Master of Desire (Merlin's Legacy #6) - Angela Knight Page 0,4
shouted, as she flipped onto her hands and knees and scrambled toward him. A furry arm wrapped around her waist, and she drove an elbow back into her captor’s head. Pain cracked up her arm with the impact, but something crunched as the wolf yipped and let go. She bolted to her feet, but a big red dire wolf landed directly in her path. Two more closed in, hulking and huge. If I don’t get Liam, I’m fucked. She was good in a fight, but taking out five male werewolves was pushing it.
“Smell that?” Big Red made a show of sniffing the air as he stalked her. “The bitch is in her Burning Moon.” He gave her a slow, vicious smile. “This is going to be fun --”
She lunged before he got the rest out of his mouth. He was apparently used to women more easily terrified than Helena, because his block was slow. Her claws tore into his face even as red-hot pain exploded through her other arm. Twisting, she saw a brown wolf had his fangs sunk into her forearm. His talons raked her belly. Swearing, she went for the wolf’s glaring orange eyes. He jerked away in a shower of her blood. Then all five were on her, and she was too busy punching, kicking, clawing, and biting anything that got close -- fighting like the animal she was.
* * *
Conal convulsed as the werewolves closed in on his would-be rescuer. His chains rattled. Any full-blooded Sidhe would have made short work of them -- the supposed Fairy allergy to cold iron was a myth -- but he just didn’t have that much power. Twisting his wrists, he groped for the link he’d been trying to burn through. Torture made it tough to cast spells.
Blood loss, shock and pain had taken a toll on his abilities, but the sight of the female werewolf going down under her attackers sent a wave of blessed adrenaline through his body. Magic flared between his fingertips, and Conal gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain the shield that protected his skin as the link blazed hot, then finally parted. He wrenched with the last dregs of his strength. Metal rattled as the ends of the chain dropped to the floor. Panting, he struggled to unwrap the loops. Finally the last of them fell away, and he heaved out of the chair. The room spun, but he steadied himself, tried to take a step… and fell on his face. He’d forgotten the chains binding his ankles to the chair legs. The impact jarred his savaged chest and belly, sending black spots dancing in front of his eyes. The darkness closed in…
Liam Neeson yelled in his ear, “Get up, boy, before they kill her!”
“The… fuck?” Blearily, he managed to open his eyes and turn his head toward the sound.
A shotgun lay on the floor about a yard away. “I said, get up!” the voice bellowed, coming from the weapon. Must be using the same speech spell as Essus. It still sounded like the Taken guy. The light finally dawned. That’s not an actor, that’s Maeve’s pet death god. Which meant his werewolf rescuer was Helena Baker. “Pick me up!” the gun demanded. “The geas only lets me use my power if someone’s touching me.”
Which suggested Maeve didn’t trust the fucker. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but Conal didn’t care. Even as another blazing wave of pain slashed his shredded belly, he groped for the gun with a shaking hand and managed to grab Liam’s fat barrel. It felt hot under his fingers. “My ankles are still chained.”
Magic swirled around his legs. “Not anymore.”
His feet fell away from the chair, which now lay toppled across his butt. He kicked it away, gasping as agony ripped through him. “Can you heal me?”
“What part of ‘death god’ don’t you get?”
Damn it. He gathered his strength and forced himself to hands and knees. Teeth gritted, he braced his hand on the fallen chair and managed to stagger upright, dragging the gun with him. Conal remembered an unpleasant rumor. “Don’t kill me.”
“Fine! Just save Helena!” Was that fear in the god’s voice?
Steadying himself, Conal raised the weapon. Christ, Liam was heavy. One of the kidnappers, red as an Irish Setter, staggered back from the knot of battling werewolves, clutching a sliced throat. Conal fired, bracing himself against the shotgun’s ferocious kick. It almost knocked him on his ass, but the red werewolf’s head exploded.
One down. He shifted his aim