Michael moved forward. Energy surged across his back, stinging with the sharpness of bees. He frowned, trying to shrug away the sensation, with little success.
The wolf crouched then sprang. Michael blurred, avoiding the wolf's lunge, then ran for the fire. He didn't want to kill the shifter, but he knew he might have no other choice. He leapt over the flames, felt the fingers of heat playing down his legs. He hit the ground on the other side and saw the star and it's accompanying circle of stone. He knew he wouldn't be able to get the man down until the circle had been broken.
The buzz of energy got stronger. He shook his head, felt the stir of air to his right. He swung, hitting the wolf square in the jaw, feeling teeth score his fist before the force of his blow knocked the creature sideways. The other wolves attacked, coming in from the left and the right. Michael dropped, allowing one to soar over his head, before twisting and kicking the other in the gut. It made an almost human grunt of pain as it hit the ground and slid into the fire, scattering the wood. Sparks flew, firefly bright in the darkness, and flames leapt high.
He rose, the bite of energy across his flesh so severe it felt like a thousand needles piercing his skin. It was hard to concentrate… hard to think…
Too late, he became aware of the movement behind him. Teeth sank into his flesh, worrying and tearing at his skin, spilling warmth down the back of his leg. As pain flashed white hot through his body, he heard the scrape of nails. Another wolf was coming at him.
He swore and twisted around, smashing his fist against the snout of the wolf that tore at his thigh. Flesh and bone gave way under the force of the blow, but the wolf refused to release its hold. The frantic beat of the second wolf's heart warned that the creature was close. He dropped, dragging the first wolf down with him, his breath hissing from clenched teeth as the movement tore away more of his flesh.
The second wolf missed by inches. It landed several feet away, scrabbling to gain purchase against the slick stone and stop the impetus of its leap before it slid into the flames.
A yellow blur moved past it. Teeth gleamed. The third wolf launched—going not for extremities or torso, but straight for the neck, the jugular. Trying to kill, not maim.
The witch had been wrong. Or Dunleavy's game plan had changed.
He fisted the creature away, then reached around, unlocking the death grip the wolf had on his thigh. The wolf put up little fight—his blow had shattered the creature's nose, and the mere act of breathing had become a battle. One Michael ended by breaking the shifter's neck.
He grabbed the creature by the front legs and rose. Agony burned through every nerve ending, its epicenter his torn and bloodied flesh. His leg buckled, and for a moment, he didn't think it would bear his weight, let alone that of the dead wolf. Forcing his knee to lock and hold, he swallowed nausea and blinked away the sudden sting of sweat. The air howled its warning, and he swung the dead wolf around, using it to batter away its pack mate. He staggered sideways, felt the caress of flames across his skin.
Caught his balance, then blurred, running for the stone circle.
The scrabble of claws suggested the remaining two wolves weren't far behind. And they were gaining with every step, because he could barely even run at human pace, let alone move with the inhuman speed of a vampire.
He felt rather than saw the impetus of their leap, noted the closeness of the stones, and dropped flat.
Electricity buzzed across his face, and warning flickers of blue fire cut across the night. The black stones were within arm's reach, which is exactly what he'd intended.
The wolves twisted in midair, trying to reach him as they flew over his prone form. Maybe they weren't aware of the danger of the black stones. Maybe they simply didn't understand the magic involved.
Either way, they hit the invisible shield, and the magic reacted. Blue fire flared brightly, surrounding the two wolves in tendrils of flame, burning them, consuming them, with very little fanfare.
Once the two were little more than ash and scraps of bone that dusted the air around him, Michael pushed into a sitting position. Firming his grip on the dead wolf, he swung it as hard as he could at the nearest stone. Most circles like this were created to protect against intrusion from magic, the living, or the un dead. Very few were designed for protection against the dead dead, simply because, in most cases, there was no need.
The circle didn't react to the wolf's body when it hit the nearest stone and sent it ricocheting away. With a sound that was almost a sigh, the circle's energy faded away.
Michael blew out a relieved breath. Now to get the man down from the ceiling. His gaze followed the line of rope holding the stranger up, and he saw that it was attached to the large boulder lying at the northern edge of the circle. He pushed to his feet, and hobbled over. Releasing the knot, he carefully lowered the stranger until he was far enough down to catch hold of him, and then he pulled him out of the pentagram area before lowering him completely to the floor.
At that moment, pain hit him.
Not his pain.
Nikki's.
Chapter Eleven
The man attacked, giving Nikki no time to think, just react. She ducked his blow, slashed with the knife, cutting through the thick material of his shirt and slicing a thin line across his stomach.
The man's howl was one of fury more than pain, and he swung his fist. She fell back, but not fast enough, and the ring on his middle finger scraped across her jaw as the blow moved past. He followed the blow with another. Again she fell back, not really wanting to hurt this man, knowing by the glazed look in his brown eyes that he was attacking under Dunleavy's orders, not of his own volition.
Her retreat was stopped when her back hit the railing. She swore softly and tried to step sideways.
Heard the rumbled warning close to her thigh and knew the wolf wasn't going to allow an escape that way.
Nowhere to run. No choice but to maim.
The stranger's fist bit through the air again. She dropped and spun, sweeping her leg behind his, knocking him off his feet. He landed with a crunch that shook the whole landing. She scrambled forward, tried to chop a blow across his windpipe to temporarily paralyze him. But he caught her hand in his paw-like fist and squeezed so hard pain shot up her arm, and a scream forced it way up her throat.
As if they had a will of their own, her flames appeared, dancing eagerly from her fingertips to the stranger's hand. For a second, pain was forgotten as she stared. It looked for all the world as if the flame imps had come to life.
The stranger howled and released his grip, shaking his hand in an attempt to rid himself of the slivers of flame that capered across his skin.
She switched her knife to her bruised hand, and completed the blow to the stranger's neck with her left hand. He made an odd gargling sound, his burning fingers forgotten against the greater need to breathe.
The flames died as she rose, but warmth kissed her fingertips, as if the energy of the flames was being drawn back into her body.
Which was impossible, surely. She certainly hadn't felt anything like that when Lenny had tried to kill her.
But then, she'd intentionally wanted him to burn. Wanted him to hurt, to suffer.
She hadn't wanted to hurt this man. Just distract him enough to immobilize him.
Something she'd done. Did that mean she had differing levels of control available? She hoped so. She really didn't want to cinder every single person she was forced to defend herself against.