Series: The Weavers Circle Series by Jocelynn Drake
Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“And leave you help—er…alone out here?” Baer snapped. He cursed softly. “Sorry, Grey.”
But he was fucking helpless, and he knew it. Before losing his sight, his powers hadn’t done a lot when it came to fighting, but he’d been able to shoot a gun, use a knife. He wasn’t bad in a fight. And he’d been able to serve as a lookout, offer cover for his brothers. Now, he didn’t even have that.
Of course, his powers were tied to his sight, so he couldn’t use those. All he got were the occasional broken thoughts and emotions from others. His ability to see auras had been nipped in the bud. As was his ability to see into people’s souls, to read their past, motives, desires, and thoughts. He didn’t know if he could still manipulate people, hadn’t even tried.
“I’m going in,” Baer announced. “I’ll lure him into the field and shift into something fierce. We’ll dispatch this asshole, grab our booze, and go home.”
Baer’s car door opened, and Grey was left with Lucien, who offered up his brand of colorful commentary. “He’s walking, bold as you please, into the store. That man has serious balls. Like serious, hairy, brass swingers—”
“Less about his balls and more about the action, please,” Grey complained. “I might be blind, but I can still get mental images.”
Lucien snickered softly and continued, “The pestilent spotted him. It’s a man. About a foot shorter than Baer. Hairy as fuck. Scraggly like he crawled down from his remote mountain shack for some moonshine and smokes. Baer is grinning, taunting him. Shit! The pestilent is after him. Whoa! Baer threw the fucker into a mountain of vodka. Ahhh…all the good booze ruined. Ha! Bashed him with a bottle of wine. Don’t think we’ll be shopping in here afterward.” He chuckled. “Looks like there’s only one, so I’m going to lock you in here.”
“I’m not a fucking child,” Grey snapped.
“You also can’t fight this thing like we can. I know it sucks, but it is what it is until you get your sight back. I’m going to help Baer—the pestilent is following him into the field. And he’s got a machete.”
A door slammed, then silence. Grey had no intention of just sitting in the damn Jeep. With some scrabbling and cursing, he unlocked his door and got out.
The noise from the fight drifted toward him, but it sounded muffled by the wind rattling the leaves in the nearby trees. Shouts. The smack of fist on flesh. A cry of pain. Not Lucien’s or Baer’s. He wanted to move closer, but he didn’t want to hamper their efforts. Neither would appreciate having to come save him.
Anger filled his belly and he clenched tight fists. This was fucking bullshit! He should be out in the fray. He should be fighting with his brothers. He should be watching their backs. But he was stuck standing here.
A roar ripped through the air, and Grey stumbled backward into the Jeep. A half smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. Baer had shifted into one of his favorite big cats. Maybe a tiger. No, a lion. He preferred fighting as them. Lucien whooped and Grey could only imagine the Fire Weaver was throwing flames at the pestilent.
“Get him, Baer! He’s escaping!” Lucien yelled.
Scuffling noises were growing louder. Feet were running in his direction. The scent of rotten meat slapped him in the face. The pestilent was coming his way! Right as the stink rose to its worst, there was a loud thud and the pestilent yelled as he hit the ground. Baer made an animalistic grunting noise. The animal shifter must have taken him down.
“Move away, Grey!” Lucien shouted from close by.
Why is he just standing there?
Lucien’s thought shimmered through Grey’s mind, knocking the breath from his lungs even as he scrambled back along the Jeep from the noise.
“Jesus, Baer, don’t play with it!” Lucien yelled.
Grey could imagine Baer swiping at the pestilent instead of outright killing it. He wondered if whoever ran the liquor shop was seeing any of this. He expected sirens to fill the air, but there were only growls and cries of pain from the pestilent. The sick stench of the pestilent assaulted his nose right before the sound of feet running away came again. Lucien cursed and followed. A branch cracked, then more scuffling noises. Lucien grunted, then cursed right as Grey heard the whoosh of fire and felt a wave of heat.
Silence fell over the area except for the latent hum of the still-cooling Jeep. He held his breath, waiting. His racing heart pounded loudly in his ears as he strained to hear any noises.
Finally, footsteps slapped on pavement in a steady rhythm. The person wasn’t running. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“What the hell! Why did you just…pat him?” Lucien’s voice was hardly more than an annoyed growl.