Unknown - Scorched

Everyone started talking at once. Connie slipped across the room to stand beside Mac. Her cold, cold fingers slipped through his, gripping him tight. “I’m so hungry,” she whispered. “If Lore hadn’t been at your home, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Mac bent down, whispering in her ear. “But you made it. You found us.”

“There were so many people and buildings,” she whispered back. “I had no idea your home would be so far away. This city is huge!”

Fairview was actually a medium-sized place, but compared to an eighteenth-century village it would have seemed vast. Mac squeezed her hand.

She ducked her chin, looking dejected. “I thought coming into my power meant I could fight the guardsmen, but they’re still too strong. They’re soldiers, and I’m not. All I could do was run for help. It doesn’t seem like much.”

“You did what was necessary,” Mac replied. “After cen turies out of this world, you mastered your hunger and your fear and journeyed through a completely strange landscape to get the right message to the right people. You’re doing just fine.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. She looked sad and tired, but there was a glimmer of pride there, too. “I suppose I am. And I didn’t even bite anybody along the way.”

Mac squeezed her hand. “Atta girl.”

“But I think I might have frightened a few.”

Mac didn’t want to know.

They turned back to the meeting.

“There is word of a second hellhound pack farther back along the road,” Lore was saying. “At least another thirty hounds. Prince Miru-kai’s men are in pursuit.”

“What about the guardsmen?” Mac asked.

“With panic about the Castle’s collapse, word is spreading quickly about the door, and the guardsmen are on alert.”

“Damn,” said Perry Baker. “We can’t mobilize quickly enough. To get enough boots on the ground, we need to contact the loners as well as the packs and prides.”

Errata swung her chair around and stood in one smooth motion. “Leave that to me. Radio stations aren’t just for talk shows.”

October 10, 4:00 a.m. 101.5 FM

“This is Errata Jones at CSUP Radio, 101.5 FM at the University of Fairview. This is a public service announcement and a call for volunteers. Those members of the supernatural community able to provide food and shelter for mothers and children please contact the station at 250-555-2787—that’s 250-555-CSUP. Please do so immediately. We need blankets, clothing, and food. Would members of the supernatural community peacekeeping roster or those with medical training please report to the Empire Hotel as soon as possible. Organizers are standing by. Thank you.”

The radio called, and people came.

Werecats, hellhounds, vampires, hedge-witches, and even two of the fey. Alessandro said there were familiar faces, but also people no one had ever met before. Lone wolves. A family of bears from a downtown cafe. The Bakers and the rest of Pack Silvertail, always well organized, were the first on the scene.

The turnout was impressive, given the short notice. They milled in the narrow alley by the Castle door, drinking takeout coffee and huddling in groups. The council members went from one clump to another, relaying their plan. All told, there were about forty fighters. The rest were standing by to deal with refugees and the wounded.

“Just not the numbers to storm the Castle in grand style,” said Caravelli regretfully. “Too bad. I always wanted to do something like that.”

Mac grunted. “Think Robin Hood—guerrilla warfare.”

“Bah. Men in green panty hose.”

“Whatever.”

“You’re in a hot temper.” Mac sighed. “Price of being a fire demon?”

“Do you have a sudden desire to pose for a calendar?”

“Those are fire fighters. Y’know. Dalmatians. Funny yellow hats.”

“That’s just for humans. A bit of soot and all the werekittens will be begging for you, and only you, to kindle their tender tails.”

“I am so not in the mood for vampire humor.”

“What would you rather be, the big bad demon or the boy with the spotted dog?”

“I thought you didn’t like fire.”

“I like watching you squirm.”

“Don’t start something, crypt boy. I have depths. Hey, does anyone have a gun I could borrow? The sorcerer squished mine.”

Lore brought his hounds. With a handful of hounds and Lore’s second-in-command, Caravelli was in charge of locating and escorting the closer group of hounds to safety.

This was the simplest part of their plan, because Lore’s intelligence placed the group no more than a mile east of the Castle door.

Once they were safe, Caravelli would take charge of securing the path of retreat for the warriors traveling farther into the Castle. While the nearest Castle residents were believed to be at the werecat encampment Mac had seen, there was still a chance of danger from guardsman patrols or a hostile warlord.

Pack Silvertail, along with Lore and the rest of his hounds, were going in search of the group of refugees re-ported to be farther away. All the other fighters stayed with Holly. She was stationed by the door itself, her magic the last line of defense in the event something nasty tried to leave. It was the most critical position, and she was the only one among them with enough magic to hold the Castle door if everything else went wrong.

Mac, because of his unique demon abilities, was going after the guardsmen’s captives, hoping to succeed through stealth. He would go alone.

Or so he thought.

Connie was looking up at him, her silvery blue eyes turning the color of steel.

“But it’s dangerous,” Mac said, hearing how lame that sounded even as he spoke.

“I’m every bit as much of a monster as you are, Conall Macmillan. You need someone to watch your back. And this is my son we’re rescuing. I’m no fine lady to be sitting here and tatting lace while you ride off to war. You need me.” She checked the knife at her belt. “I know the Castle better than you do, and speed counts.”

She was right, but he was bound by the universal creed of macho heroes. “But...”

“Enough.” She poked him in the chest. “You’re only in charge of me if I say you are. Now I love you, boyo, but you’re not thinking clearly. Are you going to take advantage of two and a half centuries of knowledge of this place or are you going to pretend that being a great big demon makes you an expert on things you can’t possibly know?”

She loves me. His mind got stuck there.

“Well?” she asked.

“What if you’re hurt?”

“I’m a vampire,” she said in an exasperated voice. “And what if you’re hurt? No one should be on this job alone.” Mac surrendered. She loves me.

Perry found Mac a Sig Sauer almost like his old one. He offered to find something for Connie, but she wanted nothing but her belt knife.

“It’s what I’m used to. I used to gut chickens, you know,” she said, drawing her blade for the thirtieth time to check its edge.

“Handy.”

“I had to work for a living.”

“And?”

She fixed him with a guarded look, a little uncertain now that she had won the argument to go with him. “Gentlemen generally prefer the embroidering type.”

He touched her cheek, momentarily mesmerized by her wintry beauty—all snow and darkness. “Who says I’m a gentleman?”

As a reply, she thrust the knife back in the sheath, managing to make the simple act suggestive. And then she smiled. It wasn’t the Mona Lisa smile, but a broad grin.

Oh, yeah.

Mac drew the line at taking Viktor. The last thing he needed was an addled werebeast with obedience issues— and to be honest, Mac had grown too fond of the creature to put him needlessly at risk. Viktor was on a truck bound for Pack Silvertail’s rural property. There he could find werebunny rabbits to chase and a very large fenced enclosure suitable for oversized canines.