Page 82 of Guardians of the Assassins
A few of the metal wolves crossed the wards and leapt at the bullets…and just swallowed them. It sounded like a spoon got caught in a blender as they chewed through them.
Morgan brought her hands together, the void magic gathering between her palms until her arms shook under the pressure, then she ripped her arms apart.
The bullets just disintegrated into a shower of dust and sparks.
“You really are that stupid.” Morgan walked toward Carrington and shook her head. “You know I have the ability to control metal, and yet you bring guns.”
Even as she spoke, heat pooled in her gut, and she lifted her arms again.
And the metal barrels of the guns began to wilt like warm taffy, drooping and stretching to the ground. The wolves dropped the glowing hot weapons with a thud and backed away from the twisted metal.
She faced Carrington, keeping the wards between them, knowing her mates wouldn’t hesitate to follow her if she dared cross the line. Instinct told her not to get too close, and she suspected that the alpha had something else up his sleeve.
He wanted to destroy her too badly to leave it up to chance.
No, he wanted to humiliate her and erase her from existence.
“More and more wolves are lost each year, even fewer born. You’re going extinct.” She swallowed hard, her gut churning at the thought of losing those majestic beasts—at the very idea that Ryder or Caedmon might not exist in the future. “You have the ability to help them. Save them. Why?”
“Only the old and ancient alphas have enough power to survive the process of trying to change a feral. They can do one, maybe two in a year, before they’re basically stripped of their power and left weak.” Carrington sneered at her like she was an idiot. “What do you think will happen to the rest of the wolves if there are no alphas? If we came under attack? Would you risk your whole pack to save one or two wolves?”
The wolves on both sides of the skirmish froze at the news.
Some recoiled in horror, tears in their eyes when they realized that they had been sent to hunt their brothers and sisters, not knowing that they could have been saved. A howl rose from one man, so mournful that her eyes burned at the loss.
A few glanced at her with a tiny spark of hope so deep that it was almost painful to witness.
“Yes.” Morgan didn’t hesitate to answer both Carrington and the wolves’ unspoken question. “My pack is my family. I trustthem with my life. It’s why we’ve been capturing the ferals. I don’t know how it works, but I’m going to try to save them.”
One by one, the wolves began to drop to one knee, their heads bowed…even the soldiers Carrington had brought. A joyous howl came from a lone wolf, the sound so piercing that it resonated in her soul. Another wolf joined in harmony until the whole pack sang a song of life and hope.
Morgan glanced at the soldiers, and the wolves quieted, a hush falling over the early morning. “This is your free pass. You are free to return to your own packs without fear of retaliation…or you can cross over the wards and join us.”
Carrington tsked and threw up his hands, shaking his head at her naïveté. “Do you know why there are no utopias in the world? It’s because they fail. You think you can change everything, save everyone, and it’s not possible.”
“You’re right,” Morgan replied, watching his wild, erratic gestures as he stalked back and forth across her yard. “This is no utopia. I’m an assassin first and foremost. As an assassin and alpha queen, it is my job to hunt down those who threaten others and can’t be saved.”
Morgan lifted her arms, Artemis’s onyx bow appearing in her hand. She drew back the string, a smoky black arrow forming out of thin air, a tinge of void magic licking at the shaft.
As she took aim, Carrington’s eyes widened, and he gawked at her in complete surprise. Even as he shifted and his wolf burst from his human form with a roar, she released the arrow.
The shot blurred through the air with a twang, nothing more than a smear of black smoke trailing after it.
The arrow hit true.
A twinge of pain went through her as the massive wolf dropped to the ground.
She lowered her arm, the weight of the bow heavy in her grip, and she released her hold. The bow vanished, and she wiped her palms on her pants.
Though she knew she’d done the right thing—Carrington had given her no choice—the kill felt personal.
For the first time since she’d become a hunter, it felt like she’d gone rogue and committed a crime. In the past, every hunt, every kill had been approved, each mission carefully selected and weighed by the coven leader. Her only job had been to follow orders.
The absolute power of being in charge of a coven, deciding who should live and die, sent a shaft of doubt through her, and Morgan wondered if she was strong enough to live with the consequences of her decisions.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RYDER
