“Be quiet!”
“You killed my father!”
He slams his fist on the arm of the chair. “And I’d do it again! I’ll do what I must to get what I want!” The abruptness of his confession makes him pause and blink. Satisfaction settles in me.
Smirking, I bring the pendant up to my face, close my eyes, and touch my lips to the carved wolf. Immediately, the images of dozens of wolves seep into my mind. They stare back at me, some growling, some watchful, waiting to see what I do next. I have to do this quickly before anyone else dies – before Wice’s temper takes on a life of its own.
I find the wolf who matches Aaron’s spirit, and as I lower the pendant from my lips, I tug the wolf with me. It releases from within, seeping through the etching of the wolf’s chest, and floats to Aaron. He sucks in a sharp breath as it darts inside his chest, right between his ribs.
“What are you doing?” Wice demands. I hear the creak of his chair as he stands.
I turn back to Wice, feeling Aaron’s spirit change and mend to the shifter he once was. “Why, I’m holding up to my end of the bargain. But not in the way you desire.”
“Kill her!” Wice orders someone behind me. I don’t hear anybody move. I tug on Aaron’s spirit, an explicit command.
A snarl rips from behind me, and with a glance over my shoulders, I watch as the last of Aaron’s bones reshape into his wolf. His wolf snarls at his pack mates, a clear warning to disobey Wice’s order. I don’t think any of them plan to listen to Wice, anyway. Every single one of them is glaring at their alpha.
“I said kill her!” Wice barks. He swipes a hand through the air. “Kill them both!”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.” I take a step in his direction, a clear challenge. “Betrayals – they create rivals, Wice. I haven’t been the one lying to them. You have. You’re the liar.”
Wice’s cheeks flush to a shade of purple as the hostages begin to stir, uncomfortable with his rising rage. “They’re my wolves! Mine!”
I twist my lips in mock sympathy. “Not anymore.” I grasp onto the Bane spirits who still have a hope to be saved and render them immobile. The remaining tainted souls – the ones who would never be able to rid their lives of the monsters they’ve become – jump as the front doors to the church burst open.
“It’s not just your shifters you have to answer to anymore,” I spit at him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jinx Whitethorn
The shouts begin. They roar in the open space of the room, and the hostages duck as if the sound of panic will cause the ceiling to crumble. The unsavable Bane prepare to defend themselves as the first wave of shifted wolves race through the hall while the others continue to be rendered immobile.
Knives are pulled. Handguns are pointed.
Squinting, breathing heavy with effort, I tug on all the spirits I hold and command them to shelter near the wall. I don’t want anyone to think they’re the guilty party. I don’t want anyone to accidentally kill them.
Aaron’s wolf looks at me as chaos unfolds in the room. I bend to his level and grip the fur of his jaw. “Stay close. Stay close, and I won’t let my friends touch you.”
He nods his wolf head, and still bending, holding his gaze, I bring the pendant to my lips and close my eyes.
The wolves I’m meant to save are clear – as vibrant as the morning sun and as vivid as the colors of dawn. I tug them out quickly then release them to their owners along the wall. The spirits soar across the room and soak into the bodies they belong in.
The process is as simple as it was when I put the wolf spirit in the fake pendant. It was an instinct then, and it’s an instinct now.
Witches, and the shifters still in human form, are the last to enter the room. Those whose souls are tainted begin to fight immediately. Shifters leap, snarl, and tear into flesh. The Bane scream and shriek. Gunshots boom into the sanctuary that now feels too small, and furniture splinters, shatters, and soars.
My ears ring. They ring and buzz, and it takes all my effort to keep from covering them. I look to the shifters along the wall. Relief and awe fill their faces, and so far, no one is touching them. I turn to the hostages, run past a distracted and pale Wice without a second thought, and race up the steps. Kaya holds out her hands to me, and I take them.
“What do we do?” she asks. Fear clings to the set of her eyes.
“Run,” I tell her. “You need to run. Move everyone from this room and hide!”
“No!” Kaya barks. “I won’t leave you behind! Not again!”
I smile sadly at her then peek over my shoulder. Aaron is at the bottom of the steps, growling at Wice. “You never left me, Kaya.” I cup her cheek. “Everything will be all right. Please, go.”
She squeezes the hand she still holds, nods, and turns to the frightened shaman and skinwalkers.
I turn back to Wice and square my shoulders. “Do you see what you’ve done?” His shoulders stiffen, and I descend the steps to stand side by side with Aaron.
“You did this!” he shouts above the dying noise. “You brought this upon me!”
The fight ends as quickly as it began, and the room quiets behind me. I can feel the eyes of everyone I love – everyone who has come to stand with me – on the back of my neck. While I stare down Wice, they wait, watching to see what I do next. “My father wasn’t equipped to kill someone like you. Even if he was, he wouldn’t have because killing isn’t something that should be so easy. Killing shouldn’t feel like nothing. Ending a life, any life, shouldn’t be as simple as breathing air.”
“And now look at you,” he mocks. He starts to descend the steps. Aaron growls when Wice stops inches from my face. His heavy breaths fan my cheeks. “High and mighty and . . .” he leans toward me, his voice a deep growl that vibrates against my skin. “A killer.”
I grind my teeth. “That’s the difference between you and me, Wice,” I whisper back. “I may be a killer, but I carry the weight of the dead on my shoulders. And you? You regret nothing. You feel nothing.”
He reaches for my neck, but I expected it. Nostrils flared, I touch his shoulder and latch onto his spirit. He stiffens, arm still raised, and a groan rumbles up his chest.
It’s easy to grasp onto his spirit. Easy to form mental claws and slash through his blackened twisted soul. What isn’t easy is the taste it leaves in my mouth – the taste of sulfur and ash. What isn’t easy is the sharp hiccupping gasp he makes as I sever it. What isn’t easy is his gaze on mine. The gaze of a dying man. The last gaze he’ll ever have on this realm as his heart beats slower, and slower, and slower . . . until. . .
Wice drops to the ground, and the last breath gushes from his chest.
Jacob Trent
Silence falls over the sanctuary coated with the scent and splatter of blood – of shifters and witches – and the leftover aromas of the hostages long gone.
Wice is dead. He’s dead.
My wolf’s heart calms at the sight of his mate unharmed, enough so that I’m able to shift back easily. A knife wound is slashed across my thigh, and I wince as I place weight on two legs.