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“I’m not—”

“You will do as I say,” he ordered, trying to get into her head.

But he wasn’t Mircea, and it didn’t work. Except to infuriate her. “I’m not going anywhere!”

“Then you’ll die alongside me! Is that what you want? You have a daughter—”

“And I have you! We’re family—”

The young woman vampire sighed in his head. “It’s all so romantic.”

“It’s about to be so dead,” Anthony said dryly, taking a swig of his drink. “Well, it was fun for a moment, at least.”

“It isn’t over yet,” Kit’s master said.

Anthony laughed. “And what makes you think that?”

“I have an ally.”

Kit had been wrestling with Gillian, trying to get her back onto the staff and out of there, but at that he looked up. And saw a sight for the ages, silvered by the moon and lit up by the torrent of flame that erupted from the dragon’s mouth, enough to have burnt down half a forest, only it didn’t hit a forest. It hit—

“Rathen Den,” Kit whispered, as the huge golden dragon, its already astonishing armor suddenly running with flames, landed between them and the mother dragon. His brilliant color seemed to heighten that of the fire, the reflection rippling over the ground and splashing them all, as if the sun had suddenly risen again.

And when the fire ran out, Rathen looked much the same—for a moment.

Then Kit understood what the sparkly piece of fabric was that the creature wore about his neck. For a moment later he transformed, into a tall, handsome man with flame red hair and a muscular body, one which was swathed almost immediately by the “scarf”, which was now a full-length garment.

“Ally?” Anthony said, eyeing the man and sounding displeased.

“I believe that gives the game to me,” Kit’s Lady commented, as Rathen approached the still furious mother dragon.

He must have been nearly seven feet tall, but he looked as tiny as the rest of them next to her fierce immenseness. But he appeared completely unafraid, and justifiably so, as it turned out. She noticed him and snorted loudly, but paused in her rampage. And then slowly, as he just stood there, lowered and tucked her head.

Their foreheads touched briefly, and then he turned and walked over to Kit, who still lay on the ground under a heavy blanket of scales.

Which was now regarding Rathen with awe.

Kit felt much the same, which resulted in him being mute when meeting the man’s wry gaze. “She says you stole a hatchling. Would this fine fellow be the one?”

He looked with fondness at the creature who had caused so much trouble, and who now abandoned Kit, ripping out its claws and throwing itself at its new protector.

Bastard, Kit thought, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

Fat little bastard.

But he managed to nod.

“We didn’t steal—” Gillian began hotly, too stressed to watch her tone, but Rathen only smiled.

“I know.”

He stood up and carried the babe back to its mother, who snuffled it carefully, but in the end seemed satisfied. Tremolina had the other two, which she had rounded up and minded but now fled from, into the trees. And to Kit’s amazement, the little family took to the skies with no more fuss, the babes climbing on top of the mother for the ride home.

Just like that, it was over. He stared after them for a moment, the three fat lumps and the graceful mother silhouetted against the rising moon, and could scarce believe that any of this had been real. He turned to share the moment with Gillian, only to find her staring in what appeared to be horror at Rilda, he had no idea why.

And then he did, when the older woman dusted away like the front of her alehouse, her body falling into a cloud of black dust. Only there wasn’t a dragon on the other side of her. There was just a mage, a portly, bearded fellow with—strangely—a wand in his hand.

One he pointed at Gillian.