Lord of the Wolfyn

chapter 3

Reda didn’t wake up.

Instead, she watched in frozen horror as the three-headed giant staggered and went to its knees, and Dayn methodically fired bolts into the other two heads. As if that had finally hit the kill switch, the creature plummeted to the cabin floor, where it lay for a moment, twitching in its death throes, and then finally going still.

The sudden silence rang in her ears as she stared at the monstrous corpse, which smelled like chicken breasts gone very bad.

She yanked her eyes to Dayn, who stood looking down at the creature with an expression of pity, but also excitement, as if the attack had been partly a good thing.

Who was he? What in God’s name was going on? She wanted to ask him but couldn’t get out the words. She was locked in place. Frozen. Once and always a coward under fire. Was this, then, what her subconscious wanted her to see?

Maybe. But she’d seen it and the dream wasn’t ending.

“You can get up now.” He said it without looking at her, but she thought she saw the twitch of a smile. “There’s a bag in the pantry. How about you load up some provisions while I take care of the other stuff?”

As he turned away, she slowly levered herself to her feet, suddenly wishing that a herd of pink elephants would walk past the broken window, so she could point at them and say, Ha, I told you so. It’s a dream. Hallucination. Whatever. What mattered was that this wasn’t really happening. It was all in her mind.

Except there weren’t any pink elephants. Which left her with a stinky dead giant with two too many heads, and a really hot guy who thought they were going somewhere.

MacEvoy, when I get through with you, you’d wish you just mailed me the damn book for free, she thought. And then, because she couldn’t think of a good reason not to, she went to pack some food.

The bag proved to be a single-strap rucksack, and the provisions at hand were heavy on the hard rolls, dried protein—she didn’t ask, didn’t want to know—and trail mix. She loaded up whatever she sort of recognized, trying to focus on the similarities rather than cataloging the differences. Her brain, though, kept a running tally that twisted the knots in her stomach increasingly tight.

And all the while, she was entirely aware of Dayn as he pulled on a sweater followed by his heavy leather coat, loaded a rucksack with his crossbow and bolts and strapped on a narrow leather belt that held an unusually short sword on one side, pouches on the other. As she finished up her packing, he slung a sloshing crescent-shaped leather pouch over his shoulder, glanced over at her and nodded.

He didn’t seem to expect a reply, though, because his attention moved on to the overturned couch and smashed end table, the broken window and the scattered other things that defined a life: a journal bound in what looked like nylon but wasn’t, a bunch of interesting rocks in a jar, a huge antler with a picture of a beautiful stallion carved into it, only half-finished. And while he looked at the room, she was looking at him. Decked out in a strange mix of modern clothing and archaic equipment, he should have looked as if he was late for Halloween. Instead, he appeared utterly comfortable in his own skin and—as evidenced by the giant’s corpse—deadly capable. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He turned abruptly toward the door. “Let’s go.”

She held her ground. “Go where?” They were the first two words she had managed to utter since the attack. Her mind might be racing but her body was still mostly vapor locked. That was the way it worked when she went into curl-up-and-die mode.

He tipped his head toward the dead creature. “That was an ettin, which isn’t native to this realm. It had to have come from the kingdoms, which means the vortex has probably opened back up. And that means we need to go. Now.”

Vortex? Realms? How could he stand there wearing a crossbow and sword and talk about things that belonged in science fiction? It didn’t make any sense.

Of course not, her rational self said. It’s a dream, or a hallucination or something. But since counting to three didn’t work, maybe this vortex will.

So she nodded and followed him out of the cabin, her boots crunching on broken glass and then echoing on the short steps leading down.

“This way,” he said, urging her along a wide path. His breath fogged the air. “If we can get back through the stones—Shit.” His face fell. “It’s not glowing.”

“Which means?”

“The vortex is already gone.” He glanced at her. “You know how to call one, right?”

“I…” She thought of the whirling wind in her kitchen, the spell her mother taught her. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go. If we hurry we can be gone before the pack gets there.” But he hadn’t gone more than a few paces before a wolf’s high, eerie howl rose into the clear night air, coming from very nearby. First one, then another and another joined in, swelling the note to a harmony, then to a chorus, as if they were intentionally singing together.

The hair on the back of her neck shivered at the sound, which was wild, feral and hauntingly beautiful. But at the same time, nerves twined through her, turning her skin to gooseflesh.

Dayn stopped in the middle of the pathway. “Damn it, we’re already too late to get ahead of them, and we really don’t want to interrupt the blood-moon ritual.” He paused, considering. “Given that I don’t want to cross paths with them tonight, especially not with you, we’re going to need to hole up somewhere out of sight.” He glanced back at the cabin.

“Not there,” she said quickly.

He nodded, then pointed off to one side, where the trees ran up a steep, rocky hill. “There’s a cave I use sometimes. We’ll be okay there for an hour or two.”

“A cave,” she repeated, apparently only able to string together two words at a time, preferably one syllable each. Suddenly very aware of the cold that bit through her shirt and lightweight leather, she hugged herself tightly. This couldn’t be happening; it was all too unreal. Yet, strangely, Dayn seemed more real to her than anyone had in a very long time. He was bright and vivid; he drew her eyes and made her want to stare, made her want to touch. She’d felt inner sparklers when he kissed her hand. What would happen if he kissed her lips? What if he did more?

Focus. Stop transferring. You need to get out of here, not fantasize.

“Here.” He dug into his rucksack and pulled out a second sweater. “Figured you’d want another layer, unless your coat is one of those fancy jobs with the really thin insulation.”

“It’s not.” She slipped out of her leather and took the sweater from him. It was dark in color, thick and lightweight, almost airy, and the material had a faint rasp that suggested some dream-version of wool. Needing to say something that involved more than two syllables and might defuse the strangeness of wearing his clothes, she said, “Okay, so you carry a sword but you know about Thinsulate. What’s the deal here?”

He hesitated, then said, “There’s some travel between your realm and this one, so a certain amount of your technology has leaked over and been adapted to work here. I’m from the kingdom realm, which is pure magic. Thus, the sword.”

“Is there the same sort of sharing between your realm and this one?” She was stalling, asking about things she didn’t begin to believe in because she had been having sex dreams about him while he’d apparently been waiting for her to show up and lead him somewhere. And she didn’t want to wear his sweater. Except she did, because it was freezing out, and the sweater smelled like him—a mix of pine, moss and mint.

I really am losing my mind, aren’t I? The thought brought a jab of new fear.

He glanced in the direction of the howls. “Things are far more complicated between my realm and this one. And we should get moving before a pack scout catches sight of us.”

“Sorry.” Holding her breath, she pulled on his sweater and smoothed it down her body, where it clung unexpectedly to her rather blatant curves. But she didn’t care about that because she was already warmer, on the way to growing toasty. Letting out a soft sigh, she said, “Ahh, yes. That’s good.” Not letting herself snuggle or even take a deep breath, she nodded. “Okay. Lead on.”

He made a quiet noise at the back of his throat, adjusted his burdens and headed across the track and into the moon-dappled forest. There must have been some sort of path; she couldn’t see any markings, but he led her up the steep, rocky slope with a neat economy of effort, his near-silent footsteps making her feel loud and awkward in comparison. After ten, maybe fifteen minutes, he motioned for her to join him on a wide, flat ledge near a triangular cave mouth.

“Wait here. I’ve got some lights and other supplies inside.” He slipped into the darkness. Moments later a muted glow sprang to life and he called. “Come on in.”

She ducked to follow him in, found him crouched at roughly the midpoint of a low tunnel that was formed where two huge slabs of smooth, porous stone leaned against each other. In his palm he held a small rectangular unit that emitted blue-white light and a low background hum.

“The wolfyn won’t come up here,” he said. “After they’re done with the ritual, they’ll run the lowlands for the rest of the night. Moon time, you know.”

She only heard part of it, though, because the moment he said “wolfyn,” her stomach hollowed out and she flashed back to the woodcutting and the sly, evil creature that had seduced innocent Red. She sank down opposite him, and then leaned against the wall when her head spun. “Those were wolfyn back there?”

He nodded. “You’d call them werewolves. They’re shape-shifters. Human. Wolf. Back again.” He paused, fiddling with the little light. “I don’t know what the legends are like where you come from, but you don’t need to be afraid of them here. They treat guests well in their own realm. It’s part of the tradition they live by.”

Her heart was beating so hard her chest hurt, and her legs and arms tingled with an oncoming panic attack. A big one. Breathe, she told herself. You can deal with this. The wolfyn were just part of the hallucination. They couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t roofie her into sexual submission and then eat her when their other needs were satisfied. So far, all they were was just noise on the horizon. Besides, her mother’s stories about them taking young girls had been allegories about not giving it up too early or to the wrong guy. Right?

Breathe. Don’t lose it. He wasn’t her fantasy prince and she wasn’t really in another realm. She wasn’t even really wearing his sweater, even though she was far warmer now, both because of the extra layer and the intimacy of the little cave, which forced them to bump knees and kept her system on a low rev of awareness. Her racing mind was scared, confused and frustrated, but her body was entirely aware of his.

When he shifted back, so he was leaning on the opposite wall, his movements were controlled; after he settled in, he went very still, almost looking as though he wasn’t even breathing. He moved like a martial artist, she thought…or a predator. A hunter. The realization stirred her blood far more than it should, and she caught herself collecting small details, like how his aristocratic nose had a faint ridge where it had been broken and just slightly offset, and the way his hands were long-fingered and elegant, yet tough and callused with hard labor.

Benz had used to tease her that she would need genetic engineering to create her perfect guy, because she wanted the whole package: brains, compassion, honor and romance in a laborer’s strong, muscular body. And he wasn’t far off, because that would have been a real-life approximation of her woodcutter hero… Like the one sitting opposite her now, staring out into the night.

Except that he’s not really here, is he? said her logical, rational self. And the heat buzzing through her body racheted down because it was right. Her brain was tricking her, just like it had when she was a little girl and thought she heard her maman’s voice whispering to her, sending her into the woods looking for answers. She didn’t need the department shrink to tell her that.

You have to get to the vortex, logic reminded her. He said that was the way home. And if her mind had bought in so deeply to the illusion, then the rules of the illusion should work. Maybe. Hopefully.

But the place where the vortex formed was crawling with wolfyn, and…wait. “If the wolfyn are harmless, why are we hiding up here?”

He looked back at her for a moment, seeming to be measuring her mental state. Or maybe deciding how much to tell her. “There’s some personal stuff between me and the pack leader. Tempers can run high this time of year, so I think it’s better if he and I stay out of each other’s way.”

“And?” she prompted when her cop’s instincts told her there was more.

He shifted, stretching his legs out beside hers, almost but not quite touching. The alignment of her battered jeans against his turned the differences in fabric and stitching from subtle to a shout as he said, “You know how I said things were complicated between my realm and the wolfyn? Well, there was a war. I don’t even know what really started it—nobody here seems to, and it was a long time ago. But it was ruthless and bloody, and didn’t end until a group of kingdom magic-users, the Ilth, got together and changed the nature of the vortices so that when wolfyn come through to the kingdoms they wind up stuck in the wolf form, unable to change back or cast the spell to return home. Eventually, they even lose their human thoughts, becoming purely feral.” He paused. “The wolfyn came up with a counterspell, but by that time they had discovered the human realm and become fascinated with your science. For the past few generations—and my people have very long generations—contact has been limited to the few wolfyn who get sucked up into the vortices without the counterspell, and the occasional guest who shows up here, like me. In fact, the people of the kingdoms don’t even believe in realm travel anymore—it’s faded to legend status, just like the wolfyns’ abilities to shape-shift and enthrall beautiful women.”

A shiver crawled up Reda’s spine as the hallucination suddenly gained an uncomfortable amount of detail that dovetailed with the stories she knew. “Can they do that? Enthrall women, I mean.”

He shook his head. “They wouldn’t do that to a guest, not even during the moon time. The traditions are very clear on when and how enthrallment can be used.”

Which wasn’t a “no.” Feeling the cold more than she had been moments before, she tucked her hands under her arms beneath her jacket, warming them in a sweater that was uncomfortably peltlike all of a sudden.

He continued, “So while the wolfyn are generally tolerant, they prefer humans over kingdomites, and there are certain bloodlines from the kingdom that remain kill-on-sight.”

“Which is why you don’t want them to know that you’re a prince,” she said, remembering his earlier comment. Then, without warning, a bubble of half-hysterical laughter rose up inside her, sticking in her throat and threatening to turn into a sob. “You’re a prince,” she repeated. “Of course you are.” She used to dream of charming princes, ethereal princesses and magical adventures, so maybe it was no wonder her mind had gone back there now, turning her fantasy man into not only the woodcutter, but also a handsome prince. She buried her face in her hands. “You’re not real. None of this is real. Go away and let me wake up in my real bed in the middle of my real life.” She felt a tug of wistfulness at the thought of leaving the dream behind, and that couldn’t be good.

“It’s just vortex sickness,” he said soothingly. “Don’t worry. Just relax—it’ll all come back to you soon.”

She lifted her head to glare at him. “I haven’t forgotten anything, damn it. My name is Reda Weston, my father is Major Michael Weston and my mother’s name was Freddy. See? No gaps. No blank spots. And this isn’t real.”

“By the gods and the Abyss, this is real.” A hint of temper licked at the back of his eyes, which had gone very green in the pale illumination. His voice gained an edge. “And it’s going to stay real whether you believe in it or not, so how about you chuck the ‘science is God’ human attitude and consider that maybe this is happening, and that you’re here for a reason? Because unless you help me out here, people are going to die.”

“I…” She stared at him, throat drying to dust. “What?”

“People. Will. Die,” he said, spacing the words through gritted teeth. “I need to get my ass back to Castle Island within the next seventy-two hours, and you’re supposed to be helping me.”

Her throat closed, but she forced out, “I’ve never heard of Castle Island.” Then, seeing it in his eyes, she held up a hand. “And if you say ‘vortex sickness’ one more time, I’m going to scream.”

His expression eased. “Okay. At least you’re listening.”

“I’m…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I am, besides scared and confused. What’s going on here? What’s on Castle Island and why do you need to be there? And why does it involve me?” This doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s just an illusion.

“I don’t know how you’re involved, really, or why. But I can tell you about Castle Island.” He waited for her nod. When he got it, he made a rueful, bitter face, and began. “There once was a prince who thought the world should revolve around him.…” Her blood chilled as he described his home being attacked by a vile sorcerer and his parents casting a massive spell that had saved him and his siblings, yet went awry, binding them to the castle and cursing the kingdom if they failed to return in time. He recited a message from his father’s spirit, telling him to wait for a guide, and that when she arrived he needed to be back on Castle Island by the fourth night, to reunite with his siblings and kill the sorcerer. He paused, expression going hollow. “The next thing I knew, I was stuck here in the wolfyn realm, doing my damnedest to make them believe I’d lost my memory in the vortex and keep them from guessing that I was a member of a royal house…and all the while, waiting for my guide to show up. Then, about a week ago, I started having these dreams.”

“Dreams,” she whispered, body heating suddenly.

He nodded. “I saw you, Reda. Your face. Your eyes. The magic was making sure I would recognize you when you arrived.”

She moved restlessly, shifting her legs away from his. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

“Maybe there isn’t in your world. But there is in mine.”

Her pulse thudded loudly in her ears. The department shrink had talked about hospitalization but in the end had signed off on an outpatient program with intensive sessions that had started off daily and tapered from there. Now, she wondered whether that had been a mistake, whether she had faked her way through her recovery, fooling even herself, until now. Was she in a hospital room somewhere, staring blankly out a window while her mind roamed free? Panic sparked in her chest as she tried to imagine it but couldn’t, tried to connect with her “real” mind trapped somewhere else, but couldn’t do that, either. The cave, the man and his story felt entirely real. Which would mean…

“No,” she said, pushing herself up to the hunched-over crouch that was all the cave allowed, which made her feel trapped and squirrelly. “This isn’t… I’m not your guide. There’s been some sort of mistake.”

He hadn’t moved a muscle, except to follow her with his eyes. “When you first woke up in the cabin, you recognized me. I saw it in your face.”

“I…” dreamed of you, lusted after you, imagined you were all the things I haven’t been able to find in a flesh-and-blood guy. “Okay, maybe there were a couple of dreams, but there wasn’t anything about me guiding you anywhere.” She didn’t mention waking up hot, bothered and alone. Clearly, their dreams had been very different: she had dreamed of finding love; he had dreamed of saving his people. Was that what her subconscious wanted her to see? That she was too wrapped up in her own problems? That one resonated a little too well, making her queasy. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she said, “I need to…you know. Outside.”

He touched her free hand briefly in support. “Go out the back and stay close. There’s a grove of borer trees on the other side of the stones, and you don’t want to mess with borers.”

She didn’t ask why, didn’t intend to find out. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I think I just need some air.” And some space without him there to remind her how numb she’d been for too long, just going through the motions, stuck in her own little world.

Outside of the cave, the air was cold, stark and silent, with none of the howling of earlier. The huge moon lit her path as she picked her way over the rocks, getting clear of Dayn’s sight as if looking for someplace to relieve herself. Then, with her heart pounding and fear souring the back of her throat, she looped around and headed back downhill, stumbling in her haste to get to the stones and break out of the hallucination before she did something really stupid… Like buy into it.



With Reda gone, the cave was cooler and far less interesting, drained of the intense, compressed energy that practically shimmered around her. But it was also a whole hell of a lot calmer.

Dayn exhaled slowly, telling himself that it was going to be okay. This was going to work. She finally seemed ready to consider that she wasn’t caught in some strange and elaborate dream, and once they got past that, he was sure her memories would resurface and she would be able to guide him. At least he hoped to the Abyss that it would work that way. He was starting to fear it might not, because a human seemed a very strange choice for someone to guide him through the magical realm of Elden. Which made him think that this part of the spell, too, had been damaged by the sorcerer’s magic.

Not that she was damaged; exactly the opposite, in fact. She might have some human suspicions and disbelief when it came to the magic, and an apparent tendency to go wide-eyed and catatonic under fire, but she drew him, compelled him. Unlike the willowy, aloof wolfyn females he had spent the past two decades with, she was compact and curvy, and her emotions were written so clearly on her heart-shaped face. He had caught himself staring into her eyes, which reminded him of the deep blue skies of home, and basking in her voice, which was sweet, soft and wholly feminine.

Which was why she wasn’t the only one who had needed a minute alone. Because he needed to get a grip on himself, needed to regain some perspective. This wasn’t about him being a man and her a woman; it was about him getting his ass home and taking care of business there. And after that he would be back to being a prince of the realm, with all that the title implied. Which meant there was no benefit to him noticing how his sweater clung to the curves of her breasts and hips, and that the hitch of her breath when she caught him looking at her told him the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

“Priorities,” he said to himself, hearing the word echo through the otherwise silent cave, the air empty of wolf howls. The ritual was done, then, and it was time for him and Reda to head back down to the stones. Maybe she wouldn’t even need to remember. Maybe her just being there would cause the vortex spell to work for him as it hadn’t before.

Rising to the crouched-over crabwalk required by the cave, he eased out and straightened, calling softly, “Reda?”

There was no answer, but she wouldn’t have gone far, given that he had mindspoken her to stay close.

Not long after he arrived in the wolfyn realm, he had discovered that his mindspeak powers worked on all females, regardless of what realm they came from. When he had physical contact—as he had just now, touching Reda’s hand—he could implant suggestions, even orders. That was how he’d kept Keely from knowing certain things he didn’t want her to, and how he’d initially pushed Candida to protect him—until she had figured out what he was doing, and went for his throat. After that, he had told her everything, and instead of killing him, she had decided to help him, instead. And thank the gods for that.

Although the pack’s wisewoman hadn’t been able to send him home, she had given him the vortex counterspell, and more recently had been working on some new poisons she thought would work on beings of dark magic, like the Blood Sorcerer. More, she had helped him work out the limits of his mindspeaking powers in the wolfyn realm, and they had discovered that while he couldn’t make a female do something she was against or prevent her from doing something she really wanted to, he could influence other, less definitive emotions. That was why he hadn’t been able to push Reda into opening up to him—she was too set against it. But given her obvious fear of the wolfyn and the fact that she was starting to warm up to him, she would obey his command to stick around. She ought to be right nearby.

Only she wasn’t.

Cursing under his breath, growing increasingly anxious when there was no sign of her, he walked all the way out to the edge of the borer grove, where the ground started to go hollow. Then he backtracked and circled around the cave. And he picked up her trail heading back down the incline, beelining straight for the standing stones.

“Son of a bitch.” He had underestimated her mental strength, her disbelief and her determination to break free of what she thought was an illusion. Scrambling back to the cave, he grabbed his supplies and weapons, hoping to hell he hadn’t just made a fatal mistake. Worse, as he pelted downhill, the horizon beyond his tree-hidden cabin started to glow.

His stomach plummeted. He was going to be too damn late.



Standing just inside the stone circle, Moragh threw her head back and laughed with delight as fat blue sparks leaped from one stone to the next and wind stirred her hair, fanning it out around her face.

Raising her voice to carry over the sparks and crackles of power, she called, “Oh, joyous dark gods, I knew it, Nasri! I always knew the Book of Ilth was real.”

She had argued with the sorcerer’s so-called scholars, who had written the text off as either fiction or a heretical interpretation of the gods and the Abyss. Granted, nothing had happened back then when she had tried the two simplest spells, but she hadn’t known that location mattered. It stood to reason, though, that the separation between realms would be thinnest at certain points, the magic connecting them more active. It had taken the lost prince’s spell to draw her to the right place at the right time, and the stirring of vortex wind for her to figure out that she needed to try the first of the two spells she had memorized.

It had worked then, and again just now. She was facing the beginnings of a vortex of her own, one she controlled.

“Are we going home now, Mistress Moragh?” Nasri called from where he stood outside the stones, holding the submission chain of the surviving ettin, which was still stupidly looking around for its brother.

Admittedly, she should have set both of the creatures on the prince and made sure of the kill. But she hadn’t realized right away that something in this realm—gods, she was in another realm—would dull her connection to his father’s spell, making her unable to track him beyond the immediate area of the standing stones. But no matter, she suddenly had new and wondrous options.

“Yes and no,” she said in answer to Nasri’s question. “I must return home and retrieve the Book of Ilth.” Her heart lifted at the thought of wielding the book’s power—it didn’t contain only realm-travel spells, but also summoning spells more powerful than anything the kingdoms had seen in centuries, power transference spells—the possibilities were nearly limitless. “I will take the ettin with me, so you are not troubled by him, and then I shall seal this portal behind me, so the prince cannot follow.” That was the second of the spells she had memorized. Sealing this particular portal might not trap the prince in the wolfyn realm—there were probably other locations where vortices could be made—but it would slow him down, giving her enough time to steal the book from the very scholars who had mocked her for believing it real.

The gnome’s eyes widened. “And me, mistress?”

Satisfied that the vortex was well under way, she stepped out of the stones, froze the ettin in place with a three-word command and then turned her attention to Nasri, who had backed away a few paces when he thought she wasn’t looking. And even though he had long ago stopped appealing to her, the thought of what she was about to do had her secondary canines descending easily, breaking the skin with that itchy pinch of pain she loved so much, and then gliding into place alongside her lower teeth, just touching the gums with a kiss of the wickedly sharp points.

“I have a special job for you, Nasri.”

He blanched at the sight of her fangs, but the compulsion was well rooted. Even as his entire body cringed away from her, he took three jerky steps forward and raised his arm, offering her a wrist dotted with tooth-marks in various healing stages.

She surged forward and took his throat instead, biting deep and hanging on as he writhed and the glorious tang of blood flowed down her throat. New connections formed; new magic came to life, and she found his weak little mind with hers. Now pay attention. This is what I want you to do.…



Reda didn’t scream, but that was only because she was paralyzed, stuck flat to the ground beneath a dense clump of underbrush at the edge of the clearing, where she had a perfect view of the dark haired woman drinking from the neck of her small, wizened servant, and a clear soundtrack of the vampire’s rhythmical sucking noises interspersed with mewls of horror from the victim.

Her gorge rose. This woman—this Moragh—was a vampire. Dear God.

She swallowed again and again in an effort to keep herself from puking at the sight of the little man’s body convulsing, his hands fluttering at his sides, as if he wanted to fight her off but couldn’t. Just as he had wanted to run the other way before, but had held out his arm instead. Compulsion. Enthrallment. First the wolfyn and now this. Was every nonhuman creature in this realm capable of inflicting its will on others? I have to get out of here, she thought as the breath sobbed in her lungs. I just want everything to go back to normal.

She had to get through that vortex, and she had to do it now, while the vampire was occupied. But she couldn’t move.

Not now, she begged her body. Please don’t freeze up on me now! But she couldn’t force herself to stand and make a run for the standing stones, couldn’t so much as wiggle a toe. She was vapor locked again. Immobile. Useless. All she could do was watch as the vampire let go and the little man swayed on his feet, throat drenched with blood. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, his voice monotone when he said, “I shall find the pack.”

He stumbled off, headed on a tangent for the woods, seeming not to care that there was blood streaming down his front.

The vampire watched him go with a small smile playing over her bloodstained lips. “I wouldn’t worry. I suspect they’ll find you very soon.” Moonlight glinted off her fangs as she smiled fully, horribly. Then she turned away, snagged the monster’s chain off the ground and led the creature into the stones.

The vortex roared and they disappeared.

The second they were gone, Reda’s paralysis snapped and she was on her feet and racing for the stones, her heart pounding as she called up the spell that had gotten her into this mess.

She was only a few steps away when Dayn burst from the trees, shouting, “Reda, wait!”

Hesitating, she glanced back. And as she did so, a cracking sound filled the air and the vortex collapsed in on itself and disappeared. Seconds later, there was a brilliant amber flash and the air went utterly dead. “No!” She flew through the stones and raced to the center. “Wait, no! Take me!”

“Reda, stop.” He grabbed her by the arms. “Stop. It’s over. It’s gone.”

“No! She’s sealing it off. Don’t let her seal it off!” Even though she knew in her heart that it was already too late, she beat on his arms, struggling to get free, not just from him, but from this whole awful place, with its werewolves and vampires and three-headed monsters. Then, when that didn’t work, she collapsed against him, grabbing his jacket to get in his face and cry, “Did you see her? Did you see—?”

She broke off when his arms shifted, their bodies aligned, and she became suddenly aware that he was hard and aroused, his eyes glazing as they locked on hers. And although it was the entirely wrong time, the entirely wrong place, heat leaped up inside her, flaring through her veins. Breath thinning in her lungs, she pressed against him, arched into him as his lips came down…parted…

And moonlight glinted off the two long, curving canines that hadn’t been there before.