“Trouble,” Glenna shouted back. “On the road to the Dance.” When the horse reared again, she wrapped her arms tight around Hoyt. “Go!”

In the clearing, Moira fought, but no longer for her life. There were too many, and they were too strong. She believed she would die here. She fought for time, each precious moment of breath.

There was no room or time for her bow, but she had her short sword. She could hurt them, did hurt them. If her blade pierced flesh, they shrieked, and some fell back. But they rose again and came again.

She couldn’t count them, no longer knew how many Larkin battled. But she knew if she fell, they would have him. So she fought to stand, fought just to hold on.

Two came at her, and with her breath sobbing out she hacked at one. His blood gushed out in a horrible scream as those red eyes rolled back to white. To her horror one of his fellows fell on him and began to drink. But still another got past her guard and sent her flying. It pounced on her like a mad dog with greedy fangs and red eyes.

She heard Larkin shout her name, heard the terror in it as she struggled. Those fangs grazed her throat, and the burn was beyond belief.

Something came out of the night, some dark warrior with sword and ax. What was on her was hurled away. Her dazed eyes watched him cleave the ax down, behead the thing. It screamed and flashed, and turned to dust.

“Take their head,” the warrior shouted to Larkin, then turned burning blue eyes on her. “Use your arrows. Wood through the heart.”

Then his sword began to sing and slice.

She gained her feet, yanked an arrow out of her quiver. Tried to steady her blood-slicked hand to notch it on the bow. Rider coming, she thought dimly when she heard the thunder of hoofbeats.

Another came for her, a girl younger than herself. Moira shifted, but there was no time to shoot. The girl leaped, and the arrow impaled her. There was nothing left but dust.

The horseman jumped down, sword already swinging.

They would not die, Moira thought as sweat dripped into her eyes. They would not die tonight. She notched an arrow, let it fly.

The three men had formed a triangle, and were beating the things back. One slithered through, crouched to charge the horse where a woman sat watching the battle. Moira scrambled forward, trying to find a clear shot, but could only call out a warning.

The second warrior spun around, sword raised as he prepared to attack. But the woman reared back the horse, so its hooves flashed out to strike the thing down.

When the sword sliced through its neck, there was nothing left but blood and dust.

In the silence, Moira sank to her knees, fighting for breath and against a terrible sickness. Larkin dropped down beside her, running his hands over her body, her face. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.”

“Not bad. Not bad.” Her first battle, she thought. And she was alive. “You?”

“Nicks, scratches. Can you get up? I’ll carry you.”

“I can get up, yes, and no, you won’t carry me.” Still kneeling, she looked up at the man who’d come out of the dark. “You saved my life. Thank you. I think we’ve come to find you, but I’m grateful you found us instead. I’m Moira, and we’ve come through the Dance from Geall.”

He simply looked at her for what seemed like the longest moment. “We need to get back, and inside. It isn’t safe here.”

“Larkin is my name.” He held out a hand. “You fight like a demon.”

“True enough.” Cian clasped hands briefly. “Let’s get them back,” he said to Hoyt, and glanced toward Glenna. “The two of you helped yourself to my horse. Good thinking as it turned out. She can ride up with Glenna.”

“I can walk,” Moira began, only to find herself lifted off her feet and onto the horse.

“We need to move,” Cian said briskly. “Hoyt, take point, and you stay beside the women. I’m behind you.”

Hoyt laid a hand on the stallion’s neck as he passed, and glanced up at Glenna. “You’ve a steady seat.”

“I’ve been riding since I was four. Don’t think about trying to leave me behind again.” Then she turned on the horse to look over her shoulder at Moira. “I’m Glenna. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s the pure truth I can’t think of anyone in my life it’s been nicer to meet.” As the horse moved forward, Moira risked a look back. She couldn’t see the warrior. He seemed to have melted into the dark.

“What is his name? The one who came on foot?”

“That would be Cian. Hoyt’s up ahead. They’re brothers, and there’s a great deal to explain on all sides. But one thing’s for damn sure, we just survived our first battle. And we kicked some vampire ass.”

Moira bided her time. Under normal circumstances she would have considered herself a guest, and behaved accordingly. But she knew that was far from the case. She and Larkin were soldiers now, in what was a very small army.

It may have been foolish, but she was relieved not to be the only woman.

Inside the manor house, she sat in a wondrous kitchen. A huge man with skin dark as coal worked at a stove, though she didn’t think he was a servant.

He was called King, but she understood this wasn’t his rank. He was a man, like the others. A soldier like her.

“We’ll patch you up,” Glenna told her. “If you want to clean up first, I can show you upstairs.”

“Not until we’re all here.”

Glenna cocked her head. “All right then. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I want a drink.”

“I’d kill for one,” Larkin said with a quick smile. “Actually, it seems I have. I didn’t believe you, not really.” He laid a hand on Moira’s. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, it’s no matter. We’re alive, and where we’re meant to be. That’s what matters.” She looked up as the door opened. But it was Hoyt who came in, not the one called Cian. Still she got to her feet.

“We haven’t thanked you properly for coming to help us. There were so many. We were losing until you came.”

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

“I know. Morrigan showed you to me. And you,” she said to Glenna. “Is this Ireland?”

“It is, yes.”

“But—”

Moira merely laid a hand on Larkin’s shoulder. “My cousin believes Ireland is a fairy tale, even now. We come from Geall, that which was made by the gods from a handful of Ireland, to grow in peace and to be ruled by the descendent of the great Finn.”