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He turned back to the ceremony occurring miles away from them. Their speed would allow them to get there in seconds. A snarl left his lips as he began running. Welcoming the coolness of the wind as it whipped by him, his ears flattened. The trackers didn’t see them until the they were closing in, and their cries of alarm were met with cries of pain as Conall’s pack descended first, followed by Astrid’s and Eirik’s, and the continuous onslaught of wolves protecting their future interests.
Conall quickly cut through the trackers in his way. As a young wolf, he’d been more focused on showing off his skill.That was not the case today. He was going after Cronin, and Luna help anyone or anything that got in his way.
***
He could not explain why he was here, or how he’d known to come here, but every cell in Max’s body had led him to this place. He’d simply blocked his thoughts, concentrated on locating his father, and followed what seemed to be a strong but invisible connection, based on flashes of power. It was an essence of sorts, a witch’s essence.
After leaving the vampire’s place, Max had been consumed with anger enough to want his own father dead. Kyros had tried to be the voice of reason. While Kyros had his own reasons for wanting the man dead, the older warlock had given Max all the reasons as to why it would not be wise to confront Maximilian Cronin in his current state. While his powers all seemed to be there, Max still couldn’t remember how to access most of them. Still, Max had only needed one good reason to go after his father. And he had it. The bastard had killed Drew. Even if she’d survived the change to vampire, which he instinctively knew she had, he’d killed her. Taken her from everything she’d known, including him. For that alone, Max wanted blood.
In no uncertain terms, he told Kyros he was going to find his father and kill him. Whether Kyros helped him or not was the warlock’s choice. It had taken Kyros only a few minutes to discern Max would not be persuaded from his course, and after shaking his head, he’d decided to reintroduce Max to his powers as a warlock. It had been the equivalent of a crash course, but everything came to him quickly and easily. Even Kyros seemed a bit surprised at his ease with his powers, especially as he did not remember them.
“I’ve thought it before but now I’m quite sure, Max. Before you lost your memory, you had to have been trained as a tracker,” Kyros said from beside him.
“A tracker?”
“Yes. A member of an elite group of witches who essentially serve as guards and soldiers for their race.”
Max didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the chaotic scene happening in the distance. It seemed he’d arrived late to the party. The wolves and witches had squared off, and with his heightened sight and hearing, he could see blood splattered against the green grass, could make out the snarls and growls of the weres, and the blasts of the witches. There was also another presence in the distance, hovering and watching. Vampires. He turned and surveyed the trees. Even with his keen eyesight, he could make out nothing. But they were there. A large number of them, waiting, patiently.
“Vampires,” Kyros acknowledged without bothering to turn around.
Max returned his attention to the melee. It didn’t take long to locate his father. He stood in a circle of men, an invisible but impenetrable force field surrounding them. In the midst of the circle were two barely visible girls, one bound by golden chains and lying on the ground, and the other standing directly before his father. She was chanting. There was also man lying in the middle of the pentagram, a witch wearing sacrificial white. He was unconscious.
Closing his eyes, Max was about to flash himself into the melee, when Kyros touched his shoulder. He looked to the warlock, who shrugged his shoulder and replied, “I’ve saved your life once already. You may need me again.”
If his adrenaline wasn’t working overtime and he wasn’t so angry, Max was sure he would have smiled. Instead, he nodded, closed his eyes once more, and flashed them both into the midst of the fight.
***
Conall snarled his frustration as he bounced off the invisible shield standing between him and his mate. He could see Vivienne, perched on the ground and glaring at Cronin as Cassie chanted above the roar of the grand Wizards’ voices. One of the grand wizards, Wilhem, lay bound as a sacrificial offering before one of the stones.
Pacing the circle, Conall tried to find a weak spot. He found it behind an elderly grand wizard who was growing weaker by the second. Shifting back to his human form, he called upon the magic he’d learned growing up in a Celtic pack, attacking that particular grand wizard enough to gain entry to the circle. His chants overrode those of the witch, and he stopped chanting, opening his section of the force field.
