Then he saw Glenna, struggling her way up a sheer slope, and outnumbered three-to-one. Her battle-ax flamed, and each time she took an enemy, more crawled their way up toward her.

And when he saw the black figure on the high ridge, he understood why so many would go against a single woman.

The power of the circle battled back the hunger as he swept through the air toward his brother’s wife.

He sent three tumbling down against rock, into traps of stakes and pools of holy water with a wild strike from the dragon’s tale. His sword took two more even as Glenna’s fiery ax turned enemies into flaming dust.

“Give you a lift?” He swooped down, circled her waist with his arm and hauled her up.

“Midir. The bastard.”

Understanding, Cian soared up again. But when he struck out with the dragon’s tail, it bounced off as if it hit rock.

“He’s shielded. The coward.” Breath short and choppy, Glenna searched the ground for Hoyt. And felt the lock on her lungs release when she saw him fighting his way up the slope.

“Set me down on the ridge, and go.”

“The hell I will.”

“This is what’s needed, Cian. It’s magic against magic for this. This is why I’m here. Find the others, get ready. Because by all the gods and goddesses, we’re going to do this.”

“Okay, Red. My money’s on you.”

He flew over the ridge, pausing while she slid down. And left her to face the black sorcerer.

“So, the red witch has come here to die.”

“I didn’t come for the ambiance.”

She raised a hand, and charged with a swing of her ax. The widening of his eyes told her the move had surprised him. The flaming edge of the ax cut through the shield, but the blade missed its mark. She was propelled back, lifted into the air, slammed hard into the ground.

Though she threw out her own power, the scorching heat of his black lightning seared the palms of her hands. She held them out, held her power in them as she pushed painfully to her feet.

“You can’t win this,” he told her as dark shimmered around him. “I’ve seen the end, and your death.”

“You’ve seen what whatever devil you sold yourself to wants you to see.” She hurled fire, and though he deflected it with a snap of his wrist, she knew he felt her burn even as she’d felt his. “The end’s what we make it.”

With icy fury on his face, he brought a cutting wind that slashed at her skin like knives.

T hey were holding, Blair thought. She believed they were holding, but for every foot of ground the Geallians held, more vampires swarmed through the night and over it.

She’d lost track of her kills. A dozen at least with sword and stake, at least that many with air attacks. And still it wasn’t enough. Bodies littered the ugly ground, and even her strength was pushed to its limit.

They needed to pull the rabbit out of the hat, she thought, and screamed in vengeance as she slayed a vampire who’d stopped to feed on one of the fallen.

Whirling, slashing at others, she saw Glenna and Midir on the high ridge, and the firestorm of black against white as they battled.

She grabbed a lance from a dead hand, shot it out like a javelin. The spear tip went through two vampires fighting back to back, and the wood pole pierced hearts.

Something leaped down from above. Her senses caught just the edge of it, and her instincts had her pumping up into a high, wide flip. She slashed her sword as she touched ground, and clashed it against Lora’s.

“There you are.” Lora slid her blade down until it met Blair’s to form a V. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Been around. You got something on your face there. Oh! Gee, is that a scar? Did I do that? My bad.”

“I’ll be eating your face shortly.”

“You know that’s wishful thinking, right? In addition to being disgusting. Enough small talk for you?”

“More than.”

The swords sang as they slid apart. Then the music crescendoed as blade struck blade.

In moments, Blair understood she was facing the most formidable enemy of her career. Lora might look like a B movie dominatrix wrapped in snug black leather, but the French bitch could fight.

And take a punch, she thought when she finally got past Lora’s guard long enough to slam a fist in the vampire’s face. Blair felt the burn shoot a line across her knuckles as fangs sliced her flesh.

Blair flipped up to the jagged teeth of a rock, hacked down. And met air as Lora rose off the ground as if she had wings. Lora’s sword whistled past Blair’s face, and the tip of it sliced her cheek.

“Oh, will that leave a scar?” Lora landed on the rock with her. “My bad.”

“It’ll heal. Nothing about you is going to last much longer.”

She answered first blood with a lightning parry of her own, gashing Lora’s arm, then followed it through with a ripple of fire.

But Lora’s sword struck the blade aside, going black against the red flame. The fire spurted and died.

“You think we weren’t ready for that?” Lora bared her teeth as they hacked and thrust and swung. “Midir’s magic is more than your magicians can ever hope for.”

“Then why don’t all of your troops have swords like yours? He couldn’t pull it off.” Blair flew up again, flipping over and striking Lora with her feet. The vampire used the momentum to soar up, driving down with the sword on her descent.

Raising hers to block, Blair didn’t see the dagger that flew out of Lora’s other hand. She stumbled from the shock, the pain, when it pierced her side.

“Look at all that blood. It’s just pouring out of you. Yum.” Lora laughed, a tinkling sound of delight, when Blair fell to her knees. And her eyes gleamed red as she raised the sword high for the killing blow.

With a mad, undulating howl, the gold wolf pounced from above. Claws and fangs raked as he leaped over the swinging sword, as he lunged and snapped. When he bunched to spring for the throat, Blair cursed.

“No! She’s mine. You gave your word.” Her breath whistled as she stayed on her knees, the dagger still lodged in her side. “Back off, wolf-boy. Back the hell off.”

The wolf shimmered into a man as Larkin stepped back. “Get it done then,” he snapped, his eyes grim. “And stop messing about.”

“Pussy-whipped, is he?” Lora circled so that she could keep them both in her line of sight—the bleeding woman, the unarmed man. “But he’s right, we really should stop messing about. I’ve a busy schedule.”