We all stood, open mouthed, as Pandora, my mate’s tiny familiar, became something else entirely. Her small body shimmered, bones stretching, fur bristling as the air warped around her. In a matter of a few heartbeats, the hedgehog was gone, replaced by something monstrous and magnificent—an armored titan with spines like spears and eyes like two radiant suns.
The witches scrambled back, the horrific-looking creature looming above them, and I turned my head to see a small, prideful smile on my witch’s face.
“Holy Hell,” Vine breathed, his tone awed, as he watched Pandora face off against the hell hound, each of them showing their vicious teeth in a battle of dominance.
Suddenly, the hound lunged, making a very misguided attempt at reaching the soft underbelly of the massive hedgehog familiar.
With seemingly no effort, Pandora dodged, then retaliated, her pointed nose swinging sideways as the hound dove for her throat, and those sharp teeth sunk into the black, burning flesh of the hound. The sound the creature made was awful, a pained cry that scraped jaggedly across the night, heavy with anger and regret.
She shook the beast like a ragdoll, a furious growl resonating from her heavy chest, before her jaws snapped shut with the sound of shattering bone.
The hell hound writhed once, twice—and then she bit down again, harder, tearing through sinew and spine.
The animal fell still, its limp body hanging from her maw, then slowly disappeared into the depths of her throat.
Pandora consumed the beast piece by piece, her massive jaws working methodically until nothing remained but a curl of acrid smoke and a smear of ash on the damp grass.
The center of the maze was draped in stunned silence, all of us staring at the scene that had just played out.
When Pandora casually shrank back into her small, prickly form, she shook herself once, scattering motes of gray ash from her spines before toddling toward Delilahwith an almost dainty squeak. The absurdity of it—such carnage, followed by that petite, unbothered waddle—left even me speechless.
Delilah’s lips curved into the smallest, proudest smile, as though she’d always known her familiar had been capable of such an incredible feat. Only then did she crouch, gathering Pandora close with tenderness that seemed preposterous absurd after such violence.
“I told you she didn’t like hell hounds,” Delilah said quietly, and Vine let out a disbelieving huff.
“No shit, bestie.”
Chapter sixty-one
Archer
“Ferox!”
The shriek of the female witch was loud and devastated, her sob ghosting through the night as she sat huddled on the grass where her hell hound had just stood.
“Ferox,” she cried again, her fingers dragging through the ash that the hell hound had left behind. “My baby.” Lifting her gaze, she leveled a ferocious glare at Delilah. “How could you?”
“Pandora was only defending me,” Delilah attempted to explain.
Needlessly, in my opinion, but my witch had a soft heart.
“I’ll kill you!” the witch shrieked, raising her hands toward my mate. “Ardeat!” Instantly, her hands werewreathed in flame, snapping and spitting in response to her anger.
Quicker than thought, I moved, spinning Delilah behind me and spreading my wings wide to protect her. The witch stared at me, her hands on fire, her eyes wet with pain.
“Orla! No!” shouted the tattooed man, throwing himself toward her in an attempt to stop her from starting what was most assuredly a losing battle. “It’s done. Don’t get yourself killed because that mutt didn’t know when to show neck.”
“Don’t you talk about him that way, Malachi!” Orla cried, turning her wrath on him. “You hated him!”
“Orla,” Malachi snapped, his hand darting out to slap her across the face, the shock of it had her releasing her magic, the flames blinking out as though they were never there.
“Hey!” Corson hollered, stepping forward. Raising his fist, he punched Malachi in the face, the heavy contact causing the tattooed man to stumble backward in shock.
“Ten points!” Vine shouted, his manic chuckle ringing out over the hedge maze.
“What the fuck?” Malachi questioned, his nose bleeding freely down his face.
“How do you like it?” Corson snarled, leaning forward to get in Malachi’s face. “You think you’re so tough, slapping her around?” Enraged, Corson thrust his sword point-first into the damp grass, leaving it standing straight up. Raising his hands to show how empty they were, Corson backed away, leaving space between him and the bleeding, tattooed witch. “Let’s see how tough you really are. You and me, witch. No weapons, just us.”
