Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 134501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
It was only then that Emberlyn realized an eerie hush had fallen. No birds tweeting, no bees buzzing. Even the breeze seemed to have retreated.
Unease crawling up her spine, she set the glass back down on the bench.
A low droning growl of warning came from Lucie.
Emberlyn yanked off her other glove just in case she’d need to call on her magick. It could be that one of Ripper’s wolves had accidentally strayed too far, or that someone was knowingly poking around and spying on her. If it was the latter, they were going to get a magickal bitch slap.
‘Not sure who’s out there,’ Emberlyn called out, her voice hard, ‘but I have no problem burying you in my little pet cemetery if you don’t get the hell off my land.’
Growling again, Lucie stood on all fours, her hackles rising.
Emberlyn tossed her gloves on the ground and approached the cat, scanning the shadowy wooded terrain beyond.
And then she saw them.
A pair of yellow wolf eyes.
Emberlyn felt her lips part. It was very rare for one of the Rabid to be seen during the day. They usually didn’t surface until around dusk but, yeah, that was a Rabid.
Another growl rang out, and this one didn’t come from Lucie.
Fuck. Before the cat could do anything ballsy but dumb like rush at the Rabid, Emberlyn scooped her up. Her pulse thudding, she slowly backed away. Very slowly, not wanting to trigger its prey drive.
If she ran, it would charge. And, much faster than she could ever be, it might well reach her before she could get within the manor’s protective barrier.
Emberlyn kept on inching back, not once moving her attention from the figure creeping through the labyrinth of trees. It moved forward each time she moved back, stalking her.
Lucie let out yet another droning growl.
The Rabid snarled, its eyes seeming aglow with bloodlust, and then it rushed out of the trees.
‘Shit.’ Emberlyn slammed up her palm and threw out a mound of glittering magick that rapidly shifted into moths. They surrounded the Rabid – flapping at its face, obscuring its vision, distracting it. As it skidded to a stop, she whirled and ran for the house.
A roar split the air. Then heavy footsteps were tromping, branches were snapping and grass was rustling.
Even as she ran, Emberlyn twisted enough to sling a rush of magick at the Rabid just as it cleared her fence. Her blow dealt it an uppercut that made it stumble, its head snapping back.
She kept running, finally arriving at the porch. She jogged up the steps and spun, panting.
The Rabid sprinted toward her, teeth bared. It rammed into the manor’s defensive barrier and flew backward. It crashed into a tree so hard a hanging lantern tumbled off a branch and fell on its head.
Emberlyn dashed into the house, closed the door and lowered Lucie to the floor. She hurried to the kitchen, lifted the phone receiver and dialed the Watchers’ office.
‘Hello?’ a male answered almost immediately.
She thought the voice belonged to one of Ripper’s wolves but wasn’t sure. ‘This is Emberlyn Vautier calling from Black Willow Manor. One of the Rabid is in my backyard.’
A curse drifted down the line just before she hung up.
She darted back onto the porch, closing the door behind her to stop Lucie from getting outside. Emberlyn needed to put the Rabid asleep before it chose to run off. Although . . . it didn’t look as though it had any intention of going anywhere. It was bashing at the barrier it couldn’t see, jerking backward at each ‘blow’ the magick dealt it.
She frowned, thrown. The Rabid were animalistic and savage, but they weren’t stupid. Their survival instincts were sharp. Like any predator, if their prey proved to be too much trouble they generally moved on. Only on a full moon would they behave senselessly.
This wasn’t a full moon. It wasn’t even nighttime. It was late morning, the sun was shining . . . and, where usually there’d be an animal cunning in a Rabid’s gaze, there was a strange sort of glaze. Her nape prickled in suspicion.
Chanting, Emberlyn lifted both hands and sent out ribbons of magick. The Rabid made no attempt to dodge them, which was equally strange. The glittering motes rushed up its nostrils. The Rabid snorted and jerked back. It shook its head fast, blinking hard.
She kept chanting, the creature firmly in her magickal ‘hold’ now.
Its eyelids grew droopy, its body began to sway and it staggered like a drunk. With a weak snarl, it lost the fight and succumbed to the sleeping spell – falling flat on its back, out cold.
Emberlyn released a long, relieved breath. She descended the steps and cautiously approached the Rabid. Its muscular chest steadily rose and fell, every rough exhale seeming to chafe its throat.
She examined it for scars but only spotted two – neither of which made her think of any werewolf who’d turned Rabid. Eager to confirm her earlier suspicion, she waved a hand over its body – dripping seeking magick over it, making what was hidden come to the light.