In slow motion, my hands slide from the wall, and I slip off the brick, plummeting into nothing. I hear a scream. Air roars past my ears. The top of the mansion hurtles away from me.

Fuuuuuuck…

Chapter 28

28

I expect to crash onto cold stone. I expect my head to hit unforgiving hardness and explode like a melon. But a soft current of heat envelops my body, lowers me slowly to the ground, then seeps away.

The raucous sounds of battle and crashing steel filter back to my ears.

When I open my eyes, I’m lying on the pavement that circles the mansion, the wall I just fell from stretching up to the night sky.

Ookay. That was handy.

I throw the moment onto my “what the fuck?” pile—no time to examine that right now—and flip to my feet. Or at least, I try to flip. The attempt only lands me back on the ground. What’s wrong with my body? Where’s my superstrength gone?

With more effort than it should take, I scramble to a run instead, making a beeline for the boundary wall, which towers over the garden at least half a mile away. The vamps have all left, taken their precious loot with them. Only Radomir remains, standing on the wall, watching me as I stagger over the grass. The girl lies limp across his shoulders, head lolling, arms dangling. What’s he done to her?

I speed up. If I can just get close enough.

Hot pain shoots through my spine, the pins and needles sensation returning like a thousand bees stinging me at once. I stumble into the grass, body tense against the burn. I’ve got no strength. My limbs are weak, fatigued as if I’m attempting to run up a sharp incline.

No way am I letting that Lord Prick leave.

Fixing my eyes on the dark figure waiting atop the wall, I grit my teeth against the pain and force myself forward, lurching over the grass. My breath comes in gasping gulps, the wall seems farther and farther away, but determination drives me forward.

Stop, Michael. You must rest and heal.

“Fuck, you, Radomir.” I know he can hear me, even at this distance. “Leave the girl.”

This girl is now mine. If you want her, come home to your prince.

Bastard.

It’s no good. The burn now feels like fire running over my skin. A sucking weakness steals the last of my strength. A red-hot poker spears my heart. I grasp my chest, grimacing from the tight agony banding my ribs. My face scrapes lawn for the second time today. I try to push up, lever myself onto my knees at least. All I manage to do is plant my face deeper into the grass. Unconsciousness threatens. My sight swims. Darkness rises, ready to swallow me down. No. No.

“Leave the girl,” I repeat, mumbling into the grass.