Page 92 of Fated to Monsters

My vision blurs and I struggle to remain upright, bodies running past and sending me spiraling. I slap my face and regain my footing. “Get it together, Wren.” After a few blinks, the image of destruction comes into focus and I narrowly avoid an oncoming attack. Only this time, it’s a demon, not a hunter.

“Angels, man!” I yell at him. “I’m on your side, remember?” Steadying my blade toward the wild-eyed guy with small horns protruding from his forehead, I watch him intently and hope that he will change his mind.

“I forgot, sorry.” He points his dagger toward me. “That fucking beacon makes me want to kill you.”

“I know,” I tell him. “It makes me want to kill me too.” Coming here without Bo was a great idea at first, but now it seems more of a risk than I bargained for. It helped me find the wendigo and the rest of the demon army, that much is certain. Perhaps I could have found them without it, though. Was it my magic or something else altogether that lit those leaves up on the ground and led me toward them?

Now, the alpha mark does nothing but confuse those on my side, allowing the threat to my life to continue to rise. In a way, Parla has an advantage she’s not even aware of.

Not that I will allow that to stop me from following through with my mission.

That isn’t to say that I wouldn’t prefer Bo here, fighting alongside me like lovers dancing to their song. It’s one of the few moments he lets down his guard long enough for me to see him. We come together in an unusual way and despite it being twisted, those are some of my fondest memories with him. It's as though the only time he recognizes me as an equal is on the battlefield.

I scan the crowd, locating Wes who is currently melting another man’s throat with just his grasp. Pippa slams her hoof-like hand into a hunter, knocking him to the ground before stomping on his skull and smashing it with ease. The wendigo is surrounded by six hunters, but he doesn’t seem at all discouraged by the number.

“Where are you?” I whisper, my sights frantically searching for the entire reason I came here today.

“On your left,” Pippa screams across the way to me.

I drop to my knees and through the air soars, Gary, the wolf that had attacked me once before, only this time, he lands the weight of his blow on a hunter who flanked me.

Gary latches his razor-sharp teeth around the man’s throat and rips the flesh right off him. He tilts his furry head toward me as blood dribbles out of his mouth. He growls, but this time, it isn’t meant to intimidate me. Gary rushes off and snatches another random hunter that goes after that small demon who had asked me about Arthlia.

I continue to search the crowd, taking short breaks to duck, to spin, to kill.

That’s when I spot her, my heart completely skipping a beat.

Parla.

She’s surrounded by at least two dozen hunters and a witch at her side that’s casting a glowing orb around her. Leave it to her to not be willing to fight her own battle.

Her sadistic gaze locks onto mine, and I want nothing more than to teleport into that magical bubble and slit her fucking throat.

Parla’s stupid cheeks turn up into a grin and she winks at me before pointing in my direction and saying something I cannot make out from this far away.

Another person appears from behind her and casts a wand toward me.

Within split seconds, I drop to my knees, the weight of the world feeling heavier than ever. Is this from the side effects or what Parla’s other witch is doing?

Wes screams and we lock eyes as his entire form bursts into flames. He takes off into a sprint, his footsteps leaving a trail of fire in his wake. But he doesn’t get much farther when something flies through the air toward him and secures itself around his throat. The fire dies out immediately and he clutches the device with all his might, yanking and trying to free himself.

It’s no use—whatever has attached to him is suppressing his powers, and if it’s anything like what we dealt with at Rockbridge, there’s no telling whether Wes will be able to overcome it without his hound side.

I try to move, to push up onto my feet. My body is too heavy, too weak, too defeated.

“No,” I mutter. “This is not how I die.” Not when I’mthisfucking close to snapping her neck.

Parla and her horde inch closer, my stomach dropping with every bit of ground she covers without being able to regain my strength.

The faint whistling of a knife calls my attention, and I duck as it whizzes by, the blade slicing into my cheek but not securing itself into my skull where it was aimed. Hot blood coats my chin and drips onto the ground.

I clench my jaw and summon whatever may lie dormant within me.

This battle may have been a lot different had I learned how to use my magic like a proper witch. Although, I was not afforded the luxury of time, considering I have already wasted too much and cost too many their lives.

A strong hand wraps around my biceps, and I come to the sudden realization that this is it, this is where my story ends. Not at the hands of Parla, but some random stranger who got to me first.

But when I draw in a breath, the familiar scent of musk and rain washes over me. My eyes fill with tears and my heart swells.

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