Origin of Magic (Dragon's Gift: The Protector #3)(8)

I plunged my blade into his back, stumbling with the force of my blow.

He staggered, roaring as he fell forward, and hit the ground with a heavy thud, the box clattering to the ground at his side. One of Cass’s fireballs exploded against his black.

I scrambled forward, reaching for the box and clutching it near. A quick survey of the battle showed that the tide had turned.

We were winning.

Ares and Roarke were beheading their own demons while Ares sliced the neck of another. The rest were on the ground.

I hugged the box to my chest and grabbed the fallen demon’s shoulder, dragging him onto his back. The cuts in my side screamed with pain and my blood dripped onto the sidewalk. I ignored it.

Where was the damned tattoo?

There had to be one. These had to be Drakon’s men. I yanked at his high collar, pulling it back to reveal a tattoo of a writhing dragon, fangs bared and eyes gleaming.

Shit.

“They’re Drakon’s men!” I called. “Search the mages!”

My hands shook as I scavenged his pockets, searching for an ID or anything. But I wouldn’t get lucky with a demon. They rarely carried ID. Someone would have to find one on a mage.

The demon’s body began to crumble to dust. I cursed, stumbling back onto my butt. Normally, demon bodies took a little while to return to their underworld after they’d been killed. But anyone hired by Drakon seemed to be enchanted with a spell that poofed their bodies immediately.

He didn’t want us tracking him. It was an effective method.

I scraped the flyaway hair from my face and dragged myself to my feet, clutching the box to my chest. My breath heaved as I leaned heavily against the wall, my wound and the fading adrenaline making me shake like a terrier in a thunderstorm.

All around me, the bodies of our attackers had turned to dust. Ares banished his shadow sword to the ether and strode toward me, a limp not slowing him down.

“Are you okay?” Concern darkened his voice.

“Fine.” I gasped as pain flared in my side. A glance down revealed blood soaking through my blue T-shirt, coating the whole right side of my body. It’d traveled all the way up to the wiener dog who was sitting in a hotdog bun. “Shit.”

“You aren’t okay.” Ares limped the last three feet toward me. My gaze went to his left thigh, where blood dripped down his leg.

“Maybe not quite.” I sucked in shallow breaths, trying to control the pain.

Aidan landed with a thud next to us. He was so big that his beak was level with my head. Blood and gore smeared the smooth surface. Roarke landed next to him, dark gray skin speckled with blood that wasn’t his.

“Drakon’s men?” Roarke asked.

“Yes.” I pressed a hand to the wound at my side, immediately cringing as pain flared. Right, bad idea. “Let’s get inside.”

Ares held out an arm, letting me lean on him. I got the sense he wanted to sweep me into his arms—that was a real Ares thing to do, I was learning—but that was a shitty idea with a wound like mine.

By the time we made it to the green door that was only fifteen feet away, the bodies of our attackers were no more than tiny piles of dust that would blow away on the wind.

I let us into the building and then made the laborious climb to my apartment door, grateful that I was on the first floor.

Del and Cass waited on the landing, faces pale and worried.

“Are you okay?” Cass asked.

“Yeah. Beaker is fine,” I said.

“I meant you, dummy.” She nodded to my wound. “That’s ugly.”

A wry grin twisted my mouth. “Thanks. Ruined my hot dog shirt.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” Del said.

Cass pushed open my apartment door and held it open. I staggered through, dropping heavily onto the couch. My arms shook as I held up the box. “Check the beaker.”

Del took it and the key I then handed her. She set the box on the coffee table and knelt, then unlocked the padlock and lifted the lid. A sigh escaped me at the sight of the unbroken beaker still nestled in its custom foam bedding. “Thank fates. They didn’t get it.”

Ares knelt at my side, his hand lifting my jacket away from the wound. “This is deep. Three claw marks.”

“Are they poisoned?” Cass asked.

“Don’t know.” I gritted my teeth. “Burns like hell, though.”

“I’ll heal you.” Ares raised a wrist to his mouth, ready to bite.

“No!” I held up a hand. “No, I’ve already had too much.”

I was worried about the side effects from his blood. “Aidan, can you heal me?” His gifts came with no side effects.

“Yes.” Aidan stepped forward.

Possessiveness—or something like it—flared in Ares’s eyes and his knuckles whitened. His jaw hardened, as if he didn’t like the idea of another man touching or healing me, but then he nodded and leaned back, a frown of resignation on his face. I reached for his hand. At least he could control his inner cave man.

Ares squeezed my hand, then released it and moved away so that Aidan could kneel at my side. His dark hair gleamed in the light as he leaned over me and hovered his hand over my wounds. Warmth flowed from his palm, soothing the burning ache until it faded to nothing. My muscles finally relaxed as the pain dissipated.