Davina (The Immortal Prophecy 3)

He started to step away. His head lowered, and he was going to leave without speaking to his friends. He didn’t want to, but The Immortal couldn’t know they were alive. The less she knew, the safer everyone was.

“Roane.” Wren grabbed him again.

He heard the dip in her voice, how it grew husky, and his chest tightened at the sympathy he knew would be in her eyes. He couldn’t look at her.

“I have to go.”

“But Da—”

He pulled away and rasped out, “I know.” He had to stop her. She couldn’t say Davy’s name, because Davy wasn’t really lost. She couldn’t be . . . he couldn’t think that way. His voice hardened. “I have to go to kill our enemies.”

She started to reach for him again, but he went to the edge and dropped to the bottom. Sensing their leader, his men that had been on the battleground turned toward him. They didn’t know yet, but they soon would that he was no longer their leader. He was compromised, but until he really was under The Immortal’s power, he had one more battle to wage.

Pulling out his sword, he started in the direction that he saw The Immortal fly. She was seeking The Mother Wolf, that was where the rest of their enemies would be. He didn’t look behind him, but he registered that the Christane wolves were turning to follow him. Christian and Pippa had followed him, as everyone did.

Wren, Bastion, and the new arrivals remained behind. They had their own mission.

It was done. Roane felt it in his gut. The Immortal had won, and he hadn’t even known there was a fight for Davy until she was smack in front of him, kissing him. He knew she was different, but he didn’t care. It was Davy. She was finally in front of him. He could hold her. He could taste her, touch her, inhale her. But, it had been too good to be true. There’d been something off about her, he felt that in the back of his mind, but he turned it off. He didn’t want to question how Davy came to be. He was just glad she was there . . . and then the other shoe dropped.

It wasn’t her.

And now, as he led his army into the forest with his sword ready in his hand, The Immortal was swirling around inside of himself. He wasn’t sure if it was even him in there, or just her. He felt under her control, but there was a small tunnel. He felt Davy before. She was still in The Immortal. If he could get to her, if there was a way of breaking her free, he had to take it, but for now—they crested the last hill and below them, they could hear the screams.

The Immortal had already arrived.

It was chaos. Hundreds of Benshire wolves were dead on the ground. The image was almost as bad as the battleground they just left, but there was an army missing. Roane searched the woods. The Romah vampires were there. It wasn’t just the Benshire line. Jacith had brought his oldest and most powerful vampire family.

“No!”

Christian and Pippa stood next to him, but the rest of the Christane wolves streamed around them. They began to attack the rest that still lived, but before the first could lunge in the air, a bloodcurdling scream went through the air. It went through everyone, sending chills down their spines.

At the top of the next ridge stood The Immortal and The Mother Wolf. One in her white dress and the other in her blue robe.

A deep roar ripped from Christian. “No. She’s mine to kill.” He surged forward. “NO!”

Davy looked over at them. He hated to call her that, but he loathed to keep referring to her as The Immortal. It was a grand title that she didn’t deserve. She wasn’t grand. She wasn’t anything except a monster, who took the real Davy away.

She was holding The Mother Wolf up with one hand at her throat. Genuine confusion flashed over her features as she looked from Christian to the woman in her grip. She held her up higher. “You wish to kill this one?”

Pippa started crying. Lucas heard her sniffling from the other side of her brother. He closed his eyes—this stranger who had Davy’s body was so cold.

Anger was mounting in Christian and he nodded, stiffly. “Yes.” His tone softened, but only a little bit. He was holding back the rage.

The Immortal—Roane couldn’t call her Davy. It was too painful to think of her name—met his gaze. She was weighing her options. Her head tilted to the side and her long dark hair swept over her face from the wind. She was impervious to the weather. It was normally hot and humid where they were in Central America, but a cold front moved into the air. The temperature dipped low. The werewolves and vampires, who were impervious to weather as well, were starting to shiver. And through it all, The Immortal was immune to all of it, even the blood that seeped around her bare feet.

He looked around—so many bodies, so much death. The river would run red from the blood that night, but this was what they all signed up for.

War. Death. Carnage.

The Immortal still hadn’t decided what to do with The Mother Wolf. She turned back and brought the older woman closer to her. She was studying her like she was a new creature for her to understand.

“No.” Roane started forward.

Recognizing his voice, The Immortal looked again. More confusion crossed her face, but she didn’t say anything. She held her comment and waited.

“What are you doing?” Christian reached for Roane.

“I’m going over there.”