“Looks like you’re a little out of your depth, Captain. Ready to turn him over to me?” For Jacob’s thirtieth birthday, she’d surprised him with a visit to the particular Ren Faire that had been his home for a couple years. They’d invited him to rejoin the jousting that night. Vividly, she remembered how he’d swung up on the back of a horse, no stirrups, just holding a handful of mane.

  The moment his fine ass had touched the horse’s back—she and Rhoswen at least agreed on that—

  he’d become part of that horse’s body.

  The horse he’d ridden that night, Boudiceaa, had been a badly abused mare who’d become the Faire’s top attraction because he’d taught her to trust again.

  She held on to that memory to reassure herself as she calmed her own mount. Firewind had managed to agitate most of the horses in the procession. It gave her an extra moment to linger, watch Jacob move toward that monster. As he did, he was loosening his shoulders, his gait. He tilted his head, cracking his neck with an audible pop that made several of the Fae flinch in surprise.

  When he was four steps away from the kelpie, he nodded to Cayden. “Let him go.”

  She had accelerated senses, but the ability was not the same for al Fae. Some seemed surprised to see Jacob standing where Cayden had been a moment before. As the captain moved out of range, the kelpie screamed his rage and twisted around, pivoting with over a thousand pounds of muscle at his disposal to crush whoever was offending him.

  Though the creature was moving even more swiftly than he had with Cayden, his frustration mounting to berserker level, her servant was staying a step or two ahead of the horse. He made the rapid turns with him, an odd merry-go-round of twisting, dangerous movement.

  “Mount up,” Cayden cal ed out as if nothing dramatic was occurring. “The queen is departing.” Lyssa started as a guardsman’s hand landed on her bridle and led her horse toward the front of the procession. From that vantage point, she couldn’t keep her eyes on Jacob unless she twisted around in her saddle. Rhoswen wanted her to appear agitated and concerned, she knew. While she could be in Jacob’s mind—in fact, she was in it now, amazed by the instinctual flow of counterreaction toward the horse, as natural as a swift river current—

  it was not the same as being able to watch him. She needed to withdraw from his head, because if he did get in a difficult position, an agitated reaction on her part, even internal y, would be a distraction he could il afford. Damn it.

  That, too, was part of the test Rhoswen was executing, wasn’t it? Settling her seat further, Lyssa made an impatient noise, col ecting her reins and pul ing her mount away from the guardsman. Moving the palfrey into a pretty trot, she came to Rhoswen’s left side as Cayden swung up on his own horse on the queen’s right. As they moved away from the field, every squeal that split the air, the sound of earth thudding beneath hooves—hopeful y it was earth, and

  not

  bones—was

  a

  hammer

  at

  her

  consciousness, screaming at her to jump into his mind again.

  She ignored it, keeping her hands loose on the reins, her shoulders relaxed, even as her heart and gut were tight as two tangled fists. If Rhoswen got him kil ed, it didn’t matter if it kil ed Lyssa as wel .

  She’d come back and haunt her bitch sister for al eternity.

  As Jacob kept up his dance with the horse, he started crooning in Gaelic. Calming words, a singsong chant he’d used with fractious and mistrustful mounts in the past. Whether or not it would have any effect on a kelpie, he knew nothing was going to get better until that bearing rein was released. It had been misused to deliberately goad the horse, the way cinching a strap over the testicles of a bul was done at rodeos to make them buck more ferociously. It proved Rhoswen as a hypocrite in her scorn toward humans. She was treating one of the creatures of her own world abysmal y to serve her own purposes.

  He put aside the anger, because the horse would pick up any negative feeling and feed off it. Plus, he was handling a creature that was not exactly a horse.

  Every time those nostrils flared and expel ed a bil ow of flame, he had to stay clear, though more than once the heat seared his skin. He could smel the fibers of his tunic smoldering from proximity alone.

  Vaguely, he was aware the Unseelie procession was filing down the hil side. They’d meet the colorful Seelie train at Caislean Talamh, the Castle of Earth, and that route would be lined with more Fae, celebrating and encouraging the riders. He would have liked to see al that. If he survived this, maybe he could.

  “Another minute,” he gritted, to both of them. He needed the procession to be clear of the castle, giving him room to do what he needed to do.

  The horse squealed, baring yel ow teeth the size of his thumb knuckles. “I got it, you’re pissed.” Jacob grunted with the effort to hold fast to the bridle. He flexed his other hand, ready to go for his knife. It might not be wise to cut off the only thing control ing the horse, but he fol owed his instincts, as he always had. Gideon had often said there was a reason the words instinct and insanity differed by only two letters.

  With two quick movements, he sliced through the bridle and cinch, and tore it al free. Catching a handful of mane, he twisted himself up onto the horse’s back, clamping down with knees and thighs, both hands buried in that long, long mane.

  He’d expected the flame. It swarmed up over his hands, exploded and covered the stal ion’s body, the heat searing through his clothing, hungry for his flesh.

  Firewind was in motion, gal oping pel mel up the hil toward the castle. Those who’d gathered for the procession and lingered to watch his match with the kelpie now scrambled to get out of the way. Firewind moved in an erratic zigzag, so they had to be very quick, using wings as wel as feet. Some only had time to throw their bodies out of the horse’s path as he clattered onto the drawbridge, a streaming bal of rust and black flame with enraged crimson eyes.

  Hold on . . . Jacob hammered himself with the mantra, his jaw clenched, a strangled cry in his throat as the fire licked at his skin. The excruciating pain would shortly become lethal, the fire burning him to ash. If Rhoswen was right and a kelpie wouldn’t release its prey until it was drowned, then Firewind had to choose to let him off. It didn’t matter. Jacob wasn’t getting off until he’d accomplished the quest.

  Instead, he trusted the horse’s nature, which wouldn’t care whether or not he was carrying an undrownable vampire. As a result, with an abrupt left turn, one that would have jerked his shoulder out of its socket if he hadn’t anticipated it, the horse gathered himself and leaped off the drawbridge.

  Plunging into the moat below, Firewind scattered a pod of selkies. Jacob bounced down hard, gritting his teeth at the less-than-kind slam of the horse’s solid body against his testicles. The dousing of the fire was pure bliss, though. He suffered the abrasion of the water against the burns, but knew those would heal in a reasonably swift manner. Swimming strongly, the horse descended. The moat was so deep, he couldn’t see the bottom, which made him wonder if there was a bottom at al . The waters were populated by unusual fish, selkies, curious merfolk and even a pair of sea serpents of intimidating size.

  They eyed Jacob with obvious relish. If the current predator got tired of him, he suspected they were ready to finish the job.

  Jacob ripped his tunic at the neckline and managed to pul it al the way off, securing his hold on it and the mane a blink before the horse rol ed.

  Though Firewind did it several times, twisting and bucking in the water, Jacob kept his eyes closed, fol owing the horse’s movement by instinct, knees and elbows in tight.

  The kelpie made an underwater cry that reminded Jacob of an angry kil er whale. The powerful body shuddered, rocked and convulsed, and abruptly his swimming became rocket charged. Glancing back, Jacob saw Firewind had shifted the back legs into a powerful tail, the front legs churning to help with the movement. His neck and head were extended like a thoroughbred in the final stretch.

  Jacob moved with him, thrusting his body out over that elongated neck. He brought the wet tunic down over the waterhorse’s eyes and moved fast, tying it beneath the jawline, thank al the gods for vampire speed. Firewind screamed and rol ed again, but Jacob pul ed in the slack and shoved himself back down the neck to grapple the mane and hold tight with his knees once more. On his way there, Firewind’s head snaked around. The kelpie bit his shoulder, sending a trail of blood inking away from them. Jacob wrenched free, got himself out of range.

  He held both ends of the tied and ripped tunic like reins now, his palms clenched hard in the cloth to hold it fast on the animal’s eyes.

  The horse swung around so fast Jacob didn’t see the wal of rock until it was too late. The crushing impact knocked his left hand loose, though the right held, tangled with mane as wel as cloth. A strangled cry wrenched from his throat as ribs cracked, his left knee was pummeled into several pieces and his shoulder dislocated. The horse screeched his frustration, as loud as a banshee, even under water.

  This was no horse. This was a creature of the night, a child’s nightmare, an equine version of the Hounds of Hel , its only intent to kil him.

  Oh, bollocks on that. Boudiceaa had been the most il -tempered hel ion of a horse he’d ever known, with a true desire to murder anyone on her back.

  This horse was male, which meant he should be far more reasonable.

  Despite the blindfold, Firewind was headed back up to the top. He was probably going to burst into flame again. And whereas he’d been happy to try and dislodge Jacob under the water and crush him like a mal et shattered an oyster shel , aboveground he’d likely bind him to his back until he was a tiny pile of ash that Firewind released to the wind, along with the remains of the tunic blindfold.

  As the kelpie broke the surface of the water, Jacob fumbled in the pouch that had been belted beneath his tunic, hoping the only thing he’d brought in anticipation of Keldwyn’s warning was stil intact. It was.

  There were gray spots in his vision. Unfortunately, vampires could pass out, if the stress on the body was too great and there was no ready blood supply on hand. Usual y, he only needed to draw from his lady once every several days. It was becoming a daily occurrence here.

  Don’t pass out. You’ll be eaten by sea snakes, and Lyssa will be seriously pissed at you.

  The kelpie was tossing his head about, thrashing in the water. Firewind hadn’t counted on being too disoriented to find the bank right away, though he should manage it soon enough by smel , if he calmed down. Otherwise, he’d dive again. Jacob made his decision. He became Firewind’s eyes, soothing him in Gaelic, using hand and knee signals and the horsemanship of a lifetime to convince the horse to fol ow his direction. The horse didn’t trust him right away, but then the wind shifted and he realized Jacob was taking him toward the bank.

  Jacob expected something smug went through the horse’s mind like, What a dumbass. He wasn’t sure he didn’t agree.

  They were a quarter mile from the rear wal of the castle, no longer part of the circular moat, but in one of the feeder tributaries. As the horse gained the solid ground, shifting back to four legs, he shook off like a dog, making the seaweed and shel s in his mane slap Jacob’s hands. Then he gave a quick squeal, a bone-jarring hop that almost dislodged Jacob.

  The good news was he wasn’t using the reputed Super Glue abilities to lock Jacob on his back, maybe because it only worked in the water, to make sure his passenger drowned, a moot point with a vampire. He also didn’t appear to be able to use his fire right away when he emerged from the water. A smal but vital blessing.

  So Firewind went for the nasty trick that the most temperamental and intel igent horses knew. He buckled, headed for the ground rol to flatten Jacob like a pancake.

  Jacob threw himself clear with a pained cry, right before the hooves would have kicked out on the turn and caved in the side of his skul .

  As Firewind scrambled back to his feet, Jacob wrapped the hand of his dislocated arm in the trailing tail of the tunic. He let out an agonized grunt as he used the force of Firewind’s yank against it to pop the shoulder back in place. Using his other hand, he pul ed the item out of the pouch belted on his bare waist. It wouldn’t have worked underwater, because the scent might have been masked.

  Firewind had been too agitated when he was guiding him to shore, but now was the time to give it a try. His window of opportunity was the size of a postage stamp.

  He’d asked the kitchen staff for the apples earlier in the evening, and they hadn’t been too grudging about it, though the narrow-eyed fairy cook made sure he didn’t take more than two. He’d made idle cuts in the apple with his knife as he talked to her about the proper way to marinate squash. Afterward, he discreetly dropped the apples in a bin of sugar, coating the fruit and then wrapping them up in a scrap of waterproof skin he’d found at the stables.

  He’d learned to be prepared for almost any contingency, and the waterproofing would help seal in the flavor. A sugar apple had been one of Bou’s favorite treats at the Ren Faire, sure to mel ow her up when she regressed into foul temper and fear.

  Keeping his arm up so the horse could scent the apple was an exercise in torment, since his ribs were broken and the shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch. It was amazing, what kind of pain a man could overcome when he knew it couldn’t actual y kil him.

  That great head turned toward him, those eyes drawing closer. Jesus. The blindfold had dropped so one eye was visible. The other crimson orb had enough heat and fire that the glow was faintly visible through the thick covering of the folded tunic. So either this would work, or he would draw back a stump.

  As he expected, the horse wasn’t too careful about missing his hand with teeth, but at least they only sank into his palm and missed taking off some fingers. Vampires could survive amputation, but often the limbs or digits didn’t regenerate. Firewind didn’t keep gnawing on him, though. He drew back, apple in his mouth.

  “You’re smart, strong and fast.” Jacob grunted.

  “But you like sugar and apples, and you won’t move without direction if you’re blindfolded. You’re stil a horse. Easy, there . . .” He fumbled for the second sugarcoated apple. The horse shifted, showed his teeth, shook his head again and backed against Jacob’s hold, pul ing him a few inches across the ground. He stopped, gave a snort. Jacob could almost hear the click of connection in the horse’s diabolical brain. Lying there on his back, hand clutching the tunic, Jacob could be dragged.

  Firewind’s ears perked up.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Jacob groaned. Those damn broken ribs would keep him from moving swiftly enough to shoot back to his feet and mount the horse again. If Firewind chose to drag him pel -mel through the country side, stomping on him until he was pulp inside a battered skin, there was little he was going to be able to do except let go, something he wouldn’t do.

  Then he heard it. That haunting song, a sigh of sound that stirred a man’s heart and groin at once.

  Turning his head, blinking blearily, he saw a trio of the sirens emerging from the depths of the loch.

  Great. Instead of being dragged to his death by a waterhorse, he’d meet his end at the hands of three incredibly beautiful naked women who were already turning his mind into a lust-fogged soup, no matter his battered physical state. Given the two choices, they’d be his preference, except his lady would be far nicer to him in the afterlife if the horse kil ed him.

  Firewind whinnied, shifted. He pul ed against the fabric, eliciting a pained grunt from Jacob. But the horse’s ears pricked forward, a universal y affable equine expression. With a whuff of sound that sounded like the horse version of a pleased purr, he folded his back legs beneath him, the rest of him fol owing, thudding into a resting pose beside Jacob.

  He put his head down. His heavy sigh blew sugary apple bits over Jacob, nostrils flaring wide.

  “You are foolish.”

  The voice didn’t come from the sirens. Though it was a lovely female voice, like the sound of wind through the trees, he couldn’t turn his gaze from the sirens. He tried hard, knowing that he really needed to get back up on Firewind, get him moving away from here. But his injuries had taken a tol on his wil , and it seemed as if the singing was making it worse and better at once.

  The sirens drew closer, covered only by their sleek ropes of hair and glossy bits of seaweed and shel adornments in their hair, much like the kelpie himself. They moved to Firewind, surrounding him, petting him, putting tiny white lotus flowers into his mane. The horse made a low, groaning noise in his chest, tossed his head, but submitted to the treatment. Jacob hadn’t realized a kelpie could be entranced by sirens as wel . While Firewind didn’t seem as helpless to their song as he did, the horse was definitely being calmed and charmed by the music.

  A smal , slim hand cradled his face then, trying to pul it away from the mesmerizing women who were smiling at him. They had sharp, pointed teeth much like his own vampire ones. Curious. Also a little creepy, but those voices made everything okay.

  The hand on his face tightened, then rudely yanked it to the left so he wasn’t looking at the sirens anymore. He was looking up at a different face, but a familiar one. Catriona. And looking up at her, the sirens’ cal was stil difficult, but he could resist.

  Barely.

  “Keep looking at me,” she said in that breathy voice. “It wil keep you from being completely entranced.”

  As helpful as that was, she didn’t look pleased with him. Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “A waterhorse is not a horse of your world. Lord Firewind is a member of the Unseelie court, one of the peers of his kind. Restraint and disrespect, such as what the queen did, drove him mad with rage. He and his family line have been the helpmeet of kings.