She hacked, punched, pivoted. The blood raining from the smoking bodies was a hot, quick sting on the skin. She couldn’t see Bran as she hacked out with the knife, and prayed he hadn’t been overwhelmed.

With a furious growl, Apollo streaked by her, leaped up to snag one of the winged dogs in his jaws, shake it. She nearly broke ranks when she saw a section of the cloud break off to attack him.

In a blur of speed a dark shape leaped out of the shadows, soared over Apollo’s back, claws raking the attackers, jaws snapping. Doyle’s sword swept down behind her seconds before fangs sank into her back.

“Watch your six, Blondie.”

The words echoed in her head, along with gunshots, shrieks, howls, as she jabbed out to spear one of Nerezza’s creatures.

Suddenly, she knew.

“North. Bran needs us to push them north,” she shouted.

She didn’t wait; she ran. Cursing, Doyle charged after her. Apollo streaked by them, hard on the heel of the dark dog—not dog, she saw now; the wolf.

Gunfire cut a swath, tearing wings, shattering bodies, and still they came.

Through the haze of smoke, she saw Bran, standing, arms raised, as if calling the beasts to him. Fear struck like an arrow, vibrated in her cry of his name. But he stood even as the killing cloud swooped toward him.

“Brace yourself!” he called out.

He flung his arms wide.

The light flashed, red as blood, hot as tongues from hell. The force of it would have shot her back if Doyle hadn’t gripped her arm. Blinded by it, she had only instinct and dream-memory.

“East.” She choked it out, stumbled. “Clockwise. Drive them east.”

It all whirled into a mad blur, the insanity of death and battle, hot blood, the stink of smoke. The light flashed again, mushrooming up to fill the world with its power and doom. Talons caught in her hair. As she batted at them, the wolf sprang. The shriek of her attacker snapped off in its jaws, then she lost it in the haze.

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.”

“Apollo first. He’s innocent. He came to help us, and this isn’t his fight. Help him.” She turned beseeching eyes to Sawyer. “Please.”

“Okay. Sure. Okay. Don’t bite me,” he said to the wolf. “I’m just going to see how bad he’s hurt.”

“Let me see what I can do right here.” Bran crouched down, ran his hands over Apollo. “That’s a big secret you’ve held on to, Dr. Gwin. It’s not bad, no, it’s not bad.” He soothed the dog. “But even superficial wounds are likely toxic. And that goes for all of us. I have things that will deal with it inside.”