Lilith strained with all the vast might of her hellish body, forcing great drafts of wind downward, the sheer power of each wing flap impeding the four spherical orbs that were frantically circling her and her prey. The limp body of the witch left the ground, feet dragging for a second before open space cleared under them. She was doing it. She had her prey and she had an escape route directly into the most heavily garrisoned area in the Fairie Queen’s giant tree fortress. She would win this time, as she had won every other time before. She would snatch back victory when defeat had been all but certain.

Sudden savage pain tore through her left calf, great searing gouts of liquid agony, burning her beyond any flame or fire of Hell ever could.

Screaming her own cry of surprise and agony, she looked down, meeting the dark eyes of her former minion. Mack Sutton had jammed some kind of knife into her leg, and it hurt more than any pain Lilith had felt in a life that spanned thousands and thousands of years. He hung from the hilt for a moment, his own weight dragging the cruel blade half a foot through her dense calf muscle. The added weight, the sudden shocking interruption of her nervous system caused her to falter, pulled her and her prize back down toward the ground, her left foot spasming open, the prey now hanging from just her right set of talons. Then Mack lost his grip, dropping down two feet to land in a crouch.

She immediately let go of the SHUKUR with her left hand, bending down to attempt to pluck the blade from her leg. Lubricated by her smoking, burning blood, the horrid blade pulled free with a sucking sound, clattering to the pavement in front of Mack. His eyes met hers and he suddenly dropped down, hands scrabbling for the weapon.

Lilith pumped her wings, putting aside the enormous pain of the wound, working harder than she ever had before. At first, she barely regained the height she’d lost, but then she started to pull up, lifting higher. It could still be done, even with just one foot clutching her prey.

Until a massive impact hit her right arm, just above the wrist. Her arm had suddenly sprouted a full-grown, brown-furred werewolf, one with more than twice the mass of the Sutton boy. Hate-filled brown eyes locked on her as hard as the steel-trap jaws were locked on her arm.

The SHUKUR fell from numb fingers, landing right in Mack’s hands. He looked at the deadly weapon, then looked at her, and she panicked. Her right foot opened wide, dropping Declan almost on top of his friend, while her right arm shook and swung, finally dislodging the werewolf.