Kristie Cook - Devotion

The truck full of mages sped up behind us. Not able to see their targets anymore, they didn't throw magic. Apparently, they decided to run us over instead.

"Hang on, ma lykita. This is about to get ugly!"

I clutched him tighter.

"Stay connected to Owen so he can see through your eyes and know what we're doing."

I'm no good at that, Tristan!

"It's just him. You don't have a choice!"

The sound of the truck's engine closed in on us, and a car in front of us blocked our way. Tristan swerved around it, onto the shoulder, and back up onto the road in front of the car. I felt Owen's mind signature and sensed him do the same, but he narrowly missed crashing into us. The shields would have kept us from colliding, but the bounce of the protective bubbles could have sent us all out of control and skidding across asphalt. I really didn't have a choice.

Owen, see what I'm seeing.

I opened my mind to Owen and wished I could open it to Tristan, too, so that his thoughts could go straight through me to Owen. But as hard as I tried, my shield wouldn't budge. There were too many people around, and it remained solid, protecting my own thoughts from broadcasting to everyone on the highway. So Owen followed us as best he could, trying to keep his eyes on the road and watch through my mind at the same time.

A car started moving into our lane right next to us, and I shrieked. Tristan and Owen both accelerated to avoid it. We weaved in and around vehicles, narrowly missing cars and semis. I stopped shrieking with every close call, but my breath caught each time until I simply held it indefinitely. My heart raced faster than we drove. I wanted to squeeze my eyes tightly shut and hide my face against Tristan's back until it was over, but then Owen would lose us.

"Relax, Alexis, or you'll block me out," Owen said. "Trust Tristan. You're in very capable hands. Besides, I thought you liked to go fast now."

He was right. Since the Ang'dora had started coming on, speed had become an addiction. The speed didn't scare me, though. The darting in and out of people's ways did. But Owen was right in that regard, as well. Tristan reacted expertly each time. I tried to relax and trust him and, once I did, the ride became exhilarating. Still, relief washed over me when we pulled off the highway onto a deserted road.

We rode for another hour, still cloaked in case any Daemoni watched us. In fact, the closer we came to the Weres' location, the more likely they'd be around. Tristan took us right past a guard station "manned" with three wolves–they sniffed our way, but didn't catch our scents through Owen's shields–and into an encampment. A few motor homes and many tents encircled a wide area that bordered Lake Okeechobee's shore.

A rough-looking crowd milled around the open space, everyone dressed in leather and denim, their exposed skin displaying piercings and tattoos. Some whooped, hollered and even growled or laughed and clapped each other on the shoulders, as if they hadn't seen their pack-mates in a while. Others strode around, their eyes constantly surveying and their bodies tense, as if on guard. We parked at the head of a long line of bikes, the engines still rumbling, when they all suddenly turned and stared at us. Owen had lifted the cloaks and shields.

Tristan gave my thigh a squeeze. I self-consciously swung my leg over to dismount, everyone still watching us, some of their eyes piercing us like laser beams, others full of curiosity. When he and Owen cut the engines, I didn't think I'd ever heard such dead silence. Then they all dropped to a knee and lowered their heads. Thinking it was some kind of Were greeting and wanting to show them respect, I began to sink down, too. Tristan grabbed my upper arm.

"They're bowing to you," he said under his breath.

Oh. Right. Royalty and all that crap. Since they hadn't responded to Owen's calls … and just looking at them … I hadn't expected all the formalities. In fact, I thought they'd be more hostile than Blossom's Aunt Sylvie. Instead, this big biker gang was honoring me.

"What do I do?" I whispered when no one made a move to rise. Nobody had bothered to teach me how to act in such situations. Was I supposed to say something? Give some kind of salute? Blow kisses?

"Follow me." Tristan took my hand, and we walked toward them, his stride full of confidence. As we reached the outer edge of the crowd, a big, burly man barged out of one of the RVs.

"What the hell's going on?" he barked. He took in the crowd, and his dark eyes followed their attention to Tristan, Owen and me. His strides covered several yards at a time as he came toward us, a beer bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other. His black leather vest strained against his barrel chest and exposed bulging, tanned arms decorated with multiple tattoos. He went down on one knee in front of us, and his shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair, which matched his goatee, fell forward as he quickly bowed. Unlike the others, he didn't stay down and as soon as he rose, so did everyone else. He must have been the pack's leader.

"What the fuck do you want?" he growled at us.

Tristan looked at me, back at him and raised an eyebrow.

"This is my house. If she can't handle it, she shouldn't be here." He looked me over, from head to toe and back up again. "But something tells me she can. So. What the fuck do you want?"

"Just a moment of your time," Tristan said. He sounded polite, but his jaw muscle twitched, and his voice was steel-hard.

The pack leader narrowed his eyes and lifted his finger, which he shook in Tristan's face. "I ain't talkin' to you. I ain't stupid. You got no business comin' here and ruinin' our party. Get the hell out before you regret comin'."

Tristan grabbed the Were's hand and leaned forward so their faces were only inches apart. His voice came out low, almost a growl. "Get your finger out of my face before you regret me coming. I don't think you want me to embarrass you in front of your pack. I might accidentally kill you, and I really don't want to take over as their lead. So back off and take us somewhere we can talk."

The leader's huge arm muscles bulged as he tried to pull out of Tristan's grip, but he wasn't strong enough. Tristan kept hold of him until he finally relaxed and nodded his head.

"And show some respect for my wife," Tristan added as the Were jerked his hand free. "She leads you."

"Not yet. And not ever, from what I gather," the Were mumbled under his breath. He strode past us, headed for a clump of trees and brush. He threw a jerk of a wave at his pack, who pretended as though nothing had happened and returned to their party.

Tristan, Owen and I followed the leader into the trees. When the party became a distant hum of noise, he finally stopped and spun on us.

"I ain't got nothin' to say to you," he said.

"Do you even know why we're here?" Tristan asked.

"No. And I don't want to. I ain't gettin' in the middle of things. My pack don't bother no one, and we don't want no one botherin' us."

"We only want to know if you've heard anything about a young girl, about seven years old, probably brown or red hair. We have no idea who she's with, but my guess would be a witch."

"I don't know nothin'."

Tristan looked at me. I followed the Were's mind signature, and something flickered in his thoughts. Some kind of familiarity. Right as I was about to grasp the full thought, screams pierced the air overhead. Shadows passed over us, and we all looked up. Two gigantic, black birds tucked their wings close to their bodies and dive-bombed toward us.

I flattened myself to the ground, and Owen was instantly on top of me. Tristan and the pack leader stood on either side of us, both in protective stances. The birds dove at us again and Tristan hit them with his power. Black feathers exploded.