“Wounded, but on his way.”

“Wounded?”

“He’s on his way.”

They had started walking again. She raced along behind them. “I don’t understand all this. You all can be killed, of course ... and Brent?”

“He will be along.”

“How was he wounded?” she persisted, following closely.

“Silver bullet,” Lucian said.

“And he’s still coining? He’s only wounded? He can’t come ... who had the bullet?”

“Gerard,” Lucian explained briefly. “Willem ... or Inspector Trusseau, as you came to know him.”

“So he knows ... who ... what... Brent is.”

“Oh, yes, he knows. He knows well,” Lucian said. “Just as we all know one another.” She swallowed hard, following them. They returned to the great hall, and there, the fire in the hearth was burning with an ever greater intensity. Something about the room had changed, Tara thought. The shadows created by light and fire had shifted, risen somewhat. And then she knew why.

They were meant to see now.

A snap and crackle brought the fire burning ever higher, and she saw Trusseau—or Gerard, as Lucian had called him. He was now by the fireplace. He held a rifle at his side. He smiled as the three of them entered, shaking his head.

“Well, Lucian, here you are at last. I must say, since you’re the great ‘king’ of our kind, it took you long enough to get here. And considering as well, that you have this fresh, young, vampire huntress at your side— and Ragnor! Of course. The Viking of old! And that’s it? You didn’t summon a host from around the world? Ah, well, I have always been underestimated. But then, you thought that you’d have your friend, Mr. Malone here, with, perhaps, a few of his own. Ah, but sadly perhaps, his kind have been all but brought to the brink of extinction. Farmers do hate it when the wolves ravage their herds ... and that old fairy tale has certainly done a lot to keep the population of those predators down. Actually, it’s so easy to kill a werewolf. All you need is a silver bullet. Now as to vampires... well, Lucian. Your command is a joke. You aren’t supposed to be killing your own kind now, are you? What happened to the rules?”

“You broke them, Gerard. Freeing me to do the same. This is a new world. New rules.”

“Not so new, not really. Names, faces, and centers of power change. Luckily, human beings remain greedy, power-hungry creatures, so there are always pockets in the world where my kind can thrive.”

“Thrive? After the war, Gerard, you were in pieces.”

A flash of anger crossed the vampire’s face. “Ah, yes, and you see, I haven’t forgotten. I even hope that wretched Malone is just limping along somewhere—I didn’t want a quick death for him, not after all that I suffered at his hands.” He glanced at Tara, eyes sweeping her up and down. “And here we have her!

Heiress to the old man. He was a harder nut to crack than I had imagined, but then, I’d something more in mind for him than a simple coup de grace. The wretched old fellow. Once he and Malone got together at the debacle when the armies were closing in ... well, let’s just say that I don’t want either of them dying easily.”

“I think they’ll oblige you in a bitter fight, Gerard,” Lucian said. “And consider this—the extraordinary power Malone has is all thanks to you. All those steroids and such you pumped into him when he was in your power. He already suffered the tortures of hell at your hands. I think you should actually hope that you end your pathetic existence before he arrives,” Lucian said.

“You think that you will do that, do you?”

A figure suddenly rose from the depths of the sofa, the back of which faced them, and had been hiding her. It was the elegant Louisa, with a skein of her long hair now covering her race. She moved it back to show the horrible blisters and burns caused by the holy water Tara had cast upon her. “You’re all dying here tonight—dying for good. If there’s to be royalty among us, I do believe that I far better fit the role.

You have created a travesty of what we are, Lucian! You would make us into a pack of lambs when we are, in truth, the greatest birds of prey.”

“I would have us survive, and live within our world,” Lucian said. “Your excesses, Gerard, brought about centuries of death for yourself and Louisa years ago, and caused hundreds of others—innocent and defenseless—to face execution as well.”

“We are meant to rule over the weak, and slake our thirst on the blood of innocents,” Gerard said coldly.

“Ah, yes, the weak!” Louisa said. And she reached down, dragging Ann to her feet from where she had lain hidden on the old Victorian sofa. Tara gasped. Ann’s eyes were open; she could see them all. But she didn’t register their appearance. She simply stood in Louisa’s hold, ashen, apparently sightless, listless, and ready to obey every command issued by her new masters.

As she stared at them, Louisa brushed aside Ann’s hair, and smiled at Tara. “Such easy prey ... she fell for Gerard—or Willem—the moment he came to her. And she! The granddaughter of old Jacques. I think she might die now, no matter what else we do ... she is so very tired and, of course ... drained.” Tara was startled to hear herself speak, grasping at the subtle hint Louisa had given earlier. “Ann was weak?” she inquired, taking a step forward. “How strange you call her weak. It seems to me that Willem fell rather hard himself, and still, no matter what the power, Ann would not invite a monster into her home, and she could resist him when she discovered simply that he wasn’t a man she wanted in her home or in her life.”

She had struck home. Louisa shot a glance at Gerard where he stood by the mantel. Her hold on Ann was weak.

Tara sprang forward, determined to seize her cousin. But even as she came close, Louisa turned, staring at her with a force that sent her sliding back, falling to the floor. Her hold on Ann tightened. “Now, now is the time when I finish this wretched creature!” she exclaimed.

Tara screamed, surging against the force, like a wind, that was holding her away. Lucian and Ragnor moved at that time as well, leaping forward, immune to the force. Lucian reached Louisa a split second before she could tear into Ann’s flesh. As Lucian began to grapple with Louisa, Ann began to crumple to the floor. Tara reached her cousin, catching her, trying to hold her up. “Ann, Ann, please, snap out of it, you’ve got to fight what’s happening!”

She felt a hand upon her shoulder, drawing her upward. Lucian. “You’ve got to get her the hell out Now!” he said.

She looked at him, and beyond him, then gasped. The room was filling. Gerard and Louisa hadn’t begun to call on all their resources. Even as Lucian spoke to her, two men who must have once been bikers were striding quickly toward his back. “Look out!” she said, trying to hold Ann—and fumbling for her paint gun at the same time. She brought it up, blinding the creatures over Lucian’s shoulder, causing them to stagger back.

But Louisa was rising in all her fury, and the room had become pure bedlam. In the midst of it, Tara heard the explosion of a shot. And Gerard’s mocking voice. “Amazing, isn’t it? Mortal men—and women—can be killed by silver bullets as well.”

“Get her out!” Lucian repeated, heading toward Gerard. The gun exploded again, tearing into the fabric of the sofa, just inches from Ann and Tara.

Tara was no longer gentle. She grabbed her cousin by the arm. “Get up and move!” she commanded.

Dragging Ann, she headed for the door, staying as low as she could. An old man suddenly stood in her way. He looked like a bum off the streets of the city. But he smiled, and displayed his teeth, and moved toward them, arms outstretched. Tara found a reserve of strength she didn’t know she had, seizing the hilt of the sword with her right hand as she supported Ann with her left. She gathered all her strength and aimed straight for his throat. She didn’t sever the head completely, but he fell away, hands clasped to his neck.

She made it out the door. She shook Ann firmly. “We’ve got to run, run! Do you understand. We’ve got to run.”

Ann didn’t seem to understand, but neither did she fight Tara’s hold. Still, the going was not easy. They were trying to escape through a maze of trees and underbrush. The ground beneath Tara’s feet was strewn with rock and bricks and old building materials. Branches and tree limbs seemed alive, tugging at her hair, her tattered clothing.

She screamed, thinking that one of them had come upon her, as a particularly prickly, bony-fingered, leafless branch tangled into her hair. She freed herself, pushing Ann along, and at last broke into an open field.

Yet even as she ran toward the place where she’d left the car, she felt the eerie sensation that had come to touch her with danger.

With the presence of her enemies.

A great shadow seemed to fell over the night, and the sound of whooshing winds came again.

The shadow was behind her ... sweeping over her. She felt the darkness, felt the fear. And then ... the shadow loomed before her. Huge, giant wings, rising ... and then falling. And it seemed that the wings folded, and Gerard stood before her once again.

She halted, arms tight around Ann, staring at him.

He smiled. “So ... here we are. I have both the lovely granddaughters of the learned and knowledgeable Jacques DeVant standing before me. Ah ... a bit like smorgasbord.”

“I will kill you if you come one inch closer,” Tara told him.

He laughed, tremendously amused.

“I’m not so sure I want to destroy you at all, Miss Adair. So much spunk and fire! You can join with us, you know.”

“I don’t think Louisa will like that.”

“Alas, I’m not sure Louisa is going to survive the fight in which she is currently engaged.”

“Lovely. You left her to fight Lucian and Ragnor, and you came after two mortal women.”

“There are many ways to win,” he said softly. “I loved Louisa, truly. Yet, in all those years, I had forgotten how demanding she could be. And then, of course, in the midst of all, I am forced to recall that it was she—trying to save herself—who gave my name to the Alliance at the Sun King’s court. I suffered cataclysmically. And yet...” His eyes narrowed. “Not quite so badly as I did at the hands of your grandfather—and Brent Malone.”