Dead Heat (Alpha & Omega #4)(100)

The fae creature roared at him; this time there was no magic at all in its cry, only triumph and rage. At that moment, two werewolves landed on the creature’s back, one from each side as if these two had fought together before.

Charles recognized the raccoon-masked face of the leftmost one as a wolf who’d belonged to Hosteen when he had come to see the Alpha of the Salt River Pack the first time, near enough to a century ago. His fur was dark with dried blood. Evidently this was not the first encounter that wolf had had: Ms. Edison had not driven up to the house unchallenged.

The fae grabbed one wolf with a move that proved him to be double-jointed. His hand was big enough to surround the wolf’s head and tear him off, flinging him out of Charles’s line of sight. He simply touched the other wolf and that one dropped like a stone. Like Charles.

Charles realized that it hadn’t been sound that had echoed through his body earlier, it had been magic. The second wolf landed half on Charles, half off. The remaining wolf, the one who’d been thrown, was back. He moved like a cattle dog working an angry bull, nip and run and nip and run.

For a moment, Charles thought that wolf had a chance. But he went for a throat grab. The fae’s joints didn’t work like a human’s joints—or those of any other animal Charles had seen. His head just moved with the wolf’s motion, neck emerging from his shoulders like a Slinky pulled out of a box. He swiveled and bit down on the wolf’s neck. The wolf cried out, red blossoming around the fae’s closed mouth.

Charles broke out in a sweat and curled his paw.

Joseph let Charles take the lead. He was amazingly glad to see Charles. The relief of it left him light-headed. Watching Hephzibah, the Evil One, dump the fae on her head was just the icing on the best zucchini bread he’d ever had.

But the fae didn’t follow the script. Charles just collapsed. A pair of his father’s wolves cleared the arena fence and joined in the battle. Two werewolves, and one was down in under a minute. That was when he knew his role wasn’t finished here.

He had no idea why Hephzibah hadn’t taken one of her famous exits. The arena gates were open at both ends, but she just kept circling around at a leisurely canter, her eye on … Mackie, he thought. He waited until Hephzibah started around again, and used her body to hide when he entered the arena. He ran beside her, keeping her between him and the fae.

He caught her reins and was grateful that it was Hephzibah he had to work with. Any other horse in the stable wouldn’t go anywhere near a thing that looked as deadly as the creature Ms. Edison had turned into. Hellbitch she might be, but Hephzibah had yet to meet something she was scared of.

She eyed Joseph warily but had no objection to him running at her side, not even when he started pushing her to get closer. A glance under her neck told him that the second werewolf was down, with the fae chomping on his neck.

Joseph thanked goodness that he’d tightened the cinch himself and that Hephzibah had the withers to hold the saddle straight as he pulled the old trick of jumping halfway into the saddle. One foot in the stirrup, one hand holding the horn. He pulled her nose tight, aiming her right at the fae as he kicked her in the haunch with his free toe. All of it at the same time, or none of it would work.

She launched herself sideways at the fae, landing smack on top in an ungraceful movement she’d never have made if he hadn’t knocked her off balance. The fae was shoved off the wolf. The horse scrambled hard to keep her feet and kicked the monster good a couple of times in the process.

Joseph, unnoticed, dropped to the ground behind the creature’s back. He pulled out his knife and with his full weight behind the blow, just as Charles had taught him, punched the blade through the fae’s back while it was still disoriented from Hephzibah’s surprise attack.

The fae-thing’s arm swung around improbably and hit Joseph in the chest. He heard the ribs crack before he felt them, and then he was down on the dirt next to a wolf who was bleeding out from the wound in his throat.

He had failed.

When the chestnut mare charged the fae, Charles felt a moment of stunned disbelief. There was no reason … and then he saw Joseph. It was an old Indian trick, hanging off the side of your horse so you could get close to your enemy.

He spared an instant of admiration. There was nothing Joseph couldn’t do with a horse. The horse landed on the fae, both of them equally surprised by it. And the fae’s hold on Charles weakened.

He pulled himself to all four feet, snarling silently with the effort. As Joseph stuck his knife into the fae’s back, Charles took two stumbling steps forward as the magic released him—just for a moment. Then the magic was back and his body was once again unwilling to follow his command.

But the fae’s hold wasn’t as strong as it had been. He couldn’t pay attention to the way Joseph was lying on his back, blood foaming from his nose and mouth. Charles had to get to his feet, had to kill the fae while it was still down.

The chestnut mare ran up toward Joseph, stopped about ten feet away, and then snorted, gave a half jump sideways, and trotted off again.

Joseph had severed the fae creature’s spine with the knife. As Charles dragged himself closer, he watched it try to reach the blade. But Joseph had, by luck or intent, found a place it couldn’t get its hands. The flesh around the knife moved as though there were something under the mottled and bumpy green skin that was both repelled by and attracted to the steel.