Page 34 of The Alpha's Warlock
All the way in. My father froze, impaled on Ian’s claws, blood spurting from his abdomen — and he smiled, horribly, teeth glinting, as he raised his hands and grabbed Ian around the chest.
Gods, it wasn’t enough. It would’ve killed any normal man, but this was my father, and he’d kill Ian and heal himself before my eyes. It wasn’t enough.
Desperately, I pulled all the strength I had. That wouldn’t be enough either. I was useless, worthless, I couldn’t save my mate, I couldn’t saveanyone, Matthew was dying, and Ian would die before my eyes…the power never came when I needed it, when I called on it — only when I couldn’t control it.
I felt Ian through the bond, his determination and his defiance. And I chased that strength, letting it fill me to the brim. Instinct took over. Maybe I only had one reliable mode of attack, and maybe it was unimpressive, but when all you had was blue finger lightning, every problem looked like Darth Vader. That probably wasn’t the worst comparison.
With Ian’s solid magical presence grounding me, I called on my party trick andpushed. It ripped through me, ripped through the bond, disintegrated the tarry curse like it was nothing, and tore through Ian and out, into his hand, my magic using his claws as its tools.
My father shrieked, a high, ululating cry that went on and on, and I kept pushing power through the bond, even as I cowered, half-deafened. His arms flailed, and his eyes and mouth flashed blue. I felt Ian’s claws hit vertebrae, and Iheardit, a sickening scrape that went down my own spine like I’d been turned into the world’s biggest chalkboard.
The power ran out, and I slumped, utterly drained. My father went limp. With a squelching, sucking sound that would definitely be haunting my nightmares, Ian yanked his hand out of my father’s body and let him topple to the ground in a heap.
For a moment, everything was still. The fire crackled in the background, burning somewhere in the walls, and the smoke had grown thicker, searing my lungs.
Standing wasn’t a thing that was going to happen, so I crawled again, my knees bruising against the concrete and my wrists aching.
Ian flung himself at me, meeting me more than halfway. Gods. He was going to kill me. Those claws wouldn’t need any magical help ripping me to pieces.
He didn’t kill me. The world lurched as he hauled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest. Ian stank of blood and sweat and smoke and the ozone given off by strong magic, but I sucked it in by the greedy lungful. He was holding me, and he was petting my hair, and his hands roved all over me like he needed to check that every part of my body was present and accounted for.
“Nate,” he murmured. “Oh, fuck, baby, tell me you’re all right.”
Baby? Was he high? Using the bond for that much magic must’ve overloaded his alpha circuits. “’M okay,” I managed. “Is he dead?”
“I think so,” Ian said. He gripped my waist even harder.
With my head crammed against Ian’s shoulder, all I could see was a sliver of the room past his torn t-shirt and bloodied skin. Long, black-clad legs moved into my limited field of vision. Ninja pants. Someone else streaked past, moving too quickly to see clearly. They made straight for the shaman in the corner, and there was a terrible, choking gurgle followed by silence and the sudden snuffing of the witchlight.
An enormous silver sword glowed pink in the growing firelight and flashed down in an inexorable arc. A crunch and a thud, and then it withdrew. My father’s head rolled a few inches, settling in a pool of blood that soaked into his hair and matted it dark.
Thank the gods he was facing away from me. I didn’t need any more nightmare-fodder.
“He is now,” Dor said drily. “And it’s time we were getting out of here, I think.”
“Thanks for showing up,” I muttered. “Really. Not like I could’ve used the help a few minutes ago.”
The words came out almost without my volition. I couldn’t feel my lips, and the rest of me had faded away too. Shock? Maybe. The thought floated through my mind detached from everything else.
Definitely shock. I couldn’t quite care.
Ian lifted his head, all his muscles tensing. “The Kimballs,” he said grimly.
A second later, I heard the howls too. Kimball might’ve run, but he was back, and it sounded like he’d brought his whole pack with him.
Chapter 20
The Enemy of My Enemy
“This place is a deathtrap,” Charlie said, appearing at my side and kneeling down next to Matthew. His face was pale in the low light, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Whatever he’d done to the shaman who’d killed his vampires had definitely boosted his mood. I was sure as fuck not going to look. “We need to move.”
I couldn’t have agreed more, except that I wasn’t sure if I could or not. Matthew chose that moment to stir a little and moan. His lips tightening, Charlie hauled off and slapped him across the face, hard enough that the imprint of his fingers stayed behind.
“Watch it,” Ian said, without heat. I tipped my head back a little to glance up at him. He was really going to let Charlie whale on his brother like that? He looked like he was right on the ragged edge, and I couldn’t blame him: taken down by a whole pack of wolves, beaten, gouged, bitten, strung up in chains and muzzled, and then death-cursed in a magical duel, not to mention being used as a conduit for a lightning storm. Yeah, he’d earned the right to be a little tired. “Don’t break his neck before I get the chance to beat the shit out of him.”
Yeah, fair enough.
“Don’t worry, I want him alive for that too,” Charlie muttered, and slapped the other side of Matthew’s face.
