Page 37 of Last Hope
Anya was sitting on the couch, a book in hand, rectangular glasses sliding down the end of her nose. Her hair was tied and braided in pigtails over her shoulders. She was in a loose white shirt and tight black pants, her legs curled under her comfortably. She licked the tip of her finger as she turned the pages.
Isis hated to interrupt but,better safe than sorry. “Where are the children?” she asked, causing Anya to look up from her literature, glasses sliding down a little further.
“In the library, I believe,” Anya replied and then went back to her book.
Isis sighed and went to the direction indicated, where she found Lucinda, looking through the pictures of a witch’s spell book, cross-legged, smiling and alone.
“Where’s your brother?” Isis looked around the grand room, expecting to see a little furry rabbit, running between the legs of chairs. But he was nowhere in sight.
Lucinda waved her off with her hand, hating to be interrupted. “He went outside with my parents, I think.”
Isis wanted to roll her eyes. What was it, she thought a little bitterly, with witches and their noses in books? She enjoyed a good book as much as the next person but when these people shoved their noses into delicate pages they waved her off—quite rudely.
“I guess I’ll go check on him, then.” She waited for Lucinda to reply, when she didn’t, Isis took it as a sign of dismissal. Waving her hands in the air in defeat, Isis walked back outside, expecting to see a little bunny running around beneath the tall of the grass in good fun.
“Othello?” She called out in sing-song. Of both of the kids, she felt more comfortable with him than with his sister, despite his seriousness for such a young child. She looked around the tall grass for a sign of rustling or movement.
Her heightened night vision scanned the yard until she saw it, far off in the distance. The grass was swaying violently to the sides, as if something was rushing towards her. She narrowed her eyes until a small white rabbit jumped from the tallness of the greenery and into her arms. Only her years of training with Caesareon prevented her from dropping him, her reflexes perfect even as he wriggled around in her arms. She patted down on his fur, her hand coming away wet.
She smelt what the stickiness was before she saw it.
Blood.
“Othello?” She held him worriedly, patting him down gently in search for any injury he may have sustained. She found none. Good, she sighed in relief, it’s not his. But he was shaking in her arms, and it made her think that little Othello had seen something. “What happened?”
He was shaking in her arms nonstop. Out of habit, Isis lifted her nose into the air and sniffed. The scent of blood struck her like a bewitched arrow to the heart, nearly causing her to stagger backwards from its potency.
The worst of thoughts rushed to her mind and she gripped Othello tightly to her chest. Why was he covered in blood? Whose blood was it? Was it the body of another animal? A rustling sound caused her to look up to where Othello had come from.
But it wasn’t an animal she saw. It was Riordan limping hurriedly towards her. His face was sweaty, eyes wide with panic. There was blood matting down his ginger hair and blond beard. And he was calling out to Isis. But the sound drained from her ears. She made out no words coming from his opened lips.
Panic nestled itself deep within the roots of her chest, because behind Riordan, figures that had blended into the shadows but were now stepped out in the light were chasing behind him, each figure with blazing red eyes.
It all happened in slow motion. Riordan’s eyes went wider before he turned around to face his probable death. A second later, his skin was expanding, changing color and growing overlapping scales until he was an enormous floating dragon before them, spitting fire and ice, blocking their entry.
It was like a cord had struck within Isis. The sound rushed back like a train hitting her in the face and she gripped Othello tight, turning and running, leaving Riordan behind. Normally, she would have stayed to help; to fight. But she had realized, with a start, what he was yelling at her. A simple word that, she may have realized a little too late.
RUN.
Isis ran faster than she ever had before, her legs burning with the effort. But she couldn’t let herself give up. Not when little Othello was depending on her to keep him safe. And then there was Lucinda and Anya, oh God, Anya, locked inside of the house, nose shoved in a book. Isis ran faster, as if Caesareon himself was snapping at her heels with hellfire.
She burst through the door of the cabin, where Anya was still on the couch. She looked up from her book at the sight of Isis and hurriedly set it off to the side and standing up.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her gaze traveling to Othello in Isis’s arms. “Is he covered in blood?”
But there was no time to explain that the vampires Isis had tried so hard to run from had found her and that they were all in danger. There was no time to explain that Ami might be dead, that Riordan was fighting for his life and that all they had to do was get out of there and protect the children. There was no time to say any of that. All Isis could really say was, “Get Lucinda and let’s go!”
Anya must have felt her Soul Mate’s panic deep in her bones because she practically threw the book to the ground and ran out of the living room and to the library where Lucinda was reading; ignorant to what was happening around her. Isis wasted no time, she ran forward, clutching Othello tightly against her chest, to the back door of the cabin. She had to get them out; she had to get them to safety.
A few seconds later she burst through the back door, the cold night wind sliced her skin like the claws of a vicious tiger. Air carried the tangy scent of blood up her nostrils, causing her stomach to lurch with nausea. But she couldn’t think about whose blood it was, couldn’t begin to imagine it being Ami’s or Riordan’s. She had to believe they were stronger than any vampire, even the psychotic ones that were after them.
Swallowing fear and tears, she prepared herself to make a run for it when she heard Anya’s cry of distress deep in her mind. Torn between running for the woods and protecting her Soul Mate, Isis stared back at the house. She knew she had to get Othello out, but she couldn’t leave Anya and Lucinda to die.
She followed her instinct towards Anya and Lucinda. They were in front of the library door, Lucinda clutching a book tightly against her chest, eyes squeezed shut and cowering behind Anya, who had her hands held out in front of her, palms facing forward. Her lips were moving rapidly as if reciting a spell and Isis could see why. Three vampires were charging towards them as was a large brown wolf and a long, yellow anaconda.
Shifters,Isis thought savagely and, as quickly as she could, dropped Othello to the ground and charged to protect Anya and Lucinda. She met the vampires first, and her years of training had her ripping their hearts from their chests within seconds. The wolf and the snake were more difficult. The wolf had already advanced towards Anya; a low guttural growl was deep in his throat.
Isis attacked him first.
