Page 97 of Hot Vampire Next Door: Season Five

The chill seeps into my bones but it’s the kind of cold that feels like home.

The vine cracks like split ice, then shatters.

Arion falls to the ground, sucking in a deep breath.

“She’s near,” Bran says, his eyes moving over the hedges.

“How near?” I ask.

There is a crack to our left.

Arion hurries to his feet, sword drawn.

Another crack. A rustle of leaves.

The hedge row beside us gives a giant, heaving tremble.

And then it uproots itself, branches twisting and curling until it takes the shape of a man.

“That can’t be good,” I mutter.

“Run!” Arion yells as, down the line, a dozen more hedge people emerge.

Arion takes the lead again, racing through what remains of the labyrinth. My breath huffs out, lungs burning. I’m no summer court soldier, no immortal vampire. I’m no runner.

A vine snaps out. Arion lances it off with the swing of his sword. We keep going, the hedge men close behind.

“What’s the plan?” Bran shouts.

“Get away!” Arion yells back.

That’s no plan.

We stumble into the center of the labyrinth and the hedge men line up behind us.

And there, standing in front of a giant, gurgling fountain is the Summer Queen.

Flowers are blooming chaotically at her feet. A daisy rising up, petals unfurling, then shriveling up a second later, only to be replaced with a buttercup, then an iris.

All around her, summer is blooming and dying.

The queen is standing with her hands clasped in front of her, her back straight. She appears powerful and regal, but it’s impossible to ignore the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the wild tangle of her hair.

I know how much effort it took me to control her army with my voice. How much effort is it taking her to control her hedge men?

“We could have found common ground, Jessie.” Her voice carries above the gurgling water.

“That wasn’t possible. Not when you wanted to steal power for yourself.”

Bran and Arion break apart, forming a half circle with me at the head.

The queen snaps her fingers and the hedge men march forward. They’re taller than all of us, wider too, and they quickly have us scooped up in the wide span of their arms.

Two take Bran. Two more take Arion. One wraps its arms around me like a bear hug, locking me in place. A vine whips out, clamping over my mouth, stealing any chance I may have to use my voice.

Bran struggles. Arion tries to hack with his blade.

The queen stalks forward.