I don’t know who he’s talking about, but his words have the desired effect. Flanagan howls as though in pain and thrusts the vampire away from him.

“Now!” Alexei shouts.

Three cloaked figures materialize at the edges of the rock shelf, arms extended. Shimmering webs of light coalesce in the air on either side of the two fighters.

So I did see something earlier. Bloody witches.

Alexei gusts upward, but as the iridescent walls close in, Flanagan springs from the ground, wraps his fingers around the vampire’s ankle, and yanks him back down. Alexei hisses, wings flapping wildly as he attempts to fly away. The glimmering web of light closes and shrinks, his wings beating against its walls. He shrieks with fury, but Flanagan isn’t letting go. When the walls snap into place, forming a dome of rainbow light around them, the prince is caught by his own trap.

But so is Flanagan.

He told me he was protected by the Goddess from direct witchcraft. Obviously that’s not enough if they get creative.

I scurry along the rock face toward the nearest cloaked figure. I’ve got to get Flanagan out of there.

I’m met by fiery orange eyes. Alyona. How did she get here from Blackriver so quickly?

Springing forward, I try for a punch. She dodges. I lunge again, but an invisible force pushes me back. Without thought, my hands ignite, Flame licking my wrists. Alyona flinches, then screeches at me, fangs bared.

“I will not be caught again, Whisperer.” She raises a hand and points at my neck.

Instant pressure strangles the breath from my lungs, and I claw at a stinging-hot band cinching my throat. My skin burns, and my eyes bulge. Pain throbs through my head. It’s like a hot metal wire wants to slice through my neck. My knees buckle. I fall against the rock face, unable to breathe. Black spots drift across my eyes.

“Harm him, and you will die, witch!” Alexei shouts, still grappling with Flanagan.

Alyona spits with outrage, but the pressure releases. The moment I’m free, I suck in air, lurch upward, and jab her in the throat, hard. Her eyes fly wide, a gurgle leaving her lips as she steps backward, grasping her neck. With a sidekick to her pelvis, I send her sailing over the cliff. She twists in the air and lands like a cat on an outcrop of rock. Where her cowl flaps back, the exposed skin crackles and smokes in the sunlight. She wails and tugs the hood to cover her face again.

So vamps do burn in the light, then? Good to know.

I leap at the next witch, fist a handful of hood, and yank. The cotton falls away, and he whips his head around to scowl at me, but his skin doesn’t burn in the light. He’s human.

Bollocks.