“I said make yourself useful, not cataclysmic,” he snapped, terrified by the knowledge that Laylah was somewhere in the trees and that she could easily have been harmed.

“Hey, I do not critique your battle techniques,” the tiny gargoyle protested.

The ridiculous squabble was brought to a thankful end as Laylah appeared behind them, holding a small child in her arms.

He grimaced at the protective ward that surrounded the baby. Despite being transparent it visibly shifted, distorting and obscuring the image of the child. He doubted even Laylah had ever had a clear view of what she was carrying around.

Not that she seemed to give a damn.

His heart clenched with an odd ache as her expression softened and she cradled the baby against her with maternal care.

Her short, crimson hair was mussed. Her jeans and T-shirt were marred with grass stains. And there was a streak of dirt on her cheek.

And she’d never looked more content.

Unaware of his fascination, she lifted her head, the tender expression hardened as she glanced toward the charred trees decorated with bits and pieces of Sylvermysts.

“Gods.” She shuddered. “Where did they come from?”

Levet waddled toward her, his gaze taking a cautious inventory of the child in her arms.

He wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

Tane couldn’t sense the stasis spell that bound the baby, but he was wise enough to give it a wide berth.

“I don’t know where they came from,” the gargoyle said, “but I know who they’re traveling with.”

“Marika?” she asked.

“And the mage,” Levet confirmed Tane’s suspicions. “I am going to turn him into a pile of fairy dung.”

She shook her head. “No, we have to get out of here.”

Tane moved to grasp her arm, tugging her away from the carnage.

“Levet, keep watch,” he ordered, his narrowed glance warning he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

Perhaps sensing Tane’s hidden motive, the gargoyle gave a ready nod.

“Oui.”

He maneuvered Laylah behind a large oak before she dug in her heels and narrowed her gaze. The gargoyle wasn’t the only one to guess his motive. “Don’t even think about it.”

He held her furious gaze. “Laylah, you must shadow walk.”

“And leave you and Levet here to die?” “Your faith in my skills is always heartwarming,” he said wryly.

“You’re surrounded, outnumbered, and my lunatic aunt is out there with a powerful mage,” she said without apology. “What do you think your odds are?”

“They would be considerably better if you weren’t here.”

She winced at his brutal honesty. “What?” she muttered. “I pricked your pride now you have to insult me?”

He released his grip on her, folding his arms over his chest. He refused to back down.

He couldn’t force Laylah to obey him, but he was happy to use whatever emotional blackmail necessary.

“Think, Laylah. Your aunt and her horde from hell are searching for you. Once you’re gone she won’t have any reason to continue her attack.”

She frowned. “You can’t be certain.”

“Marika’s crazy, not stupid.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s not going to risk her warriors on a bunch of wood sprites and a vampire who has no value to her.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, unable to deny the truth of his words.

“I … I can’t.”

“You have no choice,” he ruthlessly pressed. “You claimed the child as your own. Now you must protect him.”

Her lips tightened as a battle between loyalties raged inside her. At last, her fierce need to protect the innocent child in her arms overwhelmed all else.

“Damn you,” she muttered, stepping back as she prepared to enter the mists.

Relief blasted through him, but his primitive instincts had him moving forward to kiss her with a stark promise.

“Laylah,” he whispered, careful to avoid contact with the child in her arms.

“What?”

“Don’t think this is over.” He pulled back, his face hard with resolve. “I’ll find you.”

She met him glare for glare. “If you get yourself killed …” “Go.”

With one last kiss, he spun away and headed back to Levet, but even with his back turned he felt the moment she disappeared.

It wasn’t the absence of her soft breath. Or the prickling heat of awareness he felt when she was near.

It was the gaping hole in the center of his chest.

He absently rubbed the mark that Siljar had seared onto his skin, as if it might ease the icy emptiness.

God almighty.

He was in deep shit.

As if to emphasize the point, he stepped through an opening in the trees to be greeted by a half dozen Sylvermyst warriors advancing with their crossbows raised.

“Arrows.” Levet heaved a tragic sigh. “Must they be so predictable?”

Tane wasn’t nearly so dismissive. A wooden arrow through the heart would make for a very bad night. Besides, they hurt like a bitch coming out.

“Hard to beat the classics,” he said, halting a step behind the gargoyle as the tiny demon lifted his hands to launch a fireball at the encroaching enemy.

“True.” Levet glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “And they are most effective against vampires. Always the mark of a fine weapon.”

“Not only vampires.” He bared his fangs. “The Sylvermyst are rumored to hex their arrows with spells that make demons impotent.”

The gray eyes widened in pure male horror. “That is not a matter to jest about.”

Tane gave a twirl of his Sylvermyst sword, knocking aside a flurry of arrows.

“Who says I’m jesting?”

“You are truly a wicked man,” Levet muttered.

“So I’ve been told.”

With a flick of his tail, Levet turned back toward their attackers, lobbing another fireball among the trees. The sudden light revealed a tall form standing in the shadows, watching the battle in silence.

The leader.

Tane was certain of it.

Not that he had much opportunity to assess the danger. Dodging the flames, two of the Sylvermyst leapt directly at him, their swords slashing toward his head.

With a speed that no fey could follow, Tane spun to the side, striking out with his sword.

His blow was blocked by a matching sword, the sparks flying through the air. Sensing movement behind him, Tane used his superior strength to shove the fey off balance, turning to meet the second sword thrust.

The blade moved smoothly through the air, speaking of the craftsmanship of the sword. Obviously the Sylvermyst were well armed.

And well trained …

He growled as the opponent behind him jabbed his sword through the fleshy part of his shoulder, obviously hoping to disable him long enough to strike a killing blow. A wise strategy if he was battling anything but a vampire.

Gritting his teeth, Tane grasped the end of the sword sticking out of his shoulder, pulling it deeper into his body.

The Sylvermyst breathed a sound of shock, but grimly held onto his weapon. A lethal mistake. With a last yank, Tane had the warrior close enough to his back that he could reach over his wounded shoulder and grab him by his long braid.

A cry was ripped from the fey’s throat as he found himself flying over Tane’s head and landing on his partner had grimly been attempting to get past Tane’s sword.

The two went down in a pile of flailing limbs and curses, and Tane didn’t hesitate as he sliced off the head of one Sylvermyst and then the other.

A potent scent of herbs filled the air as the blood of the fey soaked into the mossy ground, but Tane didn’t pause to admire the gory victory. Spinning the sword, he turned, not at all surprised to discover yet another fey barreling through the trees in his direction.

Dammit. Enough was enough. He was tired of playing pincushion for the bastards. Yanking his dagger from its sheath he sent it sailing in one smooth motion.

The fey tried to dodge to the side, but the blade sank deep in his throat, slicing through a major artery. For a minute the warrior remained indifferent to the blood pouring down his chest. It wasn’t until his knees buckled and he fell forward that he realized the danger of the gaping wound.

Tane was on him before he could try to stem the flow, sinking his fangs into his flesh and draining the last of the blood from his limp body.

The power of the fey flowed through his veins, helping to heal his wounds.

Straightening, he was prepared for the next attack.

An attack that never came.

Instead the remaining fey sank back into the shadows. All but the tall warrior that Tane had already tagged as the leader.

He reached down to pull the dagger from the fallen warrior as the Sylvermyst strolled through the underbrush, a large crossbow pointed at Tane’s chest.

He was taller than the others and built with more bulk than most fey, but he had the same oddly metallic eyes of the other Sylvermyst that shimmered with a pure bronze in the moonlight. His long hair was a dark shade of chestnut and his delicate features held an arrogant sneer.

Tane narrowed his gaze. Ah, the pleasure of knocking that sneer from the too-pretty face.

A pity he needed answers more than he needed the pleasure of slicing and dicing another fey.

Obviously the Sylvermyst came to the same conclusion as he stepped into the small clearing, his crossbow aimed, but his finger off the trigger.

“Where is the child?” the Sylvermyst demanded, his voice holding a power that filled the air.

Tane’s fingers tightened on the sword. Damn. This Sylvermyst was different.

Dangerous.

“Why don’t you come and find out?” he invited, wanting the creature close enough he could rip out his heart if necessary.