terror quivering through my limbs. Zylas, help us.
Amalia was screaming, her voice piercing my ears.
A quiet rasp sounded in Zylas’s throat. His cool fingers fumbled against my wrist, then closed tight. I looked into his dark eyes, our foreheads still touching.
Drādah.
An image formed in my mind. Spiky red runes, tangled lines and circles. An arching spell in his glowing magic burned brightly inside my head. I recognized it—the same explosive spell he’d cast in the tower basement. His fingers tightened around my wrist and he pushed my hand off his face, raising it above us.
I didn’t know why, but I opened my fingers, spreading them wide.
My fingertips tingled. Heat grew—inside my hand, inside my chest. The image of the spell seared my mind. All around me, the room darkened. The temperature dropped.
Cast it.
I closed my eyes, my face pressed to his. Hotter and hotter, my chest burned. The fire was in my arm, in my hand. The spell was inside my head but it was outside my head too. It arched over us in glowing lines, demonic runes, and deadly spirals of power. The air crackled, hissed.
The vampires were coming for us. They were rushing forward, fangs bared, rings in their eyes glowing scarlet with fury and hunger.
But my eyes were closed, so how could I see that?
Zylas’s other hand was curled over the back of my neck, palm against my cheek, his shallow breath warm on my skin. I could feel his touch, his physical closeness—and I could feel more than that. I could feel him. A fierce presence inside my mind, bright crimson with an inky black core.
Finish it!
My eyes flew open and for an instant, I saw the crimson power lighting my hand, the twisting veins crawling up my arm, glowing through my sleeve. I saw the spell arching over us and the vampires lunging toward it, claw-like fingers reaching for my exposed back.
“Evashvā vīsh!”
As my voice rang out, I heard his voice in my head, speaking the same alien words. Scorching heat rushed through my body—and the room exploded.
Zylas pulled me down on top of him, arms wrapped over my head, my face crushed against the side of his neck. Light blazed through my eyelids, the roar deafening, arctic cold stabbing my skin in a frigid gust. Crashing, shattering—then a second detonation.
A fireball erupted from the kitchen. Zylas pushed off the floor, flipping our bodies, covering me. The roaring inferno blasted outward—and cold swept in to consume it. The heat and light sucked into Zylas’s body as he pulled in the power.
A wave of shrinking fire danced across us, then faded. The acrid stench of burnt plastic singed my nose.
Zylas braced his elbows on either side of me and raised his head. Our stares met, inches between our faces. Bright, hot power glowed in his eyes, replenished by the flames.
My eyes were wide, my lips parted in disbelief. I didn’t remember moving my hand, but my fingertips were resting against his jaw.
I could feel him. He was there, inside my head, a shadowy presence that tasted of everything he was—power and brutality, cunning and intelligence, resolve and breathtaking intensity. A steely will. The tang of his sharp humor. And a quiet, hollow despair.
“What …” I breathed, awed and terrified.
“You always could hear me, drādah.” His husky whisper sounded in my ears and in my mind at the same time. “You were not listening.”
A hoarse wail broke into my confusion. Zylas pushed himself up and sat on my legs, scanning the room. The furniture was no more than shredded fabric and splintered wood. The kitchen had been demolished, its remains burnt black and the gas range a twisted husk. Uncle Jack’s demon stood unmoving amid the destruction, but the five vampires lay dead on the shattered floor.
“Dad,” Amalia rasped, her voice quavering from behind the heavy dining table, lying on its side and peppered with shrapnel. I pulled my feet from under Zylas and clambered up. Breathing hard as though I’d run a mile, I stumbled toward the table. The feeling of Zylas inside my mind faded.
Sheltered behind the table, Amalia knelt beside her father, hands pressed to his stomach. He lay on his back, his mouth open in pain and horror. Blood flowed over Amalia’s hands and pooled around him. The wounds from a vampire’s claws raked his belly.
“Dad,” Amalia choked. “Hold on, Dad.”
The strength left my legs and I sank to my knees, gripping the edge of the overturned table, still on the wrong side