Zhan, who had been around magic enough to know a cut doorway meant people could move in and out of the circle, raced through—and dove into the water.
I was dumbfounded by her bravery.
For an endless few seconds I debated what I should do. I wondered if they had both fallen from the bottom of the fluid and were now dropping to their deaths. I could be covering up their screams with this whirlpool. If I released the water and they weren’t already plummeting, they certainly would then. I couldn’t let it go, but I couldn’t keep this liquid spinning if it was what was keeping them down, either.
I looked to Menessos, but he was trying to put the ley line back where it belonged, well below the surface.
Zhan’s head broke the surface with a gasp. She was carried around the opening twice before she could get a grip on the edge and hold her position. “I have her!”
I slowed the flow of the water, but that allowed the level to drop. I knew if I pulled my fingers free of the earth, my control on the water would end.
But what choice did I have? Beverley’s head was still under. If Zhan could have lifted her up, she would have. If I didn’t let the water go and get in there to help, Beverley was surely going to drown.
“Hold on!” Rising, I sped through the doorway.
As expected, as soon as my hands were free of the earth the water was freed. It splashed away, crashing down in the hole. I dove toward the edge, reaching for Zhan’s hand. She’d caught a thick root, and had her foot wedged on a rock. “Take the girl.”
Her other arm was wrapped around Beverley’s torso. I reached lower and Zhan used every ounce of her Offerling strength to lift Beverley high enough so that I could get my hands under the girl’s arms. I was able to bend my arms and lift her closer to me, but I had no leverage.
Zhan crawled out of the fissure and spun around on her knees. “Don’t let go,” she said. She straddled me and half lifted, half dragged me away from the edge. All I had to do was maintain my grip and Beverley was hoisted out with me.
When I could, I hauled her away from the hole.
Menessos had sealed up the door he cut and was shutting down the circle, so that by the time Zhan and I had reached a safe distance, the crevice was backfilling.
Ignoring his ending of the spell, I pulled Beverley closer. She wasn’t breathing. I began CPR. The third time I breathed into her mouth, her body jerked. I pulled away and she vomited up water. She didn’t regain consciousness, but she was breathing deeply and her pulse felt strong to me. A quick examination of her hands and arms proved they were warm to the touch, but un-burnt. I noticed her flint arrowhead necklace was gone; Menessos likely had to remove it before his spell would work. Cradling her, I faced him. Not caring about the exhaustion in his expression or the slump of his shoulders, I demanded, “Why in Hell did you do that?”
He said plainly, “I had to.”
The anger in my expression made him look away. He stood, rolled his shoulders, straightened his clothes, and paced a few unsteady steps away. I knew the longer he had to think about it, the prettier and more innocent he could make his explanation sound. “I know it was similar to what you did to Liyliy and her sisters, so start talking.” What he’d done had turned out badly for them, and knowing that made the worry I felt now for Beverley clench up tight in my gut.
He turned and there was a hint of surprise in his eyes. “I had to get her out of the line. That was my sole purpose, I swear. But as I brought her out, I realized why she was in there in the first place.” Sadness filled his expression. “Had I been less focused on you, I would have caught it . . . but as it is, what power I detected I simply wrote off as yours.”
“She possesses a power that was not wakeful when Goliath was dating her mother. She had a birthday recently, yes?”
I nodded. She’d turned ten . . . ten days ago. “Why did you pull a gift into her?”
“Persephone, she wasn’t just
His words struck me. The truth had been there all along and I’d danced around it at every turn. I looked down into her sweet face. I ran my fingers around her neck, where the necklace would have been. I moved her hair away. And there was a faint redness where the silver would have been, redness like a fading rash. With her recent birthday and the onset of power with the coming of age, it all made sense now.
“She has fey blood.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Johnny turned to Celia. Her eyes were wide and glassy.
The shock in her expression cut through his rage and he realized he was roughing up a woman. Though he tried to console himself that Aurelia was a w?rewolf and could tolerate it, guilt flashed through him.
“You . . . you have a child?” Celia stammered.
She had heard Aurelia. He knew how badly Celia wanted a child. The fact that w?rewolves couldn’t breed was her greatest pain in life. Because he and Erik had been best friends up until a week or so ago, he also knew that Celia struggled with a secret resentment over Seph getting custody of Beverley.
Now a child had fallen into his life as well.
“Yes,” Aurelia answered, her voice raspy. “The Domn Lup has a human son, a child born out of wedlock to his high school sweetheart, conceived in all likelihood a matter of days before he was made w?rewolf.” She slowly climbed to her feet. “If you acknowledge him, John, if you bring him into your world, he will forever be in danger.”
Johnny turned back to Aurelia. “How do you know about him?”
She straightened her outfit. “We’ll discuss that later.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You will fucking answer me right now.”
“How isn’t important.”
Johnny pointed at the indentation in the paneling. “If you don’t answer me, we’re gonna find out what it takes to put you all the way through.”
She sneered at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
He grabbed her, lifted her, and the first thrust broke through the paneling and cracked the structure’s framing beneath. The second sent Aurelia and various bits of wood, insulation, and siding across the yard.
Johnny exited by the door. As he stepped onto the grass, Aurelia began to laugh. She slowly picked herself up. “The Rege did far worse to me for lesser reasons. It’ll take more than throwing me through walls to make me talk.” The wind tossed her hair about and she tore off her jacket and threw it down as if ready for a fight. She held her long hair out of her face. “C’mon, John. Put your hands on me again.”
The copper-sweet tang of blood filled Johnny’s nostrils. A quick scan revealed a gash on her forearm. She seemed unaware of it. Still, his mouth watered. “I’m not the Rege.” He’d heard the sadistic bastard had tormented her in many ways; she’d risen through the ranks because she was not only worthy, but she didn’t break under the damage he dished out.
“You’re not so different. I could always feel his beast. I could feel it rouse, feel it yearning for things. I felt your beast as I got close to the trailer.” She laughed softly again. “You’re on the edge.” She wiped her hand over the wound, covering it with blood. Then she rubbed her hands together and waved them in the air between them. “Lust. Anger. Violence. And now . . . blood.”
Fresh and warm, the blood glistened wet on her fingers. The building breeze wrapped the scent around him, swathing him in heaviness that weakened his knees. Penetrating that scent was another: the heady aroma of her arousal. That perfume of her sex reached through the blood-scent cloaking him and, like a silken lining, slid cool and smooth against his flesh.
