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The remaining shadows have him cornered.
Shit.
Moving almost like a single unit, all three of us lunge across the room to his aid. The shadows swirl around us like storm clouds, and I duck and twist away from them while the men fight. Without the light illuminating the room, it’s harder to see them, and even harder to keep from being brained by one of them as they dodge and attack.
In the midst of the chaos, I take a blow to the head that knocks me off my feet.
Lights flicker in my vision, and I sail backward, hitting the table. The wobbly piece of shit slips out from beneath me, and I fall, banging my head on the edge before slumping blearily to the floor.
A shadow looms over me, blocking out the ambient streetlights coming in through the window overhead. I struggle to see it, blinking rapidly as I try to make the world come into focus again. I can’t even seem to pull enough air in my lungs to yell for help.
Suddenly, over the grunting and cursing from the guys, I hear a new voice.
A soft, intensely creepy whisper.
A whisper that feels like it’s more inside my head than in the real world.
“Leave her,” the voice hisses.
The shadow hovering over me undulates in what can only be irritation. An answering whisper, higher pitched than the first, replies, “But she is so bright.”
The first whisper grows harder. “The witch wants her alive. He must receive his payment. Leave her.”
The witch wants her alive. His payment.
Goddammit. That motherfucking Comic-Con piece of shit.
He sold us out.
Frost appears from nowhere like a shooting star. His pale hair flutters around his hard face as he launches at the shadow above me. I watch, equal parts horrified and mesmerized, as he slams into the shadow and both of them crash through the window.
I throw my arms up and squeeze my eyes shut against the deluge of broken glass. Shards rain down on me, and Kian shouts something I don’t hear through my surprise. A moment later, the door flings open and a gust of hot, sandy wind flows past me.
I sit up, swaying a little as my equilibrium balances, and watch as the door slams shut behind Kian and Malix.
Well, they were smart enough to use the door instead of climbing out the window after him.
I grab my knife from under the table where it landed when I fell, then lurch to my feet to follow them.
The moon is high in a crystal clear night sky dotted by hundreds of stars. A gray wash of light splashes over the feral shifters as they fight with the shadows in the parking lot.
Frost is on the sidewalk just outside our room as smoke filters away from him. His knife blade is still jammed against the concrete where he defeated the shadow who almost killed me, and the blade is broken from how hard he stabbed the thing. He tosses his broken weapon aside and climbs to his feet, then casts me a single glance that I can’t read before he sprints into the parking lot to join his brothers.
Kian ducks a blow from a shadow, but not quick enough, and he slams into an SUV. The alarm begins to blare, and the headlights start to flash right into someone’s motel room. But he’s back in motion almost immediately, undeterred by the noise. Frost joins him—weaponless this time—but punches out at the shadow with his fists.
They’re fighting harder now, and fury seems to cloak all three of them. Malix slams a shadow into a small, rusted out coupe, caving in the hood. Kian kicks a shadow into one of the shoddy landscaped trees, snapping the trunk in two. Frost runs interference for both of them, and I just stand on the sidewalk holding my useless fucking knife.
Doors begin to open up and down the motel block. Further down, where the ambient glow of the lobby spills onto the asphalt, I see the proprietor emerge in his casual khakis and Oxford, a cell phone pressed to his ear.
Great. Probably calling the cops.
Malix takes out the third shadow with his dagger, breaking a car window in the process. A moment later, Frost and Kian corner the last shadow against the building and slice it to bits too.
The resulting silence seems far too loud.
Kian straightens, still clutching his dagger as he glances around at the gawking civilians.
“Get your things,” he tells the rest of us sharply. “We’re leaving.”
