I looked down at the grimoire pressed to my chest, to my heart. My mother’s treasure. The origin of Demonica. Priceless, precious, dangerous—but just a book. How could I trade a life for a book?

Zylas …

Eyes burning, I drew in a shaky breath—and a memory of his husky voice whispered, Be smarter, drādah.

Just yesterday, alone in a cramped alley. I could almost feel his heat behind me, his hand on my shoulder as he murmured in my ear. You must always be looking everywhere.

I pulled my gaze off Vasilii’s unnerving eyes for the first time. The three waiting vampires stood near the kitchen. I skimmed across the room, picking out the shadowy corners, glancing across the broken windows, whisking past the large raised deck outside—

A shape ducked backward out of sight, hidden around the corner just outside the window. Another vampire outside. Why would that one be outside?

Unless there was more than one. Unless more vampires were positioned to ambush us.

Be smarter, Zylas had told me. If he were standing behind me right now, as he had in that alley, I knew what he would whisper in my ear. Vasilii had more vampires waiting out of sight. He wasn’t bargaining with us because we had any chance of survival. He wanted to secure the grimoire before he killed us.

Raising my chin, I looked into Vasilii’s black eyes. “I accept your offer.”

Amalia gasped. Uncle Jack’s grip on the rifle spasmed, a hoarse groan catching in his throat.

Vasilii’s lips formed that faint, emotionless smile. “Bring me the grimoire.”

I tightened my hand on the barrel and turned, giving my uncle the most meaningful stare I could manage. Releasing the rifle, I hastily knotted my broken infernus chain, then slowly approached the fae. Vasilii waited, his arm hooked around Zylas, slender hand gripping the lifeless demon’s throat.

One long step away from them, I stopped. Vasilii stared unblinkingly into my eyes as he extended his other hand, fingers spread.

My heart slammed into my ribs as though it were trying to ram through me and grab onto the grimoire. I placed the book in the fae’s waiting hand. He curled his fingers over the cover, his expression faintly pleased.

He released Zylas. The demon crumpled—and I dove to the floor with him.

The rifle went off with an earsplitting bang. Vasilii jerked backward. Dead center in his chest, a dark hole the size of a golf ball had shredded his shirt. Sprawled on the floor beside Zylas’s prone form, I waited for the fae to collapse.

Grimoire cradled in one hand, Vasilii lightly touched his chest as though surprised by the wound. A small smile curved his lips.

He wasn’t falling. He wasn’t dying. He’d been shot in the heart with a bullet big enough to kill a bull moose. Why wasn’t he dead?

Uncle Jack clutched the rifle, his hands shaking. Amalia stood beside him, her face stamped with horrified disbelief.

Still smiling, Vasilii reached for me.

“Ori eruptum impello!” I screamed.

Silvery light burst from the artifact around my neck. The dome rushed outward, hurling Vasilii away, along with two kitchen chairs and the other vampires. The sofa flipped onto its face with a muffled thud. Only Zylas, safe with my hands on him, was unaffected.

The three vampires crashed down, but Vasilii landed neatly on his feet, unhampered by the hole in his chest. He stroked the grimoire as though to ensure it was undamaged, then turned. He stepped over the windowsill, broken glass grinding under his shoes, and ambled into the blowing snow.

Ravenous eyes glowing, his minions advanced on us to clean up the loose ends while their master whisked away the precious grimoire.

The precious grimoire I had handed to him. What kind of monster could survive a shot through the heart?

My hands tightened on Zylas’s shoulders, but he didn’t stir. The vampires prowled closer, drool running down their chins as they homed in on the helpless demon and his intoxicating blood.

A loud, metallic clack. The vampires looked up.

Uncle Jack pushed his rifle’s bolt forward and pulled the trigger. The ear-rupturing bang exploded again and the bullet tore through two vampires, taking them both out with one shot. As they keeled over, Uncle Jack threw the rifle aside and grasped his infernus. His demon lumbered forward, powerful arms swinging. The remaining vampire bared his fangs and took a cautious step backward.

But he wasn’t alone. Glass crunching, the vampires who’d been lurking outside, hidden from view, stepped over the windowsills—four of them, their eerie eyes staring and mouths curved eagerly. One laughed at the sight of our helpless group.

Despair closed over me. Zylas?

Uncle Jack sent his demon charging at the vampires. He and Amalia backed toward the door, calling for me, but I knew it was pointless. There were too many and they were too fast.

I heaved Zylas’s limp form onto his back. His dark eyes were empty, but his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Vasilii’s bite had sent the demon into a coma-like state.

Three of the vampires leaped on Uncle Jack’s massive but slow demon, and the other two advanced on the father and daughter. Amalia thrust out a flashcard and yelled an incantation, but the vampire barely stumbled from the cantrip. Uncle Jack gripped his infernus. His demon turned, called toward its master, but the three vampires dragged it to a halt.

“Zylas,” I whispered, pressing my hand to his face. “Please wake up.”

A flicker deep in his eyes.

With a crash, Uncle Jack’s demon collapsed, the three vampires pinning it to the floor as they attempted to bite through its scaled skin.

I leaned down and touched my forehead to Zylas’s, eyes squeezed closed and terror quivering through my limbs. Zylas, help us.

Amalia was screaming, her voice piercing my ears.

A quiet rasp sounded in Zylas’s throat. His cool fingers fumbled against my wrist, then closed tight. I looked into his dark eyes, our foreheads still touching.

Drādah.

An image formed in my mind. Spiky red runes, tangled lines and circles. An arching spell in his glowing magic burned brightly inside my head. I recognized it—the same explosive spell he’d cast in the tower basement. His fingers tightened around my wrist and he pushed my hand off his face, raising it above us.

I didn’t know why, but I opened my fingers, spreading them wide.

My fingertips tingled. Heat grew—inside my hand, inside my chest. The image of the spell seared my mind. All around me, the room darkened. The temperature dropped.

Cast it.

I closed my eyes, my face pressed to his. Hotter and hotter, my chest burned. The fire was in my arm, in my hand. The spell was inside my head but it was outside my head too. It arched over us in glowing lines, demonic runes, and deadly spirals of power. The air crackled, hissed.

The vampires were coming for us. They were rushing forward, fangs bared, rings in their eyes glowing scarlet with fury and hunger.

But my eyes were closed, so how could I see that?

Zylas’s other hand was curled over the back of my neck, palm against my cheek, his shallow breath warm on my skin. I could feel his touch, his physical closeness—and I could feel more than that. I could feel him. A fierce presence inside my mind, bright crimson with an inky black core.

Finish it!

My eyes flew open and for an instant, I saw the crimson power lighting my hand, the twisting veins crawling up my arm, glowing through my sleeve. I saw the spell arching over us and the vampires lunging toward it, claw-like fingers reaching for my exposed back.