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By the time Rafe’s army reached the edge of the designated battleground—a large clearing surrounded by walnut trees—their force was nearly a hundred strong. Lydia and Anthony pressed closer to Cassandra, holding their weapons at the ready.

For a long time, everyone stood as still as a pride of hunting lions, scenting the air for the approaching enemy.

“They’re coming,” Lydia whispered.

Cassandra fought back a shiver. Moments later, she could hear the enemy as well.

Like sinister locusts, Clayton and his vampires emerged from the fog several yards away, steadily approaching like an ominous tide. Rafe’s people moved forward to meet them.

As if by some unheard signal, both factions halted, about thirty meters apart. Clayton and Rafe faced each other with blazing eyes and shining fangs.

The host surrounding Clayton was equally armed with rapiers and pistols. Two of the rogues flanked him, each bearing wicked scythes.

Clayton surveyed Rafe’s forces with an insolent smirk. “Are you ready to find out if there is a hell for our kind? I have always been curious.”

Rafe yawned. “Get on with it, Edmondson. We do not want to be standing here until dawn.”

The vampire stiffened, eyes narrowing with malice. “Very well. I, Clayton Edmondson, hereby accuse Rafael Villar of treason. Before all blood drinkers present, I declare myself the new Lord of London and challenge Villar and his followers to battle.” Eyeing Rafe’s people, he addressed them with a sickly sweet smile. “Any of you who wishes to renounce this traitor is welcome to cross the lines and fight at my side. Those who do not will forfeit their immunity at battle’s end and suffer my punishment.”

“I, Rafael Villar, deny your accusation of treason. In fact, I accuse you of being the traitor. Therefore, I accept your challenge.” Rafe’s voice reverberated with power and authority. “All vampires who return to my side shall be pardoned.”

Four vampires immediately left Clayton’s lines and crossed to Rafe’s. The first gave Elizabeth a broad smile, which she returned. Cassandra nodded at the exchange.

So that had been how Elizabeth had been receiving her information on the enemy’s doings.

“Bloody turncoats!” Clayton roared at them. “I’ll have your heads when this is over!”

Rafe cut off his tirade with a bored shrug. “Is this current location and time acceptable to resolve the conflict?”

Clayton’s lips twisted as if tasting something sour. “It is indeed.”

“Then let us see our battlefield secure from mortal eyes.”

Rafe and Clayton turned from each other and signaled their vampires at the rear. Like points on a compass, ten vampires from each side fanned out to guard the perimeter of trees from prying humans.

Cassandra fought the urge to shake her head in bemusement. The irony was almost too much to bear. To fight against each other, they first had to work together.

Another heart-stopping silence ensued as the two armies stared at each other with unchecked hostility.

The vampire in front of her curled his fingers over the hilt of his sword, armed and ready to draw blood.

Belatedly, she realized her gun was still in its holster. With shaking hands, she drew the deadly weapon, praying once more she would not have to pull the trigger.

Rafe let out a roar that shook the earth like thunder.

The other vampires echoed his cry with such force that Cassandra nearly dropped her pistol. Everyone except her guard charged forward. Her heart lodged in her throat as the two armies met with a clash of steel, fangs, fists, and gunfire.

For an interminable time, she could only stand there frozen as a startled doe while chaos erupted all around her.

The vampires moved so quickly that her vision swam in a blur of black and crimson. Her senses numbed at the noise and carnage, her mind at first unable to make sense of it all. Gunshots echoed all around, indiscernible from the sound of the fireworks.

One of Clayton’s vampires charged at them with a snarl. Lydia lifted her pistol and fired, dropping him like a stone.

Cassandra swallowed and shakily raised her own gun to fire at another. She clipped him on the shoulder. The vampire grasped his arm and hissed in pain, but did not slow until Anthony put a bullet in his head.

Vincent was locked in sword combat with another vampire, their blades clashing in graceful, deadly arcs. With a flick of his wrist, the Lord Vampire of Cornwall disarmed his opponent and lifted the tip of his sword to the center of her chest.

“Yield or die,” he told her.