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“Don’t say it like that,” Amora barks, eyes blazing and her fist tightening on her Pop-Tart. It crumbles beneath her grip, bits and pieces raining down to her plate.
I reach out beneath the table and grip her knee with a firm but calming squeeze. Catching her gaze, I say softly, “Down, kitty.”
She bares her teeth at me but then drops her gaze to her destroyed pastry.
Silence falls for a moment before Amora speaks up again.
“Do you guys know anybody who could help? Anyone who’s familiar with the shadow realm or how the shadows work?”
I lean back in my chair, wrapping my fingers around my cooling mug. “Nah. Not anyone besides Quinton and Felicity.”
She looks thoughtful for a minute. “Well, we sought out a witch to help us against the shadow’s poison. So maybe a witch could help us with Frost’s predicament?”
I snort a laugh, although there’s no humor in it. “You really wanna play with the witches again? Look what happened last time. He sold us out to Felicity and promised you to her shadows.”
Her eyes narrow at me, but she forges ahead. “The witch who helped me find you after you left me naked and broken in the mountains,” she said pointedly, eyes narrowing, “might be able to help. She’s in Taos, down in New Mexico. Maybe we could start there?”
I shrug and look to Kian. “It’s as good a plan as any. What do you think?”
He doesn’t even look up from his bowl, just stays hunched over it, shoveling meat and beans into his mouth with an absence of emotion. “I doubt some random witch is going to be able to save Frost.”
Amora glares at him. “I know it probably goes against everything you believe in, but how about a little fucking optimism, huh?”
I huff a laugh, trying to diffuse the tension building between them. “Wait. Have you met Kia—”
Before I can finish my sentence, the back door blasts off its hinges with a crack like thunder.
All three of us jerk in surprise at the sound as deep black shadows pour into the kitchen, spreading out over the walls and cabinets. It happens quickly, as if someone put a recording on fast forward—one of those time lapse videos of the sun’s daily shadows streaking by at warp speed.
I leap to my feet, the chair falling backward behind me. One shadow slips away from the rest and heads right for me, so I throw up my arms to block it. The dark shape slams into my forearms, and I absorb the blow, grunting as it throws me back against the wall.
Amora lets out a curse, leaping up and darting away from the table, nearly tripping over her chair. I’m still vibrating from the hit I took against the plaster as she stumbles and falls at the mercy of the shadows.
Kian roars, leaping over the whole damn table like an Olympian athlete vaulting the bars. He slams into the ground, his legs on either side of Amora as he whips around to fight off the shadows.
“Felicity?” I ask, lashing out against one of the quickly moving dark shapes as it passes me.
Kian snarls, throwing a vicious uppercut at one of the other shadows. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
I pick up my fork, then leap over my fallen chair and sprint for one of the shadows hovering a few feet over Amora’s head. Lashing out with the silverware, I rake the fork across the shadow, and it screams in response. The sound is horrific, like nails on a chalkboard.
As I slash out again with Farmer John’s best silverware, I grunt, “We gotta remember to keep weapons at the dinner table.”
Kian lets out a sound of disgust and doesn’t bother responding.
Fucker just doesn’t get my sense of humor.
Amora scrambles away from the nearest shadows and slaps a hand on the counter over her head. She fumbles on the counter until she manages to get her fingers wrapped around the coffee pitcher, then she whips it out and tosses it at one of the shadows.
The pitcher slams against the wall in a hundred tiny shards.
The shadow doesn’t even notice.
I slam a palm against the shadow over her head, snatching it away before it can hurt her. It’s like putty against my fingers—solid but fluid, colder than a piece of ice. My own shadows flare wildly at their brethren’s proximity, but I grit my teeth and ignore the sudden roiling movement of my marks. Squeezing tightly, I jerk the shadow away from the wall and slam it onto the stove, while I use my other hand to turn on the burner. There’s a soft click, and then a small ring of flame flares up, making the shadow screech. I don’t release it until it catches fire.
I leave the shadow smoldering on the burner and leap away, searching for the next threat. A black shape slides down the fridge and darts toward Amora. She tries to grab it with both hands, but the shadow slips right through her fingers, unaffected by her grasp.
Fuck. I should’ve expected that. We’re made of shadows, so we’re able to fight them. Amora is useless against them. Which means we have to fight the ever-growing influx of shadows and keep her safe at the same time.
Kian snatches at one of the shadows and roars as he slams it into the kitchen table. All four legs collapse beneath the force, and he follows it down, his fingertips digging deep into the dark shape.
Unfortunately, we’re not going to get far if we don’t shift. We need teeth and claws, not brute human strength.
So I let my magic roll over me.
My legs and arms lengthen, and my torso grows beyond the physical limitations of my human form. Shadows ripple around me, sliding off me like smoke, and all of my senses grow stronger, more potent. As my shadow wolf sight kicks in, I latch my gaze onto the nearest shadow and lunge.
I snatch at the shadow with my jaws and shake it wildly, trying to break it before I toss it against the wall. The shadow screams like a banshee, high-pitched and piercing, and then hits the drywall with a dull thwack. As it slides down the wall, I lash out at it with my paws. My claws cut into the billowing black smoke, and the dark form shreds into pieces.
“Nooooo,” the shadows hiss.
I straighten and glance around, startled by the strange chorus of voices.
They whisper again, a creepy as fuck sound. “He said you weren’t strong enough…”
I glance across the kitchen, catching Kian’s eye. He’s shifted too, and his giant shadow wolf form looms over the table. Amora has tucked herself into a corner of the kitchen, a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. Useless, given how she can’t do anything against the shadows.
He, I point out to Kian.
