"Maybe I can…" Tris glanced back to the group of huntsmen behind her, staring at one in particular.

The hulking blond man who appeared to be their leader nodded slowly.

Tris lifted her chin higher. "I'm almost of age." Being of age, for a born vampire, meant being twenty-five. "I was going to turn in a few months. You can use my life force. Right? And I'll come back."

Diana lifted her gaze to the stars, thanking whatever luck they lived by. This was a gift, an unexpected chance like no other. Fledglings were supposed to die before entering immortality, in order to condition their bodies for the change.

"Yes. It's been done with fledglings before. It should work."

More confident, Tris told her, "Then kill me."

Dance With Death

The seven families of Night Hill were prone to boasting and weren't above letting ridiculous rumors grow rampant in order to further their reputations. Mikar had heard all the legends.

The De Villiers—or the Davells, as they used to be called—liked to say that regular humans came up with the very concept of the Devil from them. Which wasn't unlikely. Their house had risen at the fall of the Roman Empire, and well, the name had to have come from somewhere.

The Rosedeans claimed to be linked to the house of Spring, blessed by Kore herself. That, Mikar honestly doubted. If it had been the case, the Rosedeans wouldn't be one of the weakest of the seven.

The Stormhales had their magic, and the Beauforts…what did the Beauforts have, exactly? Other than more money than sense.

Mikar had never, for one moment, taken the Helsings’ legends seriously. If they truly could bring the dead back to life, as they claimed, why would they ever say goodbye to any friend, any member of their family? He'd never been close to a Helsing until Alexius—and even that tentative friendship had only grown in the last few months—but nothing the poser had ever done or said suggested such a power was in his ability. And oh, Alexius would have bragged about it.

Yet Levi and Eirikr acted like they entirely believed that Diana could save Chloe. Chloe, who was dying, like the brightest of stars extinguished without a moment of notice.

She'd saved Oldcrest when she'd pushed Greer away from certain death. No matter how strong they were, without their shields, Oldcrest would fall. There were a handful of ancients and a few children here. They could fight against hundreds, maybe even a thousand invaders, but without the borders, they could be surrounded by hundreds of thousands. From what Seth had reported of the queen's island, she had nigh on a million followers. They wouldn't have stood a chance against incessant waves of attacks.

They should have thought to protect Greer. He should have. He'd known that Sylvan would be on Chloe. Greer was the next logical priority. But it hadn't mattered at the time. No, he’d rushed to Diana. Diana, a nine-hundred-year-old badass who could very well take care of herself. She wasn't even a target.

This was his fault. He kept staring at the glass-like coffin, guilt eating at him. Even if by some miracle Chloe did make it, it would still be his fault. Offering to take her place had come naturally, in the light of that knowledge.

Not only was he responsible, but he also believed he was the best option. Sylvan wouldn’t volunteer, and Ruby wasn't even here. Levi couldn't die. If Chloe rose again to find him gone, she'd lose her light, no matter if her heart could technically beat. And an Eirikrson without light inside them was a terrifying prospect for the entire world.

He hadn't seen Eirikr's intervention coming. How was he even here? But that the cold, remote, insane ancient had offered to be traded for Chloe had shocked him. Eirikr was supposed to be a monster. The monster who hunted monsters, the most terrifying of them all. The way his voice had cracked when he'd called Chloe his daughter revealed that the myth of the savage Eirikr might have been the greatest lie on Night Hill.

They all watched as Tris, the Drakes' youngest child, stepped into the circle, on Diana's opposite side, head held high. If she was afraid, she hid it well. She mirrored Diana, sitting down with her legs folded in a butterfly pose.

Diana glanced at the witches outside the circle. "I need you to call to your elements and maintain the link through my spell. Energy surrounding me will help carry my call. And if things go wrong, you'll be ready to stop it."

She looked so very calm and serene, but her hair went wild around her face, slashing the air like a whip. Mikar had frequented enough witches to feel the change in her. It felt like she was absorbing energy, readying herself.

God, she was beautiful. And in the darkest hour he could recall, she brought a torch to his world.

It was strange that despite having lived for so many centuries, and having known so many faces, she was the one he would have loathed to leave behind, had he been the one in that circle, in Tris’s place. She would have been his one regret. His heart stopped. Something inside his stomach twisted, churning in violent revulsion at the very thought of leaving her here, alone. He couldn't. He didn't have the right to. What had he been thinking, welcoming death? His life wasn't his to squander.

It was hers.

How thick, how stupid had it been! All signs had pointed to it, from the very beginning, but he hadn't seen it. He hadn't seen his own soul reflected in her eyes. He was hers. She was his.

His fated mate.

He thought back to his protectiveness of her as a child, as a weak mortal girl. He’d put it down to the fondness most vampires felt for the born children of their races, but what if it had been more? He certainly hadn’t taken a vested interest in any other children of the seven. He understood why he wouldn’t have seen it then. She was so frail, so young—and then she left shortly after being turned.

But he couldn’t explain having been blind to it since she’d come back. He was just an idiot. He'd been drawn to everything about her from the start, and somehow, he had failed to connect the dots. To see who she was to him.

Although his world had forever changed the moment this fundamental truth hit him like a truck, the rest of the valley kept going. He barely registered anything happening, too stunned to use any of his brain cells.

Blair grimaced. "Stop what, exactly?"

"Death." Diana was matter-of-fact, too calm for the occasion. "I have to call Death and negotiate with it."

That didn't sound like a great idea. At all.

Before Mikar managed to remember how to speak, Diana took Sylvan's silver dagger and placed its tip on the skin of her wrist, drawing a five-pointed star with so much confidence Mikar guessed she'd done it a thousand times. Or she'd learned to do so while being human. Any knowledge amassed during their mortal lives was ingrained deep into their minds, like an instinct as easy as breathing.

Her blood was black as night, and damn if it didn't smell like the sweetest of treats, rich and smooth. Mikar had never hungered for vampire blood until her. Now, it was all he could do to stop himself from licking his lips. Finally, he knew why.

Part of him wanted to wrench her out of the circle, drag her to his house and lock her in there, where she was safe. But fate had been kind enough to design Diana Helsing for his overbearing ass. A strong woman who could take care of herself and would kick him into the next century if he attempted to control her.

He smiled. Minutes ago, he wouldn't have thought it possible to ever smile again, but he did. He believed in her. She could save Chloe. She could do anything. He wanted to shout, proud that this incredible creature belonged to him.

She tossed the knife to Tris, who caught it deftly mid-air. “We’re really going to call Death?”

“It’s not that hard. Anyone can do it, in fact. People don’t because, well, they aren’t suicidal. Death is temperamental and unpredictable. It’s as likely to help you as it is to kill you on the spot, if it’s in the mood to.” She swallowed. “We…my family. We have something that provides a bit of leverage and protection. Not that it’s still entirely safe.”

Tris mindlessly twirled the silver blade in her hands, the only thing betraying her anxiety. “All right.”

"Now, if you'd start with the elemental shields," Diana said to the witches.

From the four corners, each witch focused on the element they were linked to. Mikar noted that while there were many in the east, north and south, Blair stood alone in the west corner. She was a fire witch, then. They were the rarest, as far as Mikar knew.

Words crossed Diana's lips, taking his attention away from Blair. He didn't understand any of them, although he spoke most living and some dead languages from all around the globe. While he couldn't make sense of the harsh, almost guttural sounds, he recognized the intonations. Enochian. The language of heaven and hell, shared by angels and the fallen. The language Belial had made use of when they'd first met.

Diana was really calling hell.

And hell responded.

Shadows gathered inside the salt lines blocked by an immaterial wall. The dark, murky fog converged to the center of the circle, right above Chloe. The smell of the valley was overpowered with a strong scent. The salty, metallic smell of blood and fire. The shadows dissipated in a cloud of fine mist, leaving in their stead a hooded figure, too tall, too still. Even from outside the circle, beyond its reach, Mikar could tell it was also too powerful. Stronger than one single being had the right to be. He'd met gods and demons. He'd met monsters and freaks. Hell, he was a freak.

This was something else. An elemental force that felt unlimited.

The figure lowered its hood, revealing a face that wasn't unfamiliar. Dark eyes, ebony hair, and skin so pale it seemed to shine in the darkness. Its features were too delicate and enticing to be manly, although when it spoke, the voice was deep and suave. Enchanting.

"It has been some time since I heard such a call," it drawled, smooth and seductive, gliding more than walking the length of the table, to stand above Diana. It didn't speak English, or any language Mikar recognized, but he understood every word all the same. Its communication was beyond words, predating the very notion of language. Predating life in this world.