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The battlecat sensed my hesitation. Tell me, he demanded, as obstinate as Draven.

I need you, I confessed. Here. Now. Can you come?

The response was immediate. A feeling of understanding and unwavering loyalty coursed through our connection.

A moment later, the grove shimmered with a burst of energy.

Nightclaw stood before me, proud and regal, his eyes reflecting the wisdom of ages I had long forgotten.

I felt relief but not a little trepidation.

“Now what?” I turned to Draven, shouting to be heard over the mounting wind and the sound of distant, unsettling screaming.

“Now you draw,” he shouted back. “From both of us.”

And then he grabbed my hand and pulled me hard against him while, with his other, he reached out and set his palm against Nightclaw’s side.

“Do it, Morgan. Do it now,” he urged.

Draven’s touch was warm and grounding, anchoring me back to the present moment. His hand wrapped around my waist, holding me firmly against him.

I shut my eyes, allowing my connection to Nightclaw to reform, to deepen, then stretched out the bond encompassing Draven within it.

Draven. Where we touched, a current of power surged through my veins. The sensation was visceral... almost erotic. Euphoria danced over my skin, and I longed to revel in it, losing myself in the intoxicating merging of our energies.

What was the wind to this? Connected like this to my mate, what was a storm?

A low growl from Nightclaw brought me to my senses. We were a triad of power. Beside Draven, the exmoor was a pillar of earthy, steadfast strength, grounding me and stabilizing me.

As the battlecat’s presence intertwined with my own and Draven’s, a newfound clarity settled over me.

The wind. It was very near now.

I raised my hands and felt the air, sizzling and crackling upwards like sparks. But this was no fire. To face a storm, I needed a wall.

I visualized the shield I needed. I pictured it extending high over the battlefield, a dome that would guard my allies from the impending storm.

Focusing my intent, I began to shape it with my hands, tracing it in the air.

Raw power surged through my fingertips. The magic took shape, the shield coalescing around and above.

As it gained form, I kept my arms lifted high as the shield became a colossal canopy, stretching across the expanse of the sky, rippling with intertwined energies.

The killing wind reached the barrier.

There was a crashing sound like a wave breaking on rocks.

I felt the presence of the one behind the wind, and I screamed again, this time, words forming.

“Get out. You shall not have them.”

I strained, struggling to maintain the shield as again and again the wind crashed upon it. The trinity of energies was a bounty of strength, but even such a formidable alliance had its limits.

Sweat formed on my brow. Every muscle in my body tensed as I drew deeper and deeper from my mate and the battlecat, sensing their energies ebb and drain as they flowed into me and were pushed out into the shield.

Time flowed and passed. Still I held the shield. Draven’s face was a mask of tension. Nightclaw did not move. Still I held, still I drew, directing the flow of power.

Still the wind bashed against what we had formed. Still the wind blew.