Sunglasses at Night (Claws Clause 3)

“Hmm. Aren’t you cute? Capture me?” Priscilla waved her hand again, a shooing gesture. Virginia lifted off the ground, soaring through the air, landing with a grunt on a lawn two houses down. “I don’t think so.”

The jaguar roared. It was the weirdest sound, like a saw going in one direction, but there was enough of a threat in it to have Adam’s fangs jutting past his bottom lip.

Or maybe that was knowing Rafe was less than a foot away from him and he was powerless to take his revenge.

“I’d say it’s been fun but, honestly, except for seeing my mate again”—she offered Wolfe a four-finger wave so that everyone knew who she meant—“I could’ve just stayed home.”

An amber sheen rolled over Wolfe’s golden eyes. White fur tipped with grey exploded along his brawny arms. “I’m not your mate, Cilla. And you shouldn’t have come. The second I’m free again, your head is mine.”

Not an idle threat, considering the normally suburban cul de sac was littered with severed heads and scattered corpses.

Priscilla pursed her lips. “Is that so? We’ll see about that.”

She lifted her hands, holding them about a foot apart. A spark fizzled, a spot of white light in the darkness, before it began to grow. By the time it was the size of a golf ball, the white turned purple.

Purple, thought Adam. Magic.

Ah, shit.

The glowing orb of pulsing power forming between Priscilla’s curved hands kept expanding. The golf ball became a baseball, then a softball, now a beach ball. Standing apart from the melee surrounding her, she glided easily through the fight without a care in the world. Wind whipped around her, her long, coal-black hair streaming behind her. It was fucking eerie. The wind didn’t touch anyone but the witch who, as she continued to float an inch or two above the ground, was almost painted a soft lilac shade as the orb’s glow shined over her.

Her attention on manipulating the magic between her hands, the spell that kept everyone frozen in place failed.

As a one, the remaining four Nightwalkers—including Rafe—all fell back, crouching behind the witch. Without an enemy to fight, Colt retreated, covering Shea. The rest of them closed in, watching Priscilla as her purple gaze landed on each one of them in turn.

Adam sucked in a breath; unlike the others, he was hardly able to move. Was it an effect of her spell? His arms were sluggish, his eyes heavy behind his shades. He tried to lift one of his boots and found that he couldn’t.

Glancing around him, he discovered that no one else was moving. She’d frozen them again, though—for the first time—it seemed to cost her a little effort. Her hands were shaking, faint lines forming behind her perfect glamour.

Even so, Priscilla had them right where she wanted them.

But why?

“Eenie meenie miney… you.”

18

Three shifters. Two witches. One Nightwalker.

And Tabby.

Did Priscilla know that Tabby was a slayer? Or did she look at the human and decide she was the weakest one there?

Whatever the reason, when the vicious witch pushed the orb of magic away from her, letting loose a stream of vivid purple power, she aimed straight for Tabby.

Frozen in place as he was, there was not a damn thing Adam could do to stop her.

Like with Virginia, the magic sent Tabby soaring through the air. However, before she made contact with the asphalt, it turned her into a… a boomerang. Her body snapped, her arms flailing as she was thrown back, landing at the feet of a dark-haired, silver-eyed Nightwalker.

“Bon appétit,” cooed Priscilla.

The Nightwalker fell on Tabby.

“No!”

Adam shook off the witch’s magic as easily as if it were cobwebs slithering over his skin before bolting toward her. Two Nightwalkers, neither of them Rafe, moved to intercept him. The time for toying with the corpses out of a need to avenge himself was over and done with. Desperate to get to Tabby before the Nightwalker could drain her—or worse—he reacted.

He leaned into his sprint, one hand slipping under his shirt, reaching behind him for the handle of the machete he kept hidden strapped to his back. He yanked it free, cutting himself in his haste. He ignored the shock of pain. With his free hand, he jabbed his palm in the male Nightwalker’s chest, sending him flying. The female? Her head thudded as he cleaved it right off her shoulders.