“My sister’s child won’t be one. You harm a hair on that baby’s head and I’ll find a way to fucking gut you.” Fenrir didn’t respond to that threat, and Patrick drew in a steadying breath. “Everyone, get ready.”
Nadine opened the rear portion of her shield so Lucien and Carmen could slip back behind the first circle of acolytes. Patrick paid the pair no mind once they were out of sight, knowing they could take care of themselves.
“Can you get a shield around Hannah?” Patrick asked. Nadine pressed her lips into a hard line as she nodded, most of her attention on holding off the frontal attack from Dominion Sect mages. “Then do it.”
“That won’t stop Ethan’s spell,” she warned.
“I know, but it’ll give Spencer some cover.”
Spencer glanced at Patrick, understanding dawning on his face. “I don’t have the power to do what you’re thinking about.”
Patrick raised his dagger, a dozen pale blue mageglobes forming in front of him. “I do. I just need you there to help me.”
“Ready?” Nadine asked.
Patrick nodded, breath coming faster than he’d like. “Ready.”
She pulled back her shield, and Patrick let loose his mageglobes, aiming for the Dominion Sect mages rather than Ethan. Jono and Fenrir had that covered.
Fenrir’s aura cracked wide open, his godhead pouring out around Jono’s form like incandescent fire. As they raced across the courtyard, the shine of Fenrir’s godhead trailed behind them like a comet’s tail.
Patrick followed after them, keeping his own personal shields up against the explosions of magic that rent the air in the courtyard. The force of the blasts was pressure against his shields, but he stayed upright.
Spencer and Fatima veered sharply away from Patrick, heading for Hannah. Nadine had clamped a shield around Patrick’s twin, and though it was holding up against the pounding the Dominion Sect mages were giving it, he knew it might not last if Ethan set his sights on it.
Which was why Patrick was intent on playing bait.
This wasn’t like Cairo, where Patrick’s indecision had stayed his hand. It wasn’t like last year in Central Park, where the start of the end had begun. They were in the weeds of Ethan’s desire come to fruition, and the only way to stop him was to steal back what had never belonged to him in the first place.
Patrick couldn’t save his sister, and he’d live with that guilt until the day he died, but he could save Hannah’s baby.
He could save Macaria.
The only thing standing in the way of that was Ethan.
He didn’t know what kind of god Ethan had tried to become, but the underlying power choking the very air around them was proof enough of a strength Patrick couldn’t hope to win against alone. Which was why he let Fenrir and Jono take point, and the rest of his pack and the last straggle of allies with them guarded his six.
Ethan’s magic built up like a tsunami, crashing into him with an amount of force that should have driven Patrick to his knees. He kept his dagger up, left forearm braced against his right, and the point of the gods-given weapon aimed at his father. The explosion of heavenly light at the tip formed a glittering golden barrier that expanded around Patrick, taking the brunt of Ethan’s attack in a way his own magic couldn’t handle.
Through the glare of Ethan’s magic, Patrick watched Fenrir dodge the first blast aimed his way, then a second, intent on his prey in a way Patrick had never seen before. Jono’s fur shimmered with the outline of an impossibly larger wolf, the stretched-out shape of the god hidden in the shadow that followed his every step.
Magic cut Patrick’s way from his right, and he sent three mageglobes in that direction to intercept them. The shockwave spell he let off knocked a couple of hunters over, but the Dominion Sect magic users standing on the spellwork around them never moved. The lines of the spellwork were a sinister shade of bloodred, crawling up their bodies to anchor them in place.
Thunder rumbled loudly above, the rain and wind from the reactionary storm rising in strength. Patrick gritted his teeth and forced himself to take a step, then another, shoulders aching from the strength it took to hold up the dagger.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a hunter running toward him, the demon staring out of her eyes with enough hate to be personal. Then a green mageglobe slammed into her, exploding against her back with enough force that her spine protruded through the front of her rib cage.
With Nadine and Spencer keeping watch, Patrick focused on Ethan. The pressure of magic against his dagger let up only because Fenrir had finally gotten within range to inflict damage with teeth and claws. Ethan could want to murder Patrick all he liked, but not when he had to face off against an actual god.
Ethan’s magical attack abruptly dissipated. Patrick stumbled before getting his feet back under him. He conjured up a couple more mageglobes to hold in reserve and kept moving, knowing that to stand still in a fight was a good way to die.
Fenrir had forced Ethan away from the altar, looking larger than life amidst the glow from the spellwork. The god snapped his teeth at Ethan’s arm, the snarl he let out reverberating through the air. Ethan stepped back out of reach with a fluid quickness no mundane human would ever possess. He still held Hannah’s baby in his other arm, the twisted connection of their souls and the godhead shining in the air around them.
Patrick ran toward them, not sure how to get between the two without coming to harm, when his forward momentum was abruptly reversed. The explosion that erupted right in front of him threw him off his feet and sent him flying across the courtyard.
He expected to hit the ground—was preparing himself for the crash landing—when strong arms caught him around the waist in midair and broke his fall. Patrick twisted with Lucien, the both of them slamming into several of the magic users standing on the concentric circles of the spellwork.
“Fuck,” Patrick gasped out as they landed on something softer than the ground.
