“Not good…” Charity muttered, gripping her sword’s hilt with both hands.
The creature stepped toward her, its eyes pulsing red, its mouth twisted. “Come with me, fae,” it rasped.
“So not good…” She back-pedaled.
It came at her. Its big arm swung out, leaving wisps of fire left in its wake. She sliced through its skin, and a gash opened. Slugs and crawlers wriggled out, like she’d lifted a log in a shady part of the woods.
A demon. It had to be.
She screamed—she couldn’t help it—and slashed. Another gash opened. Horrible insects squirmed along its skin. Real or an illusion, she couldn’t tell, but her skin crawled. The thing grabbed for her. Its claws caught on her sleeve and pulled.
She’d never gotten out of a hoodie so fast in her life.
Dancing back, she swung her sword and then jabbed, sticking it into the stomach. More insects. Its face didn’t so much as tweak in discomfort. She lifted her sword for another strike as a huge tan shape streaked through the air.
A lioness landed on the creepy thing’s shoulders, hanging on to it with strong paws. Another lioness lunged, ripping into insect-frenzied lateral muscles. Gray wolves of all sizes cut between Charity and the demon, swarming her and forcing her back toward the house.
“No! I am not leaving Devon and his pack,” she cried.
One wolf, the biggest, looked up. Intelligent human eyes, one blue, one green, met hers. Roger had come.
He snarled, and the line of wolves advanced on her, continuing to back her up. Trying to usher her to safety.
Futile effort. Team members didn’t leave one another behind. Devon and his pack had sacrificed themselves for her, and now she would do the same for them. Maybe she hadn’t been with them long, but they’d accepted her as one of their own. They were the only family she had left, and she would protect them with everything in her.
She shoved a palm out and felt lava surge up within her. Electricity crackled through the air before the concussion. Furry bodies fell backward and kept going, rolling across the hard ground like rocks.
She ran, jumped off the deck, and slashed into a vampire. An arm went flying. She slapped her hand on another vamp’s body and exploded it, guts flying everywhere. Whirling, she struck through a chest and got lucky enough to hit the heart. The being convulsed and howled.
The new wolves crowded around her again, this time not trying to force her anywhere. They’d clearly learned their lessons and were now just trying to help.
A teeth-chattering roar announced the arrival of a huge white bear—no, not a bear. Bears didn’t have two horns curling from the sides of their heads.
Charity had to pause in bewilderment for a second.
A yeti!
It lumbered in front of her, its chest broader and arms longer than that of a bear. This animal was meant to walk upright, with incredible strength in its upper body. One swipe of its large, claw-tipped hand sent a vampire flying. The yeti crunched another vamp’s shoulder with its sharp teeth, and when it shook its shaggy head, the vampire flew apart like an old chew toy.
A chorus of wolves’ snarling filled the yard. Roger had brought enough troops to even the playing field.
Charity jogged over a pile of festering insects and then barely ducked in time to miss a limb of fire rocketing at her head. Its spiky-headed owner howled before swinging the arm at her again. Flames licked the creature’s body and crawled up its twisted and hideous face. The wolves danced around it, probably nervous their fur would catch fire if they attacked.
“Conundrum,” Charity said, wondering the same thing about her hair. “I hope I don’t end up looking stupid.”
She ran at it, getting inside that arm, before thrusting her sword into its middle. Fire surged around her, kissing her skin. Pain blossomed, and she pumped her magic higher, electrifying the air.
Her magic could fight his demon fire.
She ripped the blade out of its middle and thrust again, and again, hacking like a wild thing and feeling the song of her blade as she did so.
A wolf barreled into the side of the fiery demon. He or she then yelped and rolled away, fur singed and smoking.
She stepped back, spun to get momentum, and sliced with everything she had. Her blade cut through its neck, nearly sticking on bone halfway through. Her magic crackled around her, fighting the creature’s attempt to summon more fire.
The head fell off, but Charity didn’t wait to appraise her handiwork.
Panting, getting tired, she looked up at the frenzy of fur and filth in front of her. The battle was alive with teeth and claws. And then, like magic, a path opened up diagonally. Her gaze was sucked in that direction. Her stomach dropped out.
At the edge of the battle stood Vlad, staring at her, clearly waiting for her to notice. With the forces Roger had brought, he knew he couldn’t make the grab. How could he not?