No time to wonder. More were coming. Always more.
She fought her way down the stairs, magic blazing, the inn shuddering around her with each impact. In the lobby, the front doors hung off their hinges. Through the gap, she could see the predawn darkness filled with glowing shapes—an army of salt constructs marching up from the beach.
Someone had done this. Someone had summoned an army to destroy her inn.
Later. She’d figure it out later. If she survived.
The howl cutthrough the chaos.
Deep and resonant and brimming with pack magic, it hit Avine’s ears and her knees went weak for an entirely different reason. Theo. She’d know that sound anywhere—had heard it in her dreams every night since the ward work.
He burst through the shattered doorway in wolf form. Massive. Gray fur rippling over muscles that could tear a construct apart with a single swipe. His eyes found hers across the chaos—steel gray even in wolf form, burning with fury and fear and possessiveness that made her blood sing.
More wolves poured through behind him. Beck, recognizable by his sandy-brown fur and the way he immediately flanked Theo’s position. Others she didn’t know—the pack, responding to their alpha’s call.
They fell on the constructs with savage efficiency. Fangs tore through crystalline forms. Claws raked salt bodies into pieces. The wolves fought as one unit, moving in perfect coordination, covering each other’s blind spots.
Theo’s howl rang out again—not fear this time, but command. Directing the attack. Calling for reinforcements. His pack magic flooded the inn, strengthening the faltering wards, buying time.
A construct lunged at her from the left. She barely got a shield up in time?—
And then Theo was there, wolf form slamming into the thing, jaws closing around its neck. It shattered in his teeth. He spat out and positioned himself between her and the next wave, a low growl rumbling through his massive chest.
“I can fight!” she shouted over the din.
He snarled in response. Not a debate.
Fine. Side by side, then.
TWENTY-THREE
AVINE
The witches arrived in a storm of power and fury.
Cassia came first, wind magic howling around her, scattering salt constructs like leaves in a hurricane. Her eyes blazed with lightning as she strode through the shattered doorway, hair whipping around her face. “Miss me?”
Junie was right behind her, throwing potions that exploded on impact—acid that dissolved constructs, smoke that disoriented them, sticky black tar that held them in place for the wolves to tear apart. “I’m charging you extra for this call-out!”
Dahlia slipped in through the kitchen entrance, shields already raised, soft pink light that looked deceptively gentle but held against construct after construct. Narla flanked her, candles somehow producing flame even in the chaos, fire that burned hot enough to melt salt into glass.
Her coven. Her friends.
Not alone. I’m not alone anymore.
“Formation!” Cassia called, and the witches moved with practiced ease—shields layering, attacks coordinating, magic weaving in patterns Avine couldn’t follow but felt resonating with her own power.
Theo’s wolves worked around them. In them. Two groups that should have clashed operating in seamless unity. Pack magic and witch magic braiding into a defense that held against wave after wave of constructs.
But more kept coming. The source hadn’t stopped.
The sigils burned brighter on the floor. Whatever was powering this attack, it wasn’t tiring.
Avine lost track of time.Lost track of everything except the rhythm of defense and attack, shield and strike. Her muscles screamed. Her magic guttered like a candle in a storm, reserves draining faster than she could rebuild them.
A construct got through their line. Then another. Theo snarled and intercepted one, but the other?—
The other was heading for Dahlia.
