He raised his dagger instead of conjuring up another mageglobe, bracing his other hand behind the hilt. The blood spell that cut through the air was one he’d seen only during his time in the Mage Corps. It could pull a person’s blood out of their veins and drain them dry faster than a vampire. It killed in less than a minute, and Patrick couldn’t let it hit anyone but him.
So he didn’t move.
Patrick pushed his dagger through his shields, white heavenly fire exploding out of the matte-black blade when the blood spell hit. The prayers and magic that powered the gods-given dagger tore Zachary’s spell apart—and something else tugged at Patrick’s soul.
It left him reeling, sent him staggering forward a step as his magic fluctuated in his soul. He nearly got sick when he realized what it meant.
Whoit meant.
Because it wasn’t the soulbond he had with Jono, but something else. Some connection he’d thought had died in that basement in Salem all those years ago.
Patrick pressed a shaking hand to his chest, fabric scraping over the scars there as what had once tied him to Hannah before Ethan severed it scratched at his soul.
Twins knew each other, whether identical or not, and always would.
No amount of magic or trauma would ever change that.
The strike spell came out of nowhere, slamming into him with a strength that made the scars on his soul feel like they should bleed. Patrick’s shields wavered, then were ripped ragged through a blood connection that was always everyone’s forgotten back door into any spell.
He should’ve remembered that.
Patrick re-layered his shields as best he could, fighting the faint pull in his soul that sought to undermine his magic. The aftershocks of the spell made his skin burn, the rain slipping through his damaged shields not enough to cool it.
“Patrick?” Wade yelled, sounding worried.
Wind blew fog over the cemetery headstones as Hannah Greene walked toward them, slipping through the veil in the way only gods could. She looked mostly how she had back in June—starved to a thinness that looked painful. Hannah wasn’t dressed for the weather. She was barefoot and wearing a silk nightgown the rain had plastered to her pale skin. Her long red hair was tangled around her body in wet waves.
Even from the distance between them, Hannah’s aura was cracked open like a dying star, shining with a burn to it that Patrick only ever saw in gods. Its power was muted though, twisted through with mortal ties that held in place. Patrick’s lungs locked up, panic making his heart beat so fast he could barely hear anything over the rushing sound of blood in his ears.
Because if Hannah was here, Ethan couldn’t be far behind.
“Shall I dig your grave?” Hannah asked, giving voice to Ethan’s wants. “There are plenty here to put you in.”
The cadence to her voice matched Marek’s when the Norns spoke through him, or Jono when Fenrir took control. It was the voice of a trapped goddess having shredded his sister’s throat over the years.
Patrick opened his mouth but couldn’t find any words, his thoughts tangled up in white noise in his head.
He froze, when he couldn’t afford to.
Wade, however, didn’t.
A large red clawed foot slammed to the ground in front of Patrick as a wing swept down, blocking out everything. A roar that shook the ground shook Patrick out of his stupor as dragon fire burned through the rain and blood magic Zachary was casting.
“No!” Zachary yelled over the noise.
Scared yips and howls from the werecreatures who had shown up were joined by the surprised shouts of first responders beyond the cemetery fence. It was enough to force Patrick’s fractured focus into something whole.
“I said don’t shift!” Patrick called out in a hoarse voice.
The red wing moved and a wedge head with black horns snaked downward on a long neck. The golden eye with its reptilian pupil blinked at him before snorting out a disdainful puff of smoke and fire that charred the brown grass in front of Patrick’s feet.
The fog started to dissipate beyond where Wade was crouched over Patrick. He tightened his shields and stepped around the dragon leg in his way, shoving his hand against Wade’s scaly head to get eyes on the enemy.
The cemetery was empty where they had been.
The absence of Hannah and Zachary left Patrick feeling sick to his stomach rather than relieved. His gaze swept the cemetery, seeing a multitude of wolf eyes reflecting back at him, none of which were the color of a god pack.
“All of you need to get out of here. I’ll make sure the police know none of you were present,” Patrick said, not bothering to raise his voice. The werecreatures could hear him just fine.
