Magic Claims by Ilona Andrews

The front line of enemy shapeshifters parted as they scrambled out of the way, tripping over themselves. A lion burst into the open. Enormous, gray, striped with black, a mane crowning his huge head.

I knew Curran’s maximum size. I knew exactly how far he could push his body. This lion outweighed him by at least two hundred pounds.

The lion’s golden eyes sighted me. The alpha stare burned me, heavy, commanding, difficult to hold. Not just any lion. A First.

Oh my God.

The lion charged.

Owen jumped in front of me, bellowing a challenge. I lunged around him, and saw the lion coming as if in slow motion, the massive paws striking the ground, the eyes glowing with deep, furious amber. He was unstoppable. It was as if the Ice Age itself, brutal and savage, was bearing down on me.

The burning eyes locked me in place. I knew I had to move, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t…

Curran smashed into him from the side, knocking him off course. The impact staggered the hulking beast. He whirled around, shocked, and roared in outrage.

Curran roared back.

The two male lions, one a beast, the other in warrior form, glared at each other and collided. The enemy First reared up on his hind legs and slapped at Curran’s neck and head, his knife-long claws slicing through the air. I’d seen Curran kill a feral bull with a single slap. A hit like that would crush a shapeshifter’s skull like a walnut. Instant kill.

Curran leaned back, let one giant paw slide by him, stepped in, and drove a straight right hand into his opponent’s face. The enemy lion’s head snapped back.

I was halfway to them.

Curran turned to me. “No!”

I stopped. It nearly killed me, but I stopped.

The enemy First snarled and charged again, lifting up, swinging his left forepaw, trying to knock Curran to the ground. If he managed to pin him down with all that weight, it would be over.

Curran danced out of the way. The claws rent the air in front of him. The momentum of the strike pulled the lion to the right, exposing his flank. Curran turned his body and drove a short, vicious hook into the lion’s ribs. Bone crunched. Before the other lion could react, Curran thrust his hand into the same spot and dug a bloody chunk of flesh and bone out. Blood poured from the wound, the yellow shards of ribs stark against it.

The other lion whirled, lunging.

Four clumps of dark smoke appeared in a ring around the lions and coalesced into priest-mages.

Oh no, you don’t. If I don’t get to help, you don’t either.

The Ice Age First roared in outrage. The Pale Queen screamed at him from the tower. The priest-mages dashed around the two shapeshifters, fading in and out of existence.

Jushur and Rimush shot from behind me, like two dancers perfectly in sync.

Curran hammered another punch into his adversary’s ribs. The other lion snapped, so fast I almost didn’t see it. His jaws locked around Curran’s left arm. He reared, throwing his colossal front legs over Curran and dropped his entire bulk on top of him.

Curran went down.

The two Blades of Shinar sped through the smoke, their twin swords slicing in precise, brutal movements. Four bodies fell onto the grass.

The Ice Age First bit down, snarling, his hind legs digging into the dirt on both sides of Curran, giving him leverage. I couldn’t even see Curran under the lion’s mass. I grit my teeth.

Come on, honey. Come on.

The Ice Age lion raised his head, and his mouth was bloody. I caught a glimpse of Curran under him, his shoulder drenched in crimson. The lion bit down again.

“Dad!” Conlan screamed. He tried to run past me, and I caught him and gripped him against me.

All fighting had stopped except for the two Firsts. Both sides watched in silence.

The lion raised his head again. His forepaws pinned Curran’s shoulders, the huge claws gouging into his flesh. The Ice Age First roared, announcing his imminent victory.

Curran was a grappler.

His arms slid between the lion’s front legs and knocked them up and out. The lion’s paws landed on the ground above Curran’s shoulders. Curran slipped his right arm under the lion’s left front leg and caught it in the crook of his elbow. He thrust his left arm up against the lion’s throat, barring him from biting, and twisted his body to the right, wrapping his legs around the lion’s flanks.

An armlock. He’d done it to me more times than I could remember. But human bones were a lot weaker than a lion’s.

The Ice Age First still hadn’t realized what was happening.

Curran crunched, bringing his body up. The muscles on his arms and back bulged, shifting as he built more bulk in a split second.

The lion’s left foreleg snapped like a twig. He howled in surprise and pain. His hind legs clawed the ground as he tried to free himself.

Curran wrenched the broken limb off and hurled it aside. Long claws sprouted from his toes, and he kicked the lion’s gut, tearing through flesh and organs.

The lion flailed, frantic, and rolled to the side in a last-ditch effort to get away. Curran rolled with him, and as he ended up on top, he thrust his monstrous hand into the lion’s chest.

I had beheaded people. I had stabbed creatures in the heart. But I would never forget Curran ripping another First’s heart out of his chest. It sat in his huge, clawed hand, a bloody clump, and contracted one last time, sending a mist of blood into the air.

The First’s body collapsed into a humanoid shape. He was large, almost six feet tall, and sheathed with bluish hair. Two large antlers crowned his head.