other hounds’. The half morphing scared me. I’d seen it only in one species of Therian, and surely this thing wasn’t Therian. It couldn’t be. Phin had once told me there were coyotes and other wild dog species in the Clans, but no wolves.
Wolf Boy slammed into me sideways, and we tumbled through the rough sand, wrestling to see who would come out on top. Dirt flew, landing in my ears and nose and mouth. Claws scored my right arm, trying to dislodge the knife. My entire body ached from wounds and exhaustion, but a final surge of adrenaline kept me moving. Kept me fighting. If anyone eventually killed me, it wasn’t going to be this mixed-breed bastard.
I jammed my left fist into his throat, and he gasped a wheeze through his half-formed mouth. Perfect target, and I slid the knife home. His teeth cut my knuckles even as the blade sliced meat and muscle, until it could go no farther and the point stuck out the back of Wolf Boy’s neck. Blood flowed from his mouth, down over my hand. I shoved as he pitched, and he fell sideways into the dirt, gurgling through his own death until he was still.
A scattering of applause broke out, and I looked up, panting. Half a dozen people ringed the top of the Pit. Some clapped; others still had their guns raised and pointed at the dead boy-monster. I sat there stupidly a moment, unsure if I should be furious they’d stood and watched or grateful to have been given the chance to kill Wolf Boy without interference.
The latter seemed less migraine-inducing, so I went with it.
Footsteps clattered down the bleachers. I hauled ass to my feet, a little dizzy and grossed out by the amount of sand adhering to the new gashes on my arm. I turned around to address whichever audience member had rushed to join me and stood face to face with Wyatt.
I jumped back, startled by his sudden appearance. My heart stuttered. Utter shock and absolute joy choked every word out of my throat. All I could do was gape at him. Fresh blood oozed from a cut on his cheek. His clothes and weapons were almost identical to Phin’s, and from the front I saw a thick leather belt dotted with ammo pouches, sheathed knives, and a few throwing stars.
He raised a walkie-talkie and pressed a button, his wide eyes never wavering from mine. “Hound dead, hybrid dead,” he said.
The frequency crackled, then Phin’s voice came back. “That’s it. Everything’s accounted for. Have you seen —?”
“Seeing her right now.”
“Out, then.”
Wyatt slipped the walkie-talkie into his belt. His face was a maelstrom of emotions, each so powerful I felt beaten by them. A knot formed in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow it away. Couldn’t escape the rising tide storming inside me. I stared back, trying to form a coherent reply. A shout of joy, a reassurance that it was me and he wasn’t dreaming, even a few tears of happiness wouldn’t be so bad.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I snapped instead.
His mouth opened and closed like a fish. The last time I’d seen him so pale was just after he realized a crazy elf had tricked him into, essentially, selling his soul to the devil. Combined with battle stress—evidenced by the splotches of oddly colored blood on his dark clothes and the sheen of sweat already coating his skin—he seemed on the verge of stroking out.
“Working,” he said, as if asking a question instead of answering one. “Building up something. We looked for you, but you weren’t … Phin and I, we …” The train of thought moved on without him. “It’s all different now.”
“Different?” My heart ached. “Different how?”
“You’re alive.” Wyatt’s voice had never sounded so … small. “You were dead, but Christ, Evy, you’re alive.”
He was persuading himself of the complete opposite of something he’d probably convinced himself to be true. A cloud of tension surrounded him, creating an invisible barrier I hesitated to physically cross. He’d accepted my death, that much was becoming clear. And the knowledge that he’d changed so much during my disappearance stabbed me through the heart. Had coming back been a mistake? Was I hurting him more by being here now?
“Max saved me,” I said.
He cocked his head, not understanding. Then the name must have clicked. Absolute wonder came over him, softening the lines around his eyes and mouth, and turning his open-mouthed shock into awe. His watering gaze flickered to my various injuries, taking stock of me. I was so close, able to be in his arms in two steps.
Our gazes met, and I nearly fell into the inky blackness of his eyes. He raised his hand. Fingertips hovered near my cheek but didn’t touch. I pressed against his hand and felt the instant heat of skin on skin. The spark of life in his touch. He made a soft choking sound in his throat. “I’m really not imagining you?”
“Would you imagine me in torn clothes, covered in blood?” I asked. My voice was thick, clogged. Damned lump.
“You were dead.”
“Since when has that stopped me?” I couldn’t quite manage flip, and the question came out like a plea.
Moisture pooled in his eyes. His lips worked, straining to create words. What he finally managed was “I love you.”
Those final three words broke the last of my restraint, and I launched myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck in a choking hug. His arms snaked around my waist, painfully tight. I pressed my face into his neck, inhaling his scent, feeling his sandpapery skin on my cheek. I wanted to burrow into him and never let go. We were twirling in a circle, and I laughed out loud. I hadn’t felt him lift me off the ground.
He set me back down and crushed his lips to mine. I opened for him and groaned under the bruising, possessive force of a kiss tinged with desperation and joy. Tiny shivers sparked through every nerve ending, awakening my sore, abused body in ways I’d forgotten were possible. Reminding me how very alive we both still were and were very likely to remain.
Nothing was settled. Boot Camp burned around us, and our exact casualty numbers were still unknown. The Fey hadn’t been seen or heard from in weeks. Thackery’s hybrids were dead, the last of his known hounds were dead, and I’d just shoved a knife through his teenage wolf’s skull. Yet Thackery remained at large, possibly injured from the tractor-trailer wreck, and certainly about to be in a very bad mood over his latest failure.
I felt no pride in having once again tossed a monkey wrench into one of his carefully laid plans—only weariness at knowing he wasn’t finished with us.
Thackery wouldn’t quit until he’d either found his elusive cure or eradicated the entire vampire race. And we’d be there to stop him. The Triads were in ruins, but we weren’t destroyed. Wyatt and Phin were up to something, and they likely had been for a while. Their assistance today was well timed and raised a lot of questions: Did the brass know? The Assembly? Who else worked with them? Who was in charge?
I’d get the answers soon enough. We’d worry about finally capturing Walter Thackery in a little while. For now, the aftermath of the battle faded into the background, and nothing existed except us, in each other’s arms—a place I thought I’d never be again. A place I could stay forever.
Okay, realistically, given battle fatigue and other recent trauma, another ten minutes or so.
Or until we both started to smell.
Whichever came first.
