“You’re mine!” Michelle barked, pushing another soldier out of her way.
Margo didn’t waste time with words, she squared off, fists raised and ready. Michelle outweighed her by at least fifteen pounds, and stood four inches taller, but her most daunting attribute was the hatred in her eyes.
Margo took a calming breath and circled her opponent.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Rhett and his company had arrived and were pouring themselves into the melee. With their arrival the Winter’s odds were improved, but not by much. The five to one ratio wasn’t fooling anyone. If the others from 17th Company didn’t arrive immediately, they would be overtaken. It was just a matter of time.
Meg screamed at the sight of Creed being dragged to the ground with no fewer than seven soldiers. His face was crammed into the ground and bodies piled atop him, but still he fought. Meg watched in horror as a handgun was passed to the soldier closest to Creed’s head.
Farrow had been battling so hard, her breathing was ragged and face pale except the smears of blood trickling down her cut cheeks. She was fighting with a knife trying to give just as many slices as she received before the blade was kicked from her hand.
Alik was huge—his body having responded to his adrenaline rush by growing markedly larger. The thick, bulging veins in his neck, chest and arms resembled a roadmap. He had already flipped a Jeep and used emptied rifles as baseball bats, but still the enemy surged, pinning him against a wall of rock and earth.
Evan’s honey eyes were bright reflecting the ball of light in his hand as he tossed them, one after another at the attacking throng. His jaw was set, pent-up anger spurring his lethal gift. The scent of burning skin and hair was already starting to make Meg gag.
She looked around the chaos in horror at what her family had to endure and at the blood they were forced to shed. The images assaulted. An oblivious breeze brought the coppery-sweet scent of blood to Meg’s anguished face. She forced herself to her elbow then pushed into a sitting position.
Maze whined at her, prancing protectively between her and the Winter war.
Meg craned her head around his thick, silver fur to continue watching in abject horror at the violence. Bile rose in her throat.
No, she moaned inwardly trying to breathe through the nausea. She grabbed Maze’s thick coat for leverage with her one good hand and pulled herself onto her knees.
“No!” she yelled into the wind.
The wind only yelled back.
It bathed her in the hellish smells of death and destruction.
She blinked at the stinging, salty tears of sorrow and when she opened them again, she saw him.
Williams.
His bloody head was thrown back in uncontrollable peals of laughter. His body shook with joy at what he saw around him—bloody lips pulled back, face contorted in a freakishly macabre expression of delight.
That’s when Meg snapped.
Righteous fury replaced the anguish in her heart. A sense of complete calm settled over her beaten body. She felt no pain as she moved to stand.
Devotion and fear fought in Maze’s yellow eyes as he watched his Meg. He leaned his flank against her legs, offering his support.
Meg looked down at her best friend and smiled sadly as she reached down to stroke the soft fur at the top of his head. She heard him whine painfully even over the roar of battle all around.
“It’ll be okay. You’ll see,” she whispered. A teardrop from her dark eyes fell from her lash and landed on his sensitive muzzle.
Meg kept one hand on Maze and closed her eyes. A bullet whizzed past her ear, but she didn’t flinch.
In her mind, Meg knew what she had to do.
She opened her psychic energies and unfurled the largest white blanket she’d ever built. The edges of the cloth kept building onto itself as it billowed across a quarter mile radius. She willed herself to breathe slowly, pushing her gift harder than she’d ever dreamed possible.
As she worked, she prayed for strength beyond herself.
“No more! No more fighting. Drop your weapons to the ground. Kick them away. Drop your arms to your sides and when you exhale your next breath, all anger and hatred will blow away in the wind.” Her voice reverberated clearly over the chaos. All eyes turned to watch the girl who was beaten and broken stand as if held upright by sheer determination.
She stood trembling violently with effort, but she refused to succumb. Maze pressed himself more firmly against her quivering legs.
Meg pressed harder against the evil resisting her. She leaned forward, as though pushing through a concrete wall of violence.
“NO MORE!” she screamed into the angry silence that had oozed into the space.
Blood began dripping from her nose, painting her lips and chin with red, but she didn’t stop.
“Meg, no!” Creed croaked from the ground where he watched in heartbreaking horror as the blood began leaking from her tear ducts.