She ignored it, keeping her hands loose on the reins, her shoulders relaxed, even as her heart and gut were tight as two tangled fists. If Rhoswen got him kil ed, it didn't matter if it kil ed Lyssa as well.

She'd come back and haunt her bitch sister for all eternity.

As Jacob kept up his dance with the horse, he started crooning in Gaelic. Calming words, a singsong chant he'd used with fractious and mistrustful mounts in the past. Whether or not it would have any effect on a kelpie, he knew nothing was going to get better until that bearing rein was released. It had been misused to deliberately goad the horse, the way cinching a strap over the testicles of a bul was done at rodeos to make them buck more ferociously. It proved Rhoswen as a hypocrite in her scorn toward humans. She was treating one of the creatures of her own world abysmal y to serve her own purposes.

He put aside the anger, because the horse would pick up any negative feeling and feed off it. Plus, he was handling a creature that was not exactly a horse.

Every time those nostrils flared and expel ed a bil ow of flame, he had to stay clear, though more than once the heat seared his skin. He could smel the fibers of his tunic smoldering from proximity alone.

Vaguely, he was aware the Unseelie procession was filing down the hil side. They'd meet the colorful Seelie train at Caislean Talamh, the Castle of Earth, and that route would be lined with more Fae, celebrating and encouraging the riders. He would have liked to see all that. If he survived this, maybe he could.

“Another minute,” he gritted, to both of them. He needed the procession to be clear of the castle, giving him room to do what he needed to do.

The horse squealed, baring yel ow teeth the size of his thumb knuckles. “I got it, you're pissed.” Jacob grunted with the effort to hold fast to the bridle. He flexed his other hand, ready to go for his knife. It might not be wise to cut off the only thing control ing the horse, but he fol owed his instincts, as he always had. Gideon had often said there was a reason the words instinct and insanity differed by only two letters.

With two quick movements, he sliced through the bridle and cinch, and tore it all free. Catching a handful of mane, he twisted himself up onto the horse's back, clamping down with knees and thighs, both hands buried in that long, long mane.

He'd expected the flame. It swarmed up over his hands, exploded and covered the stal ion's body, the heat searing through his clothing, hungry for his flesh.

Firewind was in motion, gal oping pel mel up the hil toward the castle. Those who'd gathered for the procession and lingered to watch his match with the kelpie now scrambled to get out of the way. Firewind moved in an erratic zigzag, so they had to be very quick, using wings as well as feet. Some only had time to throw their bodies out of the horse's path as he clattered onto the drawbridge, a streaming bal of rust and black flame with enraged crimson eyes.

Hold on . . . Jacob hammered himself with the mantra, his jaw clenched, a strangled cry in his throat as the fire licked at his skin. The excruciating pain would shortly become lethal, the fire burning him to ash. If Rhoswen was right and a kelpie wouldn't release its prey until it was drowned, then Firewind had to choose to let him off. It didn't matter. Jacob wasn't getting off until he'd accomplished the quest.

Instead, he trusted the horse's nature, which wouldn't care whether or not he was carrying an undrownable vampire. As a result, with an abrupt left turn, one that would have jerked his shoulder out of its socket if he hadn't anticipated it, the horse gathered himself and leaped off the drawbridge.

Plunging into the moat below, Firewind scattered a pod of selkies. Jacob bounced down hard, gritting his teeth at the less-than-kind slam of the horse's solid body against his testicles. The dousing of the fire was pure bliss, though. He suffered the abrasion of the water against the burns, but knew those would heal in a reasonably swift manner. Swimming strongly, the horse descended. The moat was so deep, he couldn't see the bottom, which made him wonder if there was a bottom at all. The waters were populated by unusual fish, selkies, curious merfolk and even a pair of sea serpents of intimidating size.

They eyed Jacob with obvious relish. If the current predator got tired of him, he suspected they were ready to finish the job.

Jacob ripped his tunic at the neckline and managed to pul it all the way off, securing his hold on it and the mane a blink before the horse rol ed.

Though Firewind did it several times, twisting and bucking in the water, Jacob kept his eyes closed, fol owing the horse's movement by instinct, knees and elbows in tight.

The kelpie made an underwater cry that reminded Jacob of an angry kil er whale. The powerful body shuddered, rocked and convulsed, and abruptly his swimming became rocket charged. Glancing back, Jacob saw Firewind had shifted the back legs into a powerful tail, the front legs churning to help with the movement. His neck and head were extended like a thoroughbred in the final stretch.

Jacob moved with him, thrusting his body out over that elongated neck. He brought the wet tunic down over the waterhorse's eyes and moved fast, tying it beneath the jawline, thank all the gods for vampire speed. Firewind screamed and rol ed again, but Jacob pul ed in the slack and shoved himself back down the neck to grapple the mane and hold tight with his knees once more. On his way there, Firewind's head snaked around. The kelpie bit his shoulder, sending a trail of blood inking away from them. Jacob wrenched free, got himself out of range.

He held both ends of the tied and ripped tunic like reins now, his palms clenched hard in the cloth to hold it fast on the animal's eyes.

The horse swung around so fast Jacob didn't see the wal of rock until it was too late. The crushing impact knocked his left hand loose, though the right held, tangled with mane as well as cloth. A strangled cry wrenched from his throat as ribs cracked, his left knee was pummeled into several pieces and his shoulder dislocated. The horse screeched his frustration, as loud as a banshee, even under water.

This was no horse. This was a creature of the night, a child's nightmare, an equine version of the Hounds of hell , its only intent to kil him.

Oh, bollocks on that. Boudiceaa had been the most il -tempered hell ion of a horse he'd ever known, with a true desire to murder anyone on her back.

This horse was male, which meant he should be far more reasonable.

Despite the blindfold, Firewind was headed back up to the top. He was probably going to burst into flame again. And whereas he'd been happy to try and dislodge Jacob under the water and crush him like a mal et shattered an oyster shel , aboveground he'd likely bind him to his back until he was a tiny pile of ash that Firewind released to the wind, along with the remains of the tunic blindfold.

As the kelpie broke the surface of the water, Jacob fumbled in the pouch that had been belted beneath his tunic, hoping the only thing he'd brought in anticipation of Keldwyn's warning was stil intact. It was.

There were gray spots in his vision. Unfortunately, vampires could pass out, if the stress on the body was too great and there was no ready blood supply on hand. Usual y, he only needed to draw from his lady once every several days. It was becoming a daily occurrence here.

Don't pass out. You'll be eaten by sea snakes, and Lyssa will be seriously pissed at you.

The kelpie was tossing his head about, thrashing in the water. Firewind hadn't counted on being too disoriented to find the bank right away, though he should manage it soon enough by smel , if he calmed down. Otherwise, he'd dive again. Jacob made his decision. He became Firewind's eyes, soothing him in Gaelic, using hand and knee signals and the horsemanship of a lifetime to convince the horse to fol ow his direction. The horse didn't trust him right away, but then the wind shifted and he realized Jacob was taking him toward the bank.

Jacob expected something smug went through the horse's mind like, What a dumbass. He wasn't sure he didn't agree.

They were a quarter mile from the rear wal of the castle, no longer part of the circular moat, but in one of the feeder tributaries. As the horse gained the solid ground, shifting back to four legs, he shook off like a dog, making the seaweed and shel s in his mane slap Jacob's hands. Then he gave a quick squeal, a bone-jarring hop that almost dislodged Jacob.

The good news was he wasn't using the reputed Super Glue abilities to lock Jacob on his back, maybe because it only worked in the water, to make sure his passenger drowned, a moot point with a vampire. He also didn't appear to be able to use his fire right away when he emerged from the water. A smal but vital blessing.

So Firewind went for the nasty trick that the most temperamental and intel igent horses knew. He buckled, headed for the ground rol to flatten Jacob like a pancake.

Jacob threw himself clear with a pained cry, right before the hooves would have kicked out on the turn and caved in the side of his skul .

As Firewind scrambled back to his feet, Jacob wrapped the hand of his dislocated arm in the trailing tail of the tunic. He let out an agonized grunt as he used the force of Firewind's yank against it to pop the shoulder back in place. Using his other hand, he pul ed the item out of the pouch belted on his bare waist. It wouldn't have worked underwater, because the scent might have been masked.

Firewind had been too agitated when he was guiding him to shore, but now was the time to give it a try. His window of opportunity was the size of a postage stamp.

He'd asked the kitchen staff for the apples earlier in the evening, and they hadn't been too grudging about it, though the narrow-eyed fairy cook made sure he didn't take more than two. He'd made idle cuts in the apple with his knife as he talked to her about the proper way to marinate squash. Afterward, he discreetly dropped the apples in a bin of sugar, coating the fruit and then wrapping them up in a scrap of waterproof skin he'd found at the stables.

He'd learned to be prepared for almost any contingency, and the waterproofing would help seal in the flavor. A sugar apple had been one of Bou's favorite treats at the Ren Faire, sure to mel ow her up when she regressed into foul temper and fear.

Keeping his arm up so the horse could scent the apple was an exercise in torment, since his ribs were broken and the shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch. It was amazing, what kind of pain a man could overcome when he knew it couldn't actual y kil him.