As the last notes of the song faded away, Jake sagged in relief. His head throbbed, and he felt drained. Amplifying the chorus’s magic had been the most complex thing he’d ever done. As a Feral, manifesting Clarence was effortless; all he did was release their combined magic.
But this had been something altogether different.
At first, as Erica had sent the exotic, alien power rolling through his aura, he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to do the job at all. In desperation, he’d finally treated it the same way he treated Clarence: he got the fuck out the way and let it pour through him, reshaping his magic as it would.
He wrapped one arm around Erica for a fierce, relieved hug. “I can’t believe that worked!”
“It wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Shannon.” She turned a dazzling smile on the young Bard, who was practically glowing. “Thank you so much.” Looking around at the exhausted, exhilarated Bards, she called, “Y’all saved a lot of lives today. I’m sure I can speak for Sheriff Gable when I say thank you all!”
As the Talents shared hugs and grins, Jake scanned the battlefield. The Norms blinked and looked around -- cops, Humanists, reporters and videographers alike, all a bit dazed and confused from the various spells they’d been subjected to. Some clutched injuries while others collapsed to the ground in pain and exhaustion. He heard one HHer ask, “What the fuck just happened?”
“Yeah,” Jake muttered, “Just what I was thinking.”
“All right,” the sheriff’s amplified voice crackled through a bullhorn. “Everybody who hit a cop is under arrest until we get this thing sorted out. Officers, take your zip ties and get to work.”
“Wish Shannon could’ve used that fucking bullhorn instead of us,” Kurt told him, rubbing his forehead as if it hurt. Judging by Jake’s headache, it probably did.
Evidently overhearing, Shannon explained, “A bullhorn distorts the sound too much. Anyway, it wouldn’t have been loud enough.”
Now that it was safe, EMS crews began working their way across the field, triaging the injured and going to work on those hurt the worst. There were a lot more crews than they’d started out with. Evidently dispatch had realized things were going sideways and called in every unit in the county.
Remembering the guy with the dragon on his head, Jake glanced around, narrow-eyed. He’d heard the guy say something about failing to kill Erica the first time. Yeah, he wanted a word with that dickhead.
“Jake Nolan!” The amplified voice was badly distorted in a way he recognized as a product of yet another bullhorn. “Hey, Simba! I’ve got your mommy.”
What the fuck? Jake scanned for the source of the sound, seeing nothing but a bunch of injured, exhausted and confused people. There was no sign of his mother at all.
“I’m not joking, kitty. Make some noise, Mom.”
“Oww! Damn it, let go, you bastard!”
“Shit!” Jake exchanged a look with Erica as his heart lurched. “That’s Mom.” In the depths of his mind, Clarence roared as his exhaustion disappeared in an explosion of adrenaline. The manifestation burst from him again, sweeping him up and enclosing him in a glowing four-legged leonine cocoon.
Around him, cops turned, drawing weapons, scanning the area, looking for the source of the voice. Over the radio, Gable growled, “Nolan, what the hell he’s talking about?”
Jake grabbed his handset. “He says he snatched my mother.”
“Shit.”
“I’m not joking, Nolan,” the kidnapper called. “You’d better get your magical ass over here, or Mom’s gonna have issues.”
“I’d bet money that’s the Arc asshole who engineered all this,” Erica said in a grim, low voice.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”
“Damn it, stop!” Diane snapped, her Familiars adding a canine snarl to her voice. A chorus of furious barks sounded as if she were trying to manifest. She didn’t use her dog form often -- it was nowhere near as strong as his -- but when she did, you knew she was pissed.
“Watch it, bitch, or I’ll feed you a bullet!”
Diane made a high, pained sound.
Shit. Canine manifestations were too small to provide bulletproofing; their magic just wasn’t strong enough. Mom wouldn’t be able to keep the bastard from shooting her.
Ignoring the alarmed exclamations from the crowd, Jake sprang into a trot, headed in the direction of the kidnapper’s voice. It seemed to be coming from the hillside that bordered the park in a natural amphitheater. Several granite outcrops protruded from the hill like fingers, providing convenient spots for an audience to perch or picnic. His eyes narrowed, focusing on one rock that had to be twenty feet tall. If he were an assassin, that’s where he’d be. Great view from there.
The outcrop appeared empty, but with an Arc, that didn’t mean much.
From the corner of one eye, he saw Kurt loping beside him, Erica and Gen on his right, running to keep up. Off to either side, more cops moved cautiously after them.
“Better get a move on, Simba,” the kidnapper called. “You don’t want me to get bored and put a bullet in Mommy’s head.”
“Jake!” Erica stared up at the hillside. “There’s a weird magical shape up on that big outcrop. I think it’s somebody under a camouflage blanket.”
“A what?” Genevieve asked, as Kurt cursed.
“Bends visible light like a Spook Suit. The military used ‘em during the war to hide gun emplacements.”
Slowing, Jake closed his eyes, staring at the outcropping. An odd, lumpy shape appeared to hover in midair about twenty feet up. It didn’t look like a shrouded weapon, and it seemed to be moving, “What the fuck is that?”
Erica was right -- it did look like a spelled blanket with someone struggling underneath. The odd shape that protruded from it was probably the head and shoulders of an Arcanist wearing a Spook Suit. Bastard must be standing behind his mother, using her as a shield.
“Nolan, give me a vowel,” Gable demanded over the radio.
Erica triggered her handset. “I think that’s the Arcanist who’s behind all this. He’s got a hostage.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that part,” the sheriff said dryly. “Let’s try not to get anybody killed. Back ‘em up, officers, but nobody open fire until you can see what the hell you’re shooting at.”
Kurt veered closer, until the Ferals’ manifestations trotted shoulder to magical shoulder. Voice low, he muttered, “You can almost see the giant neon sign hanging over his head: ‘this is a trap.’”
“Goddamnit, I know that,” Jake snapped. “But he’s got my mother.”
The sheriff’s voice rang out over the bullhorn. “Let the woman go! There’s no way you’re getting out of this. We will shoot you if you don’t turn her loose.”
“And sacrifice the hero’s mother in front of all these cameras?” He laughed, the sound grating and mechanical. “Besides, you can’t even see us.”
The four Talents slowed to a walk as they approached the base of the outcropping, all too aware of the danger of running head-on into a MEED. Glancing back, Jake saw some of the cops herding people out of the line of fire, while others melted into the trees, seeking cover they could shoot from.
Meanwhile the four of them stood here like targets. At least he and Kurt were bulletproof.
“Take cover between us,” Kurt told Gen and Erica, evidently realizing the problem at the same time he did. “Crouch down.”
As the two women obeyed, Jake asked, “So if this is a trap, where is it and what is it?”
“I can’t quite tell.” Erica sounded pained, uncertain. She probably had a savage headache from the magic she’d already used. Did she even have juice to disable whatever trap this fucker had created?
Kurt murmured, “Should we have the sheriff bring the bomb suit?”
“I don’t think it’s a bomb. I’m not seeing any sign of wiring or mechanical parts. The only magic I see is the blanket. Trouble is, that thing’s so bright I might not be able to make out other nearby spells.” She glanced at Genevieve, whose eyes were closed as if she, too, was trying to scan for magic. “You see anything?”
“Nada. That blanket really is bright.”
“I’m starting to get bored,” the Arc called.
With that, Jake’s mother appeared out of thin air, blinking and dazed, as if he’d jerked the blanket off her. “Let me go, you bastard!” She jerked as if fighting an invisible hold.
Closing his eyes, Jake saw the glowing figure of a man standing with one arm wrapped around the smaller glowing figure that was Diane. The Arc’s other hand held something pressed against her head. Probably a gun, also hidden by the Spook Suit’s camouflage field.
“Let’s get interesting.” The Arcanist’s voice, no longer distorted by the bullhorn -- he must have dropped it -- sounded amused, mocking. Jake didn’t recognize it.
“Jake?” His mother sounded dazed, frightened.
“Shut up, bitch!” The kidnapper clubbed her hard with his gun hand. Diane fell with a cry, landing on her side at his feet.
Jake tensed in rage, his own and his cat’s. His fury was all the hotter for the terror boiling under it. He ached to leap onto the outcrop and take the bastard out, but kidnapper and victim were twenty feet up and about five feet ahead. An impossible jump even for a flesh and blood lion the size of Clarence. If he missed…
The glowing figure planted a foot on the side of his mother’s face, pinning her there as he aimed his invisible weapon down at her. Diane being Diane, she beat at his calf. “Get off… me… you jerk!”
The Arcanist laughed. And drew back a foot to kick her. “That’s no way to…”
Oh, fuck this. Jake got a fix on his target’s location, opened his eyes, and sprang. His human body could leap a hell of a long way carried by magical leonine muscle, but he’d never tried a jump that far.
Glowing paws hit the lip of the outcrop, scrambled, almost lost their grip -- and caught. Roaring, Jake powered himself onto the stone in a furious surge. Snapping his eyes closed, he saw the Arcanist standing astride Diane.
Cursing, the kidnapper aimed the gun at him and emptied the clip as fast as he could pull the trigger. Bullets ricocheted off Jake’s manifestation in an explosion of magical sparks. He lunged at the bastard, striking out with his claws, glowing jaws wide to display his armory of teeth. “You keep your fucking hands off my mother!”
With a defiant howl, the Arc leaped into a spectacular spinning kick aimed at his muzzle. Jake swung a forepaw, batting the Talent out of the air like a tennis ball. He went flying, hit a pine tree with a melon thump, and fell in a senseless heap.
Jake came down twisting to avoid Diane, who lay coiled in a ball with both arms thrown over her head, and hit the stone with all four legs apart. He had a moment to feel triumphant relief…
Until the magical trap sprang shut around him in an explosion of sparks and rotating sigils. He barely had time to think, Oh shit!
His brain seemed to detonate in a white-hot blast. Jake had never felt such blazing, frenzied rage, such a bloody craving to make someone pay. The bastard had dared touch Diane Nolan -- the single mother who’d worried and struggled and fought to give her sons a better life, only to be forced to bury one of them.
The magic-using shit had tried to kill Jake’s mother.
He deserves to die.
Head low, the air around him vibrating with his snarl, Jake stalked toward the Arcanist, eyes closed to let him focus on his prey. The man stirred feebly, a bare twitch of his chin.
I’m going to bite the little prick’s head right off his shoulders…
“Jake?” The voice was a hoarse croak, and he opened his eyes to look around, lips rippling with his snarl.
The middle-aged woman lifted herself on her elbows, her face white everywhere it wasn’t bruised and scraped. “Don’t, Jake! He’s unconscious. It would be murder.”
“You can’t tell me…” He broke off, and for a moment he recognized her through the bloody haze clouding his vision.
Until another wave of fury tore through him, ripping the moment of sanity away.
He roared.
She jerked her gaze away and huddled submissively, her voice going high with anxiety. “You’re under a spell! Like Bobby. Just like Bobby. Please, please, don’t. I’ve lost one of you. I can’t lose…”
That’s Mom. I can’t hurt Mom. He froze, shaking, trying to see her through the red-hot firestorm that hazed his vision with the need to rend and tear and kill. With the craving for blood.
Mom’s blood. An icy bolt of horror jolted through his madness. Get the fuck away before I hurt her. Start killing, won’t be able to stop. Like Bobby.
Somewhere on the ground below, a voice spoke, reverberating with magic. “Jake? What’s going on?”
Kurt. Kurt’s down there. Kurt can stop me.
Wheeling, he ran toward the end of the outcrop and threw himself over the edge.
* * *
Her head felt as if it was about to topple off her shoulders if she made one wrong move, but Diane Nolan managed to crawl to the edge of the granite outcrop.
Twenty feet below, Jake’s manifestation crouched, tail lashing, as he faced off with Erica, Genevieve, and Kurt’s tiger.
Her son roared, the sound louder and more inhuman than she’d ever heard it. Whatever spell that bastard Arc had cast on her boy, it was bad. No, damn it. Not again. I’m not losing you, too.
Teeth gritted with effort, she reeled to her feet. And damn near blacked out again from the vicious pressure against her eyes. Suck it up, Diane.
She needed to get down there, try to talk some sanity into her child. Teeth clenched with effort, she began to hobble down the length of the rock. She was not looking forward to trying to climb down that slope.
Wait, where the hell was the kidnapper? The last thing she needed was for him to come after her. Diane closed her eyes and turned slowly, searching with her aural vision…
There he was, huddled on the ground at the foot of a tree, dead or unconscious. He’s lucky Jake didn’t eat him.
She started to turn away, only to realize he might regain consciousness and escape, especially given the Spook Suit. Damned if that jerk’s getting away after what he did to my son. Diane hobbled over and bent to wrap her fingers in the fabric of his full-face mask, almost face-planting in the process. Bracing one hand against the tree, she finally dragged it off. It peeled off slowly, revealing a bleeding scalp wound.
As she straightened, his head appeared, looking decapitated. When she stepped away holding the mask, the spell broke and the entire man appeared, looking like an abandoned rag doll in black body armor. He was a big man -- dark haired and bearded, about forty, with the heavy muscularity of a boxer. His chest still rose and fell.
At least Jake didn’t kill him. Not that he doesn’t have it coming. Still, it would be better if he were alive to be questioned.
Shoving the mask into the back pocket of her jeans, Diane turned to stagger along the line of the hill, searching for a way down.
With the sound of her son’s menacing roars echoing in her ears, she knew she’d better hurry.
* * *
Erica latched onto Genevieve’s arm and jerked her friend back away as the two glowing Ferals circled each other, muscles tense, heads low. She’d heard Jake roar a lot over the years, but he’d never sounded so thoroughly inhuman. Every time that savage, thundering sound raked her eardrums, it was all she could do not to flinch.
“Jake, you’re under a spell,” Kurt said, his magic amplifying his voice. “Remember what happened to Bobby? Remember what he did to Dave? I don’t want to have to kill you to keep you from killing someone else, and you don’t want to end up living in the tree house with Dave for the rest of your life. You finally have Erica. Don’t screw that up.”
Genevieve leaned in and yelled into Erica’s ear, fighting to be heard over the Ferals. “We’ve got to break that damned spell! We’re going to have to get closer.”
“You can’t do it! It’s going to have to be me. He won’t kill me.”
“Bobby killed Dave!”
“Bobby wasn’t in love with Dave.” She grabbed her shoulder mic and triggered it. “Sheriff Gable?”
“Any luck getting Nolan back under control?” He sounded as grim and desperate as she felt. “We’re still trying to evacuate, but the crowd’s on the verge of a wholesale panic.”
“Warn them that if they run, they could trigger him to attack. Besides, Hussein Bolt couldn’t outrun a manifested Feral. Walk slowly and calmly. If he charges, get down on the ground, cover your head with your arms and roll into a ball. Do not move. Do not make eye contact. Kurt will keep him from hurting you.” As long as Jake doesn’t kill him. “And I’m going to break the spell as soon as I can get close.”
“How are you going to do that without getting mauled?”
“Magic.”
Jake lunged at Kurt again, and the glowing tiger leaped back, ducking a vicious slice of leonine claws. Roaring in frustration, the lion jolted after him, but the tiger danced away, probably hoping to exhaust Jake with a chase until his manifestation simply collapsed.
It might even work.
Erica licked lips gone dry with terror. She had to figure out how to break that spell, assuming she had the juice left after what she’d done with the Bards. Her head still throbbed like a kettledrum, but at least sheer terror had given her a second wind.
Jake’s back was to her now, and she edged closer, reaching for her Talent to examine his aura.
Oh fuck.
White burned so hot in his skull she could see the frenzied heat through the golden blaze of his cat. Crimson sigils orbited him like moons around Jupiter. Deciphering them, she realized the spell was every bit as bad as she feared. It was designed to overwhelm the human half’s centers of judgment and self-control while maddening the cat half. Probably the only reason it hadn’t affected Diane too was that her Familiars were dogs.
Studying the spell, she took another step closer…
The lion’s great head snapped around, glowing eyes narrowing in rage. His muscles tensed. Erica froze.
“Oh, fuck no!” Kurt charged, plowing into his friend. As Erica and Genevieve leapt away, the fight was on in earnest.
* * *
The cats’ roars hit his ears in a sonic assault that made Roger Johnson’s hands shake with the need to run. Instead, he forced himself to help a reeling Humanist stagger toward the parking lot they were using to evacuate the civilians.
You’re a cop, damn it. Do your damn job and get these people out of here.
But an image flashed through his mind for the tenth time in the past few minutes: the bear Feral dragging Steve across Faraday Square as the cop howled in agony and terror.
Roger tightened his grip on the Humanist’s arm to keep himself from shaking. He could almost feel fangs sinking into his own flesh.
Today was going to be another nightmare to add to his collection.
All around him, desperately quiet men and women streamed into the woods around the park. A guy in an HH T-shirt stopped to take the elbow of an elderly woman in a polyester pants suit, steadying her when she tripped. If he realized she was a Talent, it didn’t seem to matter.
A thin hand clamped down on Roger’s forearm, manicured nails digging into the flesh. “Did the cat kill him?”
He jerked around to see Virginia Laurel glaring up into his face, eyes wide with fury and desperation. “Who?”
“Adrian!” she hissed.
“Adrian who? What the hell are you talking about?”
She leaned in and rose on her toes until she could snarl in his ear. “The Arc terrorist. Did Nolan kill him?”
Rogers jaw dropped as he suddenly had a whole new reason to be horrified. “What?”
“Shut. Up.” Virginia tried to drag him away from the humanist he was guiding. He released the man and followed her until they were clear of the streaming crowd. Finally she turned on him and demanded, “Did the cat kill the terrorist?”
“Who the fuck knows? I couldn’t see from where I was.”
She wrapped a bony hand in his collar and jerked him down until she could snarl in his ear, “You’ve got to make sure he’s dead. Find him and kill him.”
Roger tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let go and he didn’t want to attract attention by ripping out of her hold. “You are out of your fucking mind.”
“You’re involved in this up to your badge! If that little bastard takes me down, you’re going with me. Get up there on that hill while everybody’s distracted.” A deafening roar sounded, and another replied. “With all the noise the cats are making, nobody will hear anything they shouldn’t.”
She released him and gestured impatiently. Glancing around, he saw Clary, Green, Hampton, and Martin standing, waiting for her orders. A more sinister collection of cops he’d never seen in his life. “Go with him,” she told them. “Make sure.”
Clary’s jaw tightened, but he gave her a jerky nod.
Satisfied, she hurried off to disappear into the trees with the rest of the evacuees.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He felt sick. It would be a miracle if they weren’t caught.
Martin bared his teeth. “You heard the lady. We got a job to do.” And judging by the look on his face, if Roger didn’t do it, Martin would -- and kill Roger while he was at it. He didn’t have a choice. If Laurel said she’d take him down with her, she meant it.
Besides, the psycho she’d evidently hired had it coming for doing all this shit.
* * *
Damn it, the Arcanist bastard had known his business. Erica scanned the spell, but she could see no misshapen or badly spaced sigils.
Jake charged Kurt, who ducked aside, whipping out a paw to rake across his friend’s glowing muzzle. Jake reared as Kurt leaped, and the two manifestations slammed together in an explosion of sparks. Wrapping their paws around each other, they ripped, clawing, fighting to puncture one another’s magical shell and reach vulnerable flesh.
Jake began to muscle Kurt backwards, and the tiger released him to bound away. Erica’s heart sank. Kurt was moving more slowly, his manifestation no longer as bright, while Jake’s lion shell burned as hot and moved as fast as ever.
I’m running out of time. If he takes Kurt down, we’re all screwed. Erica edged closer to the fighting pair, knowing she risked drawing Jake’s lethal attention, yet desperate to see the spell more clearly. Every muscle tensed as she prepared to leap away if he turned toward her.
Then, at last, she saw it. One sigil wasn’t quite as bright as the others. There you are, you little bastard. Not much of a weak point, true, but it was going to have to do. She started forward…
Jake’s great maned head whipped toward her, gold eyes blazing, lips pulled back from fangs longer than her fingers. Erica froze, remembering the sight of Dave’s lifeless body lying on the cave floor.
Leonine muscles tensed…
“Jake…” she whispered. Pleading.
His eyes widened as recognition flashed in their mad depths. His lips relaxed down off his teeth. “Eri…”
“You’re not touching her!” Kurt landed on him in an explosion of sparks, all four legs encircling Jake’s torso as he dove for a grip on the back of the manifestation’s maned neck, jaws wide, fangs glowing.
Roaring, Jake twisted in a move no human could have matched, throwing himself to the ground and rolling. Sparks exploded as the cats twisted together, roaring in a deafening chorus, claws digging for purchase. Jake’s rear paws raked the tiger’s belly, leaving dim gashes in the manifestation where they penetrated.
Shit. Kurt’s manifestation’s definitely failing…
Sensing the danger, Kurt released him and leaped away. Jake rolled to all four paws and dove for the tiger’s throat. They tumbled as Kurt fought to escape, writhing and biting. But Jake got him pinned on his back, immobilizing him with fangs sinking into his throat. Kurt’s shell darkened beneath the pressure of those glowing teeth…
The vulnerable sigil rotated into view. Erica raced toward the battling cats.
Insane, this was insane, but it was the only chance they had…
“Erica!” Genevieve’s voice rang with helpless terror for her husband, for Erica, for Jake himself, but Erica knew she couldn’t stop. A thought flashed through her head: If I don’t have the juice to pull this off, he’s going to kill me. But she couldn’t stop, or Kurt would die -- and Jake would be destroyed as surely as Bobby had been.
Thrusting out a hand, Erica sank her fingers into the dimmer sigil barely a foot from the lion’s huge glowing head. And hit it with all her strength.
Nothing happened.
Jake’s eyes rolled toward her though he didn’t let go of Kurt’s throat. One forepaw released its grip on the tiger and lifted. He’s going to rake my legs open.
Too fucking bad. She’d survive that. She wouldn’t survive letting Kurt die. And neither would Jake. She shot her will toward the earth as Genevieve had taught her, fighting to draw power even without a spell circle. More, I’ve got to have more…
A feminine hand landed on her shoulder, nails digging in hard. “Erica!” Gen cried. “Take mine!”
Power blasted into her, a great blazing wave of it, nothing held in reserve, backed by all Genevieve’s desperate love for her husband. Pain blazed through her, but Erica ignored the vicious burn as she grabbed her friend’s magic like a drowning woman. Drinking it down, feeding her own into it, she blasted it into the sigil, backed by the raw force of her will, her furious determination not to lose either man.
The sigil blasted apart, vanishing in a cascade of sparks. Their joined magic burned right through the kidnapper’s spell, splitting it wide, dissolving its sigils into glowing mist.
Jake’s eyes widened. He froze, the grip of his jaws going slack. With a convulsive heave, Kurt drove his rear legs hard into the lion’s belly, throwing him ten feet through the air. Leaping up, he drove a shoulder against Erica’s hip, sending both women stumbling away.
Kurt whirled, planting himself between them and the lion. “Are you insane?” he shouted, without looking around at them. “Get the fuck back!”
Jake snarled, but the white blaze of psychotic rage burning in his head had dimmed.
I’ve just got to snap him the rest of the way out of it. Ignoring the tiger’s warning rumble, Erica headed toward Jake, sidestepping Kurt’s lunge for her arm. Her gaze lowered, she sank to her knees until her head was lower than Jake’s -- a gesture of submission. Slowly, she extended a shaking hand.
“Are you nuts?” Kurt snapped, starting toward her.
Jake snarled and tensed to spring…
* * *
Rage leaped high in his mind again like another gust of burning hurricane wind. He growled at the glowing tiger, knowing only that it had hurt him, tried to kill him. Was getting too close to her.
“Jake!” the woman said, her low voice shaking with desperation. “Jake, please, don’t!”
He knew that voice. Knew it mattered. The fury that had ripped through the cat’s consciousness faded a little before the knowledge that she needed him. Almost enough to let him remember who she was. Who he was…
He stared at the slim, straight figure kneeling in the grass, her head lowered in submission. Slowly, she lifted one delicate hand, and he tensed, a warning growl vibrating through his manifestation.
She lifted her head. Dark eyes met his, deep and warm. And he knew her. It’s her… It’s… The thought spun away into confusion as he struggled to remember.
A cool breeze blew into his face, carrying her scent -- rich, female. Familiar. He took a step closer, drinking in the taste of her on the wind. The rage that had bathed his consciousness in flame cooled again as he stared into those fathomless eyes. Stepped closer to that delicate, trembling hand. Drew in a deep breath.
Tasted fear. He tensed, his hackles rising.
“You’re not going to hurt me.” Despite the fear scent, her voice was steady. “You’re not Bobby. Your control is better than that. Stronger than that. You won’t hurt the people you love.” A current of air teased him with her scent as the fear bled from it.
And he recognized her. Knew her. Almost knew her name…
“Come back to me, Jake. Come back.”
He edged closer until his glowing nose touched those long fingers. They no longer shook.
“I love you, Jake.” The words were low, clear. “Feel me. Know me. The way I know you.”
Magic. Her magic. Rolling across his mind like a cool rain pouring over desert sand. His breathing slowed as her power danced along his. Calling him.
He wanted her. He didn’t know why, but he knew that. Knew she was his. Knew he needed her. Had to have her.
“Erica…” The word rumbled, deep, hoarse. Yes. Erica. It’s Erica. Memory bloomed through him -- the touch of her hand, silken on his skin, the intimate scent that lay behind one lovely ear, the taste of her nipples on his tongue, the salt and sex of her pussy…
“Yes,” she breathed, exquisite eyes staring into his. “Jake. Jake, I love you. Come back to me. Please. I can’t make it without you.” Her voice vibrated with a note of pain that shook him to his core. “You’re the best part of me.”
Clarence moaned, a deep note of distress. Yes, Jake thought. She needs us.
He released his manifestation. The glowing shell vanished, leaving the man kneeling before his kneeling lover.
And Jake had his first sane thought since he’d leaped into the kidnapper’s magic circle. What the fuck had just happened?
The last thing he remembered was his mother, curled in a terrified ball at his feet as he fought his horrifying thirst for her blood.
Oh, Jesus, what did I do? He stared at Erica as she knelt before him. Proud, strong Erica, who never submitted to anyone. “What… what happened? Did I hurt you?” Jake rose, caught her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. Frantically, he scanned her body, breathed deep of her scent, searching for blood. But all she smelled of was… joy.
And relief, the kind of relief you feel when you almost die -- and don’t.
A brilliant smile burst across her face like sunlight escaping storm clouds. “You didn’t hurt me.” She laid a trembling hand on his cheek. The love in her eyes shook him to his heart. “You’d never hurt me.”
“Good. Good. Oh, God, I love you!” Jake threw both arms around her, knowing only that he had to kiss her, had to anchor his consciousness in that hot, soft mouth. His mouth took hers, and to his inexpressible relief, she kissed him back, hot and frantic. As wild relief surged through him, he was distantly aware of the sound of applause and whistles from the watching audience of cops.
“Thank you, Jesus!” From the corner of one eye, he saw Kurt grab Genevieve and kiss her with the same desperate hunger he felt for Erica.
Where the hell had they come from?
Erica pulled back just enough to laugh softly against his mouth. “We’re never going to live this down.”
“I don’t care,” he gasped, and kissed her again.
* * *
Sergeant Roger Johnson knelt and put two fingers against the kidnapper’s carotid artery. His pulse was a little fast, and his head still bled sluggishly, but he didn’t move. Studying the black suit the terrorist wore, Roger realized it was made of Kevlar. I’ll have to shoot him in the head. He swallowed, feeling sick.
“Fuck,” Clary snarled in disgust, lifting his weapon. All of them had their guns drawn. “He’s still alive.” His lips twitched, and his eyes glittered with a nasty light. “We’ve got to do something about that.”
Roger stood and took a step back. In the distance, he heard the sound of applause. “Sounds like the fight’s over. We can’t shoot him now. They’ll hear the shot.”
Hampton toed something in the leaves at her feet. Glancing over, Roger saw a gun. “We can always tell everyone he was going for this.”
“It’ll raise questions.” His mouth was painfully dry, and he licked his lips.
Clary laughed. “Nobody will ask shit. And if they do, Virginia will get the investigation quashed.”
He was probably right. Roger looked down at the man’s body and his stomach lurched. It would be cold-blooded murder. He’d done a lot of things he shouldn’t have over the years, but he’d never killed a man. Especially not a helpless, unconscious man.
I used to be a good cop.
He remembered the day he’d talked a suicidal domestic abuser into releasing the man’s wife and children unharmed. Remembered the day he’d graduated from the South Carolina Criminal Justice Academy, and seeing the pride on the faces of his wife and parents. Remembered the people he’d helped over thirty years as a cop -- the men and women and children he’d defended, the lives he’d saved. How had it come to this?
But he knew the answer to that. I gave up my soul one tiny piece at a time. For fear and rage and hate.
“No.” Roger holstered his weapon.
Clary stared at him, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind? I’m not going to jail. Look, if you don’t want to do it…” He pointed his Glock at the man.
Roger reached up and activated his body cam, making sure they saw him do it. “One thing you may not know about body cams. They run all the time, they just don’t save. But when you hit the button, it saves everything, including from thirty seconds before you activated it.”
“Fuck. You. We’ll smash it.” His face contorting with rage, Martin took a step toward him, aiming his pistol at Roger’s head.
“Go ahead. I really don’t give a fuck.” Roger half-hoped the bastard would do it. It would save him going to jail.
Green stepped up behind Martin and shoved his gun against the back of the psycho’s head. “Yeah, no.”
Martin froze, his eyes widening in astonishment.
Hampton stared at Green in blank shock. “Tom, what the fuck are you doing?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m not doing -- I’m not going to be an accessory to another cop’s murder. This is fucking bad enough as it is. I should never have listened to you to begin with,” he told her bitterly. “You’re worse than the fucking Talents.”
Well, damn it. Hell of a time for him to grow a spine. Roger’s shoulders slumped, and he reached for the handset of his radio. “Sheriff, we’ve got a problem.”