“A familiar refrain.” Cian stepped over to a cabinet, took out a heavy decanter. “Have at it then, the pair of you. I’m having a brandy. Elsewhere.”
“Please stay.” Glenna offered a smile, and there was both apology and cajolery in it. “If we find someone, you should be here to see. We need to decide what to do. All of us need to decide. In fact, I should go get King, so the four of us can do this.”
Hoyt ignored them, but found it wasn’t quite as simple to ignore the little prick that might have been jealousy. Teaching her swordplay and her fretting over the slightest scratch.
He spread his hands and began to focus on the fire, using his annoyance to mix the heat.
“A n
ice thought.” Cian nodded toward Hoyt. “But it seems he’s already started.”
“Well, for—All right then, all right. But we should cast a circle.”
“I don’t need one for this. Witches are forever casting circles, spinning rhymes. That’s why true sorcery eludes them.”
When Glenna’s mouth dropped open, Cian grinned at her, added a wink. “Always been full of himself. Brandy?”
“No.” Glenna set down her ball, folded her arms. “Thank you.”
The fire snapped, rose higher and began to eat greedily at the logs.
He used his own tongue, the language of his birth and blood to draw the fire into a dance. Some part of him knew he was showing off, drawing out the moment and the drama.
With a billow of smoke, a hiss of flame, the images began to form in the flames. Shadows and movement, shapes and silhouettes. Now he forgot all but the magic and the purpose, all but the need and the power.
He felt Glenna move closer—in body and in mind. In magic.
In the flames, the shapes and silhouettes became.
A woman on horseback, her hair in a long braid down her back, a quiver of arrows over her shoulder. The horse was gold and sleek, and moved at a powerful, even reckless gallop through the dark forest. There was fear on the woman’s face, and a steely determination along with it as she rode low, one hand clutched in the flying mane.
The man that wasn’t a man leaped out of the forest and was struck away. More took shape, sliding out of the dark, moving to surround.
The horse quivered, and in a sudden shimmer of light was a man, tall and lean and young. He and the woman stood back-to-back, blades drawn. And the vampires came for them.
“It’s the road leading to the Dance.” Cian sprang toward the weapons, grabbed a sword and a two-headed ax. “Go in with King,” he ordered Glenna as he raced for the window. “Stay here. Let no one in. No one and nothing.”
“But—”
He threw up the window and seemed…seemed to fly out of it.
“Hoyt—”
But he was already grabbing a sword, a dagger. “Do as he says.”
He was out the window himself, nearly as quickly as his brother. Glenna didn’t hesitate. She followed.
He made for the stables, throwing his power ahead of him to open the doors. When the stallion charged out, Hoyt held up his hands to stop him. It was no time for niceties.
“Go back,” he shouted at Glenna.
“I’m going with you. Don’t waste time arguing. I’m in this, too.” When he grabbed a handful of mane and sprang onto the horse’s back, she tossed back her head. “I’ll follow on foot.”
He cursed her, but held down his hand for her to grip. The horse reared as King charged the stables. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Trouble,” Glenna shouted back. “On the road to the Dance.” When the horse reared again, she wrapped her arms tight around Hoyt. “Go!”
In the clearing, Moira fought, but no longer for her life. There were too many, and they were too strong. She believed she would die here. She fought for time, each precious moment of breath.