He clenched his hand into a fist and drew the flames into a crackling ball. Yes, this was going to be fun. With all his might, he threw the ball at the trunk of a palm tree just outside the house. He willed the flame to stick and race up the tree, enveloping it completely. He repeated this again and again, lighting one tree after another on fire so they burned like oversized Tiki torches in the night.
In the windows, he could see figures peering out and then racing around the house. The doors were thrown open and pestilents stormed out. They ran toward them, and Grey immediately started cutting them down with his assault rifle. Lucien would never have guessed the man was such a marksman.
“The dock is guarded!” Wiley called out.
“You and Dane hold the dock,” Lucien ordered. “Grey and I are moving forward to draw them out.”
He’d barely finished speaking when the ground rumbled again. In the dancing shadows, Lucien could hardly make out hints of thick vines shooting from the earth and snagged pestilents. The vines wrapped around their targets and dragged them under the dirt and sand. Lovely. Buried alive. And Clay called him twisted for frying them up to a charred crisp.
The sounds of the waves grew louder and angrier, rising above the loud pop of Grey’s gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see water rising up like a wall to circle the island. God help them all if Calder lost control of that.
But he couldn’t worry about Calder or the water. He couldn’t even let himself think about Gio, who should be inside the house by this point. There was only his job. Keeping the pestilents busy.
Clenching his teeth, he conjured up fire ball after fire ball. He tapped his deepest reserves, calling on old angers, frustrations, and even his fear for his mates and friends. He would not waver even as his limbs started to shake and sweat soaked into his clothes.
One by one, he picked off the pestilents that surged toward them, firing guns and swinging machetes as if they meant to cut them down like overgrown weeds. Screams filled the night, but even they were nearly drowned out by the gunfire and the roar of the crashing waves.
And just as suddenly, the pestilents stopped coming. They could see no more attackers pouring from the house. It was only them on the island.
Lucien doused the flames in his hands and straightened. Beside him, Grey used his shoulder to wipe some sweat from his brow.
“Why did I ever worry about being cold?” Grey muttered.
“You weren’t thinking about what a hot guy I am,” Lucien said, flashing the man a tense grin. Something was up. There was no way they’d cleared out all the pestilents from the house. Sure, they’d gotten rid of at least twenty, but that felt too easy. “You can sense more of them in there, right?”
“Yeah, but not a lot.” Grey made a frustrated noise in his throat. “There’s something else, but it’s really hazy. Like someone is trying to block my ability to sense who’s in there.”
“That’s reassuring,” Lucien grumbled to himself. They needed to clear out the rest of the house for Gio and Baer. The only other option was for Baer to shift into something big and scary so he could force an opening for Gio and Hale. It wasn’t a bad option, but he wanted to keep Gio as far from the fighting as possible. The Weaver with him wasn’t likely to be of much help unless he was some ex-Green Beret motherfucker. From what Wiley had said about the guy’s apartment, he was barely more than some kid.
In the darkness under the house was something white waving back and forth.
“Is…is that a white flag?” Dane suddenly asked. The healer had walked up behind him.
“I think it is,” Wiley agreed.
Lucien wanted to growl at both of them to go to the dock, but there was little point right now. He suddenly got why Clay got so pissy when he and Calder didn’t obey his instructions to the letter. His anxiety had spiked through the roof. They were mates and needed to be kept fucking safe.
“It’s John,” Grey said in a cold, hard voice. “I’m guessing he wants to talk.”
“Shit,” Dane swore softly.
“Both you and Wiley get to the dock and inside a fucking protection bubble now!” Lucien snapped. Grey was skeptical of the pestilent’s ability to cast the mind-control spell on the Weavers, but he wasn’t sure if their magical protection extended to mates. It was a theory no one wanted to test.
“Hello, Grey!” John called out. His tone sounded like he was welcoming Grey to a freaking summer garden party. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“I’m sure you have. It seems you’ve got someone who belongs to us,” Grey replied in the same light and airy tone. As if the Weaver was a wayward pet that had wandered into the wrong yard by mistake. Oh yes, silly Weaver. Lucien was seriously considering setting this pestilent on fire and saving them all the trouble.