Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (17 page)

All of those thoughts were running through her head, so she didn’t immediately realize that John and Ben were eyeing her warily, and not speaking.

“What?”

John asked her carefully, “Are you all right?”

“You’re kidding, right? Of course not.” He was about to go head-to-head with a lunatic. Why would she be all right? Then she remembered—the scent ward. “Oh. Sorry.”

And with a quick thought, she dissolved the ward. Immediately, the tension decreased in the room.

“Did I miss something?” Max asked.

“Huh.” She exchanged a quick glance with Scott. “I guess my little scent project works better than I thought.”

“That was manufactured scent?” John clarified.

“Uh—not exactly. Real emotions, but not how I feel right now.”

“You’ve had a busy morning,” he replied.

Scott cleared his throat. “Maybe it worked because they weren’t looking for anything else. I was actively examining the scent picture. But success with the unsuspecting is a promising start.”

“Right?” Lizzie grinned, temporarily distracted by the possibility of winning her bet with Logan. “I think I can convince Logan of its usefulness. I’ll keep working on it and see if I can resolve the scent leaking issue. But for now, I’m claiming a temporary victory.”

Her excitement was short-lived. The distraction of working out part of a magical puzzle faded away quickly in the face of passing time. The clock ticked ever forward and she couldn’t help but remember they were on a schedule. “Thanks again, Scott.” She turned to John, and much as she tried, she couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice when she said, “I’m guessing it’s about time to go.”

Chapter 21

T
he sun shone brightly through the truck’s window, unimpeded by clouds, and the sky was a beautifully crisp bright blue. Lizzie could see a hawk riding a draft of wind in the distance. On any other morning, in any other place, she might have appreciated the simple pleasure of watching nature. But not now. No, now she saw trampled grass and the broken body of Carlos as he begged John to kill him. She blinked, trying to erase the image. But she was seeing the picture with her mind, not her eyes.

As Ben parked the truck in a shaded area, John told her again, “You can still stay in the truck.”

She shook her head firmly. Not this time. It seemed like an insult to John and the Pack to hide from the fight. And cowardly.

“Max has to stay in the SUV,” Ben said as he opened her door. “But you’re with me.”

Max was surprisingly silent. His only response was to move to the driver’s seat.

Lizzie acknowledged that she’d heard Ben with a quick nod, but she couldn’t quite manage words. And she was having a hard time looking at John. The sight of him in this clearing again terrified her. She dug her fingers into her back pocket and found John’s business card still there. She wrapped her fingers around the card and cast her newly discovered scent ward. If she couldn’t be fearless, at least she could hide her fear a little.

John squeezed her shoulder once and let go. He whispered in her ear, “That’s my girl.”

What seemed like seconds later, Gregor and his two enforcers arrived.

John’s challenger was broad, bald, and tattooed. Lizzie blinked when she spotted the ink. Gregor had several tattoos, all conspicuously placed. How did a Lycan retain tattoos through the change? She’d expect a Lycan’s change to heal each of the small wounds and burn the ink, just like the magic of the change burned through any clothing or personal items next to a Lycan’s skin.

Lizzie mentally chastised herself. Such a small, stupid thing to fixate on. The more important fact was that, tattoos aside, Gregor was terrifying. He had more bulk than John—an important factor since Lycan retained their mass when they shifted. His eyes were hard and reflected what she suspected was a great deal of experience. And he moved like a fighter—efficiently, almost gracefully. He also looked confident. Either he hadn’t heard the outcome of the last challenge or he simply didn’t care.

A parody of politeness followed Gregor’s arrival. Brief greetings were exchanged, and then the men split up. The enforcers moved to stand roughly equidistant from each other around the outer edge of the clearing, Ben and Scott at north and south and Gregor’s enforcers at east and west. Ben’s position was close to the car where Lizzie had remained during the greetings. He was less than ten feet from her.

She gasped, startled by the rapid onset of the fight. Both men burned through their clothing with the magic of a rapid change and were on top of each other before she was ready. Frustration and anger pulsed through her. What was she thinking? She would never be ready. Her pulse raced, and the hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood straight up. She tore her eyes from the fight to look quickly at Ben. To see if he felt the same sense of panic that was consuming her. Or the electric charge that seemed to be fueling her angst. Her frantic glance revealed only Ben’s rigid back.

~*~

John changed, burning through his clothes. No time to adjust to the feel of his wolf body, he moved toward his target.
Fuck.
Gregor had changed and was ready for him. He’d just lost the only advantage he’d been practically certain of—a faster change. He ducked his head low and charged.

His breath stuttered.
Shit
. Only clipped him. What the…Gregor shouldn’t be able to move that fast. With his size—
Dammit
. Gregor was on top of him. The slash of pain as Gregor’s claws tore through his chest chased rational thought away. Instinct, muscle memory, and adrenaline were left.

~*~

In the brief instant Lizzie’s eyes had strayed from the fight, blood appeared. Whose blood? Oh, God. Which wolf was John? Panic gripped her even more tightly. Dammit. Gregor had the same lush black, gray, and silver coat as John. Fear clawed at her, pushing her to cast before thinking of the consequences. A sensing ward settled down over the wolves, and one of them—her wolf—glowed with a bright white light. She breathed easier. She could track his movements now and the glow would only be visible to her.

Worry gnawed at her gut. It was definitely John who was injured. The glow covering his coat blurred and faded on his chest, indicating a bleeding wound. The darker smudge disappeared under his body. Though she could see the injury, she couldn’t judge how extensive it was. They were simply moving too fast.

She’d worry later about whether she’d broken some kind of rule by casting the ward. She wasn’t interfering with the challenge. Arms crossed in front of her, pulse leaping erratically in her neck, she waited.

~*~

He had to change. To stop the bleeding. He gasped, sucked in air. Each shallow breath a sharp, jabbing pain. God—he needed to breathe. John didn’t understand. Why was that bastard not tired? Or bleeding? No time to change. Muscles screaming, he dug his claws into the earth and lunged.

~*~

Something was wrong. Lizzie knew it. Horribly wrong. John was slowing down, clearly tiring. And the bleeding, faded areas were growing. How much blood was he losing? She frowned and squinted. Gregor looked fine. Better than fine, he looked fast and strong. She strained to see some sign of flagging strength, some wound. Nothing. Not one wound. Impossible. He hadn’t changed to heal himself. He
had
to be injured. The warning bells that had been going off since the beginning of the challenge roared even more loudly.

Trusting her instincts, she broadened her sensing ward to include Gregor. She knew it. Not a scratch. A physical impossibility given the intensity of the fighting. She broadened her ward further—and she found it. That vile bastard had help.

Ben, Max—who would know what to do? She had to do something. Unsure, she picked the closest person. Max was just a few steps away. She ran those few steps throwing the truck door open.

“He’s cheating. Gregor’s cheating. What do we do?”

“Jesus.” Max slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “I knew something was wrong.”

Lizzie was fixated on the fight, watching through the windshield. “We have to do something now. He can’t take this much longer.” She grabbed blindly at Max, clenching tightly when her fingers found his arm. “He’s down, Max.”

She stopped thinking and acted. She flung the shield ward. No finesse, no caution, just speed. But she forgot that she was still holding on to Max. She’d cast the shield so quickly, shoved so much will, so much magic into it, that the cast had pushed back against her. Except it was Max who was thrown into the driver’s side window. His head hit the window with a horrible, dull sound.

~*~

He wasn’t dead. He hurt too damn much to be dead. And he was still bleeding. John could smell his own blood. That couldn’t be good. Shit—he needed to change. Lost blood wasn’t replaced by the change. He really needed to keep whatever he had left. If he wasn’t dead. Which he’d already established—because everything hurt. He was thinking in circles. Blood loss would do that. He changed.

Healed but woozy, he opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized his eyes had been closed. He’d been so lost to the present, the darkness had seemed natural. Before he could fully process his surroundings, Gregor’s body slammed into the shield that was inches away from his body. The invisible, magical shield that only Lizzie could have created, protected him from what would surely have been a fatal injury.

He groaned. Explaining his mate’s interference would create a whole different level of trouble for him and the Pack—but he’d deal with that later. At least he was alive.

He tried to remember—if he moved, could she maintain the shield? He had no idea, but he’d find out. He slowly moved to a sitting position, then stood. The last thing he needed was to lose consciousness again. Standing on two feet, he saw Gregor retreat but not change forms. His wolf form eyed John warily, waiting and watching.

Time for a speedy retreat to figure out what the hell just happened. The fog in his brain was clearing and he was remembering some inconsistencies that needed to be addressed before Gregor retreated from the challenge to spread rumors and ruin what credibility he still had.

Ben met him halfway and quickly updated him. “Max is injured.” He shrugged and raised his hands when John started to interrupt him. “Lizzie’s fixing him up. But she was screaming bloody murder and claiming Gregor has magical help. I’m supposed to go find someone in that direction.” He tipped his head to the east.

Scott joined them. “Gregor’s boys are grumbling. I’ve called foul, claiming a violation of external interference. They’ve cited the same.”

John looked at Ben. “No—you stay.” Turning to Scott, he said, “Explain that we’re aware of their magical aid. I require fifteen minutes to provide proof.”

He opened the truck door and grabbed a pair of jeans from a bag on the floor and pulled them on.

“Max—you okay?” John asked. But his eyes never left Lizzie.

She mouthed, “Sorry.”

“I’m good. I just banged my head.” Max tilted his head and lifted a T-shirt off the wound so John could see the small gash.

Lizzie immediately shoved Max’s hand back up to cover the wound.

John dug around in the bag at Lizzie’s feet until he’d pulled out a bag of fluids.

“Glad my shirt got some good use. Scott,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Lizzie—can you keep Gregor clean?”

When Scott arrived, he shoved the bag at him.

“You mean, can I stop him from cheating?” She scrunched up her face, then closed her eyes.

“Lizzie?”

“Just wait.” She opened her eyes, “I’m concentrating,” she said, her voice impatient and angry. Then she closed her eyes again.

John leaned in closer to her and put his hand on her neck. Her entire body recoiled at his touch, then she let out a breath and relaxed. She reeked of stress.

“Take that, you sorry bastard,” she mumbled, then opened her eyes. “I snapped the connection their magic-user had to Gregor. With any luck, it recoiled and snapped him back on his ass.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “So, uh, maybe someone should go check. You know, go see if Gregor’s magical helper is in one piece.”

John retrieved a tourniquet from the bag on the floor, and applied it using his free hand and his teeth. He spiked the fluid bag, bled the line, and looked at Scott. “Come on. Don’t be squeamish.”

“Shit—I hate this part,” Scott replied. But he took the catheter and inserted the needle in the crook of John’s arm after a few failed attempts.

Once John had the line connected and tourniquet removed, he held the bag above his head and gently squeezed the bag. “Yeah—you could use a little practice. Head east. See if you can pick up any signs of this guy Lizzie says is feeding magic to Gregor.” Turning to Lizzie, he asked, “How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. I can’t even tell what kind of magic-user he is.” Lizzie eyed the bag of fluids uncertainly, but her voice was sure when she said, “Not a spell caster. Something else.”

They exchanged a look. “Witch?” he guessed.

“Maybe. Not a healer, but somehow like a healer.” She looked at the bag again. “Should you be doing that? I mean, here?”

“Yes,” he replied shortly. John pointed at Max. “Max, you okay to back up Scott?”

“No,” Lizzie said at the same time that Max replied, “Absolutely.”

“I’m fine, and we’re wasting time.” Max geared up to leave. “Go on. Out of the car, Lizzie. Get a move on, Scott.”

Scott hopped in the SUV and Max pulled out before Scott had closed his door.

“Ben,” John started.

“No, they can wait, Alpha. There are two reasons they’re still here. First, they can’t let us leave knowing—and possibly repeating—that they’ve cheated. And second, Gregor must think he can still take you. They’re thinking that you’ve changed several times in a short period of time and have suffered significant blood loss.” Ben looked angrier than John could remember seeing him in a long time. “The cheating, fucking bastards can wait five more minutes.”

Ben turned and looked at Gregor’s men across the wide clearing. “Yes, I’m talking to you, you sons of bitches.”

John nodded his agreement. He couldn’t have said it better himself.