Only they didn’t have to, because my ex-boyfriend was going to take care of that for them, risking his own neck along with mine and Pritkin’s, too. Pritkin was my current lover, which roped him into the enchantment as well, and explained why he was here. He was afraid that Mircea was going to get us all killed, because the spell was just fine with ménages à trois.

Unfortunately, Pritkin wasn’t.

I’d tried to play peacemaker by pointing out that the spell wasn’t a problem right now, since Mircea had had it removed. And had sworn never to have it cast again, in exchange for me taking him on this one last mission through time. Assuming we survived, that was.

That last thought must have occurred to Pritkin, too, because my attempts at diplomacy had not been well received. The tension had been a little thick in the carriage as a result, and it didn’t look like things were improving. Mircea’s expression had turned dark and scowl-y, and his nose was twitching.

I surreptitiously sniffed myself, wondering if my panicked sweat had broken through the rose-scented perfume I was wearing. But seriously, who could tell? All I could pick up was cold and horse, and I couldn’t see anything huddled under my heavy fur blanket, or talk without possibly being overheard by the dozens of carriages around us.

So, I stood up, too. Another gust of freezing wind hit, making me shiver and causing our horses to do another jig across the slick, icy stones. But, this time, I barely noticed. This time, I was riveted by something even scarier than a plunge into the void.

Shit.

Two figures stood at the end of the death trap of a causeway, in long dark cloaks that billowed out on the wind like the banners on the castle ramparts above. If they were trying to look human, it wasn’t working. For one thing, they dwarfed the guy that they’d just snatched off a coachbox, and for another, one of them had turned him upside down, holding him easily by one leg and shaking him until the knives hidden about his person fell out and rattled against the stones.

Seven feet tall, super strong, and with long, silver hair that whipped in the wind when one of their hoods fell back?

Shit, shit, shit.

I guess Pritkin felt the same, because the howling of the wind, the creaking of the carriage wheels, and the whinnying of the horses abruptly cut out, when he threw a silence spell around us.

“Son of a bitch!” he snarled, turning around, and Mircea shot him a warning glance.

“They can still see you,” he said, talking about the vamps in the other carriages, I assumed.

“Like I give a damn! We aren’t getting in there!”

“We are.” It was implacable.

“What are the fey doing here?” I asked, trying to avoid a fight, possibly literally.