form, never to be human again. After so many years, they became feral, losing their humanity forever.
As an assassin, Kyle sometimes thought he had to submerge his humanity to do his job. That each kill chipped away another piece of his soul. As a soldier, he had a duty to his king and people. He kept them safe from those who would maliciously expose their secrets or seek to use their powers for evil.
Many of his kills had been Malandante , a sect of Etruscan descendents who chose to use their magic against their fellow Etruscans or for monetary gain and power. A year ago, there’d been an increase in Mal violence, an attack against a hidden enclave of Etruscan Fata , elemental beings of Etruscan descent. Though successfully thwarted, it had been a wakeup call.
Then last month, someone had kidnapped one of the streghe in Margie and Cat’s boschetta .
Not everyone was convinced that had been a Mal attack. The kidnapper had possessed power, but once the boschetta had examined the body, they’d discovered the man’s magic had a mishmash of origins. Not just Etruscan or Celtic, but some of both, with a little Norse and Egyptian thrown in, as well.
He’d been killed before anyone could question him. But Kyle knew the man had said something about a “she” who wouldn’t stop.
“All I can say is good luck,” were his last words.
Against what?
No one had been able to find out and there’d been no other attacks on the boschetta since then.
Were these men working for the same woman who’d organized the kidnapping?
And what would they want with Tam?
They needed answers.
“Shift.” Tivr’s voice was barely audible and never failed to freak Kyle out, coming as it did out of a wolf’s mouth. No other versipelli could do that. But when you were the son of a powerful goddess and a god in your own right, the rules didn’t apply.
Kyle obeyed, more because he’d already planned to than because Tivr had ordered him to.
Biting down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound, Kyle began to call back his pelt.
This process didn’t take as long as calling it forth, because his body knew its natural shape. The wolf was only one aspect of the man, and to bring it out, he had to submerge the rest of him.
In seconds, he felt his body re-forming, the pelt disappearing back into skin, his bones re-forming and repositioning. To anyone watching, his transformation took only seconds.
Then he knelt on the ground, naked. Rising to his feet, he noticed his combat boots, a black t-shirt and a pair of black military tactical pants lying on the porch step. His knife rested on top of the clothes.
Good to have a god around when you needed one. Kyle preferred not to fight naked.
After dressing, he slid back around to the front of the house, Tivr at his side. The god hadn’t shifted. They might need his teeth.
Since they had the element of surprise on their side, Kyle figured he’d go through the door, knock out one and keep the other for questioning.
He waited until the men were both in the front room before he kicked the door in.
One of the men froze and Tivr streaked through the open door, straight for him. The god would keep him immobile while Kyle ran at the guy who pulled a gun.
Tall and lanky but quick, the man got a shot off before Kyle reached him. The bullet burned across his upper arm without penetrating.
Kyle pushed the pain out of his mind and used his forearm to knock the gun out of his hand. It took the guy a second to bring his fist into play, but by that time Kyle had his hand wrapped around his throat and slammed him up against the wall.
Behind him Tivr growled, the sound menacing and deadly. Kyle could smell the stench of fear rolling off the two men, although the one he held had a healthy dose of anger. He fought Kyle’s hold, his fists rising to reach for his face, fast becoming flushed from lack of oxygen.
Kyle took a few punches before he squeezed tighter, depriving the man of all air until
As an assassin, Kyle sometimes thought he had to submerge his humanity to do his job. That each kill chipped away another piece of his soul. As a soldier, he had a duty to his king and people. He kept them safe from those who would maliciously expose their secrets or seek to use their powers for evil.
Many of his kills had been Malandante , a sect of Etruscan descendents who chose to use their magic against their fellow Etruscans or for monetary gain and power. A year ago, there’d been an increase in Mal violence, an attack against a hidden enclave of Etruscan Fata , elemental beings of Etruscan descent. Though successfully thwarted, it had been a wakeup call.
Then last month, someone had kidnapped one of the streghe in Margie and Cat’s boschetta .
Not everyone was convinced that had been a Mal attack. The kidnapper had possessed power, but once the boschetta had examined the body, they’d discovered the man’s magic had a mishmash of origins. Not just Etruscan or Celtic, but some of both, with a little Norse and Egyptian thrown in, as well.
He’d been killed before anyone could question him. But Kyle knew the man had said something about a “she” who wouldn’t stop.
“All I can say is good luck,” were his last words.
Against what?
No one had been able to find out and there’d been no other attacks on the boschetta since then.
Were these men working for the same woman who’d organized the kidnapping?
And what would they want with Tam?
They needed answers.
“Shift.” Tivr’s voice was barely audible and never failed to freak Kyle out, coming as it did out of a wolf’s mouth. No other versipelli could do that. But when you were the son of a powerful goddess and a god in your own right, the rules didn’t apply.
Kyle obeyed, more because he’d already planned to than because Tivr had ordered him to.
Biting down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound, Kyle began to call back his pelt.
This process didn’t take as long as calling it forth, because his body knew its natural shape. The wolf was only one aspect of the man, and to bring it out, he had to submerge the rest of him.
In seconds, he felt his body re-forming, the pelt disappearing back into skin, his bones re-forming and repositioning. To anyone watching, his transformation took only seconds.
Then he knelt on the ground, naked. Rising to his feet, he noticed his combat boots, a black t-shirt and a pair of black military tactical pants lying on the porch step. His knife rested on top of the clothes.
Good to have a god around when you needed one. Kyle preferred not to fight naked.
After dressing, he slid back around to the front of the house, Tivr at his side. The god hadn’t shifted. They might need his teeth.
Since they had the element of surprise on their side, Kyle figured he’d go through the door, knock out one and keep the other for questioning.
He waited until the men were both in the front room before he kicked the door in.
One of the men froze and Tivr streaked through the open door, straight for him. The god would keep him immobile while Kyle ran at the guy who pulled a gun.
Tall and lanky but quick, the man got a shot off before Kyle reached him. The bullet burned across his upper arm without penetrating.
Kyle pushed the pain out of his mind and used his forearm to knock the gun out of his hand. It took the guy a second to bring his fist into play, but by that time Kyle had his hand wrapped around his throat and slammed him up against the wall.
Behind him Tivr growled, the sound menacing and deadly. Kyle could smell the stench of fear rolling off the two men, although the one he held had a healthy dose of anger. He fought Kyle’s hold, his fists rising to reach for his face, fast becoming flushed from lack of oxygen.
Kyle took a few punches before he squeezed tighter, depriving the man of all air until
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