chainsaw, standing protectively over Rory’s limp body. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re knee-deep in the motherlovers!”
“But if we handle them, maybe the Thunderbird will go away,” Darcy said urgently. “It’s our only chance. Blaise, you have to let me try. Leave Fenrir to me.”
Blaise looked unhappy, but she didn’t get a chance to argue. More of the horned serpents were converging on them now, despite Seren’s best efforts. They ignored Darcy, instead concentrating on the shifters. Blaise and Buck had their hands full keeping them off Joe, who was still only semi-conscious.
Maybe they don’t see me as a threat. Of course, that might be because she wasn’t a threat. Pushing down that grim thought, she ran for Fenrir.
He stood with his back to her, gazing up at the Thunderbird. A red symbol glowed between his shoulder blades. Her stomach lurched as she recognized it as the same stylized horned serpent design that she’d seen on Lupa’s forehead.
That mark had always been there, faded and blurred beyond recognition. She’d traced it with her own fingertips, and never thought it was anything more than an old scar. Now it seethed with the same infernal fire as the demons’ eyes.
There was no time to wonder what that meant. The crew had told her about their previous experiences with demonic possession. She grabbed Fenrir’s arm, so tightly that her fingernails dug into his skin. She could apologize for any bruises later. If there was a later.
Fenrir.
With all her heart, she reached for him, striving to touch his soul. She concentrated on everything that he was, all the things that made him Fenrir. The subtle poetry of his deceptively simple speech; his startling, insightful mind and fierce, unshakeable loyalty. The way he moved so lightly through the world; open-hearted, gentle, yet without compromise, totally himself.
He saw her, the real her, like no one else ever had. And she knew him in return, no matter what mysteries still surrounded him. She knew who he was, in the ways that really mattered. Surely that had to count for something. Surely she had to be able to find him, reach him, free him…
Fenrir looked down at her. His mouth curved in an ugly, gloating smile. It was still his face, but it didn’t look like him at all. His eyes shone with the same red fire as the mark on his back.
“Foolish mortal,” he hissed, in that horrible female voice that wasn’t his own. “You think to set your weak, paltry love against all my power? Even if you had mated my son, one pathetic human could never wrest his heart away from me. I am the one who gave him life, my blood moves through his veins. He is mine.”
Son? It sounded bananas, but Darcy would take any opening she could get. She lifted her chin, meeting that burning, mocking gaze without flinching.
“If he’s your son, how can you sacrifice him like this?” She tightened her grip on Fenrir’s wrist. “You don’t stand a chance of getting away. When the Thunderbird strikes again, he’ll be toast too.”
“A shame,” Fenrir—or the creature inhabiting him—agreed, unruffled. “But he is not my only mortal child. And his death will serve me well.”
Above them, sparks arced between the Thunderbird’s jagged feathers. The light from its wings was bright enough now that all their shadows stood out harsh and black on the snow. Darcy’s hair crackled with static electricity.
“You’ll die too!” she yelled. “You’re in his body, you’ll die along with him!”
“You think all of me is here?” The demon chuckled. “Sweet, silly mortal. I am Uncegila, undying and eternal, who waits beneath the world for my time to return. Even now, I am elsewhere, preparing for the final battle. Finally, after all these decades, my total victory is imminent. No one will be able to stop me, once these shifters are dead. And at the Thunderbird’s own hands, too. So wonderfully ironic. In his blind madness, he will destroy his own allies, and so ensure his own downfall.”
Fenrir started to turn his back on her, as though she was of no further interest. Darcy screamed and flung herself at him. She felt like a chihuahua attacking a Great Dane, but at least it got his attention again. He glared down at her with an expression of mild annoyance.
“This is unseemly,” Uncegila said through Fenrir’s mouth. “At least face your fate with some dignity, woman.”
Wouldn’t call a woman a bitch. Women are women. Bitches are bitches.
Such a stupid, stupid time