Guthrie had dragged himself over to join us at some point while I was distracted. I looked up at him, wide-eyed, as though he might have some kind of answer for why my blood wasn’t working. Was I... defective, somehow? Was there such thing as a defective vampire?
Guthrie’s brow furrowed. “Zorah, that’s the same reaction you had when Rans tried to heal your wounds on the boat. He said it was because of—”
“Because of the Fae animus I’d pulled,” I breathed. “Oh, god. Fae magic. My father absorbed Fae magic when he was in Dhuinne.”
First as a baby, and again mere weeks ago.
I shook my head slowly. “But... Rans’ blood still worked on me... sort of. My bullet wound closed up. Could it be me, though? Guthrie, you try. Please.”
Guthrie frowned, but he did open up a vein and let his blood drip onto my father’s wound. Still, nothing happened except for my dad’s weak cry of pain as the vampire blood tried to work, and failed. Edward winced, cradling my father’s upper body and speaking soothingly to him.
The old man looked up at me. “Nigellus still holds the power to save him, Miss.”
Dad moaned something that sounded like ‘No,’ his head moving back and forth restlessly.
“So where the fuck is he, then?” I snapped.
A cry of anger wrenched my attention to the Fae duel that I probably should have been following all along. I stumbled to my feet, my left hand scrabbling for the iron dagger that still hung in its sheath at my waist. Guthrie scanned the ground and located my lost Makarov with its iron bullets, scooping it up and holding it pointed skyward. We ranged out, placing ourselves between the two Fae and our injured.
At first, I couldn’t make out who was who. One of the blond-haired figures staggered back, weapon lost. It was only when he flung out a hand, light sparking from the gesture, that I realized it must be Albigard. Unnatural wind swirled up through the clearing, dragging at my blood-spattered clothing. It staggered me a half-step backward, but it wasn’t strong enough to stop Caspian.
I started forward, dagger raised, ready to fling it at the Fae’s heart. Sword raised, Caspian lunged for his disarmed enemy. Guthrie fired at the same instant. Just as when I’d shot at him earlier, Caspian jerked under the impact but didn’t go down.
The fucker was wearing a Kevlar vest underneath his clothing, I realized—his Fae strength allowing him to stay upright beneath the bruising impact of our bullets. That same vest would also protect him from a thrown dagger. Guthrie cursed as he tried to fire again and the gun jammed. I readied my shaky legs for a last-ditch lunge at him, but I was going to be too late.
Albigard flung his other hand out, toward the ground this time. Light flared beneath Caspian’s feet, and he staggered, going down to his knees. I stumbled to a halt, watching in amazement as vines tangled around Caspian’s legs, binding him in place. He growled and wrenched at the twining stems, reaching down to try and saw at them with his blade.
With my jaw hanging open, I stared as more vines tangled around his wrists, pinning him in place. As though in a trance, I walked toward the bound Fae, shifting the hilt of my iron dagger into a more secure grip as Caspian snarled up at me. I was still a couple of steps away when a quiet voice behind me said, “No,” in a tone of steel.
I looked over my shoulder at Albigard, kneeling on the ground with an ugly slice running across his cheekbone and his pale, meticulously braided hair in disarray.
“He’s mine,” the Fae said, with a degree of loathing I wouldn’t have thought him capable of.
Albigard climbed unsteadily to his feet and retrieved his weapon, stalking toward Caspian like a hunting panther.
“Sympathizer,” Caspian spat, as the sword tip lifted to rest over his heart.
“I’m not the one consorting with demons, murderer,” Albigard grated... and ran him through. The sword, perhaps magically enhanced, pierced the Kevlar vest before disappearing into Caspian’s chest to the hilt.
Caspian made a truly terrible sound, his body curling around the blade impaling him. Albigard yanked it free with an awful rasp of iron scraping across bone. He stared down at the crumpled figure for a long moment, breathing heavily.
“Albigard...” I began, having no idea how I intended that sentence to continue.
The Fae turned burning green eyes on me. “You can have the other one.”
I frowned, not sure what he meant at first. Then, I recognized the prickle of Fae magic still coming from the other edge of the clearing, near the place where the portal had opened. I turned to look in that direction.
Reefe was pinned against the bole of an ancient tree by coils of magic... just as he’d done to me in my cell on Dhuinne, right before he’d tortured me for the first time. The rest of my surroundings faded away, and I walked over to him, not even feeling my feet against the ground. Reefe’s lip curled into a sneer, but there was fear lurking in his eyes. In another time—another place—I might have asked him why. Why follow Caspian? Why torture an innocent person? Why come here to help a demon, when Fae and demons were enemies?
In another time and place, I might have tried to understand. Here and now, in the world where my father and my lover lay on the ground at death’s door, I tightened my grip on my iron dagger and plunged it into the Fae’s bastard heart. He grunted and jerked against the magical bonds holding him, until I twisted the knife viciously a couple of times. When I pulled it out, blood gushed over my hand and Reefe slumped, lifeless. I jabbed the iron blade
