Magic Claims by Ilona Andrews

And the bouda had done it for me.

Keelan glared at her. “Shut it.”

The stag looked at us for another long moment, then strode off to the side, into the light.

“Alright, people,” Keelan called out. “It’s time to do what we walked all this way for.”

“Fight, survive, go home,” Curran growled.

“Yes, Alpha.”

A change came over the shapeshifters, as if everyone had gotten shots of espresso directly into their veins. Arms stretched. Eyes shone. Gear was shifted, ready to be shed in an instant. Keelan pulled his claymore out and swung it like it was a toothpick.

“Ready,” Heather called out behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder. The archers stopped and strung their bows.

I looked at Owen. “I’m going to need that blood.”

The werebison shrugged off the tent roll and pulled the big Camelback off his shoulders. “Where do you want it?”

I detached my blood canteen from my belt, took off Sarrat’s sheath, and pulled my sweatshirt off. “Dump it right here.”

He frowned. “Just dump it out on the ground?”

“Yep.”

He unzipped the backpack, unscrewed the cap, and turned it upside down. The undead blood splashed out onto the pavement. I dumped the contents of my canteen into it.

Normal human blood would have coagulated without refrigeration after a full day of riding in my canteen. The magic in my blood had kept it fresh longer and, as it collided with the puddle of vampire blood, my power shot through it like fire along a detonation cord. The two liquids fused into one pliable, obedient mass. It streamed to me, guided by my will, climbing up my feet, over my legs, over my waist and chest and arms to coat my entire body up to my chin. It felt warm against my skin, the arcane power within it shimmering and ready.

One final push, and it snapped into shape. Blood armor sheathed me, flexible, thin like a second skin, and yet impenetrable to claws and normal swords.

Everyone had stopped what they were doing and was staring at me.

“Okay, I’m dressed,” I announced. “Let’s get this party started!”

Curran grinned.

“You heard the Consort,” Keelan growled. “Fall in. We don’t have all day.”

Everyone decided to simultaneously look somewhere else. I swiped Sarrat off the ground, poured my leftover blood onto the blade, and hardened it to a razor-sharp edge. It wouldn’t last long once I started using it, but while it lasted, my sword would cut through bone like butter.

I walked over to Conlan and hugged him.

“Mom,” he said quietly. “I’m not a baby.”

“You will always be my baby. Deal with it. When the fight starts, stay with the archers. They’re vulnerable to melee and they’ll need your protection.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Listen to your mother,” Curran said.

“Yes, Alpha.”

We started toward the light again.

“Can you do that?” Darin murmured to Conlan.

“Not yet,” my son said.

The gap in the trees grew closer and closer. A hundred yards, fifty, twenty-five.

The safe zone ended.

Curran looked at me. I shook my head. There would be no more claiming. The forest’s magic was too deep, and I was too tired. We’d have to solve this problem the old-fashioned way. A claiming broke when its creator died.

Curran squared his shoulders. He seemed larger somehow, looming, his face predatory and fierce, almost cruel. He was a lion who had sighted a territory he wanted, and he was ready to take it.

We hugged the greenery and carefully moved to the edge of the forest.

A grassy plain stretched in front of us, still green and vibrant despite it being fall. In the middle of the plain, a low hill curved, and on top of that hill a fortress rose, ancient and massive, dominating everything around it. We were looking at the outer wall, and it was all round towers, almost a hundred feet high, packed nearly side by side, with very little actual wall in between.

Built with clay bricks and partially sheathed in slabs of granite, the towers went on and on, in two straight lines that met at a right angle almost directly in front of us. The two sides we could see were each over a mile long. If this fort was square, the entire town of Penderton would fit inside that wall.

It didn’t look like any architectural style I knew. I had never seen anything like it.

Curran closed his mouth with a click.

“Where did they get the granite? The nearest quarry is hundreds of miles inland.”

“I don’t care. I want it,” Curran growled.

“It’s a fine castle, my lord,” Keelan called out. “Let’s liberate it and all the people in collars with it.”

We had a lot of open ground to cover between the woods and the walls. The archers especially would be vulnerable. Their effective range was about two hundred yards. If the evil in the fortress opened this fight with shapeshifters, there would be no point in shooting them. The arrows wouldn’t do enough damage, and the shapeshifter charge was too fast. The archers would be better used against the hunters. For that, we’d need to walk them closer to the walls.

Something moved at the top of the corner tower. People came into view. Two dozen hunters armed with javelins, six priest-mages, and in the middle, a tall woman in white.

Rimush passed me a pair of binoculars.