Page 130 of Awry
The celestial dragon and the gryphon tuck up around the cu-sith and me, as much as the narrow street allows.At least one parked vehicle gets crushed in the process.
Rought, the gryphon, rears up on his lion’s hind legs and strikes at the seemingly empty air before us with his taloned front feet.
He tears through the dire-wrought cloaking spell.Literally.
Perfect.And much better than waiting for my own sight to compensate.
The cloaking spell hangs in pieces, revealing Chains with DeVille prone at his feet.I can’t tell if the young shifter is breathing.
The Cataclysm biker’s clothing is shredded, and he’s covered in blood, though I can’t make out any open wounds against the black of his leathers.He must have gotten away from Rought and the main battle, maybe transforming at some point to help heal himself.Though I’m not sure enough time has passed for that.
Presh stands on the sidewalk, well out of Chains’s reach, with the darkened windows of a used bookstore at her back.
She’s pointing a large weapon, looking like some oversized gun, at Kris’s chest.
Only a couple of feet away from Chains, Kris shimmies her hips affectedly, grinning manically at us.
Precious’s arms shake from holding the dire-wrought gun.She’s gotten it off Chains somehow?Maybe when DeVille attacked him?It teems with more of that malignant essence.
Kris shifts her feet and sways her hips even more, stretching her arms to the sides.As if mimicking dancing, but there’s no joy in the movement.Her hazel eyes no longer sparkle with mischief.And she’s ignoring DeVille for the first time all night.
Even in the minimal light from the streetlamps, I can see that her eyes are now edged in darkness … black bleeding through the whites.
Possessed.
“Zaya?”Presh asks fearfully.“Can you … can you …”
I know what she’s asking.
I also know there’s a really good chance that Kris is already dead.
Because the dire mage is, in fact, not here.But either through previous contact with Kris or something Chains triggered when he realized he wasn’t just walking away from this fight, the mage has gained access to Kris’s consciousness.To her body and voice.Enough to either channel essence through her — and Chains’s demanding to be teleported backs that supposition — or to utilize the last of Chains’s arsenal.
Except for the gun now in Presh’s hands.
Kris’s gossip session at the nail salon takes on an entirely new tenor.Chains couldn’t get to Presh on my property — assuming he could even determine its location — or on the main pack property.So the mage stepped in to lure Presh to the rave, using Kris.
“Come to me, Presh,” I say, trying to sound calm and completely failing.I’ve never gone up against a dire mage, not one-on-one.But I’ve seen the devastation they can unleash.Multiple times.
“Yes,” the mage piloting Kris says sweetly.“Run over to your … Zaya, was it?Is there a last name to go with the first?”
“Playtime is over, Bellamy,” Chains snaps.“We’ve lost.Use your fucking eyes.Grab the princess, bring us home.”
Kris whirls around and slaps Chains across the face.He actually staggers back from the blow.
She giggles.“Nasty, nasty shifter.You know what you were supposed to do!”Then she twirls in place as if testing out the body she’s wearing.
Rage is bristling off the cu-sith at my side.The energy emanating from the gryphon and the dragon is oddly staticky.They’ve both taken a beating, including whatever Chains originally hit them with in the clubhouse.
More problematically, anything any of the fucking mythical creatures at my side attempt to do in the next few moments is liable to get Presh hurt.Or dead.They’re too large for this space, too much.Overkill.
“Come to me, Presh,” I say again.
“And you’ll save Kris?”
“Yes,” I lie.“I’ll save Kris.”
Precious finally relents.Arms now shaking with the effort of holding the weapon aloft, she skirts the front of the bookstore, heading in our direction.
