Nick dismounted and tied his gelding to a tree next to Wind.

Not waiting for him, I started toward the gate.

“You’re going to take him on by yourself?” Curran’s voice asked at my side. He sounded amused.

“If I wait any longer, I won’t go in,” I said. My knees trembled. My teeth chattered in my mouth.

He grabbed me and kissed me. The kiss sent a wave of heat from my lips all the way to my toes. Curran’s eyes laughed. “For luck,” he whispered, his breath a hot cloud on my ear.

I broke free and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “When we’re done with the upir,” I growled, “I’ll give you that fight you’ve been wanting.”

“Much better,” Curran said.

“If you lovebirds are done,” Nick said. “Get out of my way.”

Curran changed in an explosion of ripping clothes. I wasn’t sure what was more frightening, whatever awaited us beyond the gate or the awful meld of human and prehistoric lion next to me, but at the moment I didn’t care. The weight of the cyanide sphere tugged on my pocket.

Together we stalked toward the gates. Curran hit them once and they flew open, revealing the yard beyond, illuminated by three bonfires. I took a step inside and stopped, stunned.

The upir stood in the middle of the yard, bathed in the light of the flames. He wore a kilt. A belt of wide silver disks enclosed his waist and charms of fur and bone hung from the links on leather cords. Ornate spaulders of silvery metal guarded his shoulders, joined by a chain of metal disks across his bare chest. Matching vambraces shielded his arms from the wrist to the elbow, leaving his hands exposed. His shins were bound in cloth but no boots protected his feet and he stood lightly poised, ready to leap. He held a spear, tipped by a foot-long blade, curved like a scimitar. The blade shimmered with borrowed firelight, matching the gleam in his eyes. He looked so odd, standing there in the middle of the yard, against the backdrop of a crude modern building, a being ancient but alive, a contradiction in terms, as if time itself had torn and spit him from its depths complete with the kilt and wild gray hair.

“Damn,” Curran growled. “I didn’t know this was a costume party.”

His voice jarred the illusion. I snapped my fingers. “Oh, hell. I should’ve brought my French maid outfit.”

The upir laughed, sharp teeth gleaming. “Look at the windows, Kate. Look at your sisters.”