Page 102 of Snag
DeVille’s head snaps up, reacting to Reck’s aggression. He’s cradling Presh’s hand in his own, guiding her out of the car and coaxing her to keep her head down. Too close.
He’s way too close to Presh with his essence that bright in his eyes.
I can feel Reck’s hesitation. His gaze flicks to Bellamy,to the still-empty space behind the dire awry, then back to DeVille and Presh.
“You came here to protect Precious,” I say.
Bellamy snorts again. Her arms are crossed, athame still in hand and now resting along her bicep. In the sunlight, her eyes are almost white. That’s disconcerting, even to me.
Muta finally coils up to rest over my shoulders, leaving my right arm tingling from his weight. The death god trapped in the body of a bushmaster flicks his tongue out, tasting the essence shimmering in the air. His gaze is focused over Bellamy’s shoulder.
The death god’s intent aligns with my own.
Finally making a decision, Reck crosses around the front edge of Bellamy’s vehicle. Moving to protect Presh.
Bellamy eyes him with loathing, muttering, “Like little sister can’t handle her own fucking mate.”
I’m not surprised that Bellamy has so easily picked up on the ties between Presh and DeVille— because those bonds have strengthened from the events of the last couple of days. From Bellamy manipulating and killing Kris. But I ask instead, “Doesn’t bright light bother you?” My own eyes lightly ache even behind my dark-tinted sunglasses. Unfortunately, any of the mage-crafted glasses I’ve tried instantly fizzled under my touch.
Bellamy blinks, slightly thrown by the question.
“Your eyes?” I say. “The headache must be constant.”
“What do you care?” she snaps, arms falling to her sides.
I shrug. “Just stalling.”
She huffs. “Glasses are a liability in a fight.”
I glance at her, raising a mocking eyebrow. “No one should ever be able to get close enough to you for that to matter, awry.” I hit ‘awry’ hard.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be me,” she says.
Reck gets Presh situated between himself and DeVille, shielding them both as much as possible with his body. Then he herds them back toward his SUV — and all those layers of protection he didn’t want me to fuck with earlier.
So the asshole shifter isn’t without some reasoning skills.
“Last time I rescued Presh,” I say thoughtfully, “I made it all worse.”
“Why tell me?” Bellamy asks, fingers flexing on her sacrificial dagger.
“Just reminding myself.”
She opens her mouth. But the Authority agents not-so-patiently waiting finally deem Reck far enough away — and exposed on all sides — to attack.
The concealment ward melts down into a ring hovering four feet high in a swirling circular flow of essence. Its circumference is just large enough to surround agents Wilson and Shaw, plus a hulking SUV identical to Reck’s. Blond hair still smoothed back into a tight bun, skin still sun-kissed, Wilson twirls her wand over her head with a controlled rotation of her wrist. Ruddy-skinned and red-haired, Shaw flashes his beast’s elongated canines, though he maintains his bulky human form. Both of them still wear their Authority-issued suits.
“Now!” Shaw snarls, his beast too present in his voice. He’s not completely in control.
Her expression carefully blank, unfeeling, Wilson slashes forward with the wand as if cutting through the essence ringing them. The ring splits once, then twice more as she repeats the gesture.
She flicks the wand three times. Three long lashes of power launch forward— one toward Bellamy, one toward me, and a final lash toward the retreating trio.
Shaw instantly lunges forward, racing behind Wilson’s casting as if they’ve practiced this maneuver hundreds of times.
Bellamy spins, spattering me with warm liquid and barely getting a shield up between herself and Wilson’s admittedly impressive casting. Turning a concealment ward into tripled containment wards is seriously masterful wielding. It also takes a lot of power, draining the caster.
The repurposed warding slams into Bellamy’s shield, driving her back against the car.
