Half the dark fae intent on attacking in the direction of the roar turned in their tracks and ran to aid their comrades. Calder nearly shook his head as he watched this farce of tactical errors.

How have these creatures managed to harass us for ten years if this is the mentality of their army? Or, is this just a matter of cutthroats mixed with a few military men? he wondered, helplessly watching as Meghan and the others fought to save them.

Something fast and deadly intercepted the soldiers from the side and took out the stragglers in a blur of forged steel. The fae leader regained command of himself in the chaos which had erupted.

Two vampires and one elf had cut down thirty fae soldiers before the fae could regroup. They caused as much damage in as little time as a hail of arrows produced earlier.

He watched them reap a swathe through their adversaries as if their opponents were straw men in a mock battlefield. The sight disheartened their enemies and generated awe among the captives.

Covered in the blood of fallen enemies, the trio neared the central mass of soldiers, which easily consisted of twice the number of the men they had just annihilated. The invaders neither hesitated nor slowed down.

As he fought his bond with renewed vigor, his heart tightened in his chest. They cannot fight alone, and I have to escape. Meghan must not come to harm.

The ropes did not budge, and the tide turned against the fae.

This reminds me of the stories of the old gods that my Mother told me as a child, but it is as if those tales had come to life.

Calder ensured he did not lose sight of Armagon—the fae leader, who was more dangerous than twenty of his men heading right for him.

Armagon ordered his own men to retreat into formation with all the authority of a man used to power. The soldiers obeyed, and Lord Darren came to a complete stop even as he cut a fae in half.

Calder saw King Duncan in the way the soon-to-be prince squared his shoulders. His eyes blazed green, and with his power fully unleashed, he had never resembled his father more than he did.

Even before he saw Lord Darren in action the first time, he struggled not to admire this man who had stood against the order of his king to ensure the safety of his bonded. Seeing the heir to the throne fight the way their king did only reinforced his belief that the other royals were wrong.

This bastard son of a king is everything a contender for the throne should be and more, he thought.

"Desist! Leave now, and you may live."

The knees of more than one adversary buckled under the powerful tone of Lord Darren's command and the strength of his domination.

The fae commander assessed his men, cataloging those dazed by the command—those who fell to their knees—and, like a snake, his gaze settled upon the behemoth of a man who was neither dazed nor weakened.

No! Calder almost loosened the rope and did not want to draw attention to himself by shouting before he was ready to enter the fray.

"Kill the prisoners!" Armagon ordered the giant, and even at that moment, more of his troops fell. "There are only three of them! Fight, cowards, or you will live to regret the day your mother spawned you!"

In the space of a heartbeat, the words sunk in and broke the spell Lord Darren had cast with his command.

Their terror of whatever threat Armagon implies is greater than their fear of death, Calder realized.

Their hesitation cost them dearly as Lord Darren and his people annihilated more of their number.

The behemoth reacted to his orders, bringing his fist down like a hammer on the head of the first vampire soldier in line.

"Nooo!" Calder shouted.

His gaze met with his second lieutenant's as the man's eyes bulged and his head burst like a ripe melon, spurting blood and brains on the tree stump to which his captors fastened him.

"No! You bastards, you will pay for this!" The commander nearly pulled his hands free from the blood-slicked rope as he bellowed in rage.

The lieutenant's body spasmed once, growing still as blood pooled on the wood and then cascaded over the edge like a macabre, slow-flowing waterfall.

"They will pay when we get loose," Calder's vampire roared inside his mind.

He had known the lieutenant since they were fresh recruits, and his heart ached at the loss of his friend. He had lost many good people since that first attack, and most of them were friends closer than family.

"Yes, they will. The fae still outnumber Lord Darren, Meghan, and Arlene at least twelve to one," he said, dragging his eyes away from the gruesome sight to follow the battle.

His gaze collided with that of the giant, and the man smirked at him.

"Forget about him. The others need help, and soon," the vampire said, refocusing Calder's blind fury.

"Help will not come from any of us. The fae secured us too well, and we will probably perish before the attackers lose this battle," he admitted, tired from his struggle and what came before.

"Fae cowards!" the vampire snarled.

Something hot touched Calder's hands, and his instinctive impulse to protect himself almost made him jerk forward. He barely curbed his reaction as he picked up on the distinct but faint smell of a lycan.

"Devon!" his vampire rejoiced.

Warm hands released his bonds, but he remained still.

Even as she brushed past him, he could not see her.

He detected a slight oppression in the air, something the war with the fae taught him to associate with the use of magic.

"I do not sense the wolf's presence, yet she is here," he said.

"Arlene must have used elven trickery to turn Devon invisible," the vampire suggested.

"Then why are they not invisible?"

"If it were possible, they would have done it," the vampire reminded.

Calder's eyes settled on the caster, the one that sensed magic. She seemed to stare directly at the vampire beside him, but her gaze focused slightly above the man.

She must see Devon freeing the major's hands, he realized.

Without taking the time to consider his actions, he picked up a fist-size chunk of rock—the guards had used it to hammer the stake into the ground to which they tied him and carelessly discarded it within his reach. He launched the missile with all his remaining strength, and it caught the caster right in the face with a dull thud. As her eyes turned blank, her legs crumpled with the unspoken warning still trapped on her lips.

"Armagon caught your movement!" his vampire warned.

The fae commander's mouth opened to warn his men that the prisoners were free just as Lord Darren reached him. Their swords rang together, and the blades broke. Sparks flew as the elven steel shattered with the power of both men.

I have only ever seen one elven sword break, Calder thought.

"Yes, it shattered in King Duncan's hands as he defeated King Carnarvon in the battle of Morgodran," the vampire recalled. "Elves forge the best weapons in all the lands, and the blade Lord Darren wields was an exceptional specimen, as was the one Armagon possessed."

The weapons did not fail, nor was it a matter of poor craftsmanship. No sword, not devised by magic, could have weathered the blow that rang across the clearing like an explosion.

The behemoth brought his fist down to fell another vampire, but some invisible force propelled the recruit out of harm's way.

Whatever magic shielded the wolf soon failed, exposing Devon to the giant's sight, and the behemoth glared at her like a rabid animal.

She fell backward as she dragged the soldier to safety. With surprising speed, the giant went for her, and she barely scrambled out of his way as she awkwardly regained her footing. She attacked, using her superior speed and wits to wear Gagarin down.

The strategy seemed effective, as she made the giant chase her.

Calder released the last hostages before launching himself at the nearest fae, his men joining him. They took blood from those enemies caught off guard to heal their wounds.

The fae are rallying, something we cannot afford, Calder realized.

Lord Darren was entangled in hand-to-hand combat with Commander Armagon.

Whatever the dark fae is, it makes him as tough as a vampire and as cunning as a fox, Calder thought with concern.

They fought relentlessly, raining blows down on each other while tearing into each other's flesh as they bit and clawed for dominion. It took a while before he sensed his opponent weakening beneath the power of his blows.

"So, you are the bastard son of the Great King, Duncan Alistair Drake," the fae commander taunted to distract him.

"Yes, I am. My apologies, I don't know who you are, and . . . I don't care."

The callous words angered the fae.

Their eyes met briefly.

Lord Darren frowned. Something about this fae doesn't seem right. The deadness in his eyes, almost as if he has no soul, gives me chills.

"I am your executioner. The fae will sing ballads in my honor," the commander taunted with the slightest slur to his speech.

A fierce snarl escaped Lord Darren.

There is only one way to end this, he realized.

"That is doubtful—you seem forgettable to me."

His taunt made the fae attack, and it confirmed his suspicion.

My venom affects the creature, he realized, and it renewed his determination.

They exchanged more blows, and Lord Darren waited patiently for the right moment to strike. His fangs penetrated the skin of his opponent, just over the carotid artery. Venom rushed out, even as the fae violently struggled.

"It is over," his vampire rejoiced.

Lord Darren backed away quickly and got a long gash across his abdomen for his trouble, but the damage was done. The fae commander became disoriented while Lord Darren relentlessly attacked. Wherever Lord Darren could sink in his fangs, he bit, paying for each nick with skin, flesh, and blood.

When he finally moved in for the kill, he encountered no resistance. Armagon dropped to the ground and stared at him, anger and hatred boiling in his veins.

Despite his wounds, Lord Darren scanned the area for Devon and spotted her just as she slipped under the behemoth's guard. She clawed him, and he swiped at her, launching her ten feet away. Her ribs cracked under the forceful blow, but she bounced to her feet, knowing she only had a second to get out of the way.

I can't take much more of this, and I know why I havenot yet killed this creature, Devon thought. The fear of letting go of the wolf has made me hold too tightly to my control. The human werewolf might be fine in bed with Lord Darren, but it's uncertain what will happen out here in the middle of all this bloodshed and violence.

She slipped on blood, falling awkwardly on her shoulder. Something crunched, sending blinding pain into her arm; Gagarin's boot had connected with her side, lifting her three feet off the ground. He kicked her again as she fell, launching her another eight feet away.

Stunned, winded, and injured, she recovered too slowly and could not rise. The giant grabbed her by her throat with one hand and lifted her off the ground.

My throat will crush beneath his grip, but my spine shall snap before I choke, she realized, panicking. It reminded her of Prince Marcus and what he did to her while choking her at the Circle of Justice, where she almost met her end.

The wolf surged forth as if it had waited long enough. Her hand transformed into a claw, and with all her might, she punched into his chest cavity to rip out his massive heart.

It was something she learned to do as her father's captive executioner while she awaited her fate in his dungeon, and it had become instinctive. There was also no denying that it was effective.

The fae stared down at his beating heart clutched in her bloodied hand and grinned.

No, it is not enough, she realized with horrified fascination and a glimmer of respect for her opponent. Gagarin still has enough life in him to snap my neck.

That massive hand relentlessly continued to squeeze.

Although I killed him, he intends to drag me to hell with him, she admitted angrily. Darkness enveloped her vision, and the strain in her neck reached its apex. If I don't do something fast, he will succeed.

She dug her claws into his arm, severing some of the muscles that tightened his grip.

How is it still not enough?! This fae is not easy to kill. She looked into Gagarin's dark eyes. Only if I completely let go of the wolf will I survive.

She struggled to ignore the fear of what might happen if she did, and the wolf escaped her control. It would be a danger to the fae—and to her friends; she was not ready to sacrifice herself. Not when she only just learned to live. She could not turn her head, but somehow, she mentally "saw" Lord Darren. Despite being covered in blood and hurt, the light of victory burned in his emerald eyes as he stared down at the dead fae commander. Anger sparked in her veins at the possibility that she might not survive this day.

I've already lost too much, she thought. The fae and this damned witch will take no more from me.