Blood of the Maple

“Behind you!”

Parker turned to find a single thick stem racing toward the elder vampire. He pushed the man out of the way and took what would have been a lethal blow to Dragomir’s heart on himself. The stem embedded itself in Parker’s arm. Parker screamed in pain as his arm broke, the bone snapping in two.

From Amara’s house, a low rumbling sounded.

“Fuck.” The mayor stared at Parker in astonishment. “Why did you do that?”

“It would have killed you.” Parker winced and tried to pull the weed out, but it was taking root, burrowing into his body. What fresh hell was this? “Damn it. Get this thing out of me!”

“Parker.” A vaguely familiar, deep, echoing voice filled the air.

Parker looked toward Amara’s house. Something told him his dryad was very, very angry. “Amara.” He gasped as the roots of the weed twined around his broken bone. Bloody hell, this was going to hurt when it was removed. If it had gotten into Dragomir, it would have wrapped around his heart; any effort to remove it would have killed him instantly.

“There are weeds in your garden, Parker.”

Parker watched in astonishment as a much-altered Amara stepped into his garden, covered in what looked like brown bark. Instead of being rigid, the bark moved with her. Reddish leaves blew around her in a nonexistent wind. Her green eyes glowed with angry intent, the whites completely obscured. And she was at least three feet taller, towering over the privacy fence, Parker and everything but the oak tree.

Amara shrieked, the sound filled with fury, the creaking and groaning of a thousand trees filling it with an inhuman rumble that shook the windows facing into the garden. She reached for his arm from across the garden, extending hers until her knobby fingers caressed his wound. “Weeds need to be pulled.”

Parker braced himself and was glad afterward that he had. The pain when Amara pulled was immense. It felt like she was ripping his whole arm off. He blacked out.

The fire in her belly burned even hotter as Parker fell. She pointed at Dragos. “Guard him.”

Dragos took a fighting stance, batting away anything that came close to touching Parker.

Amara was free to turn her attention to the weeds destroying his garden. She waded into the fight, ripping and tearing, searching for the woman who’d attacked Brian and injured Parker. The plants acted with a higher degree of awareness than usual, reacting to her attacks with lightning speed. That level of control told her Terri had to be close by, controlling their actions. No witch could command this many plants so easily without being able to see exactly what was going on, and a scrying spell wouldn’t give her the reaction speed she’d need, since it would take up most of her concentration.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she crooned. She grabbed a vine and tugged, pulling it from the weakening oak. “I know you’re here, Terri. Are you too frightened to face me?”

The moss beneath her formed distorted lips. “I’ll face you on my own terms, dryad, when I’m good and ready.” The odd voice echoed, and Amara couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it came from.

Amara grabbed the thorny weed and yanked it from the ground. “Bring it on.” She shrieked her challenge and began laying about her with the weed, using it as a spiked whip.

“Parker is mine. Stay away from him or suffer the consequences.”

A root tripped Amara up, and the whip got tangled in her legs. She righted herself before she landed on the mossy lips. “Fuck you. He’s mine.” She cracked the whip over her head, shearing off the edges of the vine that had dipped down almost to her hair. She moved faster, cracking at the vine until nothing was left but green paste.

More vines ripped the whip from her hands. “No, thank you. You aren’t my type.” Thorns tore at Amara’s side, unable to penetrate her bark. Something almost broke through the cage the oak had wrapped around Brian, but a shimmering light in the shape of a tall, broad man suddenly appeared, forcing it back.

“Nice try, bitch.” She snatched another vine and scoured the garden, searching for the bitch who’d hurt Parker. Where the fuck was she?

The mocking laughter only spurred her on.

When Parker came to, he was lying on the ground, his head cradled in Dragomir’s lap. “Amara?”

“She’s…gardening.”

Groggy, he sat up, his arm a throbbing mass of agony. His altered sotiei was pulling anything that resembled a weed, while the oak continued to guard his Renfield. Her mutters were too quiet for him to hear exactly what she said. “Greg?”

“Here. Parker, what did I tell you about the crazy?”

“Not now, Greg. Besides, Amara isn’t crazy.”

“Then what do you call that?”

Amara pulled something from the ground that was covered in vicious thorns. She waved it over her head triumphantly. “When I find you, I’m going to shove this so far up your ass it will wriggle out your nostrils,” she shrieked, using it like a scourge.

She was stunningly beautiful, a Boadicea, his personal warrior goddess, and he was more than willing to worship at her feet. “Magnificent.” Dragomir chuckled. “There are others you’ll have to convince of that, but in the meantime we should see about your arm.”

The reminder sent sharp shards of pain through him. His arm throbbed like a son of a bitch, and he could tell it was a bad break. The burrowing weed had made it worse, tearing through flesh and digging into bone. He didn’t know where Terri had learned that new trick, but it was one he planned on avoiding in the future.

He would heal, given time, but it would be a painful process. He would be lame with that arm for at least a week, possibly more. “Ow.”

“Dryads can’t heal others, can they?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Dragomir was looking at something off to the side of the fight. Parker wondered if he too could see Greg. “But I have a witchdoctor on call who can. Let me send for her.”

“Greg? Where’s Terri?”

“Gone. Hell, I didn’t even realize she was here in the first place.” Greg’s voice was thick with remorse. “I’m sorry. I should have known she’d show up, should have been watching for her.”

“It’s all right. At least Amara stopped her from hurting Brian. That’s the important thing.”

“Yes, it is.” Dragomir cast Parker an odd look and helped him to his feet, careful of his injured arm. “Selena is on her way.”

“Thank you.”

Dragomir bowed to him, the gesture formal. “I owe you sange datorie.” Parker started. He didn’t think he’d done anything deserving such a deep acknowledgment of debt as sange datorie implied.

Parker bowed as much as his throbbing arm and light head would allow. “It was my pleasure, Dragomir Ibanescu.”

Dragomir’s lips twisted into a smile. “Call me Dragos.” He pointed with his chin over Parker’s shoulder. “Amara is done.”

Parker turned so fast he wound up on his ass again. The landing jarred his shattered arm, and Parker saw stars. “Ow. Fuck, ow. Amara?”

She came to him, her bark fading, the glow leaving her eyes, her body returning to human. “Parker!” She fell into his lap, curling around him like a vine. His lap was full of jiggling, naked dryad. If it hadn’t been for the agony radiating from his arm, he would have been one hell of a happy vampire. “Are you all right?”

Parker moved his arm from underneath her and tried to breathe through the pain. Too bad he didn’t really need to breathe, because it didn’t work. “Nope.”

She barely lifted her head from his shoulder, but he could feel the ridges forming on her skin. She was about to go dryad on someone’s ass. “Call Selena, Dragos.”

“Already done.” Dragos nodded hello to Brian. “Brian, it’s good to see you are safe.”

“Thanks to Amara and Greg, yes.”

What had Greg done, other than call Parker? Damn it, why did he have to pass out during the good parts?