34
Jaxson
I roared with fury and spun, searching for the spirit among the haze.
But the apparition of Dragan had fled, slithering from Savannah’s body like a ghostly eel the moment she’d gone unconscious.
Fuck!
I checked her over for a third time. No wounds other than the one that had never fully healed. She was just sleeping peacefully—probably for the first time since she’d learned about Magic Side.
Turning slowly, I scanned the clouds of gas. I couldn’t see anything, so I booted the still fuming potion as far as I could.
Where the hell had Dragan gone? Could the asshole jump bodies whenever he wanted, or did his host have to die or lose consciousness, like Grayling and Savannah? Was he going for another host or just lurking in the woods?
I had to warn the pack.
I lifted Savannah gently, heaved her over my shoulder, and stormed out of the billowing cloud of gas.
As the haze thinned, someone shouted, “Halt! Don’t move.”
“It’s me, asshole,” I growled as I strode forward.
I shifted instinctually—even before I heard the gun fire—and snatched the hurtling beanbag out of the air. My arm jerked back in its socket, and a burst of magic numbed my arm, but I didn’t stop.
Moving like the wind, I darted out of the haze and smacked the riot gun out of the agent’s hands. I handed him the beanbag. “I said, it’s me. Where the fuck is Harlow?”
He stammered, so I didn’t wait.
The battle was over, and most of the agents were busy cleaning up—recovering potions, untying the sacrificial victims, and cuffing the unconscious bikers.
I laid Savannah down on the grass and tore off my mask. Then I kicked my head back and howled—a deep, rage-filled bellow from the depths of my lungs. It told my pack that our quarry had escaped and to not let anyone leave the woods alive.
If that bastard tries to possess one of my wolves…
“Jaxson!” Harlow shouted as she rushed over. “Is she okay?”
I dug my claws into the earth, and it took every ounce of patience I had to keep my voice steady. “Savannah gassed herself so Dragan couldn’t possess her.”
Harlow looked over her shoulder. “But we found him unconscious—”
“Nope, that’s just Grayling now. Dragan jumped ship. He could be anywhere.”
“What?” she exclaimed.
I fixed her with a glare. “Tell me you have something to neutralize this shit and wake her up.”
Harlow fished a vial out of her pocket and bent down, holding it under Savy’s nose. Seconds later, Savannah sat up with a gasp.
“Jaxson…” She rubbed her head. “Is Dragan…”
It was all I could do to stop myself from shifting in rage. “We’re fucked. I saw his ghost leave your body, and then he disappeared into the mist. He could be back in hell, for all I know, or in someone here.”
Savannah ran her hands through her hair and dropped back down into the strange grass. “Goddamn it. He could be in anyone.”
I took her hand and hefted her to her feet. “I don’t know about that. He barely seemed to be able to control his form in Grayling—parts of him kept shifting. And when he was trying to control you…”
She looked down at her ripped jeans and shirt. “Please tell me I wasn’t wolfing out like that. It was horrific.”
She could smell the truth, so I wasn’t sure what to say. “You’re fine now.”
“Crap.” She covered her face. “Dragan was so close to taking over.”
I grabbed her shoulders and pushed my power into her. “He wasn’t. I saw you fighting him. You were the stronger one, I could feel it. He just caught you by surprise.”
Savy shook her head and nervously pulled her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know, it felt like he was so close to winning. That’s why I gassed myself.”
“He was desperate. You’re strong—more willful than anyone I’ve ever met.” That was the truth.
A howl echoed from the far side of the woods, and we spun.
Three bikers stepped out from the trees onto the road. One had his hands in the air, while the second was dragging the third along. “We fuckin’ surrender!”
A pack of Dockside wolves emerged from the darkness behind them.
Three agents converged, riot guns raised. “Get on the ground, assholes,” one of them barked. “You’re under arrest for participating in black magic and profane rituals!”
We headed over.
As soon as the bikers were on their bellies, the agents cuffed them. “We’ve got one wounded,” the lead agent reported.
His leg had been torn to shreds, and all three had bites and scratches.
I checked in with my wolves. “Nice hunting. Is anyone hurt?”
Sam padded over in human form. Blood matted her shoulder. “They weren’t hard to bring down.”
I growled low in approval. “Clearly, they’ve spent too much time riding and not enough time hunting.”
Headlights swept over us as a pair of Order SUVs slowly trundled down the road. A man crossed through their low beams as they approached—Max, Harlow’s sandy-haired partner. He pulled off his mask. “The wolves brought in one more on the other side of the graveyard. We’ve got Grayling and thirteen others unconscious, making eighteen. There’s eighteen bikes up the road, so I think that’s everyone, unless they were riding two up, which”—he looked down at the beefy, well-built bikers—“I think is unlikely.”