Curran kept moving forward. The longer he kept talking, the closer to her we would get. He was going out of his way to be offensive, although for him it didn’t take much effort. “Thirteen years. Finally grew bored with you, didn’t he? Found somebody younger, prettier, fresher. And now you’re here, hiding in some shit hole, forgotten and discarded, like a used rubber. Nothing to show for all those years.”

She reeled back. “I’ve held his body in mine. I’ve tasted his flesh and he passed a blessing of power onto me.”

Technically that would be true. If they had shared body liquids, she would have gained some of his power.

“A blessing of power,” Curran laughed, the echoes of his snarls scattering to the walls. “How about a child?”

She did not answer.

“Oh, wait.” Curran paused. “I forgot. The Father of the People is too afraid to make a child of his blood. Or maybe he found you lacking in power?”

She laughed. The loud hollow sound ricocheted from the walls, seemingly coming from everywhere. “Oh, no, half-breed. Power is something I do not lack.”

Her defenses dropped. I felt the shadows behind her, the enraged, ravenous vampires, younger than the one I had beheaded, but formidable all the same. Evil magic clung to them, like a rotting mantle, fueling their frenzy.

She spoke a single harsh word, and the phantoms behind her burst from the shadows, reeking of undeath and hungry for blood.

The shapechangers broke away into a loose fighting formation, leaving me in the middle of the floor. Curran’s talking had gained us about twenty feet, and the vampires’ charge came with astonishing speed. I hit the ground. The first vamp sailed over me.

I rolled onto my back. Another vamp leaped over me. My blade slid into the flesh of its withdrawn gut. A black gush of its blood drenched the floor an inch away from my head. The vamp aimed for Curran, oblivious to the wound. The Beast Lord roared. Happy hunting.

I leaped to my feet and launched myself toward Olathe. She spun, a small sickle knife in her hand. The curved blade slit her forearm. The power of her blood slammed into me, and I rocked back, dizzy. She whirled, her hair flying, her eyes wild and bulging. The blood from the cut sprayed around her, falling to the ground in a wide circle. The red drops ignited, and a wall of carmine flames rushed upward, enclosing her in a protective circle of magic. A blood ward. The only way to penetrate it was with the blood of a relative or with overpowering magic. Shit.