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Maybe she could becomethedistraction. The bait and bull’s-eye that would allow Westvane more room to maneuver.

Done observing the formalities, the Wendigo bared its fangs. Hooved feet planted, long arms flexing, it swung the bench up and back, brandishing it like a club.

“Westvane,” she said, voice low in warning.

She needn’t have bothered.

He was already on the move.

Twin swords in hand, wings spread wide, he launched himself toward the ceiling. She flinched as he took flight. Gloss-black feathers flashed. The temperature dropped. Ice crystals rolled out in waves as he flew between hanging pendant lights. Heavy ceiling cables swung, sending art deco chandeliers whipping in his wake.

The deep freeze thickened.

Frost crackled across the floor.

The Wendigo’s attention drifted.

“Hey!” Her shout echoed, bouncing around the cavernous interior. Flexing her fingers, she felt her blood heat. Power rippled down her spine. Her lips curved.Magic. Excellent. Right on time. “You gonna do something with that or —”

The beast roared. Shattered at one end, the bench sliced toward her.

Westvane angled into a dive. “Shields, princess!”

An image formed in her mind. Magic gathered, twisting in front of her as she conjured a sphere. Heat lightning whirled into an impenetrable shell. Surrounded, protected, wrapped up tight, she raised her hands, planted her feet inside the ball and —

Wood struck the shield broadside, making contact like a batter in a baseball game.

A loudcrack!screamed across the station.

The bench exploded.

Shrapnel rained down. But she was already gone, flying toward the wall above the balcony. As she tumbled inside the sphere, an idiotic thought entered her mind. The Wendigo could play ball. The thing had hit a grand slam, one that would make fans cheer in any major league baseball stadium in America. Her admiration hooked foul, however, when she slammed into the stone wall, then ricocheted straight back into the danger zone.

48

THE PARKLAND

Fighting his wings, Westvane struggled to stay airborne. The flight wasn’t smooth. He jerked from one movement to the next, battling to control the angle and his velocity. Too fast, and he’d crash. Not fast enough, and he’dcrash.

Neither option worked for him.

Not with the Wendigo taking aim at Truly down below. He swung left, then flew right, avoiding thick cables, trying to figure out how to move in the direction he wanted to go.

His feathers rustled in the updraft. Tendons in his shoulders ached as he banked into another shaky turn. Magic detonated at floor level. His focus snapped toward Truly and —

Hell. He hadn’t seenthatcoming.

Of all the choices Truly could’ve made — retreat the smartest option — conjuring a sphere wasn’t one he anticipated. The sight of her inside the ball, shimmering liquid spinning off the shell, made him want to skin her alive. What the devil was she thinking?Not muchwas his first thought. His second wasn’t nearly as charitable.

If she lived to see dawn, he just might have to kill her. Or… his brows snapped together… at the very least give her a harsh talking-to.

The downgrade fromannihilate(his favorite) tolecturewasn’t a pleasant one. She really needed to learn some restraint. Forethought and strategic planning wouldn’t be bad things to instill in her, either. As it was, hearing the crack of wood against the sphere, watching her soar through the air, forced him to switch tracks. He wasn’t flying solo anymore. Now he must protect himself from the Wendigo while ensuring the Door Master didn’t die in the process.

Beyond annoying. Also… circling overhead, Westvane tightened the grip on his swords… the tiniest bit endearing.

She cared about him. Didn’t want to see him injured. Problem was, she’d miscalculated. He was an Assenta warrior, practically indestructible. Truly was nowhere near indestructible. She was human, which made dying a serious concern for her. If her magic faltered and the sphere around her disintegrated, she’d be killed… instantly.

Slicing over the Wendigo, he plotted evasive maneuvers. Everything slowed. He heard the crack of wood. He saw the sphere fly through the air. Blue slime spun off the outside. The Wendigo laughed and corrected its stance, ratcheting the club back into position, readying for the next swing.