They didn’t have a chance.
In seconds, a pile of bloodied and torn corpses lay in Viggo’s wake. In his blind fury, he had managed to free three of the captured wolves. Grinding bones and howls of agony filled the atrium and I watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as they morphed into wolf form. In the chaos, Ivan and the fifth wolf broke free and transformed. All five of them now stood with hackles raised and teeth bared, poised to strike but holding back.
Gasps of disgust assaulted my ears as the witches watched their guard crumble outside their wall. “Stand down, soldiers!” Imogen shouted, stopping the few dozen living Sentinel from moving.
Viggo’s cold blue eyes turned back to me as if to say, you’re next. I cowered, clutching Veronique’s head tighter, thanking God and the Fates and anything else that had kept me alive so far, for the magical wall keeping Viggo from getting his wish.
“Who …” The single word wrenched my focus down. Olive green slits gazed at me. Veronique had been pulled back from the brink. For how long, I had no idea. I needed to make it worthwhile. “I’m sorry for all this, Veronique. Please believe me!”
A tiny sympathetic smile answered me. I didn’t know what it meant or if she even knew what was happening, or if she was already crossing over. Smoothing her hair off her forehead, I gently propped her head up and turned it so she could see outside of the circle.
“Mortim …” She whispered, her frail hand dragging along the broken cobblestone, crooked fingers reaching out to him.
Mortimer dropped to his knees as close to the circle as possible, his brow furrowed, horror marring his rugged features. “Veronique! We’ll get you out. I …” His voice cracked, “I didn’t know.”
“I’m here too, my love!” Viggo cried out, mimicking Mortimer’s position and dropping to his knees beside his rival, the charm again thick in his voice. “We had no idea you were out.” Lethal eyes flipped to me. “We would have come sooner.”
“I … I …” Veronique croaked, her words stunted by a violent coughing spasm. Sharp gasps sounded as a trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth.
“Please. Release her. I will turn myself over to you without challenge. Just please, let her live,” Mortimer pleaded with Imogen, still on his knees.
“You will turn yourself over to me because you have no other choice. Negotiating is pointless,” Imogen hissed, showing a set of perfectly even teeth. “You can’t break through this wall, and if you make me wait too long, you’ll watch her die.”
If looks could kill, the one Mortimer laid upon Imogen at that point should have withered her into a hundred-year-old corpse. Turning to Mage, he hissed, “Where the hell is Sofie?” And I realized then, he didn’t know.
“She’s … indisposed,” Mage answered cryptically.
“Oh, she’ll be here,” Imogen chuckled. “She’s never far behind these two.”
“Doubt it,” came Mage’s cool response, leveling Imogen with a hateful stare.
“Damn her!” With another vicious war cry, Viggo tore away, the lone witch outside the circle his next target, followed by three more Sentinel men. If this continued, none of Imogen’s guard would be standing. Did she care?
A lighthearted cackle contradicted the massacre like polka music at a fatal car wreck. “Go ahead! For every one you kill here, we have another hundred hidden away for tomorrow.” A quick glance at the standing Sentinel showed unease with Imogen’s license to kill. Feet began to shift backward, eyes darting toward the gaping exit.
“In that case,” Mage murmured with a vicious smile. I turned in time to see her fingertips slip from Bishop’s solid bicep. She waved him forward. “You’ve earned it. Let none escape,” she ordered.
Bishop didn’t hesitate, not for a second. The wolves took up his flanks, mowing down any Sentinel who dared run.
I buried my gaze in Veronique’s face again as silent tears welled in my eyes and screams of terror echoed, my heart aching for what they had turned my dear broken friend in to. This was quickly spiraling down into hell. How long before it simply exploded and we all ceased to exist?
Veronique was still conscious, her eyes straining to see what was happening beyond the curtain of my draped hair. I wouldn’t let her see, though. She didn’t need her last memories of life to be this. And she couldn’t die without making her decision. The right decision.
“I wasn’t lying about Viggo,” I whispered. I felt a ripple of tension course through her body but I pushed forward. “You must choose Mortimer, Veronique. You must!”