Trembles ricochet through me as I fall to my ass once more on the cool ground. There’s nothing else for me to do but sit here.
All I can do is pray that I don’t lose myself once and for all.
Fifteen
EMERY
For the longest moment, no one moves.
Not Delaney, who has a blade protruding from her hand. Not the witches behind her, who are gaping in horror. Not Travan, who is laughing maniacally, his windswept brown hair dancing around his face.
But I know, just like everyone else, that this is merely the calm before the storm. Rain clouds are coming, and they’re comingfast. Really damn fast.
Ashton takes an automatic step backwards, reaching for first my arm and then Reid’s in an attempt to drag us back towards the tree line.
That minuscule movement captures Delaney’s attention, and her eyes sharpen, flaying my skin like the serrated edge of a knife.
With a scowl, she reaches for the hilt of the blade and tugs it out of her flesh, tossing it carelessly to the side.
“That.” She directs her gaze back at Travan, who’s still laughing uproariously. “Was rude.”
Then she closes her eyes.
“Oh shit,” I murmur.
The air thickens with the scent of imminent conflict. My heart races in my chest.
More and more wolves have joined Travan—some in their human form while others have shifted, but all of them hurling daggers with their eyes at Delaney and her coven.
Gerry spins to face us, wild desperation painted on his face. “Boys, you need to get to the forest. Now. You need to?—”
One of the wolves I recognize—an older man who runs the local bar—lunges at the coven in his shifter form, his claws slashing through the air. With a swift motion, Delaney extends her hand towards the man beside her for him to take. The two of them chant, their words flowing together, and a barrier of shimmering energy surrounds them. The wolf slams into the invisible wall with a deafening thud, the impact sending a shockwave through the clearing.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I mutter.
Wolves surge forward, moving as one, their fangs bared. All I can hear are the sounds of snarls and growls as they approach Delaney’s barrier.
One of the witches—or is he a warlock because he’s a dude?—steps forward, and a wave of his hand sends a barrage of thorny vines shooting from the ground, wrapping around the nearest wolves’ legs. They howl in fury and struggle to break free, but the vines constrict, digging into their flesh and drawing blood.
“Well, isn’t this a thorn in my side!” Travan calls from where he’s nearly entirely encircled by green vines. “Get it? Thorn in my side? I’ve been trying to think of a new catchphrase for a while, and I think I might’ve stumbled across something amazing.”
As I watch, transfixed, his hand distorts, his fingers lengthening until they resemble talons. Dark, spindly talons that seem to emit wisps of shadows. With another laugh, he slashes through the magical thorns like they’re nothing but silly string.
Travan races forward and reaches upwards, grabbing at a branch. With a tug, he tears it free and then waves it in the air over his head.
A witch lifts her hands, her lips moving to mutter an incantation, but before she can get a word out, Travan stabs her through the chest with the branch.
“You’ve given me…wood,” Travan murmurs to the dying witch. His brow crinkles, and he abruptly releases the branch—and consequently the witch who’s still attached to it. “Huh. That catchphrase was a little too perverted even for me, don’t you agree? How about instead… Do you want some milk and sugar with that tree?”
“He’s crazy,” Ashton breathes in horror.
“Yes, he is.” Gerry swallows. “You guys need to find Kyle and Silas. Now. They’re the only ones who may be able to calm him down.”
Reid balls his hands into fists. “But Izzy?—”
“Do you think the witches will ever give her back if we kill half their coven?” Gerry hisses. “Travan won’t stop until someone stops him. And the only person who can stop him and not be killed isn’t here. Kyle and Silas have a fifty-fifty chance of surviving.”
I blink at Gerry, unsure if he’s joking or not. But nope. There’s not a hint of mirth in his eyes. He’s one hundred percent serious.
