Vixen followed Markus into the main hall of the barrow. Two pixie guards wearing determined expressions flanked her on either side, obviously there to make sure she didn’t take a little walkabout of her own. Not that there was any fear of that. If the kyn were here, she wanted to be with them. It was her best shot at getting out.

Despite the situation, Vixen stopped for a moment in sheer awe as they entered the hall. The room she’d woken up in and the corridors were fairly mundane, appearing to be something out of an old manor house. It was easy to forget they were in what basically amounted to a small section of Faery, albeit one tethered permanently to the human world. But here in the hall, majestic columns supported a high ceiling decorated with a breathtaking mural depicting the history of the barrow. Pixie murals weren’t the same as the mundane human ones though. Instead, they were a real-time account of the events they recorded. As she watched a vicious battle raged across the ceiling—pixies fighting goblins and all manner of other paranormal creatures. Including other pixies. A hell of a lot of other pixies. In fact, there were more pixies than any other creature.

A startled intake of breath brought her back to the present and she looked around. At the other end of the hall stood Marak, surrounded by the largest bunch of warriors Vixen had ever seen in one place. They all looked her way with concern on their faces. Next to Marak, Kalen stepped forward, only to be stopped by the king’s large hand on his arm.

Vixen blinked when she saw the big warrior king. In fact, she was surprised to see as many warriors as there were congregated in the room. Guilt filled her. Marak must have cut his honeymoon short. There were others. There at the back was Geran, a guy she often swapped patrols with so he could spend time with his mate, and others she knew weren’t rostered on tonight.

A warm feeling settled deep in her chest. Bless them, they’d all come to her rescue. For years, she’d thought no one liked her, the she-beast total bitch she was most of the time. Finally, she found the face she looked for amongst them. Feral, appearing more than a little worse for wear, was covered in cuts and bruises, with one eye swollen shut and his arm in a sling.

Regardless, he stood tall, his “no-nonsense” expression not boding well for the pixies around them. She knew that any pixie who crossed Feral in the future would get the snot beat out of it.

Her gaze skipped over the others until she found Kalen near the front and next to Marak. His gaze bored into hers, his face hard with anger. She easily read the fury in every line of his body and in the white-knuckles of the fists clenched at his sides. Unbidden, the walls around her guarded heart relaxed a little. After their altercation in the showers, when she’d told him to get out, she hadn’t been sure what to expect from him.

He’d bitten her… Surely, he wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t wanted to? Hadn’t wanted to… with her?

“Well now, we are honored. I didn’t expect you to grace our humble barrow, Your Highness,” Markus said smoothly, nodding toward Marak. The two men, king and warlord, eyed each other, both obviously used to this game. Marak inclined his head, ignoring the vaguely insulting tone Markus had injected into his voice.

“Well, when one of my warriors goes missing—”

“You mean kidnapped,” a voice snarled, only to be interrupted by another.

“Shut it, K. Let Marak do his thing before you open your trap.”

“When one of my warriors goes missing,” Marak repeated in a louder voice as he cast a sharp look at Kalen, “I’m all over it, wherever I need to be. Obviously, I’m interested in resolving this matter as soon as possible.”

“Oh, you hear that, sweetheart? Your old boss wants to ‘resolve the matter.’”

Markus smirked as he draped an arm over Vixen’s shoulders. She stood rigid, well aware he still had the spelled blade on him. She had no idea where. Thanks to pixie sleight-of-hand, she hadn’t seen him put it away and had no clue where he’d concealed it. Nor how quickly he could have it back in his hand. Knowing pixies, it would be within a heartbeat, which was the only thing keeping Vixen from snapping his neck where he stood.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen.”

False regret colored Markus’ voice as his eyes sparkled. Pixies loved danger and there was nothing more dangerous, or more suicidal, than baiting a bunch of kyn warriors. “You’ve had somewhat of a wasted journey. You see, Miss Vixen here has already agreed to become my wife,” he said smoothly, smiling smugly at them.

* * *

“Bullshit.” The comment was snarled in more than one voice, at least four warriors starting forward at the same time Kalen did. Marak held up his hand, stopping them in their tracks.

That pixie was a dead man. Kalen’s eyes narrowed with anger as a muscle in his jaw jumped irritably. Fury surged through him like a tidal wave, battering aside all the defenses of logical reasoning as he focused on the hand resting across Vixen’s shoulders. But first, he decided, he’d cut the bastard’s hands off for daring to touch the woman he loved.

Whoa. Where did that come from? He blinked at the thought and realized he did. He was head over heels in love with her. His sniping over the years had been a defense mechanism. After his ex-wife, Kalen had vowed off women, off love. Vixen had been a threat to the status-quo, and he saw that now. One his subconscious had tried to shield him from, trying to keep her at arm’s length. It hadn’t worked.

He loved her.

He held that discovery to himself for a moment, feeling the warmth spread out from his heart to fill every cell of his body. His gaze sought hers, her green eyes filled with worry and fear. He smiled, showing reassurance. They were getting out of this, simple as that. He wouldn’t accept anything less.

“Vixen, is this true?”

Marak’s voice brought Kalen back to the present. He turned, awaiting Vixen’s answer with interest. There was no way she’d agreed to this, not of her own free will. If she had, the pixie had something over her. Kalen’s hand tightened on his hilts. If he’d hurt her in any way…

But she didn’t get to answer. Markus interrupted her as she opened her mouth to speak. “I say it’s true, and in my barrow, my word is law.”

Kalen knew what he was about. Challenge. To disagree with a pixie warlord on their own turf was suicide unless you formally challenged them according to pixie law. Trouble was, what the kyn knew about pixie law was roughly the same as what Kalen knew about women’s fashion. Jack shit.

“Oh bugger it, I just knew this was going to happen,” a female voice grumbled. Kalen turned slightly as the petite woman who stood between Marak and Mikal stepped forward.

“Who is this?” Markus demanded, only to be fixed by a steely stare from the warden-woman.

“Look, you. I’m knackered. I’ve had less than a couple of hours’ sleep, and I’m really hoping to get home in time to get some more tonight. So, keep the chatter to a minimum and let’s do this thing, okay?” The tone of authority in her voice impressed even Kalen, who’d spent years hearing the same tone from Marak.

“Right. According to the laws passed by Nemain, Mistress of the Hunt and Lady of the Dark Court, to which all lesser courts, including this one, must pay homage, we—” she gestured at the group around her, “meaning the kyn warriors in this room and myself—do formally challenge you, Warlord Markus Ryan Lysander, upon the matter of the kidnapping and detention of the kyn warrioress known as Vixen.”

The warden’s voice sounded calm, perhaps even slightly bored as she rattled off the challenge. If the reaction of the pixies in the room was an indicator, it also seemed to be in the correct format. They’d gone from bored and nonchalant to attentive and interested. Kalen felt the excitement in the air as they watched Markus, waiting for his reaction as she carried on.

“Furthermore, we challenge you to a trial by physical combat to be held within the appointed challenge circle of this barrow. The winner of the trial shall be defined as the person that draws first blood from his opponent. This trial shall be between only two combatants. We shall name our own, and you shall do likewise. This need not necessarily be yourself, but must be a pixie belonging to your pack. Likewise, we shall name a kyn warrior in the room to be our champion. As the challenged, you may specify the type of weaponry. Do you understand the terms of this challenge as I have outlined it?”

Bloody hell, talk about tying a man’s hands behind his back. Kalen shot the warden a frown as she outlined the terms. First blood… what did she think she played at? It wasn’t a good fight unless you bled from at least a dozen cuts afterward. In one fell swoop, she’d removed one of his advantages. Kalen could take a lot of damage in a fight. An awful lot of damage. It was a fact he often used to get close enough to his opponent to finish them.

“So I can’t kill the bastard then?” he growled, blades leaping to his hands in an instant, a murderous gaze fixed on the pixie warlord. He didn’t ask who they were naming for the fight. It would be him, even if he had to put the rest out of commission beforehand.

“No, you can’t. The bout is to first blood only. Don’t piss me about on this one, kyn,” she threatened, a “no-nonsense” look in her eyes. “I have no qualms about turning you into something unpleasant for a few hours. Now, my lord, do you accept this challenge?”

She turned back toward Markus, who smiled. Not in amusement, but a small and unpleasant little expression that triggered a warning prickle at the base of Kalen’s skull.

“Oh, most definitely, Lady Warden,” he said as he let go of Vixen and stepped forward. “I think your pet warrior there has the right idea. My choice is blades.”

“Kalen, he has a spelled blade,” Vixen called out a warning an instant before the guards with her closed in on her, holding her arms behind her back. A low, ominous growl rose from the group of kyn—a collective sound that made the pixies holding Vixen pale a little, but they didn’t let go. Kalen bared his fangs. The warlord was a dead man.

“Now, now, my dear, that wasn’t nice,” Markus chided, shooting her a hard glance over his shoulder. “Completely ruined my little surprise.”

Vixen struggled and tried to throw her guards off as another pixie approached, carrying a sheathed blade. It had to be the spelled one, given the wary way the younger pixie handled it, backing up in relief when the warlord took it. In a single move, he drew it and discarded the sheath on the floor before holding the blade up to the light.

Kalen watched him impassively, ignoring the shudder that wanted to crawl up his spine at the sight. The blade had that aura of wrongness about it, a malevolent sheen across the metal that reminded him of something moving underneath it. Something alive.

He sought Vixen’s eyes, locking gazes with her before offering a small grin and a wink. His twin blades were already in his hands as he rolled his neck. He had this. He would make sure she was okay if it was the last thing he did.

“If you’ll all step back to the edges of the circle, please,” a new female voice asked politely as a pixie he hadn’t noticed before pointed out the design in the marble of the floor. The challenge arena.

“Only the two fighters are allowed to be in the circle during a challenge.” She smiled slightly, a sad look in her lovely eyes.

Little was known about female pixies. Now Kalen saw why. Delicate in build, with an exotic fae-like appearance, she had deep chestnut hair rather than the bright coloring that characterized the male of the species. A small glamor and she could easily pass for human. No doubt they did, and that was why no one had ever seen a female pixie. They probably had and just didn’t realize it.

Kalen kept his body loose and his breathing light as he stepped over the marked edge of the challenge circle and padded around the edge. His opponent matched him, moving the other way. The slightly musty, earthy scent of the barrow hall filled his nostrils, reminding him unpleasantly they were underground. His expression was grim. Sword fighting was a deadly game, even without the threat of a spelled blade.

He needed all his wits just to stay alive, never mind win. He needed to remain loose and relaxed rather than tense. If he did that, he couldn’t react as quickly. Which would get him dead. Fast.

Tension mounted with the silence in the room as the two circled each other. They hadn’t exchanged a single blow yet. Kalen just watched, assessing as he circled his opponent, the world beyond the edges of the circle ceasing to exist for him. Years of experience told him he needed total focus. The outcome in a sword fight was often decided within seconds, sometimes with the first serious blow. He watched the pixie, eyes alert for the way he moved, noting everything. Even the way the pixie kept his weight slightly on his right leg as he moved, perhaps indicating a right-hand dominance.

“She is quite right, you know. This is a spelled blade.” Markus’ voice was oily as he feinted toward Kalen, testing his reactions. Sword steel clashed briefly before the pixie broke away. He was fast. Kalen had expected that. No pixie got to warlord status by being slow or inept in combat.

“No shit,” Kalen replied nonchalantly.

The ominous color reflecting from Markus’ blade was enough to tell him that. Spelled blades were easy to spot because of it, the magic involved leaving a visual marker of sorts. Most spelled weapons were created by dark magic, with only a few notable exceptions. Few people volunteered their souls to power the damned things.

Another feint and a flurry of blows were exchanged, each over almost as soon as it had begun. Kalen kept to the defensive, sidestepping the pixie’s attacks to conserve energy as he studied Markus’ technique. The bout was to first blood. Fucking typical for a warden. He’d never heard of one who actually carried or used a blade other than for ceremonial purposes.

Despite her warning, if Kalen saw an opening for a killing shot, he was taking it. Compassion and chivalry were wonderful ideals, but in combat, it boiled down to one simple truth. The fighter who won was the one willing to be merciless. A couple of hours as an amphibian would be well worth it to save Vixen and rid the world of Markus.

His defense was ironclad as Markus tested it again.

“It doesn’t kill you, you know. Well, not straight away. It devours your soul, and when that’s gone… there’s nothing left but an empty husk, a mindless vegetable. How desperate you lot are for kids though. They might put up with you dribbling on yourself and use you as some kind of freak sperm donor,” Markus taunted and grinned as he twirled out of reach of Kalen’s blades. He seemed to be enjoying himself, perhaps sure he’d gotten the measure of his opponent.

Kalen ignored his insults. Not even indicating he’d heard them. Cocky and arrogant, he knew Markus was just trying to get an edge on him, make him nervous about the spelled blade he swung in glittering arcs. Nervous enough to make a mistake? That would never happen. Kalen was far too long in the tooth to fall for amateur tricks like that.

“It took the last guy nearly twelve hours to die, you know?” Markus continued with glee, not noticing as Kalen subtly shifted the flow of the pacing. Instead of Markus pacing after him, he stalked the pixie. “He cried for his mommy near the end. Got so irritating we had to cut his throat. Didn’t kill him, just stopped the damn noise.”

“Is that so?” Kalen asked. Until now he’d been defending, letting Markus test his reactions. He’d given several false tells, favoring his left knee slightly as if shielding an old wound, being a little slow to react on the right, as though he favored a couple of newly healed ribs. Things he was sure the pixie would try to capitalize on later, expecting them to be weak, only to find they weren’t.

Finally, considering he’d seen enough of his opponent’s technique—he’d heard enough from him—Kalen launched his own attack. He moved in an explosion of movement, power bunching in his strong muscles as his twin blades danced through the air. The deadly movement of razor-sharp steel never stopping, never slowing, took the pixie by surprise, making him gasp and backpedal to the edge of the circle. Markus blanched, as if reading his own death in Kalen’s eyes and blocked as though his life depended on it.

Because it did.

The fight was already over. Markus just hadn’t realized it. The tines on Kalen’s off-hand blade snared the pixie’s sword, sliding along the spelled steel and catching. Kalen grinned as he forced the other man’s hand down, leaving Markus wide open. Defenseless. The kyn warrior moved like lightning, bunching his fist around the hilt of his sword. Still holding the blade, he rolled his body and twisted at the waist to deliver a powerful uppercut. The heavy blow smashed into Markus’ jaw, clipped his nose and made him stagger backward. Kalen stepped back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched blood gush from the pixie’s nose.

He hoped it was broken.

“That, I think you will find, is first blood.”