Magic Stars (Grey Wolf #1)(18)

They lay still for another three minutes before they quietly slipped out of the gap. Julie grabbed his hand, pointed to the pole, to herself, and up.

Lift me.

He grasped her legs and held her up. She plucked the arrow from the pole and they melted into the night.



THE BIG BUILDING GAPED OPEN, its front wall gone, scattered in pieces on the ground. Half its roof was missing, but the back offered shelter. He was limping now, running slow even for a human.

“Almost there,” Julie whispered.

He squeezed one last burst of movement from his body. He was shutting down.

“Almost there,” she repeated.

He followed her across the dirty floor to the metal staircase leading up, up the stairs and to the far corner of the empty building. He sagged to the ground. She dropped beside him, yanked a small knife out of the sheath on her waist, and pulled his hoodie off. Her eyes went wide.

“It’s over your neck.”

He knew that already. The flesh over his neck and chest felt dead. When she touched it, he felt no pressure. The skin on his chest had turned duct-tape grey.

Cutting the chest wouldn’t do it. The silver was still in his bloodstream and moving up. If it hit his brain, he would die. He had to expel it before it reached that far.

He snatched the knife out of her hands.

“Don’t!” she gasped.

He slit his carotid artery. Blood sprayed in a black-and-red mist. He smelled the metallic stench of dead Lyc-V.

A howl, close, almost to them.

Julie whipped around and dashed down the stairs, her satchel in her hand.

Blood kept gushing in a heated flood, drenching his shoulder. Normally Lyc-V would’ve recognized the neck cut as fatal and sealed it nearly instantly, but the virus that granted his regeneration was dying in record numbers. He bled like a human, getting weaker with each beating of his heart. His hold on consciousness was slipping. His brain, starved of oxygen, was going to sleep like a dying fish. He hooked his claws into reality. A normal human would’ve been dead within seconds. If he could stay conscious, if his heart pumped enough silver-poisoned blood out for Lyc-V to recover, if the silver didn’t reach his brain, he might survive.

Below, Julie drew a circle with white chalk around the stairs. A ward, a defensive spell. He doubted the chalk alone would hold the hounds or the hunter. She pulled the arrow from her bag and scratched a second line into the concrete floor, making the second ring inside the first chalk line.

The boar-hound appeared in the gap where the front wall used to be, silhouetted against the moonlight. He willed himself to move, but he could do nothing.

Julie yanked a small squeeze bottle out of her bag and poured a puddle in front of her, inside the circle.

Get up, he snarled at himself. Get the hell up.

The boar-hound let out a triumphant snarl of pure bloodlust.

Julie dropped into the circle on her knees. He saw a small flame of a match being struck. The puddle ignited.

The boar-hound charged. It came like a cannonball, snarling, giant maw open, tusks ready to rend.

Julie thrust something into the fire.

The hound covered the last ten feet.

Julie jerked the object out of the flame and held it up in front of her like a shield.

The boar-hound slid to a stop, its pig eyes fixed on the hot arrow in Julie’s hand. The creature pushed forward and recoiled, as if striking an invisible wall.

He slumped in relief. The wound on his neck was closing. He was still alive. Now it was just a matter of time, and she had just bought them some.

The boar-hound howled. In the distance, three other voices answered.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed: seconds, minutes. But the wind had changed, and he smelled the second hound before he heard it charge its way into the building and slide to a stop before Julie’s circle. Third and fourth followed. He heard the bird, saw it as it flew over him, circling, and then he heard the hunter’s horse.

He heard the rough sound of metal striking stone. She was chopping at the arrowhead with her tomahawk.

The pain in Derek’s neck had ebbed. The edges of the gray skin shrank, turning pink, not fast enough but it would have to do. She had done her part. It was time for him to do his.

In the darkness of the second floor, he slid his shoes off, then his pants.

The horse clopped its way into the building.

“You cannot break it,” a deep male voice said.

He looked down. The hunter stopped his horse midway down the floor. The four boar-hounds lined up between him and Julie.

Here you are, asshole.

“The arrowhead’s stone. This is stainless steel.” She sounded determined. “I’ll shatter it.”

Derek rose quietly in the shadows.

“That is my first arrow. The arrow is eternal and so am I. As long as there are humans and their prey, I will exist.”

“Go fuck yourself.” She smashed the tomahawk into the arrow.

Now. The change dashed through him, the brief pain welcome and sweet. His muscles tore and grew again, his bones lengthened, his fur sprouted, and suddenly he was whole again, stronger, faster, seven feet tall, a meld of beast and man. The burn of silver was still there, but now just a razor-sharp reminder of the pain and the need to kill its source. He smelled blood. His three-inch claws itched. He heard eight hearts beating: five animal, one bird, and two human. He wanted to taste the hot, salty rush of blood pounding through their veins, to open them and feel them struggle in the grip of his teeth.