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landed hard on the tracks. It was a miracle that he didn’t black out on impact or hit the electrified third rail.  
    Hot blood pulsed from his arm where the creature had snatched him, but he was otherwise unharmed. Stunned, and barely clinging to awareness, he weakly tilted his head up at the beast as it loomed over him. A single, dust-covered light bulb cast grotesque shadows in the claustrophobic space. A heartbeat later, the gargoyle’s jaws snapped out at him. This time the maw of jagged teeth closed around his arm, fangs sinking deep into his shoulder.
    Artan cried out, knowing the moment of his death was upon him at last. The gargoyle reared back for the killing strike, mouth painted crimson, wings unfurling in triumph.  
    After fifteen centuries of battling the Fomor, a single gargoyle would succeed where Cael and his winged horde had failed. As the blood gushed from his shoulder, a part of Artan was ready to accept his fate. Soon he would be reunited with his wife and son, lost to him all these long centuries. He would finally take his rightful place among his people in the next world.  
    But something stopped him from letting go and giving in to the waves of darkness threatening to sweep him away.  
    Rhianna.
    She would be worried sick. Who knew how long it would take for them to find his body. He couldn’t let it end this way. He had to live on.  
    He had to fight back.
    The gargoyle let out a bone-chilling roar as it readied itself to pounce again, its hypnotic glare locking on him. Artan prepared to strike back, coiling his muscles.
    And that’s when something whistled through the air and tore into one of the creature’s wings in a spray of dark gore. The gargoyle roared again, this time in pain and shock.
    Artan whirled and caught a glimpse of his savior. A woman cut a shadowy silhouette on the tracks behind him. Her features remained hidden in the dark tunnel, but Artan recognized the weapon in her outstretched hand. She was wielding not a gun but a crossbow.  
    The woman and the winged beast regarded each other across the subway tracks. Artan, now reduced to a helpless bystander who’d stumbled into a war zone, watched them.  
    With one mighty beat of its wings, the gargoyle launched over Artan’s head toward the new arrival.  
    The woman held her ground.  
    Almost lazily, she aimed and fired.A second stainless-steel bolt punctured the creature's shoulder, triggering a savage wail as one massive wing crumpled, useless. The beast crashed to the ground but kept charging.  
    The woman dropped her crossbow and reached into her trench coat for a pair of ornate battleaxes. The woman advanced, and Artan caught his first clear glimpse of her as she stepped into a shaft of moonlight. The pale light gleamed on raven-black hair that framed high, sharp cheekbones and a full mouth. A pair of fearless green eyes fixed on the fast-approaching nightmare. She spun the twin weapons deftly in her hands, and then the beast was upon her.
    Steel hacked into the creature's tough hide with a sickening sound and thick black blood splashed the tracks. The gargoyle stumbled, its shrieks growing weaker.  
    In one smooth motion, the female warrior slid one axe handle over the other. With a metallic snap, the twin weapons joined together to form one massive blade head.
    Despite its growing number of wounds, the gargoyle launched itself at the woman and caught her unbalanced. She was hurtled off her feet, and the axe sailed through the air. Artan heard it clang against the rail as the creature tackled the Amazonian warrior, pressing its advantage.
    It was up to Artan to make his move. He jumped to his feet and lurched toward the spot where the axe had fallen. Adrenaline surged as his fingers closed around the handle. The battleaxe wasn’t the Blade of Kings , but the archaic weapon felt good in his hand. He’d take an axe over a pistol any day of the week.  
    The gargoyle seemed to sense Artan’s approach. It spun away