Before she could reach her target, a streak of black fur shot past her with a snarl like a chain saw. She jerked back—another one?—and almost swung her sword at the great black wolf. Then she realized it was slashing at the Direwolf’s huge muscled haunches with fanged jaws.
Lancelot had vanished. Where’d he . . . ? Holy hell, he’d become the wolf. Ridge had said shape-shifting was a vampire ability.
At least the blond girl was making good use of the distraction the vampires had provided. On her feet again, she staggered from the clearing, throwing panicked glances back over her shoulder as she ran.
Her would-be killer howled in frustration, but couldn’t get past Ridge and Lancelot to follow.
Where the hell was Grace? Kat had hoped the other woman would come with her husband, but apparently not. Too bad, because they could have used a Maja who knew what the hell she was doing.
Well, Kat had a sword and a couple of vampires. That would have to be enough.
She focused on the towering monster. Ridge and wolf Lance were circling him, one distracting him while the other darted in to slash with sword or teeth. Kat slid into the space between them, looking for an opening for her own assault.
Now—while he was focused on Ridge. Kat lunged, swinging her sword.
He wheeled, quicker than any cat. One huge hand snapped around her armored neck and jerked her right off her feet. His other hand wrapped around her helmeted head, started to pull . . . Oh, Jesus, he’s going to rip my head right off my shoulders! She yowled in terror and swung her sword, but he was too close, and the blade’s guard glanced harmlessly off his shoulder.
The werewolf howled in agony, his clawed hand losing its grip. Kat fell like a rock, hitting the ground in a teeth-rattling heap of armor and blade.
Over her head, Lancelot the wolf had buried his fanged jaws in the werewolf’s groin. The monster swung one enormous paw, catching the vampire across the skull. Lance’s furry body went flying, slamming with vicious force into a tree. The wolf bounced off the trunk, hit the ground, rolled.
And did not get up.
“Lancelot!” Kat’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest.
Ridge assessed the situation with all the skill his sixty years of combat experience gave him.
We’re screwed.
Kat had taken a raking stroke down her torso, Ridge was wounded, and Lance was unconscious. At least they had all done damage to the . . .
Magic flared and pulsed around the Direwolf, blinding and blue. When the glare died, the creature had become a golden-furred wolf the size of a pony. It gathered itself to dive on Kat, who still lay stunned at its feet.
Ridge stepped in, swinging his sword like a baseball bat. The wolf fled, snapping. Before Ridge could catch it, magic swirled around the big beast again, and the Direwolf was back, injuries fully healed by his magical transformation.
Yeah. We’re screwed.
He could heal his own wounds by transforming—so could Lance, when he regained consciousness—
but there was always a moment of disorientation to the process. It wasn’t much, but the Direwolf wouldn’t need much of an opening to lay one of them open with those claws.
The son of a bitch was not only nine feet tall, with the strength to match, he was incredibly fast. It was no surprise they were having so much trouble defeating him: Dire wolves had been created by Merlin himself to kill rogue Magekind. Too bad the alien wizard hadn’t realized the problem they’d face if a Direwolf went rogue.
If they could get a call to the Mageverse, they could bring in reinforcements. Unfortunately, Kat was having trouble with her magic. Which was no surprise; Ridge knew more about using magic than she did.
Kat was up at last and running toward Lancelot, apparently intent on helping her father. The werewolf lunged after her, jaws snapping. Ridge cursed and raced in the creature’s wake. The monster whirled on him, a long arm lashing out. Metal shrieked as those huge claws ripped a hunk out of his helm. Blood flew. He ignored it, swung his sword. Cursed under his breath as the Direwolf ducked with that incredible speed and agility. Ridge continued his attack, forcing the monster away from Kat, who whirled away from Lancelot and moved to help him.
They had one chance—and it wasn’t much of one. If he and Kat could Truebond, they could reinforce each other’s power and experience.
Normally it would take hours of work and magic to form the intense psychic link of a Truebond.
Luckily, Ridge and Kat were already partially linked from triggering her Gift earlier that evening. If he could deepen that link . . .
He found the thin connection already fading in the back of his mind and threw his consciousness along it. Kat . . .
Ridge? Astonishment rang in her mental voice. How . . . ?
We’ve got to Truebond. Combining our abilities is the only chance we’ve got to beat this bastard and survive.