They’d been enslaved.

Another ghoul leapt at Wilder and locked grasping, uncoordinated hands around his neck as the one he’d been fighting scrambled to drag himself away with one arm broken.

Fending them off was easy. It always was, provided the ghouls didn’t outnumber you too drastically, which was why most vampires needed an army of them. His instincts had been right—alone, he would have been hard-pressed not to exhaust himself. He might even have fallen. But with Archer and Hunter fighting alongside him, the ghouls stood no chance.

Especially with the way Hunter fought, as if the violence had only been waiting for a chance to spill free. It wasn’t training or intent, just feral, brutal instinct, and all the more vicious for it.

Archer slammed two of his opponents together and took a moment to glance around. “We’re getting close to the ballroom. Damn ghouls are thick as flies up here.” Hunter let out a roar and dove past them, slamming into a fresh wave of bodies. Three hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, but two more scrambled over him and jumped at Wilder. One had a knife gripped in one hand, and he swung it toward Wilder’s throat.

Wilder shoved the one wielding the knife into the other, the blade sinking deep into sallow flesh as the ghoul howled. He could see the door they struggled to protect, a heavy wooden thing that hung there like a shield, barring him from his goal.

He fought harder.

It became more difficult to maneuver, with bodies crowding the narrow passage. Hunter caught one ghoul by the back of the shirt and sent him skidding down the rough wooden floor until he crashed into the bottom of a staircase. Fewer were appearing at their backs now, and the ghouls left protecting the door turned and began scrambling for the knob.

One of them found it. The door flew open and the remaining ghouls fled inside, whether through some lingering instinct to survive or at their master’s command, it was impossible to tell.

Hunter panted for breath and braced his hands on his knees. “I can hold the hall.”

“You sure?” Archer asked.

One of the forms on the floor dragged itself to its knees. Hunter slapped his hands on either side of the ghoul’s head and twisted sharply, cracking its neck. “Yes.”

The hound’s recent change of heart aside, Wilder wasn’t fully comfortable only having Archer at his back. He’d proven inconstant, and facing Lowe with someone he couldn’t trust beside him was worse than going it alone.

Still, he wasn’t ready to challenge Archer, fight him, so he had no choice. “Break it down, Arch.” The ghouls had slammed the door shut again, but whatever attempts they’d made to block it wasn’t enough to stop a hound. Archer lifted his foot and drove one heel just below the knob. Wood shattered, sending splinters flying as a cry of pain rose from the opposite side.

Archer grinned and pulled his gun. “Just plain old silver, but it’ll hurt ’em, at least.” Wilder strode into the ballroom, two of his own guns drawn. He barely paid attention to the ghouls that rushed forward, the brunt of his focus on locating Lowe. If he could kill the vampire, the ghouls would scatter. They wouldn’t recover, but at least the thrall, the command, would dissipate.

The cavernous room echoed with screams, snarls and gunshots. Wilder felt the anger rising, blood pounding in his ears until it almost eclipsed all those inhuman sounds.

And then the ghouls froze.

Archer put a bullet between a ghoul’s eyes, and he toppled backwards without a whimper. The others didn’t stir, all of their unnaturally focused attention fixed on a door at the back of the room.

“Never seen them do this before,” Archer murmured. “Figured we’d have to fight through them to get to Lowe.”

Repulsion washed over Wilder in a sickening wave. “They’re obeying his will. He’s—”

“Here.” The rich, melodious voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere as the door swung open, revealing darkness beyond. “Have you brought me a gift, Archer?” Archer shifted his weight and tossed a tense look at Wilder. “Wouldn’t say brought is ever the right word when it comes to Harding. He tramples just about anywhere he wants.”

“Levity does not become you.” A man stepped out of the shadows, tall and thin, with dark hair and piercing eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a coat and tails, and he smoothed the pinstriped fabric of his sleeve. “Wilder Harding.”

If he made his move now, without knowing where Archer stood or what tricks the vampire might have up that tailored sleeve… “Thaddeus Lowe. You have me at a disadvantage.”

“I’d hoped to not have you at all.” The vampire graced Archer with a chillingly disapproving look.

“Your colleague has underestimated you more than once. Fortunately, I am not prone to repeating the mistakes of the hired help.”

Damn straight. “Maybe my colleague wanted to get rid of you as badly as I do.” Lowe didn’t seem perturbed. In fact, he seemed almost eager. “Not as surprising a revelation as you might have hoped. He has been showing a remarkable lack of dedication of late. Or a sudden onset of complete incompetence.”

Archer spat on the floor. “Fuck you very much too.”

“As refined as ever.” Lowe strode to a throne-like chair set in the middle of the room and settled into it without any indication that the sun beating down outside had slowed his reflexes. “Almost all of us have arrived. Do you have any more pithy remarks before we begin?” As if they were there for a tea party. Wilder raised his gun, but hesitated as the full import of Lowe’s words hit him. “All of us?”

“I see what my children see, Mr. Harding. And they bend to my will, even when they don’t wish to.

That’s a child’s duty. And a woman’s. Perhaps you should have left yours at home.” They came in the door to Wilder’s right. He watched in dumb horror as Nathaniel dragged Satira toward the vampire’s chair with halting, jerky steps. Satira’s feet scraped the floor as she slumped lifelessly over the arm that held her.

“Nathaniel has been a far more dedicated servant than Archer has,” Lowe remarked, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “I think I’ll make her one of us, to reward him for his accomplishments.” Archer said something, shouted something. Wilder moved without thinking, his peculiarly focused anger exploding in a painful rending of flesh. Changing, he thought absently, and then that too was swept away in the dull roar of rage that consumed him.


One moment, her perfect plan was falling into place.

In the next, the world went mad.

Draped over Nathaniel’s arm, she didn’t have a good view of the room. Straightening would reveal her bag, and the incriminating bulge the sun-sphere made. Instead she twisted her head and caught her first glimpse of Wilder in his other form.

It was Wilder, but if she hadn’t caught a peek at the man standing there a few moments before, she might not have recognized her lover in the monster he’d become.

He was large. Tall, towering a foot or two above the height he should have been. None of his clothing had survived the change. What hadn’t been torn, he ripped from his body with massive claws. Fur covered him from head to foot, and that head—

They called them hounds, but it looked more like the muzzle of a wolf. A growling snarl revealed teeth almost as long as her fingers. A terrifying wolfman out of legend, eyes filled with a rage that eclipsed any anger she’d ever imagined before in her short life.

This was the beast. The unfortunate side effect of a mad scientist’s wild marriage of science to magic.

For the nights around the full moon, every month, this is what all bloodhounds became.

The full moon wasn’t for two more weeks.

He charged, bounding two large steps only to be knocked off his feet by Archer, who wielded a heavy length of board like a club. “You came this far to rescue Nate,” he snapped. “I’m not going to let you kill him now.”

Wilder scrabbled to his feet, jaws snapping as he lunged for Archer. The blond hound feinted left and then right, avoiding claws and teeth in a quick, violent dance.

She’d started this by feigning helplessness too well. Perhaps later, when they were all safe, she’d beat Wilder black and blue for underestimating her. For now she had to keep them all alive.

Slipping her hand back into her bag, she slumped forward a little more to cover her movement as she began winding the crank again. Loading the chemicals while Nathaniel struggled to drag her up the stairs as slowly as possible had been a far greater challenge to her dexterity, but the rough sounds of the fight made it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

Instead of giving in to the temptation to peek at Wilder, she chanced a glance at Lowe instead. The vampire had leaned forward slightly in his chair, a look of abject delight on his features as he watched the bloodhounds battle against one another. He’d underestimated her as well—and Nathaniel too.

“He’s summoning me. I’m to bring you to him. Take the gun and shoot me now, Satira, or I’ll have to take you there. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“I’m not shooting you, Nathaniel. I didn’t ride up and down the Deadlands with Wilder fucking Harding so I could shoot you.”

She closed her eyes and blocked out the sounds of the battle, concentrating on the winding mechanism on the sun-sphere. The vampire was strong, so the weapon had to be primed for its highest setting.

Strong, but not smart.

“Damn it, Satira, this isn’t a game.”

“Of course it is. It’s the game I’ve always played best. You watched me do it to Levi for years. Find the loophole, Nathaniel.”

Her fingers trembled. A roar sounded from behind her, Wilder’s roar, with pain and rage mixed into a single, heartrending sound. She should have given him a sign, some indication that she wasn’t hurt. That she had a plan.

“There’s no loophole. I have to bring you upstairs. To him.”

“Did he tell you I couldn’t bring anything with me?”

She tried to twist the crank. It resisted, just enough that she knew much more could damage the coil.

She slid her fingers to the top, where a tiny ring sat between the funnel holes. Pulling it up would collapse the barriers between the chemicals and start the electric current. Sunlight, in the palm of her hand.

If she did it now, Nathaniel would die along with Lowe.

“Once we’re close enough, pull the pin, Satira. Don’t wait.”

“I’ll do it.”

She’d lied.

Easing her hand away from the sphere, she groped for the modified rounds that she’d slipped from her gun and tucked in her bag. They wouldn’t kill Nathaniel, but they’d burn him—and shock his system just long enough to shake his compulsion. I’m sorry, Nathaniel.

She curled her hand around two small glass capsules and pulled them from the bag, then took a deep breath. Before she could second-guess herself, she whipped her body around and slammed the glass against his temple, shattering them both in a flash of artificial light.

He didn’t cry out as he stumbled away, and his silence bought her a single extra second before Lowe’s head swiveled around. Before the frozen and slumbering ghouls surrounding her sprang to life.

“Archer!” It took that precious second to draw her gun. “Get Nathaniel into the hallway. Now.” He ducked under another wild swing from Wilder and dove for Nathaniel. “Hope you know what you’re doing, girl.”

So did she. As soon as Archer had wrestled Nathaniel out of the way, she shot one of the ghouls and unleashed the only weapon that might buy her the time she needed to end this. “Wilder, help!” He faltered and threw a ghoul into the air as he rushed toward her, half loping on all fours across the dusty, littered floor. She caught sight of his eyes, then—yellow. Inhuman.

It took everything in her to hold her ground in the face of his charge. She remembered the words from the new moon— Don’t push me away. A different sort of madness gripped him at the moment, but underneath it he was the same. His basest instincts had been brought to light, and she had to trust that she was at the center of them.

He faced down two more ghouls who were reaching for her, one with a wicked-looking scythe in his hand. Wilder ignored the blade and bit down on the creature’s shoulder, eliciting a howl of pain.