Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9)(30)
Author: Chloe Neill

Slowly, I glanced back over my shoulder.

Now a man stood behind me, also in a dark tunic and with short hair, a four-foot-long recursive bow in hand, an arrow tipped with a shiny silver point already strung and taut. The fingers that held the bow were long and thin, ending in long and equally sharp nails.

Had the circumstances been different, I might have admired the weapon. It was carved of pale wood and beautifully curvy. Unless the shafts were made of aspen, being shot by an arrow wouldn’t kill me. But that didn’t mean I was looking forward to it.

I glanced back, looking for egress, but they’d been joined by another woman and man. It was four to one, and my allies were still tucked in a restaurant down the road.

The odds were not in my favor, but I put on my fighting face—a haughty expression punctuated by a hell of a lot of feigned bravado.

“I think you’ll want to lower your weapon, friends. And explain why you’re following me.”

The man watched me silently without blinking. I could read nothing in his eyes. They were too dark, too glassy, too shielded. “You have made war against us.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have attacked the People. You have breached our trust and our pact. We claim the right of retribution.”

Completely flummoxed, I evaluated my chances while trying to ferret out what the hell was going on.

“We haven’t attacked anyone. We were attacked last night. A squadron of harpies struck from the air.” Keeping my eyes on them, I flipped the thumb guard on my katana.

“Nonsense,” came the prim voice of the woman who’d followed me. “Harpies are imaginary creatures.”

“They were made of magic. And we lost four in the battle. I’m not sure what happened to you, but it wasn’t because of us.”

The man’s gaze narrowed. He pulled the bow tauter, raising his arms so the arrow pointed directly at my heart. Apparently, he meant to skewer me here and now, in front of—I glanced at the store beside us—Pilchuk Mufflers, which, according to the carefully painted storefront, had four convenient metro locations to serve all your muffler needs.

It would be ignominious to die, I thought, sprawled on the sidewalk in front of Pilchuk Mufflers. So I decided not to.

“Harpies!” I yelled out, shifting their attention just long enough to move. I dropped and punched the bowman in the kneecap, drawing a groan and enough distraction that he let the arrow fly over my head.

I pulled my sword, raked the biting edge against his shins. Blood, thin and shockingly green, spilled through the new slit in his leggings and dripped to the ground. He roared in pain, eyes wide in fury that I’d had the temerity to fight back—and that I’d managed to nick him.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Before I could move, he kicked, his boot connecting with my abdomen and sending a wave of pain and nausea. I nearly retched on the sidewalk but managed to roll enough so his second shot just grazed me.

Then I was violently hauled to my feet, dropping my katana in the process. I found myself staring back into the eyes of the man.

His orbed black eyes were wild with fury. I brought up a knee, trying to catch him in the groin, but my aim was off and he blocked the blow with a shift of his knee.

He slapped me. The world wavered, and my mouth filled with blood.

Someone behind me pulled my ponytail, wrenching back my head with a hot flush of pain that spilled down my neck like boiling water. My head upside down, I saw the first woman behind me, a feline smile on her face.

She wrapped her arm around my neck and squeezed. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find air at all. Panic struck, my vision dimming on the edges as my legs kicked backward, as I tried to free myself from her vicious grip and find air again.

This is the way the world ends, I thought, and the world went black.

I woke in darkness, gasping for air. It took moments to realize that I was alive, my head still attached, but my neck sore and probably bruised. My throat ached, and my head felt unusually heavy. I couldn’t see anything around me. If I could, I imagined it would be spinning.

But I wasn’t dead. Which was completely unexpected.

I also didn’t think I was in front of Pilchuk Mufflers. Shapes and faint colors began to emerge in the darkness. I lay on a braided rug on the dirt floor of a small round room. The walls were made of pale birch saplings strapped together, and a conical roof was built above it, rising to a point in the middle of the ceiling. The remains of a fire sat in a depression in the middle of the room, and the entire space vibrated with low and malignant magic.

“Merit?”

It was Jeff’s voice, and I nearly wept with relief.

“Yeah,” I whispered, but my voice was scratchy, hoarse. I rubbed my throat, swallowed past parched lips, and tried again. “It’s me.”

Slowly, I pushed myself up on an elbow, looking through the darkness. My hands and feet were bound by large silver manacles and chains tethered to a large metal hook in the dirt floor.

Jeff and Damien sat a few feet beside each other, bound in the same silver chains. Their faces were bruised. Jeff’s right eye was cut and swollen, and the air carried the peppery scent of blood. They were hurt, but they were alive.

“You’re okay?” I asked. My words were scratchy but clear enough.

“Okay,” Damien agreed. But his eyes looked a little woozy and unfocused, which couldn’t have been good. “Silver chains. And silver-tipped arrows.” He nodded toward a dark spot of blood near the crux of his left shoulder.

Not all myths about supernaturals were accurate, but it appeared the shape-shifter weakness to silver was right on.

I glanced at Jeff, who nodded. “Glad you’re awake,” he said with a sheepish grin, which belied the worry in his eyes.

“Where are we?”

“We aren’t sure,” Damien said. “We were out when they brought us here. Farther from the carnival—I can’t smell it.”

He was right. The air smelled woody, smoky. “In the forest,” I guessed. But there was a lot of forest near Loring Park, so that didn’t narrow it down much.

“They got you at the restaurant?”

Damien nodded. “Outside it. We were looking for you. When you didn’t come back, we got worried. Where’d they get you?”

“Walking back to the restaurant.” I considered Lakshmi’s visit to be RG business, which made it none of the Pack’s. “They were following me. And when I confronted them, they pounced. How long was I unconscious?”