In a sea of mist, curling among the thick foliage of long-leaved ferns, creeper vines and tall trees, stone angels stand tall with wings spread wide, looking down from their pedestals on the war raging below them.

"W-what do you mean?" I ask the man holding onto me tight enough to hurt a little bit. I'm exhausted, battered and bruised, and though my wounds heal unnaturally fast, I'm still in pain. The ache in my ankle is growing stronger.

I want nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare. I'm trembling so much that if Rach weren't holding me this tightly, I would probably collapse in a heap at his feet or fall from the mausoleum's roof and break my neck.

My shirt is in tatters, but I'm only vaguely aware that most of my dark green lacy bra is on display. Rach's rolled-up shirt sleeve exposes my skin to his, making the hold of the arm crossing my chest way too intimate. I should be embarrassed and flustered, but I'm not.

I don't care. I'm done caring. I want to wake up now!

"Just look at that," he scoffs. "That wasn't part of the plan. They are just savages, I tell you."

Did he plan this horrible adventure? Why?

I look, and I see the horse Deaglan was riding - now riderless - kicking up with his hind legs, sending one of the zombie-like vampire creatures into the path of Billy's busy sword. Wincing, I turn my head away just to see Cianán gracefully jumping, twirling and tumbling in the powerful way I've only ever seen on stage at the ballet.

His dance includes a katana and a short sword, which he uses with cold precision, leaving scores of bodies in his wake. The most revered samurai would be left humbled at his display.

I am left close to fainting by it.

I'm not sure who Rach is calling savages: the zombie vampires or the men killing them. Calling these strange vampires zombies is not completely accurate because, unlike zombies, they are not dead and have some intelligence, even if it is only the kind that allows them to actively defend themselves, climb over obstacles and find ways to avoid being caught. When it comes to conscious thought, they have a lot in common with zombies, acting only on their bloodlust.

They are entirely feral.

"What are they?" I ask, burying my face in Rach's chest, grateful when he turns me away from the carnage. "Where do they come from?"

"They're bloody annoying bastards; that's what they are," he snorts with a humourless laugh, and now I know who he was referring to, calling them savages.

"Oh, you mean the mindless horde?" he says, feigning misunderstanding. "Good question. I didn't invite them... Well, maybe one or two... definitely no more than three. Basically, I just sent the wolves to get you. I didn't instigate a full-on war."

"What?" I gasp, trying to pull free of his embrace, and he lets me go far enough so I can look up at his arrogant face, anger and fear wrestling for dominance over my emotions. "You sent the wolves? How can someone send wolves? What if they'd killed me?" I add, remembering being jostled and tripped by the strong animals.

"Sending them is certainly not easy," he grins and cocks his head to where the wolves are assisting the Slatherties in their efforts to rid the forest of the vampires trying to make it to the roof of the mausoleum where I'm shaking in the dying sunlight. Every now and then, Ransford, Cianán and Deaglan jump impossibly high, yanking the climbing vampires off the walls and dropping them down to the wolves and others to put an end to them.

"Especially now that their loyalty is completely divided. I'll admit that their methods could do with some refinement, but they definitely weren't trying to kill you. You would know if they were trying to kill you because you would be... you know... dead."

This is not even the strangest discussion I've had since my arrival on this island. I find the cavalier, flippant way Rach is talking about the most traumatic event I've ever experienced utterly unnerving. Perhaps this is normal for him. Looking at the way the Slatherties, Billy, and Diarmuid are handling their weapons, I think it might be normal for them too.

It is not normal for me!

Other human people have joined the fight, driving those vampires who weren't lured here by my blood into the small clearing at the front of the mausoleum. They form a wall among the trees, taking care of any vampires that try to escape the bloodbath. I even see some archers perching on the roofs of smaller mausoleums.

A few of the newcomers step into the light of the fading sun, and I recognise Fergus, one of the owners of the Three Barrel and One Ale House. He is fighting side by side with a petite woman with dark hair, and they move in perfect harmony as if they've been practising for years. The other sword and knife-wielding men and women are strangers to me.

Are these the members of the Knight of Slaughtaverty Liam told me about?

"Yes," Rach grunts, though I'm sure I didn't ask the question out loud. "Stupid name, isn't it?" he says, turning me to face away from him again. I shiver involuntarily, gasping softly, when his hand leisurely strokes over my breasts in a caress as he brings his arm back to its original position, holding me in place.

"Why are they using such old-fashioned weapons?" I ask when I can breathe normally again, trying to hide my flushed cheeks in my wild hair. Looking at the battle, I feel as though I've stepped into the middle ages. "Wouldn't guns be more effective?"

"You don't think they're effective?" Rach snickers, making a sweeping gesture with his free arm, indicating the bodies (and pieces) strewn over the ground below us.

They are frighteningly effective.

"Guns would be less.... messy."

"Messy?" he chuckles. "That's one way to put it. Hunting is only allowed on the island when some species or another are becoming too many to sustain them and keep them from starving. Even then, they're usually rounded up and relocated to one of the continents. So, gun blasts would definitely disturb the general population of Peace Haven and wake them up to the hell they're actually living in. That could be problematic."

Hell? The people I encountered in the village all seemed to be in high spirits, content and happy. Do they really not know about all of this? If I hadn't experienced this horrifying situation today, I would've called life here idyllic.

Except when babies are stolen from cribs and women come into your room in the middle of the night and try to suck you dry.

Startled by the vivid memory of lying in my bed while a girl with a baby bites me, I grab hold of Rach's restraining arm, taking whatever comfort I can from the strong muscles in his forearm even though I still don't know whether he is friend or foe.

He sent the wolves to get me.

He must've been the one who blocked the road, forcing me to leave the SUV. Why? Why would he do this to me? I gasp in shock when he suddenly pulls me tightly against his body and buries his face in my hair.

"You reek of him," he grumbles, breathing in my scent. "It spoils your fragrance."

Honestly, the Slatherty men are just civilized animals, always smelling me, kissing me... biting me...

"The ring was a nice touch," he chuckles mirthlessly. "Staking his claim. Clever bastard."

Nervously turning my head away from his searching lips, running up the side of my neck, causing fireworks to explode in my nerve-endings, I'm just in time to see Ransford rip a vampire man's arm off and use it like a club to knock him to the ground, where a wolf jumps in for the kill. I tighten my hold on Rach's forearm - like a bar over my chest - while revulsion runs like rivers through my body.

Scratch the civilized part from my assessment. Rach is right. They're savages.

"Still, we can remedy that if you take off that ring and come with me," he whispers, his breath tickling my sensitive skin, and I involuntarily move my clinging right hand to cover the ring on my left hand protectively.

Come with him? Where? Why?

There are many more important questions to ask here. Why am I so tempted to do as he asks? Why am I not fighting off his arm? Why am I enjoying having him pressed up against me like this? What is wrong with me? The man nearly caused my death! I should bite him and run.

"What do you m-"

"Rach!" The angry roar coming from below us causes trepidation to shiver down my back, my scalp puckering with dread. Ransford used to make me shiver for completely different reasons. Now, he makes me quake in terror. Looking at him, I don't see the man I know; I see an aura of overwhelming power.

"Ransford!" Rach chuckles, lifting his face from my hair. Clearly, he is not as intimidated as I am by the boiling rage sucking the breath from my lungs. "I see you still get bent out of shape over pretty girls. So much anger is not good for you."

Near our feet, one of the last live vampires - as far as I can see - is climbing over the roof's edge, reaching towards me with dirty fingers. I shrink back from his black eyes and snarling mouth, wondering why Rach is not reacting to the intrusion. 

Glancing towards where the others are gathering in the clearing now that the fight has ended, I cry out in fright when Ransford leaps up the side of the wall. He grabs the vampire, dragging him from the lip of the roof when he falls back to the ground, landing lightly on his feet as if he can defy gravity.

He has the man in a headlock, effortlessly restraining him while he claws and thrashes to be free. The creature in his grip tries to bite him, hissing and snarling in anger. Without batting an eyelid or moving his glaring focus away from Rach, Ransford uses his free hand to rip the man's body away from his head trapped in the bend of his arm. There's a stomach-turning pop and crunch, setting free a misty spray of blood, like a veil hiding them for a second. I close my eyes, whimpering as the body falls at Ransford's feet.

"Let her go!" he roars, but I'm not entirely sure I want to be let go. I don't want to be anywhere near the frightening stranger glowing with fury and power. When I open my eyes, he still has the man's head in the crook of his arm, holding it almost gently, contrasting with his angry scowl.

I can't stand this anymore.

"No," Rach says flatly.

"Why are ye back?!" Billy suddenly demands angrily from our left, wiping the blade of his sword against the faded denim material stretching taut over one of his powerful thighs. His mace is tucked into his belt, a strange accessory to wear with jeans, but then, so is blood stains and gore.

He is simultaneously the most beautiful and most horrible apparition I have ever seen. Staring at his muscles rippling in the torn sections of his shirt and his stubbornly set jaw, clenched in anger, I suddenly realise that despite his violence, I am not afraid of him. If I'm going to run to anybody, it would be to Billy Doyle.

Looking at him makes my heart beat faster.

I so hope he is not going to start ripping off people's heads and limbs with his bare hands. That will definitely spoil the feelings of well-being I experience while I'm looking helplessly down at him, longing to be in his arms again, sitting on his porch swing.

"Billy Doyle!" Rach calls out, and he sounds almost pleased, as if he's greeting an old friend. I don't think Billy shares his joy, though. "You have certainly grown into that attitude of yours. Just look at those muscles on you!" he exclaims. "I'm impressed, and I'm not even mentioning your skills with those weapons yet. To be honest, I'm in awe. I'm a little bit afraid right now."

"Ah, dry yer arse, ye feckin' gobshite!" Billy growls, causing Rach to laugh heartily.

"I'm glad to see you haven't changed," he chuckles. "You're as rude as ever."

"Please answer the question because we would all like to know why you're back," Cianán asks, and when we turn to the right to look at him, where he's casually leaning against the shoulder of one of the many life-sized angels marking graves as if it is a pal he's having a chat with, he shrugs with a wide grin. "I was being polite and everything."

"Oh, the bastard is here," Rach snorts. "I see Europe has finally had enough of you. Has your teeth come in yet, boy?"

"Yes," Cianán says, unperturbed by Rach's insults. "They have. I call this one Mildred," he tells Rach, pulling his katana halfway out of its scabbard before pushing it back in, moving his hand to the hilt of his short sword. "And this one is Barnaby. You're welcome to come play with their sharp ends if you want to."

I can feel Rach's body shake as he chuckles.

"As cheeky as ever," he remarks, and I think he enjoys Cianán's insolence. "You're even more skilled with those than I remember. It's a waste because you're still stuck on the wrong side. I told you we bastards should stand together. You don't owe the Slatherties anything."

"Yes, well, I owe the Dankworths even less," Cianán says coldly, and I can feel Rach tense against me when he hears the name. I'm tensing too, wondering what on Earth he means. I'm trying to remember what Saoirse told me about the Dankworths being the enemy, but my brain is racing too much to think clearly right now. Besides, I wasn't really listening at the time, thinking she was spewing nonsense.

"As do I," Rach mutters, his arm crushing my breasts with increased pressure. When I pat his arm, he softens his hold, allowing me to breathe freely again. "Why am I back? Why are any of us here? Even the bastard left Europe to come back, and he hates the island. Someone bound all of us to this wench, that's why."

"Do you have to call me 'the bastard' every time you talk to or about me?" Cianán complains, leaning the side of his head against that of the man-sized angel as if he is seeking solace from it. "It hurts my feelings a little bit; besides, you're a bastard too."

"I wasn't referring to your birthright," Rach shrugs. "I was referring to you as a person."

"I wasn't referring to your birthright either," Cianán grins, and they both burst into laughter.

I don't understand this family dynamic. These two at least seem to like each other... sort of, but the others are all furious at Rach... or wary might be a better description of their attitude towards him. 

Deaglan is back on his mighty horse, and he looks miserable. Now that the war is over, he is withdrawing into himself, and every time our eyes meet, he looks away. I can feel his inner turmoil all the way here. It fuels my unease, and I find it highly disconcerting to see Alaric's face on someone so different from him.

"Just answer the bloody question! Why are you here?!" Ransford shouts, his anger reaching out and wrapping around me like a dark cloak, but Rach is still not as shaken as I am. "We had a deal!"

"Yes, cousin! We had a deal, and you lot broke that deal!" he growls back with every bit as much rage, his husky voice sparking like electricity through my nervous system. "I am here to take charge in my own way!"

His anger matches Ransford's, and for a moment, I fear it will devour me where I stand, his trembling captive. So, they're cousins, and apparently, there's no love lost between them.

"Besides," he says quieter, his voice thick with suppressed emotions. "Has any of you arseholes ever thought that perhaps I never left?"

"What do ye mean?!" Fergus shouts from the shadows of a tree, standing with his arm around his female fighting partner. I assume it must be his wife, Mave. I didn't meet her the day I had lunch at their pub with Billy, but her affection for Fergus makes it clear who she is.

She's as small as Fergus is big, a dainty woman with short dark hair, holding a sword smeared with blood. Seeing the dangerous weapon in her hand simply doesn't look right. Given her profession, I'm sure she would look much more natural holding a rolling pin. Still, earlier, I saw her wield that sword with deadly precision.

Mave Macleod

"He means he needs to run home so his ma'am can change his nappy and put him to bed, or she'll be mad," a woman I haven't met grumbles while Ransford and those closest to him exchange worried glances. Rach tenses for a moment, and I can feel malice oozing from him when he turns his attention to the woman who spoke. She takes a startled step back, but then Rach relaxes again, his anger fading as fast as it came.

"I don't know, Eimear," he says mockingly. "From here, it looks like you and your buddies are the ones who need to fear my... mother. You've broken so many of her toys; she is going to be seriously pissed off."

Did these vampires belong to Rach's mother? Who is his mother? I get the impression that he has no warm feelings towards her. His body is still thrumming with some tension from the mention of her.

"We're not the ones who brought her toys out to play," Diarmuid points out reasonably, shifting his glasses on his nose. He removes it, wipes the lenses, and puts it on, just to remove it again to wipe at a speck of blood he missed.

"Neither did I," Rach says matter-of-factly, and I can feel him shrug. "Why would I cause a bloody war when I just came for what's mine? You know I have every right to do so." His last words are said in a low, threatening tone, causing my breath to falter, and when I try to step away from him, he tightens his arm, crushing me against him again.

How am I his? The bond?

"Don't even think about it, Ransford!" he suddenly yells, and he must've read Ransford's mind because the man hasn't moved an inch; he is still standing, planted in place, cradling the blood-dripping head in his arm. He is no longer snarling or showing his fangs; aside from the head he's holding, he just looks like an angry, dirty version of the Ransford I know... thought I knew.

"Do you really think you can get to me before I snap her neck?" Rach asks calmly as if he's talking about the weather. Scared now, I dig my fingertips into his arm in protest, wincing at the burn in my torn nails. "It's alright, love," he whispers near my ear. "None of us wants you dead. Ransford will behave... unless he doesn't value you as much as I think he does."

"I swear, if ye hurt even one hair on her head, I'll tear ye to shreds even if it takes me last breath," Billy says in a dark, steady voice, brooking no argument, and I believe him. Rach's head jerks away from mine, and I can feel his hostility crackling around us.

"So bloody dramatic," he scoffs. "Did I tell you that I met Mary Doyle last night?" he asks Billy spitefully, a ripple of unease shivering in the air as the knights all exchange alarmed looks. 

"She was ssssucculent," Rach sneers, smacking his lips.

Billy's challenging anger dissolves in an expression of dread, and he turns to look at Ransford standing a few feet to his left between Diarmuid and Cianán. Ransford is glaring up at Rach with his face etched in despair. I watch, struggling to grasp what is going on, seeing him turn his head to nod at Billy as if he'd seen or heard enough to confirm the claim.

"Go, we've got this," he tells Billy, and when the other man looks up at me, torn between staying and going, he shouts. "Go, Billy! We've got this! I promise," he adds more gently.

Giving me a last worried look, Billy sheathes his sword and turns to run away, followed by Fergus, Mave and some of the other villagers.

What the hell happened to Mary?! I thought she had an upset stomach!

"Oh, come on!" Rach exclaims when Ransford's glare is directed at him again. "You're becoming as uptight as a bloody Duke of Ulaidh. Don't tell me you have aspirations to rejoin the peerage. You will look ridiculous in a white wig when you join the House of Lords... or don't they do that anymore? I've been out of circulation for a while, and simply-"

"Let her go!" Ransford bellows impatiently, pulling back his arm and sending a blurry object whooshing towards us at a deadly speed. I scream when Rach's free hand catches it with a sickening squelch and a thud, blood splattering on my face.

I am currently wearing the blood of so many people that I will never get clean, and I convulsively wipe at my face with what's left of my sleeves. Nausea once again threatens to overwhelm me.

I howl in revulsion when Rach lowers his hand, holding his prize, and I'm suddenly staring at the slack lips of a dead man. The hand holding the head has a finger stuck in each eye socket for a convenient grip.

"That was rude," Rach says testily. "You need to stop taking your anger out on me. I'm not the one who killed your wife!" he shouts and throws the head back, but he is not aiming at Ransford. His target is Cianán, who was using the distractions to approach the mausoleum wall and is about to scale it. He has to catch it or get hit.

"Dammit!" he yells, reflexively flinging the head away, and I watch, horrified, as Diarmuid drops his long knife to catch it clumsily in the hollow of his joined forearms. He immediately takes it by the hair and steps back, ready to throw it again.

"That is a human head!" I scream, reaching the end of my tolerance for whatever game this is, and he stops, looking up at me with a comically perplexed expression. I can almost imagine him giving that dorky laugh I often hear when he's flustered, but he is not laughing; he is blinking up at me. "What is wrong with you people?! Are you just mindless monsters?!"

I know my choice of words is odd since the man who owned that head was an actual mindless monster. Still, he was human once and should be afforded at least some respect. I could see that Diarmuid and Cianán mostly acted in reflex, but still...

Casting uncertain glances at the people around him, Diarmuid carefully lowers the head to the ground and gives it a couple of gentle pats before he grabs his knife and stands up straight again, looking effectively chastised. I feel Rach's laughter against my back, and that is the last straw for me.

These people live in a world a million light years separated from mine. I don't understand them, and I'm not all that sure I want to. I cannot be here. I need to get off this island. I don't trust any of them to help me, but I am leaving, even if I have to die trying.

Fueled by a burst of anger-driven desperation, I twist myself free of Rach's restraining arm, surprised that he doesn't try to stop me this time.

"I want to go home!" I scream. "I want to get off this godforsaken island! I hate it here! I cannot be here anymore! I want to go home! Please, just let me go home." I end my tirade with a sorrowful sob as I realise that I don't know where home is anymore. I gave it all up to come here.

Backing away from Rach, I'm blind in my distress, painful sobs tearing through my body, and it takes me a second to realise that I am falling. Screaming, I reach out for Rach, but all my flailing hands can grab hold of is his necklace.

For a second, I'm relieved when he reaches out to me, but he doesn't pull me back or try to save me from falling off the building high enough to cause severe injury or death.

Instead, he gives me a hard shove, sending me flying.

~~~