Chapter 16

I feel them. I feel my coven and my mate. He has iced me out of our bloodlink, refusing to respond to me, but I feel him. I feel his fury, his hurt. But he's coming—and my heart leaps.

I feel my power surging as they get closer and closer, and I realize how hamstrung I've been by their absence, their distance.

I feel like I could rip the mountain apart with my bare hands.

I follow Caleb down the mountain, my body lightened so I sprint across the surface of the snow. I hear the chainsaw rattle of a snowmobile—several of them—approaching from downslope. The engine signatures split and now there are six individual motors, three approaching from the left and three from the right.

Caleb—Wolf, I suppose he is, in this form—cuts right, and so I veer left.

I hear a scream and a crash, and then the screaming cuts off abruptly.

Three black snowmobiles race toward me, and bullets crack through the air, followed by a hastaxi orb, a wobbling shimmering purple globe.

I throw myself backward to my ass and slide in the snow, letting the orb ripple over my head and bore a hole in the mountain slope where I was. The rider wielding the hastaxi yanks his machine around and angles his weapon toward me, but it's too late. I'm already propelling myself off the ground and through the air, slicing my blade through his neck.

I let my body carry me, instinct and rage burning in my muscles. I plant a foot on the moving snowmobile and push off again—even as I feel the call of fae blood and prana.

His blood sings to me, leaking out into the snow. I land in the snow, and reflex—what I've begun thinking of as Mother's Spirit—causes me to reach for the steaming blood and the wafting prana, and pull . A thin stream of maya shoots out of my chest and wraps around and into the rakta and the prana, and streams back to me, bringing the blood and prana with it—they soak into my skin and fill me.

I'm stunned for a moment, amazed at what I did over the last few seconds.

A snarl from Wolf has me twisting in place just in time to see him bounding across the snow, leap into the air like a missile, and smash into a snowmobile rider bearing down on me at full speed. The impact of his massive lupine body against the rider is a shudder-inducing crash; wolf and fae go rolling across the snow, and blood sprays in a high arc, and then Wolf is on his feet, shaking his fur and grinning at me, gore dripping from his jaws.

The third rider yanks his machine around to a stop, drawing his handgun and firing in a swift, single motion. The bullets hit Wolf, one-two-three, and he yelps, dancing to the side and limping a few steps.

Pure, white-hot rage blinds me, and I let Mother's Spirit guide me into motion. I throw myself into a sprint, my body lightened so my feet barely make an imprint on the surface of the snow, and I send a lance of maya spearing into the rider's chest. It hits him with physical force, knocking him backward off the machine and into the snow. By the time he hits the snow, I've reached him. I stand over him and yank, hard, on the lance of light connecting us.

His blood and prana rip out of his body in a red-and-gold river that swirls around me in a helix, merging with the lance of my prana, and streams into me. There is no taste of his soul, no rush of memories, just a zinging hit of manic energy as if I downed a dozen shots of espresso.

His corpse desiccates into a shriveled mummy in a single heartbeat.

Wolf whines in puzzlement, head tilted to one side. I look at him and shrug. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing—it's not me, it's Mom."

He barks twice and launches himself down-mountain, and I follow him. My muscles feel supercharged, and even though Wolf is bounding down the steep slope at a pace not even a cheetah could hope to match across level ground, I find myself only yards behind him.

His nose lifts and he scents the air. He slows to an easy trot, head swiveling, nose twitching.

We're down in the tree line, now, and the snow is patchy and scattered, coating the branches of pines and cedars and other coniferous trees. The ground underfoot is soft pine needles, muffling our steps—the forest here is hushed.

And familiar—this is the forest from The Dreaming, as created by Caleb.

A deafening roar shivers snow from the branches, and Wolf halts in front of me, putting his huge tawny body between me and the roar.

I grip my sword and shockstick shield, nerves jangling, heart pounding. A gargantuan shape lumbers into view: a grizzly bear, but one nearly twice the size of any OnceBlood creature, standing over fifteen feet tall, with teeth and claws like sabers.

My blood runs cold. Wolf, however, only prowls forward, head low, teeth bared, a deep vicious snarl rippling out of him. The massive bear drops to all fours and shakes its head, roars again, and then charges with lightning speed.

Wolf dances to the side, but not fast enough to avoid a swiping paw. I hear the impact, and it sends him rolling across the snow, flecks of blood dotting the ground.

He hasn't even finished rolling before he finds his feet, skidding off the last of the momentum. His amber eyes find mine and he yips, head tossing to one side in a clear gesture: GO .

And then he's airborne, rocketing toward a six-foot-thick spruce tree, all four paws carving into the bark, digging in, and then launching himself at an oblique angle toward the enormous grizzly. This time the impact goes in Wolf's favor, his teeth and claws tearing gashes and gouges out of the shifter's flesh and fur, eliciting a snarling roar of agony.

Satisfied that my Wolf has the situation in hand, I continue down-mountain at a rapid jog, senses alert.

I smell it before I see it: another shifter. Female. Her blood smells of swamp and jungle and humidity and heat. I have a split second to react to the scent of her blood and her presence—above me. I juke to the side, throwing myself to the ground and rolling. A black-and-yellow spotted shape drops from a branch above where I was and lands a few feet away: a jaguar. She whirls to face me, snarling, and then leaps at me.

I get my shield up, and her claws smash against the blue-white circle of energy, throwing us both backward away from each other. I land on my back and slide across the pine needles; she reacts faster than I do, with the lightning-fast reflexes of a jungle cat, launching at me forepaws first, claws extended, slicing through the air.

My shield takes the impact of one paw, but the other rips down my front, shredding the bodysuit and my flesh alike, white-hot lines of pain blazing through me. I stab at the jaguar shifter as hard as I can, but it's an awkward angle, and I'm no trained swordswoman. The blade creases her fur along her shoulder, leaving a long, red slice that weeps crimson—her blood sings, calls to me, but there's no time to do anything but twist desperately in an attempt to get my shield between us as she attacks once more.

The momentum of her pounce smashes me backward, and her claws curl over the top of my shield and rake at my face, only missing by a hair's breadth. This time, I get a good angle, jabbing the gladius upward with all my power, and it slams into her ribcage, burying to the hilt in her torso. She snarls an ear-splitting howl of rage and pain, scrabbling to get away. I smash her with the shield, following her backward, keeping the blade buried in her ribs; I twist, hard, and she howls again. I withdraw, stabbing again and again, and her claws slice at my arms and chest, and I feel hot lines of agony shred my skin and flay muscle, but I can't stop, dare not. The agony I've endured the last month has trained me well, it seems, because I allow the pain to swell in my veins, transmogrifying into rage. I send an impulse into the shockstick to switch it from shield to weapon, and the prongs crackle and arc with blue-white lines of electricity, hundreds of thousands of volts.

The jaguar hurls herself backward, off my sword, and to the ground, yelping, limping, blood sluicing out of her from the multiple stab wounds. I dare not assume she's out until she's dead, though. I charge her, slashing with the sword, forcing her to duck and twist out of the way, and then jab the shockstick into her side. The weapon shimmies in my hand as the force of the voltage rips through her body, causing her to twitch and spasm.

I grit my teeth and slam my sword into her side, aiming for her heart. She lets out a wet gurgling growl, and I try again, and this time she stiffens. Falls limp to the ground. Not daring to take any chances, I decapitate her. The body shimmers with amber light and a woman's nude body lies sprawled in the scrum of pine needles, her head a few feet away, eyes lit and fading, blonde hair stained red, mouth working for a moment before the light in her eyes winks out.

I throw up, emptying my stomach next to the corpse. I feel him pad up next to me, and his nose nudges my hand. He whines as I dry heave yet again. Blood drips down my front from numerous gashes, and my right arm is a red ruin, coated in dripping blood.

My healing factor is at work, so I'm not worried about bleeding out, but holy shit, does it hurt.

We're here, Alistair's voice echoes in my head. Contact with a coven of vampires up the mountain about a half-mile from the main gates.

I just killed a shifter, I say.

Well done, he says. That is no easy feat for anyone.

I hear guttural roars in the distance and recognize Fin's voice. I take a step in the direction of the roars, but Wolf puts himself in front of me, blocking my movement. He lifts upon his hind paws and his tongue laps at the wound on my arm, licking away the blood. I feel a frisson of heat shiver through me, and the cut closes, the blood drying. He licks my chest wounds, and the seep of blood slows but the wounds there are much deeper and much slower to heal.

He drops to all fours and trots away, glancing over his shoulder to see that I'm following.

I hear roars and snarls in the distance and feel twinges of pain across the bloodlink, and then a bolt of pain so sudden and sharp I stumble and trip, gasping—Caspian.

Cas? I call across the link. Are you okay?

No answer.

Goddammit, Cas, quit being a petulant child and tell me you're okay, or if I need to come heal you.

I'm fine. A pause. I felt you get hurt.

I'm okay. Tangled with a shifter and won. I'll have new scars, but I'm okay. we have to get inside the mountain.

We'll meet you at the gates.

At least he's talking to me, I suppose.

No time to worry about personal drama, though. The slope angles down toward the gates, and an outcropping of rock bulges out of the earth with a thousand-foot sheer drop beside it, leaving a narrow trail barely wide enough for a single person. Opposite, where the trail widens out again, a cluster of Elites, Enforcers, and the black jumpsuited security forces stand across the way, waiting for us.

"Stand down!" One of them shouts. "Surrender or die."

"You first!" I snarl, and summon maya, a thick, boiling river of it, searing through my veins and pouring out of me and into the earth.

This is not Mother's Spirit, but my own doing. I send the maya into the earth and taste the dirt and the tendrils of roots and the cracks in the hardpan—I summon it all, pulling and pulling and pulling, forcing my will upon the earth.

It's a rumble at first, distant and faint, and then it loudens and deepens, and the dirt and leaves and pine needles shiver underfoot, and the trees quake.

The earth itself rises up around them in the gaping maw of churning soil and boiling stones and reaching hungry tendrils, and the immortals scream and scream, and desperately cast defensive glamours—shields, and wards and tornados of howling wind, but it's too little, too late. The maw of earth clenches shut around them like the jaws of an orca around a helpless seal pup, snapping with a crunch of bones and cartilage. The screams cut off abruptly, and I feel the lives snuff out, taste the blood as it mingles with the dirt and stones and roots, and then all is silent.

Wolf, beside me, looks up at me with a tilted head and a whine of curiosity.

I shrug. "I dunno. I'm pissed off. These bastards have been after me for months. They hurt my coven and my mate, they took your pack, they hurt you, they kept me prisoner and tortured me and kept me from my mate and my coven, and now they have the fucking balls to demand I surrender? Hell no. They surrender, or they die. To the last fucking man."

Wolf barks once and then bounds away in that easy, space-eating lope.

I follow him, and we reach the gates without further incident.

The gates are shut and my coven is gathered before them.

Alistair, Fin, and Stirling are together, blooded and glowing with life, eyes blacked out, fangs pricking their lips. They're covered in blood, most of it around their mouths and on their chins and chests, but they're all cut and bruised and bleeding from a dozen injuries.

And then there's Caspian.

My mate.

He stands apart, facing the gate. He's barefoot, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans with ripped knees, shirtless. Blood—not his, by the scent—coats his torso. His hair is longer, now, having regrown a few inches since he shaved it off back in New York.

I know he feels me, scents me, hears me.

He doesn't move. Doesn't turn to look at me.

I move up behind him, inches away, and reach for him but stop short of touching him.

"Cas?" My voice is a whisper, lost in the wind swirling and skirling around the gates.

He doesn't so much as breathe.

I move around in front of him.

He's unblooded, skin white as raw marble and just as hard, his eyes black voids, face expressionless.

I touch his jaw with my fingertips. "Cas. Please. I can't do this without you. I'm sorry. I know I hurt you. I don't understand why any of this is happening, but it is, and all we can do is make the best of it." His void-black eyes move, and I feel them finally lower, and I feel his gaze on me. "I love you, Caspian. Everything I did, I did to get out of there, so I could come back to you."

I rest my palm on his jaw, brushing my thumb over his lips, cold as ice and statue-hard. I let tears well, the ache of his anger cutting my heart to pieces.

" Please , Cas. Can't you understand? Can't you forgive me?"

His hand blurs, catching my wrist with crushing force, clenching tight, bruising bone.

"Cas?" I whisper, ignoring the excruciating pain as my bones rub together, threatening to crumble under the power of his grip.

A snarl echoes behind me—Wolf.

I hold out a hand toward him without looking. "No—no, Caleb. It's okay." I hold Caspian's eyes. "Cas?"

My heart pounds, and tears drip—bloodtears, and dimly glowing fae tears.

"Cas, please. I love you. I love you."

He bares his teeth, fangs gleaming.

And then he guides my wrist to his lips, and his tongue washes over the tender skin and purple veins on the inside of my wrist—the venom sears into my skin and sends arousal pulsing through me, and then his fangs pierce my skin and my pulse pounds as blood flows out of me and into my mate.

He pulls at my vein greedily. With each pulse surge of my fae blood, his skin softens and warms, and the black of his eyes recedes.

I stare up at him, watching humanity slowly flush through him as he drinks from me, his eyes never leaving mine.

I feel his need burning across the link, hunger for me, desperation for me.

"I'm here, Cas. I'm here. I'm yours." I touch his cheek with my free hand, lean close and nuzzle his jaw with my nose, kiss the corner of his mouth. "As soon as we can, it's you and me, okay? I promise."

He slides his fangs free with a soft snarl and licks the wound closed. The black of his eyes recedes, bleeding away to leave his dark brown irises fixed on mine.

"Maeve," he whispers. Pain flashes across his face as he looks past me to Caleb, his tawny wolf body standing tensed to spring. His eyes cut to mine.

I lean into him, press my body against his, wrap my arms around his neck, nuzzle his throat. "Cas. I'm here. I'm real."

He swallows hard—I feel it, hear it. "I felt you die . I felt…I felt you, but I couldn't reach you." His eyes cut past me to Caleb again. "He did that."

"No," I whisper. "He was just the messenger. They would have found a way. He was saving his pack. He stayed up there on the mountain and walked The Dreaming for me. He saved me. I'm only here because of him. And my grandfather. But Cas…I'm stronger because of him. We're stronger because of him."

"He took you from me."

"The pain of the bloodmate sickness?" I say. "He feels that—every single day. But not just one mate—he feels it for his entire pack."

I catch a flare of amber from the corner of my eye, and Caleb is beside me in his Waking body, nude and massive and powerful and mine.

"Six," he growls, the sound shivering in my bones with dense power and vibrating anger. "Six packmates. Six bonds. Six lines of bond-sickness. Every moment of every day for three months." His voice strains with the pain he normally keeps hidden. "They're dying, Bond-Brother. I'm the alpha. I have the strength to survive it. They do not."

Caspian meets Caleb's eyes for a long, fraught moment. Then they shift to mine. Search me.

"I'm not okay," he whispers.

I shake my head. "Me either. It's all so fucked up, Cas. I can't catch my breath before something else happens. I'm doing my best, okay? We don't have time to sort out this bond issue right now, but I promise you, my bloodmate, I promise you, on the bond of our blood, nothing has changed between us. I love you more now than ever. Fight beside me. Help me free my mate's pack, and everyone else they have prisoner down in that fucking hellhole. And then you and me, as long as we need. You can say anything, and I'll listen. Just please, help me. Help us."

Caspian's eyes go to Caleb again. Caleb just stands and meets his searching stare, unflinching and open.

Finally, Caspian nods, once. "Let's do it."

"Fuck the Tribunal," I say.

"Fuck the Tribunal." It's echoed by everyone, all five voices raised in righteous fury.

The real battle begins now.