Chapter 53 - A Glory of Unicorns

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A Short Tale of a Tail, an Argument, a Tale, Starlit Wonders, Jealousies and Retributions, What Happened at the Cottage, and Scarlet on Snow

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John glanced up at the rearview of his Mustang again. Okay, this time there was no mistake. The same black Porsche had been following him for the last ten or so blocks. He hadn't pulled any random U-turns or signaled left before wrenching the car right, because he didn't want the car tailing him to know he'd spotted them. But there was no mistaking the black sports car with the fuzzy red dice hanging in the windshield.

Why the heck are they following me? The federal agent wondered as a cool whisper of unease slithered down his spine like a poisonous snake. Well, whatever the reason, he knew where to go to get away from them - Central Park. Dylan's cottage had a bunch of enchantments around it that kept away freaks of both supernatural and natural origin. He'd go to his twin's place and lay low for a few hours until the tail gave up and went off to harass someone else.

Turning from Eight Avenue to Central Park West, John aimed for one of the main entrances to the Park; the one near the little stone bridge where the redheaded flower-troll (or whatever it was) lived. The Porsche cut through the night behind him. Another shiver of unease, this one stronger and colder than the first, made his palms sweat.

Whatever. He'd be safe at Dylan's. And if things got too crazy, they were both armed - her with her pepper spray (and her homicidal, pointy-eared Prince Prissy Pants) and him with his on-duty weapon and clutch piece. And she had her smartphone, with 911 on speed-dial. They could handle whatever might happen, if whoever was tailing him proved to be something dangerous and not some creep following him for stupid kicks.

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Nuada sat at the table in the little dining room of the ensorcelled carriage, staring into the sullen embers of the fire, toying idly with a glass of the Old World liquor known as Irish mist. The smooth burn of the alcohol did nothing to sear away the darkness of his thoughts.

Assassins. Someone had sent assassins into the royal forest to dispatch him and Dylan. His lady suspected his father. That hurt, but also had merit, if he looked at the idea with chillingly cold clarity. Who else had known he was going to be here? Only his father and sister. He had not even told Arawn what he needed the Chariot for, other than as a means to get to Faerie. There was only Balor and Nuala.

Nuala would not send someone to kill him, nor even to hurt him. Not only because she wasn't capable of such treachery, but because hurting him would hurt her, too. He would have sensed such a decision from her, as well.

But his father... was his father willing to risk - or even sacrifice - his beloved daughter in order to eradicate the son who shamed him? Or did Nuada have some other enemy that he didn't yet know of, one powerful enough that this enemy had spies not just in Bethmoora's court, but in Balor's very household?

That, too, had merit. After all, allowing Nuada to enter the royal forest and then sending assassins after him a mere couple of days after calling off the Guards searching for the prince? His father was not a coward or a snake, for all his faults. Why would Balor do such a thing? Why go through such extraneous ploys, use such deceit? Waste so much effort? Why not simply send the Butcher Guards for him as the king had originally planned? Well, Dylan's cottage was protected against all but the most powerful fae, but surely there was a way to catch Nuada out. Or even simply blackmail him into returning.

There were enough possibilities (and enough flaws in them all) to send pain spiking through Nuada's temples. He chased it away with a swallow of Irish mist that burned in his belly. Unfortunately, it didn't burn away the thoughts chasing themselves in circles in his brain.

In truth, it all boiled down to two questions: who could have known that Nuada would be here, of all places? And why had the assassins gone for Dylan first?

A chilling thought crystallized in his brain like a shard of ice. With it came just a whisper of murderous fury, the same killing battle-rage that had nearly taken him earlier when he'd seen his truelove fall. Had Dylan been the assassins' true target?

"I'm half-tempted to ask for some of that," the mortal said from the doorway.

The Elf prince cast an eye toward her and frowned. The mortal didn't look half so pale now, but her hair hung in wet tendrils around her shoulders. Her right forearm sported a fresh bandage to protect the nearly-week-old stitches. Another bandage wrapped her left hand. The bruise dusting her cheek centered around a sprinkling of tiny wounds. She gripped her cane with white-knuckled fingers and her limp was much more pronounced than usual. This battle had taken its toll on her.

Then he noticed the dress - soft-as-a-whisper blue that settled around her like a dream, leaving him glimpses of slender ankles and elegant wrists and delicate collarbones. Her medallion, miraculously undamaged, glimmered at her throat. She was absolutely beautiful, with her hair curling damply around her shoulders. But why was her hair wet? And where had that dress come from?

Somehow sensing the direction of his thoughts, Dylan said, "I filled the sink with water and stuck my head in it about halfway through checking myself out. It helped a lot with the jitters; it's hard to wrap a bandage when your hands are shaking. Becan packed the dress. Not sure why, but whatever." She shrugged and limped over to sit beside him at the table. "We haven't left yet. We're not moving. How come?"

He took a sip and let the alcohol burn for a moment, giving himself time to think before answering her. "We are safe enough in the carriage itself. Besides, I brought you here to show you something. I do not intend to let my enemies chase me off unless remaining puts you in danger. That innate warning system of yours is not alerting you to anything, is it?" His smile was humorless when Dylan shook her head. "Well enough." Then he glanced at the glass in his hand. "You truly want some of this? Do you even know what it is?"

"Good old Irish whiskey, I'd imagine." At his raised eyebrow, she added, "You are Irish, and I know you drink recreationally. And I sort of remember what whiskey looks like. But I had to take my pain meds for my leg, so I don't really want any of that. Alcohol and Vicodin do not mix."

"That is well, since a delicate creature like yourself probably would not survive the burn."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know, I have had hard liquor before, when I was younger. I'm not as delicate as you think."

He frowned. "I thought you converted when you were fifteen."

"I did."

Now he narrowed his eyes at her, momentarily distracted from the seriousness of his previous thoughts. "How young is 'younger,' exactly?"

Dylan looked away, into the dying fire. Her eyes were distant and shadowed. For a moment she didn't say anything. Then, "When I was twelve. I used to drink a lot back then, actually. Beer, mostly, but harder stuff, too. It was easy to get because the adults drank it after lights-out and it... helped. Like mind-poison," she added softly. "It made my soul numb to everything and it helped so much. But then I realized it was just lulling me into this mindset where I thought that nothing mattered... so I stopped."

At his look, she added in a stronger voice, "I had a lot of crutches when I was young, before I learned to deal with my problems. Pain, alcohol. Drugs, even." Dylan laughed without humor. "Is it any wonder my sisters think I'm the world's biggest screw-up?" She met Nuada's eyes and saw the carefully shuttered blankness in their depths. Something cold coiled in her stomach and she lashed out before she could even register the need to do so. "What? You thought I was an angel just because I try to be one? I'm just as human and messed-up and awful as the next person. I'm selfish and lazy and cruel and jealous and hateful and stupid and useless...." She trailed off as her mouth began to tremble. She hugged herself as if cold, rubbing her arms as if to ward off some chill. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me. I'm sorry."

Nuada got to his feet and went to pour a drink. When he set it down in front of her, Dylan gave him an exhausted look. "It's schorle," he said softly. "Not alcohol. Drink it; you need the sweet. You're still a little in shock."

The first startlingly crisp, sweet taste of the cool, fizzy apple-drink mellowed some of the tightness still twisting her up. The second swallow melted the chill in her belly. "Thank you," Dylan whispered. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, I... I'm sorry. Nuada, someone tried to kill you. I mean... again. Someone who isn't Eamonn. I'm just...." Her hand began to shake again, so hard that she hastily set the glass down with an audible thunk. "Shaky. Scared. Panicking a little, I think. Do you have any idea who might be behind this?"

"My guess is as good as yours, I imagine," he said, dropping back into his chair. "In fact, we are probably thinking along the exact same lines."

"You think... your father." Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, Dylan grasped for calm. Nodded slowly. "Okay, then. Okay. So what do we do? We have to go back to Findias tomorrow, but if the king is trying to kill you-"

"It may be him," the prince interrupted. "Then again, it may not be. This is not his usual way of doing things, so I'm not certain. I must look into it. I am sorry, Dylan," Nuada murmured. He met her eyes for a brief moment, then looked away. "I didn't realize that bringing you to Faerie, to court, would be this dangerous for you. If I could leave you in the mortal realm and know you were safe, I would, but I do not dare. I know you're frightened, but-"

"You think I'm scared for me?" She demanded, grabbing his hand. For a minute she thought he would pull away from the contact. Then he shifted his hand so that he could grasp her fingers in his own. "That's what you think I'm worried about? My safety? Forget me for a second; what about you? Your father is possibly trying to kill you! Or someone is! No offense, but my bets are on him. What am I supposed to do with that? I'm not a warrior. I don't have any magic or skills or money or power. In your world, I'm nobody. I'm nothing. How am I supposed to protect you?"

He blinked in utter shock. "Protect me?"

"Yes," she insisted. "I mean, I know you have Wink and you're this great warrior, but if just one of those dipsa serpents had bitten you, really bitten you, you could've died and I couldn't do anything to help you! What am I supposed to do? How can I keep you safe when your father is... or someone is... when everything is... how can I...."

She covered her mouth with a trembling hand and squeezed her eyes shut. It took her a long moment before she could speak again.

"I've just had it driven home that I am absolutely and utterly useless to you. What do I do now?" Pleading blue eyes met his. "What can I do to help you? To protect you? Tell me what I can do and I'll do it."

"You are worried about me? Dylan, I can protect myself. I'm concerned for you. You're mortal; fragile. Vulnerable to-"

"I am not fragile," she snapped, startling him. She yanked her hand out of his. "Just because I'm mortal doesn't mean I'm made out of glass. I'm not gonna break if you pull me off the shelf."

"Have you looked in the mirror since we returned?" Nuada demanded, shoving to his feet. He glowered down at her. Why was she suddenly being so stubborn? It wasn't as if there was no proof of her vulnerability. She'd incurred several new injuries just in the last hour! Cuts, bruises. He knew her leg pained her badly, and would until whatever she'd done for it took effect. The scars covering her entire body bespoke a frailty he as an Elven warrior did not suffer from. And she was worried about protecting him? "You joke about being resilient, but you are hardly that. Must I remind you that you're mortal? Human? Your blood is a liability. And therefore it is my task to protect you, not yours to protect me!"

Your blood is a liability. How well she knew that. With difficulty she managed to get to her feet. Even then, she had to look up a ways in order to stare him in the eye. "I've told you this before, Your Highness," she said, her words clipped and her tone cool and even, giving away none of the hurt pricking in her chest. "I'm common. You're the crown prince. You're more important than I am. My life is worth spit compared to yours-"

"Do not dare say such things to me," he snapped. "I am not merely a crown or a throne, a royal puppet bound by duty and honor. I am a man as well. And you are not common. My life is no more valuable than yours. Do not dare say such a thing-"

Pain throbbed through her hand as she gripped her cane tightly to keep her balance. "It's the truth and you know it. Your people need you. The kingdom, the land and its people, are tied to the royal line. You may be Nuada, but you are also Crown Prince Nuada Silverlance. If you die, there's no guarantee the kingdom continues through Nuala, even if she does get married and have kids. You're the heir for a reason. I'm not an idiot - I know how this kind of thing works. Your people need you to survive, Nuada. Their lives all rest on your shoulders. Me? I'm really not that important in the grand scheme of things, so really no one would care overmuch if I died or-"

"Don't say that," he growled, "do not ever say that," and he saw again that moment in the fight when she'd gone down and he'd struggled so desperately to get to her. Felt once again the icy fear tearing at his guts. Fear as he'd never felt in battle before. Fury and desperation and terror. What if she hadn't been able to fend off the serpent? What if those fangs had found her flesh and venom had mingled with iron-laced blood? What if, what if, what if.... "Do not ever. I never want to hear you say that again. You are important to me."

"It doesn't matter if I'm important to you or not!" She cried, exasperated. "What about your people? They need you! You can't tell me I am more important to you than all of the hundreds of thousands of them because it isn't true and you know it."

"Do not tell me what I know or don't know," Nuada snapped. "Merely because I care for you does not give you the right to dictate to me! I do not need you, of all people, to remind me of my duty to my kingdom." Not when that duty strangled the confession of love that always tried to escape him in her presence. Not when obedience to that duty stripped him of nearly everything he held dear. "But need I remind you that I also have a duty to you? To anyone who swears their fealty to me!"

"Nuada, that doesn't matter! It doesn't matter what happens to me, or to Wink, or to anyone else who's in service to you because we're not the ones who keep the land and the people of Bethmoora alive. You know that! You have a responsibility to your kingdom and I-"

"You think I need to be reminded of my responsibilities? Is that what you think? I know where my duty lies, Dylan! Better than you, it seems."

Her fingers spasmed around the grip of her cane and her eyes narrowed. "And just what does that mean?"

"It means that if you are so loyal, you should obey the commands of the prince you are sworn to!" He yelled, anger pulsing under his skin like poison. "Not argue with me needlessly that your life has no value! I have said that it does; you should need no other assurance! Your concern for me is pointless-"

"Pointless?" Dylan echoed incredulously. "Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong to be concerned! Someone tried to kill you! What happens if you die, Your Highness? What happens if your father dies and you die and Nuala doesn't have the tie to the kingdom necessary to keep it strong? Tell me what happens then."

"You think you are so damned clever," the Elf prince growled, fingers curling into white-knuckled fists, "you tell me, human."

He hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't meant to call her that. He saw the change in her immediately - the blink of surprise, the sudden hurt glistening like tears in her eyes before she dropped her gaze to the floor. Her shoulders, squared for the argument, slumped a fraction. Words, old and half-buried but still sharp enough to cut, drifted through the room like a poisonous wisp of smoke. Disgusting human whore. Shame clawed at Nuada's belly.

"Dylan," he said softly. "Dylan, I... I did not mean... forgive me."

She shrugged. "It's fine. I mean," with a brittle laugh, "I am human. It would be silly to pretend I'm not. To ask you to pretend I'm not. Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal, Your Highness, it's fine."

"No," he murmured. "No, it is not. I'm sorry. I spoke in anger; I did not mean it. And please," he added softly, "must you call me that when you're upset with me?"

His lady frowned and cocked her head. "Call you what?"

"Call me 'Your Highness.' Sometimes you do it in jest, and that is well enough, but... it is a rare and special thing, to simply be Nuada when I am with you. So please, my lady," he added, catching her gaze with his. "If you would be so kind as to call me by my name when we are alone, and not my title... that would please me greatly. As would your forgiveness."

She sighed and gave him a fond look. "You're a real Prince Charming, you know that?"

"I may have heard it mentioned once or twice," he said, smiling a little. "So, do I have your pardon, Dylan?"

After a moment of studying his face, the mortal nodded. "Okay. Pardon granted. But," she added, "you know I'm right about the royal ties to the kingdom. You know I am. Admit it. You die, your kingdom is more than likely screwed, isn't it? The land begins to die and the people begin to fade. Admit it. Tell me that if the royal line fails, your people won't start dying."

Nuada opened his mouth. Closed it again. He could not lie to her, so he said nothing. Several vicious Gaelic invectives raced through his mind. Finally he said, "If the royal line ever fails, it must be rejuvenated or a new bond forged. Sometimes that's not difficult, Dylan."

"And other times it involves the current monarch being killed," she said flatly. "And if that happens, the bond of the royal line rests on you, with no guarantee that the bond can be forged with anyone else. It's a heavy burden, I know, but you can't deny that it's there. Your honor tells you that you can't sacrifice the good of thousands for the sake of one. Even if that one is someone you care about. You can't risk your life for me. It's one thing to fight for me in a battle where you're obviously going to win, but to square off against your father or anyone else who could honest-to-goodness have you killed... no, Nuada. You can't do that for me. My single life is not worth hundreds of thousands of lives, and you know it."

He let his forehead touch hers, and took a moment simply to savor being with her while his heart cringed at the words she struck him with. She wasn't wrong. Shades of Annwn, she wasn't wrong. In his mind, looking at things coldly and objectively, he knew that her life mattered little next to his because he did carry the vitality of his kingdom on his shoulders. And yet... and yet in his heart, he....

Nuada hesitated just a moment, then lightly touched Dylan's cheek, just under the pale blush of violet bruising. She drew a trembling breath. Her lashes drifted down to make dark crescents against her cheeks. He'd nearly lost her. For the second time in less than a moon, he had nearly lost her. And now, for the second time, he had hurt her. Gained her forgiveness, but hurt her nonetheless. And all because of a truth that sought to shred him. Gently Nuada asked, "But Dylan... what would I do without you?"

A tired smile flirted at the corner of the scarred mouth. "Be just as boring and work-obsessed as you were before," she replied, and her own smile coaxed an answering - albeit just as tired - one from him. Her fingertips swept lightly over his jaw in a lingering caress. "You'd be all right without me," she added, more serious now. "You don't need me, Nuada. And who knows? You might even be glad to get me out of your hair."

"I happen to enjoy you touching my hair," he informed her sharply.

In answer, she gave a lock of it a gentle tug and smiled at him. Caressed his jaw again, tracing the strong line of it. "Well, that's good to know. At least you don't think I'm annoying."

"Most of the time," he replied.

"Don't make me hit you, Your Highness." Her smile widened when he laughed a little. "Nuada," she added, seriously now. "You know I'm not trying to hurt you with what I'm saying, don't you? I'm not trying to make things difficult. I'm not trying to hurt you."

"I know, mo duinne. It is simply that I care for you. Perhaps more than I should. Far, far more than I should, I think. It is... difficult. If someone threatens you, my instinct and my honor demand that I protect you. I cannot allow fear for my personal safety to prevent me from protecting someone I-"

"It's not fear that would do it; it's the responsible thing," she interrupted. "I know it bothers you, but you have to-"

"I can't!" He snapped, gripping her shoulders. He gave her the tiniest shake. "I can not. I cannot stand by and let you be hurt. I cannot do it, Dylan. Do not ask it of me, because I cannot do it! When we walk back into that trap, do not ask me to do anything other than protect you because I will not. I...." He squeezed his eyes shut. "For some reason," he growled, though the undercurrent to his voice sounded more like pain than anger, "for some reason that I still cannot fathom, you have become important... have become vital to me. Some of my enemies know this. My father is beginning to suspect it. You are in danger, mo duinne. I must protect you. I can do nothing else. My honor is not what demands this. Everything in me does. Everything. Dylan, I would not be all right without you. You must know that."

Vital to me. Dylan touched his cheek with such gentleness he almost flinched. "Nuada. Do you... are you telling me... I mean, maybe I'm being ridiculous, but are you telling me that you...." That you love me?

The look in his eyes pleaded with her not to push him. Not to ask any questions. So she didn't, though her heart thumped hard in her chest and a frisson of awareness ghosted up her spine. It couldn't be. Couldn't possibly. And yet the look in his eyes, and his words.... He was still looking at her, still silently pleading with her not to push. So she simply sighed and murmured, "Never mind. It's okay. I understand."

"Do you?" He pressed his forehead to hers again, and breathed her in. His eyes were not ivory, but amber, a rich golden honey shade glinting with flecks of sunfire and carnelian in their depths, colors she'd never seen in his gaze before. She had the strangest idea that he was trembling. But of course that would have been ridiculous. "Do you really? Can you possibly?"

Oh, my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh. It can't be. She swallowed hard at the sudden earnest expression on his face, at his nearness. Couldn't be... but was it? Was it possible? "I think I do," she whispered. Her blood hummed beneath her skin as she met his gaze with her own wide eyes. His closeness left her suddenly almost dizzy. Heart in her throat, she murmured, "Yes. I think... yes."

Oh, my gosh, she thought as she closed her eyes. He loves me. He's in love with me. That's impossible. He loves me. He's in love with me, he.... Dylan understood why he couldn't say it, why he was silently asking her not to force the words from his lips.

But she also knew, in a way that she couldn't quite understand or explain, that Nuada was telling her that he loved her. The confession shimmered just beneath the surface of his silence but Dylan could see it, she could taste it, feel it, like the scent of spring on the wind or the warmth of the sun on the back of her neck, like the beautiful new colors in Nuada's eyes.

Shimmers of joy and whispers of fear and sorrow and pangs of dread mingled in her stomach until she could scarcely breathe.

Joy in the knowledge that he loved her and she loved him so much and she'd never thought it possible, not when he hated the children of Adam with such fire.

Fear, because she didn't know this kind of love, didn't know how to be in love or how to let someone be in love with her, didn't know how such things were supposed to work or what to do or how to act or how not to make a complete idiot out of herself around him.

Sorrow, because Nuada loved her but couldn't bring himself to admit it aloud and she knew it had to do with her mortality, knew that she still wasn't good enough in his eyes and there was nothing she or anyone could ever do to change that. She tried not to think about it. Tried to focus only on how his prejudices had weakened and wavered and, in some cases, fallen into dust. But there was still sadness and pain.

And the dread whispered beneath everything because there was no chance for them, with her mortal blood and his chains of loyalty and honor and duty, and if they tried for anything more than the meager moment they had now it would break them both. And Dylan suddenly remembered him telling her, You don't know what you're asking, the night he'd kissed her and she'd asked him to ignore shoulds and shouldn'ts. Now she wanted to beg his forgiveness, wanted to hold him if he was hurting anywhere near as much as she was, and this would cause so many problems, and they were in far too much danger already without this added complication and how had she not seen this?

She wanted to ask how long, wanted to ask when it had happened, where it had begun, was he sure? Was he absolutely certain? What did it mean for them? Was this realy what he wanted, or did he want to run from her, run from what he felt? Was he glad of it or did he despise what was in his heart? Did he hate her and love her both? But all she could force out of her mouth was, "Cad é atá muid ag dul a dhéanamh, Nuada?" What are we going to do?

He gave her a soft look, one that stretched into an eternity measured by his heartbeat under her hand and his breath soft against her mouth, defined by his lashes tickling her cheek. Then Nuada blew out a pent-up, shaking breath and answered her question in a different way.

"We do not dare challenge my father any further. Not until we know if he is responsible for this, and to what lengths he is willing to go to get at us. Which means we must return tomorrow night."

With gentle fingers the Elven warrior brushed back the curls falling into Dylan's eyes. The touch meant something more now, the touch was precious. She fought against the sound trapped in her throat because she didn't want him to think there was anything wrong, even though everything was. Then Nuada carefully took both her hands in his. The warmth and strength of his grip loosened the tension clutching at her. "We must protect each other," he murmured, "as we have done since we met. As we will always do. Is that acceptable, mo dathúil mhuire?"

"Tá," she murmured on a sigh, letting her forehead rest against his shoulder. Yes. "If you wish it, my prince." She pressed her cheek against his chest, the softness of his new shirt. This one was as soft as crushed velvet and so very warm. Dylan could feel his heartbeat beneath the material. The steady percussion made her eyes sting, though she didn't know why. "If you wish it."

"Good. Now sit down before you fall down and we shall eat." Noting her pallor and her sudden quiet, he added, "If you can."

Dylan realized with some surprise that she was positively starving, though her stomach twisted a little at the thought of eating. "Food sounds good, actually." She sank down into the chair and forced herself to relax a little more. They were safe in the carriage. Nothing would happen to them here. And he... and he loved.... "So we have dinner," Dylan said, twisting her lips into a smile that felt like it would crack her face in half, for all it was so small, "and then what?"

He studied her for a moment, and she suspected that she wasn't really fooling him. He knew her too well. But he didn't ask if she was all right, for which she was grateful. She hated when he asked her questions she didn't want to answer because she would never lie to him. All he said was, "Would you like me to tell you another story?"

"Sure," she murmured, feeling suddenly inexplicably tired. "Sure. I'd like that."

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The massive silver cave troll pushed through the crowd of fae youngsters writhing in a poor imitation of dancing and made his way down the stairs into the main tavern room where older, more sedate forms of entertainment were to be had. But even beneath the main room of Fafner's Cave, he could still hear the scratchy human music through the floor.

"She's beautiful as usual,
With bruises on her ego and
Her killer instinct tells her to
Be aware of evil men."

Wink saw that the frenzy of the dance floor upstairs was not reflected in the tavern room of the Cave. Only three patrons sat at the bar and all the tables were empty. One of the drinkers at the bar was a taltos Wink vaguely recognized as a friend of Lorelei's. Another woman at the end of the sleek bar possessed the crimson-slitted, sclera-less black eyes and tumbling black curls of a gancanaugh. Surprisingly, she bore a necklace of violet and blue bruises, and held herself as if she were in pain. Even as Wink came in, she finished off her drink, tossed on a red velvet cloak, and walked out of the tavern.

The last patron was the copper-eyed fenris who always glared at the troll when he came for a drink at the rhinemaiden's establishment. The prince's valet ignored the flesh-eating shifter and took a seat at a table. Much to the fenris's ire, the rhinemaiden behind the bar went to take the troll's order herself.

"Was mögest du trinken?" She asked, her siren voice turning the sharp German language into something smooth and flowing as water over stone.

"Nothing tonight," he said. Then, lowering his voice a little so as not to be overheard by the fenris, he added, "There is Midnight Fest tonight, in the East Village. I wondered if you would do me the great honor of accompanying me," and here his voice dropped to a soft rumble, "dearest Lorelei."

She tilted her head to one side, allowing the soft light of the tavern to slide across her face and slender swan-white neck. The delicate point of one ear peeked through the thick midnight darkness of her hair. The rhinemaiden smiled. "I would love to." She looked around at the tavern room and her smile held the faintest edge of exasperation. "It seems all but my dance floor is pretty much dead tonight. Give me a few moments, and I'll meet you by the front door."

Wink's tender smile melted into a half-challenging smirk when he noticed the fenris glaring at the troll again. Lacking a drink to salute the irate furball with, Wink offered him a mocking one-fingered salute. Copper eyes glinted dangerously and razored incisors bared in an acknowledging parody of a smile before the wolf-shifter got up, dropped a tip on the bar, and left.

When will you learn, boyo? Wink wondered idly. Being the jealous type will get you nowhere with her.

.

Cat-slitted mercurial eyes peered through a crack in the blinds of the little apartment's front window, watching with disgust as seven fae and three humans mingled together in a twisted parody of friendship. The red-haired sidhe woman with the upswept silver eyes sat cross-legged on a cushion on the floor, reading a book aloud to the four children surrounding her - a silver-eyed boy who was obviously the woman's son; a wild-haired human girl who snuggled against him and had her bare feet in the lap of a young ewah boy; and another ewah child, a girl this time. A green-skinned, gossamer-winged, black-eyed pixie woman with obviously-dyed blond hair was busy making what looked like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the open kitchen off to one side. Helping her was an ewah youth in perhaps his seventh or eighth decade and a dryad with slanted viridian eyes. A pair of freckled, brown-haired human youths browsed the bookshelves against one wall.

The Zwezda Elf could just hear the words of the story the red-haired woman was reading. "Do you see her there, her staff in hand, calling the deer behind her? They come like sheep to the shepherd's pipe, running on their toes to find her...." One of the old poems of the cailleach bheur. How dare this sidhe woman share a story of one of the Shining Ones with a human child? With the three traitorous whelps who now served Nuada Silverlance? As for the sidhe boy with the tufts of wild red hair and silver eyes, that one was an abomination as well. The Elf recognized a changeling when she saw one. The brat should have been in some human hovel wreaking havoc. Not nestled up all snug and cozy with his birth mother and the other children.

Swallowing back her disgust, the Elf turned to the quartet of Irish dullahan standing behind her. Their whips hung coiled on their belts. Their fleshless hands rested either on the whips or on the bone-hilt knives at their hips. She didn't meet their eyes; the deathly fae kept their gazes - and their severed heads - covered with the folds of their cloaks, tucked under their right arms. Good. The Child of the Stars had no wish to gaze into the wide, fiery eyes of the dullahan, or see their impossibly wide corpse grins.

"You know what to do, of course," the Elf said softly. The leader of the dullahan lifted her shoulders, as she couldn't nod in agreement. The other three followed suit. "Good. I don't care what you do with the sidhe or the pixie. It is the cubs who require your full attention. And if you like, you may kill the humans. I know how much your kind enjoys playing with mortals."

The silver-eyed Elf swept down the concrete walkway leading away from the little New York apartment. Behind her, the red-haired sidhe woman's voice emanated softly from the other side of the apartment door. "She is the winter; the wind, the snow, her breath both warm and chilling. A single word from her icy lips, a single kiss is killing."

Setting her severed head on her shoulders and donning a wide-brimmed hat, pulling it low over her red-flamed eyes, the leader of the quartet of dullahan let her corpse grin stretch rictus-wide and knocked on the door.

.

It surprised Nuada that Dylan didn't ask him if he was certain this was safe or not. Her trust in him, it seemed, remained wholly unshaken. But he was careful as he led her through the night-darkened forest, constantly scanning their surroundings, every sense on alert for enemies, for more danger. Never again, the Elven warrior swore to himself. Never again would he let anyone catch him unawares this way. Never again would he let Dylan be hurt through his own inattention.

Because Nuada had used soothing magic to ease the pain in Dylan's bad leg and she had taken medicine as well, she was able to make the easy ten-minute hike to the glen he'd planned all day to take her to. Once they drew close to the glen, the power in the forest began to light their way. Tiny blossoming moonflower and night-jasmine glowed with the soft light of the moon and stars as the Elf and mortal passed. Some of the stones littering the forest floor shimmered with a flickering light, just like Dylan's rai flowers. And the light of the waxing moon lit up the woods with a surprising brightness.

"Where are we going?" Dylan asked softly as Nuada led her through the last line of trees to the faerie glen. A fallen rose tree reclined at the edge of the clearing. The Elf prince helped his lady to sit on the fallen but still-sturdy trunk. A bed of moss made the downed tree into quite a comfortable little seat.

Nuada took a seat beside her, maintaining a small but careful distance after his confession. Did she truly understand what he'd been saying to her? And more importantly, did she believe him?

Dylan, I would not be all right without you. You must know that.

It's okay. I understand.

Do you?

"A faerie glen. We're a bit early," he remarked nonchalantly, studying the stars glittering overhead to gauge the time and keeping his thoughts to himself. "But if you do not mind, I do not."

Dylan shook her head wonderingly, staring at the glen. "I don't mind," she murmured.

Even in the dark of the night, the glen was absolutely breathtaking. The shadows of trees blocked out some of the midnight-blue velvet of the sky, but the diamond stars burned cold and clear and bright in spite of them. The moon was a soft white, waxing almost to half-full in the sky overhead. A tiny pool near the middle of the clearing reflected each and every star in all their frosted perfection. Nary a ripple marred the image.

Gossamer-winged creatures, their tiny bodies a blur of soft silvery light, darted to and fro among the trees on the far side of the glen like tiny shooting stars. The air was pleasantly cool on Dylan's skin and she could hear the music of crickets chirping in the grass that spread out around them like a shady carpet.

"Was this the big surprise?" She asked, trying and failing to keep her eyes from flicking to him every few moments. He wasn't looking at her. Was that on purpose? Or was the sky truly so interesting? "Because it's awesome if it was."

"No, not yet," he said softly. "We've a few minutes yet."

After an interminable silence, Dylan finally said, "I feel really awkward for some reason. Do you feel awkward?"

"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?"

"Depends," she replied, arching one elegant brow. "Would you be lying?"

His look was fond and held some of the relaxation of earlier that day. "I am an Elf, darling. If I ever admitted to such a thing, of course I would be lying."

Dylan laughed and jabbed him lightly in the side with her elbow, ignoring how her heart tripped in her chest when he said darling. "You had to have been awkward some time. Maybe when you were a kid or a teenager. All teenage boys go through that awkward, gangly stage. You had to have gone through it, too."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Nuada said, "but no." He took Dylan's mostly-uninjured hand in his and lightly brushed his thumb across her knuckles. She leaned into him without hesitation, awkwardness somehow miraculously eased, though not entirely gone. Now he could focus on the task at hand. He would do this for her. He would not let this outing be ruined.

It was something Dylan very much wanted, what he had to show her; when she'd spoken of it to him once, that day in the Troll Market, he had not missed the undertone of wistful yearning beneath her words. He would surprise her with this gift before they went back to the dangerous game of Faerie politics. And he would pretend, just for now, that no shadows threatened and no dangers loomed, so that she could enjoy the beauty of what he meant to show her.

"Oh, Nuada, look," Dylan cried, pointing up at the sky. A brilliant streak of ivory fire lit up the night. "A shooting star! How lovely."

"Yes," he said, watching the way the starlight kissed her features and lit up her eyes, the way her smile shone brighter than the moon above them. "Lovely."

"Make a wish," she ordered, trying to pretend oblivion to his study.

He blinked, startled. "I beg your pardon?"

Dylan shrugged, snuggling against him in an effort to fight back the awkwardness. "It's a human thing," she said. Nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. She could feel the hard muscles of his shoulder beneath the thin layer of Elven silk, pressed to her cheek. Feel the even rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Dylan wanted to reach up and lay her hand flat to Nuada's chest, right over his heart, so she could feel it drumming against her palm. Maybe trail her fingers above his heart, over the silk of his new tunic, feeling it slide beneath her fingertips.

But just the idea sent flutters winging through her stomach and tickling down her spine. She wasn't brave enough to try that. Not after.... So instead she added, "When you see a shooting star, you make a wish. I used to do it all the time when I was little. Especially," she added in a soft voice, "when I was in the institution. When I could get to a window, anyway. I'd wish on the first star of the evening, and on shooting stars if I saw them, and on fireworks in the summer and on New Year's Eve. If I heard a nightingale sing, or a baby laughing. I'd wish all the time."

"Did your wishes ever come true?" He asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

Her smile was as bright as the shooting star overhead. "They did, actually. Most of them. I always wished that one day I would escape and find a handsome prince who knew me, who cared about me, who loved me for me, and not what everyone thought I was supposed to be. Someone who respected and protected me, who I could respect and wanted to protect too."

Then she grinned. "And I wished for a cat. A lot."

Nuada couldn't help it - he laughed. "I do not know if I'd consider your little beastling to be the answer to a wish." She pulled back to elbow him in the side. "Merely an observation," he defended, still chuckling. "He has an unholy penchant for using his claws."

"Only on men, I've noticed," she replied. "He's never scratched me. Now make a wish."

"All right," the Elven warrior said. "I wish that all the humans on earth, present company excluded, would disappear and never bother any fae ever again."

She slanted him an exasperated look. "No, you don't. Not all humans. What about John?"

Now it was Nuada's turn to look exasperated. "Dylan, I do not know how to break this to you gently, but I loathe your brother."

"I've noticed," she muttered. "But you don't really wish that. You said we were friends, and friends don't want each other to be unhappy, right?" Nuada eyed her and nodded cautiously, wondering if perhaps he were about to step blithely into a trap of some sort. "I'd be miserable without John. I already lost him once. Nearly lost him twice more after that. I can't handle losing him again. I'd be devastated. So you don't really want him gone, even though you don't like him. Right?"

"Well," the Elf prince muttered sourly, "when put that way...." He ground his teeth for a moment and clenched his fist before admitting, "No, I do not wish the whelp gone, if it distresses you so much."

"Yeah, I didn't think so. And don't call him a whelp, please." When he scowled at her, she offered him a bright smile. "Hey, I said 'please.' Now are you going to make a real wish?"

"You make one; show me how it is done."

She laughed. "Okay. I wish... for...." She trailed off and looked up at him, studying him for a moment. "I wish for you to be happy. Truly happy. For you to have all the joy in life that you possibly can. For you to be able to become what you must and do what you must in order to find a fullness of joy. That's my wish."

For a long moment Nuada couldn't speak. He could only stare at her with wonder in his eyes. "Out of everything you could wish for, you wish for that? You would waste your wishes on me?"

"It's not a waste," she said softly. Her lips curved into a smile. "Now shush up and enjoy being out here with me."

After a moment, the Elven warrior said, "Before... before my mother died, my father taught Nuala and me about the stars. How to navigate by their positions, how to gauge the passage of time. The myths and legends behind each constellation. How to find the pictures of them in the sky."

"These stars are so different from the ones I'm used to," she replied. "Some of them look sort of familiar, but just when I think they're the same, I see something that makes them different."

The Elf prince glanced up at the velvet night. Coming to a decision, he pointed. "That constellation there is the Stag," he said in a voice as soft as the shadows around them, and as warm as a summer night. He leaned in so that his breath was a warm whisper against her ear. "In winter and summer, the Boar will be in the sky as well. They come closest together on the Winter and Summer Solstices, where they fight for dominion over the sky for half the year. The Stag wins at Yule, and stays in the sky until Lethe. The Boar conquers then, and remains aloft until Yule."

He gestured to another constellation. "That is Cù Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster." Nuada cupped her hand and guided her in tracing the bright pinpoints of silver-white light in the sky. His touch was warm against her skin as his palm slid smoothly against the back of her hand. His fingers curled around her hand, cradling it with gentle strength. "He guards the fair Lady Moon when she rises and journeys through the heavens. He is always at her side, loyal and watchful. He is one of the few fixed constellations; no matter the season, he always remains on guard, protecting her."

Dylan scrunched closer to him. Sliding her arm around his, she laid her head on his shoulder, tucking it under his jaw. He turned to her, letting his chin rest atop her hair for a moment. The Elven warrior sighed. Dylan made a small sound and threaded her fingers through his, feeling his heartbeat through his palm pressed against hers. She nudged a few blades of grass with her toe and drops of dew landed on her star-frosted blue silk sock. Each tiny drop sparkled like a jewel.

"Show me another one," his lady requested softly. Anything, so long as he continued to hold her hand in that way, guiding it in its tracing of pathways between the stars, his voice a soft rumble in her ear that she could feel in his chest as he gave her yet another piece of his world. "Please, Nuada?"

"As you wish." So he showed her the Yeth Hound, the headless beast locked in constant celestial battle with the Lambton Wyrm; the five-horned Quinotaur and the constellation of the rampant Alicorn; the cluster of little stars known as the Trow; the stellar image of Macha, the warrior goddess, and the seven stars that were her ravens; Finn Bheara, King of the Dead Under the Hill and his half-Fomori queen, Oonagh.

Finally he pointed to a pair of pale blue stars hanging in otherwise empty space, so close together as to seem like one great star. Only by squinting hard could Dylan see that they were actually separate.

"The Lovers," Nuada murmured, his breath delightfully warm as it shushed against her cheek. His thumb moved in slow circles over the back of her hand. Each stroke seemed to warm the blood beneath her skin, sending whispers of golden heat shivering up her arm. They were so close, yet only that simple touch held them joined. In the darkness of the forest-night the link of their touch, skin to skin, heat to heat, kept them anchored to each other as the Elven warrior added, "The Lovers touch that way, joining in the sky into one brilliant star, only at the spring equinox. When the light and dark of the world are held in balance. As the year turns and the stars move in their courses, they grow further apart. Only here, in the royal forest where spring reigns, can they be together always."

"Together always," she echoed in a whisper that breathed against Nuada's ears, over his skin, ghosting along all of his senses.

He turned to see her no longer looking at the pair of stars, but at him. Her eyes were soft and sad. The moon lit her face so that she was nearly as clear as day to him. With fingers that suddenly trembled he lightly stroked her impossibly soft cheek, careful of the bruise. His heart stumbled when she leaned into the touch. The soft stroke of calussed knuckle against the satin of her cheek sent shivers of awareness whispering up and down his spine.

"Nuada," she whispered. "Can I... can I ask you for something?"

The prince swallowed hard. Would she demand he give voice to the secret he had given her a brief glimpse of earlier? If she did, what could he say? What words would satisfy her that wouldn't undo him completely?

"Anything, mo mhuire."

She shifted just a little closer. "Would you... I mean...." She licked her lip, and he had to bite back the strangled sound trying to escape him. In a voice as soft as the night around them, Dylan asked, "Kiss me again?"

He had been kind to her; more than kind, he'd been gentle and understanding and, in her words, perfect. So why, he wondered a little desperately, was she tormenting him this way? But he didn't voice the question. Nuada merely leaned in. His hair swept forward to brush against Dylan's shoulders and the warmth of her reached out to enfold him like an embrace. His mouth hovered over hers. He could feel her breath against his lips, quick and shallow. Could feel, because of her torturous nearness, the beating of her heart. Did she have any idea what it did to him, knowing he could make her heart pound?

Dylan let her eyes drift closed. Her lashes brushed his cheeks, he was so close. A scant half-inch separated his mouth from hers. She could almost taste him, wild and feral and fey. The moon, barely cresting the tops of the trees, lit his eyes to dark shadowed gold. Then there was only a whisper between them. What was he waiting for? Why did he hover just out of her reach, leaving her heart racing and her breath stuttering? His nearness almost left her skin glowing to be so close to him. Every nerve waited, on edge, for the brush of his lips.

A mere breath separated them. So close, she was oh so very close. Tendrils of her silken hair wisped against Nuada's cheek on the slightest of breezes, caressing and teasing. The scent of her, the rich perfume of summer roses and the natural fragrance of her skin and the faintest phantom echo of sunlight weaving into her hair, was almost dizzying.

Then... oh, and then... hearts thundering in unison, his mouth found hers.

Kissing the woman who held him so easily in thrall was like a drug - once tasted, he could never get enough. He'd known it would be so. It was one of the reasons he had resisted the temptation for so long. But no more. He did not possess that kind of restraint. No man did.

A tentative hand came up to rest against the back of his neck. Her fingertips ghosted over his pulse, butterfly-caresses that sent heat washing through him. Her other hand lay against his drumming heart. He wanted so much to deepen the kiss, to truly taste the sweetness of her mouth, to show her the heat burning inside him. But he'd promised her, and she was still so innocent. Instead he let his mouth linger, whispering over Dylan's soft scarred lips, breathing her breath when she sighed into the kiss.

How did he do this to her? Dylan wondered absently as she felt herself falling into every touch of Nuada's lips to hers. How did he make her feel so safe and cherished with just a simple kiss? He was so gentle, so patient with her. He didn't demand - only offered, invited, requested. Teased her with a soft nip before soothing any possibility of fear or nerves with another soft press of his mouth to hers. She could hear him breathe, feel him fighting to do it evenly even when the air refused to come in anything but shallow, shuddering breaths. It was only a kiss but it seemed to be such a struggle for him. As if he were straining against something, fighting to stay anchored instead of drifting along, swept up by the magic being woven between them. Didn't he know she fought the same battle? Fought, and lost continuously.

"Mo mhuire," Nuada breathed against her mouth. Sent delicious shivers up and down Dylan's spine. His hand came up and his fingers trailed along the delicate line of her jaw, making her gasp. Fingertips trailed lower, along the swan-like neck and the line of her collarbone, dipping into the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. Drawing patterns of golden light along her skin.

If he couldn't touch her as he wished to, the prince thought a little desperately, this would have to be enough. So he stroked back over the porcelain of her collarbone again. A whispering touch as soft as light and breath over her fluttering pulse. She made a sound that was almost a whimper, and he nearly came undone. On a ragged exhale Nuada murmured, "My lady," and there was such longing in his voice. Such tenderness. Dylan closed her eyes as he repeated the words once more in Gaelic and English, almost pleading against her velvet-soft mouth. "Mo mhuire, my lady."

She opened her mouth to say, "I love you," but thought better of it. She'd said it enough. Shouldn't say it again, not after that intangible moment between them in the carriage. It was all right that he hadn't said the words aloud. She understood what he'd meant, what sentiment had been hovering just beneath I would not be all right without you. You must know that. She knew. She knew now.

So Dylan didn't remind Nuada that she loved him more than breath, more than water and food and air, more than her own life. She didn't want him to think she was trying to pressure him into something he wasn't ready for. If - when - he was ready to say the words aloud, he would say them.

Instead, meeting his beautiful ivory-and-amber gaze, Dylan whispered his name. Felt the way he shuddered as the syllables brushed against his senses, a shudder born of something softer than lust and sweeter than yearning.

"Again," he whispered, pulling back for just a moment. Palest ivory touched with kisses of gold drifted over her features. Took in the blush darkening the scarred cheeks and the slightly parted lips. "Say it again." To hear his name falling from her lips like a sigh and a promise....

And she whispered, "Nuada." Her heart hammered in her breast and her blood hummed. Almost against her will, she added, "My love...."

And softly, so softly he knew she did not hear him, he whispered, "Yes," just before he lost himself in kissing her again. She tasted of moonlight and sweetness and promises, of dreams just out of reach. To her, he tasted of sunlight and magic. They were drowning in the kiss, in each other, lost to the night around them. There was only the next touch of lips, the next caressing sigh, the next evanescent stroke of fingertips over sensitized skin.

Then Dylan brushed back a lock of his hair. Brushed her fingertips ever so lightly against the delicate Elven point of his ear. Hunger seared him at the innocent touch. Nuada groaned against her mouth and pulled her tight against him, enfolding her in his arms, needing her close. She was killing him; didn't she care?

Need nearly had him trembling as she kissed him back. The urge to touch, to move beyond the boundaries she'd asked him to adhere to, had Nuada pulling back from her. He had to stop. Stop, or be lost, and he knew he possessed the skills to take her with him. Breathing hard, he whispered, "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

A little wide-eyed, more than a little breathless, Dylan replied softly, "I think I'm starting to get a clear picture." She touched her fingers to her lips, which always tingled pleasantly after Nuada had been kissing her. She met his gaze again. Saw the longing there and wasn't sure if it made her happy or nervous or some delirious combination of both. "But you could tell me... if you wanted."

If he wanted. Oh, there was so much he wanted. Again he thought of the way she'd whispered his name, the way she'd said, "My love," as if the words were being torn from her. But he shoved the thoughts away before they could take hold of him, though it took him several long moments. Now was not the time or the place to become distracted, to let his mind wander down paths he could not take. Not when she knew, now, how he felt. Not when he wanted nothing more than to lay her down on the soft grass of the faerie glen, with the stars burning above them, and offer her everything....

"Nuada?" Dylan's voice was hesitant, uncertain, her expression even moreso. Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she asked softly, "Did I... did I do something wrong? You've got the oddest expression on your face."

He swallowed down the words searing his tongue. He would not beg her to give him what he had no right to ask for in the first place. Not even when his lady was looking at him as if he were the center of her world. So the Elf prince drew a long deep breath, then brushed a tender kiss across her forehead and said, "I am... thinking how right I was before when I said that the rules you live by would make our courtship interesting."

More like torturous. Was she not affected by him as well? But no, he knew she was. He could see it in her wide eyes and charmingly flushed cheeks. Hear it in her slighty breathless words and pounding heart. In fact, he realized she held herself taut and still, as if trying to keep herself from doing something she was certain she would regret. Considering, Nuada slowly leaned in. Dylan's breath caught in her throat. The prince asked, "And you, my lovely one? What are you thinking in this moment?"

"I...." She trailed off when he nuzzled her temple. His breath ruffled her hair and warmed her already-heated skin. Tingles of electric awareness sparked and danced up and down Dylan's spine when Nuada laid his hand against the small of her back. The heat of his palm penetrated the silk-velvet of the blue dress easily. "I'm thinking that...." Star-gold strands of hair tickled her shoulders and cheek as he continued to nuzzle her. "That I want you to kiss me again," she managed to gasp.

"I cannot," he confessed in a velvet whisper that sent her pulse racing harder. Could not, though he wanted to, badly. Though this could not last, he wanted to give her all the sweet kisses that could be had in what time was available to them, like softly glowing fireflies lighting the way through the dark, caught for a brief space in a jar and cherished for their beauty before having to give them up again.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he added in a voice meant to tease, "Though you do wonders for my ego, mo duinne."

"I try," Dylan replied breathlessly as Nuada drew a barely-there line along her throat with the very tip of his finger, making her shiver anew.

His voice still held the faintest velvet purr when he said, "I know." Then he pulled back as several presences made themselves known to his psychic senses. He squeezed his eyes shut, getting a hard hold of himself. Nuada swallowed back the adoration simmering like golden heat beneath his skin and said, "But for now, I think it's time for something else."

That distracted her, like dangling a string in front of a kitten. "Time for what?"

"My surprise," he replied, and gestured to the glen.

Dylan turned to see what he was pointing at. Her mouth dropped open and she made a soft, slow exhalation of a sound, a whisper of shock and awe and disbelief and joy. Hands clasped against her chest, almost trembling at the sight, she watched the unicorns appear with wide eyes.

They came in silence to drink from the pool that reflected the stars so beautifully. Their pure white coats shone softly with an inner light. A few were dappled with palest clouds and shadows of soft dove gray. Moonlight illuminated the crystalline luster of shining hoof and delicate, spiraling horn. They seemed almost to glide across the glen, their hooves hardly touching the grass save for a gentle chime with each step. Far more slender and elegant than a horse, with long necks and angular, almost feral-looking faces, their fathomless cobalt eyes reflected the stars overhead more perfectly than the pool. Their silky moonbeam tails and manes unfurled behind them on the faint breeze like banners to catch the shine of those same stars.

They moved with the sort of grace Dylan had never seen from any living creature. Power, the kind that clung to the oldest fae beings like a second skin, breathed along their alabaster hides, giving them an ambient glow like a ring of hoarfrost around the full moon. And when they had finished drinking from the pool, almost as one the entire glory turned to regard the Elf prince and the mortal watching them.

She gasped and tensed, but Nuada squeezed her hand and murmured, "Do not be afraid. If they did not want us here, they would have let us know."

So she held very still and waited as one of the unicorns slowly came forward. Its eyes were the most beautiful shade of sapphire Dylan had ever seen, soft as the spring sky and clear as crystal. They held an ancient wisdom and nobility that made her suddenly feel very, very small, and yet a part of everything all at once. Looking into those eyes erased all of the dread and anger and sorrow she'd been carrying since the attack that afternoon. In its place was peace, and a flickering hope that everything - everything, including her relationship with Nuada - would be all right.

The unicorn stopped so close that if she had wanted to - if she had dared - she could have reached out and touched the pearlescent velvet of its nose. It carried the scent of moonflowers and fresh spring water, sunlit meadows and fresh-tilled earth, and a strange and otherworldly fragrance she didn't quite recognize that teased at her nose a little. It vaguely reminded her of her mother's perfume, when she'd been a little girl and her mother had given her a world's worth of cuddles and hugs. The unicorn's breath puffing against her skin was pleasantly warm.

*Welcome, mortal child,* a rich voice, like the ringing of a bronze bell, echoed in her skull. The unicorn stallion inclined his head a little. Dylan's eyes widened even further and her mouth dropped open again. The stallion added, *Welcome, Silverlance.*

"I thank you, my lord, for allowing me this privilege," Nuada murmured in a tone she'd never heard from him before - one of abject respect and just a faint undercurrent of awe. The normal undercurrent of princely arrogance had all but disappeared. Pressing a fist to his heart, he bowed his head and added, "You have my deepest gratitude."

*You are most welcome, fae child.* The unicorn focused on something at Dylan's throat - her golden medallion. *Star Kindler's daughter, child of the High King of the World, follower of the Holy One of the Lost Tribes.* The impossibly wise, ancient eyes shifted to Dylan's face. *You are injured. Be still.* Very gently, the stallion laid the very tip of his impossibly long, spiraling ivory horn against the mortal woman's bruised cheek.

Dylan held her breath. There was a sudden sting, followed by a pleasant coolness, and then a soft warmth.

*Hold out your hand,* the unicorn added. She obeyed, though her hand trembled. A brush of the horn-tip to the bandaged cut on her left palm gave her the same stinging-coolness-warming sensation. The unicorn stepped back. *It is done. You have other hurts, but these are small and you will survive them without scars. You are always welcome in this glen, mortal maiden. Be well.*

The unicorn turned away and went back to the others. Swiftly thereafter, they withdrew to the darkness of the woods beyond the faerie glen, leaving Dylan speechless with Nuada's arm around her.

"Well," the prince said softly after a long silence. "I must admit I had not expected that part of it. Are you all right?"

She nodded very slowly, as if in a daze. "I've only felt this wonderful once in my entire life," she murmured. "I feel incredible." She touched her cheek with hesitant fingers and found no cuts, no dull throb from her bruise. Dylan hastily undid the bandage on her left hand and stared in amazement at the unblemished skin of her palm. "I don't believe it." She flexed her fingers to test for stiffness or pain; there was none. "Wow." Then she looked up into Nuada's eyes. "You... this was what you'd been planning all day. You wanted to show me the unicorns. That's why we didn't leave."

"Yes," he said softly. "You said you wished to see one, and you sounded... so sad then. I thought this would bring you joy." He brushed back her hair where it had fallen into her face and murmured, "You deserve so much that I cannot give you. I hoped that this... would make up for it a little." Calussed fingertips smoothed over the curve of her cheek where a bruise had ached only moments before. His touch was rough velvet against her skin, a barely-there caress. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, Nuada. I'm very happy." She cocked her head to study him in the brilliant light of the moon. "Are you?"

He let his forehead rest against hers. Her lashes fluttered against his skin and her breath was warm, mingling with his. "Yes, Dylan." He could forget, just for a moment, the world and the danger that hounded them. The curse that hung over them in the form of her human blood and his immortality and the grief that would come of it. In this moment in the aftermath of magic, he could whisper to her, "I am happy."

"I love you," she said.

He closed his eyes. How he wanted to say it back to her. Breathe it softly in her ear like a spell in his own tongue, the words interwoven with the twilight mists of Faerie and the lilting magic of Ireland. Instead, he smiled wistfully and said, "I know, amhain a chara, my dear one. I know."

.

"Jealous, Captain?"

Oisin glared through the slitted visor of his iron helmet at Padraig, his lieutenant. The only member of his company who would dare jab at him that way, as they'd been friends since their first days after acceptance into the royal guards. He, Captain Oisin mac Conán of the King's Butcher Guards, jealous of that hideous hulking brute the royal whelp dared to call his vassal?

Ridiculous. It merely boggled his mind that someone as scarred and barbaric as Wink Ironfist could possibly manage to snare the woman he now watched dancing with his one good eye.

The rhinemaiden swayed to the haunting melody of a langeleik while the streetlights painted bronze and amber across her fair cheeks. Oisin clenched his fists, feeling the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure, when the siren faerie cast a glance over her shoulder at the troll and smiled. How was it that the traitorous pup and his brutish beast managed to ensnare so many beautiful women while the Butchers were shunned by fae women for the iron in their blood? Even dwarf and redcap females avoided the king's elite.

And how did the troll get someone as beautiful as the snow-fair, golden-eyed daughter of the Rhine who danced through the crowd to where the silver cave troll stood sipping from a tankard? Slender arms slid around Wink's waist and the siren said something to him with another enticing smile.

"You're going to enjoy this, aren't you?" Padraig murmured, watching the revolting pair, oblivious to the crowd and the music and everything else except each other. How sweet; the beast taking his beauty to Midnight Fest. "You're going to enjoy killing him."

"We have our orders," Oisin muttered, watching the rhinemaiden press darkly red lips just behind the broken spur of the troll's tusk. Revulsion pulsed through the Butcher's veins at the sight. "The king's command was very clear. Others are taking care of the mortal and the other little vipers the so-called prince has in his nest."

"But you'll enjoy obeying this particular command, won't you?" Padraig asked, his voice almost a hiss. "You hate him. Both of them - Silverlance and Ironfist. Don't you?" The other Butcher shrugged. "Can't say as I blame you, Captain. I'd personally love to get my hands around that mortal whore's throat and squeeze the life out of her - or maybe just snap her fragile little neck - for embarrassing the Butchers the way she did last month."

Oisin ground his teeth. He'd wanted to kill the little witch himself, for that. For disdaining him, dismissing him. Him! Captain of the royal guard! Did she think her precious Silverlance could ever best him in a battle? Did she truly think he was nothing, for her to ignore him the way she had? Nuada's plaything had dared, and he ached to be the one to show her better.

Yet when they'd received their orders, that hadn't been the plan. He'd asked to see the king, requested to have his orders changed so he could punish the trollop for overstepping her bounds. She was mortal; she had to learn respect for the Tylwyth Teg. Had to learn that the prince's infatuation with her did not protect her from the consequences of disrespecting someone as powerful as Oisin mac Conán.

But the guard captain had been turned away. The king's word was final. So Oisin had been informed by one of the many high-ranking servants that stood between the king and his people. That had been the end of it, as far as the king and the chamberlain and the servant were concerned. Oisin envied whoever had been given the task of killing the tart.

"She'll be taken care of," Oisin reminded his lieutenant. "And yes, Padraig, when it comes time to drive my sword through that beast's chest, I will enjoy killing him."

The other Butcher chuckled a little and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Best you and I take a few men and put an end to his lover first, Captain. She might try to use her voice on us, and then where would we be?"

.

Dylan's head was an easy weight on Nuada's shoulder as the carriage pulled up in front of the cottage's gate. She wasn't asleep; merely basking in the warmth of him, the solidness of his body against hers. It surprised her, sometimes, that he was so solidly built and yet his arm around her was so gentle.

He loves me, Dylan reminded herself, and couldn't stop the thrill that shivered through her. Nuada loves me and I love him and we love each other. How did that happen? She was too tired to kick her feet the way she did sometimes when happiness and excitement fizzed in her stomach and fluttered through her like butterfly wings, but she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder anyway. He loves me. I can't believe it. He loves me.

"Tired yet?" Nuada asked.

"Mmm," she mumbled. "A little bit. Kind of cold, though." Dylan frowned then, and straightened up. "Are we at the house?"

The Elven warrior studied her. There was a faint shadow behind her eyes. His brows drew down as he watched her face closely. "Dylan? What is it?"

She pressed a hand to her temple and glanced out the window at her brightly-lit cottage. "I was warm a moment ago."

Nuada smiled. "Is that all?" He drew her close to him and brushed his lips against her temple. Her hair carried the fragrance of the magic that had clung to everything in the faerie glen. "You're cold? Let me warm you, then."

"No," she said slowly, and the prince's smile slipped away. "No, not... not that kind of cold. Shoot," Dylan added, pressing the heel of her palm to her eye. "I'm tired and loopy from the Vicodin, so it's hard to focus. I've got a bad feeling suddenly. Like the one in the meadow before the dipsa attacked us. Something... something isn't right." She got up and moved to the carriage door. "We need to get into the house. Something feels off."

The warrior inserted himself between her and the door and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I go first, Dylan."

He waited for her to argue, but she only nodded and followed him out of the Chariot. At the threshold of the garden they felt it again - the sticky, clinging cobweb feeling of dark magic sliding over their skin. The mortal shot him a suddenly-nervous glance. Nuada pursed his lips and ignored the unease pricking along his spine. This time the spell seemed more focused. More malevolent in its intent. But the cool spill of warning sliding down her back told Dylan that the odd sense of magic was not what they needed to worry about right then.

"The door," Dylan said suddenly. Nuada didn't understand the undertone of fear in her words until she added, "The door should have opened the moment we stepped across the threshold. Becan should've opened the door. Something's wrong." Then, each word like a spike of ice driving into Nuada's heart, Dylan whispered in horror, "Nuada, the children."

She started forward. He yanked her back. "Never rush into a trap, especially if you know it is a trap."

"But the children-"

"Give me a moment," he bit out from between clenched teeth. Stars curse it, this was bad. Not the situation, no. Not that. He could handle a trap or anything else that might try to come at them in the next few minutes. It was the dread churning in his stomach at the thought of the children in danger. His children. His and Dylan's, their little family. If anyone had hurt those children....

The Elven warrior clenched his teeth and cast out with his senses. The house felt wrong - shadowed, tar-sticky, hollow as a crypt full of old bones. There was nothing, however, in the cottage except the faintest flicker of life near what Nuada was certain was Dylan's bedroom. That was Becan. But there were no ewah children inside. No enemies lying in wait. Nothing but that tiny spark that indicated the house sprite.

"The house is empty," Nuada muttered as they moved toward the door. "There's only Becan."

Dylan's eyes went wide. Her hand shook as she pulled out her keys. "It's after midnight, Nuada. We saw the unicorns at midnight. It's almost two in the morning. The children should be home from Peri's by now."

Brass hinges squeaked a little as the door swung open and the Elf and the mortal stepped inside. Dylan called for Becan as Nuada scanned the entryway and the corridor that led to the back of the cottage. Movement towards the end of the hall caught his attention. "Dylan!"

She jerked her head around to see Becan coming toward them, looking almost frantic. "Sire, milady!"

"Becan, what is it?" Dylan levered herself to her knees on the floor to bring herself closer to the brownie's level. "Where are the children?"

"I do not know, milady! Lady Peri said she would bring them back at seven-thirty. They never arrived. I thought they would call, at least, but nothing. Mallory Grace came by at eight-thirty to see if the children had returned, because Simon and Jared were at Peri's too. I sent her to the apartment, and Mallory came back an hour later and said the place was wrecked. I sent out a call to some of the local puckles, asked them to take a look. They confirmed what Mallory said. Told me they smelled death in the apartment."

The world tilted alarmingly and for a moment Dylan thought she might actually faint as the blood drained from her head. The place was a wreck... smelled death.... "Were... were there any... any bodies or...." She trailed off, unable to finish. She held her breath and waited for the brownie to shatter her composure.

"No, my lady," Becan said gently, and the trapped air escaped her in a dizzying rush. "Only blood - dark green, amber, red, silver, and black. That would account for Lady Kaye, the ewah children, the Grace boys and Mistress Kate, Lady Peri and her son. I do not know where the black blood could have come from."

"Butcher Guards bleed black," Nuada muttered savagely. "Although so do many other fae. Hell's teeth...."

"My lady," Becan added, laying a tiny hand on her good knee. "My lady, there wasn't a lot of the other colors but... there was a lot of amber. The ewah bleed amber. I think... I think one or more of the children might be hurt."

She nodded almost numbly and slowly got to her feet. She drew a deep breath. "What do we do now, Nuada?"

Firegold eyes held hers for a long moment. Dylan understood then that he didn't know what to do. Neither did she. How to find the children? Find Peri and Kaye and the others? Had they been captured by one of Nuada's enemies? Were they being held prisoner? What could either the prince or his lady do without more information? And how to get that information?

Heavenly Father, Dylan prayed, hugging herself and trying to bite back the panic clawing at her throat. The children... they're missing. Help me, please, they're missing and I don't know what to do. We don't know what to do. The children....

Becan and Nuada exchanged a glance. The brownie moved to the kitchen and Nuada took Dylan's arm and led her to the leather armchair in the living room. She sank into the chair and stared dully into the newly-built fire. The Elf prince knelt in front of her. Took her hands in his, squeezing gently. "Dylan?"

"This is my fault," she whispered, not looking at him. Her hands were cold as ice. The fire flickered in her eyes as she murmured, "I should have been here. Everything falls apart when I'm not here. I should have known better than to just go off and leave them. They're only children." Dylan bit her lip and finally met his eyes. All the quiet peace and the joy and the glow of their time together had disappeared like smoke in the wind. "They could be hurt. They could be-"

"Stop," he commanded. "We will find them, mo duinne. Alive," he added when she lanced him with a stricken look. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Gods, Dylan, I swear it, we will find them."

"Your father did this," she said.

He shook his head. "We do not know that for certain-"

"He did, Nuada, he did," she insisted, voice quavering. She drew her hands out of his grasp. "He took them or had them taken or something, he's responsible. You said it yourself, Butchers bleed black. And who else but your father knew we would be in the forest today?"

"But why go to the trouble of letting us be there only to attack us?" He countered. "Why go for the children, of all things?"

"Because you care about them," Dylan whispered. "You love them. I can see it in you. Or maybe just to make you look bad in some way. 'The mighty Prince Nuada can't protect his servants' or something. I don't know! He's done other things to embarrass you before the court! He tortured you-"

"A flogging is hardly torture-"

"He had a hand in this," she snapped, and for the first time lost the shellshocked look she'd carried since realizing the children were in trouble. "I know he's your father and I know you love him, but the king did this. It's the only explanation that fits." Then the fire in her eyes died down. She dropped her face in her hands. "What are we going to do?"

He opened his mouth to say something - though he had no idea what - when Becan came in with a steaming mug of cider. "Milady," he murmured, and floated the mug to her. She took a sip. Closed her eyes. Becan hesitated for a moment. "My lady... if I may speak freely?" Dylan waved her hand in a gesture of weary permission. "I am not a noble," the brownie said. "Nor have I ever been in the employ of one. I am a simple common house-sprite. But I trust His Highness's judgment. You always have. Trust him now. If he doubts the king's complicity, perhaps His Majesty is not the one responsible."

Nuada laid his hand on Dylan's knee. "I do not discount the possibility my father is our enemy in this," he said, and the words burned his throat like salt and noon-forged steel. "But it is a tactical error to focus on one enemy while others circle round about, intent on our blood."

A frantic knock hammered at the front door. Heat bloomed in Dylan's chest. "Who is that?" At her gesture, Becan went to the door, and in seconds a disheveled dryad stumbled into the living room and fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Dylan cried, "Lena!"

The hamadryad's cargo pants and t-shirt were ripped. Spatters of black and dark green stained her shirt. Browning amber blood soaked the sleeve of her hoodie. Scrapes across her high cheekbone and one arm oozed dark green blood. Bruises stained the skin around one eye and the corner of her mouth. A cut split her bottom lip. Viridian eyes were wide and more than a little shocky. "Dylan! Dylan, Tsu's'di... they...."

Somehow they managed to get the wood sprite into a chair. The mortal pressed a cup of something clear and sparkling with silver glints, provided by her brownie, into Lena's trembling hand. Dylan noticed the girl's knuckles were scraped and bleeding. "Here, honey, drink this. It'll help."

After a few quick swallows the dryad's shakes subsided. "We were at Peri's," she whispered. "I wanted to see Tsu's'di, but he said he had to watch his brother and sister. I was cool with that. It's cool. He's a nice guy. So we were all chilling at Peri's and there was a knock at the door. Peri asked one of these human kids to get it. We were all in the room, so what was the big deal, right? Even if it was a mugger or something. But it wasn't a mugger," she added, and her hands began to shake again so hard that the liquid in the cup sloshed against the sides. "I don't know what those things were."

"Were they fae?" Nuada demanded. It was the first time he'd spoken since Lena's arrival. "Or human?"

"Fae," she mumbled. "No human could handle Tsu's'di like that. They were all in black, like wool or something. I couldn't tell. Their eyes... crimson faerie fire. Looking in their eyes, I felt like I was surrounded by trees blackening in a wildfire. I couldn't move. Then one of them attacked me. Tsu's'di... Tsu's'di p-pushed me out of the way. He got hurt," she added, tears thickening her voice. "They hit him with something and he fell...."

"Lena, listen to me," Dylan said. Her no-nonsense doctor's voice helped push back the girl's fear and shock. It also helped Dylan to shove down the sudden panic. "Do you know where Tsu's'di and the others are? Were you all together?"

She nodded and took a sip of the water. "Kaye said we had to get to the Unseelie Court. We'd be safe there. She said her guy, Roiben, his healers could take care of Tsu's'di and the kids. But they ch-chased us and I stayed behind to buy some time. The forest...."

She met Dylan's eyes and for a moment there was a feral satisfaction in the depths of her leaf-green eyes.

"The forest was pissed. Those things stank of death and blood and rotting flesh. The Park woods were furious. They got away - Kaye hailed a cab - then I hid out in the woods and waited for you to come back so I could tell you. When the trees told me you were back, I started for your house and those things tried to catch me so I ran here. They couldn't get past the gate."

"The wards are still strong, my lady. They are gone now," Becan said when Dylan glanced at the brownie. "But I sensed something dark and cold at the edge of the property for a minute."

Dylan shoved her hands through her hair and nodded. "Okay. It's a bit of a drive from here to Jersey," she said. "I need to go to Roiben's court. We have to get the children, make sure they're all right. Bring them home." Blue eyes flicked to Nuada's face. "Can we take the carriage?"

Nuada inclined his head. "Of course, my lady."

"Dylan," Lena added when the mortal turned back to her. "There was something else in the woods. It's still there. I don't know what it is. It's not bad, exactly... I'm not sure. It's past the boundaries of my territory. But you should be careful when you're out in the Park for a while, okay?"

"Okay."

"Dark and cold," Dylan murmured as the brownie took Lena to change clothes in Dylan's room. "Eyes of crimson faerie fire. Stank of death. Not Butchers, then. A corpse-drinker of some kind, maybe?" She sighed. Passed a hand over her face. "I'm sorry, Nuada. For accusing your father so vehemently. You were right; it wasn't the Butcher Guards."

"It is well enough, mo cridh," the prince said softly, skimming his fingers over the curve of her cheek. She started a little at the endearment my heart. "You are worried for the children. It's understandable. I am worried as well. But we will be with them soon."

She nodded. Sighed again. "And that second thing... whatever Lena sensed on the fringes... I don't know. It worries me."

"Do you know what it is?"

"No, I just...." Suddenly she swayed, stumbled a step. Her face went stark white and she started to sink. Nuada's arms came around her immediately. Dylan clung to him, shaking, gasping for breath and pressing herself against him as if she were attempting to fold them into one person, attempting to hide inside his solid strength.

"What is it?" He demanded, tightening his grip. "Dylan?"

"I can't breathe," she gasped. Groped blindly for the arm of the chair. "I can't... can't breathe. I can't...." He helped her sink back into the chair. She pressed her hands to her chest, struggling to breathe. "No," she whispered. "No, it's happening again, no, don't leave me...."

He gripped her hand and lightly touched her throat, where the pulse fluttered weakly. Was this a flashback? Was one of the mental blocks Nuala had placed in Dylan's mind allowing a psychic-memory to resurface? "I'm here, Dylan."

"Not you," she whimpered, shaking. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Not you. Something's wrong, I can feel it, it's happening again."

A yawning abyss threatened to stretch open beneath her feet. Ice-cold rivulets of sweat chilled her blood, left her trembling violently. She could feel a part of her, a soft golden warmth always in the back of her mind, slowly fading, slowly slipping away. Dylan grasped for it but she wasn't psychic, couldn't hold onto that piece of her soul that was separate and yet so integral to her.

"John, it's John," she breathed, feeling him fading, feeling the light going dim in the back of her skull. Twice before she'd nearly lost that light. She couldn't lose it now, not now.... "Nuada, something's wrong with John, he's in trouble, he's hurt, I don't know, I...."

Firm pressure on her hands kept her anchored, kept the world from falling away into nothingness and voice. A gentle voice pierced the frigid panic choking her. "Your brother? You can feel him?"

"Yes," she whispered. "No... it's slipping. He's always there in the back of my mind but he's fading now, I think he's hurt but I didn't feel it because I took something for the pain earlier tonight. It left me a little loose and I couldn't feel him, but now he's fading, Nuada, he's in trouble! I think...." She swallowed salt and jagged glass and managed to choke out, "I think he's dying."

Firegold eyes widened. "You are certain?"

She shook her head. "No, but... the last time this happened, he'd been shot, he was in surgery and his heart stopped and it felt like everything inside me was breaking apart and I thought I would die, too, I can't lose him, I can't, Nuada, please, you have to find him, you have to help him!"

Dylan blinked and a vague look overspread her face. "He's in the Park," she whispered. "The thing Lena sensed... Nuada, it's him, I know it's him, you have to go get him, please! Before he...."

Dark lips pursed as tears coursed unheeded down Dylan's cheeks. It was impossible that this was merely a coincidence - he and Dylan attacked the same day as the children, and then Dylan's brother. Who next? Wink? Lorelei? Aso? Erik? Surely those four could take care of themselves, as could his other allies, but... should he not go to Wink and warn him? And the same with the others? John Myers was a waste of air, so should not the prince focus on his vassal and some of his oldest and dearest friends?

"Please, Nuada," she begged. Her grip on his hand tightened until her knuckles turned white. White spots stood out where her fingers pressed hard against his skin.  Those beautiful blue eyes were wide with desperation as she pleaded, "Nuada, I'm begging you, please... he's my brother. I need him. I love him. Please, please, please...."

The Elf prince growled something savage under his breath as he got to his feet. For that soulless, gutless whelp? Truly? She would ask him this? After all the human had said to him, all the insults and the vicious verbal barbs?

Each of her tears cut him like a blade of razor-edged diamonds.

"Becan," Nuada snapped, and the brownie came racing into the living room. "See to it that Lady Dylan and the dryad, Lena, make it into the carriage in front of the gates safely. If anything happens to them," he added, "I shall take it out of your hide."

Wide-eyed, the brownie nodded quickly. "Y-yes, Sire. But where will you be?"

Getting to his feet, Nuada spat out through gritted teeth, "To save my lady's brother... wherever the cur might be." He hated even the idea of it - his attempt to rescue a human getting in the way of joining Dylan in reaching the children as swiftly as possible - but the naked relief and gratitude and love in Dylan's eyes had him biting back an oath. She was making him soft. Ah, well. "I will meet you at Roiben's court."

"Okay." Dylan caught his hand as he started for the door. "Thank you, Nuada. Thank you."

Her idiot brother had better appreciate this as well, the Elven warrior grumbled silently as he stepped back out into the darkness of the Park.

.

Pressing a feebly shaking hand to the wound at his side, John Myers let his head fall back against the trunk of a dogwood tree.

Where was he, anyway? Somewhere in Central Park, but he'd lost track of his whereabouts long ago. How long had he been staggering through the woods? How long had he been bleeding? Scarlet drenched the lower left side of his shirt. Seeped through his cold-numbed fingers. Every breath sent fresh pain burning through the wound.

Oh, D, I'm in deep trouble this time, he thought, trying to fight the cold- and blood-loss-induced sleepiness with a weak shake of his head. Come find me, D.

He'd underestimated those guys tailing him. Hadn't realized they were Other Kin. Shandymen, Dylan called them. They looked like people until you got close; then they looked like scarecrows with demon eyes. Hadn't known fae could drive cars; the iron should have repelled them, shouldn't it? Even Dylan's friend Kaye had a problem with cars. But there'd been no problem for those shambling freaks.

I need help.

His gun had had no effect. Bullets didn't bother straw-stuffed, dead-fleshed monsters, after all. Iron didn't bother them. White oak didn't, either. Rosemary, elder leaves, holey stones, four-leaf clover... nothing. All of Dylan's old remedies and protective charms nullified somehow. But how?

Dylan, I need help. The world was slipping away from him as cold seeped into his legs, from his hands up his arms, across his face. So cold now. Snow swirling everywhere. He'd been in a coat. Only that that had kept the twenty-one-year-old from freezing to death so far. Please. Come find me. Wouldn't last much longer, though. Not bleeding buckets like he was.

Too much blood. He could see tiny scarlet rivulets trickling along the white-as-bones snow. Don't let me die here, Sis, please. John closed his eyes and tried to remember his twin sister's so scarred and so beautiful face. The world kept on slipping by as he thought sluggishly, Please, come find me, Dylan. Please....