Magic Claims by Ilona Andrews

“So it’s a last stand?”

“Looks that way. They are marshaling all their forces in one spot rather than risking losing them piecemeal by attacking us along the way.” Curran grinned. “Also, I think your claiming really freaked them out.”

He had a point. Whoever was in charge of the forest must have been accustomed to their claiming being the final word. Their ultimate move. Chances were that nobody had ever challenged them after that. Claiming gave you control and advance warning. It made you feel safe. It allowed you to kill your own people with fucked-up smoke.

When I took Penderton away from them, it must have been a shock. And my claiming was much stronger and more uniform. It would be like having the best knife in the world and realizing your opponent held a sword.

And now they were sitting in their base and feeling me carve my way straight through their territory. One narrow strip of forest at a time. And they could do nothing about it. They had to watch and wait, helpless.

“I think we should freak them out a bit more,” I said.

Curran smiled and it wasn’t pretty. “Darin, drop that hawk.”

The merman raised his bow and fired in one smooth motion, taking no time to aim. The hawk fell from the sky and landed on the road, an arrow in its chest. Coils of black smoke curled up from it, and the hawk melted into nothing.

Keelan chuckled.

We kept moving.





I was resting. Not really sleeping. Just lingering on the edge of consciousness, with my eyes closed and my body still. My legs hummed, my back hurt, and my chest felt tight. Four claimings in a row was my limit. I would need to practice more. It wasn’t the distance—I could’ve claimed a ten-mile chunk with no problems. It was the sequence of it. Every claiming took a big bite out of my magic reserve.

Unfortunately, the roads weren’t straight. There were places where they veered a little from the safe zone, which slowed us down. Given a straight shot to the hill, I would’ve tried to claim it all in one go.

Around me, our small party had gone to ground. There was a trick I’d learned early in childhood when my adopted father would drive me into the wilderness, drop me off with a knife and a small canteen of clean water, and expect me to make my way back on my own. The best and fastest way to recover was to lay completely flat. Heather’s archers were forest people. They’d stripped off their gear, lain down on the road, and gone to sleep.

The shapeshifters had sprawled out as well, but unlike me and the archers, they were still fresh as daisies and most of them were munching on their supplies and talking.

“Should he be climbing that?” Curran asked next to me.

I opened my eyes halfway. Our son was scrambling up a big pine like an overgrown squirrel.

“It’s in my territory. I claimed a circle three hundred yards in diameter.” I yawned. “He can feel the magic. He knows where the boundaries are.”

“You should sleep,” Curran told me. “I’ll keep watch.”

“One hour,” I told him.

“One hour,” he agreed.





Curran’s warm hand touched my arm. “Time to get up, baby.”

“It hasn’t been an hour.”

“No, it’s been two.”

My eyes snapped open. I sat up and groaned. There was no fucking way.

I looked up at the sky. Definitely past noon. Damn it.

Curran studied me, his gray eyes concerned. “Do you need more time?”

Yes. About twelve more hours. A solid meal and a soft bed would be lovely as well. But we had another four miles to go, and the sun was rolling across the sky.

“I’m good.”

“We can wait another hour.”

“No need.”

He nodded and put a small rectangle wrapped in foil on my lap. “And before you ask, I gave one to Conlan already.”

I raised my eyebrows.

Curran walked away and crouched by the shapeshifters sitting in a loose circle in the middle of the road.

I unwrapped the foil. Chocolate.

Best husband ever.

“We’re almost there,” Curran said. “There will be a fight. There will be other shapeshifters. For those of you who missed the first fight, they are different. You won’t be facing gray wolves. You will be fighting dire wolves, prehistoric cats, and possibly giant bears. In their warrior form, they’re larger, stronger, and faster than most of us.”

I took a bite. Almonds. Oh my God.

“One on one, in a contest of brute strength, we lose.” Curran’s voice was reassuring and steady. “But they fight on instinct, like animals. They’re brawlers. We are trained killers. They will mark each of us for individual duels. We will not oblige them. Stay calm. Think. Remember your training. Look out for each other.”

“I know you’re trained,” Keelan said. “Because I trained you. Don’t embarrass me by getting killed by amateurs.”

A light laughter rippled through the circle.

Keelan flashed his teeth in a happy grin. “You are a unit. They’ve never encountered shapeshifters like us. Organized warfare. It worked for the Romans, it will work for us.”

“Pick a battle buddy,” Curran said. “Stay close to them. Watch out for them, watch out for the others. Take them two on one when you can. If you see someone in trouble, jump in. Remember, the people we’re fighting may not have a choice in this fight. Kill if you have to, disable if you can.”