Feral shifted position and grimaced as he tried to ease some life back into his ass. Sitting still for hours meant his backside had gone numb. Rubbing his ass cheek, he looked at the woman lying on her side next to him, the baby in her arms. Both were fast asleep, which didn’t surprise him. They’d walked for a couple of hours through the endless night, following the parchment map Tessa had been given. Eager to get through the plains, he would have pushed on, but Tessa had begun to stumble, her weariness showing in the droop of her shoulders and the heaviness of her steps.

He’d called a stop when she walked into his back for the third time, knowing they weren’t going any farther. Half human, she didn’t have the reserves he did. He’d settled them into a clearing off the crude path, a fire blazing in front of them. Feral had taken watch since he didn’t need to sleep. Tessa had been asleep the moment she’d laid down. He moved to crouch with his back against a broad tree trunk, his senses on high alert.

So far though, nothing. The combination of the fire and the scent of vampire was enough to keep most of the local wildlife away, so Feral let his attention wander. His hearing was acute enough to pick up, and track, anything with a heartbeat, which left him free to study the sleeping woman.

What is it about her I find so fascinating? He’d seen plenty of human-paranormal half-breeds but none affected him the way she did… and she was a pixie to boot.

He didn’t like pixies. It was a long-standing dislike, one that had intensified last year. A bunch of pixies had kidnapped his patrol partner, Vixen, and had damn near killed her. Worse, he’d gotten a right good pasting to boot. Since then, any pixie who had crossed his path had regretted it.

He reached down to brush a stray lock of hair from Tessa’s face. His fingers felt too big for such a delicate task as he tucked it gently behind her ear. His whole body ached, keyed into every movement of the soft, feminine figure curled trustingly asleep. His earlier frustration had leeched away, replaced by a need to protect. A feeling that was new to him, at least one this intense and this specific.

He was used to the whole protection thing. Warriors patrolled the streets in small groups, keeping them clear of rogue vampires. Rogues always posed a threat, to anyone, regardless of race. Blood was blood to the crazed, regardless of who donated it—and never willingly when a rogue was involved.

But that was an impersonal sort of protection, like a police officer patrolling the streets. What he felt for Tessa, and the baby, went far deeper. He needed to be around them, around her, and see with his own eyes that they were okay. Protect them with his own body, if necessary, and not hand that responsibility over to anyone else.

He frowned, considering that feeling. Was it love? He didn’t really believe in love. He’d thought he was in love before, with Vixen. For years, he’d waited for her to notice him. Trouble was, she’d only ever had eyes for Kalen.

When he thought about it, he’d never garnered the same amount of female attention as some of the other guys. Warriors like Mikal, or that new guy, Zarett, one of last year’s rookies. Both looked so good they could’ve doubled as models if they’d wanted. In fact, Zarett was known as “pretty boy” after an agent tried to recruit him right in the middle of a rogue attack. The guy had lived, just. He’d needed a couple of bags of O-positive shoved into his veins and a mind-wipe, but he was still breathing, which was more than could be said for the rogue and Zarett’s reputation.

Feral, by contrast, didn’t wear the fancy threads. He couldn’t have told anyone the difference between one designer and the next. His hair, usually a source of vanity for the kyn, was kept skin short with the aid of a razor. If ever there was a kyn ugly duckling, he was it.

Leaning his head against the bark, he closed his eyes with a sigh. Love was too big an emotion to think about now, not when they were in the middle of the Night Plains with pixies chasing them. It was the sort of internal debate that needed a copious amount of alcohol and possibly a pizza or two.

The warmth of the fire played across his face and his big body started to relax as he slid into sleep.

Shit! What am I doing? He came to with a start, his instincts screaming at him as he fought his way back to consciousness from a deep, drugging sleep that was nowhere near natural. Adrenaline burned the fog from his brain as he blinked, a blade in his hand in a heartbeat.

They weren’t alone.

Feral registered the new presence instantly, looking up to meet the eyes of a small figure standing on the other side of the fire. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, nor was he picking up a heartbeat, which destroyed the illusion of a small girl the creature projected. The glamour was near perfect. But for that one telltale fact, Feral might have believed there was a human child standing there looking at him. Then the wind changed slightly and the stench of rotting flesh drifted over the fire toward him. His stomach rolled, bile rising in this throat.

He met the creature’s look, his expression dangerous and forbidding.

“You want to dance?” he said softly, his voice pitched too low to wake Tessa. “Come on, let’s dance then. You just name the tune.” He had no idea what flavor of nastiness this was, but there were nastier things that went bump in the night than a fae.

He was one of them.

Curling back his lips, he flashed his fangs in a silent warning. Fully extended now in anticipation of a good fight, they were impressive, filling his mouth so much speech would be difficult. Not a problem. He intended to rip the creature’s throat out if it made a move toward them, not engage it in conversation.

Realizing they weren’t the easy pickings it had thought, the creature turned and disappeared into the darkness with a soft growl of disappointment. He shook his head. Never judge a book by its cover, a lesson it seemed the fae needed to learn. Leaning down, he shook Tessa’s shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart, we need to get moving again.”

* * *

It was too early. Way too early. Tessa grumbled under her breath as she trudged along after Feral. She missed her nice, warm duvet and her comfortable mattress. The feeling wasn’t helped at all by Feral, who looked bright and breezy, as though he’d had a full night’s sleep and just hopped out of the shower.

It just wasn’t fair. How the hell could he look so good when she knew he’d been awake the entire night, leaning against that tree trunk? Running a hand through her tousled hair, she made a face. It felt like she’d slept in her clothes, which she had, and she had the nagging feeling something unpleasant had crawled up under her jeans, leaving an itchy trail over her skin. Not to mention the fact she’d had less than her eight hours and hadn’t inhaled the three cups of coffee she needed to feel at least halfway human or pixie. All these feelings contributed to her grumpy mood.

“So how long before we get there?” she asked, hoisting the still sleeping baby higher in her arms, grateful she’d thought to grab one of the twin’s sling carriers on the way out of her sister’s trashed apartment. Without it, he’d be getting awfully heavy right about now, and it meant he could sleep on, undisturbed, as they walked. A stab of envy hit her, and instantly she felt guilty. It wasn’t his fault. Whatever had happened that led to him being left on Feral’s doorstep, no one could blame the baby.

He made a contented little sound and nuzzled closer into her, his tiny hand splaying over her collar bone. She smiled, her heart melting in that instant, snuggling him closer. There was just something about baby cuddles that made her forget everything that was bothering her. Maybe just for a second or two, but sometimes, that was all she needed.

Feral stopped in front of her, unfolding the map Jane had given them. When he’d first seen it, the little smiley faces and flowers along the border of the old-fashioned parchment had made his eyebrow wing up, but now he simply studied it intently.

“I think we’re either here, or here,” he said, tapping the map.

Tessa looked over his arm, a frown creasing the center of her brow. “Here, or here? You mean you don’t know?” she asked. “Well, isn’t that just like a man?”

“It’s not like we can stop and ask a local, is it?” he threw back, eyebrow arching. “Stop anything around here and it’d be more interested in stripping your flesh to the bones than giving directions.”

She instantly felt bad. He was right. All they had was the hand-drawn map and it wasn’t the most accurate of documents. It had no scale, no compass, or even easily discernible features. Which wasn’t a problem since there were no landmarks in the damn place, just endless plains of ratty scrub lands and dank little woods. She snorted to herself. Hell, stick a couple of “here be dragons” and a red “X” on this thing, and it could double as a kid’s pirate treasure map.

She carried on studying it, trying to make out where they were along the marked trail and then shrugged. “I can’t make heads or tails of it either…”

“Shhh!” He held his hand up in warning, silencing her instantly. Had a guy done that to her normally, his ears would be ringing from the tongue lashing she’d give him for being arrogant. But not Feral, especially not when he was doing the whole “living statue” thing again, his eyes unfocused as he gazed around their surroundings. She tried as well, listening for anything out of the ordinary, scanning their surroundings for things likely to leap out and attack them at any moment.

But…nothing. She couldn’t see or hear anything odd. For all she knew, he could have smelled something dangerous. She wouldn’t have had a clue on that angle. Her sense of smell had packed in a few minutes after they’d come through the door in defense against the funky smell that seemed to surround everything here.

Thump, thump, thump…

The sound of heavy footsteps formed out of the silence, heading toward them, accompanied by a thrashing sound like a kid smacking at weeds with a stick. A large stick. Tessa’s eyes widened as the ground beneath their feet began to quake.

She moved closer to Feral, a thread of fear slithering up her spine.

“God, how big is that?”

“I have no clue, but ten to one, it ain’t gonna be friendly. Here, have these. Get behind those rocks.”

He handed her the bags he’d been carrying and nodded toward an outcrop just off the path. Large enough to use as cover in case of flying debris, they might even be large enough to conceal her if this were to go bad. And it was quite likely to go bad. She could tell from the note in his voice, not needing kyn instincts to read the tension and wariness there.

She scurried to the safety of the rocks, casting a glance over her shoulder to see Feral standing in the middle of the path. He had his blades on his hands, his jaw was clenched and the set of his body defiant.

Thump, thump, thump...

She crouched behind the rocks, her breath catching in a little gasp as the sound of the footsteps got nearer. Whatever it was, it sounded big. And the blades on Feral’s knuckles were looking smaller by the minute. She understood why the kyn used blades—guns were useless against them—but right now, she really wished he had a gun or two on him.

The odd thrashing noise drew closer and closer until it was just around the corner. Then it was there. The huge bulk of...something filling the turn in the path.

Something straight out of a nightmare.

“Holy...crap,” Tessa breathed as she looked up and then looked up some more. It wasn’t a creature. It was a damn mountain range… one covered in gnarled, wart-dotted skin ingrained with dirt and slime and stretched over a roughly man-shaped frame. It was hunched over like an old man. But it wasn’t the strength of an old man that was flailing about the massive club it held in its hand nonchalantly.

An ogre. She’d seen sketches of them in books. The sort of books carefully concealed in the houses of pixies that lived outside barrows, or that masqueraded as children’s storybooks, just in case a human should catch sight of them.

It wouldn’t do—if they ever found out that certain childhood tales were real. Sure, some, like the Watchers and Slayers groups knew the truth, but that was limited and carefully controlled. On average a single human was intelligent when confronted with the truth. Humanity en-masse was the problem. In a group, they were fearful, intent on destroying anything they didn’t understand.

Which wouldn’t be a bad thing right now, she decided, wincing as the creature spotted Feral and roared. It charged with a speed it shouldn’t have had, not being that large and misshapen. It was like someone had taken a clay man and mushed it about a bit, distorting the joints and limbs into a hideous parody of the human form.

But its face was perhaps the worst. Unlike ogres portrayed in films, this creature wasn’t the dumb and ambling, easily beaten by a modicum of intelligence, creature they were generally made out to be. Instead, its deep-set eyes gleamed with a malevolence and intelligence that was marked, even from this distance.

Noticing the eyes, though, meant you had to tear your attention away from the teeth crammed into its mouth. Razor sharp and packed in like sardines, they glinted in the half-light as it roared. Tessa caught her breath as it bore down on Feral, imagining the damage those teeth would do if it got ahold of him.

“Oh, fuck… move. Please move,” she breathed, her heart pounding so loudly she thought it would burst out of her chest. The baby, picking up on her fear, began to fret.

“Shush, shush...it’s fine. It’s all going to be fine,” she whispered as she rocked his tiny form in reassurance. She moved slightly, trying to peer over the rocks to see what was happening.

Feral stood there, studying the blades on his hands so calmly she wanted to scream. He didn’t look at all bothered. That had to be a good sign, surely? Her gaze flowed down the lines of his large body, noting the tension there. He rolled his neck again. If she’d thought he’d been alert before, his attention was complete now, his body virtually humming with awareness.

The ogre swung the massive club at Feral, going for a full body blow. There wasn’t anything else she could call it, given the size of the thing. It wasn’t a weapon designed for pinpoint accuracy. Or any sort of accuracy.

Feral ducked, sliding under the incoming blow and to the side with a feline grace she hadn’t anticipated. She knew he could fight but hadn’t seen it yet. But… he was amazing. Faster and more agile, more brutal than she’d expected, but also beautiful. The male body in its ultimate grace as warrior and protector.

His fists flashed as he moved, blades glittering in the half-light as he landed a solid blow on the ogre. It bellowed again, swiping a heavily taloned hand at the vampire that danced around it.

The fight was fast and furious, and despite how quick Feral was, it became quickly apparent to her that the few blows the creature managed to land were taking their toll. But each time Feral was knocked to the ground, he bounced back up again, shook his head and raced back into the fight.

She winced with each blow. Closing her eyes was no better—she could still hear the sickening thud as flesh pounded into flesh. The heavy thumps as Feral hit the ground each time. She bit her lip, forcing herself to watch as the kyn warrior tried everything to bring down the ogre. He moved like lightening, a fearsome sight...she imagined him on the streets, kicking ass and taking names. But here and now, he was out of his depth and struggling.

Tears filled her eyes as he got swiped to the ground again, grunting in pain. Each time, it took him longer and longer to get up. She didn’t think he could keep this up. Frustration and hopelessness filled Tessa. If he couldn’t beat the ogre… it would kill him. Pain cut through her, leaving her gasping for breath. She couldn’t bear the thought of him dying.

She should run, get out of here now and hope like hell she could outrun it, even though she knew that was unlikely. Despite their misshapen form, ogres were fast over ground and could change direction on a whim. And her firefly trick? That wasn’t going to work on a creature formed from the Witching.

She should run, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t leave Feral here like this, leave him here to die alone in the Night Plains. Ogres were flesh eaters, and she couldn’t bear to think of the man she loved desecrated that way.

Whoa, loved? Where had that come from? She barely even knew him. She couldn’t be in love with him...could she? She winced as he hit the floor again. She had to do something...he was getting killed out there.

Fear for his life running through her veins, Tessa released the straps holding the baby’s sling. Quickly, she placed him in a small hollow in the rock, a place she hoped he would be hidden from view and protected from the flying debris being kicked up from the ogre’s club. His thin wail plucked at her heart strings, but she hardened herself. If she didn’t do something now, that ogre would kill Feral and the two of them would be next on its menu.

Creeping out from behind the rocks, she leaned down to pick up the sturdiest stick she could find. Her heart pounded. She had no clue what she was doing. If Feral, a seasoned fighter, couldn’t get the drop on this thing, what hope did she have?

Regardless, she couldn’t leave him to face this on his own. Perhaps she could distract it or something? Allow Feral to get the advantage and finish it off. Filled with determination, she edged forward, looking for a gap in the fight so she could jump in without getting in Feral’s way, or in the path of those blades he wielded so viciously.

Spotting the perfect gap, Tessa shot forward, jamming the stick in her hand upward into the soft flesh under the ogre’s throat as it was busy fending off Feral’s attack. It roared in pain, black ichor splattering over Tessa’s hand and arm as it twisted violently to swipe at her. She watched the vicious talons fly toward her in slow motion, fascinated by the blood-caked claws as they headed for her unprotected stomach. Fear froze the blood in her veins, and her feet in place, as she watched her own death sweep toward her.

Feral came out of nowhere, hitting her mid-stomach in a tackle that had them both sprawling to the ground. The ogre’s claws sailed harmlessly overhead. They both scrambled to their feet, Feral shoving Tessa behind him bodily as they readied themselves for the next attack.

It was an attack that never came. The thunder of hooves surrounded them as suddenly, the small path was filled with horses. And more importantly, from Tessa’s point of view, those horses came equipped with some heavily armed knights.

The whistle of arrows cut through the air, followed by sickening thuds as they buried themselves in the ogre’s flesh. It screamed, a mingled sound of pain and fury, as it swatted at the arrows that made it resemble a grotesque hedgehog. The screams were silenced when one of the knights took aim with a heavy crossbow, death in his gaze. The next second a thick bolt sprouted from the ogre’s left eye. It blinked slowly with the other. Once, twice…then toppled backward.

Feral looked at the group of mounted knights surrounding them. Fae knights. “At least it makes a change from pixies.”