“No way,” I croaked, though no one paid any attention to me.

Liam suddenly looked old, as if all of his years were hitting him at once. He nodded his head once.

“Dad, no!” Quinn advanced.

“She’ll die,” Liam said. “She doesn’t have any time left. We have no options.” Montmartre gave a courtly bow and strode toward the bier, his Host at his side.

Liam was jostled, trying to hold back his family.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

I felt sick. Montmartre leaned down and picked Solange’s unresponsive body up into his arms.

“No,” Liam said furiously. “Now. You give it to her now where we can see.”

“I don’t recall offering that,” he said. Solange looked so tiny against his chest.

“Now.”

“Montmartre,” a new voice interrupted, sounding young but hard. “Weren’t you going to invite us to the wedding?”

The girl looked about my age, but she was a vampire, so she could have been a hundred years old for all I knew. She had long black hair and wore a leather tunic and bone beads in her hair. There were tattoos on her hands and arms.

Cwn Mamau. The Hounds.

The Host snarled. The girl and her warriors snarled back. These were the vampires Montmartre had turned and who had then turned against him. The Host hated the Hounds on sight. Montmartre didn’t look too pleased either. And for the first time, he looked faintly disconcerted.

“Isabeau. Go home, little girl.”

“The Hounds do not support your claim to the throne,” she told him very precisely, her accent French. She nodded a greeting to Liam and Helena. “I apologize for the delay.” She turned back to Montmartre. “We will not be ruled by you.”

“It hardly matters what you savage whelps want,” he said, but his demeanor had changed. Even I could see it. He wasn’t quite as confident. Fury and something else I couldn’t read colored his movements. He flicked a glance at his Host. “Take her.” Another battle. The Hounds and the Host were evenly matched.

Which was all fine and good except that Solange didn’t have this kind of time.

Blood splattered the floor along with the ashes. It was so fast and so feral, I had a hard time keeping track of what was going on. I did see Nicholas creeping forward, staying low. Then he disappeared into a blur and Montmartre’s feet went out from under him. Solange tumbled from his grasp, landing half sprawled against the bier.

A Hound smashed his fist into Nicholas’s face, then flipped him over two more Host fighting a Hound. He hurtled into a table and then lay still. I cried out.

“Human!” the Hound girl shouted before plucking the vial from the floor and throwing it. It flew toward me, its silver chain catching the light from the candles.

A hand caught it in midair.

Not my hand.

“Are you kidding me?” I screeched. It was Juliana, Natasha’s bored sister, who’d flitted around us when we were first captured. She waggled the vial at me. I wanted to claw her eyes right out of her head. I launched myself at her. What I lacked in finesse I made up for with angry flailing and a stubborn need for vengeance. I was not going to lose Solange. Not again and not when her cure was so close.

I was no match for Juliana unfortunately. That was clear after the first punch to my face. The second I ducked, but I wasn’t quick enough to avoid the third one, to my stomach. I staggered, nauseous and breathless. The vial swung tauntingly in front of me. I grabbed for it and missed.

And then Kieran was suddenly there, swinging with his good arm. The vial dropped next to his boot. Juliana reached for it and I kicked her hard, right in the throat. She swung up snarling, fangs extended. Kieran was closer to the vial and couldn’t fight her off with his broken arm.

“Go,” I yelled at him. “Go, go, go.”

He grabbed the vial and skidded to Solange’s side just as I crashed into a delicate chair that had the good grace to break apart on impact. One of the legs, painted with pink rosebuds, broke off. At least I had a weapon now.

“I’m going to kill you, little girl!” Juliana yelled.

The chair leg didn’t quite pierce her heart, but it was near enough to make her freeze, gasp, and clutch at her chest.

“Lucy!” The stake Nicholas tossed at me finished her off. Ash drifted at my feet, like mist. My first vampire kill. When I got home, I’d have to recite countless malas to appease my mother. And my churning stomach. But not right now; right now I could indulge in a moment of triumph. But only a moment.

Because it was just one of those days.

I hung over the back of a bench, trying to convince my severely bruised diaphragm that standing up really was a necessity. Kieran leaned over Solange, tipping the contents of the silver vial between her lips. Those precious drops ran down into her throat. Still, she didn’t look particularly healed.

“Nicholas,” I croaked. “It’s not working.”

He ducked a dagger with a rusted handle. “It stopped the sickness, but now she needs to feed.” He threw an entire stool at an approaching Araksaka guard. “She needs human blood—it’s better for the first time.” I was trying to drag myself over to the bier, but Kieran was already slicing a shallow cut across his forearm. He held it to Solange’s mouth, urging her to drink, whispering.

“Drink,” he begged her. “I can’t lose you now, not after all this. Drink, damn it.” For some reason, the way he spoke to her, gently and desperately, had tears burning on my cheeks.