Light exploded from the south, and this time the power of it lifted her off her feet. Breathless, ears throbbing, she gained her hands and knees. By the time she managed to stand again, she’d lost all sense of direction.

Howls, gunfire, screams, shouts, all muffled by the haze. She made out the shadows of those who fought with her, the gnarled silhouettes of what attacked. She turned toward them, but a sudden flurry of wings cut her off, left her no route but retreat.

Then Bran’s arm swung around her, nearly lifted her off her feet a second time.

“You’re too close. Stay behind me. Behind me, Sasha, and cover your eyes.”

She felt it rock the ground under her feet, sing like raw nerves up her body. Even with an arm flung over her eyes, that red light filled her head.

The power he loosed seared along her skin, swam in her blood.

She went down to her knees when her legs buckled, fingers digging into the grass as the ground shook.

“Stand clear,” he called out. “Keep back, and let me finish it.

“In my light you burn. Through our wrath you churn. Let what made you see our power, and know that in this hour as our seer did foretell, we send her dogs back to hell. By the power given me, as I will, so mote it be.”

There was a terrible scream, like a thousand voices raised in fury.

Not a thousand, Sasha realized. Just one.

Nerezza.

“Are you hurt?” Bran pulled her to her feet.

“I don’t know. You’re bleeding.” His face, she saw. His arms, his hands.

“Likely we all are. But this is done for the night. Let me clear some of the bloody smoke,” he began, but Sawyer pushed through it, an arm clutched around Annika to support her.

“She’s hurt. Her leg’s the worst.”

Blood oozed from the gash that sliced from her knee to her ankle.

“We’ll get her inside. Where’s Doyle?”

Something growled, low and deadly.

“Clear,” Bran demanded, waving a hand at the haze. Sawyer drew his weapon again.

The wolf stood beside Apollo. The big white dog lay on his side, his fur matted with blood, his breath coming in whines.

Doyle stood a foot away, his eyes on the wolf, blood dripping from his raised sword.

“No! Don’t!” Sasha started to push forward.

Annika broke from Sawyer, and in a limping run rushed toward Doyle. She dived under his sword, threw her arms around the wolf as Sawyer charged after her.

“Annika! For Christ’s sake.”

He would have dragged her clear, but she clung to the wolf, and Sasha moved to push him aside.

“Stop. Just stop. It’s Riley.”

“She’s hurt. And Apollo, too.” Crooning, Annika stroked both. “Help them.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sawyer shoved his gun back in its holster. “Riley’s a werewolf?”

She snarled at him, had him backing up one cautious step. “Easy, girl. Annika, we need to get you inside, stop that bleeding.”