“I don’t like the way they’re looking… at me,” Shark mutters, a minute or so after regaining consciousness from his latest blackout. “Like I’m lunch.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “They’ve already had lunch. Dinner too. You’ll be fine until supper.”

“Funny guy,” Shark pants, then passes out again.

I check that Shark’s OK, then focus on Timas in the boat ahead of me. He said he knows where he’s going, that he’s read lots of books about navigation. A while ago I might have been worried, but I trust the oddball now. If we were adrift in a snow storm in Alaska, I’d follow Timas Brauss before I followed an Eskimo.

Timas guides us safely to dry land, and though we bump about a lot while docking, we come through unscathed. Unloading the werewolves, Timas looks pleased with himself, as he has every right to. An ambulance is waiting. We buckle Shark on to a trolley and roll him into the back of the vehicle. His eyelids flutter open as we’re settling him in place. He looks around, scowls and tries to get up.

“Easy,” I say, pushing him down and tightening the straps around his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he barks. “I’m coming with you to… help Dervish.”

“You’re in no condition to fight,” I chuckle.

“I don’t care. I’m coming whether you… like it or not.”

“I thought you said you were going to retire when we got off Wolf Island,” Meera reminds him.

“I said I was going to think about it,” he growls.

“Well, think some more on the way to the hospital,” she snaps and slams the door shut. His curses turn the air blue until the driver switches the siren on and hits the accelerator.

“I’m glad I won’t be there when they finish operating on him,” I note.

“Me too,” Meera says, smiling at me. “How do you feel?”

“Hungry,” I reply, then wink at her alarmed expression.

“You really believe you can control them?” Meera asks as we herd the werewolves into the waiting trucks, which will take us to the nearest airport and a specially chartered plane.

“Child’s play,” I smirk.

Timas is waiting for us at the trucks. He says nothing as I usher in the werewolves, standing by in case I need him. When the last door has been locked, he clears his throat. “I should keep watch over Shark. He’ll want to return to action as soon as he’s fit—probably before—and he’s going to need help. I can do more for him than you.”

“That’s fine.” I smile warmly and shake his hand, but lightly, aware that I could crack his fingers like twigs if I squeezed too hard. “Thanks, Timas. We wouldn’t have made it off the island without you.”

“I know,” he says, then turns to Meera. “Time to make good on that promise.”

“What promise?” Meera squints.

Timas grabs her and bends her backwards, supporting her with one arm. “A kiss for your sweet prince,” he murmurs, smooching up to her.

Meera pretends to struggle, but then grins and treats him to a kiss that’s even hotter than Shark’s curses. It’s an old-style movie kiss, except with more slurping and tongue action.

“Break it up,” I growl.

The pair come up for air, their faces red.

“That was nice,” Timas gasps.

“Very,” Meera agrees, and pecks his nose. “To be continued,” she purrs, then turns from him with the natural grace of a model and sashays away.

“See you soon,” I mutter.

“Extremely soon,” Timas nods and hits the road, clicking his fingers like a hepcat.

Meera’s on her mobile for most of the trip to the airport, deep in conversation with some of her fellow Disciples. Her face is creased with worry when she cuts the connection.

“Bad news?” I ask.

“There are reports of three potential crossings,” she says. “All in major cities. The windows are due to open within the next forty-eight hours unless we can find the mages responsible and stop them.”

“Three at the same time,” I mutter. “Hardly coincidence.”

“No,” Meera snorts. “One’s in the city where Dervish and Bec are.”

“So Juni must already know that Antoine’s troops failed.”

“I hoped we’d have more time, but apparently not.” Meera sighs. “I’ll arrange to have them moved as soon as possible.”

“No.” My face is stone. “Let the demons come. I’ll deal with them. It’ll be a good opportunity to test my pack.”

“Are you sure?” Meera frowns. “Juni and her masters want the pieces of the Kah-Gash. If you and Bec are in the same spot, they’ll have a double shot at it. Maybe you should stay away from her until—”

“No,” I growl. “No more running. They want a fight? I’ll give them one they won’t forget in a hurry.”

“Juni beat you once,” Meera reminds me.

“She won’t again,” I whisper. Not because I believe I can turn the tables on her, but because she doesn’t want to. She needs me to destroy the universe.

“Grubbs?” Meera says softly. “Why didn’t Juni finish you off?”

I don’t answer. Thinking about what the mutant monster predicted. Wondering, not if it might be true, but rather how it will happen and when.

“Grubbs?” Meera says again.

I shake myself. “It doesn’t matter. Are you coming?”

Meera sighs. “No. I want to, but I’m needed elsewhere. I can be of more use in the other cities, either help find the mages and kill them, or try to drive back the demons if they cross. I think we’re all going to have to work very hard over the next few days to prevent a massacre that makes the losses on Wolf Island look like a drop in the ocean.”

“I’ll come when I can,” I promise. “Tell the other Disciples that if they fail—if demons break through—I’ll mop up. Once I’ve dealt with those coming to attack Dervish and Bec, I’ll go wherever I’m needed and I’ll bring my werewolves. We can fight them now. We don’t need to be afraid.”

“You idiot,” Meera chuckles. “Of course we do.” She hugs me tight, then stands on her toes, hauls my head down and kisses my coarse, hairy cheek, ignoring the bits of human flesh caught between my fangs and the stench of blood on my breath.

She releases me and I draw back to my full height. Part of me wants to plead with her to come with me. We can pick up Dervish and Bec, then fly to a deserted island like the one we just left. An apocalypse is coming. It would be easier to sit it out, enjoy what time we have left and face the end with a resigned laugh.

But I’m Grubbs Grady. Magician. Werewolf. Kah-Gash. I don’t do retreat.

“Give my love to Dervish,” Meera sniffs, then leaves me to make my own way to the plane. The last I see of her, she’s climbing into the front of an army jeep, talking on her mobile, looking lovelier than ever as she prepares to go to war.

With a self-mocking smile, I offer up a quick prayer to whatever gods might be listening. “If reincarnation is real, and I die soon, let me come back as Timas Brauss’s lips!”

Then I head off in search of my half-dead uncle, hoping he doesn’t croak before I have a chance to bid him goodbye.