Page 65 of Doyle

"I've got you," Ivan said, grabbing the young shifter and pulling him to safety.

The witches turned their attention to me, their faces twisted with rage. I knew I had to buy Ivan some time.

With a surge of adrenaline, I charged at the witches, ignoring the pain in my side.

I managed to disarm one of them, but the other struck me with another blast of dark energy. I fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

"Doyle!" Ivan shouted, but I waved him off.

"Get the kid out of here!" I managed to gasp.

Ivan hesitated, then nodded, hauling the shifter out of the chamber.

The witches advanced on me, their expressions triumphant. I struggled to my feet, determined to hold them off.

Just as they were about to strike, Ivan returned, his eyes blazing with fury.

With a roar, he opened his mouth and unleashed a torrent of fire, incinerating the witches' spells.

The chamber shook with the force of the explosion, and the witches screamed as they were engulfed in flames.

Ivan rushed to my side, helping me to my feet.

"Come on, we need to get out of here," he said urgently.

I nodded, wincing at the pain in my side. Together, we made our way out of the tunnels, the young shifter clinging to Ivan.

As we emerged into the cool night air, I finally allowed myself to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Are you okay?" Ivan asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"I'll be fine," I said, though the pain in my side told a different story. “And the kid?”

“He’ll be fine. Man, I can’t believe we managed to get out,” Ivan said, a small smile breaking through his serious expression.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MICHAEL

I saton the porch of Zane's house, anxiously awaiting Doyle and Ivan's return.

My phone buzzed earlier with a text from Doyle, saying the rescue mission was a success but that he had gotten a scratch.

I wondered if he was downplaying his injury.

Finally, I saw Doyle's truck pulling into the driveway. The moment Doyle got out, I ran up to him and hugged him.

At Doyle's grunt, I looked down, horrified to see his bloodied side.

"What happened?" I demanded. "That's not just 'a scratch'."

Ivan chuckled as he opened the car door for a frightened-looking shifter in his early twenties.

The young man looked at Zane's house, wide-eyed, reminding me of a prey animal ready to bolt at the first opportunity.

I felt a wave of sympathy, recognizing a bit of my own past fear in the newcomer's expression.

"Michael, do you think you could sit with him awhile in the kitchen?" Doyle asked. "He's scared of both Ivan and me, and doesn't want to talk."

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