This wasn’t happening. I didn’t care if Roman thought he was god-emperor of vampires, this wasn’t happening. I sprang at Henry, hoping to knock him off balance enough that Anastasia could break free. Then I hoped she’d have the sense to get herself out of here instead of going after Roman again.
I slammed my weight on his arms to break that grip. Instead, we all crashed into the wall. I didn’t have much that worked against vampires, but I tried, jamming my elbow into his throat and biting a meaty bicep. I didn’t want to hurt him, I just wanted to rattle him. Shake him loose from Roman’s control. I had no idea if it would work.
Anastasia wrenched free with a snarl, and I scrambled away from them both.
She was getting ready to pounce at Roman again. I grabbed her arm.
“Go, get Grace out of here,” I said. “You guys have to find the pearl before he does.” Her expression twisted with the indecision—stay to fight her nemesis, or be the first to get the artifact. The big-picture goal must have won because she took Grace by the hand, and together they ran. “Henry?” I said, hoping to get through to him. “Henry!”
He was staring at Roman, still entranced, waiting for the next instruction.
“Kill the wolf,” Roman said to him, and Henry looked at me.
So much for that.
“Ben,” I hissed, looking for my husband. I didn’t have to look far—he stood behind me, shoulders hunched, ready to attack. I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the doorway. “We gotta go.”
I thought Cormac was right with us, on the same page—escape and regroup. But during the commotion, Anastasia’s outburst, and Henry’s enslavement, he’d clung to the wall and worked his way around the edge of the room. He was going to do something stupid; it wasn’t going to work. I kept my wide-eyed gaze on Roman, hoping not to draw any attention to the hunter, who had slipped Wyatt Earp’s polished stake into his hand.
He lunged, stabbing the stake down toward Roman’s back. The strike was perfect—the careful stalking, the patient waiting, and the pounce that came without warning, without a flinch. Any wolf pack would be proud of such a hunt.
Roman saw it coming anyway.
The vampire pivoted back, arm raised, cracking his fist into Cormac’s face. The hunter fell, limbs loose, crumpling to the stone floor. Blood streamed from a split lip.
Ben and I sprang to protect our family. Hunting as a pack now, we went low and high, me for Roman’s legs and Ben for his throat. Not that either target would have any impact on the immortal undead. If we chewed long enough maybe we could rip his head off. If only Roman would give us the opportunity.
The vampire punched, putting his whole body into the strikes, one fist into Ben’s face, the other into mine, in almost the same movement. I hit the floor and saw lights. Roman stood, immovable as stone. We were never going to win this fight, and in my gut Wolf whined, kicking with an urge to flee.
Roman moved before the doorway, blocking our exit while the three of us were still picking ourselves up off the floor. This would be the perfect chance for someone standing in the doorway to put a stake in the guy’s back, but Grace and Anastasia had fled; the hallway behind Roman was empty. Well. At least they’d gotten away. Roman didn’t appear willing to give us a chance to do the same.
In the absence of any targets directly in front of him, Henry had paused, looking at Roman and waiting for the next command.
“Henry!” I called. “Henry, please, wake up! Help us!”
“Henry, sleep,” Roman said. The younger vampire closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, not even bothering to fall all the way to the floor. He seemed suddenly childlike and helpless. How could I ever think of a vampire as helpless?
The walls felt like they were getting closer.
“Cormac?” I whispered. I sounded hoarse, Wolf’s voice on the surface. Still holding the stake, he nodded. If we could distract Roman, we might get a second chance. Roman couldn’t fight all three of us at once, could he?
Actu
ally, he could.
He moved too fast, and his senses were too good. No matter how we tried to game it—one or two of us attacked from the front while another of us waited to ambush from behind, or all of us tried to jump him from three different directions—he was always ready. To strike first, to step out of the way, to grab one of us and slam us into the other. He’d survived for two thousand years. He knew a lot of tricks.
We were getting pummeled, but we kept going because we could take a lot of pummeling. My injured leg had gone stiff, throbbing with pain. Cormac—he’d slowed down and half his face was bloody. He couldn’t take much more of this, but how did we stop it? Roman was playing with us, catlike.
Get Roman away from the door, grab Henry, then run. That was the plan. I gave Ben a nod, hoping to communicate this to him. He was panting for breath, and his own wolf glinted gold in his eyes.
Someone whistled, a high, sharp note that hurt my Wolf’s ears. It sounded close, right behind me even, but I couldn’t see who made the noise. I didn’t dare look away from Roman, who was glancing behind him, also searching for the source. None of us saw it. Our breathing echoed harshly; Roman was silent.
The whistle came again, and we all looked, watchful and ready to pounce. I wouldn’t have been so worried except that Roman didn’t seem to know what it was, either. His brow had gone furrowed, anxious.
The attack came from the shadows in the hallway. A long, wooden staff struck at Roman’s legs, toppling him. He hadn’t seen it coming. I was in awe.
Roman rolled to his back, looking for his attacker, and Sun sprang over him, smacking him back with the end of the staff.