The voice stopped suddenly, and Vivienne blinked. Her mother’s voice had soothed her, and without it, hysteria threatened to take over.
“Hurry up and grab them. Something’s off here,” someone murmured in a low voice.
A bright light appeared behind the men, the equivalent of a powerful flash, and then Vivienne heard her mother, loud and clear. The men turned to face Evelyn, and one by one, they screamed and then disappeared.
With them no longer impeding her view, Vivienne stared at the woman who’d birthed her. Curly black hair hung loosely around delicate shoulders. Honey-colored brown eyes, the exact replica of her own, stared back at her. Evelyn took a step forward and Vivienne swallowed. Along with the intense heat pulsing through her body, her knees were growing weak, her head felt heavy, and she could feel her heart slowing down to an alarming rate. Lethargic. She felt lethargic.
“You are safe, ma puce. I will explain everything.”
Turning her head, she saw Conall and Max, changed into things that could not be mistaken for human on a good day, things that shouldn’t exist. She remembered her mother’s voice in her head, and her mother appearing out of thin air.
Witch.
Someone had called her mother a witch. She blinked as an image flashed into her mind. Her mother was kneeling, one hand on Vivienne’s forehead, the other on her sister’s, as she repeated words in Latin. Vivienne blinked. That had never happened, so why was she remembering it? She tried to shake her head, but instead, settled for blinking again.
“You are safe, Vivienne.” She felt hands touch her face, gentle, warm hands. Someone roared her name in the background. Conall. She blinked once more but her lids refused to reopen this time. Her mother was speaking—chanting—once more. She felt herself falling.
***
Conall watched with his heart in his throat as the witch leaned over an unconscious Vivienne. She froze suddenly and lifted her head, locking pitch-black eyes with his yellow glare. Growling, he took a step in her direction, forgetting for the moment that he was still in the midst of fighting the trackers. A searing pain shot through his thigh and he looked down to see a bleeding gash there. The tracker who’d delivered it pressed forward again, but Conall was focused once more, and as the tracker charged, he jumped aside as his claw laid open the bastard’s jugular. Eyes widening, the tracker clutched his throat and fell backward.
Before the body hit the ground, another ran toward him. He blocked the magic thrown at him and launched himself at the tracker. Four long talons, as sharp as diamond-cut blades, pushed into the soft tissue of the man’s belly, and ripped up.
A gurgle left his lips as his mouth opened on a silent scream. Pushing him back, Conall looked around, noticing that the number of trackers was steadily dwindling. Most had died and disintegrated but some still squirmed on the floor. Two were attacking Max, and he watched, impressed, as Max, now a creature he was unfamiliar with, held them back. Now certain that Max was protecting Vivienne, he ran for the one at Max’s back. They fell to the ground together, with the tracker conjuring a spell to render Conall immobile. It was a weak spell, one that he, as an ancient were with Celtic roots, had learned years ago to counter. The witch smiled, thinking he would be unable to move, and readied his attack. Conall returned the spell, moments before his wolf fully took over and rows of sharp teeth closed over the confused man’s throat. The tracker’s scream was cut short when he tore savagely. At that moment, another scream rang out, and the black wolf turned in the direction. Another tracker was suspended mid-air by Max’s hand at his throat. Max pulled something…mist-like and fine…from him.
Lifting its massive head, the black wolf scanned the area where Vivienne had been. She wasn’t there. None of them were! He paced the lobby, with unflinching precision snapping the necks of those who still lived. He didn’t know the reason behind the attack today, but whenever trackers were sent after someone, it was usually because someone wanted the person dead. He snapped his jaws together as he walked over to the last place that he’d seen his mate. The wolf picked up her scent as well as the scent of the witches, five males and a female. He snarled, remembering them crowding Vivienne as he was attacked by other members of their covenant.
The witches had reneged on their oath when they attacked what was his, and he was going to return their assault tenfold. A growl left his lips and he forced the change. His beast retreated as his naked body crouched low. Small red cuts, a result of his fast-healing blood cells, marred his previously smooth skin.