Feral blinked in surprise.

“Okay, you want to run that one by me again? A god? As in smiting and powers...the whole shebang?” He looked down at the baby in his arms in surprise, trying to see something of the divine. All he saw was cute. A whole lot of cute.

“The real deal. The legend of the Winter King?” She looked at him as though the name should mean something. It didn’t.

“Sorry, doll, not up on fae legends,” he apologized with a shrug, wondering why he was getting pulled into this. The baby was a pixie. He’d found a pixie to look after it, so he should be hightailing it out of here.

He really didn’t like pixies. Last year, they’d kidnapped his patrol partner and beaten the living snot out of him. It didn’t incline him to think favorably of them. But, as he was finding out, female pixies were something else entirely. Tessa was enchanting. He’d watched as she’d gathered things up—her movements quick and graceful.

“The Winter King legend is an old one. You’ve heard of the Morrigan right?” She didn’t wait for his nod before she continued. Everyone knew the legend of the Morrigan.

Originally a Triple Goddess dedicated to war, the Morrigan had diminished into one form, Nemain, and had become a fixture of the Unseelie Host. No one was sure how much of her divine power she’d retained. What was known was that the woman was batty, even by fae standards. Madness ran in the line and touched each new Morrigan as she came into her power. Not that anyone would dare to say it to her face. There was something about a former goddess, especially a corpse goddess, which sent chills down a person’s spine.

“Well, there’s this old legend about the line. They’re all female. No male children born in the line whatsoever, never has been. But they say, when there is a male Morrigan born, he’ll be the Winter King.”

“O...kay, this is a bad thing, right?” Feral asked carefully and grimaced as the little guy they were discussing slobbered all over his shoulder.

She shrugged. “It could really upset the balance of power in the fae courts for starters. The rest, I’m not so sure about. The legends are vague. Apparently the Morrigan knows more about it...there’s a book, an old one, on it. But she’s never let anyone read it, doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Okay, so, not ‘end of the world’ type stuff...but imbalance is probably bad, right? And if he’s fae, not a pixie, what’s with the fluorescent ‘do?”

“Well, pixies are actually fae,” her lips quirked, eyes dancing in amusement. “We just don’t like to admit it out loud. And imbalance would be bad, yes. You can plop him down on the floor to roll around. This place is kiddie-proof.”

Feral did as he was told, a quick glance around reassuring him she told the truth. He’d been convinced this place was an interior design showpiece, but when he looked closer, he could see care had been taken to make it suitable for children. There were soft carpets and furnishings, and all hard edges on the furniture had little cushioned pads. Amazing what someone could miss when they weren’t looking properly.

He put the baby on the floor carefully, leaving him giggling and playing with a soft toy Tessa waved in front of him.

Like his place, the kitchen was just off the living area, a large breakfast counter separating the two. He leaned against the counter, his arms folded over his broad chest as he watched her bustle around the small space. Now that the baby had been sorted and didn’t smell so badly, he could finally take time to appreciate the way she looked.

She was small, barely grazing his shoulder, and wrapped in a terry toweling robe designed for someone far larger. The voluminous fabric buried her, cinched tightly around a small waist.

“I’ll make him up a bottle,” she chattered, obviously not realizing his attention was elsewhere. Like on the deep “V” at her neckline, which kept gaping a little, teasing his imagination with fascinating glimpses of the creamy skin underneath.

He resisted the urge to flit closer, all his kyn instincts activated by the presence of the female. All he wanted to do was stalk her around the small space, capture her and turn to pin her against the counter behind him. Her lips would be sweet, he decided, his gaze zeroing in on them. They were small, but full and luscious. He’d gather her to him, part them with a sweep of his tongue, and drive within to taste the sweetness beyond…

He’d taken a step forward before he realized what he was doing and stopped dead. He was as hard as a rock, the need to touch and taste her almost overwhelming. He couldn’t though. She was a pixie and he was kyn. There was no way anything between them was going to work out. Though she didn’t live in a barrow, she was bound to belong to a clan… a clan that would not be at all happy about a vampire claiming one of their women.

“Hey, you okay?” She’d turned and noticed he’d moved, preoccupation on his face as he fought his own instincts.

Crash!

He was saved from answering by the sound of wood splintering and glass shattering. They both froze.

“Shit!” Feral hissed. “Get the baby and get dressed,” he ordered, shoving her toward the bedroom.

He turned toward the hall door, his amorous mood disappearing into cool professionalism now that there was a threat. He extended his senses past the kitchen and into the apartment beyond. On silent feet, he plastered himself against the wall by it and waited.

He sensed three intruders, heartbeats loud in the sudden stillness of the apartment. Feral’s eyes narrowed with anger and determination. He had no idea who these goons were or what they wanted. Chances were, it wasn’t to borrow a cup of sugar. No, whatever it was, it was dodgy. Regular visitors waited until you opened the door. They didn’t break it down.

Automatically, his hands reached into the small of his back for the heavy blades usually tucked into the back of his belt. They closed on empty air. He’d left his weapons in his apartment. Rookie mistake. He kicked himself mentally for a second and then slowly smiled. It was a nasty little expression, which had nothing to do with humor.

He was kyn. He didn’t need blades to be lethal.

There were two in the corridor closest, still unaware of his presence on the other side of the door. They wouldn’t be for long.

Then they were there, bracketing the door, one on either side. Feral drew in a silent breath, rolling the air over his tongue and tasting it. Male, he decided, the air tainted with the tang of male sweat and something chemically sweet. Hair gel?

He paused for a moment, waiting for some sign of movement from outside the door, his large hand reaching out toward the handle. There it was—the scuff of a boot over the carpet. A slight noise, but enough to warn him. Feral moved like lightening. Hand on the door, he yanked it open wide, the guy with his hand on the other side stumbling through. Before he could react, Feral was on him, a hard hand on the back of his head as he slammed it down toward his raised knee. He grinned at the satisfying crunch of bone as it connected with a nose. The scent of blood blossomed on the air, heavy and fragrant to the vampire’s senses.

One down, two to go. He dropped the first intruder like a hotcake and rounded on the other guy in the corridor, dodging a punch as he got his first good look at the intruders. Then the smell of hair gel made sense.

Pixies. Feral snarled, blocking another heavy punch and throwing a few of his own, driving the hoodie-clad pixie back toward the main room. “When will you assholes get the message?”

The pixie looked equally surprised, blocking Feral’s lightning-fast punches with an agility Feral begrudgingly admired. They burst into the lit main room and the pixie’s eyes widened.

“Crap. Where the fuck did you come from? There was only supposed to be a woman and a baby in here.”

“Just not your lucky day, is it then, sunshine?” Feral grinned as he advanced, knowing that the expression made the marks across the side of his face appear even more menacing than usual.

“Serves you right, sending three of you against normal people,” he growled, angered beyond measure. He’d always known pixies were cowards. This just proved it.

The fight continuing, the pixie bounced off the kitchen counter. As he rebounded, he grabbed one of the bar stools. Feral sucked his breath in, raising his arms as the stool whistled through the air toward his head. The stool shattered across his upraised arm and shoulder, skittering a little down his side. He hissed and shook himself, shedding bits of wood like a dog shaking water from its coat.

The pixie looked at the end of the stool leg he still had in one hand and back at Feral, a stunned expression on his face. Feral didn’t blame him. The blow would have put most men down. Trouble was, Feral wasn’t most men. He was kyn, and that was a whole different ballgame.

“You’re beginning to piss me off now,” he growled as he grabbed the pixie by the scruff of the neck, wrenching the broken leg away from him and throwing it aside.

A scream from the direction of the bedrooms snapped Feral’s head up. Tessa and the baby… With a roar of fury, he twirled the pixie in his grip, half pushing, half throwing him toward the breakfast counter and slammed the guy’s face into the polished countertop.

He rebounded with a dull groan of pain, the blood from his nose splattering the pristine surface. He was still conscious. Feral knew better than to leave a conscious opponent behind. His spread hand caught the back of the pixie’s head like a basketball, slamming it back down. This time, his face got up close and personal with the countertop and didn’t rebound. Just slid boneless to the floor, leaving a smeared crimson trail.

“I fucking hate pixies,” he muttered, flicking blood splatter off his chest and heading for the knife block on the counter. Selecting the heaviest blade, he turned and headed for the bedrooms.

* * *

Tessa hadn’t argued at the hard shove toward the door, launching herself through it with speed born from fear. Someone was in the apartment. And the only reason she could think of that someone would want to break in was the baby. She raced through the master bedroom like a small tornado.

The moment she entered the room, though, the door to the bathroom opened, a big guy appearing in the doorway. His grin as he saw her sent a spike of fear down her spine. With a gasp, she launched herself toward the nursery door, reaching it before he did and managing to shut it on him.

Acting on pure instinct, she grappled with the wardrobe, pulling it until it toppled over and crashed across to block the door diagonally. Not a moment too soon as heavy thuds and curses erupted from the other side.

Running high on adrenaline, Tessa whirled around, checking the cot that held the baby. Startled blue eyes stared back at her and then watered as he wailed, obviously scared by the sudden noises.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay, I promise,” she whispered, already looking around the room for something she could use as a weapon. She’d blocked the door but there was nothing she could use to block the window. They were on the second floor, but she knew better than to think that would make any difference if people seriously meant harm.

She gathered the baby into her arms, trying to soothe him. “Shh, little man. I need you to be quiet, okay?” she murmured, backing up and looking for somewhere to hide him. Her eyes fell on the changing unit.

“Sorry about this,” she whispered, kneeling and shoving him as far toward the back as she could. He sniffled for a moment, but then seemed to get the message, lying quietly.

Just in time. As she straightened, the door crashed inward. The wood of the wardrobe, a nursery-sized one rather than full-sized, groaned in protest as it was pushed along the carpeted floor.

“Get out! Help! Help! Someone help us!” Tessa shrieked like a banshee, hoping beyond hope to wake someone up in the surrounding units. She threw things at the pixie clambering over the wardrobe. Changing baskets and trailing nappies flew and obscured his vision, but the bottles were far more effective, heavy with baby oil and lotion.

“Lisa, I’ll never complain about your stockpiling again,” Tessa promised in an undertone as she hurled bottle after bottle with bruising accuracy, grinning as the pixie yelped and tried to cover his head with his arms. She’d always been a good pitcher as a kid, but time was running out, and she knew it.

Soon she would run out of ammunition and she had no clue what she was going to do. She was half pixie, yes, but she was also female and small, for either species. Her grasp on magic wasn’t going to help much either. She could manage low level glamour, appearance, and perhaps some “fairy lights” but that was about it.

Fairy lights. Tessa threw the last bottle, managing a clear strike on the guy’s forehead, which rocked his head back. Could she do it? She had nothing to lose by trying.

Closing her eyes, she reached deep down inside herself. It was wonderful how the imminent threat aided her concentration, and she delved into the part of her that was pure pixie. She opened her eyes, feeling the familiar tingle in her fingers as the Witching, the magical layer in everything, surrounded her, reacted to her.

Raising her hands, she spread them out as tiny balls of light appeared over her palms. Fairy lights, a charm to amuse children, were considered a party trick and nothing more. The pixie didn’t seem impressed, rubbing his head as he straightened and glared at her.

“Pretty, but it ain’t going to help you one bit, bitch. Hand over the kid,” he ordered as he advanced menacingly.

This was it, now or never. She tested her hold on the Witching, finding it firm, and then flicked her wrists. The lights, normally benign orbs that fluttered around like fireflies, turned into something akin to wasps.

The soft buzzing around them increased to fever pitch. One broke away, the pixie’s eyes following it, hovering higher than the rest for a moment. Then it dive-bombed, heading right for the intruder’s eyes.

“Holy shit! Get it off me!” He flapped his hands and arms as he tried to fend off the attacking ball of light. Ignoring the flailing hands, it dodged and darted in, attacking repeatedly.

That seemed to be the signal, as the floodgates opened and the rest attacked like a horde, diving and circling, completely blinding the pixie. As he fumbled around the room, trying to shake them off, Tessa looked around for something to knock him out with.

“Fluffy toys, fluffy toys… Christ! Isn’t there anything harder than a damn marshmallow in here?” she exclaimed in frustration, running out of options and time. The glamour she’d cast wouldn’t last forever, and she wouldn’t be able to cast it again for at least an hour.

Then her gaze glided down the side of the shelves. There, tucked away in the corner, was James’ prize possession. A baseball bat signed by someone or other. She had no clue what it was doing in here but grabbed it like a lifeline. Palms sweaty and heart pounding, she padded toward the pixie. Could she do it? Could she swing the bat and hit another living creature? She wasn’t a violent person…not really…she was all mouth and bluster.

“Argh, you wait, bitch! When I get these damn things off me, I’ll fucking gut you!” The pixie’s bellowed threat made up Tessa’s mind for her. She drew the bat back. Wincing, she closed her eyes and swung it with all her might.

It hit with a meaty crunch, the pixie’s threats and complaints falling silent, along with a dull thud, as something large hit the floor. Tessa opened her eyes in surprise, looking down at the prone form. She’d done it. She’d actually done it.

“And that one’s outta the park!”

Tessa swung around at the voice from the doorway, drawing the bat back again. It was an automatic reaction, ready to swing for anyone who wanted to take the baby. But Feral’s dark eyes met hers, amusement in them as he worked to clear the ruins of the nursery wardrobe out of the way.

“Oh my god, Feral,” she half squeaked, half gasped. She’d never been so pleased to see anyone in her life, throwing herself across the short distance and into his arms, the bat falling unheeded to the carpet.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt?” she asked, all but throttling him in her relief.

He chuckled, a deep rumble from low in his chest as he hugged her in return, his hands smoothing down her back, soothingly. “I’m okay. Take more than a bunch of half-assed pixies to bother me.” He grinned, letting her go to continue clearing the doorway.

“Just remind me not to piss you off, okay?” He chuckled, nodding toward the bat on the floor and the still form of the pixie. “Where’s the baby? We need to get out of here, like yesterday. Whoever sent this lot…well, they’re playing hardball.”