Over her head, Lancelot the wolf had buried his fanged jaws in the werewolf’s groin. The monster swung one enormous paw, catching the vampire across the skull. Lance’s furry body went flying, slamming with vicious force into a tree. The wolf bounced off the trunk, hit the ground, rolled.
And did not get up.
“Lancelot!” Kat’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest.
idge assessed the situation with all the skill his sixty years of combat experience gave him.
We’re screwed.
Kat had taken a raking stroke down her torso, Ridge was wounded, and Lance was unconscious. At least they had all done damage to the . . .
Magic flared and pulsed around the Direwolf, blinding and blue. When the glare died, the creature had become a golden-furred wolf the size of a pony. It gathered itself to dive on Kat, who still lay stunned at its feet.
Ridge stepped in, swinging his sword like a baseball bat. The wolf fled, snapping. Before Ridge could catch it, magic swirled around the big beast again, and the Direwolf was back, injuries fully healed by his magical transformation.
Yeah. We’re screwed.
He could heal his own wounds by transforming—so could Lance, when he regained consciousness—but there was always a moment of disorientation to the process. It wasn’t much, but the Direwolf wouldn’t need much of an opening to lay one of them open with those claws.
The son of a bitch was not only nine feet tall, with the strength to match, he was incredibly fast. It was no surprise they were having so much trouble defeating him: Direwolves had been created by Merlin himself to kill rogue Magekind. Too bad the alien wizard hadn’t realized the problem they’d face if a Direwolf went rogue.
If they could get a call to the Mageverse, they could bring in reinforcements. Unfortunately, Kat was having trouble with her magic. Which was no surprise; Ridge knew more about using magic than she did.
Kat was up at last and running toward Lancelot, apparently intent on helping her father. The werewolf lunged after her, jaws snapping. Ridge cursed and raced in the creature’s wake. The monster whirled on him, a long arm lashing out. Metal shrieked as those huge claws ripped a hunk out of his helm. Blood flew. He ignored it, swung his sword. Cursed under his breath as the Direwolf ducked with that incredible speed and agility. Ridge continued his attack, forcing the monster away from Kat, who whirled away from Lancelot and moved to help him.
They had one chance—and it wasn’t much of one. If he and Kat could Truebond, they could reinforce each other’s power and experience.
Normally it would take hours of work and magic to form the intense psychic link of a Truebond. Luckily, Ridge and Kat were already partially linked from triggering her Gift earlier that evening. If he could deepen that link . . .
He found the thin connection already fading in the back of his mind and threw his consciousness along it. Kat . . .
Ridge? Astonishment rang in her mental voice. How . . . ?
We’ve got to Truebond. Combining our abilities is the only chance we’ve got to beat this bastard and survive.
But I don’t know how!
I do. He hoped.
He’d better.
pen to me. Ridge’s voice whispered the words in her mind, a seductive mental purr. Reach out to me. Use your magic. His gaze met hers, intense, demanding. He didn’t seem aware of the towering furred figure stalking him.
If this doesn’t work, we’re both dead. So I’d better make it work. Concentrating hard, Kat caught at that mental cord to his consciousness, simultaneously drawing on the magic in her own core.
Bind us, he breathed, staring deep into her eyes. Braid us.
Behind him, the Direwolf’s cold blue eyes narrowed, seeing Ridge’s distraction.
Ridge . . .
Don’t worry about him. Concentrate on me.
Kat saw what he wanted her to do; the image was so plain in his mind. She caught her breath as she realized in a flash the risks and implications. The connection would be so strong, the death of one would kill the other.
So we just won’t die, he said, even as he pivoted like a dancer, swinging his sword in a hard arc that drove the werewolf back.
Kat grabbed the magic, forced it into the thread, raw energy pouring faster and faster, binding them tighter. Mind to mind, heart to heart, will to will, as frozen seconds ticked past. The werewolf’s lips drew back from those dagger-blade fangs as he circled them, waiting for his chance.