Chicagoland Vampires: Wild Things Part 4

Gabe looked back at the crowd. "This woman knows only of the magic of sorcerers and vampires. Tonight, we sing to her of the rest of it. Of the truth of it. Of the magic the earth has to offer."

Gabriel reached out his hand. After sucking in a breath, Mallory linked her fingers with his. She closed her eyes as magic began to spill out and through the shifters again. I closed my eyes and savored the hot rush of raw, unmitigated power. It was the life force of the earth, called up by the predators who gathered together to celebrate their community.

And then it transformed.

Mallory must have unlocked some magical gate of her own, because a new stream of magic-younger, greener, brighter-began to mix with the magic of the Pack. Her hair lifted like an indigo halo, and her lips curled into a smile of satisfaction and contentment. Of relief.

Together, the magicks swirled and danced around us, invisible but tangible, like an electric breeze. This wasn't defensive or offensive magic. It wasn't used to gather information, for strategy or diplomacy, or to fight a war against a supernatural enemy.

It simply was.

It was fundamental, inexorable. It was nothing and everything, infinity and oblivion, from the magnificent furnace of a star to the electrons that hummed in an atom. It was life and death and everything in between, the urge to fight and grow and swim and fly. It was the cascade of water across boulders, the slow-moving advance of mountain glaciers, the march of time.

The shifters moved around the circle, grabbing our hands and pulling us in, connecting us to the magic. Magic flowed between us like we were transistors in a circuit, connecting the shifters to one another and us to them. We moved in concentric circles around the center totem, heat rising until the air was as warm as a summer's day, until sweat beaded on my forehead.

This magic was l.u.s.tful, almost drowsy with sensuality, and I felt my eyes silver and my fangs descend in an answering call. This was the magic of feasting and f.u.c.king, of savoring the blood of a kill and calling the Pack to dine.

Mallory's eyes were open now, her hair damp with sweat, her body shaking with power, but her hand was still linked to Gabriel's, and she smiled with more contentment than I'd seen from her in months.

A year ago, I'd a.s.sumed my relationship with Mallory would continue just as it always had-that we'd be friends who shared silly inside jokes, griped about our jobs, dreamt about our futures.

And then I became a vampire, and she discovered she was a sorceress.

Our lives were never going to be the same. They would never be as simple, as predictable, as they had been those years before. Instead, they'd be overlain by our responsibilities, by our strengths, and by the burdens we undertook because of them.

For the first time, I realized that was okay.

Our friendship wasn't limited to habits, to circ.u.mstances, to neighborhoods. We were friends because we were connected together, because something in our souls called to each other, understood each other. That connection, that spark between us, would remain even if our lives had changed completely. I hadn't accepted that before.

I could accept it now.

I searched for her in the circle so I could let her know that I finally understood, that I'd come to terms with it. But I moved so quickly, my feet dancing to keep up with the shifters beside me, that I couldn't get my bearings, couldn't find her in the crowd.

Something strange flitted in my chest. A pinp.r.i.c.k, sharp and uncomfortable. Not tangible, but a hidden note of magic. A bit of the current that wasn't meant to soothe or celebrate but to incite.

I tried to ignore it, thinking I was just being paranoid, that the quant.i.ty of magic was triggering some protective instinct.

But I feared that wasn't right. I'd felt magic before-many varieties, many flavors-even mixed into the current tonight. This was different. Panic began to bloom like dark roses.

The hand on mine tightened, as if the shifter at my side had felt my wavering fear.

I looked for Ethan, found him five yards away, eyes closed as he swayed in time with the shifters around him.

I pulled my hands free, breaking the circle and pushing through bodies to get closer, to put him in reach in case my fear was real.

Ethan, I told him. Stay where you are. I'm coming for you.

Sentinel, he said, obviously surprised. What's wrong?

I didn't have time to answer, because I'd been regrettably correct.

The sky blackened as a thick, dark cloud began to spin above us, angry with sound and magic. The shifters stopped, the furious dance coming to a stumbling halt as they, too, cast their gazes on the threatening sky.

"A storm?" someone near me asked.

I moved forward until I reached Ethan, grabbed his wrist. But he didn't even look at me. He stared at the sky as it broke open, revealing the truth of the cloud.

It wasn't the forerunner of a storm, but an attack.

All h.e.l.l broke loose.

Chapter Four.

GHASTLY, GRIM, AND ANCIENT.

They looked like the harpies of Greek and Roman mythology. Bodies of pale, thin women. Ma.s.sive wings, the feathers so deeply black they gleamed like velvet. They were naked but for their long hair-straight and black, with thin braids tied throughout-and their silver, crested helmets. Supernatural battle armor, I feared, as they spun above us like a supernatural tornado, blotting out the stars, the magic that accompanied them fierce and unfriendly.

"Ethan," I yelled over the rising din, adrenaline beginning to rush through me. "n.o.body told me harpies existed!"

"I imagine n.o.body knew it until today," he said, pulling a dagger from his boot and gesturing for me to do the same.

When the dagger was in hand, I looked for Gabriel. He stood a few yards away, shouting orders and sending his own sentinels in various directions. He and Mallory exchanged a glance, and I saw him weigh the choices, the decision.

He made the call and nodded at her and, I guessed, authorized her use of that magic he'd been so careful to train up. Catcher had no such hesitation. He'd gone to Mallory, grabbed her hand, was already pointing into the air, discussing what looked like strategy.

Gabriel unleashed a bloodcurdling yell, a call to arms. Light erupted across the clearing as shifters changed into their animal forms, the transition as stirringly magical as their ceremony had been. Changing into animal form was rough on clothes, so some shifters disrobed before they shifted, leaving shirts and pants in piles on the ground, ready and waiting for when it was time to shift back.

The smaller creatures, pairs of sleek red foxes and coyotes, ran quickly for the shelter of the woods. The larger animals prepared to fight: the Brecks-big cats; the Keenes-big wolves. I recognized Gabriel's great gray form as he sprung into existence.

Jeff, a shockingly large white tiger with deep gray stripes, appeared beside him and roared with fury enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck. Fallon stayed in human form, a hand on Jeff's back, perhaps to remind both of them that they fought together.

Ethan was beside me, dagger in hand, poised for action. I had the urge to drag him into the trees to keep him safe. But he tossed the dagger back and forth in his hands, his history as a soldier peeking through his eyes, which were fixed on the harpies and flat with concentration. He wasn't leaving now.

The swarm of creatures descended, growing larger as it sunk toward us. I watched them fly for a moment, circling around the meadow but avoiding the trees-and the torches that lined them.

Suddenly, they let out a horrific scream as sharp as nails on a chalkboard and dive-bombed the clearing like dogfighting World War II planes.

What had been a celebration . . . became an unexpected battlefield.

The shifters who remained on the field weren't afraid of battle, and many of them leaped, meeting the harpies in the air. The human portions of their bodies might have been thin, but harpies were strong. Some overbalanced, hitting the ground in a tumble of fur and feathers that shook the earth; others batted away the shifters with a dip of wings that sent wolves flying.

A harpy spied us, the only vampires on the field, dropped her head, and dove toward us.

"I'm open to suggestions," I yelled to Ethan over the din.

"Stay alive!" he offered back, blading his body toward the harpy, limiting her access to vital organs. I did the same, moving closer beside him so we were a combined vampiric weapon, immortal and strong, although my heart raced like life was a delicate and fragile thing.

And wasn't it?

"I don't suppose you know anything about harpy anatomy?"

"Not a lick, Sentinel. But they look like ladies to me!"

A lot of help he was.

The sound was ferocious now, the beat of her wings as loud as a jet plane, sending gusts of air across the field. She was close enough that I could have seen the whites of her eyes, if she'd had any. Her eyes were solid black; regardless the shape of her body, they carried no visible trace of thought or humanity.

She extended her arms and scratched out her claws, their tips aimed at our necks. We dropped to the ground, her smell-pungent and sour-streaming past as she flew above us.

"She did not get perfume for Valentine's Day," Ethan surmised, spinning to watch her bank and turn back for a second shot. The width of the harpies' wingspan helped them rise and fall quickly, but their turn radius was substantial. It took seconds for her to spin back in our direction, but only a moment for her to dip again. She'd learned the mistake of her first effort and, instead of swiping at us on the move, came straight for us and didn't veer.

We hit the ground, rolling away in different directions to avoid the claws on her feet, which were as black and sharp as those on her hands.

She decided to follow me. I was on the ground, a few feet away from the spot where she'd fallen to earth, and it wasn't far enough. She followed and scratched, talons raking at my arms and abdomen with vicious effectiveness.

The claws had looked pointy and sharp, but they were jagged like serrated knives, and they tore at flesh instead of slicing through it. They were weapons of destruction. She sc.r.a.ped my face, and the skin burned like fire beneath her nails.

Fear turned to fury, but it took me a moment to remember the dagger in my hand, and I thrust it upward again and again, the knife bouncing off bones I couldn't see, hitting no true target but causing enough of a painful nuisance that she backed off.

"Here!" Ethan yelled, pivoting back and forth behind her to let me get to my feet.

I stood, adrenaline numbing the cuts I'd already received, and wiped the dagger's handle, slippery with the harpy's wine-dark blood, on my pants. The smell of it was just as pungent as the rest of her body, more like vinegar than the penny scent of human blood. Even for a vampire, there was nothing appealing about it.

She turned on Ethan and flapped forward only a few feet off the ground.

That, I thought, was my chance. If flying was her advantage, I'd have to take it away from her. And I only needed gravity for that.

Distract her! I silently told Ethan. He obeyed, weaving back and forth as she tried to follow him, her wings too large for quick maneuvers.

While she focused on him, I dropped . . . and lunged for her ankles.

She screamed out, bobbing in the air as she fought off my weight, kicking at the vampire who'd become her uninvited (and literal) hanger-on. But I held tight, sinking my face into the curl of my arm to avoid the barbs at the tips of her wings, which were as jagged and sharp as her nails.

Gravity won, and the harpy pitched forward, taking me with her. I hit the ground, rolling quickly to avoid her frantically beating wings, but she kicked out and hit me square on the left cheekbone, which cracked and sang with pain strong enough to bring tears to my eyes.

As she rose again, I uttered a curse that would have had my p.r.i.c.kly mother swatting my bottom in horror, and tried to climb to my feet but found the ground swayed a little. I made it to my knees, nearly retching from the sudden vertigo.

The harpy slammed to the ground beside me, her black eyes open, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, and a b.l.o.o.d.y wound across her neck, pale sinew and bone peeking through skin.

The sight didn't help my dizziness, and I sat firmly on the ground again. I looked up to find Ethan standing over her, hands and dagger bloodied, eyes green and fierce. There were streaks of blood and scratches across his face, and worse across his shirt.

He crouched in front of me, looked over my face. "You're all right, Sentinel?"

I blinked. "I'll be fine. She got my cheek."

"The bruise is already showing," he said, offering a hand and helping me to my feet. "You'll heal."

"That's what they say. But it doesn't make the punch feel any better."

A voice rose behind us. "Little help here!"

We glanced across the meadow, found Catcher and Mallory twenty feet away, lobbing blue orbs of light at a pair of harpies who easily avoided them, swiping at their heads as they bobbed overhead. The sorcerers looked tired; their font of magic wasn't endless, but required recharging. They both looked wan and sweaty, like they'd need the recharging soon.

"I'll help," Ethan said. "Stay here until you're balanced again."

I'd have argued if I could have, but he was already on his way to Mallory and Catcher.

Before I could join him, a wolf was beside me, nudging my leg. I glanced down. It was Gabriel, his wolf form enormous, his haunches nearly reaching my waist. And although he was undeniably animal-from thick fur to the tang of musk-there was something very human in his eyes.

Fear.

He nudged my hand again. Odd, because it wasn't like Gabriel to turn his back on a fight. And why would he be afraid?

The thought struck me with cold dread. Tanya, also a wolf, could have shifted. But Connor was only an infant; I wasn't entirely sure if infants could shift. And in any case, she'd have to carry him away.

"Tanya and Connor," I said, and he yipped in agreement.

We ducked to avoid the tips of claws and wings.

"I'll get them out of here and into the woods," I promised. "Keep Ethan out of trouble."

I'm going to find Tanya and Connor, I warned Ethan, who'd already reached Mallory and Catcher and was joining his dagger to their efforts. Please keep yourself safe.

I . . . intend . . . to, he haltingly responded, between his own evasive maneuvers.

I ducked and ran to the highest point in the meadow, a spot near the tree line on what I guessed was the southern side of the field, in order to scan the battlefield. Most of the shifters had actually shifted, but there were still some who I guessed found it easier to fight this particular enemy in human form. Tents were crumpled to the ground and fluttering wings obscured the view. If I was going to find them, I was going to have to run for it.

It was like an obstacle course, but instead of paintb.a.l.l.s, giant naked women dropped from the sky with daggerlike claws. That wasn't nearly as romantic as it sounded. I darted from one tent to the next, looking for any sign of the queen of the Pack and the heir to the throne. But I found nothing.

I made it to a tree stump, dropped beside it as I scanned the part of the field closest to me. I saw nothing but fighting, harpies apparently intent on wiping out the Pack in one fell swoop. And I'd traversed only a third of the meadow.

"This isn't working," I murmured, cupping my hands around my mouth and screaming into the night, "Tanya!"

I strained to hear a response but heard only the yips of injured shifters and the squeals of p.i.s.sed-off harpies.

"Tanya!" I tried again. And this time, I heard an answering call.

"Merit!"

The cry was too low to be close, but it was enough to signal her direction. I ran to the next obstacle, then the next, and finally found her crouched on the ground beside the totem, which now lay on its side in the middle of the clearing, sheltering her son with her body.