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“Then come and take her,” Conall retorted easily, his voice belying the tension in his body, the rush of adrenaline passing through his bloodstream.
***
Instinct told Vivienne her questions were best saved for later. She reached over for Drew’s hand, which was sweaty and cold, much like her own, and slowly began to move back.
“What’s going on?” she whispered to Drew, who shook her head and replied dejectedly, “Everything.”
The vagueness of that answer only prompted more questions. What did she mean by everything? What the hell was going on? Were they in some kind of trouble?
“Kill them both,” Merikano commanded, and then utter chaos broke out. Vivienne and Drew quickly huddled themselves against the wall and watched, bug-eyed, as the men wearing black attacked Max and Conall.
Her heart pounded in her throat as Conall barely dodged the tip of a sword swinging toward his neck. He recovered quickly, grabbing the man and twisting his arm. A crack followed by a howling scream rent the air, and Drew turned her face away. Grabbing the sword, Conall thrust it into the man’s belly and pushed him back. Vivienne winced, but felt no pity. He’d almost killed Conall.
“Conall!” she screamed in warning as another man attacked him from behind. She watched as the man’s dagger embedded in Conall’s back, feeling his pain even as he turned and launched at the man. She couldn’t see what happened to the attacker, but only seconds later another was at Conall’s back, and another. Max wasn’t faring well, either. They were both impressive fighters, but against so many in an enclosed space.
Where was her cell phone? She was going to call the police. As soon as she thought of that, she shook her head. How was she going to call the police? What would she tell them? “Come quickly, some ninjas appeared out of a hole in the wall and are trying to kill us?” They wouldn’t send cops. They’d sent a psychiatrist and a straightjacket.
At Drew’s high pitched scream, Vivienne turned to her. Drew had covered her mouth with her hands, and was staring off into the distance at Max, who’d just been run through by a now-bloody sword. Vivienne cried out in shock and stood, watching in horror as the man—Merikano—pushed Max back, a cruel smile on his lips and the sword held proudly in his hand. He advanced on Max but was suddenly blasted back. What looked like a ring of white flames rolled into a ball landed on his chest and he was flung against the wall. Max clutched his side and began to move. A trail of blood followed him. Merikano recovered, this time launching his very own flame ball at Max, who pitched from where he stood and landed with a dull thud on the floor, steps in front of them.
Drew and Vivienne rushed to him. His lips were blue-tinged, his eyes glassy, his face scrunched in pain—and was that anger?
“Get out now. Take the stairs to the second floor.” He bit down as if he were fighting off a bout of pain. “Fire escape at end of hall. Find your—mother.”
Before she could even think to respond, her hand was in his and he was whispering something. Latin? Vivienne briefly wondered before her body felt stifled once more, as if something inside her was being locked away. She felt stifled.
Max’s glassy eyes moved from Vivienne to Drew and then back. Something was pressed against her palm. A key, her car key. How did he have her car key? “Car behind apartment.”
Saving those questions for another time, Vivienne eyed the rapidly growing red stain on his shirt, and shook her head. “Max, you’re hurt. We need to call the cops, and an ambulance. What’s happening—?”
There was an angry snarl somewhere in the background and Vivienne lifted her eyes in time to see Conall being attacked by three of the men. She almost ran to him, but Max’s hand tightened against hers.
“Now, Viv! Go! We’ll find you!”
A howl split the air, and moments later, the three were flung away. Vivienne stared in awe at the man who’d passionately loved her only hours ago as he tossed back his head. Tendons jumped to the surface of his skin and she heard the distinct sound of cracking bones. A memory—an image of Cassie falling from a tree in their backyard, landing oddly on her arm, followed by a distinct, popping crack—surfaced before retreating in lieu of the sight before her. Conall’s jacket and most of his shirt had been ripped to bloody shreds, making it easy for her to see that the size of his arms and legs was increasing. Her mouth fell open. His eyes, the beautiful blue, turned to a sinister yellow, with two black pupils, and black fur began to materialize on his arms as his clipped nails lengthened to razor-sharp talons.
