“Okay, I want everyone in a circle,” she said, ignoring the frowns of the curs as she urged them into the center of the vestibule. “Now take the hand of the person on each side of you.”
“If you think I’m going to sing “Kumbaya,” then you’re out of your mind,” the blond-headed cur muttered.
“Shut up.” She glanced around the circle, grabbing the female cur’s hand on one side, and Hess’s on the other. “If you want to help Salvatore, then I need you to concentrate.”
“Concentrate on what?” Hess demanded.
Wondering how the hell she’d gotten in so far over her head, Harley closed her eyes and filled her mind with the image of Salvatore.
“Me,” she muttered. “Concentrate on me.”
Laying facedown on the ground, Salvatore planted his hands on the floor and willed his stiff limbs to cooperate. Dio. He could already hear Briggs digging his claws into the floorboards as he prepared for another attack.
Now was the time for the grand heroics he had planned.
If only he could get to his feet.
He turned his head, preparing to push himself upright, when a glint of silver caught his eye. Pausing, he pressed his head back to the filthy floor, peering under the sofa.
Of course.
Briggs’s stash of weapons.
He never left home without them.
Now, the question was whether he could battle through the black magic still clinging to his body and find the strength to get his hands on the weapons before Briggs killed him.
Blood dripped from his shredded shoulder and he had at least a half dozen broken bones, but he managed to get to his knees. He would crawl if he had to.
Intent on reaching the sofa, it took Salvatore a moment to notice the stench of Briggs was being replaced by a hint of musk and pure, rich earth.
The scent of pack.
Fear jolted through him. Merda. His curs couldn’t be stupid enough to risk coming to the cabin. Not when they had to know that they would be used as weapons against him.
It took a long moment to realize the scent was coming from him. And that it was strong enough to have made Briggs hesitate in wary confusion.
Painfully rising to his feet, Salvatore felt an unexpected heat flow through his blood, searing away the vile magic and healing his body. He shuddered as sensation returned to his deadened body, deepening his connection to his mate.
Harley.
This had to be her doing.
Somehow she had tapped into the power of the pack and allowed it to flow through their mating bond.
Clever woman.
Perhaps sensing his prey was no longer helpless, and worse, about to kick his ass, Briggs threw back his head and howled with a fury that shook the rafters. Then, bunching his muscles, he launched his massive body through the air.
Salvatore was already moving.
No longer hampered by the black magic, he swiftly grabbed the nearby sofa and smashed it into Briggs, sending him flying into the far wall.
There was a sharp yelp as the Were hit with enough force to crack the wall, but Salvatore’s attention was on the pile of swords and silver daggers that had been hidden beneath the nasty sofa. Reaching down, he snatched a long sword from the pile, and whirling toward the center of the room, he spread his legs and balanced himself on the balls of his feet.
He would be stronger and faster if he shifted, but removing the bastard’s head would be easier with a sword than with his fangs, if not quite as satisfying. He no longer wanted to drag out the death of the traitor with a slow, painful torture.
He wanted the world rid of Briggs.
Now.
Prepared for the next attack, Salvatore watched Briggs regain his footing, his crimson eyes flashing with hatred, and his fur bristled with a battle lust. The Were was crazed, with a combination of pain and frustration, and obviously incapable of rational thought.
Otherwise he would have fled the cabin and prayed he could find a deep dark cave to hide in.
Crouching low, Briggs pulled his lips back to reveal his fangs that dripped with Salvatore’s blood. Then, remaining low to the ground, he charged, his jaws snapping open as he prepared to hamstring Salvatore.
Salvatore didn’t hesitate.
The sword flashed downward in a smooth arc, slicing deep into the werewolf’s shoulder. It wasn’t a killing blow, but the blade cut through muscle and tendons, crippling the Were. Briggs snarled, but he was too far gone to give a crap that he was badly wounded.
Sinking his fangs into the back of Salvatore’s leg, he tried to yank Salvatore to the ground, snarling in frustration as his wounded leg buckled, refusing to give him leverage.
Salvatore grimaced in pain, using the hilt of the sword to smash into Briggs’s muzzle, ripping his fangs from Salvatore’s thigh and breaking the pureblood’s jaw in the process.
“It appears that my reunion with Mackenzie will have to be postponed,” he taunted, his sword already swinging toward the Were’s throat. “But I’m sure he’ll be happy to welcome you back.”
With a belated attempt at self-preservation, Briggs scrambled backwards, the putrid scent of rotting flesh thick in the air. Gagging at the stench, Salvatore never allowed his stroke to falter, putting his full strength behind the blow.
Cristo. Enough was enough.
With deadly accuracy, the sword hit the Were directly on the neck, the impact jolting through Salvatore’s body even as the blade slid through the flesh and bone.
There was no sound as Briggs’s head toppled from his body, his crimson eyes still filled with his twisted loathing. Grimacing, Salvatore swiftly cut out the bastard’s heart and backed away as a sluggish trickle of blood oozed from the life-ending wounds.
Merda. Briggs’s carcass smelled even worse dead.
Salvatore would have bet good money that wasn’t possible.
And more disturbing, there was a nasty tingle of black magic that was beginning to swirl through the air.
Holding the sword as if it could keep back the unpleasant chill filling the cabin, Salvatore unconsciously shook his head in denial.
No. He couldn’t rise from the dead again.
Not without the powers of his demon lord.
Logically accepting that the nightmare was at an end, however, didn’t keep Salvatore from continuing to back away as he waited for Briggs’s body to return to its human form.
He’d been played and manipulated like a mindless putz for centuries.
He wasn’t taking anything for granted.
The sound of Salvatore’s breathing was the only sound to break the thick silence. Then, at last, a faint shimmer covered the mutilated corpse.
Expecting the transformation back to human form, Salvatore hissed in shock as the head and body began to darken and then disintegrate, as if it were turning to ash before his eyes.