Page 43 of Soulmarked

“What, ye think I only stab things for a livin'? Sometimes I set 'em on fire too.”

The fire bought us precious seconds, forcing the creatures back. But they were already adapting, already learning how to move around the flames. One got past my guard while I was maintaining the spell, moving faster than thought.

White-hot pain exploded across my side as claws ripped through leather and flesh. I gasped, stumbling back as bloodsoaked through my shirt. Pain was an old companion, but this cut deeper than most. I could feel something wrong in the wound, something cold that spread like poison through my veins.

The creature pressed its advantage, those too-wrong limbs coiling for a killing blow.

Then Cade was there, moving like he'd done this his whole life. He grabbed my arm to steady me while firing point-blank into the thing's skull. The impact should have ended any normal fight, but the Fetch just recoiled, black ichor dripping from wounds that were already closing.

“Silver's not working,” Cade gritted out, keeping himself between me and the advancing creatures. There was something in his stance, a protectiveness I hadn't expected from the fed. Maybe he wasn't as soft as I'd thought.

“Yeah, I feckin' noticed!” Blood ran warm down my side, a sharp contrast to the cold night air. I forced myself upright, ignoring the pain. There'd be time for that later, assuming we survived. “Got one more trick, but it won't be pretty.”

“When is it ever?” Cade's voice held a hint of that dry humor I was starting to recognize. “Whatever you're planning, make it fast. I don't think they're interested in giving us a timeout.”

He wasn't wrong. The creatures were moving with more purpose now, coordinating in ways that showed frightening levels of tactical awareness. They'd learned from our fighting styles, adapted to our weapons, and were now using our own techniques against us.

What I was about to do would probably get me killed if certain people found out. The old witch had warned me that this particular spell came from somewhere darker than most hunters were willing to look. But watching these things wear our movements like stolen skin, seeing them learn and adapt witheach passing second... sometimes the old ways were the only ways.

I just hoped Cade was ready for what came next. Because once I started this spell, there'd be no hiding what kind of power I could really tap into.

And some secrets, once revealed, couldn't be taken back.

I wiped blood from my mouth, tasting copper and older things as the words formed on my tongue.

“Sceimhle shíoraí, glac greim orthu!” Eternal terror, take hold of them!

The air rippled like heat waves over asphalt, but what responded wasn't heat. The shadows beneath the Fetches twisted, writhed, then came alive with terrible purpose. Dark tendrils lashed upward, wrapping around those wrong-angled limbs with a hunger older than light itself. The creatures thrashed and screeched as the darkness dragged them down, their cries hitting frequencies that made reality itself shiver.

The spell took hold with the finality of a closing tomb. My vision wavered, black spots dancing at the edges as blood loss and magical drain took their toll. The wound in my side burned like ice, and every heartbeat seemed to pump more strength away.

“That's our opening!” Cade's voice cut through the fog trying to claim my consciousness. His hand locked around my arm, hauling me upright with strength I hadn't expected from a fed. “Come on!”

We hit the alley at a sprint, or what passed for one in my current state. My boots scraped against concrete as I stumbled, breath coming in ragged gasps that had nothing to do with exertion. The magical drain felt like it was hollowing me out from the inside, turning my bones to lead and my blood to ice.

“Sean!” Cade caught me as I swayed, his grip steady and sure.

I sucked in a sharp breath, trying to force my legs to cooperate. “I'm fine. Just need a minute. Or a bottle of whiskey. Or both.”

He didn't look convinced. More importantly, he didn't let go. His hand stayed firm on my arm, warm against the chill that was settling into my bones. The touch felt... steadying. Dangerous.

“That spell,” he said, studying my face with too much understanding. “It took a lot out of you.”

I tried for a grin, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “Magic's shite like that. Always wants payment. Nothing's ever free in this business.”

“You could have mentioned you could do that,” he said, but there was no real accusation in his tone. Just that same concern that made something twist in my chest.

“Yeah, well, some tricks you keep close to the vest.” I managed another step, then had to lean against the alley wall as the world tilted sideways. “Besides, didn't think I'd need it. Usually prefer the old-fashioned way.”

“The stabbing way, you mean.”

“Got me this far, hasn't it? Bang, slash, problem solved. None of this mystical mumbo-jumbo hangover.”

He snorted, but his grip remained steady. “Yeah, you're the picture of success right now. Bleeding all over my crime scene, barely standing...”

“Your crime scene?” I interrupted, latching onto the familiar banter like a lifeline. “Since when is supernatural warfare CITD jurisdiction?”

“Since you decided to drag me into it.” His voice softened slightly. “Though I guess I owe you for that spell back there. Saved both our asses.”

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