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Damn it, he didn’t have the time to stand here and argue, and the tone of her thoughts told him it was an argument he wasn’t likely to win, anyway. Short of tying her to the car, there wasn’t much else he could do.
I’ll call if I need help. Just don’t get out of the car before then, okay?
Okay.
Though her reluctance to agree was evident in her mind-voice, he had no real choice but to trust she’d do as he asked.
He headed toward Trina’s house. The wind stirred, tossing his hair and murmuring through the two large gum trees in the front yard. He sniffed the air, but he could smell nothing beyond the warmth of freshly baked bread. He glanced at his watch. If Kir
by’s vision was accurate, the manarei had three minutes to get here.
He hesitated in the shadows filling the driveway. Someone inside the house was vacuuming, but it was a noise muted by the pounding thump of music. It would be useless ringing the front doorbell. Maybe he should check around the back.
He walked down to the gates and whistled softly. No dog came bounding up to greet him, so he went through. The music was louder back here, the beat so heavy it seemed to thump through his body. The yard was a sea of knee-high grass and weeds. Pines huddled along the rear boundary, throwing vast shadows across the rest of the yard. A perfect place for evil to hide, though as yet, he could smell nothing but dampness and mildew.
He ducked past the windows and moved to the far end of the house. Like the backyard, the narrow gap separating the two houses was a mass of weeds and shadows. As hiding places for evil went, it was even better.
He leaned a shoulder against the fence and waited. Minutes slipped by, and the thump of music abruptly died. Through the sudden silence came the sound of humming—an old disco tune he vaguely remembered but couldn’t name.
Down the road, bells began to chime the hour. He glanced at his watch. Ten o’clock. Why wasn’t Camille here? The last thing he needed right now was to face a manarei weaponless …
The foul touch of magic burned across his skin. Halfway down the side of the house, the air began to shimmer and sparkle, until it became a shower of golden lights. Through this, a shadow formed—became a manarei, eyes gleaming like freshly drawn blood in the shadowed half-light.
He reached into his boot and withdrew a small knife. It would be as useless as a toothpick against the creature, but right then, it was all he had. The manarei stepped free of the sparkle, and the shimmering air died away. It sniffed for several seconds, then it snaked its head around, glaring at him and hissing in anger.
“Care to play?” he said, waving the knife before him, as if it were a stick and the manarei nothing more than a playful dog.
The creature leapt. He waited until the last moment and slashed at the manarei’s snarling, snapping jaws before diving away. He hit the ground and rolled quickly to his feet, spinning to face the monster.
It wiped a claw across reptilian lips, smearing black blood across its leathery cheeks. “I will gut you with that little stick.” The manarei’s voice was thick, its words barely understandable. “Then I will consume what little brains you have.”
“Try it,” he muttered, watching its tail rather than its eyes. When a manarei attacked, its spring came from its powerful hind legs. Usually, the tail was the first indicator of an impending attack.
Its tail lashed, and a split second later, the manarei launched itself. He held his ground again, cutting the knife across the creature’s eyes before ducking under its claws and rolling away.
The manarei snarled in frustration. It hit the ground and sprang again, almost catlike in its agility. He scrambled to his feet, slashing desperately with the knife, then ducked away and spun, kicking the creature in the gut. It caught his foot and tossed him forward. He sailed through the air and hit the ground nose first, sliding through the weeds and skinning half his face.
The air screamed again. He rolled away and called to his alternate shape. In panther form, he leapt onto the reptile’s back and bit deep into its neck. Blood gushed, thick and hot, its taste like acid in his mouth. The manarei screamed and reached back, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him off. He slashed with his claws, tearing into the creature’s face, but it tossed him away as if he were nothing more than a lightweight ball. He hit ground feet first, felt the tremor of the earth through his pads and looked up to see the manarei pounding toward him. He twisted around, saw the closeness of the trees and leapt for the nearest branch, scrambling up into the deep, dark recesses of the pine.
The creature snarled and pounded the trunk in frustration. The whole tree shivered. He dug his claws into the branch. Manarei weren’t the best climbers, and right now, this tree was all that stood between him and certain death.
Where the hell was Camille?
Another tremor ran through the old tree, stronger than before. The manarei was thrusting its weight against the trunk, trying to bring it down. Doyle looked up. The top of the tree was beginning to rock ever so gently.
He shifted shape again and wrapped his legs around the branch, holding on for dear life. The tree began to sigh, pine needles rustling, as if stirred by the gentlest of breezes. The branch he was sitting on vibrated to the tune of the manarei’s pounding, jarring his spine. Not even a tree as old as this pine had the strength to withstand the might of an enraged manarei for long.
He reached to his left, plucking pinecones from the nearest branches, and began bombarding the creature. This did little more than seriously annoy it, but right then, that was exactly what he wanted. An enraged creature was more likely to stay put and not remember the woman it was sent here to capture. As long as he stayed out of its way, everything should be okay.
The manarei howled its frustration, then sunk its claws into the trunk and began to climb.
He dropped the remainder of the cones and scrambled to his feet. “You’re not supposed to be able to climb, you bastard!”
The creature merely grinned, revealing long rows of gleaming teeth, and continued to climb. Doyle shifted shape once more and worked his way farther up into the tree. But he was running out of room—and tree—fast. The branch beneath him snapped, and suddenly he was falling. Branches caught at his fur, tearing deep. He twisted, slashing wildly with his claws, trying to regain some purchase but catching only pine needles. He heard the guttural laugh of the manarei and the fetid warmth of its breath wash over him. Felt the air vibrate as the killing stroke closed in.
He twisted desperately, throwing himself to the right, away from the creature—away from the tree. He heard a sharp sound, felt something sting past his ear and the warm rush of blood, then he was hurtling uncontrolled toward the ground.
He twisted again, somehow managing to get feet first before he hit the ground, but the impact shuddered through him. For an instant, it felt as if every bone in his body had shattered.
