Kisten turned. “I told you to stay in the car,” he said, and I pushed down my fear at the starkness in his expression. He had already divorced himself from what was going to happen.

“Yeah, you did,” I shot back, forcing my arms down. It was cold and I shivered.

He hesitated, clearly torn. The approaching men spread out. We were surrounded. Their faces were shadowed but confident. All they needed was a bat or crowbar to thump against their hand to make it complete. But they were witches. Their strength was in their magic.

My breath came slow, and I rocked forward on my flat boots. Feeling the stir of adrenaline, I moved into the car’s headlights and put my back to Kisten’s.

The black hunger in his eyes seemed to pause. “Rachel, please wait in the car,” he said his voice making my skin crawl. “This won’t take long, and I don’t want you to get cold.”

He didn’t want me to get cold? I thought, watching the three guys from the BMW behind us settle in to make a living fence. “There are seven witches here,” I said softly. “It only takes three to make a net, and one to hold it once it’s in place.”

“True, but it only takes me three seconds to drop a man.”

The men in my sight faltered. There was a reason the I.S. didn’t send witches to bring in a vampire. Seven against one might do it, but not without someone getting really hurt.

I risked a glance over my shoulder to see that the four guys from the Cadillac were looking at the man in the long coat who had gotten out from the BMW. Top guy, I thought, thinking he was too confident as he adjusted his long coat and jerked his head to the men around us. The two in front of Kisten started forward and three dropped back. Their lips were moving and their hands were gesturing. The hair on the back of my neck pricked at the sudden rise of power.

At least three ley line witches, I guessed, then went cold as one of the advancing men pulled out a gun. Crap. Kisten could come back from the dead, but I couldn’t.

“Kisten …” I warned, my voice rising and my eyes fixed on the gun.

Kisten moved, and I jumped. One moment he was next to me, and the next he was among the men. There was a pop of a gun. Gasping, I ducked, blinding myself in the Corvette’s headlights. Crouched, I saw one guy was down, but not the one with the gun.

Encircling us, almost lost in the glare, the ley line witches muttered and gestured, their net tightening when they took a step in. My skin tingled as the lacework fell over us.

Moving too fast to readily follow, Kisten grabbed the wrist of the man with the gun. The snap of bone was clear in the cold, dry air. My stomach lurched as the man screamed and fell to his knees. Kisten followed it up with a powerful blow to his head. Someone was shouting. The gun fell, and Kisten caught it before it hit the snow.