Rebecca Zanetti - Hunted

One pierced Moira’s upper arm, digging deep. Blood welled. A second shot into her boot, far enough to cut her ankle. Pain cascaded from both entry points. She reached up and yanked the energy free of her bicep. Spent, the white turned to dust in her hand. Her intact boot pressed down and forced the projectile out of her other foot. “Nice.”

Grace smiled, panting slightly. “We’re merely getting started.”

A burst of energy slammed into Moira’s back, sending her sprawling across the hard floor. Her palms scraped against tiny pebbles, and her head bounced back on her neck. Heat licked her skin, the scent of burned fabric assaulted her nostrils. “Damn it. This is one of my favorite shirts.” She leaped to her feet, keeping her face calm. Fear threatened to wind through her fury.

Grace could create energy from a distant point, and direct it without being near. Moira hadn’t learned that trick. She needed to keep her back against the walls.

Grace puckered her lips. “Oops. Not enough power to create multiple energies from different graphic points, Seventh?”

“No.” Moira calculated her options. She needed an advantage. A tickle set up at the base of her skull. A whisper. You know more than witchcraft.

Her muscles stilled. She eyed the stone barrier. Power pounded behind it. Conn was correct. She’d been limiting herself. Concentrating on the floor underneath Grace, she visualized the molecules, the atomic particles, and beyond to the sub level. She mentally slid them out of alignment.

An oval of black tar encircled Grace’s feet. The witch cried out, her body struggling to move while her legs stayed still. The thick liquid skimmed past her ankles, heading for her knees. She flung both hands down. The tar hardened.

With a growl, she blinked and the material shattered. Her eyes flew open, and she took two steps toward Moira. “Very nice. But not good enough.”

Moira shot forward in a bunching tackle, catching Grace around the waist. The women hit the ground hard. A ringing set up in Moira’s ears, and her stomach clenched. Grayness danced across her vision. Tired. She was so tired.

Summoning will, she pulled back a fist and punched Grace in the nose. Blood cascaded down the blonde’s face. A hiss of pain blew from her lips.

Grace grabbed Moira’s hair, yanking her down to the side. A knee to Moira’s rib cage exploded stars behind her closed eyelids. She gasped in pain. Weakness weighed down her limbs.

Damn it, brat. You wanted to fight. Now fucking fight. Conn’s voice echoed with anger and determination.

Her limbs tingled. Her mind cooled. She rolled to her feet, palms out and shoulders back.

Grace spun the other way, pushing up, tossing bloody hair over her shoulder. Her eyes turned a fathomless black. Orange flames licked along her skin.

Moira took a deep breath. She opened her senses and drew in power from the stone, the oxygen, the light—and from Conn. Opening her heart, she yanked his energy into her body. Electric blue danced before her eyes, along her flesh. Her vision sharpened until she could see past the subatomic particles. Little universes in little universes.

The world disappeared. The sound of Grace panting for breath faded into nothingness. Moira became the center. Of everything.

She placed her hands together in the symbol of a prayer. Then she opened them, palms out, facing Grace.

Grace snarled, blood dripping over her lips. A ball of orange shimmered out of nothing to surround her, pulsing with anger, sharp spikes rippling along the edges. With a grim smile, Grace shot the mass at Moira.

Moira swept her arms to the side. Blue energy leaped forward, ripping into the orange, heat zapping around the room. Ozone choked the space. The earth rumbled. Sound billowed to deafening and lights flashed to blinding. So much sensation slammed into her at once, she wavered. Pain cascaded under her skin. Over her muscle. Like a river of needles.

She sucked it in, let the agony ebb and then fade to nothing. The energies continued to battle, blue and orange melding until a dingy brown morphed in the center of the chamber. Gathering her courage, shoring her strength, Moira bunched her muscles and leaped into the mass, straight at Grace.

Time stalled. Reality became a dream as pain ripped into her flesh, shredding her eardrums with an unholy screech.

Her heart stopped.

Her brain liquefied.

Then air.

She landed on the other side, calling on Conn’s strength. A high kick to Grace’s face sent the woman to the floor. Moira skidded on her knees toward her prey, her arm out, her concentration absolute. Her palm clapped down hard on Grace’s chest.

Power. Energy. Darkness. Moira pulled, drawing them in, fighting with forces beyond comprehension.

Grace’s eyes widened, and she grabbed Moira’s wrist. She snarled, yanking back, trying to dislodge the younger witch.

Moira shook her head, centered herself. “I. Am. The. Seventh.” She tightened her hold, reaching deep inside her enemy for all knowledge, all power. With one last burst of energy, she took everything Grace had. Stars exploded in front of her eyes. Her heart swelled with too much to handle. With a gasp, Moira fell back.

Conn reached her first.

The members of the Nine stood.

Moira’s limbs jerked. Livid energy ripped along her skin. She was overdosing on power. Cold, hard power. A quaking set up in her ankles and rippled to her head.

“Give me some,” Conn murmured, gathering her up, nearly enclosing her with his body.

She parted her lips, her teeth chattering. “Too much.”

He nodded, lowering his mouth to hers.

Warmth spread through her, shooting heat to combat the chilling cold. She moaned, leaning closer, letting fire slide along the ice. His tongue swept inside, bringing peace and safety. His nostrils flared as he drew in power, those amazing eyes turning nearly black. He blinked twice ... and lifted his head.

Moira took a deep breath. Her body still trembled, but the powers had balanced, the energy working to form a cohesive whole. With Conn’s help, she staggered to her feet to face the Coven Nine. Then she stepped toward the dais—on her own.

Grace remained prone on the stone floor, passed out cold. The guards would soon arrive to take her for medical attention.

Vivienne clapped the gavel on the stone. The resounding smack echoed around the chamber. “The challenge is done. Moira Dunne, you are the victor. Welcome to the Coven Nine.”

Moira relaxed her shoulders, fighting to keep her hands from shaking. “Thank you, Councilwoman Northcutt. Pursuant to Canon 2.4 of the Nine, I hereby transfer my seat on the council to my sister, Brenna Dunne.”

Brenna gasped. “What are you doing?”

Moira turned toward her sister, trying to stop her head from spinning off her neck. “You’re the better choice, Bren.”

“I am not. You’re the Seventh.” Brenna’s dark eyes flashed with concern. “I haven’t even been to university yet.”

“I know.” Moira stepped toward her sister, reaching out to clasp her hands. “You’ve studied everything from economics to physics and you truly care about the job. You’ll be an excellent council member. I’m an enforcer, sis.” Her powers as the Seventh were needed on the front line, but maybe someday she would join Brenna up there.

“Well then.” Vivienne sucked in air, her eyes widening. Quiet filled the chamber. Many of their people considered Brenna a threat, an unknown anomaly. Viv straightened her shoulders and tapped the gavel against her hand, bringing the attention back to the dais. “Brenna Dunne. Do you accept?”

Brenna glanced at her sister, then up to where their mother stood, a smile on her face and love filling her eyes. “I accept.” Her head up, she glided around the dais and took Grace’s vacated seat.