Nicholas rolled toward me, landing at my elbow. His eyes were fierce. He grabbed my chin and kissed me hard. It was over before I had time to react.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

“Duh,” I shot back, and returned the kiss, just as quick and just as hard before he dove away to gather stakes from a sleeping guard. He rose from a crouch and threw them like deadly confetti. They all moved so fast, it was like a watercolor painting, all blurs and smears. A woman dressed in red silk bared her fangs and hurled a sleek jet stake. Logan caught it before it imbedded itself in Nicholas’s chest.

“Shame to ruin such a nice jacket,” he said.

“Took your time getting here,” Nicholas returned with a grin, whirling to meet the next advance. They fought back to back like a spinning top of fury.

Helena reached Lady Natasha with a feral grin. Lady Natasha lifted her chin haughtily but stepped behind one of her guards. Helena slashed at his raven tattoos relentlessly until it was just her and the queen. Their swords met, clashing like ice cracking in the sea.

Hart followed Hope down the tunnel when she made a dash for safety. The rest of the battle went on, both impossibly quick and dragging on forever.

I kept crawling around the bodies, ducking flying boots and weapons. I had to get to Solange. I reached the bier with only shallow scrapes and a bruise from the elbow of a clumsy Helios-Ra agent. I swatted at the ravens until they flew off , landing on nearby furniture and eyeing me malevolently. Solange was cold, so cold I snatched my fingers back. Her eyelids and fingertips were the same purple as her lips. She made strange wheezing sounds, as if she was trying to breathe but couldn’t. Her mouth opened and closed, like a baby bird starving for its first meal.

And I had nothing to give her.

Which wasn’t even our biggest problem.

“Natasha, darling, you always did know how to throw a proper party.” The fighting stopped. It was as if someone pressed a cosmic pause button.

Everyone turned to stare at the vampire now standing just inside the cave, surrounded by warriors in brown leather tunics. He was smirking, his pale face striking under long black hair. I’d have thought he’d used Hypnos with the way people were reacting. He walked slowly forward, as if he had all the time in the world. His guard kept pace.

“Montmartre,” Lady Natasha murmured, satisfied. “I knew you’d come.” Leander Montmartre and his Host. Lady Natasha was the only one who was pleased with this new development. She actually shook Helena off to smooth her hair back into place. The mirrors reflected her smug, chilling smile.

“Yes, darling, but you’re looking a little haggard.” His gray eyes tracked Solange’s fitful breathing, her bruised-looking lips. “I’ve come for her, actually.” The smile turned to a snarl. “No.”

“Of course.” He sniffed the air as if it were laced with perfume. “No one else will do, surely you know that.”

“She’s a child. You love me.”

“Love.” He flicked a surprisingly smooth manicured hand. I would have expected it to have long nails crusted with blood, that’s how menacing his aura was. “Don’t be banal.”

“You’ve let yourself be swayed by talk of prophecies and legacies. But I’ll change that, you’ll see. She’s nearly dead.”

“I’ll have her, Natasha,” he said coldly.

“You’ll die first,” she shot back. “Araksaka!”

At Natasha’s command her tattooed guard swarmed forward to attack. She threw a white thorn stake, fangs gleaming. Montmartre’s Host bared their own teeth and leaped into the fray. The snarling and growling made the hair on my arms stand up.

Vampires turned to ash all around Montmartre, as if he was standing in a dusty field on a windy day.

“A moment, if you please,” he interrupted.

Again, the fighting stopped.

“There’s no need to thin our numbers this way,” he said pleasantly. “All I want is the girl.”

“Stay the hell away from my daughter.” Helena seethed. She flung her own stake, but one of the Hounds intercepted it before it could hit its mark.

“Your daughter needs me,” Montmartre told her. “So you’d best mind your manners when you speak to me.” He held up a chain with a glass vial encrusted with silver ivy leaves. “My Host were tracking in the woods and came across this most curious artifact.” Every single one of Solange’s brothers hissed. “I am assured this was once filled with Veronique’s blood, for Solange here. There are only a few drops left, but it should be enough. It rather looks as if she needs it.” Solange was barely breathing, and she was so pale the blue of her veins made her look nearly violet.

She was dying.

Or about to turn into a Hel-Blar.

I wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Hang on,” I whispered. “Please, please hang on.”

“I am prepared to let her have this,” Montmartre continued, swinging the chain.

The Drakes watched it, as if he were a hypnotist. “But I am going to need something in return.”

“What is it you want?” Liam asked, standing close to Helena, his hand on her arm.

She was straining not to explode.

“Why, I want the queen, of course.”

“I’m the queen,” Lady Natasha barked. Montmartre ignored her, which enraged her further. The whites of her eyes were slowly going red.

“You give me Solange, and I will give her life.”