Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9)(10)
Author: Chloe Neill

His hair pushed behind his ears, Gabriel looked more like a biker or boxer than Pack Apex, the king of his people, but there was no doubt in the set of his shoulders and grave expression that he stood as leader of them all.

“Tonight,” he said, hands on his hips, “we celebrate the Pack, the mothers, the sires. We celebrate our founding, our brothers, Romulus and Remus, and our future. We celebrate the wild things. We have voted to remain in the realm of humans and vampires. That decision was not unanimous, but it was a decision to stay, to join, to bind together with our brothers and sisters and become stronger in the binding.”

He looked at Mallory. “There are those among us who have erred, deeply and significantly. Who have wounded the world and broken themselves. The worst of them lose themselves in their errors. The best of them crawl back, one foot at a time, and seek to amend their breaches. That is the way of the brave.”

Gabe looked back at the crowd. “This woman knows only of the magic of sorcerers and vampires. Tonight, we sing to her of the rest of it. Of the truth of it. Of the magic the earth has to offer.”

Gabriel reached out his hand. After sucking in a breath, Mallory linked her fingers with his. She closed her eyes as magic began to spill out and through the shifters again. I closed my eyes and savored the hot rush of raw, unmitigated power. It was the life force of the earth, called up by the predators who gathered together to celebrate their community.

And then it transformed.

Mallory must have unlocked some magical gate of her own, because a new stream of magic—younger, greener, brighter—began to mix with the magic of the Pack. Her hair lifted like an indigo halo, and her lips curled into a smile of satisfaction and contentment. Of relief.

Together, the magicks swirled and danced around us, invisible but tangible, like an electric breeze. This wasn’t defensive or offensive magic. It wasn’t used to gather information, for strategy or diplomacy, or to fight a war against a supernatural enemy.

It simply was.

It was fundamental, inexorable. It was nothing and everything, infinity and oblivion, from the magnificent furnace of a star to the electrons that hummed in an atom. It was life and death and everything in between, the urge to fight and grow and swim and fly. It was the cascade of water across boulders, the slow-moving advance of mountain glaciers, the march of time.

The shifters moved around the circle, grabbing our hands and pulling us in, connecting us to the magic. Magic flowed between us like we were transistors in a circuit, connecting the shifters to one another and us to them. We moved in concentric circles around the center totem, heat rising until the air was as warm as a summer’s day, until sweat beaded on my forehead.

This magic was lustful, almost drowsy with sensuality, and I felt my eyes silver and my fangs descend in an answering call. This was the magic of feasting and f**king, of savoring the blood of a kill and calling the Pack to dine.

Mallory’s eyes were open now, her hair damp with sweat, her body shaking with power, but her hand was still linked to Gabriel’s, and she smiled with more contentment than I’d seen from her in months.

A year ago, I’d assumed my relationship with Mallory would continue just as it always had—that we’d be friends who shared silly inside jokes, griped about our jobs, dreamt about our futures.

And then I became a vampire, and she discovered she was a sorceress.

Our lives were never going to be the same. They would never be as simple, as predictable, as they had been those years before. Instead, they’d be overlain by our responsibilities, by our strengths, and by the burdens we undertook because of them.

For the first time, I realized that was okay.

Our friendship wasn’t limited to habits, to circumstances, to neighborhoods. We were friends because we were connected together, because something in our souls called to each other, understood each other. That connection, that spark between us, would remain even if our lives had changed completely. I hadn’t accepted that before.

I could accept it now.

I searched for her in the circle so I could let her know that I finally understood, that I’d come to terms with it. But I moved so quickly, my feet dancing to keep up with the shifters beside me, that I couldn’t get my bearings, couldn’t find her in the crowd.

Something strange flitted in my chest. A pinprick, sharp and uncomfortable. Not tangible, but a hidden note of magic. A bit of the current that wasn’t meant to soothe or celebrate but to incite.

I tried to ignore it, thinking I was just being paranoid, that the quantity of magic was triggering some protective instinct.

But I feared that wasn’t right. I’d felt magic before—many varieties, many flavors—even mixed into the current tonight. This was different. Panic began to bloom like dark roses.

The hand on mine tightened, as if the shifter at my side had felt my wavering fear.

I looked for Ethan, found him five yards away, eyes closed as he swayed in time with the shifters around him.

I pulled my hands free, breaking the circle and pushing through bodies to get closer, to put him in reach in case my fear was real.

Ethan, I told him. Stay where you are. I’m coming for you.

Sentinel, he said, obviously surprised. What’s wrong?

I didn’t have time to answer, because I’d been regrettably correct.

The sky blackened as a thick, dark cloud began to spin above us, angry with sound and magic. The shifters stopped, the furious dance coming to a stumbling halt as they, too, cast their gazes on the threatening sky.

“A storm?” someone near me asked.

I moved forward until I reached Ethan, grabbed his wrist. But he didn’t even look at me. He stared at the sky as it broke open, revealing the truth of the cloud.

It wasn’t the forerunner of a storm, but an attack.

All hell broke loose.

Chapter Four

GHASTLY, GRIM, AND ANCIENT

They looked like the harpies of Greek and Roman mythology. Bodies of pale, thin women. Massive wings, the feathers so deeply black they gleamed like velvet. They were naked but for their long hair—straight and black, with thin braids tied throughout—and their silver, crested helmets. Supernatural battle armor, I feared, as they spun above us like a supernatural tornado, blotting out the stars, the magic that accompanied them fierce and unfriendly.

“Ethan,” I yelled over the rising din, adrenaline beginning to rush through me. “Nobody told me harpies existed!”

“I imagine nobody knew it until today,” he said, pulling a dagger from his boot and gesturing for me to do the same.