Then they hit the roadblock.
Three figures stood across the narrow road leading to the safe house. Marcus recognized the middle one immediately: Margaret Thornfield, secretary of the Shadow Council, flanked by two werewolves in human form. Big ones. The kind who enjoyed their work.
“Shit.” He pulled the car to a stop twenty feet away.
“Is that Margaret?” Hazel asked.
“Looks like it.” Marcus cut the engine and checked his tie. When in doubt, lawyer up. “Stay in the car.”
“Like hell.”
They got out simultaneously.
“Mr. Hawthorne. Miss Wickwood.” Margaret’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Mrs. Thornfield.” Marcus shifted into courtroom mode—precise, controlled, dangerous. “I wasn’t aware the Shadow Council had authority to establish roadblocks on public roads.”
“Public roads.” She laughed, high and brittle. “How quaint. You’re on Shadow Council territory now, demon. Different rules apply.”
The werewolves flanking her stepped forward. Marcus felt his demon nature stir in response to the threat, golden energy crackling around his fingers. “She comes with us,” Margaret continued, nodding toward Hazel. “The Council has… questions.”
“No.” The word came out in a voice that belonged to something much older and more dangerous than a lawyer. Marcus stepped forward, putting himself between Hazel and the Council members. “Miss Wickwood is under the protection ofGrimm, Malphas & Associates. Any attempt to interfere with that protection will be met with the full weight of supernatural law.”
“That can be arranged,” one of the werewolves growled, cracking his knuckles.
Bad choice.
Marcus let his human mask slip just enough to show what lurked underneath: five hundred years of demon heritage and a law degree. “Section 15 of the Supernatural Persons Protection Act clearly states that any interference with court-appointed protection constitutes obstruction of justice, punishable by?—”
“Your laws don’t apply here,” Margaret snapped.
“Actually, they do.” Hazel stepped up beside him, her magic beginning to glow around her hands in soft purple light. “And I’m getting really tired of people showing up to threaten me.”
The werewolves charged.
What followed was less a fight than a demonstration. The first wolf leaped for Hazel; Marcus caught him mid-air with a blast of golden energy that sent him spinning into a snowbank. The second came at Marcus’s flank, but Hazel’s purple fire wrapped around his ankles, sending him crashing to the ground.
They moved as one, their magic weaving together in patterns that seemed choreographed despite never having been practiced. His structured golden energy provided scaffolding for her intuitive purple power, while her flexible spells covered gaps in his precise defenses. When the first wolf recovered and charged again, they hit him together: violet and amber light spiraling around each other like a double helix before slamming into his chest.
He didn’t get up a second time.
Margaret Thornfield was trapped in a cage of interwoven magical energy, amethyst threads woven through golden bars, humming with combined power. Her remaining werewolf hadshifted fully now, hackles raised, but he wasn’t stupid enough to attack.
“This isn’t over,” Margaret snarled through the cage.
“Yes, it is.” The demon in his voice made even the conscious wolf step back. “Touch her again, and I’ll show you exactly why hell sent me here.”
He let the cage dissolve. Margaret stumbled, straightened her coat with shaking hands, and jerked her head at her werewolves. They retreated down the road without another word.
Marcus and Hazel waited until they disappeared around the bend before lowering their defenses.
The golden energy faded from Marcus’s hands. He became aware of Hazel watching him—not with fear, not with the wariness most humans showed when they saw the demon underneath. She was looking at him like she’d just seen something she wanted to see again.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” But her eyes lingered on his hands, on the place where the claws had been. “I’ve just never seen you… like that.”
“I try not to…”
