“I’m hungry.” His eyes were turning, and his tongue flicked out over fang and lip. “I want to kill the old one. I want to drink the female. They’re mine, they’re mine. I’m the Prince of Blood!”
“Davey, no!”
But with a violent kick of his heels, he sent the pony racing forward.
It was all so quick, Moira thought. Flashing moments. The silver snick of Cian’s sword leaving its scabbard, the shift of his body in front of hers like a shield. The rider flew out of the dark, and her arrow was notched and ready.
Then she saw it was a child, a little boy on a sturdy roan pony. Her heart stumbled; her body jerked. And her arrow went wide of the mark.
The child was screaming, howling, snarling. A wolf cub on the hunt.
Lilith flew behind the pony, an emerald and gold she-demon, streaking through the air, hands curled into claws, fangs gleaming.
Moira’s second arrow spiked through her heart and soared into the air.
“She’s not real!” Cian shouted. “But he is. Take the dragon and go.”
Even as she reached for a third arrow, Cian shoved her aside, leaping over the charging pony.
A little boy, Moira thought. A little boy with eyes burning red and fangs spearing. It waved a shortened sword, as it dragged on the reins. Lilith’s screams were like lances of ice through Moira’s brain as the boy tumbled off the pony and fell hard on the rocky ground.
It bled, Moira saw, where the rocks struck and scraped. It cried, as a boy would when he had a fall.
Her breath caught in denial as Cian advanced with the illusion of Lilith clawing at him with intangible hands. Sick in heart and mind, Moira lowered her bow.
The second rider came out of the moon-struck dark like fury. Not a boy now, but a man armed for battle, his broadsword already cleaving the air.
Cian pivoted, and met the charge.
Swords clashed and crashed, the deadly music of them ringing over the valley. Cian leaped, dismounting the rider with a vicious kick to the throat.
With no clear shot, Moira tossed down her bow and drew her sword. Before she could rush to fight with Cian, the boy gained his hands and knees. He lifted his head, stared at her with those gleaming eyes.
It growled.
“Don’t.” Moira backed up a step as Davey crouched to spring. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll rip out your throat.” His lips peeled back as he circled her. “And drink and drink. You should run. I like it best when they try to run.”
“I won’t run. But you should.”
“Davey, run! Run now!”
He whipped his head toward Lilith and snarled like a rabid dog. “I want to play! Hide-and-seek. Tag, you’re it!”
“I won’t play.” Moira circled with him, trying to work him back with thrusts of the sword.
He’d lost his sword in the fall, but Moira told herself she would use hers if he sprang at her. He wasn’t unarmed; no vampire ever was. And those fangs glinted, sharp and keen.
She spun, kicking out, aiming low to hit him in the belly and drive him back.
Lilith’s form crouched over him, hissing. “I’ll kill you for that. I’ll peel the skin from your bones before I do. Lucius!”
Lucius hacked out at Cian. There was blood on them both, blood in their eyes. They leaped at each other, meeting violently in midair.
“Run, Davey!” Lucius shouted. “Run!”
Davey hesitated, and something came over his face. Moira thought, for an instant, she could see the child the demon had swallowed. The fear, the innocence, the confusion.