He had never stopped to think how people from the outside saw him. There was no respect in what Wayne Harmon had said. Only contempt and revulsion.
Hugh was a man who couldn’t be trusted with children. A villain. A butcher without a single redeeming quality to him. And she was a witch, Satan’s consort, an evil creature, a deceiver and defiler, fit only to be stoned to death. It didn’t sting her. Elara was used to it. She had grown up with it.
She’d known both kindness and utter contempt. A Baptist church had sheltered her and her people once, knowing what they were, because they were hungry and had no place to go. In the next town, only ten miles down the road, the Christians had lined up along the road with loaded shotguns to make sure they kept moving.
Some people in the world only saw in black and white. They were driven by fear. They had learned how to survive in their little corner of the world and they saw any change as a threat to their survival. But they still liked to think of themselves as good people. Good people didn’t hate without a reason, so they grasped at any pretext, no matter how small, that gave them permission to hate. A line in a holy book. The color of a person’s skin. The brand of their magic. They were not in the habit of taking a second look or giving chances. Their fear was too great and their need to defend themselves too dire. They always lost at the end. Life was change. It would come to them, as inevitable as the sunrise, despite all their flailing.
She had years to armor herself against it. Hugh didn’t. He was on top. On the winning team. No doubt was allowed.
And now the alphas of Clan Bouda were here. She had no idea how he would react to that.
Elara stepped onto the wall and forced herself to stop and catch a breath. The shapeshifters had dismounted in the bailey. A tall, dark-haired man wearing black, his movements fluid and quick. He looked like he was barely holding it together. And a woman, who was his polar opposite: short, blond, and calm. She was telling him something, and her movements seemed soothing. Ascanio Ferara hung behind them, a long-suffering look on his handsome face.
Elara realized that her blue dress was stained with dirt. There was dirt under her fingernails. No time. She descended the stairs. At the foot of it, Dugas waited.
“That man is about to do something violent,” he murmured.
“I know.”
She walked past him and put a smile on her face. “Hello.”
Ascanio and the woman turned to her. The man was still scanning the bailey. The blond woman put her hand on his arm and gently pulled on him, until he turned to face Elara.
“Hello,” the blond said. “So sorry to barge in on you unannounced. I’m Andrea Medrano. This is my husband Raphael. You’ve already met Ascanio, of course.”
“I have,” Elara said. “You must be tired. Would you like something to eat?”
Ascanio’s eyes lit up.
If she could get them out of the bailey and safely settled inside before Hugh showed up, maybe they would dodge this bullet after all.
“We would love something to eat,” Andrea said. “Wouldn’t we, honey?”
Hugh d’Ambray walked through the gate, with Stoyan right behind him.
Raphael saw him. Their gazes locked.
Raphael pulled his leather jacket off with a single jerk of his hand.
“Raphael!” Andrea said. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this. Raphael!”
Raphael yanked two daggers from the sheath on his belt and started toward Hugh.
“I told you,” Ascanio said. “I said this would happen.”
Hugh pulled a knife from the sheath on his waist and moved forward.
The two men reached each other. Raphael struck, so fast he was a blur. Somehow Hugh dodged.
“Go get him, honey!” Andrea called out.
What? Elara looked at her.
“I’m so sorry,” Andrea said. “The Iron Dogs killed my mother-in-law.”
“My condolences,” Elara said. “What happens when my husband makes you a widow?”
“Raphael won’t lose.”
Hugh spun out of the way and kicked Raphael in the stomach. The shapeshifter rolled, sprung to his feet, his eyes growing blood red, and charged Hugh.
Don’t lose, she willed silently. Don’t lose, Hugh.
The two men clashed and broke apart. Hugh’s left forearm bled. A blue glow clamped the wound. It knitted closed.
A cut snaked down Raphael’s face. He wiped it off and flung the blood away. His skin sealed itself. Lyc-V, the virus responsible for shapeshifter existence, gifted them with unmatched regeneration.
They clashed again, slashing, carving, stabbing, so fast she could barely guess at the attacks. Raphael was a whirlwind, but Hugh was stronger. They tore across the bailey. If it wasn’t for the knives, they could almost be dancing.
Hugh staggered back. Cold rushed through her. He must’ve taken a hit, but she couldn’t see it. Raphael dove into the opening, slashing. The tip of his dagger grazed Hugh’s throat, drawing a sharp red line.
Elara gasped.
Hugh grabbed Raphael’s wrist with his left hand and twisted. Bone snapped with a crunch. The shapeshifter snarled and dropped the dagger. Andrea clicked her teeth.
Hugh kicked the dagger out of the way. They lunged at each other.
Seconds stretched into minutes, slow and viscous, like dripping honey. Hugh was covered in a blue glow now. Raphael was bleeding. The Lyc-V couldn’t fix him fast enough. The stones under their feet were smeared with red.
Something was wrong. She’d watched Hugh fight before. This wasn’t him. He was precise and deliberate. This was a frenzy, almost as if… as if he were letting Raphael vent his anger on him.
If he used magic, this fight would be over.
Hugh was punishing himself.
Raphael smashed his fist into Hugh’s side. Hugh took the hit, clamped Raphael’s arm, and stabbed Raphael in the kidneys. The shapeshifter tore free. The blue glow jumped from Hugh to Raphael’s wound and lingered.
She watched it for a long moment, in disbelief. Her hands clenched. That was enough. Elara started forward.
“What are you doing?” Andrea asked.
“I’m going to stop it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Andrea said. “They don’t look like they need any help.”
Elara let her magic spill out of her. It rolled off her, cold like the bottom of an iceberg in the deep dark ocean. The shapeshifter woman drew a sharp breath.
“Hugh is healing him.”
Andrea squinted at the fighters. “No…”
The blue glow clung to Raphael’s other side.
Shock slapped Andrea’s face. “Yes. He is. Why?”
“Because he is punishing himself. The man your husband came here to kill doesn’t exist anymore. The man here now is going to let himself be hurt because he thinks he needs to be punished. This has gone far enough. Nobody is dying today. I won’t allow it.”
“Raphael,” Andrea called out. “Stop. Enough!”
Raphael drove his knife into Hugh’s side in a vicious upward stab. Hugh punched him in the face. Raphael staggered back, his lips drawn back in a grimace. Hugh had gone pale. Fear pinched her. She’d let it go on for too long.
Raphael spun a kick. His back was to her. She grazed his shoulder with her fingertips, stealing just a tiny drop of his life.
The shapeshifter halted. His black dagger drooped. He took a halting step back and dropped to his knees.
She thrust herself in front of Hugh and slid her arms around his neck, her magic bathing them both. “It’s over.”
He took a step forward, carrying her dead weight on his neck.
“It’s done,” she murmured, wrapping her voice around them. “No more. I need you. We all need you. Please, Hugh. Let it be.”
He stopped and looked at her. Awareness came back in his eyes. Elara exhaled.
Behind them Andrea knelt by Raphael and put her arms around him.
“So tired,” Raphael whispered and slumped to the ground.