Then she paused. Mateo would fight for her. The witches would fight to defend their home even against their own daughters. If she went out there, the fight would get a hundred times worse.
She dove for the broken window above the bed. She had to get the books destroyed. Everything stopped the moment these books were gone.
She needed her hands. She looked around and grabbed a pillow. She ripped the pillow out of its case and stuffed the two books into it. She slung that over her shoulder and examined the jagged remains of the window.
You couldn’t have told me to bring gloves?she asked her magic hopelessly.
She tried to knock the biggest pieces out of the bottom frame as quickly as possible before grabbing the abandoned pillow and wedging it over the window. She vaulted up and through the hole.
She winced as something sliced deep into her thigh and her palm before landing hard in the bushes outside the house.
She lay there with the wind knocked out of her for a second. As she rolled over, she saw sharp spikes inches from her body. She snickered, imagining the giant wolf walking daintily over the spikes. Clearly, they hadn’t studied werewolf anatomy closely enough before they designed their defenses. She was aware she was slightly hysterical, and the fact that she had nearly impaled herself moments ago was not a laughing matter, but she couldn’t stop.
She staggered to her feet, and one spike brushed against her leg, far sharper and more painful than wood should be.
“That was my one good leg!” she scolded the spike, feeling the blood coursing down her other leg from the glass.
She couldn’t worry about that now.
She staggered to her feet and came face-to-face with a werewolf. For a second, she was relieved that Mateo was out of the kitchen, but then she saw the scar.
She froze as a growl rumbled through its chest.
“I’m trying to help,” she whispered. Then pulled the only card she had, though she hated to do it. “Mateo would be really mad at you if you ate me.”
He snarled.
“Do you want the witches to take these books and rip your wolf away from you?”
He stepped forward, and she plastered herself against the crinkly bushes.
Maybe she shouldn’t have explained.
“I’m stopping them. We’re stopping them. That’s what we’re doing. Let me help you!”
For a timeless moment, she stared into black eyes and was vaguely aware of some advice she’d heard to not meet a predator’s eyes, but she couldn’t look away.
Then, bizarrely, she felt a connection snap in a place between her and Mateo, far away, focused in the kitchen, taking fire, and happy to help.
Stop sacrificing yourself,she sent through the connection.
He didn’t, and the wolf before her seemed to change in her sight from menacing and huge to a friend weaker than she was, which made no sense whatsoever. It blinked and slipped away, which also snapped her connection to Mateo.
Get out of there!she sent hopelessly.
She didn’t waste time. She weaved through the spikes, trying to avoid the tips. There were other wolves around her and the occasional flying crossbow bolt, but she didn’t duck or stop for those either, even as one sliced her arm.
She had to get to the fire. She had to get rid of the books, and all of this would stop. She saw one wolf get hit and winced, realizing what the past few centuries looked like before the treaty. Maybe there was a reason witches and shifters should never be in the same zip code together, if this is what they did to each other.
She couldn’t think like that. She had to go on. She made it to the edge of the lawn, feeling dizzy and weak, but she didn’t stop.
Finally, she reached the fire, sputtering now without anyone feeding it. She remembered the first one she built with him inthat tiny cabin far away, teaching him how to layer kindling under logs to get it to burn hot. She would miss him. She would probably miss him every minute of her life, but at least she could do this for him.
She threw the grimoires into the flames, pillowcase and all, and fell to the ground, unable to stand up with so much blood lost.
The move saved her life.
The pillowcase lit immediately and flared, and then the flame hit the books.
