Page 3 of Killian
“Warlocks,” growled Killian.
There was no way he would allow them to reach the Library atall, let alone ahead of him. He pulled out his earbuds and rotated through his playlists. He’d moved on from Gloria Gaynor. He had a pack now. He was no longer just surviving. Killian watched the warlocks move up the trail and tapped on Britney. It was time to get to work.
Killian sprang from his rock down to the path, trying to land lightly and hoping that the constant wind would cover the sound of his approach. The 808 drum machines were starting to thump, and he ran forward, keeping low until he was at the tail end of the trail of men. The first two went down easy. Quick swats sent them tumbling down the path. The third one turned and cast a slow-time spell, turning Killian’s movements slower than syrup. In his ears, the song distorted until Britney sounded like a drunk on a street corner, slurring out something about wanting a Bugatti. Killian took a flurry of blows before he could get out a counterspell. The music sped back up and reminded him that he’d better work, bitch. Killian grabbed a warlock by the face, ripped off his oxygen mask, and kicked him down the trail. Behind him, the hard ratchet of a gun being cocked was a sound that would have raised his hackles if he currently had any. Killian turned to face the next threat, already starting to transform and hoping they hadn’t coated the bullets with anything poisonous.
A rock the size of a soccer ball slammed into the warlock’s head, startling everyone.
“There’s a second one!” a warlock yelled, reaching for the walkie-talkie clipped to his jacket. Killian dove for the warlock with the walkie-talkie, dodging a black ball of energy from the warlock with the staff. The radio meant that the warlock had reinforcements, and Killian didn’t want that. He could worry about the guy with the staff next.
Killian grabbed the warlock by the neck and yanked off the radio. He hauled back for a punch but was tackled by twowarlocks. They went in low, and Killian saw the flash of a knife. He caught the hand holding the knife, but that allowed the other one to get in some punches and go for Killian’s knees. He staggered backward, searching for good leverage. Behind them, he could see the warlock with the staff preparing a black ball of magic.
There was a roar, and a rock slammed into the warlock with the knife. He flung off the second opponent, sending him bouncing down the trail. He felt a slight lag in oxygen and whirled to face the man with the staff. Instead, he saw a woman pick up the warlock and hurl him bodily down the mountain. She wore black leather motorcycle gear, and a pair of tinted goggles covered her eyes. Her short, dark hair swung in damp tendrils around her pale face as she front-kicked the final warlock down the mountain.
Killian slowly reached up and took his earbuds out. The sound of Britney Spears faded away, and for a long moment, silence reigned on the mountain. Then the girl turned to him, pushing up her goggles to reveal intense green eyes. She grinned, showing long canines that slowly shrank into normal human teeth. He inhaled sharply but had no idea what to say. He’d only met three female shifter wolves before, and all of them had been at least a century older than he was. They had been nothing like this vixen in front of him.
“You must be Killian,” she said. She sounded American.
Killian felt a dark streak of fear race down his spine. No one should know where he was, let alone who he was.
“Yes,” said Killian. “Who are you?”
“I’m Moira,” she said, still smiling.
He liked that smile but didn’t get any closer to her. Suspicion held him back. “How do you know who I am?” No one liked his pack. The last time he’d told other wolves where he was from, they’d threatened to kill him.
“I was told to expect you,” she said, her chin lifting and her eyes twinkling. She was taunting him.
“By who?” he demanded, reluctantly taking a step closer to her. He wanted to sniff her. He wanted to run his nose along her neck and smell her breath and feel the heat of her body. But offering unwanted advances to a female wolf was a mistake that few made twice, and he trusted her probably about as far as she could throw a warlock. “Only my pack know I’m here,” he added.
She flashed another grin, her head tossing back a little in amusement. He wondered how he looked to her. All of her gear looked expensive. He was wearing his same old traveling clothes and canvas backpack. The bag had been all right for a poor South African kid when he was setting out to look for other Shifters, and he was attached to it. Now he wished he’d let Alekos kit him out properly. She would think his pack couldn’t afford any better.
“That is a bit of a long story,” she said. “But let’s just say it involves Fae, family, and the Pact.”
Her mention of the Fae was interesting. There weren’t many left, and they had magic that other Supernaturals didn’t. But there were other mysteries in that sentence.
“What’s the pact?” he asked.
“Didn’t your pack get any of the letters?” she asked with a puzzled frown, her head tilting. Her teasing tone had shifted to regular curiosity. “Grandpa said he sent them to everyone.”
“Grandpa?”
“Albert DeSandre. We’re the Portland pack.”
“Australia?”
“Oregon! The United States!” Her hands went to her hips, and now she sounded annoyed. He shrugged. Her outrage made him feel less suspicious but more confused.
“Seriously? Grandpa didn’t send you any letters? What pack are you from?”
“The Ash Pack,” he said cautiously.
“I don’t remember the name,” she said, her forehead wrinkling. “And I read the lists before I left.”
Killian knew damn well their pack wasn’t on any of the official wolf lists. The lists were a historical database of sorts. They tracked who married whom and when pups were born. Killian knew Alekos had sent their names to the European packs, but he also knew that if the other packs had bothered to respond, they had returned the missives to Greece. The Venetian pack had notably sent it back in ashes. He doubted that any of them had added the Ash pack to their lists or that Alekos had even bothered to try the American packs. Killian realized that Moira, while she might have been given his name, had no idea who he was. He felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment because once he told her, she would hate him too.
“People don’t really like my pack,” he said, trying to be honest. “I don’t think we’re on anyone’s mailing list.”
Moira gave a rich chuckle. “Well, then that means we’re practically guaranteed to get along. My pack pisses off a lot of people. Well, I say my pack… I mean mostly my immediate family.”
