Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle #3) - Jocelynn Drake Page 0,118

never wavered. “And the necessary support personnel.”

“How many were you thinking?”

“Several hundred…to start.”

Grey barely swallowed his bark of incredulous laughter. “Would you be keeping them in a central camp? The Weavers could set spells around the camp to protect you from nosy humans while you work.”

“That would be kind of you, but we would hate to trouble you and your friends.”

“It’s no trouble. As I am sure you understand, our entire existence is dedicated to the protection of our world. We would be happy to help you…and your invading army.”

John’s smile grew into something more sharklike. It spread, revealing white teeth that Grey expected to resemble fangs. He was slightly disappointed that they were regular teeth. “Oh good,” he sighed. “That was getting tiresome.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Grey snarled, balling his hands into fists on the table. “There is no finding a balance. Not now. Not after all this time. After all the people that you’ve lost. If that were an option, you would have pursued it already.”

“We did, actually. In the beginning. But it soon became clear that it wouldn’t work. It wasn’t a viable alternative that would keep us both alive. In the end, we’d both die.”

“And we can’t have that.”

“No,” John said with a little shake of his head. “It’s just better if you die.”

“What’s your play here?” A strange relief cut through him as they tossed aside the pretense.

John’s grin was back. “I know you’ve got other Weavers wandering around the mall. You didn’t come alone.”

“And you’re surrounded by humans at peak Christmas shopping season. Do you think we won’t slaughter them all to get to you?”

“I know you won’t.”

The deafening chatter filling the food court came to an abrupt halt so that they could hear Bing Crosby crooning “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” with startling clarity. Every person stopped moving as if they’d become plastic mannequins. Grey wasn’t even sure they were still breathing. His heart skipped for a moment. Cort? His mate’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his shoulder.

“Interesting. I can’t get into your friend’s mind,” John said. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice, but it didn’t overpower the sound of curiosity.

“That’s because he’s my mate. You can’t touch him,” Grey snarled.

“That’s okay. I’ve got plenty here to do the job for me.”

“Cort?” Grey asked.

There was a tiny pause. “Sent.”

His mate had just sent over a prepared text to the rest of the Weavers that they needed to attack now.

Grey launched himself across the table, slamming his fist into John’s jaw. The pestilent’s head snapped back and he tumbled out of his chair onto the grimy tile floor. Grey jumped to his feet, throwing off his unneeded sunglasses. He grabbed Cort’s arm only long enough to give a quick squeeze, and then he was shoving him away. “Get out of here!”

Cort hesitated for a second, his face a mask of worry, but he nodded and took off running through the crowd. The agreement was that he’d head for the nearest exit, which was where Clay was supposed to be stationed. His mate didn’t get more than a couple of steps before the fire alarm blared out over the sounds of Bing Crosby’s Christmas wishes.

When Grey turned to look at John, the pestilent was pushing to his feet. People around them were clutching their ears and huddled in on themselves against the loud alarm. White lights flashed around the mall. Shoppers looked confused by what was happening. Some grabbed their children and bags, then ran toward the exits. Apparently the alarm was enough to startle John, loosening his hold on the people under his spell.

“You thought you were the only one to bring in help?”

An angry roar echoed through the mall and people screamed. A slight tremor followed. John laughed while Grey swore to himself. Baer was not supposed to use his scarier animal forms unless other pestilents showed up at the mall. Same for Clay and his earthquakes. This was getting out of hand fast.

Time to end it.

Grey reached behind him and pulled both Glocks from their hidden holsters and flicked off the safeties. Fuck this shit. He was getting rid of John now. His brothers could deal with the other pestilents.

People screamed and darted away from him, trying to run away from the angry gunman, the supposed fire, and whatever large cat was shrieking at the other end of the mall. Grey lifted the guns, searching for John in the chaos. The pestilent leader dove over a large planter filled