He jerked back out of shock. Tatiana shed Chrysabelle’s image and scissored her legs up, trying to catch him around the head.

Mal ducked but kept her hands pinned to the table as she flipped over it. Her wrists snapped with a resounding crunch as she twisted to get her feet under her. The stiletto fell from her useless fingers. Mal released her. He had to save Fi.

‘Bloody hell,’ Tatiana yowled in pain. ‘Kill her, Mikkel. Now.’

Doc roared, hissing and spitting and slamming himself into the guards holding him as Mikkel ran his blade across Fi’s fragile mortal skin.

Mal arrived in time to catch her body. Mikkel dropped the bloody dagger and ran for Tatiana, but Mal caught his leg and jerked him back, slamming him into the far wall.

Fi collapsed over Mal’s shoulder. Blood bubbled from the gash in her throat, soaking through the ruined seams of his jacket and warming his skin. Holding her with one arm, he reached for the dagger in his boot, but a bone dagger whipped past him and into the guard on Doc’s left. The fringe burst into ash. A set of keys dropped to the floor next to the blade.

Mikkel staggered to his feet, one arm dangling from a shoulder knocked out of joint.

Mal staked the second guard to ash, then scooped up the keys and unlocked Doc’s restraints. The minute he was free, he pulled Fi into his arms. The grief on his face almost undid Mal. ‘Get her out of here. I’ll take care of Mikkel.’

‘Stay with me, baby,’ Doc whispered. Eyes like glowing embers, he cradled Fi against him and closed his hand over the wound. She was dying and they both knew it. He caught Mal’s gaze for a second. ‘Make it hurt.’

Mal nodded and Doc took off with Fi. On the other side of the room, Chrysabelle held Tatiana at the end of her sacre, but she wasn’t much of a challenge at the moment. Broken bones took time to mend even for a vampire like Tatiana. Mal unsheathed his long sword as he turned and beckoned to Mikkel. ‘Time to die, vampire.’

Chrysabelle moved on instinct built up from years of repetitive training. She clung to it, because she had nothing else left besides the pain that tightened her skin across her muscles and made her ache to inflict that same pain on the one responsible for her mother’s death. Her sacre buzzed with the need to taste cold flesh. It struck out like a deadly extension of Chrysabelle’s rage, biting at Tatiana, leaving bloody cuts that sizzled into scars.

Tatiana clutched her arms to her chest, her hands hanging limp like rags, the bitter flash of the gold ring taunting Chrysabelle every time Tatiana avoided the blade. ‘Whore,’ she spat. ‘You’ll never get out of here alive.’

‘That’s not one of my concerns.’

Tatiana tried to retrieve a dagger off the table, her face gnarling in pain as she failed, but already one wrist had begun to straighten as the bones mended.

Chrysabelle took advantage of the opening, thrusting fast and notching the sacre’s point against Tatiana’s chest. ‘Tell Mikkel to reverse Mal’s curse. It’s his magic. Make him remove it and I’ll let you live,’ she lied.

‘Never.’ A wisp of smoke coiled off Tatiana’s skin. A few more rose up behind her, coalescing into a larger shape. The stench of brimstone and decaying flesh filled the room.

The Castus was returning.

Tatiana’s nostrils flared and an insidious smile curved her mouth. She laughed like a child. ‘When the master is through with you, I’m going to present your body to the council as proof of your guilt.’

Dominic stirred with a soft moan. He eased the dagger from his belly, rolled to his side, and vomited. The smell of bile and heady, sweet laudanum drifted through the room.

The Castus solidified behind Tatiana. Chrysabelle backed up. Tatiana moved to the side and the fiery-eyed Castus stepped forward, its cloven hooves cutting through the rug and digging into the wood floor. The room darkened as his shadowy presence filled it.

The blood in the handle of her sacre boiled. A switch inside her clicked and a new boldness overtook the numbing fear coursing through her. She raised her sword, fully aware it was likely for the last time. ‘Stay where you are, hell spawn.’

The Castus stilled. Then threw its horned head back and howled with laughter. Tatiana joined in until tears rolled down her face.

The sound of metal singing through the air shut her up. Chrysabelle followed Tatiana’s horrified gaze.

Mikkel fell to his knees, eyes wide, mouth open, his body riddled with cuts that seemed in no hurry to heal. Then his head slid off his shoulders and rolled toward Dominic. A second later, all of him went to ash. Blood dripped from Mal’s sword.

‘Molto bene,’ Dominic murmured. ‘You still have the touch.’

Tatiana shoved one useless hand toward Chrysabelle. ‘Kill her,’ she commanded the Castus.

The Castus turned. ‘How dare you order me—’

‘No,’ Tatiana backpedaled, ‘I didn’t mean—’

Chrysabelle whipped her Golgotha dagger into the demon’s temple. The blade sank deep, bursting into flames.

Screeching, the Castus stumbled backward. It latched on to Tatiana’s outstretched arm, yanking her forward, its body wavering like it might vanish again. ‘The ring is mine. I will find another to wear it.’

‘Chrysabelle,’ Mal yelled.

Double-handing her sacre, she swept the blade in a wide downward arc, severing Tatiana’s broken wrist. The hot blade passed through the shadowy Castus but seared Tatiana’s flesh. The hand – and the ring – dropped to the floor intact.