Shattered Circle

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The force that hit Johnny was an inferior one, but the blow connected precisely on his knee. He could not keep from falling. As he pitched to the side, something large rolled past him.

Johnny roared and scrabbled onto his inhuman feet, but the large object made the transition much more smoothly.

Brian.

The Omori pulled two pistols from his belt even as he gained his feet. Both pointed at the vampire, who lay unmoving. Then Brian lowered himself to one knee. “Sire. Sire, please. Stand down.”

The beast flicked its claws. Rage boiled in his chest.

But Johnny heard.

Seconds ticked by as he struggled with the duality of his desires. Save Red. Taste enemy blood. His heart was all for the woman; but his head was filled with fury and his jaws dripped thick saliva. The moment wore painfully on, tension roiling around him like tangible ribbons of hate—then the man surfaced from someplace deep in the waters of his mind and, gasping, fought for control.

One rear paw slid backward. His weight shifted. He brought the other paw in line with this one. Turning his head to maintain his watch on the vampire, he crouched low. Commanding his beast to retreat, he concentrated and held his mental ground as he forced the feral creature inside him to succumb, to shrink and submit.

When the wolf began relenting, his man-form was regained.

His skin felt hot as the cold air of the house swirled around him. Staying down, balanced on his toes, one knee, and the tips of his fingers, Johnny shivered. From head to toe he shook, adrenaline and aggression coursing like whitewater rapids through his veins. He focused on the vampire, but that receding part of him wished the damned thing would twitch once so he could pounce and finish it off. The man knew it was wrong, but the wolf wanted it all the same. If the vamp provoked him, he would be justified. And it would burn up this excess energy.

“Sire.”

Johnny’s head snapped toward the Omori and a growl slipped out unchecked.

The young man’s blue eyes were set, his expression serious. “Sire. Forgive my interference, but you must not kill that vampire.”

The Omori had put specific emphasis on the word. “Why not?”

“I’m sure you’ve had some security briefings, sire, but perhaps you don’t recognize him. That vamp is one of a dozen or so high-ranking officials included in our OPS training. He’s important. Important enough to be on a do-not-kill list.”

Aurelia had pestered him about security briefings; he had not made time for them yet. “Who is he?”

“His name is Franciscus Meroveus. He is an advisor to the Excelsior. Killing him would cause friction between wæres and vamps. Hostilities would follow—off the record, underground, and out of the public eye if we were lucky, but it would be ugly nonetheless.”

Johnny glowered. He was still breathing hard, but he’d brought it down to rushing breaths through flared nostrils. Control was returning. Gradually. “He did something to Red.”

Brian readjusted his grip on the guns, shifted his position, and changed the angle of his aim. The guns looked heavy and fully loaded; even a wærewolf had to amend his pose to avoid muscle fatigue. “Do you want to instigate a war . . . over a woman?”

Johnny fought down a snarl.

“I am at your command, sire.” Brian paused. When Johnny didn’t answer he added, “If you want a war, this will give you one.”

Johnny rolled his shoulders to fight off the strain he felt. His body hurt; his arms, his sides.

“Give the word. One way or the other. I trust you to know what you’re doing and the ramifications you’re bringing on our people.” His fingers tightened on the triggers.

Our people. Those two words echoed through Johnny’s head. Somewhere along the way they changed into your son.

“No.” It was more guttural than Johnny wanted the word to come out so he repeated it, making the effort to make it more human. “No.”

“Then, let’s bind him and tend to your burns, sire.”

Ten minutes later, after Johnny had donned his jeans, they had the vampire secured. Meroveus lay on the floor in the space the dinette used to occupy. Johnny had watched Brian loop the rope around the vamp’s wrists and ankles in a binding that, should the vamp try to pull free, the rope would just tighten.

“He wields magic. Better gag him,” Johnny said.

Brian took care of that also. “Now. Your wounds.”

Johnny had examined them. He had tender spots, red and swollen, like third-degree burns that had been healing for a month or so. To have healed this much in one change—and not to have healed fully—meant that they must have been pretty nasty. “I’m fine.” He willed his left arm to transform. The fur sprouted and his arm thickened, fingernails thickened into sharp claws . . . then he willed it to revert. This time the burn was still slightly pink. He repeated the partial change on his other arm, then on his torso.

As the fur receded into his chest at the last, he looked at Brian, who wore an expression of awe.

“I didn’t doubt you before, sire,” said Brian, “but I am honored to witness the very power that makes you our king.”

Johnny gazed at Persephone. She still had not moved. “What of Aurelia?”

“The situation is handled. All the details on site and those pertaining to her transport have been attended.”

In front of him, Red looked so peaceful and serene. But his gut told him something was terribly wrong. He touched his empty hip pocket. “Did you see my phone?”

Brian started across the kitchen. “Saw it in the debris earlier.” He walked down the hall, returned with the phone.

Johnny immediately opened it and flipped through his contacts until he found DEMETER. He hit Send and glanced at the clock; it was nearly midnight. She was not going to be happy.

The phone rang three times and her familiar voice croaked, “Who’s dead?”

“No one,” he lied.

“What is it?”

“Demeter . . . ”

“Is Persephone all right?”

Johnny let out a slow breath.

“Damn it, John, talk to me!”

“Someone tried to kill her tonight.” His gaze flicked over her neck, to the burn, then to the goose egg lump on the side of her head. “She’s got a few minor injuries.”

“But you don’t get an old woman out of bed to tell her that her granddaughter has minor injuries, so spit it out.”

“I left to pursue her attacker—”

“You get him?”

“I did.”

“Good. Go on.”

“When I got back, Red was sitting in the kitchen. Sitting cross-legged with a circle of water on the floor around her.”

“She was meditating.”

“I figured. But she’s still sitting here like that.”

Demeter was quiet. “How long?”

“An hour or so. Is that normal?”

“Not exactly.” Her coarse voice smoothed nonchalantly. “Have you broken the circle?”

“No.”

He heard Demeter sigh in relief.

“I don’t know much about magic, but I know that would be bad.”

“I’ll get Lance up and be on my way.”

“No. I’m sending wæres from the Pittsburgh den to pick you up. They will be there in twenty minutes.” He hung up with her and made a call to Kirk; he knew it would be handled.

Standing there in the kitchen, staring at Red, he felt helpless.

So he sat down across from her. Her expression had changed. It wasn’t exactly serene anymore. It didn’t suggest fright or fear or pain, but it wasn’t peaceful.

Maybe he was projecting his emotions on her.

He wasn’t at peace inside, and it wasn’t merely the aches and pains from the recent fight. There was a key in Aurelia’s suite that he had to get. For Evan’s sake he had to secure the information she had locked away before anyone else did. He considered sending someone to collect the key. Kirk or Hector maybe.

No.

With all the deviousness Aurelia had shown, it wouldn’t surprise him to learn the Zvonul had her watched. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had enemies who managed some secret surveillance, either.

If anyone was watching her suite, it could mean danger for whoever went to collect the item. He couldn’t ask anyone else to take that risk for him. Besides, with him being the Domn Lup anyone who was watching the place would think twice about acting against him.

He glanced away from Red to the clock on the stove. He had time to drive to Cleveland, get the key, and get back before Demeter would arrive. His gaze fell to Mero. He would even have time to deliver that bloodsucker back where he belonged.

Opening his phone again, he called Mountain. The Beholder would keep an eye on Red, and would follow orders to keep from interfering with the magic circle around her.