Free Seraph of Sorrow by MaryJanice Davidson Page A

that. The kid had spirit.
    Jonathan would come in from the north, over the water. Yes, the beaststalkers would think of this. But between Xavier’s open distraction and Gautierre’s “secret” approach, the chances were at least two or three of the guards would head south, leaving a sole sentry to watch out for this tactic. It would be impossible to post this sentry closer than the shore, which would give the best shooter they had—Elizabeth—only a few seconds to spot Jonathan, even in perfect daylight weather. Which it decidedly was not.
    He shifted his scales to a midnight black, and let streaks of snowflake white trickle randomly over his skin. His body sank until he was a mere foot above the restless lake waves.
    An explosion to the south, beyond the cabin, made him smile. Xavier’s meteor falls were spectacular. This one went off like a dozen firework displays at once.
    Immediately afterward, a great howl went up in the forest. This was Jonathan’s fail-safe—a dozen newolves he had asked to serve as an additional distraction. Newolves were a breed of mysterious, elusive wolves. They could spend the next half-hour shooting paintballs into the woods, and not hit all of the animals he was sending their way.
    Good luck, honey. By the time you sort all this out, I’ll be coming out of the cabin to offer you a thermos of coffee.
    He increased speed to a good sixty miles per hour. It would take military radar to track his shape this far off the surface. Last he checked, his wife hadn’t ordered any military radar.
    Through the distance, he could make out the darkness of the shoreline trees. There was no sign of any human form anywhere on the shore, which meant he had a clear path to—
    A splash distracted him, and then a startling spray of gunfire.
    RATATATARATATATARATATATARATAT . . .
    A hot streak of pain ran down his belly, causing him to flinch and lose control of his flight trajectory. His left wing tip slid into the water, forcing him into a disastrous roll that brought him skipping off the water and onto the wintry shore. He ended up on his back in the north yard of the cabin, six feet from the well-lit porch, clutching his belly. Since his wing claws felt a sticky substance all over, he assumed he was bleeding out. He raised his head.
    Neon green. Dammit, it’s paint. Why couldn’t it be blood?
    His crested head hit the ground again in despair. “Unnnnnh . . .” He lay there for some time, until he heard splashing from the lake and a victorious scream from the water’s edge.
    “WOOOT!”
    Unusually emotive for Liz, but she deserves it. She got me good. Cripes, she waited in the ice-cold water for me! What was she wearing, scuba gear?
    “WOOOOOOOT!”
    He turned his head and saw the beaststalker in wet street clothes run at him, paint gun raised above her head, silly grin plastered on her face.
    Not his wife, the best shot in the Great Lakes region. His daughter, the novice.
    “WOOOOOOOOOOOT! Check it out, Dad!” She showed him the weapon, which resembled something out of a science fiction movie. The nozzle took up half the length of the gun. “The Angel LCD, .68-caliber, electro-pneumatic goodness! It has twenty-four different modes of fire, with up to twelve shots per second! Twelve shots per second, Dad! I think I got you with about two full seconds’ worth.”
    “Maybe three,” he groaned. “Where the hell did you get that?”
    “You can only get these from England—I had it on the fully automatic setting, which Mom tells me isn’t completely legal in this country . . .”
    “You shot me in the groin.”
    She shrugged. “You were moving fast, and I had to hit what you gave me. You and Mom keep saying you’re done having kids, anyway. What’s the big deal?”
    “How the hell did you stay in the water that long?”
    “Dragon form kept me insulated. I balanced this on my nose until I saw you coming.”
    “You saw me . . . ?”
    “Not you, exactly. The trail of turbulent water you