Then they charged.

He dodged fire that speared out of the sky, lanced into the ground to sizzle. Whatever protection Bran had wound around the villa had that fire bouncing off—like striking a force field. And some of those fiery balls and lances ricocheted into the sharp wings of diving birds.

Yeah, a little of your own medicine, he thought, and took out a swarm with bullets.

Hot, spinning sparks spewed up, and he learned they had a nasty bite.

He fired, fired, slapped in fresh clips, fired. The world was fire and smoke, the blast of bullets, the slice of blade, the whoosh of bolts. And the lightning.

Then came the flood.

He’d been warned, Sawyer reminded himself as the force of Bran’s storm whipped over him. Wind and madly driving rain, lightning jagging through the dark.

He saw Annika’s bracelets flash, laid down a stream of shots over her head to destroy what came at her.

Spears of fire drowned in the rain, and the cool, clean wet soothed his burns. He caught the blur, thought Malmon. Fast, but not as fast as he’d been. Still healing, Sawyer thought as he took aim.

But the ground heaved up, knocked him back into a crawling fog that hissed and bit. He flipped up, for the first time really grateful for the dawn training. He nearly lost Malmon in the haze as that blur arrowed toward Sasha.

He gave a shout of warning, spun to shoot. But Bran’s lightning glanced off that blur, sent it spinning away. He caught a glimpse of Riley charging Doyle, and Doyle catching her foot in his hand, heaving up so she flipped high, firing at a circle of birds.

He wondered when the hell they’d worked that one out, then had no time to think.

She broke out of the dark, shocking the air so he felt the charge of it lift the hair on his arms, the back of his neck. Once again she rode the three-headed beast, but now wore some sort of armor, black as the night.

She heaved thunderbolts, flooded the rain with liquid fire that burned a vicious orange as it fought to slide through the storm.

Focused on Bran, he noted, as the rest rushed to circle around him. Take out our magick, then scorch the rest. The Cerberus screamed in triumph, tongues flicking more fire, eyes as crazed as its rider’s. The world quaked as power clashed with power, and Sawyer braced his legs against it, took aim.

His bullets struck each head, had them whipping back in shock as those triumphant screams went to shrieks of pain.

“It’s now,” he shouted. “Right now! Send me up!”

Shooting his weapons home, he gripped the compass.

He flew, grateful now he’d had the experience with Bran once before or he might have fumbled. With Nerezza fighting to control her beast, with her rage focused on the five, Sawyer put everything he had into the moment.

His hand gripped her flying hair, and with the shock of it rocketing up his arm, he shifted.

Like a tornado, the dark funneled around him, full of sound, burning with her fury. The stinging whip of her power lashed his arm, his face, his body. But he held on.

Then her eyes met his, and her madness smiled.

“Inside,” Bran ordered. “Inside now. Be ready. Injuries?”

“Burns, cuts, crap. And more crap,” Riley managed. “The sun’s going down.”

To solve the problem, and because she limped as she ran, Doyle simply scooped her up, carried her like a football into the villa.

“We’ll deal with injuries in Ireland. Let me help you.” Sasha dropped down to drag off Riley’s boots.

“Look, I’m not a priss, but how about averting your— Damn it, no time.”

She tossed modesty away with her shirt.

Doyle unhooked her belt. “You can’t run.”

“I know it, I know it. Sawyer—”

“He’ll come back to us. We have to believe.” Sasha gripped Riley’s hand even as it began to change. “We all have to believe.”

Riley’s only answer was a howl as she rolled to her hands and knees, gave herself over to the moon.

“Can you see him?” Annika knelt down, wrapped her arms around the wolf, pressed her face into the warm fur to comfort them both. “Sasha, can you feel him? Please. Please.”

“No, but I don’t when he’s traveling. He’s strong, Anni, and smart. He pulled her away.”

“She never saw him coming,” Doyle added. “He took her by surprise. The kid’s got balls of steel. He’ll come through. He’ll come back.”

“We’re going to live on the island.” As she spoke it, like a prayer, tears streamed down her cheeks. “He’s going to build a house, and I’ll stay in the sea. We’ll swim together.”

“I know.” Because she felt Annika’s fight not to despair, Sasha knelt beside her, took her and the wolf into an embrace. “It’s lovely. We’ll all come see you, swim with you.”

“He’ll come back to me.” Annika drew in a breath, raised her head. “Just as he did before. He’ll come back to me.”

When he did, he fell at her feet.

“Sawyer, Sawyer.” She dropped onto him, covering his face with kisses. “You’re hurt.”

“Not that bad.” He kissed her back, and hissed as he managed to get to his knees. “Pretty bad,” he admitted. “The disconnect was tricky. She’s got a hell of a grip. I don’t know where I dumped her, or how long we have until she figures it out, but we should get the hell of out Dodge.”

“You’re weak, brother.”