“For the pack,” the alpha snarled.
Those words seemed to jar the reluctant pair. Their features hardened, and they moved in unison with their companions, fanning out to form a wide half-circle in front of Merrick. Though they hung nearly ten yards back, Merrick didn’t lower his guard; they could close that distance incredibly fast if they chose to do so.
He didn’t intend to give them that chance.
He acted without allowing himself another moment’s thought, lashing out with invisible magic coils to latch onto the sources of the various mana songs around him—clumps of grass and the far-reaching roots of trees older than the house behind him. As one, the wolves’ hackles rose. Their fur shone in the blue glow Merrick was emitting, which was cast by the magic coursing freely over his skin like dancing forks of lightning, brighter and more intense than ever before. He forced energy through his connections with those plants, altering their resonances, amplifying them.
Merrick swept his arms upward, and the grass and roots surged from the ground, growing and expanding in the blink of an eye. They writhed and whipped like angry tentacles, grabbing at the wolves.
The werewolves reacted with superhuman speed, but it wasn’t enough; they only managed a few feet before the magic-infused vegetation caught all four of them, halting their advance. The wolves snarled and struggled, snapped and growled, shredding the plants with fangs and claws. Their strength and ferocity saw them gradually gaining ground.
“What is he?” asked the gray female.
“Doesn’t matter,” the alpha replied. “He’s about to be dead.”
Merrick split his focus, pouring magic into his hands to form pulsing spheres of raw energy. His hold on the plants slipped slightly. The alpha lunged forward, gaining a full two yards before a thick root coiled around his neck and stopped him.
The alpha roared. The powerful sound swept over Merrick—it was so primal, so rage-filled, that it sparked a hint of fear deep in his gut. Merrick cast that aside; he would not let fear consume him, would not let himself be afraid of these brutish creatures who’d come to take what was his, to threaten his home, his woman.
The fury that had already been stoked in Merrick erupted. He let out a roar of his own—it rumbled with magic, quaked with rage, thundered with protectiveness, possessiveness, and love—and unleashed the magic from his hands.
Blue-white energy sprayed from his palms and ignited the magic-enhanced vegetation, enveloping the wolves in a blinding column of raw power. He knew immediately it would not be enough; the grass and roots disintegrated within a second, but the werewolves were made of tougher stuff than that. Freed of their bindings, they all leapt clear of the supernatural blaze, crashing to the ground to the left and right of the blast zone—all but the gray female, who leapt directly at Merrick.
She emerged from the blaze with singed, smoking fur and raw burns all over her body, but her eyes were bright and filled with bestial fury. Her black claws, each more than an inch long, gleamed in the light of his magic. They could rend Merrick’s flesh as easily as a razor could slice a sheet of paper.
And immortal did not mean invulnerable.
Merrick released his hold on the magic and jumped aside. The wolf soared past him, her claws opening a set of shallow gashes on his shoulder as she twisted to account for his movement. Hot blood trickled down his arm, seeping ethereal blue wisps of magic, as he turned to face her.
She hit the ground hard, rolled, and sprang back to her feet. Smoke wafted from her damaged body, but her wounds—despite their severity—showed signs of healing right before his eyes.
Apparently, the werewolves’ already accelerated healing factor had only been enhanced by the Sundering.
Her gaze met Merrick’s, and she leapt forward to attack again.
Through the ley line, Merrick sensed the other wolves moving, but he didn’t look away from the charging female. He lifted both arms and shaped his magic into solid, pointed shafts—like spears of glowing blue glass—and extended the weapons out from his palms.
The points struck the female in the chest and burst out her back. Her momentum carried her along the shafts, closer to Merrick, with arms and legs thrashing wildly and jaws snapping.
Merrick growled and channeled magic through the spears—magic directly from the ley line. The surge of unbridled energy tensed his every muscle and resonated through his bones, threatening not merely to drown out his mana song but to unravel it entirely. He held on, wrapping himself in a cocoon of willpower and fury to maintain his assault.
The magic flared inside the wolf. She opened her jaws wide and released a cry that was part agonized scream and part bloodthirsty roar. Her flesh split and cracked; arcane energies poured out of the widening wounds.
In his mind’s eye, Merrick saw the other werewolves advancing, their forms depicted in the flickering crimson of their mana songs.
The female wolf shattered, the pieces breaking smaller and smaller until nothing of her body remained. The magic snuffed out, and the glass-like spears dissipated. The alpha howled in rage and grief, a sound that pierced Merrick but could not give him pause; he’d offered them a chance to resolve this situation in a different way. This was their choice.
Merrick clenched his jaw and squeezed down on his connection with the ley line, struggling to stifle some of that dangerous flow. It was only as he spun to face the remaining werewolves that he felt what he’d originally sought—the fifth intruder, who had just entered the range of Merrick’s magical senses.
Another wolf, at the north end of the manor—the same side as Merrick’s bedroom.
Fear reintroduced itself to Merrick, cold and slithering through his insides, but it wasn’t fear of the wolves or for his own safety—this was fear for Adalynn, for Danny. For the only precious things Merrick had to lose.
All three of the wolves in front of him attacked.
Merrick folded himself in magic and twisted his mana song, phasing his physical body into a different state. For an instant, he was only energy, was only the magic he’d always harbored within himself, and the mana song of the ley line became deafening.
Join me, it sang. Become one with me. Become power.
Slashing claws and gnashing teeth swept through the space his physical body had occupied. He felt them only distantly, as though they were the phantom caresses of ghostly entities. The wolves’ muscular bodies collided. Merrick forced his incorporeal form aside. He flowed through the air effortlessly, but something pulled him farther along than he’d intended, pulled him down.
One with the power, whispered the ley line.
The notion was tempting. He could be a part of the lifeblood of magic, could flow in its source, could cast aside all his worries, all his bitterness, all his pain. Even now, he could feel his concerns falling away, could feel his form growing lighter and more indistinct even as the ley line’s magnetic draw strengthened.
Adalynn.
Her name jolted through him, and he latched onto it. Merrick couldn’t go—Adalynn needed him, and he needed her.
Merrick cast off the ley line’s call and willed himself back, rematerializing his physical body a few feet away from the confused wolves. A shudder ran through him from head to toe, and his muscles tensed, each threatening to cramp at once. Piercing pain, as sharp as a knife, lodged itself deep in his skull.
Best not attempt that again.