Mallory climbed out of the van and paused for a moment to survey the house. Dean circled around to stand next to her. "I'm not comfortable with this," she told him.
"Nothing is going to happen, I promise," Dean said for the fourth time. "I seriously doubt Russell followed us back here. You're just going to hang out with them to make them feel safe. Besides, I'd feel better if you weren't alone."
Mal shouldered her bag and scowled darkly. "All right, whatever," she muttered. The front gate had been left open for them, so they walked right up to the front door and knocked. A young woman about Mal's own age opened the door. This must be Dani. Mal blinked.
Dani's brown hair was liberally streaked with bright blue, and she had layered a black fishnet shirt over a green tank top. She was wearing orange tights under a short denim skirt and had on a pair of heavy leather boots. She surveyed Mal with a calculating look in her blue eyes. "You're Mal?" she asked bluntly.
"Yeah, that's me," Mal replied.
Dani's forehead puckered. "Huh," she said.
Mal frowned. "What?" she challenged.
"Nothing," Dani said quickly. "You're just...not what I expected."
Mal snorted. A petite, underweight girl, pale enough to look like death warmed over and wearing a brightly-colored knit cap with a pom-pom on top wasn't likely to be anyone's idea of a bodyguard. "Yeah. I get that."
"Sorry, that didn't come out right," Dani apologized. She stepped aside. "Come in."
Mal walked straight into the living room, following the sound of Sam's voice. She found him deep in discussion with the wheelchair-bound young man Dean had told her about—Logan. They were studying something on one of the many computer screens set up on the wall. Sam looked up as she approached and immediately moved towards her.
"Hey," he greeted. "You got everything you need?"
She dropped the bag on her shoulder to the floor. "Yup."
Sam placed his hand on the back of her neck. "This wasn't my idea," he told her in a low voice.
"We didn't have many options," she replied. "Go kill monsters." She ushered Sam and Dean out the door with many promises to keep an eye out and be careful. When the brothers were finally gone, she returned to her bag on the living room floor and pulled out a piece of chalk and a grease pencil. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked Dani.
Dani looked at the items in her hand for a moment. "Go to town," she said with a shrug.
"Awesome," Mal said. Windows were warded, doorways were trapped, and lines were salted. Dani and Logan watched the whole process with interest.
"That's not going to stop skinwalkers," Logan observed.
"Not for skinwalkers," Mal told him, finishing a sigil on one of the kitchen windows with the grease pen. "This one," she tapped the finished product. "Is for demons. That," she pointed across the room to the line of salt across the back door. "Is for ghosts and demons. These here are for evil spirits in general."
Dani raised her eyebrows. "You don't actually think we'll need any of that, do you?"
"I sure hope not," Mal said with a shrug. "But I tend to err on the side of paranoid."
Logan chuckled a little at that. "Whatever makes you feel safe. I want you to be comfortable in our home. What your friends are doing for us," he shook his head. "We can never repay them."
Mal finally finished her work and stepped back to survey it. "Trust me," she told her hosts. "They're happy to do it. Well, maybe not happy, but..." she trailed off with a shrug. "It's what they do."
"That's what they said," Logan said with a nod. "How exactly do you get into this line of work?"
"Same way you did," Mal replied as she packed her supplies away. "Something nasty hurt their family."
"What about you?" Dani asked curiously.
Mal paused. "Something nasty hurt me," she replied softly, and continued putting away her tools.
"I'm sorry," Dani said, equally softly. Mal zipped her bag closed and got to her feet. "Do you want anything to eat?" Dani asked her. "Beer? Coffee?"
"Coffee would be great, thanks," Mal said with a grateful smile, both for the offer of caffeine and the fact Dani didn't pry. The other young woman bobbed her head and turned to Logan. He nodded as well.
"I'll make a big pot, then," Dani said. She shooed them back into the living room to give her space.
"Show me your security system," Mal asked, approaching the bank of computers with considerable caution. Back in her old life, she and computers went together a little like cats and water: they tolerated each other when necessary. Now, considering how much EMF she could put off, their relationship was even worse. So she was careful not to touch anything as Logan showed her all the cameras around the exterior of the house. Satisfied that she would be aware of anything approaching, she accepted the coffee from Dani and settled in for the night.
XxxXxxX
Sophia didn't look up when Castiel approached. She sat cross-legged on the grass, her skin dappled gold and dark by the leaves overhead. Her form in heaven had adapted to that of her vessel, so she appeared to be a young, innocent child. She held her hands in front of her, palms facing each other but several inches apart. Between them hovered a golden ball of light, fiery-orange symbols racing over its surface. Her brown eyes reflected the light in front of them, turning to molten gold.
Castiel stopped a few paces away from her, reluctant to disturb her work. She had desired solitude; that was the reason she'd come to the Garden. Even in the midst of war, the Garden was sacrosanct. Not even Raphael would dare launch an attack here.
Sophia continued to ignore Castiel, so intent was she on her task. Castiel wasn't sure exactly what information she was recording, but whatever it was, it would be stored forever within her Grace, ready for any other angel to access upon request.
The three other Archives had vanished without a trace. From what intelligence Castiel had managed to gather, Raphael might have had something to do with it. If he had and, as Castiel feared, they were dead, then Sophia was the lone retainer of all heaven's knowledge.
Castiel cleared his throat. "Sophia. I apologize, but I need to speak with you."
She blinked but otherwise didn't acknowledge him. Castiel stood for a moment, and then sighed and sat on the grass in front of her, shuffling his wings until he found a comfortable position, the silver-white pinions spread out over the lawn behind him.
Sophia finally exhaled, soft and slow, and the ball of light was absorbed back into her hands. She folded them in her lap and lifted her gaze to Castiel's face, her expression plainly inquiring.
"Crowley came to me," Castiel began bluntly. There were many things he was unsure of in his new role, but this one thing had not changed: it was essential to be completely honest with the Archives. "He told me news about Abaddon."
Something in Sophia's eyes shifted, the brown irises darkening just perceptively. Then she was back to normal: neutral, attentive.
"If Crowley is to be trusted," here Sophia interrupted with a sudden impolite snort. Castiel nodded in agreement. "If he is to be trusted," he began again, "Abaddon is looking for Purgatory."
The Archive's expression suddenly went completely blank. Her hands gripped each other until yellow bone showed through her skin. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She jerked her head in acknowledgment and invitation to continue.
"I need what information you have on Purgatory if I am to prevent Abaddon from succeeding," Castiel said. The last thing he needed was a second enemy and another army to fight, but he didn't see much of a choice.
Sophia rose jerkily to her feet and turned on her heel, stalking away from Castiel. He stared after her for a moment, surprised by her reaction, and then got to his feet to follow. She stopped a few yards away in a patch of uninhibited light, her wings wrapped tightly around her. The pinions were ivory, a shade away from white, and the light shone through them as if through porcelain, revealing the pale edging of blue and tan on each feather.
"Sophia, please," Castiel began, but she cut him off by shaking her head. She turned to face him, eyes narrow and challenging.
"I know that what I am asking is dangerous," the archangel replied to her silent accusation. "But I don't have another choice."
Sophia raised an eyebrow. Castiel sighed faintly. "Yes," he admitted. "We are spread thin. But I believe I may be able to spare Stephen for this task." Sophia's other eyebrow joined the first. "Even if he is a combat medic," Castiel finished.
The waist-high angel fully opened her wings, folding them into place behind her back. She reached up to tap her chest, right over her breastbone, and gestured toward Castiel.
"No," he replied immediately. "I don't want to put them in danger."
Sophia rolled her eyes and shrugged theatrically, spreading her hands and fingers. "I realize that they attract trouble anyways, but they don't need any more," Castiel insisted.
The female angel pursed her lips and placed one hand on her stomach. "That is why I cannot ask them to do this," Castiel replied softly. "I will not endanger Mallory's child."
Sophia scowled, marched over to the taller angel, and poked him sharply in the stomach. Castiel stumbled backwards a step, caught off guard, and Sophia glared angrily up at him, wings flared aggressively. She poked him again, harder this time. Castiel caught her hand, feeling the fragile bones in his grip.
"Yes. I know," he said softly. "He will do anything I ask. That is why I cannot ask him this."
Sophia jerked her hand from his grasp, rubbing both of them over her head. A short cap of stubble
covered her scalp, the hair growing in dark brown. Setting her fists on her hips, she fixed Castiel with a hot glare, lips tight. Castiel, archangel that he was, dropped his gaze first. "I am not used to having friends," he admitted after a moment. "Siblings, yes. But not friends. If they agree to this, will you watch over them?"
Her expression instantly softened and she reached out to take Castiel's hand in both of hers, squeezing gently. He offered her the tiniest of smiles. "Thank you, sister."
XxxXxxX
Dean wriggled forward on his stomach, trying to ignore the dust every one of his movements kept disturbing. The weight on his back made his shoulder ache, the one he'd dislocated twice. Damn, he was getting old for this shit.
No. Not thinking about that. He was thirty-one, dammit.
With an annoyed grunt, he kept working his way down the suspended walkway, praying that the industrial fans covered whatever noise his progress was making. The interior of the old hanger was dark, lit only by a few bare bulbs and one floodlight in the center of the hanger floor.
Dean paused to check over the edge of the catwalk. He didn't have an uninterrupted view of the entire hanger. Snorting in a vain attempt to clear his nostrils of the ever-present dust, he kept moving. He froze when he heard voices beneath him, and a slamming door.
"You were supposed to be keeping an eye out!" exclaimed an angry, male Boston accent.
"He was undercover," protested a second male voice, also from Boston. "How the hell was I supposed to know he was a narc?"
"Russell's not gonna be happy when he finds out we offed a cop."
"He doesn't have to know. We still made the deal."
Dean eased an eye over the edge of the catwalk and saw the two men walking across the hanger floor, still arguing. Both of them were wearing loose clothing that could be easily discarded within seconds if necessary. They disappeared into the shadows on the other side of the hanger, their voices dropping to unintelligible.
A few more yards down the catwalk and Dean found the perfect vantage point. He rolled onto his side to unload the burden on his back. He unzipped the long case and pulled the .308 rifle free, wriggling around until he got it positioned to his liking. Now all he had to do was wait.
He'd started to get a cramp in his right leg before something finally began happening. He heard a yell from outside the hanger, and then a shadowed figure darted across the floor on silent feet. Dean only needed to see the figure run to immediately identify him as his little brother. Just before Sam disappeared among the boxes, crates, and tarps jumbled against the far wall, he turned and tossed something high into the air.
The flare tumbled end over end until it landed square in the middle of the shadowed end of the hanger, illuminating the last portion hidden to Dean's sight. The two Bostonians bolted into view from the same direction Sam had come, grinding to a halt at the sight of the hanger...and no Sam. "Where the fuck did he go?" one of the demanded.
The other replied by pulling off his shirt. He was reaching for his pants when Dean put a silver bullet through his back, straight into his heart. The other skinwalker whirled around, making the mistake of trying to track the shot instead of diving for cover. Dean's second bullet took him in the face. His third found the skinwalker's heart.
"Idiots," Dean muttered, sliding the bolt to eject the spent cartridge. Sam darted back into view, skidding to a halt over the bodies and looking up to give Dean a thumb's-up. He stooped to grab one of the corpse's arms and drag it out of sight behind a stack of crates. He was half-way to retrieving the second corpse when a blurred streak of fur exploded from the tarps.
Sam cried out in surprise as the dog impacted him at full-speed, knocking him to the ground. By sheer luck he managed to get one hand around the animal's throat, keeping it from biting him. Dean sighted through his rifle's scope, but Sam's head was blocking his shot to the skinwalker's heart.
"Dammit," he muttered, coiling to get to his feet.
Sam delivered a left hook to the dog's ear, stunning it enough to give him enough time to yank a knife from his boot. He buried it to the hilt in the skinwalker's neck. It howled in pain and recoiled backwards, flopping onto the ground as it writhed in agony. Sam scrambled to his feet, doing a quick check of himself to make sure there were no puncture wounds.
"Move, Sammy," Dean ordered under his breath, settling back behind his rifle. "Move, move, move."
Sam did, finally, stepping back from the injured skinwalker. Something about his body language pinged on Dean's radar, and he looked up from his scope with a frown. Sam kept backing up, eyes fixed on something underneath the catwalk Dean was currently on. Finally, two more people stepped into view, both of them carrying pistols, and both of them aimed directly at Sam's chest.
Dean's sigh exploded into a cloud of dust. "Well, crap."
He took about three seconds to come up with a plan to rescue Sam from the pistol-wielding skinwalkers. Getting to his feet as silently as he could, he slung the .308 over his shoulder using the strap and climbed over the rail. Clinging to the wire, he glanced down to check his position, and then let go.
He hit both of the skinwalkers on his way down, landing on them instead of the concrete floor. He lay there for a moment, dazed by the fifteen-foot drop, and then Sam was grabbing him, hauling him to his feet. "What the hell was that, you freak?" Sam demanded.
"That was me saving your ass," Dean muttered, trying to get his lungs working again. The two skinwalkers began stirring. Dean turned around and kicked the nearest one over onto his back. He swung the rifle off his shoulder and shot the man through the chest. He turned to the other one to find her halfway to dog-form and already leaping at him.
Dean threw himself backwards out of the way, landing on his but and bruising his tailbone. The skinwalker missed her lunge and landed fully canine, claws scraping over the concrete as she slid to a halt. She whirled and lunged for Dean again, only for a gunshot to ring out. She collapsed on her side, howling and whimpering. Sam looked down at her for a moment, then sighted down his pistol and finished her off.
"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled, getting back to his feet. It was gonna be hell sitting down tomorrow.
Sam only snorted. "You're welcome," he said, and stalked over to the skinwalker he'd knifed earlier. The creature was still in animal form, gone limp now from blood loss, but still alive. Sam quickly put it out of its misery. A moment later, they had three human corpses.
Dean crouched to look at the face of the male skinwalker he'd killed. "This makes seven, right?" he asked, chewing on his lower lip.
"Yeah," Sam replied, coming over to join him and slipping his pistol into the back of his waistband.
Dean looked up at his brother. "Russell isn't here."
XxxXxxX
The house was silent and dark, Dani and Logan retiring to bed. Mal had taken up post on the couch where she could see the security footage and hear if anyone tried to enter through the front or back doors. She had her notebook open in her lap and she chewed on the end of her pencil. She slowly flipped through the last couple of pages.
She hadn't realized it when she'd started writing, but everything was in Enochian. After she noticed, it had made sense. It was much easier to put down the memories of an angel in the language they were remembered in. She'd torn out and burned the pages with the demonic script and Abaddon's sigil. Some deep instinct had warned her that even the pencil-inscribed copy of the sigil was dangerous.
Mal turned to a blank page and took her pencil out of her mouth, beginning to make the inscriptions that were now more natural to her than even English. This particular memory was fresh, only having come to her last night.
Desert. Water. Palm trees. An oasis? Tents. The smell of spices and unwashed bodies. Crouching in the sand beside a small child: a girl.
"You are not like the others, Miriam," she tells the child. "You are not a monster."
Brown hair falling into wide, innocent eyes. "Why do they want to kill me?"
A hand to smooth the unruly curls. "Because they are afraid of you."
Mallory finished writing and the pencil went back between her lips. There had been some pretty strong emotions behind this memory, most not fully identifiable. Except one: fear. Mal had pondered long and hard what Amitiel would have been afraid of, but she didn't dare venture too far into the dark waters of the angel's memories.
"They say keeping a journal is a good way of relieving stress."
The notebook and pencil went flying in two different directions and Mallory did her best to climb onto the back of the sofa. Heart pounding, her eyes fixed on the opposite side of the room. Abaddon sat on the chair there, ankle to opposite knee. He held his cane across his lap. The crimson rose stood out on his lapel like a bloodstain.
"You're not really here," Mal whispered through numb lips, trying harder to disappear into the couch. Abaddon grinned crookedly at her.
"I don't have to be," he replied. "I can crawl into your lovely noggin whenever I want." He tilted his head at her. "What, you thought that since you escaped from hell you were free? No, sweet child. You see, you and I are connected. We have a...bond, you could say."
"What do you want?" Mal forced out from between clenched teeth. She wanted to flee but didn't dare make any sudden movement lest he attack. She could remember in vivid detail every psychic torture, every mental torment, and it completely paralyzed her in fear.
"You mean in the long run, or right now?" Abaddon asked, his smirk growing. "Because I want everything, darling. Hell. Earth. You, at my side where you belong. But right now I'll settle for seeing that you don't get a wink of sleep tonight."
"If you want me, why haven't you come for me?" she asked, and immediately wished she could snatch the words back, lest they sound like a challenge.
Abaddon shrugged. "Everything in time. There are certain...obstacles...that need removing first."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't know where I am," she whispered. His smile grew brittle. A tiny spark of courage burst into life in Mal's chest. "You can't find me," she said louder.
He chuckled and shook his head, recovering from his moment of vulnerability. "Ah, sweetheart, don't get your hopes up. Just because your lovely little angel's Grace hides you from my sight doesn't mean I don't have other methods at my disposal. I will find you. And when I do, you will come to me. Willingly."
"Don't count on it," Mal whispered.
Abaddon leaned forward and winked at her. "I'd bet on it," he retorted.
Mallory came awake in midair. She had precisely half a second to try to figure out where she was before the hardwood floor hit her back with painful force, driving all the air out of her lungs. "Oof," she gasped, blinking up at the ceiling. With stiff movements, she sat up, rubbing the back of her head. She had narrowly missed the coffee table by about two inches. Her notebook was under the table. Her pencil was nowhere to be found.
Mal retrieved her notebook and flipped it open to the last page, relieved to find there was no dream-writing this time. She stayed on the floor a moment longer, breathing deeply. A light in the hallway clicked on, and Dani stuck her head in the living room.
"Are you all right?" she asked, frowning. "I thought I heard something."
"Yeah, it's fine," Mal assured her. "I fell asleep and rolled off the couch."
"Ouch," Dani winced sympathetically. She stepped into the living room. She was wearing a t-shirt nightgown that reached her knees and a pair of fuzzy purple slippers. "Didja hit anything on the way down?"
"Just the floor," Mal replied, getting back onto the couch. "Sorry for waking you up."
Dani shook her head, blue-streaked hair swishing around her shoulders. "I wasn't asleep." Shuffling over to the couch, she indicated the unoccupied end. "Mind if I join you?"
"Go ahead," Mal replied. Dani plopped bonelessly onto the sofa with a deep sigh. "Rough night?" Mal asked, slightly amused.
"Well, the guy who's done his best to ruin my life for the last five years is in town," Dani replied dryly. "Nah, not really."
Mal chuckled noiselessly. "Yeah. I get the feeling." Then she shuddered involuntarily, the terror of Abaddon's visit still fresh. Dani zeroed in on her with intense blue eyes.
"Do you do it, too?" she asked.
Mal blinked at her. "Do what?"
"Kill monsters."
"No," Mal replied immediately. "No, I don't. I just..." she trailed off, unsure of what exactly it was she did. "Sam and Dean saved my life," she said at length. "They're like my family, now."
Dani nodded. "Logan saved mine, too. We met two years ago. I had no money, nowhere to go... He offered me a job. He owns his own business. Internet security."
"You good with computers?" Mal asked.
Dani laughed. "Heck, no. But he needed someone to drive him around and carry equipment. After he found out about Russell...we went on the run together. He's done everything he can to keep me safe."
Mal smiled. "You're lucky to have him."
The other girl smiled back. "I know."
Glass shattered in the kitchen. Mal was up and moving before the sound even stopped, her sword in her hand. "Stay here," she barked at Dani, and ran for the kitchen. Just as she rounded the doorway, a dark shape blurred toward her. She twisted to the side at the last possible moment, letting the dog pass harmlessly by her. It landed awkwardly in the hallway and skidded on the hardwood floors, only stopping when it met the front door.
Mal bolted forward, hoping to press her advantage, but the skinwalker quickly gained its feet. Mal dropped into a crouch, eying her opponent. It was a lanky shepherd mix with reddish-brown fur and a scar across its muzzle. Mal flipped her sword into a reverse grip. "What are you waiting for?" she challenged.
The dog snarled and lunged again, aiming for her sword arm. Mallory again dodged the attack, slamming her fist against the skinwalker's ribs with all her strength. There was a dull crack and the dog landed with a yelp of pain, falling and struggling to get back to its feet. Mal stalked over to it, readying her sword, when all of the sudden it wasn't a dog anymore, it was a lanky woman with russet hair and a scar across her lips.
"Please don't," she begged, raising one hand and clutching at her ribs with the other. "Please."
Mal took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and raised her sword.
"No!" Dani cried out, standing only a few feet down the hallway. "Mallory, don't!" Mal froze, caught off-guard by Dani's plea. The other young woman hurried forward, hands raised in supplication. "Don't kill her, please," Dani begged.
"Dani, what's going on?" Mal demanded, keeping her attention on the skinwalker at her feet.
"Her name is Lara," Dani said breathlessly. "She used to be my friend, back in Chicago. Please don't hurt her."
Mal stared down at the scarred woman for a long time before finally lowering her blade. "Dani, go get something for Lara to wear," she ordered. "And bring me the strongest chair you have."
Twenty minutes later, Mallory sat in the kitchen opposite Lara, who was tied to a metal chair. Mal crossed her arms over her chest, her sword still held in her right hand. Logan rolled himself to Mal's side.
"What are we going to do?" he asked softly.
Mal never took her eyes off Lara. "Wait for Sam and Dean to get back," she replied. "You should keep an eye out, make sure there's no more." He nodded and rolled into the living room. "Dani, go with him," Mal ordered.
"But," the other young woman tried to begin but Mal cut her off with a look. She obediently went.
"Are you going to kill me?" Lara asked timidly, not daring to meet Mal's gaze.
"That depends," Mal replied tersely.
Lara's eyes darted up for a second. "On what?"
"On you," Mal said.
The skinwalker frowned. "But you think I'm a monster," she said, confused.
Mal sighed and uncrossed her arms. "A monster isn't what you are," she told Lara. "It's what you do. There are human monsters, too. Trust me, I've met a few. You have a choice, Lara. You could go through life, never hurting anyone, and I'll be happy to leave you alone."
Lara's confusion grew. "But...you're a hunter. Russell's told us about your kind."
Mal leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. "I'm not a hunter, Lara," she said softly. "I don't want to kill anyone. I just..." she trailed off. "I just want what everyone wants, I guess," she continued wearily. "I want to be safe, happy. You can have that. All you have to do is make the right choices."
There was a noise from the living room. Mallory looked up at the doorway and managed to catch a glimpse of blue hair around the edge. She got to her feet. "Don't go anywhere," she told Lara. Dani was hovering just inside the doorway to the living room.
"Did you mean it?" she asked softly, eyes wide.
"Mean what?" Mal asked, brow puckered.
"What you said...about monsters." Dani ran a lock of hair through her fingers, alternately smoothing and twisting the indigo strand.
"Yes, I did," Mal assured her. She reached out and touched Dani's shoulder. "You okay?"
"Fine, yeah," Dani said quickly, trying to summon a smile.
"Uh, ladies?" Logan said nervously. "We have a problem." Mal and Dani turned to stare at him as he pushed away from his computer station. He pointed at one of the screens. "Russell is here."
"Oh, God," Dani whispered, her face growing pale. On the screens, a tall man with long, greasy dark hair prowled the edge of the property, looking for a way in. Mal plunged her hand into her pocket and yanked out her cellphone. Sam was speed-dial one, and he picked up on the first ring.
"He's here," Mal blurted. "Where the hell are you?"
"On our way," Sam replied tightly. "Don't do anything stupid."
"No promises," Mal told him and hung up. "Logan, go back to the bedroom and lock the door. No offense, but I need you out of the way."
He didn't look insulted. "What about Dani?" he demanded.
Mal turned to look at her. "I'm gonna need a wingman. You up for it?" Dani clenched her jaw and nodded despite the fact the blood had not returned to her face.
"Dani," Logan protested, but she cut him off.
"I can do this, Logan," she insisted. "I need to do this."
"Do you have something heavy?" Mal demanded. "Or anything silver?"
"We've got an old fireplace set in the basement," Dani replied instantly. "I think there's a poker." she darted off, leaving the other two behind.
Mal gestured at Logan. "Go. Move."
He frowned up at her. "Don't let her get hurt," he asked.
"I won't," she promised. "Hurry up." Once Logan was gone, Mal checked the security cameras again. Russel had scaled the fence and was now circling the building. She heard the back door rattle when he tried it. Then her heart skipped a beat. The window in the kitchen was broken.
"Shit," Mallory spat, and bolted into the room just as Lara screamed. The chair she was tied to was tipped over onto the floor, and she bled from three long gashes down her arm. A huge, dark-furred wolf stood over her, lips peeled back to reveal yellowed fangs. The beast's head whipped around at Mal's entrance, mustard-yellow eyes burning with hate and anger.
The wolf coiled his muscles, giving Mallory a fraction of a second's notice, just enough to dive out of the way as he pounced. He flew over her and landed in the doorway out to the hall, digging his claws in for traction and carving grooves into the floor. Mal scrambled to her feet, readying her sword.
Dani appeared from nowhere, bringing the iron poker down with all her strength onto the back of Russell's head. "That's for Dylan, you son of a bitch!" she shrieked, swinging the poker back up for another blow.
The wolf stumbled forward from the strength of Dani's strike, but recovered enough to turn on her, teeth snapping closed inches from her throat as she desperately backpedaled out of the way. Dani lost her balance and fell, landing on her butt and dropping the poker. She scrambled backwards as Russel lunged forward again.
Mal ran towards them, hoping to take advantage of Russell's distraction, but he spun around on his hind legs just as Mal reached him, bulling forward and ramming his shoulder into her stomach. Mal's breath left her in a rush but she still managed to score a long slice down Russell's side, the fur dampening immediately with blood. He snarled and recoiled, wary of Mal's sword.
She darted past him, grabbed Dani's arm, and hauled the other girl to her feet, bolting toward the front door. Russell would follow them out of the house, away from Logan and Lara. Just as they reached the door, it burst inward, and there were Sam and Dean, pistols raised and ready.
"Down!" Dean barked, and Mal threw herself to the floor, dragging Dani with her. Gunshots rang out over them, so many Mal lost count. Then it was finally silent. Mal lifted her head and twisted around. Russell's naked, bloody body lay in the hallway, completely still.
Dani stared at the corpse with wide eyes. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "Oh, my God."
Logan appeared from the bedroom. "Dani!" he called. "Are you all right."
"I'm fine," she assured him, getting to her feet and hurrying over to give him a hug. He smoothed her hair back form her face and kissed her.
Sam reached down to help Mal up. "Nice timing," she commented, smiling lopsidedly at him.
He grinned back at her and looked her up and down, visually checking her over. His smile suddenly turned to horror. "Mal," he whispered, reaching for her arm. "You're bleeding."
Mal looked down. There was a crescent-shaped tear in her sleeve, the edges stained with blood.