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breathe. Even his heart stopped. He was frozen like a mosquito in amber. All he could do was watch and listen and wish to hell he understood what was happening. Nothing tonight made any sense. Redcaps didn’t hunt Hags, and what were they doing in Southern California? Both belonged to the Scottish highlands, and as far as he knew, traveling across continents was not something they made a habit of. And if that wasn’t enough, now another witch was involved.

    The strange Shadowblade woman was clearly a Prime. There was no mistaking that aura of volcanic power and authority. Even shaking with blood loss, she moved with the total confidence of a predator who knew her capabilities and was willing to take them to their limits. Alexander could feel her strength’a heady blend of molten iron and bottled lightning. He had not encountered the likes of her in many years’maybe not ever. Which made her a riddle. Any Prime as powerful as she was had to be bound to an extraordinary witch, someone the equal of Selange. That worried him. He did not know any who would fit the bill. Such a witch would be old and established with a large coven and he would have heard of her. Or him.

    His compulsion spells woke, sliding over him like razor wire. There was danger for Selange here and he was helpless against it.

    He watched the Hag give the Prime something, then the Hag sped out of sight and the Prime turned to look at Alexander. She wore a black hat pulled low over her eyes. A fringe of blond hair escaped from beneath it. Her face was angular, beautiful in the relentless, bold way that eagles are beautiful. Or cobras. She was shorter than him by four or five inches, but that made her no less dangerous. She raised her eyes and the nose of her shotgun at the same time. Everything in Alexander seized as electric fire seared his muscles. He was hypnotized by her gaze. Even if he could have, he would not have looked away. All thoughts of Selange faded, and he was sliding deep into something he did not know how to resist. He was not sure he wanted to.

    A long moment passed and he was aware that the Hag’s magic was weakening. He could tell she saw it, too. Any moment she would pull the trigger. But then shockingly she lifted the shotgun away, resting the barrel on her shoulder. Her brows rose in a challenge, her jaw jutting with defiance. “My name is Max. I’ll see you at the Conclave.”

    Then she disappeared, running past him. He caught a whiff of her’a sharp tang of citrus, a hint of something earthy, a zest of sweet venom overlaid by the thick taste of greasy hamburgers.

    He could not let her get away. He did not want to. He struggled against his bonds. Ten seconds. Twenty. He broke free and sprinted after her, crashing into Thor as he came around the corner.

    “What the hell?” Thor demanded, shoving him away.

    Alexander caught himself on a garden bench, spinning to scan the treeline. “We had company.” He shook his head. “She will have a car somewhere. We will not catch her now.”

    He scowled, turning back to Thor. The big blond looked like a street thug from Cow Town, USA. He wore a short-sleeved, black T-shirt with BRMC scrawled across the front in white block letters, worn black jeans that had long since faded to gray, and battered cowboy boots. Blood smeared his hands, forearms, and cheek. He wore a straw cowboy hat cocked back on his head, a bowie knife on his left hip, and his .44 revolver on his right, strapped down and slung low like he was about to step onto the set of a spaghetti western. His eyes were as cold as the ocean depths as he waited for orders.

    “Is the house wired?” Alexander asked.

    Thor nodded.

    “Then go find Brynna. See if she is still alive. Have the others collect the redcaps. I want to be on the road within the next five minutes.”

    Thor loped away without another word, leaving Alexander alone on the lawn. He jogged up the berm past a tractor and stopped under the eaves of the