Chapter 18

I have to call four people beforesomeone answers. Each time I’m sent to voicemail, the tenuous hold I have overmy panic frays until there’s nothing left when Hank answers his damn phone.

“What’s the situation?” It’s a demand. Thisis not the time for polite questions or chit-chat.

“Ambush just as a few of us were cominghome. It happened block from the house. We contained it as best we could.” Hankkeeps it concise. “Injuries but nothing critical. No fatalities. Some property damage.Attackers disappeared, but we killed at least one of them.”

“Ike and Greta?”

“Shifted and on perimeter patrol.”

That explains why they didn’t answertheir phones. The panic subsides marginally. “Jose and Az?”

“Jose Shifted. I lost sight of Azshortly after the shit hit the fan.”

Fuck. Now I don’t know if it this was arandom attack, another round of not-Shifter testing, or a ploy to steal myvoid. “Where are you now?”

“At the house. Fortunately not many ofthe neighbors are home yet, and we haven’t been bombarded with cops,” Hanksays. He sounds distracted. I don’t want anyone distracted while there’s apossibility of a second attack.

“I’ll head Greer off. I’ll be there infive.”

Greer doesn’t like it, but he agrees tonot send any units to the pack house. When I say I have things under control,it’s best not to interfere. He’s learned that lesson the bloody way.

It’s easy to pinpoint the locationwhere the fight started. Mrs. Castillo’s mailbox is decimated – I’ll have Markbuild her a new one – and two trees in the Winston yard are nothing but stumps.We’ll replace them. The unspokenagreement that keeps us from being murdered by the HOA is that we’ll fixwhatever damage we cause. Lou Ferndalehas a shed designed by a highly-esteemed architect and built by two repentantShifters.

Pack cars remain where they wereabandoned. Ike’s SUV is totaled. Greta’s motorcycle has a bent wheel. Jose’scar is missing a door, and there are claw marks across the hood of Mark’sPrius. Sloppy attack. Rushed. If I had been planning an ambush, I’d have set upcamp closer to the house and forced close-range combat.

The trail of destruction stops short ofthe house. Hank’s ambulance is in the middle of the driveway with the lightsstill flashing. I park in the grass next to the ambulance. The hinges of thedoor protest when I slam it shut.

I immediately scan the area for Az, butshe’s nowhere in sight. Two unnaturally large foxes approach, sniff my legs,and bow their heads. I can’t do more than nod at them. Fortunately, they don’task for more. They simply resume their patrol.

All I know is that my pack has beenattacked, and I can’t find the weakest member. The pungent aroma of Shifterblood makes me dizzy. Makes me want to Shift right in the middle of the damnlawn. It is only years of self-control that keep me in human form. Knowing thatGreta and Ike are prowling the perimeter of the yard eases some of my stress.

Okay, Rick, think rationally. Jose isAz’s unofficial bodyguard. In event ofan attack, only death or dismemberment could tear him from her side. Sincethere aren’t any ocelot parts strewn across the yard, I have to assume thathe’s still with her. Damn void. Why is she my first concern? She shouldn’t be. Inever promised to put her ahead of the pack. The pack comes before anythingelse.

Though every cell is burning with theneed to lay eyes on Az for reasons I don’t have time to contemplate, I check inat the triage station on the porch. Hank, a paramedic, watches as Tommy insertsa needle in the back of Mark’s paw. I’ve encouraged Hank to go back to medicalschool and become a veterinarian, but he likes the rush of working onemergencies. Besides, as he’s pointedout time and again, as one of the few licensed paranormal paramedics in thecounty he’s in high demand.

None of my people are dead. Two havelost a fair amount of blood. There is a gash in Oscar’s shoulder that will takeat least two days, even with his accelerated healing, to close. Six brokenlimbs. One severed finger. Countless cuts and bruises.

Images from Dora’s Box flash through mymind. We’re lucky. Damn lucky.

Still no Princess. It takes anembarrassingly long time for me to remember Jose’s penchant for high places. Fuckingcats. There are only two trees in the front yard sturdy enough to climb withenough branches to provide ample camouflage. I flip a mental coin and stare upat the pecan tree near the porch.

Four branches up, I spot something outof place. Jose has Az pinned to the trunk of the tree. Part of his left ear ismissing. The fur around his right eye is matted. Az’s face is covered withblood.

“Get her down here right now.”

Jose peers down at me. His tail – bentat an odd angle near the tip – flicks languidly. After a moment’s considerationand quick survey of the scene, he scoots forward, turns around, and jabs hisnose in Az’s side.

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” she mutters asshe starts to shimmy down the trunk. In her dress. I keep my eyes firmly on herankles. For the most part. From her awkward descent, it’s clear thattree-climbing wasn’t part of her childhood. Color-coordinating, on the otherhand, apparently was a priority.

Three excruciating minutes later, she’son the grass in front of me. The teeth she exposes with her smile are pink. Theblood around her mouth and down her chin has dried. The blood on the front ofher dress is still shiny.

“When this is over, Jose, you and I aregoing to have a discussion about what it means to be a bodyguard.” That I sayit without growling is a point in my favor. In a fight he has one job: to get Azto safety. Failure to do so is akin to disobeying an order.

“It’s not mine,” Az speaks up as I dragher to the porch. Her voice sounds off. Higher than normal. Lighter. Shedoesn’t argue when I shove her onto the steps. A bucket of fresh water and apile of old towels appear by my side.

“Shut up.” Anything she says is likelyto fuel my temper. She and Jose arebesties. Platonic soul mates or whatever. I get that. It doesn’t excuse thefact that he let her stick around an attack long enough to be harmed. I’mhaving a damn difficult time staying calm enough to gently clean her up. Thelast thing either of us needs is for me to accidentally hurt her.

The water is cold, but the blood washesoff her face easily enough. The frigid temperature cools the worst of my anger.That there are no cuts or gashes under the blood helps, too.

In fact, there are no cuts on her faceat all. There’s a tiny scrape along the curve of her jaw and her bottom lip issplit, but there is nothing to account for the shitload of pink towels at myfeet. “What the actual fuck, Az?”

“I bit ‘em,” she crows with a goofygrin. “Needed a sample of the blood to make sure they were the same guys. Couldn’trun the risk that they’d go atthe end of the fight. One grabbed me, so I bit down on his forearm. He screamed like a baby and let me go. Nextthing I know, I have ocelot drool on the back of my neck and I’m six feet offthe ground. I think Jose put a hole in my dress.”

“Are they the ones who attacked Dora’sBox?”

“Yup. Same cheap vanilla taste.”

So the second round of testing iscomplete. Since all my Shifters are still standing, I suppose that means thenot-Shifters failed. “Damn dangerous move, Princess.”

“Necessary,” she says with a shrug. Hergrin widens. She leans forward as if sharing a secret. “I’m gonna have to goaway for a little bit, okay?”

What? Go away? Go where? “No! Notokay.”

“I tried, but it’s too much. Magic inthe blood. Magic at the scene. Magic everywhere.

.” She drags her nose across my throat. She tries tocluck her tongue but winds up giggling. “Naughty, naughty. Where you been, Ricky?”

Ah. So that’s what she meant by goaway. My Az – normal Az – has to take a backseat to crazy Az. Knowing thatshe’s trapped inside her own mind doesn’t make her less annoying, but it doesmake me pity her. I can’t imagine being a prisoner inside my head. I likecontrol too much to let it go.

“What’re you smelling, Princess?” Idon’t hold out much hope of getting a comprehensible answer out of her, but Ihave to try.

“It’s not right. It’s… wrong.” Sheheaves herself off me and twists her fingers together. “You reek of magic.”

“Dead witches, remember? Used up andburnt to a crisp.”

The end of her braid slaps me acrossthe face when she shakes her head like a wet puppy. “No. Not barbecue magic. It’sbad. Dark and wrong and wrong and dark. Like pistachio tofu ice cream.

.”

This conversation is a complete wasteof time. I’d offer to take the magic from her, but I’m still too close to Shifting.I rise, ready to leave her in Jose’s capable paws, when the air thickens. Thesharp tang of elemental magic coats the back of my throat. Az sits up straight.Jose leaps off the porch and herds Az between two posts. On the other side ofthe porch, Ike and Greta take up position guarding the wounded.

Two half-Shifted creatures appear nearthe driveway at the edge of the wards. They don’t look like wolves or foxes orany mammal native to the area. Hybrids? The wind changes, and I can smell bloodon one of them. Mark’s blood.

“Gimme all you got, Princess.” I bracemyself for impact. She doesn’t disappoint. Energy slams in to me seconds afterAz flings herself at me and presses her lips to mine. When this is over, I’llhave to ask if this how she always transfers energy or if it’s just for fun.

Fur sprouts along my arms. Before myhands turn into claws that will tear tender human flesh, I shove Az off me. Theseams of my shirt give.

Not ahalf-Shift. It’s hell on the wardrobe. Full Shift. The world goes hazy for amoment before returning to focus. Sharper. Cleaner. All my senses are heightened,and I feel more alive.

, I love Shifting.

The telepathic connection to the packthat is only present when one is Shifted snaps back into place. I giveinstructions to Jose before loping across the lawn. Ike stays with the woundedin case more not-Shifters show up. I can smell the scent of gun oil and hearHank quietly work the slide on his pistol. Greta is only a tail-length behindon my left. The not-Shifters snarl at us. My answering growl makes the groundbeneath my paws quake.

Adrenaline and rage, coupled with Az’ssiphoned magic, take over. Attack my pack and then show back up for anotherround? Big fucking mistake. I rush the biggest not-Shifter. He tries to dodge,but I’m faster. I aim for his throat; a boot to my chest sends me flyingbackwards. I roll in midair, land on my feet, skid to a stop and launch myselfat him again before he has a chance to recover. This time he’s too slow. Helifts his foot for a kick, but it’s too late. My weight and momentum send uscrashing to the street.

Two massive paws on his brawnyshoulders keep him pinned to the ground. Sharp claws scrape across my midsection. Thestinging pain is nothing compared to the all-encompassing fury. The not-Shifterbucks desperately. Writhes. Twists. Stabs a claw between two of my ribs. Heturns his head to try and bite my foreleg. I slam my head against his nose. Hishead cracks against the pavement.

In an impressive show of raw strength,he dislodges me with a massive, full-body heave. I land heavily on my back. Somethingnear the stab wound cracks. I scramble to my feet before he can take advantageof my position. When he telegraphs a kick at my face, I duck my head and clampmy jaws across his calf as it whistles past. A sharp shake of my headdislocates his hip. Instincts take over. I hamstring him and render his leguseless. He howls, collapses on his back. I release his calf and rip throughtwo layers of protective clothing to sever his femoral artery. In some ways thehalf-Shifted form is as weak as the human form.

His windpipe fragments like glassbetween my teeth. Blood, thick and teeming with magic, spurts into my mouth. Ispit it all over the not-Shifter’s horrified face. I tear at the neck until thenot-Shifter stops struggling. Easy kill. The body disappears in a burst ofsulfur-scented magic.

Greta has the other not-Shiftercornered against our brick mailbox. He swipes a clawed hand at her muzzle. Iintercept his swing. My teeth sink into his bicep. I shake my head viciously. Muscleand tendon shred. Bone shatters. With one final shake, I sever his arm. Gretagrowls at me.

Her kill. I can respect that. I’m notleaving without my trophy, though. I pick up the severed arm and trot back tothe porch with it. Jose, ears down and tail lowered, slinks off when Iapproach. I drop the arm on Princess’s shoes.

“Thanks?” She gingerly pats the top ofmy head. When I don’t snap her hand off, she relaxes. Small, warm fingerstickle the back of my ears. “Good puppy.”