Page 50 of Revelations

They had to run for it. The car itself was protected by so many spells and incantations, that it was practically its own impenetrable fortress. All they had to do was make it to the Camaro at record speed. Otherwise …she did not want to think about that.

Greylyn nodded toward the car and slipped the car keys into his hand, in case she had to turn and fight. “One. Two. Three. Go!”

If she had not experienced so many demonic ambushes over the centuries, the sight that unfolded would have unnerved her completely. Not quite the legion that had met her in DC a few months earlier. Not quite the onslaught of ghouls from the Paris catacombs that she hadfaced back in the fifties. But just as terrifying, perhaps more so since it was not just her life at stake, but Thomas’s, as well.

At the first step they took, creatures flooded out from their hiding places—from cracked grates in the sidewalk, through slits in boarded up and abandoned shops, some even jumped out of the scant amount of trees lining the street. Every single one descended in their direction. A sea of darkness flowed toward them like a cloud of ash after a volcanic eruption.

Greylyn practically dragged Thomas the entire way to the car. She did not bother to identify what came for them; she just sliced and stabbed at everything in their path, but still more came.

Clawed hands reached out to grab them. One yanked a clump of her hair out, but Greylyn refused to be held back. She simply had to get Thomas to safety. Her scratches and cuts would heal, but he was not gifted with super-fast healing. Based on the screams that were emitted behind her, he was not faring well.

Hang on, Thomas. Almost there.

Jerking the door open, Greylyn shoved Thomas into the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind him. A mob of grisly creatures reached her, pulling her away. Silently, she pleaded for Thomas to drive off immediately to safety.

Coarse hands gripped her arms, while another creature clutched at her neck. There were so many of them; so many that she could see nothing else. Unlike the siege in DC, this group of monsters surrounding her was all the same species. Their fiery red eyes, shaggy fur, elongated snout dripping with a grayish goo, as well as their large, sharp fangs identified them easily. Loup-garou was the American version of an ancient bayou werewolf. Originally from France, these creatures were once humans transformed by black magic. A bite from one of them could also turn a human victim into one of them, but for some reason, most Loup-garous metamorphosed willingly.

Her adrenaline was too high for her to feel pain at the moment, but that did not hide her many injuries—cuts from the monsters’ claws sliced her arms and legs, and what could be called pain shot through her abdomen as one creature continuously punched her in the gut, causing her to bend over from the onslaught. All the while, one monster held her throat in a vice-like grip. She felt the small bones in her neck crack as muscles and tendons twisted and tore.

Greylyn knew that she just needed one opening to counter the attack of the pack. Just one. But that moment did not present itself nearly fast enough, as every limb was restrained by the creatures. Finally, the opportunity arose. The Loup-garou strangling her stepped back just barely a half-inch. Jerking one leg free, she stomped down on the creature’s clawed toes with all her might. Its howl startled the rest and their grips loosened—just enough.

Flinging herself headfirst at the one directly in front of her, Greylyn tackled it to the ground. The pack recovered quickly, attacking yet again. Her lightning-quick speed and lithe movements kept them from latching back onto her.

She had managed to keep her dagger in her grasp somehow, most likely by sheer will power. Its cold strength coursed from her palm, through her arm, and out to the rest of her body in a smooth wave.

She stamped down with all her might on the Loup-garou on the ground; the crushing of its chest plate reverberated up her leg. A kill shot.

With her dagger extended in front of her, she turned in a tight circle. “Who’s next?”

A collective roar shook the glass that remained in the abandoned buildings up and down the street. Greylyn swiped the feet out from under the closest one. The monster crashed to the broken pavement. On its way down, it reached out involuntarily to stop its descent, by grasping for its pack mates. Two more fell with it.

A kick to the first one’s snout sent blood and mucus spewing several feet away. A backward slam with the heel of her boot caught another one in the temple. The fragile skull split open.

The third one on the pavement grabbed for Greylyn’s foot, but she twisted away just in time to push her dagger into the knapped hairy chest of another Loup-garou standing to the side that had also lunged toward her. Jerking her knife out of the monster, it was covered in slimy, red liquid.

Not pausing to watch it fall to the ground, she turned on the remaining creatures behind her. There were only three left, but Greylyn knew that, even in small numbers, they were lethal.

The one on the ground made an effort to stand, but she caught it in a kneeling position. One kick to the center of its body, and it flew backward, almost somersaulting into a light pole. It lay motionless on its head with its neck twisted awkwardly to one side.

The remaining Loup-garou backed away quickly.

Even though they appeared to be admitting defeat and retreating, her job was not complete. She scanned the area, looking for more creatures. Only the banshee still stood alone just a few yards away.

The haggard-looking fairy let out a wail that ripped through Greylyn’s heart. Her breath caught in her throat.

Thomas! No!

Greylyn pivoted back toward the Camaro. It had not moved. The engine had not even fired. What she saw through the passenger side window made the world stop—curly auburn hair, matted with blood, pressed against the glass.

Something snapped inside her. Without a glance back at the banshee, she sprinted to the car and flung open the door. Her friend’s limp body collapsed onto the sidewalk with a sickening thud.

“No!” She clutched Thomas to her chest. Rocking back and forth, she pleaded with him to open his eyes. “Thomas. Thomas. I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry. Please wake up.”

His chest barely rose and fell, just enough to indicate life seeping away. With her hand over his heart, the thudding of the organ grew fainter against her palm. So many cuts. So much blood. A gigantic slash split his face from chin to somewhere lost in his mass of hair. But there was one gash, larger than the rest in the middle of his chest where a Loup-garou had nearly sliced him in two. The pale white of bone peeked out from the congealed red blood still gushing from the wound.

How had theyinflicted so much damage in such a short amount of time? It had been mere seconds, probably less than fifteen, when they’d run for the car and she’d shoved him inside. Seconds!

The Banshee screeched like an owl again, followed by a soft eerie keening as it waited for death to come.

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