lot on the lower East Side of Manhattan, between performance locations. The tents were packed away and the trailers were nestled close together, as if huddling against the winter wind.
Rosanna, who ran the Circus of Wonders, couldn’t sleep. She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, the same kind of premonition she often had when a shifter in need stumbled into the circus. Those interactions weren’t always easy, as the abused or hunted tend to be slow to trust. She paced in her trailer, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, and waited impatiently.
It was in the early hours of the next morning when the assault came out of the blue.
Or out of Fae, as it were.
There were a dozen blinding flashes of silver light, all occurring simultaneously throughout the makeshift camp. Before Rosanna even got the door of her trailer unlocked, several propane tanks had exploded. Trailers were rocking, many in flames, and she heard the screams of trapped friends. She ripped open the door to find wolves with their tails on fire, Fae warriors slaughtering whoever they could reach, corpses on the ground, and too much blood.
Fae warriors couldn’t be mistaken for any other kind, with their blond good looks, taut bodies and ruthless savagery. Their weapons shone with an eerie silver glow, one that Rosanna had learned to despise.
Ivan—the biggest of the bear shifters—reared over a Fae warrior and snarled, taking a swipe at the intruder with one lethal claw. The Fae warrior danced backward, moving quicker than light, then stabbed Ivan in the gut with his dagger of silver fire. Another two Fae warriors jumped Ivan from behind, slitting his throat and stabbing him in the back.
Ivan’s mate, Natasha, and his twin sons, Bernard and Helmut, joined the battle in their father’s defense, but it was too late. Ivan staggered, and the Fae flung him into the harbor before slaughtering the rest of the family. It happened so quickly and was so vicious that Rosanna was shocked.
Worse, there was carnage everywhere she looked. Djinns flitted through the battle in agitation, and even they were slashed to ribbons. The air shimmered blue as circus members shifted shape, and more explosions rent the air as trailers burned.
Animals were being released, but those that couldn’t shift shape—the elephants, tigers, monkeys and snakes, among others—were uninjured, at least. Their freedom would make trouble for the circus, though, and Rosanna worried that they’d be hurt. The automatons were all running even though they weren’t plugged into any electrical source, spilling music and patter into the air in a crazy cacophony. Lights were flicking on and off all over the camp.
Rosanna shifted to her demon form to join the battle. No sooner had she stepped out of her trailer than a Fae warrior ambushed her from one side. His blade sliced one of the horns from her head, then he vanished into a silver sliver of light. She felt her own blood on her cheek and was sickened.
She knew with complete certainty in that instant that her cousin, Lilith, was dead. Rosanna shivered, hating her gift of foresight in that moment, then was furious.
How dare Maeve choose who would live and who would die?
Rosanna shouted and jumped into the fray, kicking the knife out of one Fae warrior’s hand. He spun and snatched it up, then slashed at her. She ducked, he flashed past her and struck down a werewolf, then turned on her again. The Fae moved like lightning, cutting down shifters on all sides, until one, obviously the leader, gave a shrill whistle.
“Leave the rest,” that Fae said. “Someone has to be a warning to the Others that remain.” He laughed and the warriors returned to the portals they’d sliced between realms. “Alaska calls.”
Alaska? What—or who—was in Alaska?
The Fae vanished as one, sealing the portals and leaving bloodshed and death behind them.
The entire attack couldn’t have lasted a minute.
Rosanna could hear sirens in the distance—the last thing she needed was trouble with human authorities, but there wasn’t enough magick in the world to make this disaster disappear. She saw Caleb run into the park in his wolf form and stop cold to stare. He was fast, but he hadn’t been fast enough to make a difference.
The Circus of Wonders had to pack up and move, and they had to do it immediately.
Something was wrong.
Wynter could smell trouble, and her nose was the sharpest in her pack. Not that her skills meant much in a wolf shifter pack—her gender meant