Circle of Death (Damask Circle 2)

Tears stung her closed eyes at the sheer depth of concern—and love—in that one question. I’m certainly better than you. She hesitated, wishing she could say more but not daring to tempt fate just yet. I’m about to test Helen’s spell and call the storms down, so be ready for it.

Be careful, he said. She still has the gun.

Not for long she doesn’t. She clenched her fist, fighting back the bitter taste of fear and any form of doubt. This would work. It had to work, or they would all die.

Within her mind, she reached for the clouds high above. Power surged, sharp and clean, running through every muscle, every vein, until her whole body ached with the force of it.

Mariel’s snort raked the silence. “Sometimes men are simply too predictable.” As she raised the gun, Kirby called to the wind. It swept in, fierce and cold, swirling around Mariel, thrusting her sideways and wrenching the gun from her hands. And with the wind came the rain, a torrent that soaked the three of them near the table and yet left Doyle untouched.

He shifted shape and leapt toward the witch. Fire burned through the night, and he twisted. The flames singed his coat, and the smell of burning hair and flesh stung the air and churned Kirby’s stomach. He hit the ground and became human again but remained on all fours, as if he didn’t have the energy to move any farther. Agony surged through the link between them, and for several seconds she couldn’t even breathe.

“Bitch!” Mariel spun and lashed out.

Kirby dodged, but not fast enough. Mariel’s nails raked her face, as sharp as any panther’s claws.

“For that, you will both pay.” A knife appeared in midair. Mariel waved a hand, and the blade arrowed toward Doyle. He didn’t move. He wasn’t even looking.

Kirby called the air, directing its power at the blade, then lurched up and grabbed Mariel’s hand while tightening her grip on Trina’s.

The witch’s eyes widened, and for the first time, fear flickered in the depths of her madness. But she could no more fight Kirby’s hold on her than she could the energy that now rushed between them.

Once again, the circle of five had become one.

Power surged, crackling sharply across the silence—a rich, throaty roar that made the storms pale in comparison. The earth shuddered in response, and the sharp sound of shattering concrete filled the air.

Kirby!

Doyle’s shout seemed a million miles away. Energy burned, became a song only she could see and control. Her whole being danced to its tune, aching for its caress.

Kirby! Listen to me.

She frowned, but the music of the energy beckoned and his voice seemed to fade. She smiled, in her mind’s eye seeing the witches’ stones tumble and leap like frogs in the pond that the garage had become.

You must control it, or you’ll kill us all.

The desperation in his voice reached past her euphoria. Memories shuddered through her. She couldn’t kill—not again.

Not innocent bystanders, anyway.

She took a deep breath, then focused the force in on Mariel herself.

Pain exploded—pain so deep it tore through every fiber of her being. She screamed—a sound echoed by both Mariel and Trina. Then the whole world seemed to tear itself apart and she knew no more.

“ARE YOU SURE YOU WON’T COME BACK WITH US?”

Doyle shook his head. “I have to find her, Russ. I can’t leave until I at least talk to her.”

Five days had passed since that fateful fight in the parking garage that had killed the witch and damn near killed him as well. Five days in which he’d been stuck in the hospital, recovering from the wounds the witch had inflicted. He might be a shapeshifter, and capable of fast healing, but even he needed medical help sometimes.

And in those five days, he hadn’t seen or heard from Kirby.

She’d checked out of the hospital the day after they’d both been admitted and had simply disappeared. Worry and fear had been his constant companions from that moment on. What if she was still lost in the dance of energy she’d raised? What if the energy that had blown apart the witch had somehow backwashed and taken her spirit and her mind, as well?

What if she was running from him, from the emotions she feared to face?

The wind stirred, running heated fingers through his hair. He squinted up at the clear blue skies. Though dawn had barely passed, the promise of another hot day was already evident. A good day for hunting, if nothing else.

“You’d better get inside,” he said, returning his gaze to Russell’s bandaged face. “Before the sun hits full strength and you start burning.”