Unknown - Scorched

“Hey. Demon guy.”

Mac turned. Oh, great. It was Ashe.

Mac took a hard look at Holly’s sister. She had a light machine gun slung across her shoulder. She saw him look ing at it. “Altered for heavy silver ammunition. I know a guy at Colt.”

“Shouldn’t you be recuperating?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

Mac didn’t believe it for a moment. She looked pale and moved like she still hurt.

Ashe looked at Connie. “Hello, again.”

“Hello. We never introduced ourselves. My name is Constance.” Connie looked Ashe up and down in turn. “Are you Holly’s sister?”

“That’s right. Ashe Carver.”

Connie narrowed her eyes. “Are you here to slay vampires?”

“Not today,” said Ashe. “But it sounds like your son’s in real trouble. There’ll be plenty of action to go around.” She patted her weapon.

Mac turned to her. “Y’know, I saved your life. It kinda hurts you’re planning to throw it away so soon.”

Ashe gave him a lip curl, but it held no rancor. “You never know, Scorch, I might come in handy.”

Wonderful. The fire-demon thing’s already hot gossip.

“You need a warning label.” Mac looked her in the eye. She reminded him of some of the female cops he knew, including his old partner. Solid, for all the kick-ass attitude.

“A warning label. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said all week.” She turned and walked toward Pack Silvertail’s huddle, where the Bakers were assigning teams.

Mac called after her. “Yeah, and it would say ‘slow learner.’”

Ashe made a rude gesture.

Connie tilted her head. “She’s an unusual woman.” Mac sighed. “Thank God for that.”

Alessandro’s group had been the first to move into the Castle. There had been half a dozen guardsmen stand-ing watch inside the door. There were now six guardsmen tied up and in the custody of the bears.

Just before they moved off, he stopped and folded Holly in his arms.

“Be careful,” she said.

He held her away, his arms on her shoulders. She was giving him the full force of her lovely green eyes.

“You be careful,” he said. Suddenly everything seemed too fragile. He wanted to take everything back and start the night over. A night where there was no Castle, and Holly wouldn’t be left behind to battle stray monsters. Maybe they’d have watched a movie.

“Alessandro,” she said on an indrawn breath.

“Yes?”

She exhaled, her look confused. He waited.

“I’m the one with the magic,” she said. “Don’t take big risks. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

He could tell she meant it, but that hadn’t been what she’d meant to say. They exchanged a look. Her eyes were full of nothing but love, and a trace of fear, and a lot of courage.

“I’ll tell you the rest later,” she said. He kissed her again, lightly this time, or he’d never tear himself away. “Take my gun.”

“I don’t need it.”

Yes, she had magic, but he’d made her learn to fire a weapon. He liked insurance.

“Take it, anyway. It’ll make me feel better. I’m better with a sword.”

Because if she wasn’t waiting, what was the point of coming back?

Constance remembered Bran’s orders as the guardsmen had captured Sylvius. Keep him separate from the others, especially the sorcerer. Put Atreus in the comer cell. Keep this one downstairs.

How could the guardsmen keep control of Atreus? His powers were growing weak, but he could still protect himself. She hadn’t had time to think about it before, but now it preyed on her mind. She couldn’t think of an answer, and that meant there was a surprise in store.

Not the pleasant kind of surprise, either.

They gambled that Sylvius would still be in his cell, so their destination was the guardsmen’s quarters. Constance and Mac had been running for a long time, the terrain rising. As they approached a junction of hallways, Mac threw out an arm, signaling a stop. Constance nearly bumped into him, her shoes skidding on the stone.

“There’s someone ahead,” Mac mouthed. “I saw movement.”

They waited. Then Constance saw it wasn’t people. “My God,” Constance breathed. “There’s another one,” murmured Mac. “Incredible.” For a moment, the shadows seemed to part. The first was visible only for a moment, a flash of white crossing the cor ridor ahead. Constance blinked, thinking it was a trick of her eyes. She leaned forward, her body resting against the delicious heat of Mac’s broad back. The sensation nearly made her forget everything else.

Then there was another flash of white. This time she got a good look, because it paused.

It was about the size of a deer, its pale coat dappled in light gray. Long, slender legs ended in cloven hooves, a silvery sheen glistening from the long mane and tail. It lifted its head, whuffing, sniffing the air. Nervously, it turned its head.

At the center of its forehead, the spiraling horn shone like mother-of-pearl.

It was so beautiful, Constance wanted to weep. If that was not splendor enough, two more of its kind joined it. Constance blinked, her eyes dry from staring. One of the newcomers touched noses with the first, and the three moved away, passing out of sight.

Mac turned, his eyes alight. He slid his arm around her. “Did you see that?”

“They’re from the levels below,” said Constance. “If they’ve been driven this far up the corridors, the lower caverns must be disappearing.”

“What else is down there?” Mac asked uneasily.

Constance shook her head. “No one knows for sure.”

Alessandro followed Lore’s second-in-command through what must have been the worst rat maze in the Castle. These were narrow, cold passageways, some so cramped that Alessandro had to turn sideways to slip through. Torches were rare, and at times there was barely enough light for even his vampire sight to function. However, he wasn’t complaining. They had met no guardsmen, and the hounds were perfectly certain of their path. “How much farther?” he asked.

The lead hound cast a glance over his shoulder. His name was Bevan, a young, solid-looking hound who seemed to be Lore’s friend as well as his right hand—or would that be paw?

“Another five minutes,” he said, the words colored by the almost Slavic accent the hounds had. At least this one spoke with nonhounds. Many either couldn’t or wouldn’t.

Alessandro nodded, ducking as the corridor ceiling dipped. He’d already unhooked his broadsword from its hanger and carried it by the scabbard. It had proved a nuisance in the narrow spaces.

There were six hounds following him, six pairs of shuffling feet and six beating hearts. Hounds are not food, he told himself, but he could feel the vague tug of hunger, anyway. Just nerves. If he stayed long enough, the urge to feed would pass entirely, smothered by the Castle’s magic.

Smothered. The word rattled through his head. Claustrophobia tickled between his shoulder blades. Lore is going to owe me for this.

Bevan stopped, raising a hand to signal a halt. He raised his head, sniffing. Alessandro did, too, wondering what disturbed their guide. Something unfamiliar struck his senses. It was subtle, no more than a faint metallic tang.

“Run!” Bevan sprang forward, bounding down what was now no more than a hole through the stone.

Alessandro didn’t argue. He raced after, vampire speed matching the hellhounds’, pace for pace. After a hundred more feet, the passageway widened, allowing for more freedom. He could hear the hounds behind him, one beginning to howl with panic, a strange half-human, half-canine sound. What’s back there?