Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

Then, except for the single note Persephone was sustaining, there was silence.

Johnny remembered what Menessos had said during the first spell. He’d whispered, “Rise cone of power. Rise to our call. Deliver lunar energies, to one and all.”

In the sky, the exposed moon flashed, and a focused beam of reflected lunar light fell, encompassing Persephone’s circle. Her voice wavered. Her knees gave.

Johnny felt his skin crawl, felt it scrub against his raw muscles like coarse sandpaper. His beast growled savagely, exultantly, as it burst through his flesh.

His change was fluid and fast, and he stood on all fours in a beam of cold light, while the others’ transformations were more prolonged. He felt electrified and invigorated, yet a hunger gnawed at him, a hunger that had nothing to do with his stomach.

Change back.

He sniffed the air. He could smell well with his human nose, but with his wolf nose—it was like every molecule in the air was amplified, akin to a blast from an aerosol spray. So many compelling scents mingled at once.

Change back.

Nostrils flaring, he stared down his elongated black nose and sorted through the smells.

Human. Wolf. Sweat. Rooftop. Brick. Metal. Cotton. Candle wax. Fire. Car exhaust. Lavender.

Persephone was on her knees directly ahead and leaning to one side, unsteady in the buffeting wind. Her hair flapped about. She pitched forward—caught herself on her hands.

Change back.

He could smell her sex. He recalled their shower, the bubbles cascading over her ass, the water dripping off her tits. He’d made her writhe and scream when he’d been inside her. He’d made her wear his scent. He could smell that too.

Change back now.

The beast whimpered, stationary and ready to withdraw . . . then a new scent filled his nostrils. A scent that seduced him. A scent that seized his ambiguous hunger and made his jaws drip saliva. A scent that stupefied his man-mind, silencing his thoughts and leaving only the beast that quavered with a raging appetite.

He smelled blood.

The charm Beau had given me made a real difference.

When I’d held the lightning energy, I’d felt ready to explode. The volume of ley energy I’d briefly contained was threefold—ley energy scalds in the first instant and settles into a heady buzz, like an addict’s high. The ley and lunar energies had swirled within me, rather like oil and vinegar refusing to mix. Stormy and volatile. I’d tried coaxing the powers, folding them together like cake batter and foamy egg whites. Still they had resisted. So I’d gone bully. I’d used the Reese’s Cup-size charm like a blender, cramming that energy through the charm, whipping it into a frothy force, and then I freed the energy, refiltering it through myself.

A witch releasing energy was like any human body expending energy. In about twenty seconds, my body was convinced I’d just finished a hundred-kilometer marathon and celebrated by going a couple rounds with Rocky Balboa. Containing the power, filtering it, targeting it, and releasing it used nearly all of my own energy, and after my already stressful midday, I felt woozy and weak.

I collapsed to my knees in exhaustion. The dizziness made me pitch forward. The rough rooftop tore at my palms, ripping runnels that filled with warm blood.

I was so tired I didn’t care. I just wanted to sleep.

The beam dissipated to a chorus of wolf howls.

Beau’s son? I checked where the half-formed wolf had lain. A full-formed wolf lay there now, unconscious. I did it.

A pony-sized black wolf stood stiff-legged at the edge of the pack. Beyond that dark wolf that I knew to be Johnny, I saw wolves begin padding away from the group, spreading out.

I sat back on my heels, fingers curled to favor my wounded palms. Softly, I said, “Keep them together, Johnny. Lead them to the kennels.”

The black wolf’s yellow eyes remained steady, and he persistently sniffed the air.

Wolves loped around me, circling. There were so many of them. . . .

“Johnny.”

The black wolf lowered its muzzle. It shook itself.

“Johnny?”

He stepped in my direction.

I swallowed. Hard.

Slowly, I put my knuckles down and very, very cautiously pushed to get my feet under me. Very, very cautiously I stood. The black wolf kept easing forward. I stood my ground for a heartbeat or two, then I couldn’t suppress the need to retreat.

The black wolf paused, sniffing where I’d fallen. Its pink tongue licked where my skin had torn. Where I’d bled.

Oh shit.

Behind me, a wolf growled.

Before me, the black wolf continued licking the roof. I trusted the Domn Lup to rule his pack and protect me, but the growl to my rear came again, nearer. Still the black wolf did not react.

I dared a quick scan behind me. The other wolf was gathering itself, preparing to leap.

“Johnny!”

The black wolf’s nose came up, but his head stayed low, nostrils quivering and yellow gaze locked on me. Its posture was entirely animal-on-the-hunt. “What’s wrong with you?” I whispered.

He eased forward with deliberate, stalking steps.

Heart pounding, it took everything I had to not run for the door. “Domn Lup! Herd your pack down the stairwell. Do it now!”

Behind me the other wolf snarled. The black wolf viciously snapped its jaws at the other wolf, which then whimpered and retreated from me.

Thinking—hoping—that he was sending me down the stairs first, I shifted my retreat toward the door he’d propped open.

The black wolf made the same jaw-snapping growl at me, lunging and forcing me away from the safety of the room beyond that door.

As I quickly backpedaled, I tripped over the duffel with my spell supplies. As I fell, even as I thought to brace against the fall, I saw the black wolf leap.

Time slowed down. Instead of throwing my arms back to catch myself, I reached forward and buried my fingers in the fur on the sides of its head. With a feral snarl, the wolf’s hot breath blew over my cheeks. Those long fangs were just inches from me, and we hadn’t hit the roof yet.

I had only one choice: I called on the ley.

Stinging energy answered. It ripped into me as my back hit the rooftop, and I rammed it down my arms, ejecting it right into the black wolf. Unfocused and unpurposed, the energy was raw and shocking.

The wolf yelped in pain, jerked and leapt away from me; tufts of black hair stuck to my bloody palms. My head bounced on the rooftop, hair catching in the rough texture and yanking out.

The wolf landed a few yards away and twisted back, a wicked rumble rising from deep in its chest. My hands went to the rooftop, ready to launch me up again, but I felt the smooth broom handle. Gripping it, I rolled, straddling it as I said, “Awaken ye to life.” It boosted me into the air and shot forward as the black wolf closed in again.

Johnny.

What have you done?

The wind over the city tore the tears from my eyes before they could spill to my cheeks.

Johnny had attacked me. Attacked me .

What’s wrong with him?

But in my heart I knew. I’d ignored that nagging little fear, and it had been right.

His beast is loose.

If I hadn’t burned up the in signum amoris , I would have known that something was wrong before Johnny’s man-mind had been highjacked by the beast, caught in the throes of bloodlust.

He’d broken my trust in his beast, and I wasn’t sure this could ever mend. My tears flowed faster.

Miles away, something else hit me: His best and bravest were with him, and for now, they were all feral and would follow the dominant male among them, even if that wolf was leading them to trash their own den in order to get out and find meat.