Circle of Death by Keri Arthur Page A

particular dead man.
    He danced away from another blow, then jabbed at the creature’s jaw. Its head snapped back, and it snarled—or smiled. It was a little hard to tell given half its mouth had decayed away. He jabbed again, but the zombie caught the blow in his fist and twisted hard. Pain burned white-hot up Doyle’s arm and sweat beaded his brow. Gritting his teeth, he dropped, sweeping the creature’s feet out from under it. It fell with a crash that shook the foundations of the building but began scrambling upright almost immediately. Doyle jerked his wrist from the zombie’s grasp, then punched the creature in the neck, feeling flesh and muscle give under his blow. The zombie’s eyes went wide and it started gasping, as if unable to breathe. Zombies weren’t the brightest creatures. They were dead and didn’t actually need air, but most didn’t realize that immediately, if ever.
    He jumped toward it, wrapping an arm around its throat and squeezing tight. The zombie roared—asound that came out strangled and harsh. It reached back, grabbing Doyle by the back of the neck and wrenching him over its head. Doyle hit the wall with a grunt and dropped in a heap to the floor, only to feel the boards quiver as the zombie ran at him. He scrambled away on all fours, resisting the sudden urge to shapeshift. A panther wouldn’t have a hope against the superior strength of this zombie. And in that form, he certainly couldn’t snap the creature’s neck—the only surefire way of killing it.
    Fingers raked his side, seeking purchase. He rolled to his feet and grabbed the zombie’s arm, twisting around and pulling hard. The creature sailed past him and landed with a crash on its back. Doyle stiffened his fingers and knifed them toward the creature’s eyes. It moved, and he hit cheek instead, feeling flesh and bone give as its cheek caved in. Teeth gleamed at him in the brightening light of day.
    Shuddering, he twisted, sweeping the creature off its feet again as it struggled to rise. It roared in frustration and lashed out. The blow caught the side of his face and sent him staggering. The creature was up almost instantly, arms outstretched as it sought to corner him.
    He faked a blow to the creature’s head, then spun and lashed out at a bony-looking knee instead. The force of the blow shuddered up his leg, and in the silence, the crack of the creature’s knee shattering was audible. It didn’t seem to matter to the zombie, though. It staggered toward him, arms milling quicker than a high-speed fan and twice as deadly.
    He couldn’t duck every blow. He was fast, but even the wind would have had trouble in this situation. The zombie’s fists hit him in the ribs. Red heat flashed throughhim. He hissed and spun, lashing out again at the zombie’s knee. This time, the whole knee bent backward and the creature howled, a sound loud enough to wake the dead—and the neighbors.
    Downstairs, there was a crash, and magic burned across his skin. Someone had sprung the spell on the front door. Not Camille—she would have deactivated it first. Maybe one of the neighbors had heard all the noise and had decided to come in and see if there was a problem. If that were the case, he hoped the neighbor hadn’t been hurt.
    He aimed another kick at the creature’s leg, but it sidestepped and caught his foot, thrusting him back. He hit the wall with a grunt, then ducked another blow. The creature’s fist hit the wall instead, and dust flew. It was so damn close its reek was almost overwhelming. Gut churning, he threw another punch, mashing the creature’s already bulbous nose. The creature howled. He spun, kicking the zombie in the gut, forcing it away, desperate to gain some room to move—and breathe.
    Lightning seared through the room, encasing the zombie in a web of blue-white light and pinning it to the floorboards. It howled and thrashed but could not escape. The smell of burning flesh added depth to the already horrendous