Breathless, Rowan shook his head. “It’s never happened before.” Whoever these people were, they’d brought someone who knew how to break through rune-held wards. They had created a hole in the runes’ defenses. It was a small hole and took a considerable amount of effort to make, but the damage was enough.
Shit, shit, shit.
Rowan glanced beyond the trees at the perfect, whole shape of the moon. “Oh, fucking hell. Of course.”
“What?” Miles demanded.
“Full moon tonight.”
Miles didn’t understand why Rowan said this until a long howl rose, and a pack of werewolves stalked through the broken gate, fur bristling and canines shining.
The warehouse appeared abandoned, but Amy was almost one hundred percent certain it wasn’t.
“This is on the list?” Spencer asked, casting a dubious eye over the decrepit, shabby building. Much of it sagged, appearing as though one strong gust of wind could knock it over.
“Sure is. Victor Corbinelli owns this one and several others on the outskirts of the city. All part of his new operation. Old rail tunnels run through this area. The warehouses are simply a front, I believe.” She inspected the building. The sun was beginning to set, and shadows grew long and thick on the pothole-filled road. Weeds had sprung along the sides of the old building and filled several cracks and holes in the parking lot.
“You’d think with all the money Corbinelli has, he would have at least paid to repave the parking lot and repair the building,” Amy remarked. “But maybe he left it looking dingy on purpose. Keep people from looking too closely.”
And yet, here she was.
Spencer had parked Amy’s car off the road, where they could not be seen. “There they are,” Amy whispered. Several men emerged from the warehouse and loitered by a side exit, speaking in low enough voices that neither Amy nor Spencer could distinguish their words. Finally, two of them went to a nearby truck and began unloading crates from the back. The others headed inside.
The men’s presence told Amy they would not be going inside to investigate, but she held up a camera with a wide-reaching, close-zoom lens and snapped a few pictures, capturing their faces.
“I’ve heard of the guy,” Spencer spoke up. “I’ve seen Corbinelli’s face on a few billboards. Never liked him, though I can’t tell exactly why I feel that way. Something about his eyes.”
“He’s a billionaire who hordes all his money and steps on anyone he wants to,” Amy responded dryly. “I don’t like him, either.” Not to mention all the times he’d sent someone after her or Stacy. She didn’t mention this to Spencer. He already knew, and the tension he felt was obvious in his shoulders and his tight hold on the steering wheel.
Spencer glanced in the rearview as a small black car pulled onto the road. “Recognize that?” he asked Amy.
She twisted in her seat, brows drawing together. “That’s the car I thought I saw this morning!”
“We are being followed,” Spencer stated grimly. “I noticed it one other time earlier this afternoon but didn’t think much of it then.”
Amy sounded more irritated than fearful when she replied, “Let’s get out of here.”
He pulled onto the road and sped away. The car followed.
“Shit,” Spencer muttered.
“Can you shake him?”
“I’ll try.”
Spencer took to the twisting roads, taking turn after turn at a greater speed than the car pursuing dared to follow. Their pursuer didn’t seem to want them to know he was after them. A few maneuvers later, the car was gone.
Amy released a deep sigh of relief as Spencer pulled onto a small road leading into a clump of trees. The sun was nearly gone by this point. She consulted a map she’d been using all day. “We’re close to one of Victor’s offices. His main one is in the Financial District, with a few others outside the city. We can go there and check it out, then maybe head home after.”
Amy checked the time on the dashboard and remembered she’d told Stacy she would be home after dinner. “We won’t make it,” she told Spencer. Then, she tried to text her friend, but she found she had no service.
“We’ll make it quick,” Spencer replied. He grinned and added, “I’m starting to get hungry.”
Rowan and Miles sprang into action.
Rowan’s favorite sigil-covered sword swung out, lopping off the head of the first wolf who dared to lunge for him. The werewolf’s blood spewed, coating Rowan in sticky warmth. He didn’t care. He spun, the sword slicing through another wolf.
He’d counted thirteen as they prowled onto the grounds, their red eyes blazing with hunger. His count might not matter, though. Some might be hanging back on the road, waiting to join as reinforcements. Normally, Rowan wouldn’t have assumed a pack would be so coordinated, but this wasn’t an ordinary pack.
The alpha who’d melted the gate wasn’t the only reason. These werewolves were larger than most Rowan had seen, and that red quality to their eyes meant they were jacked on magic. A drug of sorts. The fact that at least thirteen had come made fury well inside the dryad. He’d fight these beasts the whole damn night if he had to.
The wolves’ growls reverberated along the ground. Another lunged for Rowan, teeth flashing to tear out his throat. Rowan evaded it with a deft maneuver, and the wolf took a blade to its back. The contact made a crunching sound, followed by the wolf’s low moan.
As Rowan kept moving, he noticed Miles’ work. Vines along the ground sprang to life, twisting to catch wolves’ legs and yanking them to the ground. One crashed to his knees with a howl of rage, and Rowan plunged his sword into the creature’s neck. A wild wind coursed across the grounds, and the trees tossed in answer to Miles’ summoning.
“Might wanna get out of the way!” Miles shouted to Rowan.
The dryad cut down another wolf, then turned to see Miles plunging his magic into the ground. The earth responded by sending up a wall of prickly, thorned vines as another werewolf bounded for Miles. Thorns penetrated the werewolf’s body, and his yelps of agony rang out.
Five of the fuckers down.
Eight to go. At least.
We can do this, Rowan thought.
