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“You’re a master,” I panted. “If I don’t . . . take the head . . . you’ll live. Probably.”

“And Mircea ordered this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You are supposed to live. She isn’t.” I nodded at the redheaded witch. “He saw it in your mind . . . on the way here. Something about the Circle . . . killing her soon in any case—”

“He told you to save me and let her die weakening Morgan?” It was said calmly enough, but something about his expression, what I could see of it thorough the blood and mud and rain, made me just as glad that Mircea was on the other side of the glade.

“It . . . sounds bad when you put it that way,” I said, glancing at the fight.

And then the bastard kicked me in the head, stole half my blood, and fled.

* * *

The little dhampir fell back against the underbrush and Kit scrambled forward on all fours, trying to stay low. That would have worked better if the portal had been stationary, but it wasn’t. It was touching down now, sometimes on one side of the two women and sometimes another, like a top that was starting to lose speed and beginning to wobble.

And every time it hit the earth, it carved great furrows out of the ground and sent waves of dirt flying. They hit him in the face repeatedly, blinding him and adding to the layers of filth his shredded rags were already dripping with. And the rest of the time—

He muttered every curse he knew, and tried to get close enough to grab Gillian, who was currently losing the fight. Only a minute ago, she had seemed to have the upper hand, but that was true no more. And even if she won it back, the point would soon be moot, as the portal was about to swallow them both.

The witches seemed to have had the same thought, and despite the fate of the previous two, had crowded around the fight. They were clustered thickly, just outside the portal’s grasp, looking for an opportunity to intervene. And their bodies were blocking Kit from doing the same, and likely far more effectively!

But he doubted that they would believe that. And Mircea and the auburn-haired vampire were busy on the other side of the clearing, not that they would be likely to aide him in any case! And he wouldn’t get past that many magic workers on his own.

Not without help.

He turned and fled back through the forest, looking around frantically as he did so. And trying to remember where he’d seen all of those ghosts. He’d communicated with one only a few moments ago; perhaps he could another. And could tell them that there was about to be a feast in the clearing, which he didn’t even know to be a lie!

But before he could find them somebody found him.

And once more, he found himself crashing to the forest floor.

“God’s Teeth!” he snarled, flipping over to see the little dhampir. “How are you still on your feet?”

“Not sure,” she said, and looked it, appearing decidedly light-headed. As well she might, considering how much blood he’d taken out of her.

“Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it!” Kit said. “Just leave me in peace!”

“Couldn’t pay me for this,” she slurred, and spat blood.

“Then why the devil are you doing it?”

“’M’father.”

“What?”

“Mircea.” She grinned at him sloppily. “Just found out. He’s my sire.”

Kit looked at her in horror, and then wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. She was absolutely the female version of the handsome, annoying, troublesome bastard he knew. And didn’t that just explain a few things.

“What we do for love,” he said, after a moment, and saw her nod. And then her eyes refocused and her face changed, and he scowled. Just when he’d started to think they had something in common . . .

“That old trick hasn’t worked on me in years,” he said, as she looked past him. “I turn around and you put that stake between my shoulder blades, is that it?”

“Not right now,” she said, and grabbed him.