Possessed by the Fallen. Sharon Ashwood

      Lark cut to the right, intent on heading him off. As she ran, she drew her Smith & Wesson. Fey might have a thousand tricks, but a well-aimed bullet would still kill them. She leaped lightly over a bed of spring bulbs just starting to bloom and skirted a low rhododendron, startling a cat that streaked away with a yowl.

      Her quarry heard the sound and glanced her way, his pale face a flash in the darkness. With a curse, he changed course. Gritting her teeth, Lark strained for more speed. Her breath was already ragged. Her burns might have healed, but a long convalescence had sapped her reserves. Her stamina wasn’t what it should be for a chase like this.

      A moment later, the figure glanced back again. He wasn’t gaining ground, and the high wall of a yew hedge loomed in his path. Without warning, he stopped and spun, planting his feet as if bracing for a fight. Lark stopped a dozen feet away, the gun at her side. She sucked in air, letting it out slowly to quiet her rasping lungs. Behind them, flames still tore at the sky, fading the waxing moon to insignificance. The rushing sound of the fire drowned Lark’s thoughts for a moment before training took over and she gripped the gun with both hands.

      “What do you hope to gain by this?” she demanded.

      “That will become clear enough in time.” The voice surprised Lark. It was low, but it belonged to a woman. The shapeless clothes were an effective disguise.

      “Who are you?” Lark demanded.

      “That depends on who is asking.”

      Lark jerked the gun, reminding the woman she had the advantage. “Tell me something useful unless you enjoy getting shot full of iron.”

      The woman shrank back. Iron was to the fey what silver was to werewolves. Even if the wound was slight, it would poison the blood.

      “Hurry up,” Lark prompted.

      “That fire will burn for several more hours before it goes out on its own. No amount of water or chemicals is going to smother it.”

      Okay, that was useful, but not the kind of intel Lark had in mind. “Are you working for the Dark Queen?”

      “Naturally.” The voice held scorn. “And whether you like it or not, so are you. For those first few days after you healed, your flirtation with the Dark made you incredibly easy to follow.”

      “What?” Lark didn’t understand that at all. “I’ve never worked for your side!”

      The attack came so fast, Lark barely had time to pull the trigger. She never even felt the recoil. A pale blue fireball slammed into Lark, sending her tumbling backward. Reflex conjured a shield against the worst of the impact, but she still felt her bones rattle. She rolled to her feet, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

      The woman was clutching her shoulder, so Lark’s shot had struck home. Quickly, Lark summoned a burst of power, weaving it small, precise and strong enough to punch the door off a tank. The woman batted it away as if it were a pebble. Lark gripped her gun, suddenly appalled. Who was this chick?

      “Stop,” the woman said as Lark took aim again.

      Lark froze as the spell swamped her. When she suddenly remembered to move—she couldn’t. For a horrifying moment, Lark remained still, gun pointed and feet spread apart like an action figure posed on a shelf. The smoke-scented breeze fanned her hair and brought tears to her eyes, but she couldn’t even blink. Her brain and her muscles weren’t connecting.

      The woman took a step forward, then another. Her features were still obscured by shadow, but Lark could make out the sneer of her mouth.

      “I should drop you where you stand,” the woman said softly. “What business does the Light Court have working with the bloodsuckers?”

      Horrified, trapped, Lark barely heard her. She’d never encountered any creature with this much power before, and the woman was drawing closer and closer. Lark’s limbs began to tremble, agonized by the strain of trying to move. Her chest, barely able to breathe, was pulling in tiny, panting gasps. Gradually, the world was starting to swirl as Lark starved for oxygen.

      You’ve got to focus! She’s strong, but you’re tougher. The gun was growing slippery with sweat and Lark feared dropping it from numbed fingers. She willed herself to grip it tighter even as she strained to make out her approaching tormenter’s face.

      When Lark finally did, she wished she hadn’t. It was the pretty young woman she’d seen watching her in the hall, but she looked different now. Her hair was pulled severely back, showing features freshly scrubbed of makeup—and now Lark knew her from surveillance photos. Drusella Blackthorn.

      No wonder Lark was no match for her. She was a Dark Fey sorcerer of immense power.

      Drusella gave a humorless chuckle. “I could send your dead body as a message to the Company to stay out of this, but I think we’ve got that one covered. They’re nothing but a hole in the ground now.”

      In the depths of her panicking mind, Lark murmured an invocation to the Light, and tried with all her will to squeeze the trigger.

      Her finger wouldn’t move.

      Drusella grinned.