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Delilah, still in her monstrous cat form, came into view. She was crouched near the fringe of the woods, her gaze on the clearing up ahead. Sidling up to her, Wynter sucked in a breath as she took in the scene before them.
Cain and Azazel stood side by side, emitting rippling blasts of pure power at Saul, who—what in the hell?—was surrounded by partly transparent figures that were dressed similar to Trojan soldiers.
Despite not being solid, the soldiers easily took the hits of power that were aimed at Saul. No, Wynter quickly realized, they absorbed the power. Weirdly, each hit gave them just a little more substance.
“Shades,” muttered Xavier as he came up on Wynter’s other side with Anabel close behind him.
Wynter frowned. “What?”
“Shades,” he repeated as Hattie, still in her crow form, settled on his shoulder. “They’re the restless spirits of dead soldiers who didn’t move on to the afterlife. They can be called on like this, because they’re as anchorless as a balloon drifting in the wind. And if a person is powerful enough, they can use them like puppets.”
“To do what?” asked Anabel.
“A lot of things, including kill.” Xavier paused. “Most people wouldn’t call on them, because the price is too high. Saul will feel the burn of every injury they receive.”
Wynter rather liked the sound of that. “So they can be injured?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But not unless they’re solid.”
“Ah, so that’s why the Ancients are blasting them with power.” Wynter looked back at the clearing just as Saul aimed a ball of blinding light at Cain. Fucker. Her Ancient quickly deflected it. Ha.
It didn’t appear that Cain had any wounds, but she couldn’t tell from this angle. “We need to get out there and help them.” She tensed as a rumbling sound scraped at her monster’s throat. It wanted out. Wanted blood. Wanted to tear apart the Aeon it recognized as the one who’d attacked it not so long ago. And it intended to do exactly that.
An otherworldly breeze danced in the air, carrying a note of caution that was aimed at the monster within Wynter, staying its hand. Thank God. Or Kali, to be more precise. Wynter couldn’t let her monster surface here and now. It didn’t distinguish between friend and foe, it only aimed to kill.
Right now, she’d do that job herself.
Wynter called to her sword—a weapon she’d long ago bonded to her magick. The black glass blade appeared in her hand, shiny and solid. She turned to the others, finding that Xavier and Anabel had conjured their own swords. “There’s no sense in us taking shots at the Aeon—we probably won’t be able to kill him. We need to pick off the shades so he has no one shielding him.”
Anabel squared her shoulders. “Call her.”
Knowing who she meant, Xavier leaned into the witch and quietly sang, “Mary, Mary, please come out.”
Anabel’s irises clouded over just before a manic glint sharpened her eyes. She glanced around and then eyed the scene up ahead. A grin curved her mouth. “I can kill them?” she asked with an almost childlike excitement that dripped with bloodthirst.
“Each and every soldier, but not the Ancients,” Wynter clarified. “Let’s move.” Because the shades were perfectly solid now and therefore vulnerable to attack.
Her veins fairly fizzling with battle adrenaline, she brought up her sword and charged into the clearing. And Saul . . . his face lit up in pure delight. He quickly chanted something with a smile, a dozen more shades appeared, and then a gust of wind snatched him right out of the air.
Wynter whipped her gaze around, trying to find where he’d relocated to, but she couldn’t see him. Then her attention was swiftly stolen by his soldiers as they split it into two groups—one charged right at Cain, and the other charged right at her.
Hell.
Wynter dealt with the soldier directly in front of her, slamming up her sword to block his. Xavier and Anabel sprang into action, diverting the attention of the other shades. At the same time, Hattie swooped down in her crow form while Delilah’s monstrous cat lunged forward and both animals worked in tandem to take out other soldiers.
Wynter kept her focus on her attacker. Their swords clashed over and over as they fought. He didn’t speak or snarl. There was no emotion whatsoever on his face. It was like fighting a damn robot.
A robot who was a freaking expert with a sword.
But Wynter soon got the opening she needed. Her heart jumping, she thrust her sword into his chest and twisted the blade. Boom. She yanked out her sword . . . and he promptly disappeared into thin air.
“That’s so shit,” said Xavier, disappointed. Well, his favorite trick was to reanimate his victims and send them after their friends.
Another shade materialized, replacing the one who’d died.
“Fuck,” spat Wynter. “Is that gonna happen every time one is taken out?”
“Don’t know,” replied Xavier. “Hope not.”
