“Child’s play,” I smirk.
Timas is waiting for us at the trucks. He says nothing as I usher in the werewolves, standing by in case I need him. When the last door has been locked, he clears his throat. “I should keep watch over Shark. He’ll want to return to action as soon as he’s fit—probably before—and he’s going to need help. I can do more for him than you.”
“That’s fine.” I smile warmly and shake his hand, but lightly, aware that I could crack his fingers like twigs if I squeezed too hard. “Thanks, Timas. We wouldn’t have made it off the island without you.”
“I know,” he says, then turns to Meera. “Time to make good on that promise.”
“What promise?” Meera squints.
Timas grabs her and bends her backwards, supporting her with one arm. “A kiss for your sweet prince,” he murmurs, smooching up to her.
Meera pretends to struggle, but then grins and treats him to a kiss that’s even hotter than Shark’s curses. It’s an old-style movie kiss, except with more slurping and tongue action.
“Break it up,” I growl.
The pair come up for air, their faces red.
“That was nice,” Timas gasps.
“Very,” Meera agrees, and pecks his nose. “To be continued,” she purrs, then turns from him with the natural grace of a model and sashays away.
“See you soon,” I mutter.
Meera’s on her mobile for most of the trip to the airport, deep in conversation with some of her fellow Disciples. Her face is creased with worry when she cuts the connection.
“Bad news?” I ask.
“There are reports of three potential crossings,” she says. “All in major cities. The windows are due to open within the next forty-eight hours unless we can find the mages responsible and stop them.”
“Three at the same time,” I mutter. “Hardly coincidence.”
“No,” Meera snorts. “One’s in the city where Dervish and Bec are.”
“So Juni must already know that Antoine’s troops failed.”
“I hoped we’d have more time, but apparently not.” Meera sighs. “I’ll arrange to have them moved as soon as possible.”
“No.” My face is stone. “Let the demons come. I’ll deal with them. It’ll be a good opportunity to test my pack.”
“Are you sure?” Meera frowns. “Juni and her masters want the pieces of the Kah-Gash. If you and Bec are in the same spot, they’ll have a double shot at it. Maybe you should stay away from her until—”
“No,” I growl. “No more running. They want a fight? I’ll give them one they won’t forget in a hurry.”
“Juni beat you once,” Meera reminds me.
“She won’t again,” I whisper. Not because I believe I can turn the tables on her, but because she doesn’t want to. She needs me to destroy the universe.
“Grubbs?” Meera says softly. “Why didn’t Juni finish you off?”
I don’t answer. Thinking about what the mutant monster predicted. Wondering, not if it might be true, but rather how it will happen and when.
“Grubbs?” Meera says again.
I shake myself. “It doesn’t matter. Are you coming?”
Meera sighs. “No. I want to, but I’m needed elsewhere. I can be of more use in the other cities, either help find the mages and kill them, or try to drive back the demons if they cross. I think we’re all going to have to work very hard over the next few days to prevent a massacre that makes the losses on Wolf Island look like a drop in the ocean.”
“I’ll come when I can,” I promise. “Tell the other Disciples that if they fail—if demons break through—I’ll mop up. Once I’ve dealt with those coming to attack Dervish and Bec, I’ll go wherever I’m needed and I’ll bring my werewolves. We can fight them now. We don’t need to be afraid.”
“You idiot,” Meera chuckles. “Of course we do.” She hugs me tight, then stands on her toes, hauls my head down and kisses my coarse, hairy cheek, ignoring the bits of human flesh caught between my fangs and the stench of blood on my breath.
She releases me and I draw back to my full height. Part of me wants to plead with her to come with me. We can pick up Dervish and Bec, then fly to a deserted island like the one we just left. An apocalypse is coming. It would be easier to sit it out, enjoy what time we have left and face the end with a resigned laugh.
But I’m Grubbs Grady. Magician. Werewolf. Kah-Gash. I don’t do retreat.
“Give my love to Dervish,” Meera sniffs, then leaves me to make my own way to the plane. The last I see of her, she’s climbing into the front of an army jeep, talking on her mobile, looking lovelier than ever as she prepares to go to war.
With a self-mocking smile, I offer up a quick prayer to whatever gods might be listening. “If reincarnation is real, and I die soon, let me come back as Timas Brauss’s lips!”
Then I head off in search of my half-dead uncle, hoping he doesn’t croak before I have a chance to bid him goodbye.
THIS IS THE END, BEAUTIFUL FRIEND
Dervish refused to be admitted to a hospital. If demons attack him and Bec again, he doesn’t want to be in a public building, where innocents might catch the crossfire. So the team set in place by the Disciples swiftly established a temporary medical base in a derelict building in a rundown part of the city where he, Bec and the other survivor were taken.
Antoine Horwitzer’s soldiers are waiting for me when I arrive. They line the corridor, heavily armed, exchanging dark glances with several troops in different uniforms who are working for the Disciples. The air bristles with tension when I walk in. The commanding officer of the Lambs’ group steps forward and runs a cold eye over me.
“Where’s Horwitzer?” he growls.
“Dead,” I say bluntly.
“You killed him?” the officer snarls.
“No.” I whistle and the werewolves lurch into view. “They did.”
The officer’s face blanches. His men raise their weapons defensively. The other soldiers raise theirs too, even more alarmed than the Lambs.
“You have a choice,” I say calmly. “Fight and die, or lower your arms and walk away. Horwitzer’s reign is over. The Lambs are back under the thumb of Prae Athim. Surrender now and we’ll call it even.”
The officer licks his lips. “I’d want safe passage for my men,” he mutters. “And I’ll have to confirm it with —”
“No time for confirmations,” I bark. “Drop your weapons and run, or stand, fight and die.”
The officer studies the slavering werewolves and comes to the smart conclusion. He lowers his gun and gives the order for his men to follow suit. I growl at the beasts behind me and they part, affording the humans safe passage. Once they’ve filed out of the building, I bring my werewolves in, line them up in the corridor and ask to be escorted to Dervish’s room. The soldiers are uneasy—I can smell their fear—but they do as I request. One takes me, while the rest remain, eyeing the werewolves anxiously.
I find Dervish relaxing on a bed in a large room, clothed in a T-shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks, hooked up to a drip and monitors, staring reflectively at the ceiling. Bec’s in a chair nearby, head lowered, snoozing. She’s also hooked up to a drip. In a bed further over, another man, swathed in bandages, is sitting up and entertaining a gaggle of wide-eyed nurses. A couple of fingers on his left hand have been cut or bitten off, reminding me of Shark.