And before I had a chance to assimilate that, another me and another him appeared a few yards off, only he was on top this time, and sliding steadily down to- I abruptly looked away, but another couple blinked into existence on our right. And then more and more, on both sides of the river, each one with a slightly different specialty. Like some kind of crazy menu . . .

And that's exactly what it was, I realized. An incredible display of magic for no other reason than to bypass the pesky language barrier. And maybe to show off a little. Because this Pritkin had his full incubus abilities and power to burn, and none of the hang-ups of the man I knew.

Or, you know, any.

Because he wasn't the man I knew. He was a young incubus princeling who was injured and in pain, and had just spied a naked chick perving on him from the weeds. And who probably thought he'd found an easy way to heal. And who . . . and who . . .

And who was being pretty damned optimistic, I thought, staring at the closest couple. And yes, I knew it was an illusion, I knew that. But for some reason, it was still a shock to see the look on my-on her-on the woman's face as she- And I guess maybe I'd stared a little too long. Because Pritkin-the real one-said something. And I looked up to find him smiling and nodding and appearing enthusiastic about my choice.

"No," I told him forcefully. "No, that was surprise. That was not a selection."

An eyebrow raised, but he didn't appear too put out. Maybe, I realized a second later, because I'd just taken the vanilla stuff off the table. I blinked as more couples popped into being, peppering both sides of the bank with carnal delights.

And damn, I thought, staring at a threesome just down a bit on this side of the river. And then tilting my head to the side, because I couldn't quite figure out what . . . Oh. Oh yes. Well, that wasn't happening- Only, suddenly, it was.

"Oh, shit," I whispered as two more warm arms encircled me from behind.

And that was what I'd been looking at, wasn't it, I thought, as hard hands splayed on my lower belly, pulling me back against an equally hard torso. While Pritkin number one's hands framed my face, pulling it up as his head came down. For a moment, there was just warm breath against my lips, fingers caressing my cheekbones and hip bones simultaneously, and identical lines of thick, needy hardness pressing against me on both sides, silken soft and rigid strength and aching, seeking heat.

"Uh, look, I, see, uh," I said intelligently.

And then he kissed me. And it was nothing like Pritkin's kisses, and everything like them. It was less desperate, starving man at a banquet than I was used to, but just as demanding, just as possessive, just as borderline arrogant. With an added enthusiasm-makes-up-for-lack-of-technique technique that just really, really worked on some level I wasn't in a headspace to define just then.

He pulled back after a moment, although it didn't feel that way since the fake him was still plastered to my back, and his lips had started roaming around my neck. Like his hands around my torso. I was about to make a fuss, but real Pritkin took that moment to step back and execute a very formal and completely surreal bow, considering that his doppelganger currently had my tits in his hands.

"Myrddin," he told me, putting a hand on his chest, his laughing face looking up into mine.

"Um-I-what?"

"Myrd-din," he enunciated more slowly, straightening up and tapping his chest again. Because I guess even in medieval Wales it was considered polite to introduce yourself before-before- "Oh, shit!" I squeaked, and began desperately scanning the riverbank. And the hill, and the area around the mill, and the opposite freaking bank-anything for Rosier. Because this would be a really good time for him to show back up.

"Ohshit," Pritkin repeated, rolling it around on his tongue thoughtfully.

"No," I told him distractedly, trying to see what was moving behind the trees. "No, that's not my-I didn't mean-I-oh, shit."

The latter was because someone had just broken through the tree line, all right, but it wasn't Rosier. It also wasn't the Pythian posse, which should have made me happy considering how much magic we were splashing around. But for some reason, I wasn't getting that vibe.

For a second, I just stood there, taking in the sight of three too-lithe bodies coming down the bank. They had weird black armor, long silver hair, and a fluid, alien way of moving that was less Lord of the Rings sexy than intensely creepy.

Fey, I thought blankly.

I wonder what they're doing here.

And then one of them pulled a spear out of some contraption on his back. And stood over one of the writhing couples on the riverbank. And brought it down in a savage move that skewered the two of them with a single thrust, like a human shish kebab.

"Ohshit!" Pritkin said, more confidently that time.

My thoughts exactly.

The diddling duo shattered and then evaporated into mist, and I started wading madly for shore. Which would have been easier if fake Pritkin hadn't decided to come, too, still trying to kiss my neck. And if this whole damned country wasn't covered in moss.

Real Pritkin murmured something seductively while trying to help me up off my ass. "No!" I said, with feeling.

"No?" he repeated, as if wondering what this new word was.

"No!" I grabbed his head and turned it toward the fey. Who had fanned out and were now systematically butchering illusions left and right.

"Ohshit," Pritkin breathed, as another brutal blow scattered a squirming duo to the winds.

"That should be our motto," I muttered, and scrambled for the bank.

At least I did until he grabbed my arm, saying something I couldn't understand. But it became a little clearer when he started pulling me farther into the water. Which made no sense, no damned sense at all, because I'd just spotted some fey on the other bank, too. At least four or five who were busily turning carnal into carnage, and we needed to go.

But Pritkin at twenty, or whatever the hell he was, was just as stubborn as the man I knew. And a second later I decided that maybe he had a point, and not just because he was about to pull my arm out of its socket. But because one of the fey on top of the ridge had spotted us.

And I guess we weren't looking sufficiently amorous anymore. Because he broke off from the rest and started heading down the bank straight for us. I had an instant to see my panicked expression in his shiny, shiny armor- And then Pritkin threw himself at me, just as something flashed by us, blindingly bright, like the blaze of sunlight off a car window. And the patch of water where we'd been standing a second ago erupted into a geyser of steam. We both stopped to look at it, and then at the stuff around us, which had gone from straight-off-the-mountains chilly to lava. And then we leapt for the bank, because the threat of being boiled alive tends to end arguments pretty damned quick.

Not that things were looking a lot more survivable on land. The three fey I'd seen must have been a vanguard, because there were double that many now. And more were coming over the ridge every second, like they were sprouting out of the damned ground. And then another flash of something flew by, missing us despite the fact that the closest fey couldn't have been more than a dozen yards away.

But it didn't miss the bank we were trying to scale.

Half of it suddenly exploded out at us in an eruption of flying, stinging dirt. It felt like a mortar had hit right in front of us, ripping Pritkin's hand out of mine and catapulting me backward through the air onto my bruised butt. Leaving me half stunned from the landing and half blind from the dirt and almost completely suffocated from the amount of Wales I'd just inhaled.

And then it happened again, to my left. And then to my right. And all I could think, in the middle of what felt like a combo of mortar barrage and an earthquake, was that the fey didn't aim any better than I did.

Of course, I could be wrong, I thought, when I felt something whoosh by my head. But this time it wasn't weapons fire or spell fire or whatever kind of fire they were throwing around. It wasn't a weapon at all.

It was a boot.

Followed by another one.

Followed by a whole stampede of them, along with the guys in them, who ran right by me as if I weren't even there.

For a second, I just froze, confused and half blind, with my eyes full of grit and a dirt cloud hovering in the air. But twenty-twenty vision isn't necessary to see your own hand in front of your face. And I couldn't.

I couldn't see anything.

Only no, that wasn't quite true. I waggled my fingers and saw a vague ripple in the air, not a hand so much as a hand-shaped void where there was no dust. But that was really good enough, wasn't it, I thought, and slammed back down as some more fey ran my way.

This bunch should have seen me. Even glamouried or whatever Pritkin had done to hide us, because they were right there. Literally right on top of me in the case of one of them. Who didn't go by so much as over, leaping through the air above my head in a move an Olympic long jumper would have envied.

And then kept right on going with the rest of them, in huge strides that looked more like a bouncy antelope should be making them than anything human. But then, they weren't human, were they? As they demonstrated by eating up the ground even weighed down by all that armor, tearing down the beach after- Shit!

I'd flipped over as soon as they passed, scanning the ground for a ripple of nothingness that might be a disguised incubus-in-training. But I didn't find one. Maybe because instead of hiding, he was tear-assing down the embankment just ahead of the fey, a colorless, Pritkin-shaped void that was all too visible because he was moving, displacing the dust in a long streamer behind him. Which might as well have been a red flag to a bull, because the fey were- "No!" I screamed, as what looked like a glowing spear tore through the space where Pritkin's body was outlined, erupting clear through the middle of the torso- And then kept on going.

I stared in confusion as it exploded against a tree, sending it up like a Roman candle, while the Pritkin void it had just skewered simultaneously shattered, sending dust flying in all directions, like a sand-based firework.

But that was it. There was no body, visible or otherwise. One of the fey extended a booted foot to press into the pile of wet sand at their feet, but all it did was give further evidence that their prey wasn't there.

Because he was here.

A nearby lump of earth was suddenly thrown back like a rug, and Pritkin's full-color head stuck out. It was a little wild-eyed and a little sand-filled and more than a little red-faced, but very much alive. Like the rest of him, which emerged a second later and grabbed my hand, and then we were running in the opposite direction- Right at an even bigger group of fey coming down the riverbank.

That would have been bad enough, even with a glamourie. But the one Pritkin had used to hide us had vanished. And then the fey caught sight of us, because of course they did-we were just standing there out in the open like a couple of crazy people!

A second later, those glowing spears were flashing into hands all around and my hand was tightening on Pritkin's, because screw this, I'd rather deal with Cherries!

Only I wasn't going to be.

Because my power didn't work.

I tried again, and then again. But the result was the same, because I was still too tapped out from the massive shift it had taken to get here. And it didn't look like Pritkin had another glamourie in him based on his expression, which was a little frantic and a little desperate and a lot scared.

And then amorous and passionate and naughty, in turns, as three more Pritkins suddenly ran past us, chasing three more Cassies. Followed quickly by maybe a dozen more. And then a second dozen, and maybe a third for all I could tell-I didn't have time to count them. But there were a lot.

Because Pritkin might not be able to make more glamouries right now, but he didn't need to, did he?

He had a whole crowd of them already.

A crowd we were now in the middle of.

Suddenly, instead of standing alone and exposed on the riverbank, we were surrounded by a large group of carnal clones. Half of whom were still trying to have sex with the other half, and the rest who were looking with lascivious intent at the fey. It was like Woodstock had come to Wales.

Until they broke, scattering in all directions, and we broke along with them. And I guess even fey eyesight had a problem telling one of those jiggling, bouncing, shrieking duos apart. Because they scattered, too, running after us, only that was the collective "us," leaving only a couple on the right trail.

But a couple was more than enough, so we ran, too, straight down the bank and into the carnage. On all sides, fey were systematically slaughtering every happy humper they came across, including the ones wearing my face. I had the surreal sight of my own severed head bouncing back down the incline before it popped like a balloon filled with steam.

And then we were into the trees and under cover.

Chapter Eighteen.

Running through a forest naked is not fun. Running through it naked with homicidal crazies after you, throwing energy blasts that turn trees into stinging rain, is terrifying. Although it really helps you to ignore the whipping branches lashing your skin and the stones bruising your feet and the fact that bark hurts like a bitch when you run into it.

But we pelted full speed ahead anyway, trying to get as far as possible while the fey were preoccupied. And it looked like we just might make it, because the fakes didn't have adrenaline on their side, which slowed them down and made them easier targets. But that also meant they weren't going to last long.

Which was why I pulled back hard when Pritkin suddenly broke to the left.

"No, no-this way!" I told him, because I didn't know Wales, but I knew enough to run away from the fire.

But Pritkin wasn't listening to me, which would probably be true even if he could have understood, because "stubborn" wasn't the guy's middle name, it was his whole philosophy of life, and that was usually really irritating but was now about to get us killed.

Like when a tree burst apart nearby, sending fiery limbs and pieces of trunk everywhere. And would have sent them into us if we hadn't thrown ourselves behind an even bigger one. And then I stopped arguing and just ran, because anything was better than here!

We pelted behind the mill and then kept on going, splashing through the river, back toward where Pritkin had been when I first saw him. We were too close to the general mayhem for comfort, and the wind was blowing smoke the other way, making us a lot more visible suddenly. But at least most of the fey were on the other bank, since the ones on this side had waded across in an attempt to catch us.

And right now, if I never saw another fey, it would be too soon.

I finally figured out where we were going when we reached the ghillie suit and Pritkin's abandoned clothes. I was surprised that an incubus would be shy, but maybe finding a place to hide would be easier if we weren't flashing the natives. Only Pritkin wasn't getting dressed. Pritkin was searching around under the clothes and then throwing them aside, looking increasingly frantic. And then spotting something off to the side, something that was half buried by weeds, something that looked a lot like- "A stick?" I stared at the ugly thing, which was a homelier version of Rosier's walking stick. Except it must have fallen into a fire at some point, because it was not only cracked and missing part of one end, but also charred almost black. Only Pritkin was gripping it like it was made of pure gold. "We came back for that?"

Pritkin saw my expression and shook his head. And said a bunch of rapid-fire stuff that I couldn't understand. And then thrust the thing at me, along with its coating of mud, which he was wiping away as his finger ran along its length, tracing a line of- Well, I guess it was writing, only it wasn't anything I could read. It wasn't even in an alphabet I recognized, more rune-y, all hard, sharp angles and deep, angry lines. At least they looked angry to me, but maybe I was projecting.

"We could have been half a mile away by now!" I whispered furiously.

But Pritkin was shaking his head again. And gesturing at the opposite side of the river. And then back at the stick. And then back at the river.

Or no, I finally realized as light belatedly dawned.

Not at the river.

At the creatures on the other side of it.

"You . . . you stole their . . . you stole their stick?" I asked, incredulous.

But of course, Pritkin didn't understand.

So I gestured at them. And then at the stick. And then at him, and- And he was nodding and smiling. Smiling.

"Are you crazy?"

Okay, less smiling now. And more of hand clenching on said useless piece of- "Give it back!"

But Pritkin wasn't going to give it back. I didn't need to be fluent in whatever they spoke in sixth-century Wales to know that. It was in the line of his jaw, the glint in his eye . . . the way he suddenly took off running.

Goddamnit!

I ran after him, and actually managed to tackle him because he'd suddenly hit the dirt-why, I didn't know. Until I looked up. And saw a couple fey sauntering by the bank above, not rushing, almost casual. Like they were taking an afternoon stroll, enjoying the forest fire.

And coming within a couple yards of us.

God, I thought wildly, I'd never been so grateful for weeds in my life.

We waited, motionless, until they'd passed by, a minute lasting what felt like an hour. And then another minute, Pritkin tense and alert, fingers digging into my arm where he gripped me, breathing fast but quiet. Because yeah, this side wasn't so deserted, after all.

And then we ran up the bank and across the patchy undergrowth at the top, across a terrifying open space and then into another tree line on the far side. Where we stopped, breathing hard and listening. But there was nothing-nothing except the distant crackle of fire, the chirrup of a pissed-off bird, and the sigh of the wind through the treetops.

And the almost silent footfalls of another fey we hadn't seen, not until we ended up practically right on top of him.

Pritkin slammed us back against a tree, but it was too late. The fey had seen us, and the next moment, the canteen in his hand hit the dirt, and a glowing spear replaced it. And I tried to shift, tried hard, because it was now or never. But it wasn't happening. I was too exhausted or too freaked out, or probably a combination of both, and did it matter when we were about to be roasted alive?

But then something changed in the air around us, something powerful. It felt like a rush of wind, but not like the kind that was tossing the treetops around. But hot, hot, almost searing, like something straight off a desert. Yet it managed to send a wash of goose bumps shivering up my body anyway, furling my nipples and wrenching a cry from my throat.