Shattered Circle (12 page)

I dropped to my knees and shoved my two little fingers into the ground.

“Water, water, heed my demand,

Flow over your banks and across the land.

With the fury of rapids and a waterfall’s might

Reroute this stream right now, tonight,

Filling the torn earth as I command!”

Water came.

“It’s going to wash away your circle!”

Even as I called out, Menessos flicked a hand in my direction. His lips moved. Though my ears could not pick up the sound of his voice, I knew he was drawing a door on the circles. But that moment of refocusing his willpower cost him. The giant hand pulled Beverley
down. I could barely see her; she was slightly below the level of the ground.

Like rushing whitewater, the liquid poured across the earth, picking up leaves and crashing noisily in on itself. I guided it through the open doorway Menessos had drawn. Fearing Beverley might drown, I mentally pushed the water so it rounded that crevice and spiraled down into it staying mostly to the edge. But not all.

As it splashed about, the fluid splattered across the hand. Where it fell, it sizzled. Blisters swelled up instantly.

A deep subterranean squeal shuddered up through that fissure. The hand threw her upward and jerked out of sight. Seeing Beverley falling, I had an instant to readjust the water and move it from the edges to pool across the opening and catch her.

It did—then she sank.

I fought to whirlpool the water, to make a current that would push her to the top, but I could not feel where she was, and I wasn’t sure if my efforts were keeping her down. I couldn’t tell how deep the water in my control was.

Zhan, who had been around magic enough to know a cut doorway meant people could move in and out of the circle, raced through—and dove into the water.

I was dumbfounded by her bravery.

For an endless few seconds I debated what I should do. I wondered if they had both fallen from the bottom of the fluid and were now dropping to their deaths. I could be covering up their screams with this whirlpool. If I released the water and they weren’t already plummeting, they certainly would then. I couldn’t let it go,
but I couldn’t keep this liquid spinning if it was what was keeping them down, either.

I looked to Menessos, but he was trying to put the ley line back where it belonged, well below the surface.

Zhan’s head broke the surface with a gasp. She was carried around the opening twice before she could get a grip on the edge and hold her position. “I have her!”

I slowed the flow of the water, but that allowed the level to drop. I knew if I pulled my fingers free of the earth, my control on the water would end.

But what choice did I have? Beverley’s head was still under. If Zhan could have lifted her up, she would have. If I didn’t let the water go and get in there to help, Beverley was surely going to drown.

“Hold on!” Rising, I sped through the doorway.

As expected, as soon as my hands were free of the earth the water was freed. It splashed away, crashing down in the hole. I dove toward the edge, reaching for Zhan’s hand. She’d caught a thick root, and had her foot wedged on a rock. “Take the girl.”

Her other arm was wrapped around Beverley’s torso. I reached lower and Zhan used every ounce of her Offerling strength to lift Beverley high enough so that I could get my hands under the girl’s arms. I was able to bend my arms and lift her closer to me, but I had no leverage.

Zhan crawled out of the fissure and spun around on her knees. “Don’t let go,” she said. She straddled me and half lifted, half dragged me away from the edge. All I had to do was maintain my grip and Beverley was hoisted out with me.

When I could, I hauled her away from the hole.

Menessos had sealed up the door he cut and was shutting down the circle, so that by the time Zhan and I had reached a safe distance, the crevice was backfilling.

Ignoring his ending of the spell, I pulled Beverley closer. She wasn’t breathing. I began CPR. The third time I breathed into her mouth, her body jerked. I pulled away and she vomited up water. She didn’t regain consciousness, but she was breathing deeply and her pulse felt strong to me. A quick examination of her hands and arms proved they were warm to the touch, but un-burnt. I noticed her flint arrowhead necklace was gone; Menessos likely had to remove it before his spell would work. Cradling her, I faced him. Not caring about the exhaustion in his expression or the slump of his shoulders, I demanded, “Why in Hell did you do that?”

He said plainly, “I had to.”

The anger in my expression made him look away. He stood, rolled his shoulders, straightened his clothes, and paced a few unsteady steps away. I knew the longer he had to think about it, the prettier and more innocent he could make his explanation sound. “I know it was similar to what you did to Liyliy and her sisters, so start talking.” What he’d done had turned out badly for them, and knowing that made the worry I felt now for Beverley clench up tight in my gut.

He turned and there was a hint of surprise in his eyes. “I had to get her out of the line. That was my sole purpose, I swear. But as I brought her out, I realized why she was in there in the first place.” Sadness filled his expression. “Had I been less focused on you, I would have caught it . . . but as it is, what power I detected I simply wrote off as yours.”

Power? Somewhere between nine and twelve, a witch’s power begins to show. But Beverley’s mother was not a witch.

“She possesses a power that was not wakeful when Goliath was dating her mother. She had a birthday recently, yes?”

I nodded. She’d turned ten . . . ten days ago. “Why did you pull a gift into her?”

“Persephone, she wasn’t just
in
the ley line. She was
riding
it. You know what that means.”

His words struck me. The truth had been there all along and I’d danced around it at every turn. I looked down into her sweet face. I ran my fingers around her neck, where the necklace would have been. I moved her hair away. And there was a faint redness where the silver would have been, redness like a fading rash. With her recent birthday and the onset of power with the coming of age, it all made sense now.

“She has fey blood.”

J
ohnny turned to Celia. Her eyes were wide and glassy.

The shock in her expression cut through his rage and he realized he was roughing up a woman. Though he tried to console himself that Aurelia was a wærewolf and could tolerate it, guilt flashed through him.

“You . . . you have a child?” Celia stammered.

She had heard Aurelia. He knew how badly Celia wanted a child. The fact that wærewolves couldn’t breed was her greatest pain in life. Because he and Erik had been best friends up until a week or so ago, he also knew that Celia struggled with a secret resentment over Seph getting custody of Beverley.

Now a child had fallen into his life as well.

“Yes,” Aurelia answered, her voice raspy. “The Domn Lup has a human son, a child born out of wedlock to his high school sweetheart, conceived in all likelihood a matter of days before he was made wærewolf.” She slowly climbed to her feet. “If you acknowledge him, John, if you bring him into your world, he will forever be in danger.”

Johnny turned back to Aurelia. “How do you know about him?”

She straightened her outfit. “We’ll discuss that later.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You will fucking answer me right now.”

“How isn’t important.”

Johnny pointed at the indentation in the paneling. “If you don’t answer me, we’re gonna find out what it takes to put you all the way through.”

She sneered at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

He grabbed her, lifted her, and the first thrust broke through the paneling and cracked the structure’s framing beneath. The second sent Aurelia and various bits of wood, insulation, and siding across the yard.

Johnny exited by the door. As he stepped onto the grass, Aurelia began to laugh. She slowly picked herself up. “The Rege did far worse to me for lesser reasons. It’ll take more than throwing me through walls to make me talk.” The wind tossed her hair about and she tore off her jacket and threw it down as if ready for a fight. She held her long hair out of her face. “C’mon, John. Put your hands on me again.”

The copper-sweet tang of blood filled Johnny’s nostrils. A quick scan revealed a gash on her forearm. She seemed unaware of it. Still, his mouth watered. “I’m not the Rege.” He’d heard the sadistic bastard had tormented her in many ways; she’d risen through the ranks because she was not only worthy, but she didn’t break under the damage he dished out.

“You’re not so different. I could always feel his beast. I could feel it rouse, feel it yearning for things. I felt your beast as I got close to the trailer.” She laughed softly again. “You’re on the edge.” She wiped her hand over the wound, covering it with blood. Then she rubbed her hands together and waved them in the air between them. “Lust. Anger. Violence. And now . . . blood.”

Fresh and warm, the blood glistened wet on her
fingers. The building breeze wrapped the scent around him, swathing him in heaviness that weakened his knees. Penetrating that scent was another: the heady aroma of her arousal. That perfume of her sex reached through the blood-scent cloaking him and, like a silken lining, slid cool and smooth against his flesh.

Its touch was light, but far from subtle. It breached his skin like a sigh passing through a screen. Once underneath, it warmed as it passed over each sinew, each muscle, stroking and saturating his body with a savage craving previously unknown to him.

Aurelia’s pouty lips curved as she stepped out of her dress shoes. “Touch me, John. If you can.” She turned and ran.

Unable to resist chasing her, wanting that scent, that sensation, to remain, he kicked off his slick-soled shoes and followed.

She ran into the cornfield, avoiding the grove. It wasn’t long before her bare feet were bloodied, and he could smell each drop as the air lifted the fragrance to his nostrils.

The transformation stirred within him, fiercer with each step. He’d been outpacing her, but as he threw off his clothing, pausing desperate seconds here and there for the removal of each article, she increased the distance between them. When he was fully naked, he let the change claim him. In fact, he welcomed it—certain that he could cover the ground quicker on four legs.

With a howl that split the night, he was complete and raced into the dark.

His nose was more efficient like this. All the smells that had enticed him mingled into a mesmerizing
medley. His pricked ears were also better. The sound of vegetation crunching under Aurelia’s hurried steps and her panting breaths thrilled him, urged him on.

His paw touched fabric instead of earth.
Her skirt
.

Seconds later, something thinner. His nails punctured it.
Her blouse
.

She’s naked.

The animal’s yearning redoubled, and with a rumbling growl, so did his speed.

Gaining with each leaping stride, he was soon right behind her, so close that he licked the bloody sole of her foot in the millisecond it was revealed in her step. She gasped and stumbled.

The flavor of her blood rocked him. It hit his tongue and many things happened at once.

He saw her fall and leapt, thinking to catch her.

His transformation began reverting.

And he wondered if Persephone’s blood tasted this good to Menessos.

He sprang forward, and when his body was parallel to hers, he reached human arms down and encircled her waist, twisting so it was his back that crashed to the ground and not her front.

The air was knocked from his lungs by the impact, and again when her body collided atop his.

Aurelia sat up, straddling him.

The erotic sensation of touching a female wære ran through him, interfering with his recovery. He reached out, tried to sit up. “No. Stay flat.” She took his hands in her own and lowered them to her thighs. “Just breathe. A little deeper with each breath.”

Under a starry sky that was slowly being shrouded by
the cloud cover steered in by the wind, he struggled to make his lungs work normally. With each inhalation, it seemed, he could bring the oxygen in a little deeper. He found a rhythm in it. The breaths were so shallow it was a quick rhythm, but a rhythm nonetheless.

Aurelia danced seductively to his rhythm. With each of his inhalations, her thighs flexed under his hands and her buttocks lifted off him as she tilted her hips to rub herself along his cock. It made her lean slightly, but the speed made her breasts sway enticingly. As he exhaled she reversed the motion.

As he picked up on the pattern, he reclaimed control of his body. Well, part of it. She—and the tickling arousal—were working in conjunction and having a definite influence he could not resist. He purposely made his next exhale as long and slow as he could manage, reveling in the fantastic feeling of her sex sliding along his growing erection.

Breathing in the mélange of fragrances, staring into her wanton eyes, and feeling the strength of her thighs, he tightened his fingers on her slightly. She had timed his deep breath perfectly and positioned herself at the tip of him, ready to take what she wanted as he exhaled.

But the scent of blood again filled his nostrils . . . and his thought of Persephone and Menessos recurred.

So he held his breath.

She giggled, waiting. Her eyes sparkled.

“No,” he whispered. Johnny bent his knees, bumping her slightly forward and effectively keeping her off his cock.

“What?” The glint in her eyes darkened.

She pitched forward, hands punching down onto the ground on either side of his head. She arched her back,
and let her breasts sway close to his mouth. “Don’t fight me anymore.” Her hips gyrated as she pleaded.

“How do you know about my son?”

She stilled for an instant, then she shifted her weight and sat up, running her hands—tacky with drying blood—over his chest.