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Gemma’s heart leapt to her throat. Had the hunter caught up to her? Had she brought danger right back to Calla, while the werewolf was in this weakened state?
How much could the werewolves still take? Wilhelmina seemed to be in a coma, Calla had lost her control of shifting, and Lyle’s father was unconscious in the yard. There was no telling if the pack was on its way or, if they made it, whether the affliction on Wilhelmina and the others would spread.
A scrap of music drifted past Gemma’s ears again, something familiar, even though she didn’t quite recognize it and could barely hear it. It reminded her of... something, though. She just couldn’t place it.
And then there was no more time.
The sound of boots crossing the floor overhead jarred her out of her head, and then the figure appeared at the top of the ladder. Just as she’d feared, the hunter stared at her—she could feel his gaze from the depths of his shadowed face.
“You!” The word tumbled from her lips before she could stop it. “What do you want already?”
But it was no use. The hunter leapt from the loft with more agility than Gemma had ever possessed, landing lightly on his feet right on top of the kitchen island. The bow was slung across his back, obviously of little use in such an enclosed space, but a dagger glimmered in his hand.
A howl sounded in the distance, faint through the open window upstairs. Several more followed. The pack was coming!
Gemma glanced toward the loft as the howls filled the night, and it was just the opening the hunter needed. He lunged from the island at her, knocking her backward, dagger flashing in the dim light of the cabin. The basket had fallen to the ground behind her when Calla attacked, and her bare foot caught on the wicker, sending it across the floor even as she lost her balance. She dropped, catching herself painfully on her wrist and raising the cloak along her other arm as a shield.
Calla snarled more ferociously than when Gemma had dropped from the loft, a growl that chilled the blood in Gemma’s veins. The music she thought she’d heard grew, entwining with the growls. Calla lunged at the hunter, and he jumped back, hood falling away from his face. Gemma expected concern, if not fear, at the other woman’s attack. But rather than fear, the hunter looked almost amused. Happy, even.
And there was something else. Now that she could see his face more clearly, even though the light was poor here, her dark vision was good enough to see the faint bioluminescent patterns dotting his cheekbones, curling around his jaw, disappearing under his collar.
Bioluminescent marks that she shared. The hunter was... a siren.
Gemma froze, shocked. The music she’d been hearing suddenly made sense, the sound hurting Calla’s ears. He was producing it. It was faint so that he wasn’t using up all his magic, so that it didn’t drain him like her song had drained her earlier.
She couldn’t stop staring. He battled Calla expertly, parrying her blows, dodging her claws. Calla wasn’t as lucky or as swift, and several times his dagger caught her, her howls filling the cabin with the pain of the blow.
Gemma couldn’t just sit here. She had to do something! So what if he was a siren. He was a threat first.
Gemma pushed herself to her feet, keeping her eyes glued to the fight before her. If Calla could keep him distracted, maybe she could untangle his song, whatever it was. Maybe she could stop it, and then they could focus on helping the werewolves.
Maybe her own song could subdue the hunter, at least until the pack arrived.
Gemma took a deep breath, allowing the music to resonate with her, trying to read the notes and riffs, trying to understand the spell he had woven so subtly. The notes didn’t come easily, fighting to remain hidden, fighting to disguise their true nature from her.
But she was a daughter of the sea. A siren. Song was her language, her power. The music couldn’t hide from her forever.
And then she had it. But as soon as she did, she almost wished she hadn’t. She wished it wasn’t true. Because if it was... then the hunter was weaving a spell that violated all the sirens’ laws.
It was a song of destruction. A song meant to break the werewolves into their most primal, animal selves. To wrest control from them, to turn them into monsters.
Gemma ran a hand over her head, tucking back the free strands of hair that had fallen in her face. If he was going to weave a song of destruction, then she would, too. Except her song wouldn’t target the werewolves.
It would have to target him. To stop him.
Her breath trembled. Could she really do it? Her song would have to overpower his, and if she failed, then who would stop him? If the pack got here before she could untangle the spell, they’d be just as screwed as the three werewolves already here.
She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. Why would one of her own do something like this? Why threaten fellow Fae? Why turn them into a danger to themselves and everyone around them?
Her heart thudded. She’d never had problems like this when she lived at the bottom of the sea. Never had to fight one of her own. And since she’d come to Cider Hollow, she’d now had to face two sirens, one of whom was her own sister.
Gemma squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. No. She had to stop that spiral, to just focus on now. The rest would come, but now Calla needed her. Wilhelmina and Lyle’s father needed her. The entire pack, Prince Forrest, Reese, they were all counting on her to resolve this, and to resolve it as peacefully and safely as possible.
She opened her eyes.
While Calla distracted the hunter, still roaring each time the dagger made contact with her skin, Gemma got to work. She focused on the faint strands of song again, grasping at their vibrations in the air, allowing the resonance to fill her. She opened her mouth, first finding the same vibration, then altering the tone to dissonance, disrupting the song piece by piece.
Calla’s body began to smooth, the long wolf fur retreating into her human form. Encouraged, Gemma sang louder, distorted the hunter’s song with greater leaps and risks. The core of the song of destruction began to tremble, ringing with the dissonance between their songs.
And then the hunter noticed what Gemma was doing.
He shoved Calla back, slamming the dagger’s handle into Calla’s forehead hard enough to stun her, at least for a moment. Then, the hunter turned his attention to Gemma.
He opened his own mouth, fighting against her with his magic of destruction. He took a step toward her. Calla’s blood shone on the tip of his blade, bright red even in the darkness.
She was counting on Gemma. They all were.
Gemma squared her shoulders, drawing in another breath to continue the song, to crescendo and drown out his spell. He took another step toward her, brows furrowing now. She had to keep it up, as long as she could. Had to break the spell.
Sweat broke out on her forehead, damp and cool in the crisp autumn evening. A chill had snuck into the cabin now that the sun had gone, but she hadn’t noticed until the magic began to sap her strength.
Her knees trembled, but still she kept up the song, pushing back harder. The hunter was forced to strengthen his own spell to combat her, the two songs ringing as loud as bells now in the small, enclosed space.
But he was breaking, just as much as she was. No siren was immune to this physical toll of magic. Now, it was simply a battle of stamina, of endurance.
The howls sounded again, this time seemingly right outside. They were ferocious, hungry howls. The pitch changed as they came closer to the songs, yelping in pain.
Gemma glanced over at Calla. The werewolf was shifting rapidly back and forth from the half form to her human form, and she had backed away from the sirens, hunched over with her hands pressed over her ears as well as she could.
This had to end!
Gemma rose to a pitch she’d never dared before, one final note ringing out as the hunter’s song shattered like sea glass. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air.
Silence descended on the cabin. Not even the wolf howls broke it.
A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she followed the hunter to the floor, panting, the floor spinning in front of her. She squeezed her eyes closed, but found her body swaying until she fell over sideways and forced her eyes back open. The room still spun, but at least the hunter was in no better condition.
His song had ended. Calla was back in her human form and hurrying about the kitchen, unlocking the door for the pack, scraping together scattered herbs and tools.
Gemma let her eyes closed. She still didn’t know what the hunter wanted... but the pack was here, and they would be safe.
