Chapter 25

Cold fear shot through my gut—then Zylas threw me backward.

I sailed through the air and crashed into Amalia, knocking her to the floor. Zylas was already whirling as the windows behind him exploded into shimmering shards. Three men in dark clothes leaped into the cabin, their fingers extending into long claws and mouths gaping hungrily.

Fangs exposed. Black-and-white eyes marked with bright red rings.

The vampires charged Zylas and he leaped to meet them. Crimson magic spiraled up his arms and glowing talons extended from his fingers. He ducked a vampire's grabbing hands, rammed another with his shoulder, and slashed his claws across the third's stomach.

Blood spilled down the vamp's front but he scarcely stumbled. Blurring with speed, the vampires encircled Zylas. He spun through them, grace and power. They were fast and strong, but he was experienced.

Another slashing exchange. Two vampires flew back, thrown by powerful blows, and Zylas rammed his talons into the chest of the third, stopping the creature's heart. He ripped his talons out and whirled, but not toward the remaining vampires.

Toward me.

A blur interrupted my line of sight. The new vampire, attacking from my left, snatched at the grimoire and I frantically twisted away. His claws caught on my infernus chain. Sharp pain cut into my neck, then the chain snapped.

Zylas lunged for my attacker and the vampire darted out of reach. A flash of motion behind him.

Between one instant and the next, a man appeared. Arms clamped around Zylas. A hand seized his jaw and twisted his head sideways.

The vampire bit into Zylas's neck.

As a horrified scream rang through my head, someone grabbed me and hauled me backward—Amalia, her breath coming in fearful pants. She dragged me away from the vampire and Zylas.

Daimon, hesychaze!I silently shouted.

Zylas didn't ignite into a crimson glow. The magic on his hands dissolved, his body limp in his assailant's hold, his eyes darkening by the second. I looked down. My new artifact was tangled on the broken chain of my infernus, still hanging off my neck, but the silver pendant was missing.

The vampire pulled his fangs from Zylas's neck and lifted his head.

Vasilii, the vampires' leader. As his slow gaze moved across me, I met his eyes. They weren't white on black like the other vampires. They were solid, unbroken black.

Red light flared—but not Zylas's magic. The power leaped from the infernus around Uncle Jack's neck. His demon materialized beside him, towering at eight feet tall with scaled patches over its arms and legs. A long tail hung, unmoving, behind it, its stare eerily blank in an apelike face crowned by four long horns.

As the demon turned with robotic steps to face the vampires, Uncle Jack swung his rifle toward Vasilii.

"No!" I cried, lunging forward. I shoved the gun sideways.

Uncle Jack shouldered me out of the way and raised the gun again, pointing it at the vampire's heart—except the vampire was holding Zylas in front of him, heart over heart. To kill the vampire, Uncle Jack would have to shoot the rifle's unstoppable bullet right through Zylas.

Vasilii glanced dismissively at Uncle Jack before returning his attention to me. His tongue slipped between his thin lips and licked at the blood smearing his mouth.

"Exquisite," he rasped. "Rich with power and… superbly fresh. Her infernus?"

Another vampire moved, and Uncle Jack jerked his rifle as though unsure who to aim at. The vampire stooped, picked something off the floor, and handed it to Vasilii. Rejoining the vampire lord's other two lackeys, who waited off to one side, he resumed staring at Zylas's bleeding neck with ravenous hunger.

Vasilii examined the small object—my infernus—then tucked it in his pocket. Smiling faintly, he slid a hand across Zylas's shoulder. A twist of his fingers, a quiet tear, and Zylas's small armor plate fell, its straps severed. It hit the floor with a clang, leaving the demon's chest exposed.

Vasilii turned his inky eyes on Uncle Jack, silently daring the man to shoot.

Panic screamed through my head. Holding Uncle Jack's rifle with one hand, I clutched the grimoire to my chest. "Let my demon go."

"An interesting proposition," Vasilii replied in his dry monotone.

I shivered involuntarily. My gaze darted to Zylas, lifeless and unmoving, with Vasilii's arm curled around his unprotected chest, thin fingers gripping the demon's throat.

"Robin," Uncle Jack growled, "get your hand off the gun. A shot through the heart will kill him."

"And my demon too!"

"You can summon another demon," he snapped.

Vasilii's black eyes stared right through me. "Robin Page, daughter of Sarah Page, owner of the Athanas Grimoire. Would you like to bargain?"

Tension burned in my muscles. "Why would I trust a vampire's word?"

"I am not a vampire." The slightest smile. "I am… as you call us… a fae."

That took a moment to sink in. "But fae spirits create vampires by infecting humans, so…"

"I am not as they are," he countered, each sound measured carefully in his toneless voice. "They are lowly, bodiless shades, ruled by their basest nature, and I am… how to explain so you might understand?" He paused thoughtfully. "I am to my brethren as the wolf is to the flies that crawl upon its kill."

Not the best analogy, but it got his point across.

"I prefer my kin—other fae—as my quarries, but I enjoy the power I gain from these… demons." He pulled Zylas's head back, the wound on his neck reopening with another trickle of dark blood. "Now, Robin Page, that you know I am of honor, I ask again: Would you like to bargain?"

Fae. I didn't know enough about fae for this. I'd read about them, that bargaining and exchanges were part of their mysterious culture, similar to negotiating with a demon, but I had no idea what the rules were. They were known for keeping their word, weren't they? But I suspected Vasilii, whatever he was, might be a far less trustworthy darkfae.

"What's your offer?" I asked cautiously.

"The grimoire. I will claim it regardless, but should it be damaged…" His black eyes bored into me. "Give me the grimoire, Robin Page, and I will release your demon to you, no further harm inflicted."

The rifle twitched as Uncle Jack tried to pull it out from under my hand. Amalia stood rigid on my other side, her gaze darting from the three vampires to Vasilii to Uncle Jack's unmoving demon as though calculating our odds.

"Why do you want the grimoire?" I asked, my voice cracking with suppressed panic. "What use would a fae have for it?"

"A trade, Robin Page. An item of value to be exchanged for that of equal value." He twisted Zylas's neck a little further, threatening to break it. "I will answer no more questions. My offer is given. Do you agree?"

I swallowed hard. Vasilii was our greatest threat, but even a super-speed fae wasn't as fast as a bullet from fifteen feet away. Uncle Jack's demon, with its armored skin and large size, could probably kill the remaining vampires—or buy us enough time to run to the car and escape.

All we had to do was sacrifice Zylas.

One shot. Vasilii and Zylas would both die, and Uncle Jack, Amalia, and I could escape. The grimoire would be safe. I could go home, no longer a Demonica mythic, no longer in danger of being found out as an illegal contractor. Zora could report me to the MPD and it wouldn't matter. I would have no demon for them to investigate.

Or I could give up the grimoire and save Zylas's life.

I looked down at the grimoire pressed to my chest, to my heart. My mother's treasure. The origin of Demonica. Priceless, precious, dangerous—but just a book. How could I trade a life for a book?

Zylas…

Eyes burning, I drew in a shaky breath—and a memory of his husky voice whispered, Be smarter,drādah.

Just yesterday, alone in a cramped alley. I could almost feel his heat behind me, his hand on my shoulder as he murmured in my ear. You must always be looking everywhere.

I pulled my gaze off Vasilii's unnerving eyes for the first time. The three waiting vampires stood near the kitchen. I skimmed across the room, picking out the shadowy corners, glancing across the broken windows, whisking past the large raised deck outside—

A shape ducked backward out of sight, hidden around the corner just outside the window. Another vampire outside. Why would that one be outside?

Unless there was more than one. Unless more vampires were positioned to ambush us.

Be smarter, Zylas had told me. If he were standing behind me right now, as he had in that alley, I knew what he would whisper in my ear. Vasilii had more vampires waiting out of sight. He wasn't bargaining with us because we had any chance of survival. He wanted to secure the grimoire before he killed us.

Raising my chin, I looked into Vasilii's black eyes. "I accept your offer."

Amalia gasped. Uncle Jack's grip on the rifle spasmed, a hoarse groan catching in his throat.

Vasilii's lips formed that faint, emotionless smile. "Bring me the grimoire."

I tightened my hand on the barrel and turned, giving my uncle the most meaningful stare I could manage. Releasing the rifle, I hastily knotted my broken infernus chain, then slowly approached the fae. Vasilii waited, his arm hooked around Zylas, slender hand gripping the lifeless demon's throat.

One long step away from them, I stopped. Vasilii stared unblinkingly into my eyes as he extended his other hand, fingers spread.

My heart slammed into my ribs as though it were trying to ram through me and grab onto the grimoire. I placed the book in the fae's waiting hand. He curled his fingers over the cover, his expression faintly pleased.

He released Zylas. The demon crumpled—and I dove to the floor with him.

The rifle went off with an earsplitting bang. Vasilii jerked backward. Dead center in his chest, a dark hole the size of a golf ball had shredded his shirt. Sprawled on the floor beside Zylas's prone form, I waited for the fae to collapse.

Grimoire cradled in one hand, Vasilii lightly touched his chest as though surprised by the wound. A small smile curved his lips.

He wasn't falling. He wasn't dying. He'd been shot in the heart with a bullet big enough to kill a bull moose. Why wasn't he dead?

Uncle Jack clutched the rifle, his hands shaking. Amalia stood beside him, her face stamped with horrified disbelief.

Still smiling, Vasilii reached for me.

"Ori eruptum impello!" I screamed.

Silvery light burst from the artifact around my neck. The dome rushed outward, hurling Vasilii away, along with two kitchen chairs and the other vampires. The sofa flipped onto its face with a muffled thud. Only Zylas, safe with my hands on him, was unaffected.

The three vampires crashed down, but Vasilii landed neatly on his feet, unhampered by the hole in his chest. He stroked the grimoire as though to ensure it was undamaged, then turned. He stepped over the windowsill, broken glass grinding under his shoes, and ambled into the blowing snow.

Ravenous eyes glowing, his minions advanced on us to clean up the loose ends while their master whisked away the precious grimoire.

The precious grimoire I had handed to him. What kind of monster could survive a shot through the heart?

My hands tightened on Zylas's shoulders, but he didn't stir. The vampires prowled closer, drool running down their chins as they homed in on the helpless demon and his intoxicating blood.

A loud, metallic clack. The vampires looked up.

Uncle Jack pushed his rifle's bolt forward and pulled the trigger. The ear-rupturing bang exploded again and the bullet tore through two vampires, taking them both out with one shot. As they keeled over, Uncle Jack threw the rifle aside and grasped his infernus. His demon lumbered forward, powerful arms swinging. The remaining vampire bared his fangs and took a cautious step backward.

But he wasn't alone. Glass crunching, the vampires who'd been lurking outside, hidden from view, stepped over the windowsills—four of them, their eerie eyes staring and mouths curved eagerly. One laughed at the sight of our helpless group.

Despair closed over me. Zylas?

Uncle Jack sent his demon charging at the vampires. He and Amalia backed toward the door, calling for me, but I knew it was pointless. There were too many and they were too fast.

I heaved Zylas's limp form onto his back. His dark eyes were empty, but his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Vasilii's bite had sent the demon into a coma-like state.

Three of the vampires leaped on Uncle Jack's massive but slow demon, and the other two advanced on the father and daughter. Amalia thrust out a flashcard and yelled an incantation, but the vampire barely stumbled from the cantrip. Uncle Jack gripped his infernus. His demon turned, called toward its master, but the three vampires dragged it to a halt.

"Zylas," I whispered, pressing my hand to his face. "Please wake up."

A flicker deep in his eyes.

With a crash, Uncle Jack's demon collapsed, the three vampires pinning it to the floor as they attempted to bite through its scaled skin.

I leaned down and touched my forehead to Zylas's, eyes squeezed closed and terror quivering through my limbs. Zylas, help us.

Amalia was screaming, her voice piercing my ears.

A quiet rasp sounded in Zylas's throat. His cool fingers fumbled against my wrist, then closed tight. I looked into his dark eyes, our foreheads still touching.

Drādah.

An image formed in my mind. Spiky red runes, tangled lines and circles. An arching spell in his glowing magic burned brightly inside my head. I recognized it—the same explosive spell he'd cast in the tower basement. His fingers tightened around my wrist and he pushed my hand off his face, raising it above us.

I didn't know why, but I opened my fingers, spreading them wide.

My fingertips tingled. Heat grew—inside my hand, inside my chest. The image of the spell seared my mind. All around me, the room darkened. The temperature dropped.

Cast it.

I closed my eyes, my face pressed to his. Hotter and hotter, my chest burned. The fire was in my arm, in my hand. The spell was inside my head but it was outside my head too. It arched over us in glowing lines, demonic runes, and deadly spirals of power. The air crackled, hissed.

The vampires were coming for us. They were rushing forward, fangs bared, rings in their eyes glowing scarlet with fury and hunger.

But my eyes were closed, so how could I see that?

Zylas's other hand was curled over the back of my neck, palm against my cheek, his shallow breath warm on my skin. I could feel his touch, his physical closeness—and I could feel more than that. I could feel him. A fierce presence inside my mind, bright crimson with an inky black core.

Finish it!

My eyes flew open and for an instant, I saw the crimson power lighting my hand, the twisting veins crawling up my arm, glowing through my sleeve. I saw the spell arching over us and the vampires lunging toward it, claw-like fingers reaching for my exposed back.

"Evashvā vīsh!"

As my voice rang out, I heard his voice in my head, speaking the same alien words. Scorching heat rushed through my body—and the room exploded.

Zylas pulled me down on top of him, arms wrapped over my head, my face crushed against the side of his neck. Light blazed through my eyelids, the roar deafening, arctic cold stabbing my skin in a frigid gust. Crashing, shattering—then a second detonation.

A fireball erupted from the kitchen. Zylas pushed off the floor, flipping our bodies, covering me. The roaring inferno blasted outward—and cold swept in to consume it. The heat and light sucked into Zylas's body as he pulled in the power.

A wave of shrinking fire danced across us, then faded. The acrid stench of burnt plastic singed my nose.

Zylas braced his elbows on either side of me and raised his head. Our stares met, inches between our faces. Bright, hot power glowed in his eyes, replenished by the flames.

My eyes were wide, my lips parted in disbelief. I didn't remember moving my hand, but my fingertips were resting against his jaw.

I could feel him. He was there, inside my head, a shadowy presence that tasted of everything he was—power and brutality, cunning and intelligence, resolve and breathtaking intensity. A steely will. The tang of his sharp humor. And a quiet, hollow despair.

"What…" I breathed, awed and terrified.

"You always could hear me, drādah." His husky whisper sounded in my ears and in my mind at the same time. "You were not listening."

A hoarse wail broke into my confusion. Zylas pushed himself up and sat on my legs, scanning the room. The furniture was no more than shredded fabric and splintered wood. The kitchen had been demolished, its remains burnt black and the gas range a twisted husk. Uncle Jack's demon stood unmoving amid the destruction, but the five vampires lay dead on the shattered floor.

"Dad," Amalia rasped, her voice quavering from behind the heavy dining table, lying on its side and peppered with shrapnel. I pulled my feet from under Zylas and clambered up. Breathing hard as though I'd run a mile, I stumbled toward the table. The feeling of Zylas inside my mind faded.

Sheltered behind the table, Amalia knelt beside her father, hands pressed to his stomach. He lay on his back, his mouth open in pain and horror. Blood flowed over Amalia's hands and pooled around him. The wounds from a vampire's claws raked his belly.

"Dad," Amalia choked. "Hold on, Dad."

The strength left my legs and I sank to my knees, gripping the edge of the overturned table, still on the wrong side of it. Uncle Jack panted for air, his hands weakly grasping Amalia's. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her face contorted.

"Don't leave me, Dad," she whispered. "Please. Please don't."

Suffocating pain rose in my chest. Grief, sharp and fresh, pierced me—anguish for my lost parents, reawakened, and anguish for Amalia, who was about to lose the only parent she had left.

She pushed on Uncle Jack's stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. A sob shook her body, high-pitched and agonized.

With a soft scuff of a footstep, Zylas appeared beside me. He gazed down at the dying man, expressionless. I bowed my head, unable to watch, my heart breaking for Amalia.

A brush against my arm—Zylas moving. My head came up as he stepped over the barrier of the table. He stood for a moment, then crouched beside Uncle Jack, narrowed eyes watching his summoner, the man who'd torn him from his home, imprisoned him, and tried to enslave him.

The demon's gaze shifted to Amalia's tear-streaked face, to mine, and back to Uncle Jack.

"Zh'ūltis," he muttered.

Then he placed his hand on Uncle Jack's chest and crimson magic streaked up his arm.