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She sank to her knees. “I yield.”

Vincent nodded to the Cornish vampires behind his back. They retrieved chains from the wagon and shackled her to a tree. Two remained to guard her at sword point.

The vampires engaging Blackpool and Rochester were not so fortunate. Rochester beheaded his enemy with a merciless stroke, while Blackpool pierced his opponent in the heart with an indifferent shrug at his refusal to surrender. Cassandra shook her head sadly at the waste of life even as she wondered what would become of the prisoners.

A hand suddenly grasped her ankle. The vampire Lydia had shot hissed up at her with bloody fangs.

With a startled shriek, Cassandra took aim at his face and pulled the trigger.

The loud bang temporarily deafened her. Blood and brains splattered all over her trousers. She stumbled, ears ringing as the stench of gunpowder and burned flesh filled her lungs.

Stomach roiling, Cassandra moved back from the mangled vampire only to sink to her knees and vomit. Breakfast had been a terrible idea.

Elizabeth helped her to her feet before kneeling by the downed enemy and plunging her dagger in his chest.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra gasped in horror at such irrational savagery. “He’s dead!”

“No, he isn’t,” Rafe’s third-in-command growled. “I must end his suffering.”

Elizabeth was right. The vampire’s chest continued to move, and a wet, wheezing noise came from the holes in his ravaged face. As Elizabeth began to carve out his heart, Cassandra gagged and averted her gaze.

That was when she noticed that most of the other fallen vampires on both sides remained alive.

Some had broken limbs, twisted at painful angles. Others were missing arms or legs, blood gushing from ruined stumps as they crawled away from the field, their forms illuminated by the fireworks.

Too late she saw one of Clayton’s rogues charging toward her with impossible swiftness. His lips curled back in a hateful snarl as he swung his scythe in a terrifying arc.

As the blade whistled through the air, a gray blur stepped between her and the rogue, shielding her from the strike.

Anthony’s headless body fell to its knees. Blood rained in a torrent, splattering her face and hair. Anthony’s hand grasped at Cassandra shoulder, as if to offer a comforting pat, before sliding away.

He collapsed at her knees. His chest rose once and went still.

The rogue resumed his charge on Cassandra. “Now you die, pretty mortal.”

His triumphant grin dissolved into a gape of surprise when Lydia buried a stake in his heart.

With a wailing cry, Cassandra scrambled to Anthony’s body. Heart contorting in agony, she grasped the hand of the vampire who’d given his life for her and Rafe.

The colorful illuminations in the sky and cheers of the human revelers in the distance provided a sickening contrast to this tragedy.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hot tears streaming down her face. “I am so sorry.”

Thirty-two

Elizabeth pulled Cassandra away from Anthony’s body. “There is no time to grieve,” she choked, eyes brimming with moisture. “We must get out of the way!”

The fear in her voice made Cassandra glance up. Her heart leaped in her throat at the sight of Rafe and Clayton locked in combat, ringed by snarling vampires on all sides.

More than a third of each vampire’s forces lay on the grass, dead or wounded. Another third had been shunted to the side in chains.

Cassandra’s breath fled at the sight of the combatants.

Every time Clayton swung his sword at Rafe, her heart refused to beat until her lover blocked the blow with a ringing clash of steel. Their booted feet slipped on the bloody grass, adding to their growls of frustration.

This was the final skirmish. Countless lives, including hers, depended on the outcome of the fight.

Her fist clenched at her side, the fingers on her other hand tightening on the gun. If she could shoot Clayton…