Page 24

Another brick dropped with a soft thud to the earth outside, and a whisper of breeze floated the scent of the forest through the hole she’d made.

Annabelle paused, listening for any sound, any movement—a door opening, a footstep on the stairs.

Nothing. Good. The hole looked big enough to squeeze through.

Dutton had her blood. The thought kept reverberating in her brain.

Once Cordelia arrived, Annabelle’s time would be up.

Cordelia would perform the spell, and Annabelle would become nothing more than a puppet, a human shell with no one home inside.

They could make her do whatever they wanted, tell them whatever they wanted. Then they’d have her and the grimoire.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Annabelle, gritting her teeth against the pain in her right shoulder, pushed up on her toes and pulled her body up to the hole in the brick chimney, forcing her head and torso through.

Cordelia, Dutton and Scarface—they were going to pay for what they’d done to Gabriel.

She wasn’t the only person for whom Christmas would forever be painful. She’d make sure of it.

Her hips scraped against the brittle edges of the bricks, but she didn’t stop, and with a few mental curses and some determined wriggling, she pushed through and fell to the ground. She grunted, muzzling her cry as her throbbing shoulder hit the dirt.

Fuck.

She lay there for a few moments, blinking back tears. The earthy scent of the forest filled her lungs and she breathed it in, the pain in her shoulder settling back to a dull throb.

A car engine…no…several car engines roared up the gravel road. Cordelia? Already? Shit, shit, shit.

Annabelle stumbled to her feet, flattened herself against the rough timber of the cabin and inched her way forward.

Taking a deep breath, she peered around the corner.

Her mouth dropped open. Four familiar cars pulled up in a scattering of gravel, and out poured members of her coven—Isobella, Aunt Marjory, her mom and her stepdad, Emmanuel, Roger, the Milners and the Tisdales.

The cavalry had come. How had they known where to find her?

A big black wolf with green eyes leaped out of the first car, its hackles standing on end and its lips curled back in a snarl revealing vicious-looking canines.

Stefanie?

Holy crap. The woman…wolf…was huge .

The front door banged against the side of the cabin, flung open from inside, and Annabelle pulled her head back. The porch creaked. Annabelle risked another peek. Scarface, with a mean looking sawn-off shotgun in his hands, walked to the edge of the rickety porch.

Aunt Marjory stepped forward, no hint of fear on her face. “Release my niece.”

Annabelle grinned. Oh, yeah. Her great aunt was a badass in high heels and designer suits.

“Or?” sneered Scarface.

Aunt Marjory raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Or you die?”

Scarface chuckled. “ Madam, it iz we…’ow you Americans say…who ’old all ze cards, no?”

A blur of black fur burst from the shadows of the forest, hurtled toward the porch and slammed into Scarface.

It knocked him to the ground. Annabelle jumped back.

Another wolf? Her heart lurched into her throat.

Gabriel? No, it couldn’t be. The wolf snarled and snapped at Scarface, huge canines finding purchase.

Scarface bellowed, and the shotgun went off.

Birds screeched and took flight. Annabelle slapped her hand over her mouth, smothering a scream.

Then wolf and man went rolling across the clearing, a confusing mass of growling fur and grunting man.

The door banged open again, and two more men appeared on the porch. Too late. The witches were already filling the air with the chanting of spells and the electric charge of magic. In mere moments, the coven had the men bound and on the ground. Where was Dutton?

Annabelle stumbled forward. Down the hill, the wolf and Scarface fought on. The wolf lunged for Scarface’s throat. The Frenchman threw up his arm, blocking the blow, but the wolf latched on, digging his teeth in and shaking his head. Scarface screamed.

Hackles raised and ready to pounce, should Scarface get the upper hand, was the wolf Annabelle pegged as Stefanie. In front, the witches were pounding up the steps of the cabin. Annabelle had to warn Aunt Marjory. Dutton could be lying in wait. Or he could have already fled like the coward he was.

A muscled arm caught her about the throat and reefed her back against a hard chest. A glint of silver flashed near her face, and then the steely point jabbed ever so slightly into her neck. Annabelle stilled.

“Well, well, well. Look what I’ve found. Where do you think you’re going, Annabee?”

Dutton. Her mind raced.

“You think you’re so clever escaping through the chimney. But I still have your blood. And now I have you. Let’s take a little walk in the forest, shall we? Just you and me. And you won’t make a sound, or I will spell your mouth shut.”

He really was an idiot. Did he think Stefanie couldn’t track her?

Maybe he’d called in backup. He could’ve, should’ve, used magic on her while she was unaware of his presence.

But he was so confident he had the upper hand.

That he could stop her from reciting any spell.

That magic was her only means of defense.

Or that a knife at her throat would stop her from fighting any way she could.

Did he think, with all the turmoil in their coven, and the prospect she might soon be taking a trip to Medieval Europe, she’d not started taking defense classes?

“I don’t think so, Dutton. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Before the certainty in her voice gave her away, Annabelle grabbed hold of his forearm and cocked her right hip and shoulder up.

She ducked beneath his arm, controlling his forearm and the knife, wrenching it down away from her face as her instructor had taught her.

She slipped out from beneath him, but kept her body close, and with all the strength she could muster with her injured shoulder, she plunged the knife into his side.

It all happened so fast, Dutton didn’t seem to realize she’d stabbed him.

With his own knife. That would teach him to underestimate her.

Dutton struggled, trying to use his height advantage and his gym body to regain the upper hand.

Annabelle growled and plunged the knife in again. “That’s for Gabriel.”

This time Dutton gasped and doubled over.

Annabelle slipped her hand down to his wrist and twisted, as she’d practiced in class.

Dutton loosened his grip. The knife was now in her hands.

She stepped back. With a bellow, Dutton lunged.

Annabelle high-kicked him in the face and then her mom, her stepdad and Isobella were there, chanting a spell. Dutton dropped like a stone.