“Don’t worry about it!” A gate. They needed a gate. She reached for the magic . . .
And Ridge shouted in pain.
Kat jerked around. Blood rolled down the vampire’s armored side from a huge gash that ripped across his cuirass.
In the flashing instant it took her to register her lover’s injury, the werewolf was on Kat and the girl, snarling mouth gaped wide to reveal teeth the length of her fingers, clawed hands reaching. Kat shoved the girl clear and swung her sword at the monster’s torso.
He threw himself back, avoiding her stroke, then lunged again. She hacked at the clawed hand swinging at her face.
Fast. God, he was fast. He darted right past her guard with that enormous reach. Even as she threw herself back, she felt claws rake her torso, heard the shriek of metal tearing like paper. It didn’t hurt.
I’m not going to get out of this alive. The thought cut through the furious blur of action. There was no fear in it, just cold reason. Just her brain’s calculation of the odds.
Fuck it. If I die, I die. But I’m taking this bastard with me.
Kat flew into full extension, the kind of fencer’s lunge she’d used in college, thrusting her blade toward the monster’s chest. And it bit deep.
He roared in pain and fury. She didn’t see the blow coming until it hit her with the force of an armored Humvee. Pain detonated in her shoulder, a bright and sickening blast, and she went flying. Hit the ground hard, light bursting in her head as she struck. Blinking, Kat stared blankly at the moonlit trees overhead. She’d never been hit that hard in her life.
Get the f**k up, Kat!
Somehow she rolled to her feet, staggering, shaking her head, sick and aching.
Ridge had faced off with the monster again, despite the scarlet flow that slicked the right side of his armor.
The girl was crawling on the leafy ground, trying to get away from them all, blood running down her face. Impossible to tell if it was her own.
We need reinforcements. The thought slashed through Kat’s consciousness a breath before she remembered the ring her father had given her.
“Lancelot du Lac!” she bellowed. “Dammit, I need you!”
And nothing happened.
TEN
Lancelot!” Kat bellowed again. Nothing.
“So much for his magic ring. “Say my name, and it will bring me to you,” my ass. The bastard had never been there for her before. Why should he ride to the rescue, just because she happened to be fighting nine feet of psychotic fur?
Shaking off the growing dizziness—she suspected a concussion—Kat lifted her sword and prepared to charge.
“What?” her father snapped from behind her. Then: “Holy God! How did you piss off a Direwolf?” The relief she felt was so great, she wanted to kiss his handsome, irritated face. “That’s the bastard that killed my sister.”
Lancelot swore.
Ridge ducked a vicious clawed strike, came up, thrust, missed when the werewolf twisted aside like a matador. Kat raced toward them, swinging her own sword up. Damned if she’d let that monster kill Ridge too.
Before she could reach her target, a streak of black fur shot past her with a snarl like a chain saw. She jerked back—another one?—and almost swung her sword at the great black wolf. Then she realized it was slashing at the Direwolf’s huge muscled haunches with fanged jaws.
Lancelot had vanished. Where’d he . . . ? Holy hell, he’d become the wolf. Ridge had said shape-shifting was a vampire ability.
At least the blond girl was making good use of the distraction the vampires had provided. On her feet again, she staggered from the clearing, throwing panicked glances back over her shoulder as she ran.
Her would-be killer howled in frustration, but couldn’t get past Ridge and Lancelot to follow.
Where the hell was Grace? Kat had hoped the other woman would come with her husband, but apparently not. Too bad, because they could have used a Maja who knew what the hell she was doing.
Well, Kat had a sword and a couple of vampires. That would have to be enough.
She focused on the towering monster. Ridge and wolf Lance were circling him, one distracting him while the other darted in to slash with sword or teeth. Kat slid into the space between them, looking for an opening for her own assault.
Now—while he was focused on Ridge. Kat lunged, swinging her sword.
He wheeled, quicker than any cat. One huge hand snapped around her armored neck and jerked her right off her feet. His other hand wrapped around her helmeted head, started to pull . . . Oh, Jesus, he’s going to rip my head right off my shoulders! She yowled in terror and swung her sword, but he was too close, and the blade’s guard glanced harmlessly off his shoulder.
The werewolf howled in agony, his clawed hand losing its grip. Kat fell like a rock, hitting the ground in a teeth-rattling heap of armor and blade.
Over her head, Lancelot the wolf had buried his fanged jaws in the werewolf’s groin. The monster swung one enormous paw, catching the vampire across the skull. Lance’s furry body went flying, slamming with vicious force into a tree. The wolf bounced off the trunk, hit the ground, rolled.
And did not get up.
“Lancelot!” Kat’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest.
Ridge assessed the situation with all the skill his sixty years of combat experience gave him.
We’re screwed.
Kat had taken a raking stroke down her torso, Ridge was wounded, and Lance was unconscious. At least they had all done damage to the . . .
Magic flared and pulsed around the Direwolf, blinding and blue. When the glare died, the creature had become a golden-furred wolf the size of a pony. It gathered itself to dive on Kat, who still lay stunned at its feet.
Ridge stepped in, swinging his sword like a baseball bat. The wolf fled, snapping. Before Ridge could catch it, magic swirled around the big beast again, and the Direwolf was back, injuries fully healed by his magical transformation.
Yeah. We’re screwed.
He could heal his own wounds by transforming—so could Lance, when he regained consciousness—
but there was always a moment of disorientation to the process. It wasn’t much, but the Direwolf wouldn’t need much of an opening to lay one of them open with those claws.
The son of a bitch was not only nine feet tall, with the strength to match, he was incredibly fast. It was no surprise they were having so much trouble defeating him: Dire wolves had been created by Merlin himself to kill rogue Magekind. Too bad the alien wizard hadn’t realized the problem they’d face if a Direwolf went rogue.