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“Then who the hell are you?” Hale had already met all the Weavers, mates, and goddesses. He couldn’t even begin to guess who this handsome yet scary person was.
“A friend of the Weavers. The goddesses sent for me. Now, the armory? Where is it?”
Oh! That was much better. The guys had never mentioned the goddesses sending in more help, but they certainly needed it.
Hale took the lead, hurrying down the hall toward the armory. There was one main entrance to the room and a set of narrow French doors that connected to the front porch. That made the space much easier to protect.
The man’s quick dark eyes darted across the long table filled with weapons. He released Hale only when he had his back shoved against a bookcase in the far corner that gave him a good view of both doors. The man then moved to the French doors and peered out between the thin white curtains.
“Which of them are you?” the man inquired.
“Hale. Hale Anderson. I just arrived. I’m the Air Weaver.”
The stranger’s head slowly turned toward Hale. His eyes were wide, and his face had become incredibly pale. The bloodbath outside had not disturbed him, but something about what Hale had said had clearly shaken him.
“It’s true,” he whispered. “The Weavers Circle is finally complete.”
Chapter
Two
Harrison had arrived at both the best and worst possible time.
Best in that it was time to fulfill his life’s goal.
Worst because the protection spell around the Weavers’ home had fallen.
The goddesses had informed him of the spell and that it would break when the Weavers Circle was complete. He’d come fully armed and anticipating problems, but he’d not planned for it to be quite this bad. He was down to his last few bullets, and he’d barely gotten past the swarm of pestilents.
He eyed the weapons on the table. At least he had some options if the other Weavers didn’t get the pestilents under control soon. He could use a machine gun in a pinch.
Sweat dampened his underarms and he turned a full circle, not sure what he should do next. This kind of situation was completely new to him. He was used to books. And more books. Of course, he had trained his whole life for this, but to actually be in the thick of things was new.
Shots were fired somewhere outside followed by the sound of shattering glass on the second floor. Even through the French doors, Harrison heard birds squawking as they attacked the pestilents. An animal roared. One of the men shouted followed by the rat-a-tat-tat of more gunfire.
The noise abruptly cut off and he stared at the Air Weaver, trying to figure out what had happened. The immediate silence made his ears ring. Hale stared back at him. God, he was young. Young and very, very blond with long, wavy hair to his shoulders. Piercing, light-blue eyes looked into his soul.
“I got another protection spell up!” someone yelled from deeper inside the monstrously large place. “Is everyone alive? Call out!”
Voices shouted out as Harrison and Hale continued to stare at each other. They grew louder as the pounding footsteps rushed toward them. Something finally drew Harrison back to Hale’s side so that he positioned his body in front of the smaller man, his fingers tightening around the grip of his gun. Logic said that only the Weavers remained in the house, but some deeper need demanded he shield the helpless Weaver in front of him.
Several men filed into the room, all looking a little worse for wear. Blood smeared their clothes, but not a lot, thank goodness. A Black man was holding his arm to his chest.
“Sweetheart!” a dark-haired man shouted, hurrying to his side.
The injured man smiled sweetly. “It’s not that bad. An easy fix for Dane.” His companion seemed like he was about to argue, but Harrison’s attention was instantly drawn to another tall, Black man that had spotted Harrison and immediately aimed a gun at his head.
Harrison didn’t lower his own weapon or move from his spot in front of Hale. There were six Weavers total, including the one behind him, but there were far more men in the room than just six. Any one of them could be pestilents, but he doubted it. His first urge was to protect the Air Weaver.
“I’m here to help,” he said in a calm, even tone. The gun probably wasn’t helping settle anyone’s nerves, though.
“Who are you?” another man asked, this one with dark hair and tattoos peeking out from the sleeve of his T-shirt. An air of authority clung to him.
“My name is Harrison William Davenport III, and I promise, I was sent here.”
Other men came running into the room, and he was completely dazzled. He wasn’t sure who was who, but he was standing there with the entire Weavers Circle. His whole life had led to this moment. Everything he’d done, had studied, had planned, it all revolved around this very second. Oh my God, it was surreal. His heart threatened to beat through his chest.
