I slid off Cuddles and unsheathed Slayer. We needed to know what we were up against. “Desandra, want to go knock on his door?”

“Oh yes.” She bared her teeth.

“He’s really fast. Don’t get killed. Just tap him enough for him to open up and show us what he’s got.” I glanced at Derek. “Back her up.”

Desandra stalked forward, pulling off her woolen gloves one finger at a time. Nick watched her.

“Remember me?” She took off her jacket and tossed her long blond braid back. “You shot me.”

He rolled his head from side to side, stretching his neck. Derek followed Desandra, hanging about twenty feet back.

Desandra lunged forward, as if for a kick. Her leg went forward, then back. She leaped and hammered a blur-fast cross-punch at Nick’s head. He dodged, just barely, and struck at the back of her head with his left hand. She blocked with her left arm. Nick turned and sank a vicious hook to her ribs, while she punched his jaw with a hard right. The blow knocked Nick back. He dropped and rolled to his feet. Desandra staggered back, favoring her left side. Cracked or broken ribs.

Nick shook his head. I’ve been punched by a shapeshifter before. Not fun.

They circled each other. Desandra closed in, arms up, hands open, and launched a low kick. Her foot connected to Nick’s leg. Just barely too high, or she would’ve taken out the knee. He staggered back, his arms up, and she pounded a flurry of punches at his guard. He ducked, taking it on his arms, and snapped a front kick with his injured leg right into her stomach. His foot had shot out like a hammer. There was no deflecting that. Desandra staggered back. Her clothes burst. Bone surged upward, tendons and muscle spiraled over it, dark skin sheathed the new body, and fur sprouted from the pores. A seven-foot-tall werewolf snapped savage teeth.

Two olive vines shot out of Nick’s chest, spiraling over his arms, and clamped Desandra, winding about her like twin whips.

What the hell was that?

I started forward. Robert and Ascanio followed me. An eerie giggle broke free from Ascanio.

“Not yet,” I told him.

Desandra flexed, trying to break free, but the vines gripped her. Flexible, about an inch thick and at least twenty feet long. I’d never seen anything like it.

Derek sprinted forward and grabbed the vines, raising his tomahawk to chop them. Thorns burst from the twin shoots, biting into Desandra’s and Derek’s skin.

Oh no you don’t. I sprinted.

Bloody thorn tips emerged from the back of Derek’s hand. The skin around the punctures turned gray. Poison. Shit.

Desandra screamed. Derek chopped the vines and tore his hand free. The ends of the vines snapped back to Nick. The vise of vines around Desandra cracked and dried in an instant, turning into hard wood.