Descendant

the displays. It was like watching a shadow play of people’s lives.

It was creepy as hell.

They also passed no less than four fires, burning out of control with no fire department there to douse the blazes. And Mason knew that among the unconscious, there were bodies. People who had hit their heads, or been struck by cars, or fallen down stairs . . . There was blood in the streets. And they couldn’t stop for any of it.

But there was one thing they did stop for. Rafe’s wolves.

A few blocks away from Rockefeller Plaza, Rafe instructed Toby to turn left. They drove until they arrived in front of the main branch of the New York Public Library, where Mason recognized the sleek black shapes of Rafe’s pack, sitting and standing, a few of them pacing back and forth, on the steps of the terrace. Slumped in their midst, elbows braced on his knees and head hanging, sat a young man.

“Maddox!” Fennrys shouted.

He was out of the SUV before Toby had rolled to a stop. Mason watched as the young man rose to his feet and he and Fennrys embraced. Curious, she hopped out of the SUV and followed after him. She wasn’t used to seeing Fennrys with . . . well, with anyone, and the sight of him sharing a moment with a friend brought a smile to her face in the midst of all the grimness.

“Seven hells, Madd!” Fennrys cried. “You made it.”

“Told you I would.” Maddox shrugged, grinning. “What’s a couple of flame-throwing monkeys to a fully equipped Janus Guard?” He turned when he noticed Mason standing there, and his eyebrows lifted. He looked from her to Fennrys and back again. “Hello,” he said, and Mason got the sense that he already knew something about her.

“Mason Starling, this is Maddox. He’s a Janus Guard—the same as I used to be. We spent Halloweens together killing monsters.”

“Good times!” Maddox said brightly.

“He’s also a bit of an idiot, but he’s damn useful in a scrap.” Fennrys punched him on the shoulder. “He helped me and Rafe run a bit of a gauntlet so we could get to you in Asgard. I owe him.”

Mason smiled up at Maddox’s handsome, boyish face, and held out her hand. “Sounds like I might owe him one too,” she said, even though she remembered what Rafe had said about owing those who might one day come to collect. If Maddox had helped Fenn rescue her, she was willing to risk it. “Thank you, Maddox.”

Maddox took her hand and bowed like a courtier over it. “Anything for a lovely lass,” he said. “Especially one who can hold her own against this great lout. We need more of your kind in the world—”

“That’s enough of that.” Fennrys elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “What happened after I last saw you?”

Maddox straightened up and waved a hand in the direction of the library. He looked, Mason thought, a bit like he’d been through a flaming wood chipper. His shirt and jeans were ripped in some places and scorched in others. There was a swatch of sandy hair on one side of his head that looked crispy, and there were smudges of soot on his forehead and one cheek.

“Walk in the park,” he said. “By which I mean a walk in Central Park, and you know how those walks always turned out.” He turned to Mason and explained. “That’s to say, I almost died.”

“Okay, hero.” Fennrys rolled his eyes. “Sure you did.”

“Nah. Not really.” He grinned.

Mason couldn’t help but appreciate his casual approach to epic danger. She felt her heartbeat quicken with excitement at the thought and grinned back.

“So. All of this”—Maddox circled one finger in the air, indicating the state of the city—“some kind of curse, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Fennrys nodded. “We’re gonna go stop it. You in?”

Maddox gave him a look. “You have to ask?”

They turned to head back to the SUV, just in time to see a pair of centaurs, flourishing crossbows, leap over a taxi with all the grace of a couple of thoroughbred show jumpers.

“Oh, not these guys again . . .” Fennrys groaned.

“Okay,” Maddox said. “That’s not something you see every day. Even in Manhattan.”

Mason felt herself staring, mouth open, in astonishment. One of the muscle-bound, bare-chested half-man horse monsters kicked a Smart Car out of the way with a casual flick of one hind leg, and the other one punched through the hood—and the engine block—of the SUV with its front hooves. The vehicle vented a cloud of steam from its shattered radiator, and Toby and Cal dove out the doors and headed up the library steps at a run.

Rafe was running too.

Mason and Fennrys and Maddox joined the sprint across the terrace. They pounded down the shallow steps onto the lower level and, one by one, vaulted the broad stone balustrade, landing on the sidewalk on Forty-Second Street.

“Keep running,” Rafe shouted. “Those boys are Daria’s hired muscle, and this is just a distraction. Something to keep us from getting to her. Obviously, we’re getting close—”

A crossbow bolt sang past his ear and he snarled viciously, barking what sounded like an order to his pack in a language Mason didn’t know. She didn’t dare turn around, but heard a cacophony of yelps and growling from behind them. And then angry shouts and curses.

“Things like centaurs are the reason I wanted to pick up the pack,” Rafe told her, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her out of the way of a rogue clothing rack that was rolling down the street, a chorus line of cocktail dresses swaying limply as they passed. “They’re good at this kind of business. Let them do their work.”

“Hey, Rafe,” Mason panted as they crouched behind a still-steaming pretzel cart while crossbow bolts flew overhead. “Your pack . . . Are they ever, y’know, not wolves? Jackals? Whatever you call them?”

“Sure. See that one there—with the white blaze on her forehead?” He pointed at one of the dangerously graceful animals slinking along the sidewalk in a move to flank the centaur who had stopped to reload. “She’s an investment banker down on Wall Street. But we don’t need an investment banker at the moment. We need a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle with big, sharp teeth. So that is what Honora there has so generously provided us.”

Mason tried to picture the wolf in a pinstripe skirt suit. Having seen Rafe enough times in his transitional man-wolf state, she could almost do it.

“Now,” Rafe said, “your job is to just keep running. Get to the Rockefeller Center. Go!”

Mason shot to her feet and started running again. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw the wolves surge toward where the centaurs were weaving through the stalled cars. The pack attacked as if with one mind, dodging the massive hooves as they came within range of the horse-men and their deadly kicks.

As a second pair of centaurs came thundering out from between two buildings, Cal made a belated half lunge for Mason. But Fennrys had already grabbed her, and he pulled her out of the way, narrowly avoiding a crossbow bolt—which would have punched straight through her sternum if she’d still been standing in that spot. For a split second, he held her against his chest. She could feel his heart beating, and she could see the sparkle dancing deep in his blue eyes as he gazed into hers and said, “I’ve got you.”

He thrives on this, she thought. Danger. It’s like caffeine to him.

But she also felt herself grinning in response. Her heart was pounding, too, and her skin tingled where he touched her. She could get used to this—to the danger, the rush. . . . Especially if he was there beside her to share it with.

Maddox sprinted out from between two parked cars, swinging a length of chain around his head like a lasso. He snared the arm of one of the centaurs, jerking the bow out of the creature’s hand. On the other side of the street, Mason saw Toby, crouched and running, dart out behind their other attacker with a black-bladed knife in his hand. With scarily exacting precision, he hamstrung the centaur, who screamed in pain and fell crashing to the ground.

“That way.” Rafe pointed to a clear bit of road.

“Come on!” Fennrys took Mason by the hand. “Toby and Maddox will cover us.”

“Come on, Cal!” Mason called.