There was no fear in the magic that swirled around her, just a sense of determination. She was a mother, and she would protect her son, regardless the cost.

I ran toward her, put the dagger back in my boot, and extended a hand. "Long time no see."

She smiled just a little. "I don't think this is quite the party Gabriel had in mind."

"I would hope not," I said, "or he's a horrible planner. Are you okay?"

"I think I twisted my ankle. Tripped over something in the field."

I nodded. "I'll help you get to the woods. The harpies can't fly through the trees."

Tanya nestled Connor in the crook of one arm, nodded, and grabbed my hand with her free one to pull herself upright. She bobbled a bit on her left foot but stayed upright.

My arm around her back, I scanned the sky, gauged the distance between the shelter and the trees, and prepared to run. If I could just wait for them to begin the rotation away from the woods, we'd have a few seconds to make a run for it.

A metallic screech rang out above us. We crouched as a harpy flew only a foot above our heads, sending Connor into a fit of tears.

"Ready," I told her, trying to drown out the noise and the fire and the scent of blood and the snow of molted black feathers that fell from the sky.

The harpy banked and turned and gave us our chance.

"Run!" I yelled, and we took off at our stumbling pace.

She made it ten awkward yards before stumbling forward, nearly pulling me down with her. But I managed to stay on my feet and keep an iron grip on her waist. I kept her upright and she found her balance again, but her ankle wobbled beneath her. Shifting into her wolf form would allow her to heal, but we didn't have time for that.

The piercing scream rose behind us, and I risked a glance over our shoulders. The harpy had seen us, and she'd turned our way.

Tanya tried to release my grip. "Take Connor. Run for the woods. Keep him safe."

A nervous laugh bubbled up. "Are you kidding me? I'm not going to leave you here for the world's angriest chickens. We do this together." I pulled her free arm around my shoulder and put my arm back around her waist, tilting my body to take more of the weight off her ankle. Together, the sound of thwushing wings behind us growing louder with each step we took, we hobbled to the tree line.

The hair rose on the back of my neck. G.o.ds, but this is going to be close.

"Faster!" I said, sucking in oxygen as we raced the last twenty yards, then ten, pulling her toward the trees with all the strength I could muster.

The harpy dipped, and time seemed to slow. Visions pa.s.sed before my eyes, of friendships, of my nieces and nephews, of Ethan, and of the green-eyed child Gabriel had once hinted was in my future. Green eyes I wouldn't get a chance to see if we didn't make it.

I pushed harder, calling up every spare ounce of effort I could find, that same determination that had driven me through all-nighters in grad school and endless hours of ballet practice. It didn't feel good, but that was irrelevant. You don't stop until the job is done, my father was fond of saying.

Tanya wasn't yet safe; my job wasn't done.

We reached the stand of winter-bare trees, and the harpy banked, wings swatting the trees on the edge of the wood, black feathers ripped out by branches floating to the ground.

I helped Tanya sit down on a fallen tree, Connor now crying fitfully. Other shifters who'd taken shelter in the woods turned back into their human forms and looked out on the battle with horror.

I knelt down in front of Tanya, who tried to calm her son.

"What's this about?" I asked, when her gaze met mine.

She shook her head, her eyes still wide with shock. "I don't know. I don't even-what are they?"

"Harpies, I think. Is this a fight with the Pack? Did the Pack p.i.s.s someone off?" Perhaps by inviting vampires to his woods? I silently wondered, hoping this wasn't because of us.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know. This is so horrible, Merit. So awful."

The bare limbs above us shook as harpies circled overhead, looking for a place to dive into the undergrowth. I pulled the dagger from my boot and stood up again.

"You're going back."

I nodded. "The Pack still needs help, and Ethan's still out there. I don't quit until he's safe."

There was bravado in my voice-the kind of bluffing I actually could manage-and it masked the fear. My allies were engaged in battles of their own, and I had only a slim and slender dagger to take down a woman-bird with an att.i.tude problem.

But Tanya smiled at me like I'd seen Gabriel smile before. Knowingly. Wisely. And with utter calm. "You can do this, Merit of House Cadogan. Go save your man."

I nodded, somehow buoyed by the sentiment, and left Tanya and her subjects in the trees. Flipping the dagger nervously in my hand, I walked back to the tree line and peered into the darkness.

She dropped to the ground in front of me, torchlight flickering across her naked body.

She seemed, somehow, even larger on the ground. At least six feet tall, with a twenty-foot wingspan. Her eyes were solidly black, hair blowing wildly in the wind, revealing small b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a web of battle scars across her abdomen.

She tucked her wings behind her and moved forward, knees bent, the motion bouncy and unnatural. Harpies clearly weren't meant to run; they were meant to fly.

She opened her mouth and screamed. I winced at the aural a.s.sault and resorted to my standard defense mechanism. Sarcasm.

"You are not going to Hollywood with pitch like that," I advised her.

Her dark eyes flicked back and forth like a bird's, but it didn't appear she actually understood what I'd said. Maybe she didn't understand English. Or finely grained sarcasm.

Regardless, she understood battle. She attacked, vaulting forward, teeth bared.

For a moment, I was too transfixed to move. She looked like a creature from an ancient time, a warrior from an era when G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses reigned in gauzy robes and gold laurel crowns. If The Ride of the Valkyries had begun to play, I wouldn't have been surprised.

I kicked, trying like I had before to get her off her feet. She avoided the shot by taking to the air, then gave back better than I had, kicking forward and hitting me square in the chest, sending me flying.

I hit the ground on my back, knocking the wind out of me. I clutched at the gra.s.s at my sides, gasping for air, as the ground rumbled beneath my feet.

"Up, Merit!" yelled Tanya behind me, and I reared back, then hopped to my feet, as if her words had been an order instead of a frightened suggestion. I was tiring, still healing and dizzy from my last round, adrenaline beginning to fade, and I was beginning to react on autopilot. Fortunately, I'd been trained to fight beyond fear, beyond exhaustion.

Standing again, I bounced on my feet. The harpy's eyes narrowed and she moved forward again. I looked for a target, recalled how ineffective my dagger had been against the other harpy's abdomen, and picked a new target.

If I couldn't beat the human, I'd go for the bird.

I beckoned her forward, and she windmilled her claws as she moved toward me again, looking for purchase and a soft bit of flesh to tear. I swerved to the left, and she followed. Her legs moved awkwardly, and her wings provided just enough drag to make me faster than her. I dodged back to the right, and she moved back again, but slower this time . . . giving me just enough time to make my move.

Her wing brushed me as she sought to move again, and I grabbed the top of it, a long rib beneath a covering of slick and oily feathers, and stuck with my dagger.

She screamed in distress, reared back, and swung at me, but I leaped backward, flipping to avoid the shot. Her wing hung limply on one side, and I was struck with pity. I'd winged my enemy but hadn't brought her down.

And she was p.i.s.sed.

Faster than she'd moved before, she bent her knees and jumped forward. She was on me before I could move, heavy and awkward, her mouth wide and pointed teeth aimed for my face, apparently intent on taking a bite.

"Ethan will not like that," I muttered, humor my last weapon against fear and exhaustion. I watched for the right moment and, when her head darted up to strike, pushed the dagger through her neck.

She arched back, screaming, hands at her throat, and pulled out the dagger, which hit the ground some feet away. I watched it roll, afraid she'd come back for a second round and I'd have no recourse, no protection. But blood and worse gushed from her wound, and she staggered and fell, shaking the earth beneath.

I wiped fresh traces of blood from my face, thinking, just as I'd promised Ethan, that I'd heal. The harpy, unfortunately, would have no such luck.

When I'd gotten to my feet again, grabbed up my dagger, and scrubbed off blood and dirt, I took a look at the rest of the battle. Harpies still circled the sky-a dozen maybe-but the attack was clearly on the wane. And it would leave death and destruction in its wake.

Some shifters fought; others lay on the ground, unmoving, the scents of untimely deaths moving across the field, thrown into the air by the flap of wings. Shifters could heal themselves, but only if they shifted, and they had to be awake and conscious to do that. For some of them, it was clearly too late.

So much death, I thought, staring blankly at the carnage, trying to process it. I'd fought battles before, and seen death. But rarely this much, and never all at once.

"Merit."

I looked over, found Ethan a few feet away. He was dirty and blood smeared, but all limbs were intact. I nearly sagged with relief.

"Tanya and Connor?" he asked, moving quickly nearer and looking me over.

"The woods," I said. "I got them to the woods, then dealt with her." I gestured to the harpy, who looked scrawny and pitiful there on the ground, her wings folded in death.

"This is a miserable thing," he said, no little pity in his voice. "Let's get back in there."

We walked back into the clearing as Gabriel finished off a harpy with a vicious bite to the neck, and we ran to his position at the edge of the battle.

Light exploded, and Gabriel burst back into human form, naked as the day he was born. There were a few scratches on his body, a result of the weird magic of shape-shifting. Although changing from human to shifter would heal injuries received as a human, it didn't work in reverse.

"Everyone is tiring," Ethan said.

Gabriel nodded. Jeff ran up, hastily clothed, pointing at Catcher and Mallory.

"They think this is a magical attack," he said, "and they think they know how to finish it with the magic they have left. But it will be big magic."

Catcher and Mallory knelt together on the ground in the center of the meadow, near the fallen totem. They held their left hands together, palms flat, and their right hands flat against the earth, as if testing it for weakness, or pulling strength from it.

"Mallory won't do it without your go-ahead."

Gabriel looked at her for a moment. "Will it hurt the Pack?"

Jeff shook his head. "It will be targeted at the magic itself. It shouldn't touch anyone else."

Gabriel wet his lips, nodded. "If they think they can end it, they should. Just tell us what to do."

"Get down," he said, then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Go!" he yelled across the clearing.

As Catcher nodded at Mallory, Ethan grabbed my hand and pulled me down into a crouch.

I couldn't see the magic around Catcher and Mallory, not with my eyes, but I could feel it ramping up, like the supercharged atmosphere before a storm, the air suddenly heavy and smelling of ozone.

A bubble of magic emerged from the earth, quickly encompa.s.sing the two of them, growing until it was ten feet tall, and then suddenly exploding, pulsing, like a wave through the sky.

The magic hit the birds like a bomb. They exploded into swirls of acrid black smoke. Like it was a living thing, the smoke rose into a giant, swirling column over the clearing, a cyclone of magic. It screamed with noise-like the squeals of a thousand harpies together-and blew tents and leaves and the rest of the bonfire to the ground in an explosion of noise.

It spun faster and faster, debris winding around and around like a children's toy, narrowing and rising farther and farther into the sky until, with a final scream of sound that made me clap my hands over my ears, the column broke apart, sending black tentacles of smoke into the sky.

The night went silent, and the smoke began to dissipate, revealing the stars once again.

We all rose again. Gabriel looked at Ethan. "Get back to the house. And Catcher and Mallory, as well."

"Back to the house?" Ethan asked, his magic and body suddenly tense, making all my spidey senses tingle uncomfortably.

"We were just attacked, and you're the odd ones out."

We weren't shifters, he meant.

We were different.

We were suspects.

Chapter Five.

BLOOD WILL TELL.

They'd undoubtedly been attacked before. They'd had intra-Pack struggles, and they'd overcome them. But tonight they'd been attacked, without warning, by creatures that weren't supposed to exist.

This had shocked them. Unfortunately, we were on the wrong side of that shock.

We followed Gabriel silently back to the house, where Finn directed us to the kitchen.

It was large, with white cabinets and sleek black countertops, and a large kitchen island with an expensive stove and several stools for casual meals. The Breckenridges' kitchen staff, dressed in their formal black-and-white uniforms, watched us from one corner as Mallory, Catcher, Ethan, and I were directed to the center island.

"Sit," Finn said, then disappeared from the room. The house staff, also shifters, but apparently on duty during the festival, stood together, arms crossed, whispering and regarding us with obvious hostility.

Ethan sat beside me, his hand protectively at my back. Catcher and Mallory took seats across from us, and the strain in her face was clear. They'd interned us in the house while they grieved together, reminding us just how separate our worlds still were.

"What will they do now?" Mallory asked.