It reformed, flowing back into the monster’s body.

They had pissed Malphas off, but they weren’t killing him. Graydon wasn’t even sure they were hurting him. Djinn were creatures of Power and spirit, not flesh.

“When you tear off pieces of his body, throw them toward me,” Carling shouted. “Otherwise, he’ll just keep re-forming!”

Throw pieces of the Djinn at the witch. Got it.

With a roar, he tore into Malphas’s new monster body, ripped away a tentacle and tossed it at Carling. She flung out one hand, fingers splayed. Power shot out from her palm like a fireball and obliterated the tentacle before it could melt and flow back into the Djinn’s body.

That hurt him.

Malphas’s howling raised in tone, until it sounded like the whistle of a gigantic teakettle. The sound split the air, driving like a spike into Graydon’s good ear.

As the sound increased, the monster’s body began to heat, until a light poured out that was so bright, Graydon had to squint to endure it. The heat increased until the Djinn felt like a burning flame.

All the while, his immense body boiled and convulsed. The three gryphons tore pieces off the monster, flinging them at Carling. Most of the time, she struck them with a ball of Power, but sometimes she missed, and they flowed back into the Djinn.

Tentacles flailed, driving spikes toward each of the men. One tentacle snaked around Graydon’s waist before he could deflect it, lifting him bodily to slam him repeatedly into the rocks. He felt ribs snap and coughed in breathless anguish.

The heat turned unbearable. He felt his skin sear where he came in contact with the Djinn.

Someone shouted. Not the teakettle. One of them.

Julian was bellowing in agony.

How long could the Vampyre bear to hold on?

If he lost his hold, they lost Malphas. He couldn’t get away. He couldn’t.

The battle hadn’t lasted for very long, but it felt like it had been going on forever. With renewed frenzy, Graydon tore at the monster, gouging huge chunks out of his flesh.

The monster heaved, flipping over completely, knocking them all to shit. At the same time it speared Rune high in one thigh. As Rune roared, it flung him with such vicious force so that Rune slammed into a waist-high boulder half submerged in water. His head snapped back, and he slid into the icy water.

Screaming, Carling lunged after him.

Graydon had just torn a tentacle from the monster’s body. The physical shape flowed away from his grasp, back into Malphas’s body.

At the same moment, Peacekeeper war mages raced onto the scene while medics jumped into the water to help Carling pull an unconscious Rune to shore.

“Over here!” one of the Peacekeepers shouted, his hands up and beckoning.

Graydon twisted at the waist. His broken ribs ground together: more agony. This nightmarish bastard had to die. Growling, he tore off another tentacle with his teeth and flung it over his shoulder at the Peacekeeper.

Constantine shouted. Even though the other sentinel strained against the monster, so close the two men could have touched, he fought on the side of Graydon’s deafened ear. His shout sounded like it came from a great distance.

The world was in motion. Everything happened so fast.

Hard hands clamped onto his shoulders as the other sentinel grabbed him and twisted. Despite the fact that Graydon was the bigger and heavier of the two, Constantine bodily yanked him off his feet, thrusting himself between Graydon and the monster.

Con’s mouth was open, forming words. Graydon saw the other man’s lips shape: “LOOK OU—”

A spike burst out of Constantine’s chest, in a starburst of blood. A massive tentacle drove the spike through the other man’s body so hard, it knocked Constantine into Graydon and pierced through Graydon’s chest wall, biting deep.

Impaled together, the two men’s eyes met, horrified dark gray looking into a blue gaze that turned rather wry. Blood poured out of Constantine’s mouth. He lifted a hand to his lips, as if to stop the flood.

Then the tentacle shook them off, flinging them both to the ground. Knocked end over end, the rocky ground tore at Graydon’s body until he rolled to a stop. His rib cage was shattered to hell. He tried to suck in a breath, fought to get up on his hands and knees.

Shaking uncontrollably, he finally got one knee underneath him and looked down at the ground. All around him, people were shouting. Chaos surged along the beach.

None of it touched the immense, bottomless silence inside him.

He saw white on black rock. As he pressed a hand to the wound in his chest, his blood mingled with the red of his friend’s heart’s blood.

It dripped between his fingers, spreading in the snow like the bloom of roses.

Some things in life are axiomatic.

There really is no good way to rip off a bandage. And there was no unobtrusive way to invade the Elven residence in New York City. Even the stealthiest entrance would set off every alarm in the large, tightly guarded house, so they had to be prepared for confusion and violence until they got the situation under control.

Bel and her group had to wait until the battle had started on Hart Island before they could act. They needed to know that Malphas was trapped before they moved on Ferion.

As they waited for word, they gathered again in the living room of the suite. Bel felt physically ill, and from the white, tense expression on Melly’s face, the other woman felt the same.

Somehow, Julian would get hold of the Djinn, and somehow, the others would attack. Fueled by her runaway imagination, images played through her mind.

Soren held a cell phone in one hand. When it vibrated, she felt her stomach bottom out.

He glanced at the screen, his face grim. He said, “It has started.”

Dread made her muscles tremble. That very moment, Graydon was fighting for his life. So was every one of the others who fought with him.