“Alex!” Evie screamed, too late.
Expertly, Robin drove the blade up, through the soft part of Alex’s lower back, under the ribs, through the vital organs. Alex arched his back and growled; Robin twisted the blade.
Alex wrenched away and stumbled back. Evie’s heart ached. She wanted to run to him, like the heroine in a bodice ripper. For a moment, she forgot what he was. It was easy to forget.
Never taking his eyes off Robin, Alex reached back and pulled out the knife. He swept the axe around one-handed, hacking at Robin. Robin jumped, writhed in midair—inhumanly, like he was made of smoke, defying gravity—and disappeared again, and Alex cut through nothing.
Blood covered the back of his shirt, bright red against the white fabric. His hand was red with it. Still, his face creased with intensity, he searched for Robin.
“Not entirely mortal, are you?” said Robin’s voice, disembodied. It had no focus, but diffused through the whole room, without source. “Let’s see how mortal you are.”
Alex stood his ground, waiting for Robin to show himself. He seemed calm, like a soldier waiting for battle, the faintest smile on his lips.
Abruptly, he fell back, flinging out his arms for balance. His knees buckled, as if something had struck them from behind. Robin appeared, light flashing into form, a reflection taking shape. He crouched on Alex’s chest and punched him, knocking his head back. Alex grappled for the axe, which had dropped a few feet away. Robin looked like a slender young man, almost a boy, but he had supernatural strength. Alex couldn’t upset him from his perch.
Taking careful steps, desperate not to attract attention, Evie stepped to the kitchen. She skirted along the wall until her feet left the hardwood and touched tile. She had to find a weapon, preferably one that required minimal skill.
Alex managed to unbalance Robin, twisting violently and slipping out from under him. There was a crack, like a bone breaking or a shoulder popping out of joint. It had to have come from Alex, but he didn’t look like he was in pain.
Robin was too fast. Before Alex could find the axe or establish his position, Robin was on him again, legs wrapped around his middle. He laughed, pulling Alex’s hair while Alex reached, futilely clutching at him. Next Robin grabbed the chain around Alex’s neck. He twisted it, tightening it until it pinched deep into Alex’s skin, cutting off blood and air. Alex’s face flushed, turning darker and darker red, and it seemed as if Robin could pull the chain clean through his neck, decapitating him.
Alex surely wouldn’t survive that.
Evie grabbed the cast-iron skillet off the stove top.
It was almost too heavy, but if she moved it fast enough, her wrist hardly felt the weight. Two-handed, she swung it like a baseball bat, aiming the flat bottom to connect with Robin’s head.
It crunched on impact. There should have been some resistance, some recoil, but her arms hardly felt a jolt as they finished out the arc. Robin followed the arc, spinning sideways, falling limp on the floor, jerking to a stop.
Evie stood ready, skillet in hand. But Robin didn’t move. At this angle, his head seemed flattened, and a trickle of blood leaked from his ear.
Alex lay on his side, his hands hooked around the chain, holding it away from his neck. His breathing wheezed, as if the air passed through a damaged windpipe. Evie’s own breath felt harsh in her lungs; she might start hyperventilating. She dropped the skillet and tried to breathe slower.
She knelt beside Alex and touched his shoulder, helping him roll onto his back. He had to be all right, after all he’d been through. He opened his eyes, and she sprawled on top of him and kissed him. After a moment’s hesitation, his lips moved against hers and his arms wrapped around her, one hand lacing into her hair to hold her in place.
Uncertain, she broke away and lay her face against his neck. Eyes closed, she breathed his scent—sweaty, a touch of blood where some of the links of the chain had broken skin. She wished she could rest here for a long time, warm and protected. The next few minutes were going to be difficult and confusing.
Alex was difficult and confusing. “I’m sorry,” she said finally.
“For what?” he whispered, wheezing as he chuckled with his damaged throat.
“For doubting.”
“Oh my dear, never mind.”
A wet canine nose interrupted. Mab arrived and pushed toward Evie’s face, licking and nosing until Evie moved, thereby proving she wasn’t dead.
“Oof.” Alex, innocent victim of Mab’s affections, halfheartedly pushed the dog’s head away. “I should kill the beast, but I spent all that effort sewing her up.”
Evie sat up and reassured the wolfhound, scratching her ears and looking into her sad eyes.
Her father made his way toward them, leaning on the wall for support. His hand wrapped around his middle, and his face was ashen, his jaw clenched in pain.
“Are you all right?” His voice was soft, difficult to hear. She wanted to laugh that he’d ask her that question. He looked like he was about to collapse.
Slowly, Alex sat up. He touched her hand, gripped it where it rested on her knee, and watched Frank’s slow progress. He passed them, went to Robin’s prone form, and with one hand on the wall, he knelt and touched Robin’s neck.
She didn’t want to hear the word. She hadn’t meant to kill anyone. She didn’t think she could kill anyone. She never expected to have to.