Tane ducked as the blade swiped a mere inch above his head. Wisely he kept low as he took out the warrior’s legs and drove him hard into the ground.
The Sylvermyst spoke in a language that grated harshly on Tane’s ears, but even as the words formed Tane was slicing his throat.
He wasn’t in the mood to be hexed or cursed or hit with any other nasty spell.
Once assured there weren’t going to be any surprises, Tane kicked the sword out of the fey’s hand and efficiently cut out his heart.
The eyes, a strange, metallic shade of copper, widened in shock. As if he hadn’t expected to be killed by an enraged vampire.
Fool.
With the two nearest warriors dispatched, Tane grabbed the Sylvermyst’s sword and straightened. If the magic filling the air wasn’t screwing with his senses there were plenty more where those came from.
He was kicking aside the nearest corpse to make sure it didn’t impede his movements when the explosion rocked the ground from beneath his feet.
He flowed upright, his startled gaze sweeping his surroundings.
The trees in front of him were flattened, the massive trunks still smoking, and the dirt that filled the air settling on top of them.
More impressive, the four fey who had been approaching were now scattered across the ground in a dozen different pieces.
“Holy mother …” he breathed, tugging out the arrows stuck in his flesh. Levet’s wings flapped in embarrassment. “Oops.”
Oops?
The gargoyle had released the equivalent of a minor nuclear bomb and all he said was “oops"?
“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?”