Her pain-filled shout fills my ears.
The rules are forgotten, her fury manifesting in the form of her flames as they shoot up her arms. She spins to blast that asshole away.
Too late.
My teeth and reflexes are faster. One moment I’m skidding to a quick halt—we’re drenched in gushing blood as his lower arm is separated from his body. My head snaps back and I spit a mouthful of blood on the sidewalk, leaving behind an undeniable stain.
As if his arm at his feet, a chunk of the witch’s hair fisted in its grasp, and his screams in the air aren’t proof enough of what I just did.
In the span of mere seconds, I bit right through his arm.
Sabian materializes next to him and slaps a hand over his mouth. With a wave of his hand, he somehow seals the gushing wound, cauterizing it without any actual heat. “Leave. Now,” he instructs his maimed companion.
In a daze, the man stares from Sabian, to the stump that is now his arm, then he’s gone.
Along with the blood and arm left on the ground in the wake of my savagery.
Black eyes flash with hatred in my direction. “Fucking beast,” Sabian spits, disgusted by me.
Don’t blame him. I’m feeling pretty disgusted with myself.
“Stop listening to him. Just run!”
Here I go, heeding her commands once more.
I dodge darts as if running through a cloud of enraged hornets out to kill us. At least two more pedestrians are caught unaware, collapsing onto the sidewalk like puppets crumbling off their strings.
So much for not involving humans in their shit.
Then again, they’re leaving no evidence behind. I guess it’s okay to take such risks when their desire to get the witch on my back is that powerful.
Make no mistake about it, this is about her. There’s no reason for them to come after me this hard.
Skidding on a turn, I barely notice the park we rush past. It isn’t until I’m forced to veer to the right as the blonde witch materializes inches from us that I notice what direction we’re heading in.
Saint Louis cemetery No. 1 is to our left, the supposed resting place of the infamous Marie Laveau.
I’m momentarily struck by the juxtaposition once more; reality and myth colliding within my worldview, forever altering human perception. They say human life is messy, complicated, but on the other side of this divide, where I’m now an outsider looking in, it seems perfectly neat and simple.
When compared to this new world I inhabit, that is.
The distraction costs me dearly. With the witch’s legs around my hips, my arms wrapped around her thighs, and her arms curled around my neck, I barrel toward the expressway. It’s the easiest escape route, I subconsciously rationalize, without any clue which direction I’m supposed to be going in.
The witch at my back is busy chanting again.
If she’s working some kind of spell, she better work it fast, before—
As I take the ramp onto the expressway, there’s a disturbance in the atmosphere, as if all the air is being sucked into a single spot.
In a whirlwind of color invisible to the humans, the ebony-skinned witch bursts into view, feet planted right in the middle of the expressway.
Like there isn’t cars heading her way.
But so are we, and that’s what she’s counting on.
It happens startling fast and frustratingly slow at once, an imminent collision that seems impossible to avoid. I slam my feet into the road, destroying it as I struggle to stop my momentum.
The witch at my back stretches her hand open in front of us, her arm braced on my shoulder.
We’re inches from the other witch.
I see one of those darts materializing in her hand.
My only ally leans forward, mouth near my ear, and I finally hear what she’s chanting.
“Fading, fading, dying in the flames.”
It’s the same chant from before.
And its effects are catastrophic.
The other witch jerks, dark eyes widening in fear.
I barely avoid colliding with her by mere inches, yet as I pass her, I see the sparks of fire crawling beneath her skin.
Through her veins.
Singing her from the inside.
Immobilizing her as I force another burst of energy into my limbs, propelling us forward at dizzying speeds. I don’t look over my shoulder to see what happened to her. Every instinct is engaged in escaping the ones I can sense still after us.
I zig-zag across the highway, oblivious to my surroundings. Focused on only one thing: escape these assholes once and for all.
I vault over the side of the highway, landing midway down the exit ramp. Thankfully, I manage to control this landing instead of denting the concrete inward. I’m racing across a street, instincts warning me that our enemies are mere steps behind. Suddenly, the witch is at my ear again, lips grazing the sensitive flesh, and I barely make out her words past the heated blood pounding in my veins.
“There, werewolf. Get in there.”
I heed her commands like the slave I seem to be morphing into.
I realize too late where she’s leading us.
Where this fight is being dragged to.
A place I never saw myself stepping foot in again.
CHAPTER 8
Misery and the echoes of death surround us.
Rotten walls.
Molded floors.
Remnants of a life-saving operation on a massive scale.
Now, all that remains is the reminder of everything Katrina took from us.
Just like it took my mother.
But years before that, when I was only four, I came to this place to say a final goodbye to a man I never truly knew.
The man that fathered me.
Even then this place scared the shit out of me. Charity Hospital was an intimidating structure for such a young mind. It never occurred to me that they shouldn’t have allowed a kid into the ICU, but they did.
On a hospital bed, with half of his body burnt to a crisp, my deadbeat father had begged for a forgiveness he never deserved.
Drug-addict.
Criminal.
Deserter.
He left my mom when she was eight months pregnant with me and only showed me his face in his final moments.
Fucking coward.
I hated this place ever since.
Hate it now.
Yet that isn’t the most important thing in my life at the moment.
As always, it’s the woman on my back. With her gorgeous thighs around me, smooth legs, even smoother voice in my ear . . .
“You can stop now, werewolf.”
Oh, I’m going to.
Speeding past the deserted emergency room, I send a corroded medical tray flying into one of the nursing stations. It collides with a bang as I reach behind me, grab hold of the witch—
And press her into the wall.
“What in the fu—”
“My name is Silas. Learn to fucking use it.” I duck my head to kiss her.
She barely dodges my lips in time.
That’s fine. Her golden neck looks just as delicious and I’m planning on having a mouthful.
She slams her hand against my lips and pushes my head back with all her might. “Are you fucking crazy? What are you doing?”
“Mfastinew,” I mumble against her palm. I’m tasting you. Okay, that didn’t come out how it should’ve, but I’m sure she gets the gist of it anyway.
She bucks against me, back coming off the wall, and instead of budging me, the only thing she manages to accomplish is pressing that sweet pussy right into my groin. “Get off me, you fucking crazy werewolf—”