyone thought to use their blood, he, Brendon and the woman wouldn’t want to survive it.

  From the sounds of it, there were at least a few remaining enemies. It was too many, even if they seemed to be yelling about something he didn’t understand rather that attacking him. In fact, they weren’t doing anything to fight him at all and hadn’t for at least a few relatively quiet minutes. He should have been more concerned that he couldn’t make out their words, but he had much greater worries to address.

  Crying out from the dull ache that had taken over his rapidly wearying body, he opened up the earth underneath every voice, every sound he heard while he kept dropping rocks the size of Oldsmobiles.

  Silence. Sweet silence.

  He’d succeeded after all.

  Allowing himself to relax against the hard green vines, their leaves tickling his neck, he finally looked down to see a sharp piece of silver protruding from his chest. The cut in his arm had opened wider since he’d last inspected it.

  Glancing at Brendon and the woman, both of whom watched him quietly, sadness gleaming in the man’s eyes while even the female frowned slightly, he noticed neither of them were bleeding nearly as much. Maybe they would survive yet.

  Leila would be safe. There was no one gunning for her anymore, not human, warlock, or any other creature. She could finally live the life she’d worked so hard for, dancing across stages before tear-stricken audiences without fear.

  He closed his eyes, imaging her on top of him, her eyes going half-mast as she clenched around him while they became one.

  Thank God we aren’t mated yet.

  If they were, all of this will have been for nothing.

  * * * *

  “Alex!”

  Leila tore away the greenery hanging over their heads, pointedly ignoring the stench of blood and death surrounding them. Beside her, Beau nudged Alex gently with his big nose while her conduit hopped closer, its ears flopping innocently.

  She didn’t acknowledge the two warlocks tied similarly to Alex. One glance told her they weren’t dying like he was; it was enough to justify her temporary indifference.

  “Can we save him?” she asked her conduit, who she decided would have to be named if she and Alex survived this.

  Yes.

  “I—I’m not sure,” Brendon croaked, assuming she was speaking with him.

  “How?” There was a sharp, ancient-appearing dirk sticking out of his chest. His arm practically poured blood, and she could see the bone in his ankle.

  Just ask us to. It won’t be as seamless as a healer, but it’ll patch him up until we can get him to one.

  It was good enough for Leila. She nodded to the hare and then jerked her head at the other two warlocks. “Do them too, in case they’ve nicked something vital.”

  The warlocks in question stared at her like she was crazy.

  She touched the rabbit, and the metal bindings dissolved into nothing. Soft, silk-covered cushions appeared below them, allowing Alex to lie flat on his back. Leila pressed a hand against his sweat-covered brow. Even now, it was puckered, contorting with pain.

  She wished she could take away his discomfort, either by drawing it to her or erasing it completely.

  Careful with that, a voice warned. Leila gave the conduit a chiding glare.

  It’s life or death, a young man said defensively.

  As his wounds closed and he thrashed wildly, like it was a dull needle sewing him rather than magic, she couldn’t take it any longer. Silently, she commanded his pain to leave him.

  Black, viscous liquid poured from his nose. He stilled, his face finally relaxing. The liquid grew talons and turned into a cross between an armored crab and an arachnid. It scuttled toward her, reaching out with a needle-like stinger, but Beau leaned down and ate the evil creature in one large bite.

  His corresponding smile cinched her belief that he wasn’t really a dog. Despite her newly minted inner ears, she hadn’t realized she spoke aloud until the purple-haired warlock whispered, “Cadejo,” in response.

  Leila didn’t have to ask if that sort of creature was good. Beau had proven himself beyond all doubt. She placed one hand in Alex’s hair, where she couldn’t inadvertently hurt him, and the other between Beau’s ears.

  “Take us to Aiyanna.” She glanced at the two warlocks, one untried, and the other among those who’d saved her at yesterday’s dress rehearsal. Considering the former, she took a chance. “All of us.”

  If the other woman decided to try something, let her. Leila smiled as the wind whipped through her hair, taking them to the firehouse.

  Aiyanna was in the kitchen, pulling groceries out of the refrigerator and placing them onto the counter.

  “It’s bad enough that we’re staying back because we’re women and as such, weaker, but now we’re cooking! The stereotype,” she groused, taking a spoon and dipping it into a tub of raw cookie dough.

  “Or maybe it’s because you’re really hard to heal and I’m pregnant,” Briony said mildly. She poured herself a glass of grapefruit juice, almost dropping the jug when Leila, Alex, two warlocks, two conduit animals, and a dog made it all the way inside the room.

  Leila wondered why she could see and hear them before actually reaching them, but figured she’d explore the question once Alex was healed.

  �
�Please help him,” she begged, lifting her hand so pillows appeared underneath Alex before he hit the floor. Outwardly, he was only temporarily patched up; she had no idea what good the conduits had done on his vulnerable insides, especially his heart. He needed Aiyanna, now.

  “You have wings,” Briony pointed out, lifting her glass in Leila’s direction.

  They’d lifted Leila a few feet off the floor, flapping wildly in her anticipation to see Alex better. She felt like Wish when he was nervous—if he hovered rather than stood, it was his giveaway. It was hers too it seemed.

  “Apparently, I’m a trifecta. So is Alex, once he’s put together.”

  Aiyanna had already put down her cookie dough and was kneeling in front of Alex, her hands on the angry gash over his heart. “This could have killed him,” she muttered fiercely.

  Leila couldn’t make herself say, “I know.” Her anxiety lessened once Aiyanna began working, and she lowered herself onto Alex’s other side. Beau put his head on her knee after roughly licking her wings. She felt the wetness, as if he’d licked her back instead. Weird.

  Ever polite, Briony made conversation with Brendon and attempted it with the still unnamed female warlock, who pursed her lips and lifted her chin without saying anything. Through Brendon, Leila learned what happened once Alex had been taken away from his house. From Briony, she now knew the rest of the pack was at Alex’s place, having gone there in enough time to see her disappear with Beau and her hare with no way of knowing where she’d gone.

  “Mary really is frantic,” Briony added chidingly. She handed Leila the smoothie she’d just mixed, composed of apples, strawberries, blueberries, honey and a few herbs. It wasn’t until Leila brought the drink to her lips that she realized that she was starving.

  Having her mate kidnapped effectively made her forget her appetite.

  Either Briony or Aiyanna, who had no energy to spare for either of the other two warlocks, texted the rest of the pack. They crowded into the kitchen in the span of seconds. Finally, Cassidy arrived to heal Brendon and the other warlock, her face draining of color when she saw Leila’s wings.