Page 86 of Hidden

Izetta waited, schooling her impatience as she studied the way station. The fae drifting to and fro looked like exotic fish in their bright, fluttering silks. Beautiful, and probably poisonous. Izetta’s side was relying heavily on the element of surprise.

She searched the ground for Malatest. He was talking to Rafe’s father and nodding. Hurry up, she thought. There were only so many hours of darkness left, and Devries liked to talk. She prayed to whatever dark gods still heard her that it wasn’t bad news about Rafe. All night she’d been wishing the wolf was at her back, but that was why she was here, wasn’t it? The fae would pay for taking him, and much, much more.

Malatest leaped from the ground and landed beside her, one hand on a branch and the other on his hip in a pose of supreme satisfaction.

“What’s up?” Izetta asked.

“There is definitely dissention in the fae ranks,” he said with a grin that showed his fangs. “Some of the missing pack turned up. One of the fae women, a healer, released them from the dungeon with Rafe’s help. They asked that we do not kill that one.”

“I think her name is Lila. She is the daughter of the family who were in the house when Rafe and I were captured. She might be working with Rafe, but do not trust the mother or the son.” Izetta paused. “The mother is mine to bleed.”

Malatest shook his head. “Maximum damage, minimum death. Enjoy your prey, but no prisoners die until I get the identity of the Magician.”

“What if they resist capture?” Izetta asked, all innocence. Fae were hard to kill, but she knew how.

“Use your imagination. You’ll enjoy the exercise.”

Malatest gave the signal to attack.

The wolves broke into a ground-eating trot, then a lope. They converged on the building from all sides like a silent, rushing tide of fur. The fae on the verandah had wandered onto the lawn, and it took a second for someone to notice the noiseless threat. When the cry went up, it was too late. Goblets dropped from fae hands as they turned and ran, overcome by shock. Only a handful in military dress stood their ground, swords drawn. One launched a bright ball of crackling energy straight at Malatest, but the cougar—Errata—brought the fae down in a flurry of claws and lashing tail. The first blood was spilled.

Howls ripped the air and Undead rained from the sky. The party guests scrambled for the safety of the way station, clogging the doors. Anyone trying to organize a defense was trapped inside. This had been Malatest’s plan, and it was working.

The vampire king himself mowed a path to the way station, picking up his opponents and tossing them aside with the brute strength of the Undead. Wolves harried the running fae, bringing them down with brutal efficiency. The anger in every strike wasn’t just battle lust. This was vengeance for their young.

Izetta jumped from the lawn to the verandah. From their perch in the trees, Malatest had pointed to the left, indicating where the banquet hall should be. Izetta strode in that direction, letting her boot heels ring on the wooden deck. She had to dodge a few skirmishes, but she found what she was looking for. There were no windows, but high up in the wall there was a row of long, stained-glass panels with a twisting floral design. They would have looked charming from the inside with the sun filtering through.

Izetta sprang up to the narrow ledge outside the panels and put her boot heel through the glass. The fae could defend the doors to their little castle, but they’d have trouble defending a missing wall. Izetta grabbed the sill where the window had been and tore at the fabric of the building. Fae-made structures were often summoned into existence, meant to fade back into nature once they were no longer required. This was no exception. It was made of wood and far easier to crush than stone or steel.

Malatest joined her, quickly understanding her plan. In moments, the rest of the Undead followed, tearing chunks from the side of the building. Fae threw offensive magic, but that only wrecked the building faster. A few of the vampires were clearing away the debris, cautious of accidental staking from the flying wood, but they had trouble keeping up. Izetta had a person-sized hole in the wall in under a minute. They’d have the whole thing down in less than ten.

She grabbed a ragged chunk of wall and gave it a twist as she heaved. With a shower of splinters, the wood gave way with a loud crack. She slung the chunk aside and was reaching for another when she saw her quarry.

Galeeta was as lovely and perfect as the fae queen from a picture book. Her sheet of golden hair was wound into a crown of jewel-studded braids. As Izetta stared, the fae woman turned the pale oval of her face toward the invading Undead.

A jolt of fear lanced Izetta as memories of the dungeon cell revived. Pain. Hunger. The desperate flight through the woods. Anger followed, more rabid than any wolf. She stepped through the hole in the wall. She hadn’t survived for millennia by leaving her enemies alive.

A blinding flash froze Izetta mid-stride.

Rafe was inside the way station with Lila and Gareth when the first howls sounded. Pulse pounding, he surged toward the window, then checked himself. He had sworn to protect Lila, but he knew the voices calling his kin to battle. This was pack.

The sounds of war quickly multiplied, ruffling the hair along his neck. Cautiously, he moved away from the press of panicking fae. He wanted to see what was going on, too, but he was a lone wolf in the midst of the enemy. He would not attract attention by pushing his way through the crowd. He couldn’t help anyone if he was back in chains.

He kept moving until he found himself in the kitchen where he’d first broken into the way station with Izetta. Smashed glass and blood smeared the floor, evidence of Lila’s fight with Farras. It was all too sharp a reminder of what was at stake. If Farras won this night, the wolves wouldn’t be the only victims.

Wasting no time, he pushed the window open and climbed outside, grateful for the cold air against his heated face. From there, he jumped on top of a concrete planter for a better view. At first glance, it seemed there was little action at this end of the property, but within seconds the melee came within sight. With a rush of joy, he saw Izetta, whole and well, leaping from a treetop to the ground. She had survived to bring rescuers.

Including his father. The Alpha was in pursuit of a fae who was running, not toward the way station, but across the lawn and toward the woods. Toward Rafe. He leaped from the planter and into the fae’s path, spreading his arms to block the way. Wolves were fast but fae moved like lightning. If he didn’t catch him now, there would be no chance.

The fae ducked, swerving to the left. Rafe sprang, grabbing him and using the momentum to toss him to the ground. The fae was cuffed, but still managed to roll to his feet. He didn’t get far before Rafe grabbed him by the hair and pushed him to his knees. It was Teegar.

“What are you doing here?” Rafe demanded, shouting over the din of fighting.

“I went for help, just as you asked,” Teegar replied. Dirt caked his face and the remains of his uniform. “They won’t believe I’m on your side, especially that she-serpent of a vampire. She put me in these cuffs. I was running for my life.”

His father skidded to a halt beside them, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Rafe. Emotions slammed through Rafe at the sight of his father—a tangle too complex to unravel in the middle of a fight.

“You turned up at the right moment, boy.” Then the Alpha turned toward the forest and whistled a series of piercing notes. Giving commands, Rafe knew, although this was a signal he didn’t recognize.

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