"She must be . . ." Sabine trailed off when a yell sounded from outside. Soon the din of bridled horses and marching soldiers followed.
Sunset. The vampires were attacking. "I have to leave. I won't return for some time."
"Why? Where are you going?"
To try to shore up the cracks in my brother's sanity. And if unsuccessful. . . "To the battlefield."
17
O
mort's still comatose?" Lanthe asked telepathically as she sidestepped a stray centaur arrow.
Sabine swung her long sword at a vampire's neck- from behind-slicing clean through. "No, not comatose, just descending further into madness." She scooped her steel-toed boot under the vampire's severed head, punt­ing it away. "Omort's glassy-eyed, sweating, demanding sacrifices."
Just hours ago Sabine had gone to his tower again- and she loathed going there-to implore him to deci­mate the converging army. She'd found him sitting on his bed, petted by the still-healing Hettiah, screaming for another sacrifice. "Something young!"
"We can't win this without him," Lanthe said. "Even if we can only be seen by our trail of headless bodies." Invis­ibility had its merits.
"You're right."
The revenants were decent enough fighters, but they were mindless. Though the Libitinae prowled from the
night sky, and were cunning killers, they played with
their victims.
The centaurs had their poisoned arrows, but they were at a disadvantage with tracing vampires because they were such big targets-multiple vampires would launch themselves onto a centaur's back, then haul him to the ground, draining him all the while.
Lothaire's vampires were cutting a swath, yet there were only so many of them. Sabine spied him far across the battlefield, engaging others of his kind, slaughtering with a wild grin on his face, the first time she'd ever seen him smile. His hair was braided on the sides of his face, berserker style, the thick strands dark with blood.
Sabine tilted her head. He was as tall as the demon, but not as muscular. Why am I thinking about the demon
now?
With an inward shake, Sabine thrust her sword at an unwitting vampire. Once she'd felled him, she watched Lanthe gut a leech, yanking her sword up through his
body.
Lanthe was normally so pensive and thoughtful, but in combat she was vicious. A dozen times already, Sabine had wanted to call out, "That's my little sister!"
"Sabine!" Lanthe suddenly cried. "Why are vampires
looking at us?"
Sabine peered around them. She and Lanthe were ... visible? She flicked her hand to cast another illusion, to
no avail.
Only one person could extinguish her power like this. "Hettiah." She'd made them visible. "Can you do a portal?" Sabine asked as she and Lanthe put their backs
together, circling, swords raised as they searched for escape.
"Already tried and got nothing," Lanthe answered. They were surrounded, vampires edging closer and closer.
"I think we're dead."
"I think you're right."
They were now both powerless, two little Sorceri females in the middle of the vampire Horde. Sabine scanned the distance for Lothaire but didn't see him-
One leech dove for her with his fangs bared, grazing her skin until he hit her breast plate. She was able to duck under him and fell him with a backhanded hit. But more were advancing.
Hundreds more.
Strangely, at a time like this, Sabine found herself wondering how the demon would feel about her death. Would he mourn his female?
Lanthe whispered out loud, "Abie?"
Sabine heard her, even over the clamor of the battle-hooves thundering, bowstrings singing, swords clashing.
Closer . . . What to say to her sister? How to protect her?
The end was coming . . . vampires rushing for-ward . . . almost reaching them . . . until the attackers became ... ash.
Their forward momentum sprayed the soot over the sisters' boots.
Power sieved all around them. Sabine twisted toward the castle. Omort stood on the ramparts, with his
mouth open, eyes maniacal, and palms raised. He had smote them all.
Like all the warriors of the Pravus still standing, Sabine stared up at Omort in shock.
Sudden silence reigned on the torn and bleeding battlefield. Wind blew her braids around her face, and she could hear nearby trees rustling in the breeze. Night birds sang in the distance.
The ash scattered....
Omort turned that murderous gaze on Hettiah. She fell to her knees, weeping.
Lanthe stood by Sabine's side. "That's the being you want us to take on?"
Sabine had told him she was going to the battlefield.
He wanted to prevent her from riding out to meet those who would kill her. And to prevent her from slay­ing them-most likely his own people. He suspected that they'd learned of his capture and were rebelling.
She is out there, unprotected. He wrenched his arms hard against his manacles in frustration, the healing muscles in his torso screaming in protest. Now that he was able to rise from the bed, they'd begun chaining his hands behind his back once more. Though the skin on his uncovered chest was newly mended, raised like a new scar, he still suffered pain whenever he stood or moved suddenly. He paced, willing her to return.
I can change her. I can make her understand right from wrong. Once I escape . . .
He was talking himself into the impossible, because he wanted his mate beyond reason. He recalled that
dream of his. That perfect peace. He craved it like nothing before. He wanted the Sabine from their last night together, the woman who'd set his blood on lire.
She's mine. For better or worse, she's my woman.
Don't die . . . don't. . .
When he caught her scent, his eyes briefly closed. Shortly after, she entered the cell, standing before him. She was out of breath, her breastplate rising and fall­ing. She wore a spiked headdress connected to a col­lar, metal hose, and full-length gloves with razor-sharp claws.
Her eyes were dilated and blue, and she bled from the corner of her lips. She'd come to him straight from the fray? He narrowed his eyes. She's shaken. Rydstrom knew what a soldier who'd had a near miss looked like. And she's come to me.
When blood trickled to her chin, she swiped her forearm over it.
So beautiful. So deadly. Mine. In an instant, he grew hard for her. No! How can I want her when she's fresh from a battle-with my own people?
Yet when she ran for him, nothing could have stopped him from lunging forward for her. Her hands shot up to cup his face as she stood on her toes to kiss him. Her lips were so soft, trembling beneath his.
He'd been out of his mind with needing to see her safe again, and showed her how much with his kiss. Relief. He took her with his tongue, savagely slanting his lips over hers, until she was clutching his shoulders. With a groan, he finally broke away. "What happened tonight?"