Something barreled into Sloan's back and sent her hurtling. She bounced against the ground and smacked into something hard and vertical, rolling back with her hand still clutching the handle of her gun and her nose hemorrhaging blood. Delaney flew to her side but Sloan waved away any gestures of aid and stood on her own, wiping the blood with the back of her hand.

Before them loomed a massive creature, a lion body with the head of a man, its pitiless gaze a mess of fragmented distortion where its face should be. With muscled feline limbs the lamassu stalked toward them, sidewinding through lesser wraiths which quivered and cackled restlessly.

Sloan had fought greater wraiths before, but long ago. She hefted her gun and traced the lamassu's path. Last time she squared against something like this, she had Clair Ibsen at her side.

Plan? said Delaney.

Isn't that your job?

She stepped back and fired. With a rat-a-tat-tat her gun spewed light from its nozzle. The lamassu blinked out of way and lunged with monstrous talons and endless reams of fangs. Delaney flung up a bubble but the beast smashed through it like you might expect a thousand-pound abomination composed of stone and hatred to smash through a bubble. Sloan threw herself aside only to bump into Delaney, unable to make much distance as a claw raked into her side and ripped a pound of flesh out of her.

(Chapter 3)