Spell-Weaver by Angela Addams

sparkled in such a way. A way with which she was intimately familiar.
    Dyami’s words flowed through her. “Trust your gut.”
    The wolf nudged Dyami’s foot again, licked his big toe. Not in a way that said hunger, either.
    She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Those eyes. She could get lost in them. She had for years, every time she tried to draw his face. She could never mistake them for anything else.
    â€œMayhem?”
    The wolf bowed its head. Snorted. Nudged Dyami’s leg, shifting up his body and closer to her.
    It looked up at her again, beseeching her to move away. What was she seeing?
    â€œTrust your gut.” Dy’s words echoed in her mind.
    A thousand heartbeats seemed to pass. Silent communication with a wolf.
    Finally she knew what to do. She stepped back, lowered her weapon. One of the other wolves growled sharply, then turned and sprinted out of the room.
    She watched as the black wolf—Mayhem—sniffed and licked Dyami’s unmoving form, nudging his hand, his arm, finally using his paws and teeth to flip Dyami on his side and expose the wound. She gasped when Mayhem ripped away what was left of Dyami’s shirt, watched with awe as he licked the blood surrounding the entry point—cleaning then examining, like he was sentient. Aware. Like he was a human in wolf form.
    â€œIs he going to live?” she croaked, feeling weird talking to an animal, not knowing what else to do.
    Mayhem stopped his tending to Dyami’s wound, locked eyes with her again. She saw sorrow there.
    Something crackled, like a snap of electricity. Summer looked up to see two women enter the room. One with shorter dark hair seemed to survey the scene with detachment. “Look at this mess, boys! You really need to start letting me in on the battles before the destruction!” Then she started muttering words that Summer couldn’t understand and things began to change.
    The other woman came straight for them, bypassing the dark haired one and laying a stroke of familiarity on the back of the smaller wolf. She glanced at Summer briefly, her blue eyes all concern as she gave a reassuring smile. “Will you let me touch him?”
    How strange. Those were not the words Summer expected to hear. She frowned, looked down at Mayhem as if seeking direction, then at Dyami, whose face was impassive, his lips parted slightly.
    â€œTrust your gut.”
    Summer looked back up at the woman. “Yes. Please.”
    The woman knelt down beside Dyami, then helped Mayhem shift him completely over. She gasped. “Another Huntress injury?” She was talking to Mayhem, a silent conversation that needed no more words, resignation on her face. She shook her head before putting her hands on either side of the wound, closing her eyes, her expression suddenly a mask of concentration.
    Summer shifted her gaze up, gave her own head a shake. The room was alive with electricity—with magic, she knew. She could taste it, similar to what she felt with her symbols. The bodies were gone. Poof! Twirling into ashes and carried out the window. The gore vanished before her eyes, the broken furniture fixed itself, all in a torrent of movement, orchestrated by this strange woman standing in the middle of it all, her lips moving, eyes closed, hands spread before her.
    And the wolves—the wolves looked on.

Chapter Thirteen
    Dyami was talking to his wolf. Well, not talking actually. Wolves didn’t talk, not in English anyway. He couldn’t explain it. It was a conversation that only he could understand and it went something like this.
    â€œI’m dying.”
    â€œYes.” His wolf had given up the fight with the poison and now lay on its side, facing Dyami, who lay in the same position. A mirror image—one wolf, one man. Breathing shallow, pain excruciating, felt by both, flowing through their invisible connection.
    â€œShe was the one.”
    â€œOur Huntress.