He heard a faint click. “Yes, Amara?”

Parker stared at the phone in shock. “This isn’t Amara.” Amara has the mayor on magical speed dial?

“Ah. You must be our resident vegetarian vampire, Dr. Parker Hollis. A pleasure to hear from you.”

“Thank you. My, um, Renfield suggested we meet to discuss a problem I have.”

“Very well. I’ll be there shortly.”

“That won’t be—” the dial tone cut him off, “—necessary. Bugger. I hope Brian hurries with those clothes. I’d look ridiculous in Amara’s.”

Parker sat down to wait for the town’s mayor, not entirely certain what he’d say to the man. Or even what kind of supernatural the man was. Neither Brian nor Amara had told him, and he found himself curious about what type of person the mayor was.

“Dr. Hollis?”

Parker whirled around to face the man standing behind him. The black-haired, gray-eyed man was a few inches taller than Parker and radiated power on a level he’d rarely felt. His gray suit and crisp white shirt were set off by a slightly askew bloodred tie. This man was much older than Parker’s two hundred years.

He was also a vampire.

Parker’s beast reacted, his only thought to protect his sleeping sotiei.

Dragomir held up his hands in the universal sign of peace. “I mean no harm to your sotiei, Parker, nor do I intend to steal her.”

Parker eased up. This must be the mayor. How the man had gotten here so quickly was—

Wait.

Was he wearing a fucking sign? “How did you know Amara is—”

“Parker!”

Greg’s bellow was so loud the crockery rattled. “Greg?”

Dragomir whirled around, searching the room.

“Help!”

Parker was out the front door in the blink of an eye. “Where?”

“Terri’s here, and she’s going after Brian!”

Shit, there was only one place they could be, and he doubted it was the dryad’s garden. Not even Terri had the bollocks necessary to confront a dryad in her own space. It had to be his. Terri needed greenery to work her magic. He raced around the back of his house, certain he would find the Renfield deathly injured, or worse.

What he found instead shocked him. His garden had come alive. The great oak waved its branches in front of Brian, caging him, protecting him from the encroaching weeds threatening to choke him. The philodendron whipped its thin branches around so quickly that they severed bits of the weeds away like a weed trimmer. Even the flowers were protecting the Renfield, forming a root barrier the weeds could not cross.

His garden looked nothing like it had earlier, and Parker couldn’t be happier. “Amara is somehow protecting him.”

“Amara is powerful, indeed.” Dragomir dodged a whipping branch. “When the Renfield is safe, I expect an explanation.”

“Behind you!”

Parker turned to find a single thick stem racing toward the elder vampire. He pushed the man out of the way and took what would have been a lethal blow to Dragomir’s heart on himself. The stem embedded itself in Parker’s arm. Parker screamed in pain as his arm broke, the bone snapping in two.

From Amara’s house, a low rumbling sounded.

“Fuck.” The mayor stared at Parker in astonishment. “Why did you do that?”

“It would have killed you.” Parker winced and tried to pull the weed out, but it was taking root, burrowing into his body. What fresh hell was this? “Damn it. Get this thing out of me!”

“Parker.” A vaguely familiar, deep, echoing voice filled the air.

Parker looked toward Amara’s house. Something told him his dryad was very, very angry. “Amara.” He gasped as the roots of the weed twined around his broken bone. Bloody hell, this was going to hurt when it was removed. If it had gotten into Dragomir, it would have wrapped around his heart; any effort to remove it would have killed him instantly.

“There are weeds in your garden, Parker.”

Parker watched in astonishment as a much-altered Amara stepped into his garden, covered in what looked like brown bark. Instead of being rigid, the bark moved with her. Reddish leaves blew around her in a nonexistent wind. Her green eyes glowed with angry intent, the whites completely obscured. And she was at least three feet taller, towering over the privacy fence, Parker and everything but the oak tree.

Amara shrieked, the sound filled with fury, the creaking and groaning of a thousand trees filling it with an inhuman rumble that shook the windows facing into the garden. She reached for his arm from across the garden, extending hers until her knobby fingers caressed his wound. “Weeds need to be pulled.”

Parker braced himself and was glad afterward that he had. The pain when Amara pulled was immense. It felt like she was ripping his whole arm off. He blacked out.

The fire in her belly burned even hotter as Parker fell. She pointed at Dragos. “Guard him.”

Dragos took a fighting stance, batting away anything that came close to touching Parker.

Amara was free to turn her attention to the weeds destroying his garden. She waded into the fight, ripping and tearing, searching for the woman who’d attacked Brian and injured Parker. The plants acted with a higher degree of awareness than usual, reacting to her attacks with lightning speed. That level of control told her Terri had to be close by, controlling their actions. No witch could command this many plants so easily without being able to see exactly what was going on, and a scrying spell wouldn’t give her the reaction speed she’d need, since it would take up most of her concentration.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she crooned. She grabbed a vine and tugged, pulling it from the weakening oak. “I know you’re here, Terri. Are you too frightened to face me?”

The moss beneath her formed distorted lips. “I’ll face you on my own terms, dryad, when I’m good and ready.” The odd voice echoed, and Amara couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it came from.

Amara grabbed the thorny weed and yanked it from the ground. “Bring it on.” She shrieked her challenge and began laying about her with the weed, using it as a spiked whip.

“Parker is mine. Stay away from him or suffer the consequences.”

A root tripped Amara up, and the whip got tangled in her legs. She righted herself before she landed on the mossy lips. “Fuck you. He’s mine.” She cracked the whip over her head, shearing off the edges of the vine that had dipped down almost to her hair. She moved faster, cracking at the vine until nothing was left but green paste.

More vines ripped the whip from her hands. “No, thank you. You aren’t my type.” Thorns tore at Amara’s side, unable to penetrate her bark. Something almost broke through the cage the oak had wrapped around Brian, but a shimmering light in the shape of a tall, broad man suddenly appeared, forcing it back.

“Nice try, bitch.” She snatched another vine and scoured the garden, searching for the bitch who’d hurt Parker. Where the fuck was she?

The mocking laughter only spurred her on.

When Parker came to, he was lying on the ground, his head cradled in Dragomir’s lap. “Amara?”

“She’s…gardening.”

Groggy, he sat up, his arm a throbbing mass of agony. His altered sotiei was pulling anything that resembled a weed, while the oak continued to guard his Renfield. Her mutters were too quiet for him to hear exactly what she said. “Greg?”

“Here. Parker, what did I tell you about the crazy?”

“Not now, Greg. Besides, Amara isn’t crazy.”

“Then what do you call that?”

Amara pulled something from the ground that was covered in vicious thorns. She waved it over her head triumphantly. “When I find you, I’m going to shove this so far up your ass it will wriggle out your nostrils,” she shrieked, using it like a scourge.

She was stunningly beautiful, a Boadicea, his personal warrior goddess, and he was more than willing to worship at her feet. “Magnificent.” Dragomir chuckled. “There are others you’ll have to convince of that, but in the meantime we should see about your arm.”