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Chapter Seven
“Creed is down!” Max’s voice shot through his mind. “I repeat, Creed is down.”
“No shit, Cat-Man-Do,” Kayne snapped. “I’m well aware that Creed is down. Unfortunately, I’m handlin’ the three with guns and two with knives right now. These motherfuckers are Demons. When did assholes from the Underworld start using human weapons? And what did we do to piss them off?”
“They designed human weapons. You didn’t really think anybody Topside was responsible for any part of warfare no matter how primitive, did you?” Max’s sarcasm rang loud and clear. The King was pissed and taking no prisoners.
“Well, is it bad that I tried not to think about it at all?”
“Not even a bit. But then I have to ask, did you really think a human Death Squad could get the jump on a Demi-God, the King of the Big Cats and the Leader of the Almighty Paladins?” Max almost chuckled before letting the image of him lengthening his talons and taking out three of their attackers with one mighty swing float through the bond the three formidable Shifters shared.
“Well, when you put it that way… What? Who is that? Is she one of us or one of them? Where did she come from?” Kayne spat. “You seein’ this shit, Creed? Max, you know that woman? Creed? Creed, you there? Creed, where are you?”
The sound of more punches hitting flesh and the whoosh of Kayne’s Dragon Fire preceded the horrific stench of burning Demon flesh as the Leader of the Paladins struggled to respond to his friends. “I’m here!” He yelled again and again, the words bouncing right back then reverberating around inside his head like the banging of a gong.
“Max, can you get an answer from Creed?”
“No, amigo, I’m trying to reach him. However, I too have been quite tied up, thus unable to see him. As soon as I exterminate one of these abominations, two more rear their ugly heads.”
“One of us needs to get over there and see if that woman is one of ours? She’s way too close…” Switching from mindspeak to out loud, Kayne’s roars echoed between the buildings in the city square. “…to Creed! Get the fuck away from him whoever you are!”
Surrounded by Demons, his Magic and his Dragon King subdued by the blackest Sorcery, the Paladin Leader continued to try with all his might to see what was happening. Who had appeared? Were they friend or foe? What Witchcraft had the unholy bastards unleashed that a Guardsman of his age and a Winged Warrior as strong as King Alastair were locked up like a princess’ chastity belt before her twenty-first birthday?
Vicious kicks to the head and stomach, more to his lower back and ribs were nothing compared to the copious amounts of Black Magic being pushed into his body and soul. Letting his eyes slide shut, Creed called upon the Magic of Danu, the Celtic Mother Goddess, to allow him to see.
Slapping back at him, the very enchantment that was meant to help only served to hinder as his eyes watered and his throat threatened to close. Not even the Magic of the Dragon Ancients could break the Mystical walls the Demons were building around him.
Searching his mind and memory for something, anything he could do to defeat his enemies, the sound of chanting cut through the pounding of fists and feet all over his body. Instantly recognizing the Gaelic, as well as the sound of three sisters from the Coven of the Crow, he translated the words in his mind as quickly as they were spoken.
A man you are and a man you’ll stay. Today, you are the sacrifice. Today, you are the Dragon slayed.
“Kayne! Max! Call the…”
But that was as far as he got. No longer able to breathe, much less speak, Creed was completely immobilized. He’d never felt so helpless in all his many years. Not even as a child in the Moors had anyone been able to best him, not even on his worst day.
“What are they after?” He instinctually asked his Dragon King, snarling, “Son of a bitch, how have they separated our minds, Alastair?”
Unable to so much as open his eyes, a weight was placed on his chest, the sting assured him it was made of silver, the acrid stench meant that it was cursed. Summoning whatever strength and Magic they hadn’t already taken from him - Creed was prepared to die before being taken alive.
The Coven of the Crow had been trying to steal Dragon Magic for centuries and had failed every time. Arawn, the Celtic God of Death imbued with the soul of a Dragon King by the Powers That Be at his creation, had been fighting the little bastard for as long as the world has been spinning on its axis.
Now, it was up to Creed. The Coven of the Crow would not win this time.
Not on his watch and not with his Magic.
“What changed? When did the Denizens of the Underworld acquire such strength? Never ones to deal with the Devil, there’s no mistaking that they’re working with a Demon Strike Team. Why now??”
Unfortunately, he was only talking to himself. Alastair might as well have been sunning on the shores of the Isle of Skye, for that was how very far away he felt to Creed.
“Focus, dammit,” he chided himself. “You can figure this out.”
But the longer the Coven of the Crow chanted, the stronger their wicked Spell became. If it didn’t stop soon, there would be no reversing it, there would be no…
And just like that, quicker than a heartbeat, the chanting stopped and so did the beating. In the next breath, the Demon Strike Team was abruptly - and with what sounded like incredible brute force - jerked off the ground and thrown around like rag dolls.
Eyes flying open, finally able to take a deep breath and regain some movement, Creed wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least he could see what was happening. Throwing back his head, he blinked once, twice, three times.
It was unbelievable. He’d only ever seen something like it at the end of a battle. There were bodies everywhere. Some face up and some face down and some just laid out where they’d fallen. Best of all was the sight of seven men and three witches, rolled up into tight black balls, doing their best to writhe in pain and unable to straighten their bodies.
