Page 20 of The Witch and The Cowboy

“It might not matter anyway.” She sighed. “Okay, Arion. It’s your turn, buddy. I just need to do the liberation spell…a quick protection spell before I set you free.”

“Freya,” I said, “are you okay?”

She swayed on her feet but nodded and whispered something in a strange, lilting language. Warmth slid over my skin, from head to toe, and the wind-powered forcefield was gone. The shrill hum intensified.

“Godsdammit,” Freya muttered and rubbed at her eyes. “They’re draining me…I-I can’t…”

Freya’s eyes rolled back in her head, and her body went slack. I barely caught her before her head hit the ground.

“Freya!” I yelled, but my voice was lost to the incessant hum of magic.

Arion foamed at the mouth, like he had rabies, and meowed wildly. It did nothing to wake Freya up. She was out cold.

“Scared, mortal?” Mara crooned. “Your little girlfriend can’t save you now. And with her out of the picture, there will be no one powerful enough to retaliate against us. The Great Betrayer will be pleased. We might even get a taste of your sister now that you’ll both be dead.”

Rage and fear sharpened my voice.

“My sister has nothing to do with this,” I argued.

My fingers wrapped tighter around the gun. It had never felt so slippery in my hands. Facing off Freya, a part of me had known I wouldn’t actually shoot her. That part of me was quiet now.

“Your sister has everything to do with this,” Mara sneered, then licked her lips. “And she’ll taste so delicious.”

Mara looked at Freya with dark, hungry eyes, as if she forgot I were even there. There was no time to wonder what the hell the witches wanted with my sister. There was only time to stop them.

No one to retaliate against us…

The heartless witch cleared her throat. Her followers watched her with fervor. They giggled and drew closer, then clasped hands. I’d never witnessed such glee for death.

And we would die—Freya, me, Cadence.

Freya had told me a mortal gun was powerless against a bunch of trained witches, and maybe it was, if said witches thought to defend themselves—if they thought I would actually have the gall to strike back.

I raised the gun and fired.

Boom!

The shot reverberated down my arms, to my very bones. Ringing, louder than ever before, deafened my ears.

Mara clutched her stomach, where black, thick blood poured out. She bared her sharp teeth in anger and shock. The rest of the witches rushed to her, but she held up a hand to stop them and barked orders I couldn’t hear.

Freya stirred beneath me then gasped.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she shot to her feet. She paused for one heartbeat at the sight of the gun in my hand and the hole in Mara’s stomach. A heartbeat later, Freya mumbled lilting words.

Arion meowed shrilly, then the sound grew deeper. He transformed—his jaw became as wide as his body, until his body expanded nearly as wide as a horse’s barrel. His calico fur shed and was replaced by a spotted, orange coat that gleamed under the Sun. He shook his new coat, and the ground reverberated under the weight of his huge paws. Talons protruded from them, and fangs extended from his white maw.

“Kill them!” Mara screeched.

Arion lunged for the nearest witch. The woman’s black eyes became even wider, and she scrambled away, but not fast enough. Arion caught her ghostly pale leg, then flung her body into the trees. Something hot splashed against my face. I wiped it away hastily and looked at my palm.

It was blood.

Dark, thick blood.

“Walker!” Freya snapped.

Arion chased the others away, deeper into the forest behind us. Mara hobbled across the creek with the support of two witches, but five witches still launched spells at Freya. She stood inside her crumbling shield of wind. Their magic flooded the air with something akin to an electric current. Goose bumps covered my arms under my jacket, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose.

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