Rise of the Gryphon (Belador #4)(28)

She looked back once, smiled, and continued on, disappearing in the trees.

Storm tensed for whatever threat she’d conjured up, sure he could not simply walk out of here the way the witch doctor had. And neither could he turn his back on an unknown threat.

A form wavered into view.

As it took shape, Storm moved toward the invisible perimeter around this clearing. He kept an eye on the image of a brunette woman as she solidified into a human form. She had a college-girl face with deep golden skin and layered hair that stopped short of the black-and-pink scarf draped over a pink sweater. An unnatural breeze swirled through the clearing, lifting strands of her hair and ruffling her black pants.

Pretty hazel eyes without a flicker of life to them.

Now he understood what the witch doctor had done. Her Langau was an alma condenada, or a condemned soul. Very likely a soul the witch doctor had stolen, then used to create demons.

Just like she wanted to do with Storm, since she owned his soul.

That meant this Langau was deadly, but the witch doctor had indicated she would see him again.

That meant she wanted him left alive, but she’d said nothing about what condition he’d be in.

The brunette took a tentative step toward him.

He’d never harmed a woman, but he reminded himself this was nothing more than a creature the witch doctor created from dead parts and blood sacrifices. Fighting it was not an issue, but the witch doctor wanted to punish him.

To slow him down from hunting her Langaus. Plural.

Where had she released them?

What made the witch doctor think he couldn’t kill this thing? She had to know better, which meant she might have given the Langau a poison to inject in some way. A poison from South America she’d know would cripple him.

Avoiding this Langau was the smartest move.

The creature sauntered closer with a feminine sway.

He snarled, a low, throaty sound that stopped her and warned another step could be her last.

Her slender hands twisted and lengthened into razor-sharp nails with enough curve to cause maximum pain. Or death. Her face lost its youthful appeal, skin wavering and sliding until rotted flesh showed through in spots and the eyes sank in.

Her mouth widened and lips narrowed, much like a mouth on a large snake, but this one was filled with spiked teeth.

That’s how she’d inject the poison.

She lunged at him, but adrenaline had kicked in and Storm leaped to the side, leaving her to stumble through air. He bumped into the barrier and mentally marked the spot for when he had an opportunity to get out. He couldn’t now, with this threat at his back.

Swinging around, she came at him, claws in the air.

He dodged to the side again, but she did, too, this time. There was nothing for it but to attack. Ramming her with all his power, he knocked her backward and she went down.

But not before raking her claws across his shoulder, cutting three deep gouges. Storm ripped her throat out. Her head rolled to one side and her body jerked back and forth.

Fast and final, but his shoulder burned as if acid had been poured in the wound.

He took a couple of steps toward the center of the clearing, then turned around and dove headfirst through the invisible barrier. Going back through was painful and a battle, but he made it. When he landed on the other side, he looked around and saw only trees, bushes and grass.

The Langau was gone.

Storm’s shoulder ached, telling him to get moving. He took off at a quick pace, in a hurry to reach his truck two miles away. By the time he got to it, his mouth was dry as cotton, and an ache had settled into all his muscles, much like a bad case of the flu.

Shifting into his human form took longer than normal. He was panting by the time he finished. He guzzled a bottle of water, then put on his jeans and shirt over his clammy body. When he climbed into the truck, the clock on the dash showed the day closing in on three in the afternoon.

That would give him time to get home and drop into a deep, healing sleep to push the poison or whatever that Langau had injected him with out of his system. He could do that and still get to Evalle by sundown at half past seven.

Black clouds joined ranks overhead, and thunder pounded.

On top of fighting off whatever was in his system, he’d have to drive through rain to get home. He groaned over the effort it took to lean forward and crank the engine, then he eased back for the half-mile ride to the highway.

His vision doubled. He squinted and realized he might not make it home. Sleeping out here was a bad idea.

Storm chanted, tapping his majik to flood him with energy.

That should keep him awake long enough to make it home if this was only poison. He read road signs and . . .

Time disappeared between thoughts.

One minute he was driving through the forest, and the next he was on the interstate heading south into Atlanta.

Cold seeped inside his hot skin.

He’d never encountered a poison like this one. Chanting to keep himself awake and more alert, he finally pulled into his driveway just over an hour later, never so glad to see his house. His mind blanked and the next thing he knew he was at his front door, checking the warding before he entered.

Another lost blink and he was stretched over his bed, panting. Why the gaps between his thoughts?

He called up his jaguar to start the healing process now that he didn’t have to remain conscious.

His jaguar barely stirred.

What?