Philippa’s wolf soars past him, and her jaws latch around my throat.
She bears me down to the floor, teeth gnawing into my flesh like she’s determined to chew off my head.
A howl rips through the stadium, and a furry weight slams into the white wolf. Raoul’s black wolf is a demented devil, tearing into his sister’s side with all the fury of a rabid beast. With an agonized whine, she releases my neck and turns to attack him. He meets her onslaught with a storm of snarls and the flash of lightning-white teeth.
The stadium erupts into chaos, shifters shedding their human forms and diving toward us, all of them bent on defending their leader. But the stands also fill with misty shapes moaning in ghostlyvoices, rendered visible and audible by the will of their master. The ghosts can’t stop the shifters, but they’re disorienting and distracting them, preventing them all from descending on Raoul and me at once.
I claw my way across the floor, gaining a little distance from the battling wolves. Much as I want to leap into the fray and help Raoul, I can’t. In addition to the heart wound, my neck has been chewed up. Thankfully, Raoul stopped his sister before she gnawed too deep, but I’m bleeding copiously, and I need to refuel.
My frenzied gaze lands on Gil Leveque, who hasn’t shifted and stands motionless, mouth agape, watching Raoul and Philippa tear into each other.
In wolf form, Philippa can’t give her brother commands. But can she exert her power over him nonverbally? Did he break her control for only a moment, or is he free forever? I need to know…need to help him…need to drink…
Half-conscious, my vision fading, I pull myself toward Gil, already salivating for his blood. Why hasn’t he shifted? Maybe his other shape is something small and defenseless, not ideal for a fight like this one.
I never feel more like an animal than when I’m desperate for blood. The craving steals my reasoning and my higher thought processes, leaving only blind instinct and a visceral, all-consuming need.
Gil must spot my approach out of the corner of his eye because he glances my way, then dives to grab the ax Raoul threw. “Might as well finish you off,” he mutters, hefting it.
I want to close the distance between us and pounce on him, but without my primary heart in play, I don’t have the strength.
Gil lifts the ax over his head, ready for a killing blow.
A whip of shadow snakes through midair and coils around histhroat. It yanks him backward, then lashes around his body in endless loops of darkness, tightening relentlessly.
Erik strides into my view, masked, wearing a black coat. Even in this dire moment, his theatricality makes me smile a little.
“You need this one, sweetheart?” he asks me casually.
I nod, and the shadow ropes snap tight around Gil’s body before rolling him in my direction. I crawl forward, push Gil’s head to the side, and sink my fangs gratefully into his throat.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I am going to deal with our enemies,” Erik says.
I murmur my assent through my mouthful of Gil’s neck, and he stalks toward Raoul and Philippa.
As I drink, pleasure rolls through me, a sensation beyond the comfort of blood. Erik is here. He’s with us. I’m not sure he and Raoul and I can fight off the entire Shifter Collective, but at least if we die, we’ll be together.
Gil Leveque whimpers under my teeth. His blood flows over my tongue in small, warm floods, pumped straight from his artery. He tastes a little like Raoul, but instead of the wildness, there’s an earthy flavor to his blood, something grounded and slimy and vulnerable. Like a worm.
God, how miserable would it be to have awormas your second form?
Out of pity, I give his wound a cursory lick when I’m done.
By now, the other shifters have realized the ghosts aren’t a threat to them, and they’re reaching the floor, bounding toward Raoul and Philippa. Some of them head for Erik, recognizing him as an enemy.
The first one to reach Erik is a huge dog, possibly a wolfhound. At the same time, a giant vulture swoops down toward Erik’s head, talons extended.
I leap to my feet, horror galvanizing my heart and kicking it awake, but I know I can’t make it to Erik in time. Those talons will rip him apart.
A black stag leaps from the stands, giant hooves crashing on the wooden floor as it lands between Erik and the dog. It rears up and, with a jerk of its head, catches the vulture’s wing on the tips of its antlers.
The vulture screams as the stag slings it to the floor and tramples its body beneath merciless hooves. The stag charges the dog next, head down, antlers whipping through the air.
I watch, dumbfounded. Why the hell is one of the shifters protecting Erik?
A pained whine seizes my attention, and I turn toward Raoul and Philippa. She has him pinned down, and several other shifters are closing in—two foxes, a boar, and a handful of coyotes. None of the shifters look quite like normal animals—they’re larger, darker in color, gifted with longer claws, bulkier muscles, and wickedly sharp teeth. They might be able to pass as normal when glimpsed alone or in the shadows, but as a group, they’re unmistakably supernatural, denizens of the uncanny valley, wakening a faint sense of wrongness and horror.
Erik has been warding them off with bursts of energy, whips of shadow, and blasts of mist, but I have no idea how long his magic will last. As the shifters tighten the circle, I spring to Erik’s side and take up a fighting stance. Claws extended, I snarl through my fangs, daring any of them to approach. They hesitate, probably a little shocked that I’m up for combat so soon after being stabbed in the heart.
