Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance
Author: Laura Kaye
Date: 2014-05-19 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Anthologies; Paranormal Romance; Romance
Description: 7 NEVER-BEFORE-BUNDLED NOVELS FROM 7 TOP SELLING AUTHORS Get ready to experience Bad Boys like never before. . . Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance crackles with SEVEN full-length novels, featuring SEVEN of the baddest Bad Boys in Paranormal Romance. And each one of them knows how to make a woman swoon. Whether he's a demon hunter, a vampire, or a supreme God, these bad boys will risk it all to be with the women they love. Get ready for a wild ride... South of Surrender by New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Laura KayeThe charming and powerful God of the S
Publisher: Entangled: Edge

Table of Contents

Tall, Dark, and Deadly

Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Discover Laura Kaye’s Heart of the Anemoi Series

East of Ecstasy

You might also enjoy the Heroes series by Laura Kaye

Her Forbidden Hero
One Night with a Hero
Dare to Resist

Blood of the Demon

Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Discover Rosalie Lario’s award-winning Demons of Infernum series...

Mark of the Sylph

Bittersweet Blood

Dear Reader
Part OneBreaking all the Rules
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part TwoDiscovery and Denial
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Part ThreeRedefining Normal
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Discover Nina Croft’s The Order series...

Bittersweet Magic

Break Out

Undying Destiny

Dear Readers
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Read the Novels of the Enclave by Jessica Lee

Undying Embrace

Night Walker

Dear Reader
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Discover the Night Series …

Night Demon

Shield of Fire

Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Get lost in the Bringer and the Bane novels…

Kiss of the Betrayer

Deep in Crimson

Dear Reader
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Discover the Return to Sanctuary novels…

Out in Blue

She’s the only one who can see through his golden boy façade to the broken god within...

Chrysander Notos, Supreme God of the South Wind and Summer, is on a mission: save Eurus from his death sentence and prove his troubled brother can be redeemed. But Eurus fights back, triggering vicious storms that threaten the mortal realm and dangerously drain Chrys.

Laney Summerlyn refuses to give up her grandfather’s horse farm, despite her deteriorating vision. More than ever, she needs the organized routine of her life at Summerlyn Stables, until a ferocious storm brings an impossible—and beautiful—creature crashing down from the heavens.

Injured while fighting Eurus, Chrys finds himself at the mercy of a mortal woman whose compassion and acceptance he can’t resist. As they surrender to the passion flaring between them, immortal enemies close in, forcing Chrys to choose between his brother and the only woman who’s ever loved the real him.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Laura Kaye. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Heather Howland

Cover design by Heather Howland

Ebook ISBN 978-1-62061-034-3

Print ISBN 978-1-62061-033-6

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition May 2013

This book is for everyone struggling to surrender
what they are for what they most want to become.

You can do it, and you are not alone.

Dear Reader

I couldn’t be more thrilled to bring South of Surrender’s Chrysander Notos to you in this Tall, Dark, and Deadly set! On the outside, Chrysander is the absolutely gorgeous golden boy of the Anemoi gods, but on the inside he’s broken in ways that no one else knows—so he definitely fits every one of those descriptions and then some.

The Hearts of the Anemoi series is super sexy fantasy romance based on Greek mythology, and it’s also the first series I’ve completed in its entirety. The Anemoi were wind gods that the Greeks associated with the wind, weather, and seasons, and they were believed to have control over various points around the face of the compass. That means after Chrys makes you all hot with the South Wind, you can let Owen cool you down in the North and Zephyros make you wet in the West. Heh. And don’t even get me started on the East Wind’s Devlin—unless you crave tortured heroes that make you ache and pant, he might just be too dark and deadly for you. But don’t take my word for it. *winks*

Happy reading!

Laura Kaye

All of our reasoning ends in surrender to feeling.

— Blaise Pascal

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.

— D.H. Lawrence

.

Chapter One

Chrysander Notos found his brother right where their nightmarish summer began, on top of the west tower of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. While he circled through the dark sky far overhead, Chrys watched Eurus pace the narrow catwalk atop the structure. What the hell was he doing here, of all places?

Summoning the powerful energy of the South Wind, Chrys prepared for what was sure to be another brutal battle. He didn’t want to fight Eurus. Just the opposite, in fact. But fighting seemed to be all his older brother knew anymore. The accumulated scars on Chrys’s body from the past three months proved that, and now he wore his weariness like a second skin.

But someone had to save Eurus from himself and the Olympic gods’ death sentence. And Chrys was the only viable candidate. Zephyros and Owen were mated, and Boreas deserved to bask in his new status as grandfather.

Not to mention, Eurus’s problems were partly his fault. After everything, Chrys owed him the effort. Least he could do.

Eurus froze and scanned the heavens, revealing the exact moment he perceived Chrys’s presence. No sense delaying now.

In his elemental form, Chrys shot down before Eurus took flight. Shifting into corporeality at the edge of the tower’s top platform, he braced for Eurus’s attack. He could never predict whether his brother preferred to get right to the main event of kicking his ass—not something he should be able to do, not in Chrys’s own damn season, anyway—or might be up for a little verbal sparring first.

Eurus turned on his heel, black leather duster whipping around him in the heavy, humid wind. Chrys could sense his brother’s glare through the black wraparound glasses he always wore, but the blows didn’t come. Up for the sparring, then.

“Behold the do-gooder. How nice for me.”

“Why are you here, E?” Chrys asked. No way Eurus’s return to the exact spot where he’d killed their brother’s wife—or tried to; Mars had interceded and brought her back as a goddess—was coincidence. It meant something, but with Eurus it was hard to tell exactly what.

“Mmm, just basking in pleasant memories,” he said with a sneer. “What’s your excuse?”

Acidic rage churned in Chrys’s gut. Their brother Zephyros and his wife Ella were happy now, but that didn’t erase his recollection of Zeph’s brutal agony when they’d thought Ella gone for good. Chrys shoved the useless thoughts away. Eurus liked to pick at a person’s most sensitive scabs. It was one of his specialties. So Chrys caged his anger and refused to take the bait. “I’m here for the same reason I’ve been dogging you all summer. Come back to the Realm of the Gods with me. Atone. We can work this out. It doesn’t have to go down this way.”

“Grow the fuck up, Chrysander. I don’t want your help. And I sure as hell don’t need it.” He fisted his right hand, flashing the faceted firestone ring he wore in the bright lights that marked the tower’s corners.

Chrys’s eyes tracked the movement. That damn ring was half the problem. It belonged to their father, Aeolus, the most powerful storm god of them all, and somehow Eurus had gotten his hands on it. Which explained the entire summer’s worth of ass kicking. The sacred stone gave its wearer the power to control all the winds and, thus, him. Bad enough when his father made use of those powers. Catastrophic now that Eurus could.

Chrys hadn’t told anyone that Eurus had Aeolus’s ring for fear that knowledge would hammer yet another nail into his brother’s coffin—not to mention their father’s for not making that little revelation himself. Now, that shit was just waiting to hit the fan.

“What’s your end game here? Huh? You’re playing right into the Olympians’ hands, and for what? For now, they’re letting the family resolve this situation, but once they’re involved, it’ll be too late.” The humid bay breeze whipped around him. He tugged long strands of hair out of his eyes.

“As if I would tell you, boy.” Eurus crossed his arms over his broad chest and sighed. “I tire of your questions.” The smug smile that settled on his face was all the creepier for the new, slashing red scar carved into the left side of his face from temple to lips. How he’d gotten the wound—which could only have come at the hand of a stronger god—Chrys had no clue. “In truth, I tire of you.”

Chrys ignored the way his heart tripped. A lifetime of trying—and failing—to win your big brother’s approval made you a bit sensitive, though. Fucking hell. “Eurus, man, come on. I just want to help you. You’re my brother. And we can fix this.”

The firestone flared to life, a soft red that soon blazed so bright it was hard to look at.

Chrys braced, his muscles suddenly alive with tension. The air constricted around his body.

Eurus’s ring finger twitched.

It was all Chrys needed to see. In a heartbeat, he flashed into his elemental form and shot skyward.

Eurus’s energy followed.

How many more fights did Chrys have in him? Dark clouds already gathered and billowed around them. Inky tendrils of Eurus’s malevolent East Wind gusted over him, crawling through his energy as if searching for a weak spot. Even in his elemental form, Chrys shuddered as he released a burst of power to throw them off.

But it was too little, too late.

Preternatural disturbances in the air rammed him from all directions as if he were a featherweight boxer facing an invisible heavyweight opponent. Icy cold North Wind that Eurus had no business commanding lashed against him like a frozen whip, the frigidity stealing Chrys’s breath and power with every cutting impact. Exactly what his brother intended, since Chrys’s intolerance to cold wasn’t exactly a secret. Chrys dug deep into his powers and poured on everything he could muster, but hell if three long months of fighting a stronger god hadn’t depleted his reserves. He rocketed across the bay and over the Eastern Shore, hoping to draw the threatening storm over the Atlantic Ocean where it would do less damage to land and people.

A ripple of electricity shuddered past him, as if conducted by the humidity. Damn it all to Hades. The defeated thought had barely formed before Eurus’s attack hit home. Lightning belted around him in tight, suffocating, scorching loops.

Chrys cried out, an agonized roar that unleashed a series of deafening crashes of thunder.

Knowing he was out of time, he struggled to twist free and flung bolts of his own, zinging electricity across the sky in flashes of red and purple and orange so unnatural he knew they’d capture the attention of humanity, but he had no choice. Soon, he would be completely at his brother’s mercy. Not that Eurus had any. And damn if that gem of an admission didn’t highlight the possibility that Eurus was a total lost cause. But how was he supposed to just give up on the brother he’d spent the better part of his life trying to save?

He didn’t have time to ponder an answer.

Eurus’s electricity attached to Chrys’s energy signature, slowly but surely stealing his self-control and siphoning off his life force, like a vampire supping at leisure from his victim’s throat. An immortal could only be injured by another of stronger power—and that fucking ring was giving Eurus, normally the least powerful of the four Anemoi, everything he needed.

A monster of a storm opened up all around them, tropical force winds howling, rains pounding down in diagonal gashes, thunder and lightning shaking the very world. The storm, the battle, the manner of Eurus’s attack—this was the worst yet between them.

But Chrys refused to go down alone. If this was it, if this was how Eurus wanted it, they were going out together. Eurus was whole galaxies away from perfect, but hell if Chrys was going to let anyone else take out the brother he’d helped fuck up.

With his last burst of energy and control, Chrys yanked hard against his electric restraints and released, slingshotting himself across the sky toward his tormenter, toward his demise.

He’d lived too long for his whole life to flash before his eyes, so a few key moments sank their hooks into his wavering consciousness—all from his young godhood, and all instances of Aeolus denying Eurus affection, touch, and attention, while he lavished the same on Chrysander. Or, at least, his version of affection.

Chrys would’ve sworn that sometimes, too many times, Aeolus’s touch had been about proving he could control one or all of them. While other times, he just knew the attention was intended to hurt Eurus. The image of young Eurus’s humiliated, yearning, accusing gazes were burned into Chrys’s subconscious, and he saw those now, too. Each instance of his father using Chrys—the only Anemoi birthed by a different mother—as a pawn in punishing Eurus for his mother’s childbed death, left Chrys feeling more and more separate from the rest of them. After a time, he came to associate guilt, resentment, and lack of control with his father’s affection so strongly that he shied away from it, finding it uncomfortable to be touched and hard to believe he was actually lovable. Not when his existence so harmed another.

What-the-fuck-ever. Ancient history. Blah, blah, blah.

Clearly, none of that mattered now.

The lash of lightning unwound from his rocketing body. But if Eurus had realized what was about to happen, he’d reacted too late. Chrys slammed into his brother so hard thunder and lightning exploded around them, the force of the impact sending a devastating microburst of air and rain pounding to earth. Shit!

They plummeted in a tangle of elemental energy through the turbulent night sky, Eurus roaring ancient curses at him before finally regaining control.

Damnit, E, stop!

I was saving you for last, Eurus snarled, using the power of the firestone ring to force Chrys out of the elements and into corporeality.

A preternatural wind held him aloft, his head wrenched backward as Eurus pulled at his long hair so hard his scalp burned.

“No,” Chrys mumbled, almost unable to vocalize the word.

Eurus manifested into his human form, a sword of fiery lightning in his hand. He plunged it toward Chrys’s heart.

Chrys raised his left arm to block the blow, and the white-hot blade sliced into his forearm and scorched deep into his right shoulder. The unexpected angle of the indirect hit threw Eurus off balance, and he released Chrys’s hair.

The air dropped out from under him.

His backward motion un-impaled his shoulder from the rod of lightning. And then he was in a free fall. Struggling to hold onto even the smallest vestige of lucidity, Chrys concentrated with all his might to summon the South Wind, to return himself to the cradling safety of his elemental form.

Flash. He went elemental. Relief surged through h—

Flash. Without trying to, he materialized back into his human form.

He willed the wind to heed his call. Any moment, Eurus would be on him again. If he could just— Flash. Neither wind nor body this time, but his sacred animal form. The winged horse. Ancient icon of the power of the Anemoi.

Almighty Zeus. He couldn’t will it. He couldn’t control it. As he plummeted downward through the black deluge, he shifted randomly, repeatedly, tearing his body apart and reassembling it over and over until he lost track of what he was. Who he was.

And then he lost his hold on consciousness itself.

Chapter Two

Laney Summerlyn hated thunderstorms with a passion, and this was no regular storm. The wind blew so hard it sounded like the roof could lift off the house, and a wet dripping in the living room turned out to be rain forced in through the east-facing windows. The concussive deluge was deafening, not a welcome sensation for someone already nearly blind.

As loud as it was, the screaming of the horses still made it to Laney’s ears. And that was driving her crazy. She debated going out to the barn, checking on them, calming them. But she couldn’t seem to force herself out the door and into the torrent. Her night vision had been the first thing to go, and getting disoriented and lost outside in a storm when she was nineteen had left her terrified of them.

But those horses were her babies. Her family.

A clap of thunder exploded low and close. Laney jumped, chiding herself even as her heart raced. The lights flickered, once, twice, which she could just make out through the pinpoint of central vision that remained in her right eye, like looking through a drinking straw. The threatening dark got her off the couch and in search of a lantern before the power shut off for good. It might not be many years until she lost her sight entirely. Then she’d be forced to live in total darkness. In the meantime, she intended to soak in every bit of light and color and memory of the physical world she could.

“Stay, Finn,” she said to her chocolate Labrador. Not that he was likely to get up, old as he was, but he kept an eye on Laney like the guard dog he’d once been. Laney counted her steps from the couch across the spacious open living room to the adjoining kitchen and finally to the hall closet, then reached in and retrieved the third object from the left on the middle shelf—a battery-operated lantern. Through her mobility training, she’d long ago memorized her way around, as well as the location of everything in her house—such organization made her independence possible. Laney could take care of herself just fine.

She’d no more closed the closet door than a tremendous burst of thunder detonated above her house, shaking the building as if a bomb had gone off. Laney struggled to swallow against the lump in her throat. In. Out. In. Out. She focused on the mechanics of breathing to ease her anxiety. Clutching the lantern to her chest as if it could keep her safe, she forced away the panic.

Despite the air conditioning, the air suddenly felt thick and heavy, like something was happening, something was coming. The rain continued to pour down, but there was a stillness that felt…wrong.

A series of cracks ricocheted from outside, then a crash. The sound of the horses’ distress went from nervous to outright panic. Laney saw every bit of the farm in her head, like a 3-D model she could turn and manipulate. That damn sound came from her stable. Her gut squeezed.

Forcing herself to take the measured steps that allowed her to count her paces, Laney went for the coat closet in the foyer and found her raincoat. She slid it on and snapped it closed with shaking fingers. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out onto the porch and walked right into the howling night and the soaking rain. Her hair instantly matted to her face and the wind blew so hard it stole her breath.

You can do this, Laney. You have to do this.

Lantern in one hand, she grasped the lead line tied to the newel post at the bottom of the stairs with the other and followed the well-worn path toward the stable. The thick blackness swallowed the lantern light and negated what was left of her sight, sending her heart into a sprint. Her sneakers slipped in the mud puddles over and over. If she fell and lost the line… No. Don’t go there. She held onto it so tight it dug into her palm. But the pain was worth it. As long as she held onto the rope, she knew right where she was because of the plastic tags hanging from it at ten-foot intervals.

The closer she got to the stable, the more obvious the horses’ fear became. They snorted and blew, kicked and pawed at the walls, screamed and struck their massive bodies against the grated doors and sides of their stalls. She imagined them pacing, desperate for escape. Her stomach squeezed and sank.

Please, whatever that noise was, don’t let it have injured one of my babies.

Soaked, muddy, and breathless with dread, Laney passed the seventh tag on the line, and then her hand encountered the cold metal of the door handle to which the line was tied. She yanked the door to the right and it glided easily on its track.

Laney reached out, found the panel of light switches, and flipped every one of them, flooding the nine-stall center-aisle barn with yellow light. Adrenaline flooded through her so fast she was shaky, making it hard to focus the sliver of central vision she still possessed. But it was clear the barn had been damaged. Wind gusted through, raising a chill on her wet skin, and an intense shower of rain echoed against the floor at the far end.

She settled the lantern on a shelf and let her raincoat drop to the floor. Cocoa Puff’s agitation was clear in the flurry of movements and blows coming from the old mare, who was the most high-strung of them all. Laney moved to the barred grill of the first stall and shushed her like she would a small child. Cocoa let out a high-pitched nicker and tossed her head. Laney wanted to stroke her forehead, but hesitated to get too close when the horse was so riled. “You’re okay. Mama’s here. You’re a pretty girl, Cocoa,” she cooed. The rescued Morgan nickered again and pushed her nose into Laney’s hand. She snuffed as if looking for treats. “Next time, I promise. I gotta go check on the others now. Okay? I’m right here.”

Trailing her hand over the grated fronts of the stalls, Laney moved to the next door and found Casper, a white Sabino gelding that was another of her rescue horses. Casper strained his head toward her, and Laney laid her cheek on his forehead. “You okay, buddy?” She petted the soft white hair covering his neck. “Yeah, you’re okay.”

Laney’s heart still raced in her chest, and she wiped the water from her face as she moved to the next stall. Three more.

“Hey, Rolly,” she said, finding the muzzle of the Appaloosa spotted almost like a Dalmatian, lots of creamy white with occasional black spots. He blew against her hand then pulled away. Rolly was her newest rescue. Recovering from a supposedly accidental gunshot to the abdomen, he remained standoffish. Couldn’t blame him, really.

The volume of the rain tapering off now, Laney crossed the center aisle to an empty stall and turned toward the two remaining horses. Hope rose within her and calmed the worst of her fear. All her senses told her the damage was restricted to the opposite—and empty—end of the barn. Her hand found the next door, and the colt—a boarder—nipped at her fingers. Mouthy thing. Laney smiled as tension eased from her shoulders. She couldn’t imagine telling Windsong’s owner, a fifteen year old named Kara who had just been diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa—the same degenerative eye disease from which Laney suffered—that anything had happened to the colt. Stroking his cheek, she said, “Good thing you’re so handsome.” He licked her forearm. “Ew, Windy.” She backed away, chuckling, and wiped her arm on her T-shirt.

Finally, Laney came to the last stall she needed to check, and Sappho nickered softly and reached her head out. “Hi, baby,” Laney said, leaning her forehead against the silky black mane of her Friesian, the first horse she’d owned, a gift from her grandfather on her sixteenth birthday. When other kids got cars, Laney got her very own filly. She’d grown up around her pop’s horses, so getting Sappho that day had been a wish come true. Less than a year later, she’d started noticing problems with her vision. As her sight deteriorated, more than once she’d cried on this horse’s shoulder. Ten years had passed, but Sappho still had the power to cheer her up more than anything else.

“You okay?” she asked, reassuring herself more than the mare. Laney let out a long breath, fear making her feel tired and wrung out, even after determining the horses were all fine. “Let’s just hang out for a minute and calm down. How ‘bout that?”

Sappho chuffed out a breath against her hand, a soft affectionate agreement. Laney wished she could clearly see the Friesian’s eyes, which had always held such intelligence and understanding, but the black-on-black coloring obscured the details. This animal probably knew her better than anyone ever had—her grandfather excepted, though he was gone now. Off to greener pastures. The thought always made her smile.

After a few minutes, Laney realized the rain had stopped. A humid breeze gusted and water dripped occasionally, but otherwise only the normal sounds of the horses filled the space.

She gave Sappho a final pat and turned toward the other end of the barn. Seth would have to give her the full picture of the damage when he got here in the morning. Her long-time farm manager and horse trainer—not to mention best friend—was here every day. In fact, he was here so frequently that her grandfather’s will provided for the construction of a caretaker’s cottage for Seth. If it would ever stop raining maybe they could finish construction. This summer had been the wettest on record, halting their progress, and this storm was the worst of them all. In fact, given his protectiveness of her, she was surprised Seth hadn’t called during the storm. She’d made it quite clear on numerous occasions she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but that didn’t stop him from worrying over her every chance he got. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing.

A kind of morbid curiosity drove her toward the damage to see what she could for herself. Trailing her hand along the rail, Laney held her breath in anticipation of what she’d find. A twisted piece of metal railing was the first thing that told her she’d found what she was looking for. Damn. Just before he’d died two years ago, her grandfather had rebuilt the stable, so everything was new and state-of-the-art. Her stomach dropped as she began to get a feel for the damage, which mostly seemed to have impacted the end two stalls. Crossing the center aisle, she found the tack room walls intact. A quick circuit revealed everything was how it was supposed to be. The damage was confined to the other side, then.

Laney grabbed a rake from a hook and flipped it handle side down as she crossed back to assess the damage. She rarely carried her cane around the farm, but if part of the ceiling had come down, there would be debris. As she stepped into the ruined stall, she tapped the pole in front of her, searching out obstructions that might trip her up. The sound was immediately wrong, metallic, and her foot landed on a sheet of metal that wasn’t the normal rubber-over-concrete flooring. Part of the roof had collapsed.

Slowly, she lifted the rake handle and swung it in front of her to ensure no pieces of roofing hung loose from the ceiling. Nothing.

Returning her makeshift cane to the floor, she tapped along a large section of metal sheeting.

But what the hell brought it down?

She expected to find part of the ancient oak tree that stood behind the barn, but nothing she was finding confirmed that theory.

Laney was just about to give up when the handle encountered something on the floor, solid but giving. She focused and scanned her limited vision back and forth, her brain slowly assembling the pieces of the picture into a whole that made her gasp out loud.

It was a horse. She blinked and squinted. A weird yellow halo flickered across her vision when she looked closer. It really was a freaking horse.

How? From where? Laney mentally recounted her steps to ensure she’d checked on all her horses. Cocoa, Casper, Rolly, Windsong, Sappho. She’d talked to and touched every one of them. She was sure of it.

And even if she wasn’t, this stall had been empty for a long time. None of her regular horses used it.

Oh, crap. Could there have been a tornado? They were rare in Maryland, but what the heck else would drop a horse out of the sky? Just imagining that’s what happened made her stomach toss.

Setting the rake to the side, Laney crouched, her gut queasy and pulse pounding in her ears, and found the wet barrel of the horse’s belly with her hand. The lift and fall of its breathing was immediately obvious, shooting relief through her amazed disbelief. He’s alive.

She moved from between the horse’s legs. Downed horses could thrash or kick. Getting injured was the last thing she needed. She crouched near his head and stroked his golden neck, that strange halo effect growing brighter. Laney clenched and reopened her eyes, but it was still there.

“Hey, friend,” she whispered, still struggling to believe what her pinpoint of sight was telling her was there. She leaned in close enough to see the eye was closed, though flickering. Every once in a while, the horse shuddered out a breath, but otherwise its respiration was just a little fast. She pressed her fingers against the fetlock joint toward the bottom of his leg and found a pulse. Heart rate was elevated, but not as unusual as she might’ve expected. How could he still be alive? Given what had likely happened to him and his unconscious state, she expected him to be a lot worse off.

When she leaned away, Laney’s hand brushed something sticky and she traced her fingers over the horse’s left front leg. A gash flayed open the golden flesh.

She needed to get help. Now.

Laney fished her iPhone out of her pocket and pressed the extra-large telephone icon in the bottom right corner. “Seth is going to have a cow when he sees you,” she murmured. She waited for it to connect. And waited. She redialed but had the same luck. No signal. “Seriously?”

Groaning, Laney pocketed her phone as she rose. There were two land lines in the barn. Overkill for a sighted person, but having both made it easier for her to get to one of them when they rang.

Back in the tack room, Laney dialed Seth’s number, but all she got was an odd fast busy signal with lots of crackling static. Why would she still have lights but no phones?

She sighed. Stupid storm. The service would get restored soon. In the meantime, she grabbed the first-aid kit and a couple of stable blankets and returned to her mystery guest. Laney was known for taking in strays, but this was going a little far, even for her.

Inside the kit, the bottles were sized differently and color-coded so she could tell the different solutions apart. She poured saline from the white bottle over the wound to clean it, then did her best to center a gauze pad over the injury before securing it with Vetwrap. Doing this was probably stupid, given what his other injuries likely were, but it made her feel useful. And at least it would stay clean until she could get the vet out here.

“What else is wrong with you?” she murmured. Carefully, she worked her way around his head, and smoothed her hands over his shoulder to his—

“What the hell?”

Her fingers encountered something downy soft. Something that had no business on a horse’s back.

She looked. Squinted. Leaned in and looked again.

There was no way she was seeing what her very low vision was telling her she was seeing.

No way on earth.

Running her hands over the feathery protrusion confirmed what her sight had identified.

The horse…the horse had wings.

Chapter Three

Awe and wonder—not to mention a healthy dose of fear—rushed through Laney’s veins so hard she became lightheaded.

She pressed her fingers against the downy softness of the wings again and sucked in a breath. Never had she felt something so silky, so plush, and her fingertips were especially sensitive to touch.

Sinking her hand into the complex layers of feathers, Laney had to accept what all her senses were telling her.

A winged horse had crashed through the ceiling of her stable in the midst of a terrible storm.

Dizziness threatened to swamp her. She forced a deep breath.

How was this possible? Maybe she was actually in her bed dreaming right now? Or maybe her sight had finally failed her after all? Though, that didn’t explain what she’d felt…

Her amazement morphed into concern as her imagination painted a picture of this magnificent beast battling the elements and losing. Were there others like him? Would they be searching for him?

Did the fact she was actually entertaining the existence of a…of a Pegasus certify her as raving mad?

But here he was. In the flesh. Far, far from wherever he belonged.

The thought that he was lost, all alone, and injured made her heart squeeze. And, oh God, it wasn’t like she could bring the vet out now. What the hell was she going to do? If anyone else saw him, they’d take him away, study him, lock him up.

No way.

Or, they’d take her away, run a series of psych tests, and lock her up.

Also not appealing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out,” she whispered as she stroked him.

Her finger caught on a bent feather. She smoothed her palm over the area and found more damage—the sharp edges of broken feather spines and, again, a stickiness she feared was blood. Red smears on her hand confirmed her suspicion.

Unlike his leg, she had no idea how to treat a wing, for goodness sake. She just hoped he didn’t thrash in his sleep and damage it further.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked. She spread out several horse blankets to provide a barrier between her skin and the puddles and debris, then sat all the way down. Her legs were all pins and needles from squatting, and she just needed a minute to stretch them out. “I’ll stay with you, okay?” Stroking his golden neck and mane, all she could think was, I’m touching a Pegasus!

After a while, she grabbed an extra stable blanket and pulled it up over her bare legs. Her clothes were nearly dry, but her sneakers were still wet and squishy, so she slipped them off. Thunder rumbled in the distance, once, twice. Laney’s stomach dropped and, instinctively, she leaned into the horse’s big body. Through everything, horses had always been her greatest comfort. Despite this guy’s differences, he still gave her that same feeling of safety and solace.

And, in contrast to the cooling night breeze, he was so warm.

For a long moment, Laney reveled in the soft rise and fall of his body, proof that this miraculous beast existed. And that he lived.

His heat seeped into her muscles, achy from the tension she’d borne earlier. Now that she knew all her babies were safe, fatigue roared through her body and Laney couldn’t stop yawning. She should get up. Arguably, it wasn’t safe sitting here by him—are Pegasuses even friendly? The question made her head spin. Five more minutes. She just couldn’t pull herself away from something so magical. But it definitely wouldn’t be safe to fall asleep. Just a while longer. The shoulder she leaned against rose and fell, rose and fell. Just a little while longer…

…

Bone-crushing pain and soul-deep exhaustion told Chrysander Notos he was still alive.

He was adrift in a dark sea of agony, disoriented and alone. His limbs weighed a thousand pounds. Putting the full force of his wavering concentration behind the effort, he forced his eyelids open. The low light stung and he blinked and squinted.

Finally, his eyes adjusted. He scanned his surroundings—an odd red metal floor lay beneath him, and the wall before him was made of some kind of unusual fencing. Chrys couldn’t assemble the parts into a meaningful whole, and didn’t have the energy to think about it, anyway.

At least his form had stabilized. He lay as a man…wherever he was.

The tighter his grasp on consciousness, the more Chrys became aware of another sensation: luxurious warmth against his back. And as hurt as he was, he craved more of whatever was providing the life-giving heat.

Lifting his head made the world swim, forcing him to pause and breathe through the disorientation. His right shoulder protested the movement, still raw from being stabbed by the leashed lightning Eurus shouldn’t have been able to wield, but Chrys had to know what he was feeling.

Easing onto his back, Chrys found himself staring into the sleeping face of an incredibly beautiful woman. Long black hair spilled down around her shoulder, and cherry red lips set off the fairness of her skin. She lay stretched out against him, her head now resting against his bicep.

The comfort her body heat provided was so intense, her laying against him didn’t even set off his usual anxiety about being touched. As long as he controlled physical contact, he could handle it, but being touched by others was a one-way ticket to a panic attack. It was a sign of his pain and desperation that he now wanted more of this stranger touching him. His condition yearned for her warmth, demanded it.

He struggled to turn toward her, and was struck by the burning ache seizing his forearm. From where he’d blocked the— He gawked. Thick bandages now covered the wound. She’d patched him up?

The thought that she’d touched him while he was so vulnerable should’ve alarmed him, but it simply made him crave her even harder. Shaking from the effort, Chrys slowly turned until he faced her. Soft, warm exhalations hushed over the skin of his chest. He scooted closer, until her lips were but a breath away from his pecs. A length of her hair caressed his arm, thick and soft and warm.

It still wasn’t enough.

Chrys pressed his legs against hers. She let out a sigh and shifted. Chrys froze and then nearly groaned as she burrowed against him, her forehead tight against his chest and her legs entwined with his. Her incredible body heat flowed into him and more than compensated for the dizziness sending black spots around the edges of his vision. He breathed through a rolling wave of nausea.

Thank the gods for this woman, whoever she was. Bad off as he was, he couldn’t even bother to care. He should. Gods only knew what she’d seen, but all he could think about was how her body warmed his from calves to throat. To Chrys, heat was life. And she was giving him both. A shudder of relief ran through him.

Not wanting to wake her, Chrys refrained from going as far as wrapping his arm around her like he wanted to, but he needed heat so intensely he couldn’t muster more than a passing guilt for using her this way.

His head thunked to the floor and his eyes sagged.

Naked. You’re naked, Notos. Shit. Chrys concentrated, willing material, any material—he’d take a damn toga if that’s what he could get—to materialize over his bottom half. He broke out in a cold sweat and shuddered. You know you’re in the shit when you can’t even cover your bare ass.

Fuck it. After some shut-eye and a few hours of her heat, he’d be in more shape to worry about making himself presentable.

Fatigue pressed down on him, made even the involuntary action of breathing take way too much effort. His gut soured and tossed. Closing his eyes and concentrating on her heat seemed to be the only way to combat the revolt his stomach kept threatening. He pressed his face into the woman’s hair—oranges. She smelled of sweet, juicy oranges.

Soaking in her warmth and her summery scent, Chrys succumbed to his injured exhaustion and passed out again.

…

Laney woke up sweating. The sun streamed in through the hole in the ceiling, roasting her body and drawing out a sheen of perspiration on her skin. The underneath of her hair was even damp.

It’s so hot, was her first thought.

The winged horse! was her second.

She jumped up. Only, something heavy braced around her waist. Shaking off the fog of sleep, she reached down to push herself out from the warm weight.

What the hell?

It was a…it felt like a…

Laney wrenched into a sitting position, and an arm fell into her lap. An arm that had been wrapped around her. A…human arm?

Her heart pounded blood through her ears. No, no. Time to wake up, Laney. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Scanned her vision over him until, like a puzzle, the pieces started to come together. And…

Still. Freaking. Human.

A moan of panic tore up her throat. She crab-scrabbled backward, and her hand came down on something sharp. She cried out. From somewhere else in the barn, a horse whinnied, a long, low call of concern. Laney slipped, and something sharp and metallic scraped the back of her calf.

But Laney couldn’t fight the blind panic. There was no horse. No horse! Only a man. A freaking man! Questions flooded her brain, disoriented her, ignited her panic. How? Who was he? What was happening to her? How could her senses have failed her so badly?

“What’s happening?” the man groaned. “Gods, are you okay? Hey, watch out!”

Laney’s back slammed into the stable’s grillwork. The impact rattled down her spine and set off a sickening ache in her neck and head.

Shadows shifted in front of her, but her sight was no more than a blurred, unfocused array of pinpoint images. She had to calm down.

“Are you all right?” came a deep voice from right next to her. Warmth radiated close to her leg. “Aw, Hades, you’re bleeding.”

Laney had to swallow twice before she could muster a verbal response. “Wh-who are y-you?”

“Chrys.”

“C-Chrys?” As if that explained anything. The light turned gold directly in front of her. Laney blinked and forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. “You’re a man.”

“Last time I checked,” he said, voice weak but amused.

She scoffed. Yeah, well… “Last time I checked, you were a horse, so one of us isn’t quite in their right mind.” Laney groaned. Did she really just say that out loud? She sighed, still shaking. None of this made any sense. “Forget I said that.” He didn’t respond, making the air feel hot and awkward. “Why are you in my barn?”

“I’m not sure. What’s your name?” he finally said, amusement gone from his voice.

“Laney.”

“Okay, Laney, can you stand?”

“I can, but I need you to get me out of the stall.”

“Uh, what do you—”

“I’m having trouble seeing,” she said, unwilling to reveal her disability when she didn’t know who he was or what he was doing here. She waved her uninjured hand, accidentally brushing against him. “I’m all disoriented.” Thankfully, it was less and less true. The more she calmed, the more she regained clarity in her limited vision.

“Sure,” he said in a tight voice. He grasped her good hand. “Go ahead and stand up.”

Laney nodded and allowed his strength to pull her to her feet, his hand totally encompassing hers. Her legs were like Jell-O from fright, from her injury. Metal warmed the bottom of her feet. “Do you, um, see my sneakers?”

“Uh, yeah. Got ‘em.”

Laney held her hands out, but his light touch fell on the top of her foot.

“Lift.”

“I can put my own shoes on.”

“No doubt. Lift.”

Laney obeyed, ignoring the heat of his skin against hers and the soft brush of his hair against her thigh. She fought the urge to reach out and see if it felt as silky against her hand. Silky like the horse’s wings. Let it go, Laney.

“There you are,” he said in a deep voice. The golden light moved away from her.

What the heck was that, anyway? If she was developing halos, her sight was deteriorating yet again. “Thanks.”

“Okay, uh, take about three steps to your right, and you’re out in the main hallway, but there’s a rough piece of metal you need to step over.”

Wincing at the sting of her cuts, Laney allowed Chrys to guide her.

“Step up and over,” he said. “Good. You’re clear.”

The rubber beneath her feet confirmed the truth of his words. Then the hard concrete told her when she’d returned to the central aisle. Laney swayed.

His hand gripped her shoulder. “Whoa.”

“Think I just stood up too fast. It’ll pass.”

“How hard did you hit your head?”

Distracted by the weird sensation of vertigo, Laney shrugged and braced her hand against the rail. She hissed. Holding her palm up close to her face, all she could see was red, not the specifics of her injury. Her wounds needed to be cleaned and treated, but no sense revealing just how much they hurt. She dropped her hand, ignoring the stinging, and tried to look him over.

She was used to the limitations of her low vision by now, but sometimes it was so frustrating not to be able to see more than a pinpoint of the world at a time, her brain putting the whole together like a slow computer loading the pixels of a high-resolution image. Blond hair. Longish. Angled jaw. Muscled shoulder. Bare muscled shoulder.

Laney gasped and cut her gaze away, half of her afraid of what else she might see if she continued to scan her gaze over him, and half of her dying to know.

“What?”

“You don’t have a shirt on.”

“Uh, no.”

“This is so crazy,” she whispered to herself. She cleared her throat. “Please tell me you’re not naked.”

“I’m not naked.”

Laney looked. Scanned. Jeans. She released a long breath. “Good. That’s good.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, his tone strained and raspy, like it took effort to speak.

“For what?” Adrenaline flooded through her, along with a healthy dose of fear. She wasn’t sure what scared her most. Whatever he was about to apologize for? That her impossible Pegasus didn’t exist after all? That she’d woken up with a strange and equally impossible man? That she’d apparently imagined the events of last night?

“For scaring you.”

“Well, I’d say it wasn’t your fault, but it kinda was.” Still, there was something about the well-worn regret in his voice that made her want to comfort him, touch him, know him. It was just all so crazy.

“Do you always say exactly what you mean?”

Laney frowned, confusion still making her head spin. “As opposed to saying something I don’t mean?”

“I guess when you put it that way…”

“Look, not to be rude, but who are you and what are you doing in my barn?”

He sighed. “It’s a long story.”

One she was determined to hear, given the eleventy-billion questions she had. “I’m sure I can follow along.”

“It’s not that—”

“Then what? Huh? I could use a little help reassuring myself I’m not going insane.”

She could hear his little movements against the flooring. Soft scuffs, like he was barefooted. “You’re not. It’s just that I don’t remember all of it, and what I do remember isn’t going to make any sense.” The gold light moved in front of her. “We should take care of your cuts first.”

Truth be told, her leg and palm burned like hell, but fear that her senses had let her down so magnificently vibrated panic through her veins. Her senses were her independence. Her survival. Without them, she’d lose everything. “Nice try. Talk.”

His sigh resembled more of a groan. “I got in a fight.”

Huh? “And…”

“I got my ass kicked.”

Memories from last night washed over her. The gash on the horse’s forearm. The ruined feathers on the wing. Stop it. Clearly, this man wasn’t that horse. Still, the fact remained that there was a hole in her ceiling, and he was here. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live.”

“Do you always speak using the fewest possible words?”

There was a long pause. “Let’s clean you up. You got a sink around here?”

“Yeah, because that wasn’t an obvious change of topic at all.”

“Sink?”

“I’ll get cleaned up inside. It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, but he didn’t need to know that. Like she wasn’t vulnerable enough. Fingertips on the rail again, she took a step. Gritting her teeth, she put weight on her injured leg. Man, did that smart.

Much as she hated to admit it, Laney needed help. And that brought one person to mind. Seth. He was going to flip his shit when he saw she’d been hurt. She went for her phone in her pocket— Empty. Damnit! She must’ve dropped it in the stall.

Just keep moving, Laney. There was a landline at the end of the barn she could use.

She moved along the railing, and the cuts on the back of her calf pulled with every step. Chrys’s soft treads followed just behind her, like he was prepared to catch her should her legs give out. The hair on the back of her neck raised. Who the hell was this guy and what did he want?

And why didn’t she feel as fearful as she thought she should? Being blind, hurt, and alone with a strange man didn’t exactly put her in a position of power.

A man who was a horse.

Laney groaned and paused next to an occupied stall, her breathing coming a little harder. “Hi, Windy,” she murmured to the colt, the horse’s presence making her feel more grounded, less alone. Gathering her resolve, she continued on to Sappho’s, where she had to rest again. The mare pressed her muzzle into Laney’s uninjured hand and nickered. “Nothing to worry about here, baby.” Sappho shook her head, as if disagreeing, and pushed her big, elegant nose against Laney’s side, making her stumble a step away from Chrys. She grunted at the quick movement. “Hey, what was that for?”

“I don’t think your horse likes me,” came the strange man’s low voice.

“She’s protective of me.” A noise caught her attention. In the distance, tires tore up her long stone driveway. Seth’s truck, if she wasn’t mistaken. Years of relying on them for information about her world made her ears especially sensitive. Relieved as she was that Seth had arrived, she mentally prepared for the massive freak-out likely to happen when he saw her injuries. Blowing out a shaky breath, she said, “I think the cavalry has arrived.”

Chapter Four

The barn felt suddenly still. That odd gold light shined in front of her and a warmth caressed her face, then both were gone. “Chrys?” She turned around. “Chrys?”

What the hell is happening?

“Chrys,” she said again, louder. Behind her, Sappho nickered. She was totally losing it. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. “Please answer me.” She scanned her nearly useless vision over the space. The light and the man were gone, as far as she could see and hear. She was alone.

Truly alone, this time.

The roar of the engine in Seth’s big pickup drew closer and the strange events of the past twelve hours weighed down on her.

Laney’s head spun and her injuries left her shaky. Her knees went soft, and she leaned against the front of Sappho’s stall. The horse chuffed at her like she was concerned.

Hot tears gathered and Laney looked to the ceiling to force them away. Had she imagined the whole thing? If she had… She batted away an escapee tear. If she didn’t hold it together, Seth would go all Papa Bear when he saw her.

The truck’s tires crunched over the gravel and finally came to a halt near the open barn door. His footsteps seemed to retreat, as if he was heading up to the house.

“Seth?” she said, but her voice cracked. She cleared it and called again. “Seth?”

Outside, his pace halted, then quickened into a run. “Laney?” The hard soles of his boots tore into the gravel and finally echoed off the barn’s concrete floor. “Sonofa— What happened? Are you okay?” He hovered over her.

“Seth,” she whispered, a sob suddenly lodging in her throat.

Calloused fingers cradled her injured hand. “I knew something was wrong. Damnit. Where else are you hurt?”

“The back of my leg,” she said, his familiar presence calming her. Seth had always been like the older brother she never had. No, more than that. A true friend. Someone who got her, who understood what was important to her. Someone she could rely on for anything.

He moved around her, examining her wounds. “How did this happen?”

“The barn.” Laney pointed toward the far end of the stable. “The roof. In the storm,” she managed.

“Why didn’t you call me? And why the hell did you try to walk in the debris on your own?”

“Any chance you can save the lecture for when I’m not bleeding all over the place?”

“I’m serious, Laney.”

“So am I. I had to make sure the horses were okay. I tried to call you, but the phones weren’t working and I didn’t have a cell signal. Simple as that.”

He grunted a sound that expressed his displeasure. “Think you can walk? We need to get you to the E.R.”

Laney nodded, grateful that he let it drop. For now. She knew she had a major shit fit coming her way. Holding onto him, she pushed off the railing. Her head swam.

“Okay, lean on me and let’s take it slow.”

She limped against Seth’s side as they made their way out of the barn and toward his truck. “Is the E.R really necessary? Can’t I just call my regular doc?” Last thing she wanted was a trip to the E.R. She’d spent enough of her life seeing one doctor after another.

“You’re gonna need stitches and a tetanus shot. The E.R. will be able to take care of everything.”

It was worth a shot. She sighed. “Okay.”

“Giving in that easy makes me even more worried about you.”

She elbowed him in the side. “Shut up.”

“And there’s my Laney,” he said in an almost amused voice. “Okay, two more steps then hold up a minute.” He opened the truck door. “I’ll lift you.”

Laney frowned at the idea, but in truth, she wasn’t sure she could get herself up on the seat with the cut on the back of her leg. “Just give me a boost.”

His arms came behind her back and knees. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” She wrapped her arms tight around his neck. This close, she couldn’t help but notice his crisp, outdoorsy scent. Sweet hay and warm leather. She’d recognize it anywhere. The arm under her knee pulled at the cuts. She whimpered.

“Sorry,” he said in a tight voice as he settled her on the seat.

“Not your fault,” she managed, breathing through the raw burn eating up the back of her leg.

He closed her door and hustled around to his. With her hand injured and her head such a jumbled mess, she was fighting a losing battle with her seat belt when he got in the driver’s side. “Here,” he said. He reached across and secured the belt.

“Thanks,” she whispered, hating being so helpless. Geez, she hoped she wasn’t bleeding all over his truck. Not that Seth would care.

Laney laid her head back and closed her eyes as they made their way down the long drive. What she had seen of the winged horse came immediately to her mind’s eye.

“Hang on,” Seth said.

She lifted her head. “What?”

“We gotta do some off-roading. Trees down over the driveway. Down all over the place, from the storm. Weather men are saying maybe some tornadoes touched down last night.”

Tornadoes? That was exactly what she’d wondered when she found the horse. You know, the one that wasn’t there this morning. The truck bounced as it left the gravel, jarring the thoughts away. Laney gripped the door handle and breathed through the bumpy ride. Then they were back on level ground.

“I’m gonna call Ben. Get him to come take care of the horses and see if he can get some guys to clear the drive.”

Laney nodded. Seth’s cousin had worked at Summerlyn Farm most summers while he’d been in school. The horses would be in good hands. Seth’s voice in the background, she went back to studying the golden Pegasus plastered on the inside of her eyelids.

Now, she didn’t know whether to believe her magical visitor had been real or not. Either her faculties were failing or… What? She didn’t even know.

One step at a time, Laney. Yes. Okay. That, she could do.

…

From the doorway of the barn, Chrysander watched the truck depart. He didn’t know what bothered him more—the exhaustion he felt down to his bones, the ass-kicking he’d received last night that had drained his power, the relief in the woman’s voice at the human man’s arrival, or the man’s hands all over her. And why the hell the latter two should bother him, he couldn’t say. For fuck’s sake.

And on top of it all, he was so badly drained after the latest round of ass-kicking that he had no choice but to return to the Realm of the Gods. He’d been avoiding returning as much as he could. He didn’t want the Olympians to decide the Anemoi couldn’t handle the task of bringing Eurus in, nor reveal just how dire the situation with Eurus was, lest he ruin any chance to appeal to their mercy. But given that manifesting a pair of jeans made him break out in a cold sweat, he was in need of some serious R&R of the sort he could only get in the divine realm.

Not to mention, after last night, he needed to reevaluate just how concerned he was about the Olympians’ mercy. But first things first.

He willed himself into the elements and— Shit. Nothing but a soul-deep ache. He’d been successful moments before when he’d made himself scarce. Don’t tell me that’s seriously all I got. He tried again. Success! The South Wind surrounded him. He drew it in, trying to—

Human. Again. He couldn’t hold his form. “Son of a—”

“Need a ride, sailor?”

Chrys turned. Ella. His brother Zeph’s mate. “Well, look at you materializing in the human realm,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained to her as it did to his own ears.

She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “I know, right? I’m starting to get the hang of this whole ‘goddess’ gig.”

He chuckled. Ella had lost her whole human family, died a horrible human death, and been thrust into her goddesshood without any say in the matter, yet she was always good-natured. “Apparently so, since you’re here. How’d you find me?”

“When he finally got a read on you, Livos let me know you were in trouble.” Her gaze scanned over his bandaged forearm and the grisly stab wound and burned flesh on his shoulder.

Chrys frowned. He’d specifically ordered his subordinates to shield his whereabouts and not interfere in his business with Eurus, no matter what happened. And yet the god of the Southwest Wind had opened his yap.

“Oh, drop the grumpy face. I didn’t really give him a choice in the matter.”

“Uh, not to be rude, there, Sis, but you don’t yet have the power to be pushing around any of the Anemoi. Even the lesser Anemoi.” He winked. “Except maybe my brother, who is about as whipped as they come.”

“No offense taken. But, if you think Livos wants to chance earning Zeph’s ire, you’re wrong. He works for Zephyros, too. Let’s just say I persuaded him to see the wisdom in cooperating with me rather than having to get my husband involved. Besides, you and Eurus thrashed my Bay last night, so you sorta made it my business.”

Ella had been an avid sailor in her human life, so Mars, the father of her divine bloodline, had given her the job of guardian of the Chesapeake Bay she knew so well. Chrys tugged a hand through his hair. She was going to be a full-out force of nature when she came into her powers completely. Gods help them all, then. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Happily.” She tucked her straight brown hair behind her ears. “So, how ‘bout that ride?”

“Where are we, anyway?”

“Near a little town called Princess Anne. Eastern Shore of Maryland.”

“I was trying to take the storm out over the Atlantic.”

Ella nodded, her expression suddenly serious. “Come on. We should go. You need to do anything else here?”

Chrys wasn’t sure what accounted for the change in her demeanor, but he didn’t want to push. “No. I’ll send Livos back later to do some damage control. But, about the ride—I’m worried this is going to drain you.”

“Never know if we don’t try. Besides, I’m only hauling your butt as far as my place. Livos is waiting there to take you to yours.”

“What about Z?”

“He went to see Boreas at Owen’s.”

“You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?”

She smiled and wrapped her arm around his. “No. I’m bluffing my way through most of it.”

Chrys bristled at the touch, but there was no avoiding it. You didn’t mind the other woman’s touch. The thought did nothing for his frame of mind. “Well, you’re doing a damn fine job,” he managed.

She gave him a squeeze. “Here goes nothing.”

Throwing what little power he still possessed into the effort, Chrys felt himself drawn into the elements. Hell if she wasn’t doing it.

They rose up through the air. His lack of corporeality was the greatest relief. In this state, he remained aware of the utter exhaustion, but not the agony of his injuries. Ella’s natural aura added a calmness to his elemental state, further providing solace. Laney’s farm spread out beneath them then disappeared behind the clouds. They soared on toward the Realm of the Gods, Ella quiet and determined in her focus.

Don’t drop me, he teased in the thoughts he knew she should be able to hear.

Don’t tempt me, came a reply full of amusement.

Soon, they reached the divine realm. The compound of the Supreme God of the West Wind appeared before them. She guided them toward an outdoor courtyard and Chrys pulled himself free of her power. Simply being home again gave him just enough energy to finish the job. He materialized into his human form and groaned as he touched down.

“I’ll get Livos,” she said.

He braced his hands on his knees. “It’s okay. He’ll know I’m here,” he said, forcing deep breaths to chase away the nausea being back in his body caused. “Thank you, Ella. Are you all right? Not too drained?”

“I’m fine.” She stepped toward him. Chrys straightened, but almost wished he hadn’t. She reached out and cupped his jaw. “I was worried about you. I have been, all summer. I’m the reason you’re—”

“No, you’re not,” he gritted out and resisted his natural urge to flinch away from her touch. “Don’t think that for a minute. This is all on Eurus.” He pulled her hand away from the uncomfortable touch and gave it a squeeze, then he crossed his arms.

She nodded. Something flashed behind her gaze. “He was at the bridge, wasn’t he?”

Shit. Not a conversation he really wanted to have, but if she wasn’t going to shy away from it, why should he? “Aw, Hades. Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I go there sometimes, trying to remember. Sometimes I think I can feel him there.”

“Ella—”

“Zeph won’t tell me, and everything’s so foggy.” She shrugged.

“That’s because it’s not something anyone should have to remember. But you shouldn’t go there alone again. It’s not safe.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground, but she finally nodded.

“My lord?”

Chrysander turned to find Livos, Ordinal Anemoi of the Southwest Wind, on a knee, dark blond head bowed. “Sure, now you’re all full of respect and obedience. Get up.”

Livos’s expression was serious as he returned to his full height. Anger and concern rolled off him in waves Chrys’s body couldn’t withstand in its current beat-to-hell state. “To the Acheron, my lord?”

“No.” Much as the waters of the infernal river would’ve sped his healing, his presence in the Underworld might also draw attention he’d rather not attract. The Lord of the Underworld was brother to more than one of the Olympians, after all.

Livos frowned and inhaled as if to argue.

Chrys cut off the debate with a single glance. “Home.” The heat of Aithiopia, the southernmost geography of the divine realm where he resided, would sufficiently restore him. He turned to Ella. “Thanks for the taxi service.”

She gave a small smile. “You’re welcome. But thanks aren’t necessary. I would do anything for you, for all of you.”

He nodded. Livos came alongside him, but was careful not to touch.

“Chrys?” Ella’s voice was soft, hesitant.

“Yeah?”

“Please be careful.” She hugged herself. “He’s not worth it.”

The words hit home, filling him with sadness for this god that no one valued, nor ever had. And even if he wasn’t really worth it, how did anyone get okay with making that admission, with letting go once and for all?

He met Ella’s concerned gaze and searched for a response that wouldn’t offend her. Given what Eurus did to her, he could never deny her the right to hate him. He couldn’t deny that a part of him did, too. Finally, he managed a small, tired shrug, and said, “He’s still my brother.”

Chapter Five

Boreas, the Supreme God of the North Wind and Winter, couldn’t escape the deep sense of foreboding that had weighed so heavily on his shoulders all summer. From the moment he’d found his brother Zephyros cradling Ella’s human corpse last March, he’d known—no matter how he turned the problem of the feud between the Anemoi brothers over in his mind, not all of them came out alive. And that was before the Olympians had handed down Eurus’s death sentence.

This whole situation would only get worse before it got better. That was half the reason he’d been spending so much time these past months at his son and daughter-in-law’s home in the human realm—over his dead body would he let the fighting breach the happiness they’d recently found together.

As if reading his thoughts, Zephyros appeared in the center of Owen and Megan’s living room wearing human street clothes.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Boreas said.

Anger and restlessness poured off his brethren from the West and ricocheted around the comfortable, welcoming space, filled with family photos and baby toys. “What are we going to do about Chrys and Eurus?” he asked, his vivid blue eyes flaring in agitation.

“Good question.”

It was exactly what he’d been mulling over. Leaning against the molding of a window, Boreas let his gaze wander outside as he pondered his answer. He squinted against the bright September sun. In the yard next door, Owen’s neighbor Tabitha Wilder knelt in the grass. Boreas watched her patiently weed the flower bed in front of her porch. No matter the season, the woman seemed to enjoy spending time out-of-doors. And while he’d rarely noticed her have company, she always appeared content, the hint of a smile on her face, as if she took joy from whatever she put her mind to doing. Not that he was keeping tabs.

He turned back to Zephyros on a sigh. “Because it is his season, Chrysander is the strongest among us right now. He has decided this is his fight, and he will not be dissuaded.” Not that Boreas was happy about it. Not at all. It had been one of the worst summers on record—devastating storms and flooding rains alternated with intense heat and suffocating humidity. It was the kind of weather that had once led humans to fear the Supreme God of the South Wind and the turbulent, crop-destroying powers he possessed.

“He may be the strongest right now, but clearly he hasn’t been able to bring Eurus to heel.”

“No.” Boreas was equally troubled by Chrys’s seeming inability to defeat their malevolent brother.

“Something’s not right, Boreas.”

“I agree,” Owen said, coming down the steps into the living room.

“Teddy asleep?” Boreas asked. He adored his one-year-old grandson, the other reason he spent so much time here.

Owen nodded, dragging a hand through his black hair. “They both are. I’ll be glad when the baby comes. This pregnancy hasn’t been nearly as easy,” he said. “Hey, Zeph.” The gods shook hands.

“Megan is strong. She will be fine.” Boreas hated to see his son’s worry, but he couldn’t have been prouder of the man, the father he’d become. Since he’d earned a reprieve from his duties as a snow god nearly two years before, Owen had proven himself made for fatherhood.

“How much longer will the Olympians wait?” Owen asked. After the near-tragedy with Ella in March, Mars had delivered the message that the Olympic gods wanted Eurus dead. Thankfully, they were willing to let the family handle it. So Aeolus, the storm god father of the Anemoi, had been forced to agree to the death sentence, but it was Chrysander who took up the task.

Zephyros shook his head. “For now, they’re allowing it to remain family business. But Mars has been full of meaningful looks that make it clear their patience won’t last forever. Honestly, I’m surprised they’ve let it go on this long.” He crossed his arms and looked between the other gods. “Now, summer ends in three weeks. Olympians aside, this needs to be over before fall starts and Eurus comes into his season.”

Boreas glanced out the window again. Tabitha was looking toward the house. The sun’s glare probably kept her from really seeing him, but he still stepped back, his heart suddenly in flight from the brief eye contact. Apparently being an ancient god didn’t save you from developing a crush on someone your heart and guilt would never let you have. “Let’s find Chrys and figure out what is going on.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Zephyros said.

“Sometimes, this demigod thing sucks.” Owen’s lips pressed into a line. As a demigod, Owen’s powers were neither as strong nor as lasting as that of the Anemoi. Elemental travel as far as the Realm of the Gods would drain him.

Boreas shook his head. “You have a family to take care of now. Let us handle this.”

His son gave a tight nod. “Talk some sense into Chrys, will ya?”

Zephyros scoffed. “Like talking to a damn brick wall.”

Owen chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t know any other Anemoi like that.”

“I never really liked you,” Zeph said with a mock glare.

“Except when I saved and protected Ella, you mean.”

The corner of his brother’s mouth quirked up. “Yeah, except then.” Smiling, he clapped Owen on the shoulder. “I’ll stay for a longer visit next time. Tell your prettier half that Ella and I say hello.”

They clasped hands and knocked shoulders. “I will. And I’m serious about Chrys. I’ve never seen such volatile summer weather, and it’s not like him to be so out of control. Something’s not right.”

The three of them traded glances, the truth of Owen’s observation pressing down on them equally. They said their good-byes and Boreas and Zephyros dematerialized. His brother’s agitation was apparent even in their elemental form, sending out tiny crackles of electricity and abrupt gusts of wind.

He’s here, Zephyros said as soon as they crossed through the invisible shield of divine energy into the Realm of the Gods. You up for this?

Chrysander’s residence in the south of the divine realm strained Boreas’s tolerance for heat, but he could handle it for short periods at a time. Yes, it must be done.

The further they traveled, the more intense the sun became. Golden light bathed everything as Aithiopia came into view. They zeroed in on Chrysander’s sprawling compound. His unique energy signature revealed he was here, but it felt…off somehow. A mere shadow of itself. Zephyros’s agitation flared.

They materialized in the lush entranceway to the compound, thick green vegetation and brilliant tropical flowers surrounding the area. The temperature pressed in on Boreas, the hot air more difficult for his lungs to draw in and out.

“Chrysander?” Zephyros called as they made their way inside. “Chrys?”

“This way.” Boreas led them down the main hallway toward the center of the compound.

“Why don’t you change? Aren’t they making it worse?”

Boreas frowned.

Zephyros gestured with a hand toward the fur robes Boreas had worn for millennia. He never even gave them a second thought anymore. “I am fine.” And, anyway, they’d always reminded him of his long-dead wife, Ori, so a part of him had continued wearing the ancient garb in remembrance of her. Now, it was as much habit as anything.

A blast of heat greeted them as they entered a long mirrored antechamber outside the ceremonial center of Chrysander’s compound. Boreas barely restrained a groan and Zephyros gave him another pointed look. But Boreas’s attention was on the two gods in traditional tunics standing watch outside the golden doors of the Hall of the South Wind.

Livos and Apheliotes, the Ordinal Anemoi of the Southwest and Southeast winds, dropped to a knee and bowed their heads.

“Rise,” Zephyros said. He nailed Livos, who also worked for him, with an expectant glare as the lesser gods resumed their position in front of the doors. “Let us pass.”

The gods exchanged glances. Livos shook his head. “It is not my wish to disobey, my lord, but he cannot be disturbed.”

“We must speak with him,” Boreas said. “It is urgent.”

“Perhaps on the morrow—”

“Damnit, Livos, I will not debate this. Step aside.” Zephyros got right in his subordinate’s face.

Boreas frowned. Livos would not put up such resistance unless… Apheliotes dropped his gaze and Boreas gave him a long look. Realization slammed into him, making it even harder to breathe. He braced his palm against Zephyros’s chest to get him to back down. “How bad is it?”

Livos cut his gaze to Boreas. For a moment, the answer was clear in the younger god’s eyes. Good gods.

A storm settled over Zephyros’s countenance and added a thick humidity to the dry heat of the chamber.

Seeing his superior’s temper about to run out, Livos spilled. “It’s bad. He only just managed to fall asleep. That is the reason I resist your demand. He must rest.”

“He’s so bad off he needs to sleep here?” Zephyros asked, pointing to the ceremonial hall. It possessed the highest heat of anywhere in Aithiopia. Livos finally nodded. “Then why the hell didn’t you take him to the Acheron?”

“He refused, my lord.”

“Damn it all to Hades.” Zephyros backed off a step and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What exactly happened?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t said.”

“What are his injuries?” Boreas asked. “Zephyros could be of service.” His was the strongest healing power of them all.

Livos shook his head. “I don’t think so. And anyway”—the god looked between the Supreme Anemoi—“Chrysander expressly said not to involve him.”

Zephyros charged forward. “Damn bull-headed—”

Livos blocked him, and Apheliotes finally engaged, stepping into the scuffle to bar the doors. “My lord, please. It is worse than you think.”

Boreas grasped his brother’s shoulder. “What do you mean, Apheliotes?”

The god hesitated, then his shoulders slumped. “It will be easier if I show you.”

…

“This is so ridiculous,” Laney grumbled.

“Not if it will help you heal,” Seth said as he lifted her down from his truck seat. “I’m going to carry you in.”

“I can manage.” Fifteen stitches later, five in her hand and ten on her calf, Laney was told to stay off her feet.

“I’m here, Laney, and I’m helping whether you like it or not.”

“Fine, but I’m going to go so crazy sitting on my butt.” And with her hand out of commission for a while, she was going to have to hunt and peck her way through the rest of the story she’d been working on. Little chance she’d meet her deadline now.

He crossed the yard and stepped onto the porch. “Yep, I know it.”

A heavy weight pressed on her shoulders. The pain, all the questions she had about what had happened last night and this morning, the loss of independence this injury created—Laney was overwhelmed and way too tired to work through it all.

Inside, her chocolate lab was right there waiting for her. Small “I missed you” whimpers greeted her and his nails clicked against the floor.

The animal’s presence immediately cheered her. “Hi, Finnster. Sorry I was gone so long.” The screen door closed behind them. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Almost four. Okay, here’s the couch,” Seth said, easing her down.

Laney gasped when she forgot about the injury on her hand and accidentally put pressure on it. Carefully, she repositioned herself until she was sitting long-ways, her legs stretched out over the cushions. “Can you grab some pillows from my bed?”

“Yep. Be right back.” Seth retreated from the rooms that formed the connecting living space of her L-shaped home. Moments later, her bedroom door squeaked open. Her hearing was so well developed she could track his movements through the house.

Finn sniffed the bandages on her right hand and whined. He set his big lug of a head on her leg. “You’re a good old man, aren’t you?” She scratched his ears with her uninjured hand. “I bet you’re a hungry man, too.” His ears perked up at her words. She smiled.

“Will you feed Finn for me?” she asked Seth as he entered the kitchen.

“Yeah. I brought two pillows. Where do you want them?”

“One under my knee, please?” The roof’s metal had sliced into the back of her calf, so she couldn’t comfortably lay her leg flat. Luckily, the cut hadn’t been too deep. Still, for the next week she had to stay off her feet and dress and redress the bandages. And it could be a month before she could ride Sappho again. The thought made her eyes sting. “The other behind my back,” she managed.

He tucked it in behind her, then crouched down beside the sofa. “How about some food? You need to eat with the pain meds.”

Laney gave her oldest friend a smile. He was her rock, her guardian angel, and her pit bull attack dog all in one. And despite her grumpiness over feeling so helpless, he deserved her gratitude. “Thank you, that would be great. Can you make grilled cheese sandwiches?”

He scoffed, but gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “An eight-year-old can make grilled cheese sandwiches.”

His mock-offended tone brightened her smile. “Well, you should be able to handle it, then.”

“I’m only letting you get away with that because you’re hurt.” He rose and stepped away.

“Right.” She sighed. “I really do thank you. For everything.” As much as she strived for independence, she couldn’t deny she depended on Seth. Every once in a while, it was a relief to lean on him. Not that she would ever say so. He’d be like a dog with a new bone with an admission like that.

“Don’t mention it. Come on, Finn. You wanna go outside?”

The dog followed Seth to the screen door. As it clicked shut, Seth started pulling what he needed out of the fridge in the kitchen that adjoined the open living room.

Minutes later, Seth settled a plate and a bottle of water in her lap. The grilled bread smelled buttery and toasty. Laney’s stomach grumbled. Between the weirdness in the barn and the hospital trip, she’d missed breakfast this morning.

“Sounds like one might not be enough,” Seth said.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Did you make one for you, too?” Leaning over her plate, she took a big bite and moaned at the warm and gooey cheese. She could already tell having only one hand was going to be a pain.

“Yeah,” he said from the chair near the foot of the couch.

“You completely rock at grilled cheese.”

He laughed. “I completely rock, period.”

Shaking her head and grinning, she devoured the rest of her sandwich. After a lifetime of shared meals, the silence was comfortable, familiar. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

“Yeah.” The air in the room shifted, felt awkward and tense. “Laney…”

She looked toward him and concentrated her narrow vision on him. The details of his face weren’t as clear at this distance. He rubbed his forehead. “What’s the matter?”

His head bowed and his shoulders slumped. “I’m just so damn sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

“You were here for me. Still are. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be sitting out in the barn.” She forced a playfulness into her words to reassure him and lighten the suddenly serious conversation.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Wait.” She knew where this conversation was going, and she couldn’t handle it right now. Not when she was flat on her back for the next few days. “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re wrong. I know I wasn’t smart in checking out the barn last night, but I’m perfectly competent at taking care of myself on a day-to-day basis. And you know it.”

Tension filled the air for a long moment, and then he sighed. “I know. I just…I really hate that you’re hurt.”

“Me, too, and I appreciate that. But of all people, I need your support in this.” With her grandfather gone, Seth was the person who knew her best in the world. His opinion mattered to her. A lot. “Besides, you’re here.”

“I am. And I promised your pop I’d watch out for you.” He sighed, and Laney swallowed around the lump that formed in her throat. Seth had been close with her grandfather, too. “Okay, I’ll drop it,” he said, though his tone wasn’t entirely convinced. He collected her plate. “Want that second sandwich?”

“Maybe later.”

“All right. I’m going to go check out the barn and see what kind of damage we’re talking about. Then I’ll look into getting a contractor out to look at it.”

“Thanks. I can help make some of those calls tomorrow.”

“Here,” he said from next to her. “Hold out your hand.” He dropped a pill into her palm. “Just concentrate on getting better. Okay?”

Laney took the painkiller without throwing a fuss about it. Her cooperation would ease his concern. She hoped.

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

She nodded and laid her head back against the pillow. Between sleeping on the floor last night and the stress of her injuries, exhaustion weighed on her like a lead blanket. When she closed her eyes, though, all she could see were two competing images—of a winged horse and a golden-haired man. With really nice shoulders. Limited as her version was, she’d apparently made note of every sculpted detail of that part of his anatomy.

Seth came back through the door. Laney startled out of whatever hazy dream-state she’d been in. She had no idea how much time might’ve passed, or if she’d really been asleep at all. Must be some good drugs.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No,” she said, her voice groggy. “What’s up?”

“Well, it’s not pretty, but the barn’s still structurally sound. Shouldn’t be too big of a job.”

“That’s good.”

“Shame about the oak tree, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Looks like lightning split it in half. That’s what came down on the roof.”

Laney frowned and fought the sensation of the room spinning. “The oak tree?”

“Didn’t you see the huge branches sticking in through the roof?”

Branches…? Her scalp prickled. “Uh, no, no, but, uh…” She struggled to swallow and fought back the words What branches? There weren’t any branches! Just like there wasn’t a winged horse. Or a golden-haired man.

What the hell was happening to her?

Chapter Six

Aw damn, so warm.

Chrysander burrowed into the soft body in front of him, arm coming tight around her waist, face pressing into miles of silky hair. His lips found her neck and then he was kissing her, tasting her, drawing her warmth inside himself.

More.

She turned over, bringing her lips in line with his. Her soft skin skated over his, and that small touch electrified him. Chrys slanted his mouth over hers, sucking and teasing her full lips. She moaned low in her throat and he pressed in, his tongue demanding entrance, his chest grazing hers. Her lips parted, and he plunged forward, exploring and invading every part of her sweet mouth. Her heat poured into him, making him ravenous for her.

Her hands came up to surround him.

He pulled back. Control. He needed control. “No. Above your head.”

Dark blue eyes on fire, she obeyed. He grasped her wrists with his hand, then brought himself atop her.

Gods. He covered her from lips to ankles, and she was soft everywhere he was hard. And so warm.

His hips settled into the cradle of her thighs and there, there she was on fire.

He willed the clothing off her body, and the wet heat of her center might’ve scorched him if he didn’t find the sensation so life-giving.

Shouting. From a distance.

Chrysander frowned. He mentally shrugged, hanging on to her heat, her body. In her. Gods, he had to get in her.

The shouting returned. Louder now. Urgent.

He looked away from the woman writhing beneath him. Where the hell was he?

He lifted himself off her. Agony tore through his shoulder…

Chrys groaned as his eyes blinked open. Fucking hell, just a dream. How he thought otherwise, he didn’t know. He never lay with a woman in that position.

He pushed upright. How long had he been asleep? And who in the name of Zeus was making all that racket?

One thing was for sure, his shoulder didn’t feel any better than it had when he laid down, which argued that he hadn’t been asleep nearly long enough. He looked down at his chest and abdomen, still a minefield of fresh purple and older, sickly yellow bruises. Examining his left arm, he found the same grizzly slash.

I’m gonna knock some fucking heads together.

He pushed off the cushioned altar. His feet hit the ground and his knees went soft. Bracing against the marble, he steadied himself and willed the vertigo away. The room spun, making the enormous floor mosaic of the compass rose seem alive.

Yeah, I’m gonna knock some heads together, all right. As soon as I’m sure I’m not gonna puke all over the place.

As he concentrated on breathing away the nausea, the voices that had awakened him became clearer. Zeph. Aw, sonofabitch. Of all the fucking gods. Z couldn’t see these wounds or he’d know, immediately, what had made them. After all, it hadn’t been that long ago that Zeph had been on the receiving end of their father’s whip of leashed lightning. Only difference was, that power was Aeolus’s to wield. Eurus had no damn business possessing such a power, and when the others found out, all Hades would break loose.

Chrys needed more time to work this mess out. But his head was too clouded by how drained he was to be able to think everything through right now. Which meant he needed to get rid of his brother.

Clothing. He had to cover these wounds. He closed his eyes and willed on a long-sleeved shirt and pair of loose work-out pants. His vision went wiggly with the effort. And hell if the light pressure of the cotton wasn’t tormenting his injuries. Every small shift of the soft fabric felt like a cheese grater against his skin.

Blowing out a long breath, Chrys summoned every bit of energy he possessed and crossed the room to the ornate, golden doors. He flung one open and glared at the melee. “What. The fuck. Does a god have to do. To get some sleep in his own. Damn. House?”

Four sets of eyes turned on him. Their freeze-frame routine might’ve been comical if the door wasn’t all that was keeping him in a standing position.

“Chrysander.” Boreas broke the silence.

He dragged his gaze to his oldest brother. Deep concern poured from the winter god’s silver eyes. Above his long beard, his face was a ruddy red. Chrys sighed and pulled the door closed behind him, cutting off the flow of superheated air from the ceremonial hall. “You shouldn’t be here, B.”

“We are concerned about you.”

“I appreciate that. I do. But I just need to rest.”

“Bullshit,” Zeph bit out, blue eyes flaring.

Chrys glared at him. “While I appreciate the erudite assessment—”

“I’m calling bullshit on this whole situation. What the hell happened last night?”

Gods, he did not have the strength to deal with the agitation rolling off Zeph right now.

When Chrys didn’t answer, his brother continued. “You know what? Aphel, what were you going to show us?”

Chrys looked to the dark-haired god of the Southeast Wind. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, like he’d been in the middle of undressing when Chrys opened the door. Aphel dropped his gaze, and Chrys frowned.

Suspicion flooded Chrys’s gut. Jesus. And the hits just kept on coming, didn’t they? “Apheliotes, get inside,” he said, in case he was right. The minor god startled but moved right away, quickly disappearing through the doors to the hall. “Livos, make yourself scarce, you dig?”

The god nodded and dematerialized, leaving Chrys and his brother in a glaring showdown.

“Start talking,” Z said.

Fine. He’d tell them enough to make them go away. “I’m drained, okay? It took everything I had to manifest the clothes I’m wearing so I didn’t have to walk out here with my bare ass flapping in the breeze.”

“What is going on, Chrysander?” Boreas asked. “Why have you dragged out this thing with Eurus?”

“It’s three fucking weeks until his season,” Zeph interjected.

Like he needed the reminder. Chrys was acutely aware of the passage of time. If Eurus came into his powers while he possessed their father’s firestone ring, he would be nearly unstoppable. But if his brothers—or worse, the Olympians—found out that Aeolus had lost the ring and not confessed it, their father—and all of them, really—was likely to be in just as much trouble.

“Dude. I’m well aware of the calendar. I’ve been trying to reason with him, to bring him in voluntarily.”

“Why the hell bother? He’s dying one way or the other. Just kill him while you’re more powerful and put a stop to this,” Z said.

If only it were that easy. “Because if he makes a good faith effort at cooperation, maybe we can get Mars to lower the sentence.”

Zeph’s face went bright red. “That’s what you’ve been doing? Trying to save him?”

Chrys held out a hand. “Think about it. No matter what, Eurus loses his position and one of his sons comes to power. Do we really want to pass this cluster fuck down to a new generation? If we kill Eurus, or if we don’t at least try to save him, all we’re doing is guaranteeing a new round of animosity between the East and the rest of us.” It was one of Chrys’s considerations, if not his main one.

“Chrysander may have a point,” Boreas said. “I had not thought of that, but it is true. Not to mention that another of his sons is now your heir, Zephyros. We must do what we can to cultivate Devlin’s and Alastor’s friendship and end this once and for all.”

Zeph tugged his hands through his hair. “Devlin’s a lost cause. Eurus’s influence on him has been too great. But either way, I’m telling you right now that the Olympians aren’t going to sit around and wait for us to make inroads with them. They’ve let the family handle this largely out of deference to Mars, but the decision is going to be taken from our hands. Then the shit’s gonna rain down on our heads, too, for not following their orders.”

“I know.” Exhausted, Chrys fell back against the door. The wounds on his back hit the hard surface and screamed agony through every cell. He grunted and closed his eyes.

“Shit. So this is why you refused the Acheron,” Z said.

Chrys nodded, breathing through the dizziness making it increasingly difficult to know which way was up. Finally, he lifted his gaze and looked from one brother to the other. “I just need some shut-eye. Twenty-four hours and I’ll get back out there.”

Boreas’s gaze narrowed. Chrys suddenly felt like maybe B could see through what Chrys wasn’t saying.

“Fine. Get your ass back to bed. And ask for some damn help next time.”

“No. I got this. You both have families to worry about now.” And Chrys was happy for them. He was. Despite his own loneliness. The string of random sex partners was fine for what it was, but didn’t leave him feeling connected to anyone.

“You are our family, too,” Boreas said. “And we are helping bring this matter to a close whether you like it or not.”

“Okay,” Chrys said. “Now get out of here before you melt all over my floor, would ya?”

Boreas grinned, winked, and disappeared.

“You, too,” he said to the remaining god.

“All right, little brother. But I haven’t forgotten how you were there for me when Aeolus dished out his punishment last spring. So know you can call on me for anything.”

Guilt at not sharing the whole story mixed with the nausea sloshing around in his gut, but all Chrys could do was nod. When Zeph finally left, he released a breath and lurched back into the hall. The heat shored him up enough to step in front of Aphel, who had dropped to a knee.

Suspecting his secret, Chrys reached down a hand to assist the other god to his feet. “Rise.”

Aphel’s eyes went wide, but he accepted the help.

“Let’s see whatever it is you were going to show them.”

“Yes, my lord.” He finished removing the shirt, dropped it to the floor, and gave Chrys his back.

“Almighty Zeus.” Layers of electrical lash marks flayed open the skin of the god’s back. “Eurus did this,” Chrys said.

The other god nodded.

“Why?”

“I discovered that he keeps Alastor imprisoned.”

“What?”

“He wishes to control him, to control the West once Alastor is installed as Supreme God. The boy is not well. I fear he is…tortured.”

Chrys’s mind struggled to keep up. “Devlin, too?”

“I don’t think so. He spends much of his time in his father’s employ.”

He needed time to process all of this. Pushing through the confusion threatening to take him to his knees, he returned to the altar and heaved himself on top. “We’re a fucking pair, aren’t we? You’ll stand watch in here. The heat will help.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Aphel rasped, dropping to a knee again.

“Aphel?” The god raised his gaze. “It’s good you told me, you dig?”

He nodded, then resumed his position kneeling before Chrys’s altar.

Chrys disappeared his clothes, giving the intense heat direct access to healing his body. Not that he’d ever be all the way healed. His body would close the wounds, but since they were inflicted by a stronger god, he had no way to heal the scars they would leave behind—whether the god that inflicted them should’ve been stronger or not.

Enough.

It was all he could do to lay there.

So he closed his eyes and prayed the gods were merciful, and that his dreams could find their way back into the arms of a certain human raven-haired beauty.

…

Those twenty-four hours stretched into seventy-two. Finally, Chrysander was restored enough to resume his search for Eurus—and fight him if he had to. He had about two and a half weeks to resolve this situation one way or the other, assuming the Olympians didn’t step in beforehand.

It wasn’t a safe assumption.

But, no matter where he searched, he couldn’t pick up a recent energy signature from Eurus. Not at the bridge. Not at Ella’s old house. Not at Owen’s place in Northern Virginia, which relieved him greatly.

Where could he—

Shit. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It would be just like Eurus.

Fear flooded Chrysander’s gut and sent him soaring through the dead of night to the woman’s farm. The woman who had tended his wounds. Who had shared her incredible warmth. Who he’d spent three solid days dreaming about until his body was convinced he knew every inch of hers.

If Eurus had gone looking for Chrys after their fight, the twelve hours he’d spent in her barn would’ve attracted him like a flare in the night.

Gods, if anything had happened to her because of him…

Under the cover of darkness, Chrys materialized into his corporeal form behind the building into which he’d crashed. Sweet-smelling, fresh-cut logs formed a long stack against the back wall. A huge stump marked the source of the wood, and a kernel of remorse shot through him—before Chrys had sought his rest, he’d sent Livos back to create a plausible reason for the damage to the structure. A felled tree had apparently been the god’s solution.

But that wasn’t the only—or the most important—thing he found. Without even entering the barn, Chrys could feel the resonance of Eurus’s energy. He’d been here. And he’d been here recently, judging by the strength of the signature. The woman was now on his brother’s radar.

And that was an exceedingly dangerous place for anyone to be. Ella was living proof of that.

Damnit it all to Hades.

Chrys made a quick sweep of the barn and the yard, his concern and his speed escalating, then circled the house. Eurus’s presence was strongest and most recent around the residence, a fact that shot rage and fear through Chrys’s veins in equal measure. Worst-case scenarios formed a macabre parade through his mind’s eye. Regret and guilt formed a bitter cocktail on his tongue, curdling his gut. Whatever tragedy he found here was his fault for leading Eurus to her door. He materialized in the living room.

The first thing he noticed was that Eurus had been inside, too.

The second was that a life force still existed within. Laney’s life force—after their night in the barn, he’d recognize it anywhere. Gods, she was still alive?

The urge to see her, to prove with his own eyes that she’d survived Eurus’s attack, surged through him. He bolted through the house, following the twin beacons of Eurus’s trail and her energy to the very last door on a long hallway.

Bracing against whatever he was about to see, Chrys pushed inside and crossed toward the bed. His steps slowed, and then relief nearly took him to his knees. The sounds of her soft, even breathing and steady heartbeat were a sweet symphony in the still quiet of the room.

Bewilderment forced him to cross to the side of her bed. She lay on her side, her dark hair sprawled in a fan on the pillow. Safe. Well. Unharmed.

Despite the fact that Eurus had very likely stood in this exact spot not that long before. The energy trail was one of the freshest he’d encountered since the night on the bridge.

Thump, thump, thump.

At his feet, an old brown dog lay curled in a ball. Good doggy. Nice doggy. Please don’t eat my leg, doggy. He whined, a sound of fear, and Chrys sank into a crouch. Petting the animal’s big head revealed he was shaking. Who in Hades knew what Eurus might’ve done to the poor guy, but no doubt it shaved off a few dog years. The animal heaved a deep breath of what sounded like relief and dropped his head on top his paws.

Even the dog was fine. Ish. Not bad for having had an encounter with his brother.

Chrys rose and studied this woman who had fascinated his dreamself these past days. Part of him was loath to even pose the question, but why in the name of Zeus and all the Olympians had Eurus left her alone? The god had been curious enough to search the property and come inside. Yet, she lived. She slept peacefully. Chrys didn’t even sense any of his brother’s trademark unluckiness upon her.

Doing no harm was so unusual for Eurus that Chrys just couldn’t fathom it. Then again, Chrys couldn’t understand most of what went on in the god’s mind anymore, and that was half the damned problem.

Thank the gods she’s okay. He’d been so sure he’d find tragedy that he couldn’t pull himself away from the miracle of her survival.

For a moment, he got stuck there at the side of her bed, torn between the need to pursue his brother and the desire to revel in a moment of her heat. To feel that just one more…

No.

Finding Eurus was the priority. But Chrys wouldn’t leave her unprotected—not after Eurus had been so close to her and acted so uncharacteristically. Livos could watch over her and apprise him if Eurus returned.

Just as he turned away, a dim glow caught his eye. He sucked in a breath. A feather lay tucked under her pillow. Well, hell. It was one of the feathers from the wing of his sacred animal.

Bang-up job concealing yourself, Chrysander.

And, what do you know, Eurus’s energy smudged the golden glow of the quill like a stain. Fuck.

He was a big enough god to admit part of him was more than a little satisfied to know she’d taken it to bed with her, but no matter his satisfaction, he couldn’t leave a part of himself here. He reached out, his fingers closing on the stiff spine.

Laney’s hand fell atop his. “Am I dreaming? Or are you really here?”

Chapter Seven

Laney couldn’t believe it. Seth had shown her enlarged pictures on her laptop of the tree damage to the barn roof. And she’d spent a whole afternoon listening to the grind of the chainsaw cutting it to pieces. With each passing day, she’d convinced herself more and more that she’d imagined the whole thing with the horse and the man. And now, in the dead of night, the same odd golden glow she remembered was all she could see.

His hand disappeared from beneath hers. The golden light receded.

“Please. Don’t go again. Talk to me. Chrys?”

Finn’s tail thumped against the floor.

He was still here. His footsteps over the carpet gave him away. And if she didn’t believe her own ears, she had Finn’s tail to bolster her certainty.

“I know you’re here. And I know I’m awake.” She eased herself into a sitting position and scanned her vision over the room. There. By the door. The light was faint, but it was that unique color. Then it disappeared altogether. No! “Chrys?” Tossing the covers back, she swung her legs off the bed. She cried out, forgetting in her impatience to move more carefully. The cut on her leg was healing, but moving too fast still made her feel like her stitches might pop open.

Suddenly, the light returned. The glow came from the foot of the bed.

Laney’s heart sprinted in her chest, his reappearance shooting adrenaline through her body. She shivered.

“Are you all right?” came a deep masculine voice.

Goosebumps erupted over Laney’s skin. She remembered that voice. God, how she remembered it.

“I will be. Please stay. Please?” She didn’t know exactly what she wanted from him. All she knew was she had so many questions. And only he could answer them.

The silence stretched out. Finally, she had him here. He was really here. And she couldn’t think of what to say. She chuffed out a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

Soft movements told her he’d come closer still. The glow brightened. “Why are you apologizing?”

“It’s just…I’ve spent a whole week dreaming about you, convincing myself I’d dreamed you up in the first place. And now I’m all tongue-tied.”

“You dreamed of me?”

The air between them heated. And now her heart pounded for a different reason. “Uh, yeah,” she whispered.

The glow got closer. “I dreamed about you, too.”

Laney’s stomach flip-flopped and nervous energy skittered down her spine. He’d dreamed about her? And, what was that scent? Careful of her leg, she leaned toward him, just a little. The scent got stronger. It was immediately familiar, but hard to describe. It was just…the smell of summer. It was the heat of the sun and the rich aliveness of nature and the warmth of the breeze that she’d always associated with summertime.

She wanted to press her nose to his skin to see if she was really smelling him.

Realizing what she was doing, she sat back, heat roaring over her face.

Fingers caressed her cheek. “Mmm, that blush is sweet, and so warm. What caused it?”

How could he see her blush in the dark? She almost asked, but then his touch disappeared, and it was all she could do to restrain a whimper at the loss. “Uh, I was just…nothing.” She shook her head. Something very strange was going on here, and she had to figure out what it was. “Will you stay for a while?”

Pause. “I can’t. I shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.” His tone was full of regret.

“Does it have to be? I’d like you to stay. And I think…” She swallowed the rest of the sentence, not wanting to push too far.

“What do you think?”

Emboldened by the soft challenge of his words, she said, “I think you’d like to stay, too.”

“Do you, now?” Toward the foot of the bed, the mattress shifted. He blew out a long, weary-sounding breath.

Had he sat down? Victory surged through her. “Thank you,” she said in a small voice.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, his tone serious.

Still, Laney smiled and a sort of giddiness rushed through her, like she was on the verge of an amazing discovery. “Okay. Since you’re here, any chance you’ll answer some questions?”

“Depends.”

“Fair enough. So, hold on. I want to get comfortable for this.”

He chuckled. The sound of it was deep and rich and sent a delicious shiver over her skin.

Slowly, Laney resituated herself until she could recline against her headboard. Trying to get a pillow under her knee made her moan in discomfort. These stitches couldn’t come out soon enough.

“Here,” he said in a low voice. His hands brushed the side of her knee as he positioned the cushion for her. She sucked in a breath, the heat of his touch lingering on her skin. “How badly are you injured?”

“Oh, uh…” The last thing she wanted was to make him feel bad. “It’s nothing that won’t heal.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but are you in pain?” His tone was suddenly intense.

It occurred to her that she should be afraid that she’d awoken to find a strange man in her bedroom, but she hadn’t once felt that particular emotion. It had been the same way that morning… “A little. It’s not as bad as it was.”

“I’m sorry for having frightened you.”

Man, she wished she could see his face, feel the contours of his skin with her hands. “Thanks. Um, which leads me back to those questions.”

“Persistent thing, aren’t you?”

She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Is that bad?”

“No. Go ahead.”

His light shifted, spread lengthwise across the bottom of her bed. “Did you just lay down?”

“Do you mind?” Now the weariness was in his voice.

Actually, she really liked the thought of it. She wished she could see the full picture of what he looked like sprawled across her bed. Maybe she should turn on the light—seeing a little of him was better than none at all. But she was half afraid of scaring him off. Instead, the image of that muscular shoulder popped into her mind’s eye. She imagined him sprawled across her bed shirtless… “No, make yourself comfortable. Here.” She tossed a pillow toward him.

“You don’t need it?”

“Nah. I have about eighty-two pillows. I’m kind of pillow crazy.” She cringed. The thought of seeing him half naked apparently gave her a case of verbal diarrhea. Awesome.

He chuckled. “I’ll remember that. So, are pillows what you wanted to talk about?”

She grimaced. “No. No, they aren’t. I want to talk about you.”

“Hmm,” he said softly, just loud enough that she heard the low sound.

“Are you okay?”

Pause. “Yes.”

She traced the edge of the small bandage wrapped around her palm and decided to just go for it. “Did you…fall through my barn roof?”

Longer pause. “Do you want the truth or the rational answer?”

There was a difference? Suddenly, the air in the room felt alive with some unnamed energy. The hair on her arms stood on end. “Truth.”

“Then, yes.”

I knew it! There was never a tree! Her scalp prickled. Laney swallowed, hard. “Okay. Okay. Um…did you fall through my roof as a man?”

His light, his body, shifted closer. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember everything that happened that night.”

A wondrous excitement skittered down her spine. “Because of the fight?”

“Yes.”

“A fight that took place…in the…” Man, she was going to sound so stupid. “In the sky?” She grimaced and awaited his laughter. It never came.

“Do you really want these answers, Laney?”

She shuddered out a long breath. She’d gone all the way down Weird Street and made a hard left onto Crazytrain Avenue. Except, something told her, as crazy as it seemed, it was also real. And if, just if, what he was telling her was real, it was also the most amazing thing she’d ever encountered. “Kant said, ‘Dare to know.’ So, yes, I want the answers.”

“You’re throwing Prussian philosophers at me now?”

She bit down on a grin, but he probably couldn’t see her reaction anyway. “Yeah, why not? I’ve always liked that motto. And…”

“What?”

She lived alone, worked from home, and didn’t have that many occasions to leave the farm, especially since she couldn’t drive anymore. Once, she’d had dreams of the world, went to college, expected to marry. Now, her life was the definition of sheltered. Chrys was the most interesting thing that had happened to her in recent memory. Maybe ever. Not that he needed to know all that.

Plus, she recalled the sadness she’d felt as she’d knelt next to the winged horse, worried that he was lost and alone and injured… Something about him reminded her of those feelings, even now.

“Well, to be honest, I want to know you.”

His golden light seemed to flare. “Rock on, then,” he said in a voice that sounded almost raspy. “And, the answer is yes.”

“Yes, as in, you fell through my barn roof after having a fight in the sky?”

“That about sums it up.”

Adrenaline flooded through her. “This is…this is…I don’t even know.”

“Maybe that’s enough questions for now.”

“Just a few more. Please? You’re the only one I can talk to about this without risking a one-way all-expenses-paid trip to the psych ward.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” Did he wear a smile to go along with the amusement in his voice?

She forced herself to focus before he ran out of patience altogether. “Okay. Who were you fighting?”

“Hmm. My brother. But that’s all I’m saying about that.”

Laney yawned, hoping she hadn’t offended him. “All right. So, uh, this next question’s a doozy.”

“Hit me.” He shifted again, and she almost went for the light, just so she could see exactly how he was laying. But for this next question, she wanted the cover of darkness.

Here goes nothing. “Are you a Pegasus?”

When she was just about sure he wouldn’t answer, he said, “As in Pegasus, the horse-god son of Poseidon and Medusa?”

Holy crap, he’s taking me seriously? At least, I think he is… “Um, honestly, I don’t know that much about mythology. I just know that the winged horse was named Pegasus.”

“Well, in mythology, not all of the winged horses were Pegasus.”

Her scalp prickled and the hair on her arms rose. “Holy crap, Chrys, what are you saying?” she whispered. When he didn’t answer right away, she pushed on. “Okay, I’ll rephrase the question. Are you a… No. Can you also be a winged horse?”

…

Chrysander lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He should really go. Chase Eurus while the trail was hot. Actually, he should never have returned in the first place. But the sound of her distress had reeled him back into her room. And then he was talking to her, touching her, making himself comfortable on her bed, soaking up her warmth and her smile and her laughter.

It all felt…so damn good.

Good like Chrys hadn’t felt in who knew how long.

Still, Eurus had to be his main focus right now. And he was getting away. Chrys groaned and tugged his hands through the wavy length of his hair.

“You don’t have to answer,” Laney said.

Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Was she actually willing to accept the idea of him as a man who could also be a horse? Over the millennia, Chrysander had found humans eager to rationalize away anything that didn’t fit their version of reality. Why would she be any different? He blew out a long breath. “It’s not your questions that bother me.” Hell, he wanted to answer them. Which meant he should really summon Livos and go.

Her movement on the bed drew his gaze. She pulled the pillow from beneath her knees, slung it to the side, and eased herself into a laying position on her stomach. “Then what does?”

Chrys heard her question but his brain scrambled. The pajama shorts she wore were tiny and made her bottom look so freaking…delectable. He could almost see himself getting up, tugging her hips to the edge of the bed, and sinking deep, deep inside.

Suddenly, the memories of his dreams blurred with reality, and he remembered the incredible scorching heat of her center. He knew it’d only been a dream. He knew it. But the hardness and the tightness of his body made it clear a part of him thought the memory real.

Or at least willing to find out how reality compared to the dream.

Almighty Zeus.

But then his gaze dragged downward, to the length of bandages covering the back of her calf.

She was hurt, and it was his fault.

“Can I have my feather back?” she whispered.

“Your feather?”

She smiled, and it was so genuine. “My feather.”

Her feather? The idea that she claimed a part of him as hers skittered over his skin, arousing and frightening. The combination of reactions fascinated him. “You have a very nice smile, Laney.”

And, bingo. That lovely blush colored the apple of her cheek again. He could feel the heat of it from where he lay, which suddenly felt too far away.

“How do you know I’m smiling?”

“My eyesight is strong.”

“Hmm.” The skepticism in that soft murmuring made him grin. He couldn’t believe how well she was handling what he’d so far revealed. Was it her open-mindedness that most intrigued him? Her acceptance of his truths? Maybe it was that she’d helped him at his weakest moment?

Or, was it that hers was the first skin-on-skin touch he’d enjoyed in…he couldn’t even say how long?

Chrys dug into his pocket and retrieved the object in question. Slowly, he rolled toward her, coming to settle in the middle of the bed. Her eyes went wide and he wondered how she saw him so well. She’d never once suggested the lights, yet she seemed to track his movements like she could see him plainly. That he could see her wasn’t surprising; his eyesight was as strong in the dark as in the day.

“Maybe I’ll make you a trade,” he said, spinning the feather by the spine.

“For what?”

“Feather for your hand,” he said, the idea unleashing an urgent need in his gut. “Your injured hand.”

“Why?”

“Dare to know, right?”

Slowly, she extended her arm across the space between them.

Strictly speaking, what he was about to do violated the rules about the use of divine magic in the human realm. He’d seen firsthand the punishment his father meted out for such an infraction. Then again, Chrys hadn’t been able to find his father in a few months. And, given Chrys knew about the firestone, his father needed to be equally worried about what Chrys might do. Any way you sliced it, the god had far bigger things to worry about right now than one of his sons healing a human. He touched the bandage and willed it away.

Laney gasped and withdrew. “What did you…how did you…?”

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. In fact, I just want to make it better.”

When her hand crossed the mattress toward him a second time, she was trembling.

Chrys cradled the back of her hand in his palm. She was soft and small and warm. His skin tingled with the sensation. Instead of wishing to rush through so he could stop touching her, he found he wanted to touch more of her. “Just hold still, Laney.” He dragged his forefinger along the crisscrossed string that held her wound closed. With a thought, it disappeared. Laney sucked in a breath as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to the cut. There was that scent again, of warm oranges. Did all of her smell—taste—this way?

What he wouldn’t do to find out.

Calling on the heat at the center of his being, Chrys inhaled and blew gently on the cuts. After so many days in the Hall of the South Wind, Chrys’s body was strong with healing energy, something his basic nature gave him since marshaling the lush life of the summer season was part of his job. He blew his warm, healing breath until her wound closed and his cock was rock hard between his belly and the soft bedcovers. It took everything he had not to follow the healing by worshipping her skin with his lips. And tongue.

“What did you do?” she said in a low voice, like she was trying not to disturb.

“It was my fault. I just wanted to fix it.” His voice sounded raspy with need, even to himself. But it was a fucking phenomenal feeling to fix something rather than to destroy. For once.

She flexed her fingers, carefully at first, then more vigorously when she apparently realized her hand was, in fact, healed. The wonder that lit her expression and eyes was the most amazing reward. “You just healed me. I don’t…I can’t even…”

“Shh,” Chrys whispered. He reached across the narrow gap of bed separating them and brushed her hair off her face. Black silk. He could imagine wrapping it around his fist as he…

She grasped his hand. Chrys sucked in a breath at the unexpected contact. No one ever touched him like this. His regular lovers knew not to. And he prevented his random fucks from doing so, in one creative way or another. She pushed herself up a little and pulled his hand toward her mouth. Her lips pressed and lingered against the heel of his palm, nearly mimicking what he’d just done to her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The soft thrum of her pulse played against his fingers where she held him still. Chrys’s own pulse thundered in return. Without a thought, he was in motion, needing to possess, claim, take control.

He closed the gap between them, cupped her face in his hand, and kissed her. Aw, gods, her lips were soft and warm and eager. Sugared oranges on a warm summer day. Taking her wrist in his grip, he pressed her arm to her chest, gently trapping her as he leaned in further. She moaned into the kiss and opened her mouth, just a little. Unable to resist, Chrys’s tongue surged forward and found her tongue pressing and twirling and exploring right back. Almighty Zeus, she was so enthusiastic, accepting, warm.

He had to protect her. He had to keep her safe.

She twisted her shoulder to lay flatter on her upper back. Her bottom arm, now freed, slipped around his back. Grabbed tight.

Chrys gasped and reared back, his heart in his throat. Her hand fell away. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

She shook her head. “I’m not.” She looked away and her cheeks went hot.

He sat back on his knees. He hated knowing his fucking frustrating reaction had probably made her feel embarrassed and rejected. It wasn’t his intention. Not at all. Part of his body was screaming for him to dive back into her heat. But a bigger part told him to run far, far away. And he had the perfect reason to go—after Eurus. “You should go back to sleep, Laney,” he managed, cursing the raspy strain audible to his own ears. He ushered a soft, lulling breeze through the room, the kind that conjured up lazy summer afternoons in a hammock, and mentally summoned Livos.

“But I don’t want to fall asleep.” She yawned.

“You’re healing. You need your sleep.”

“But you’ll disappear again,” she said, her voice suddenly groggy.

“I’ll be here.” In one way or another. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

Livos’s energy radiated from beyond the bedroom window.

The moment Laney’s breathing settled into the slow rhythm of sleep, Chrys materialized outside. “Stay here and watch over the woman. I’m going after Eurus. Anything threatens her, anything at all, and you summon me immediately.”

Chapter Eight

Laney gasped awake. Morning light brightened her room. “Chrys?” Finn whined and his tail thumped a good morning against the carpet. “Chrys, are you still here?”

Nothing.

“You said you’d stay,” she said. “And I’m talking to an empty room. Awesome.”

Disappointment warred with disbelief in her gut. She’d dreamed him. Again. Not surprising since she’d been dreaming of him and the winged horse so much. And damn could dream-Chrys kiss… Of course, last night hadn’t been real—

She gasped and looked down at her hand. No bandage. No cut!

Tilting her palm toward the light from the window, she still couldn’t really make out the scar, but when she ran her finger across her skin, she could feel it. He’d healed her. He’d freaking healed her. A deep sense of awe swamped her until she felt nearly dizzy with all the questions flooding her mind. She simply couldn’t wrap her brain around what had happened, how it had happened, and what Chrys…was.

Because he clearly wasn’t…what? Like her. She’d put it that way, for now.

Which also meant…the kiss was real. God, it had been so intense, the surprise of it, the way he’d held her, his incredible taste. A tingle of pleasure ran through her body and she trailed her fingers over her lips. She could’ve kissed him all night long and never tired of it. And, man, no matter how crazy it was, a part of her wouldn’t have been against even more.

But then the memory of his rejection chased the feeling away. Her stomach sank. Why had he ended the kiss so abruptly?

Maybe he felt like he’d taken advantage? After all, he’d been the one to initiate the kiss, so he must’ve felt attracted to her, right?

Laney stared at the shifting patterns of light and shadow on the ceiling and sighed. It had been so damn long since she’d last been with a man. Four years. That wasn’t a dry spell—that was the freaking Sahara Desert.

It was a problem she didn’t know how to fix. She couldn’t go anywhere to meet anyone without Seth’s assistance, and Seth didn’t do much to help her attract members of the opposite sex. In fact, just the opposite. Half the time, people assumed they were a couple. But, as much as she loved him, she didn’t feel that way about Seth. Never had.

Not to mention, she was sorta hardwired to expect guys to decide she was too much to deal with. That had certainly been the case with Ryan, her last lover and boyfriend of two years, who had dumped her because he couldn’t handle her deteriorating condition. They’d met in college while she’d still possessed a large percentage of her central vision and before she’d gone totally blind in her left eye. By the end of their relationship, she’d been down to ten percent of her central vision in her left and about forty in her right. He’d always been so supportive, she never realized that he was actually freaking out. He’d seen the writing on the wall, and he hadn’t liked it.

One thought about the night he’d said he wanted to talk about their future and that old humiliation swamped her. In her secret heart, she’d been expecting a proposal. Instead, he broke up with her. It’s not you, it’s me.

At least his rejection had made moving back in with her grandfather an easy decision. And thank God she had or she never would’ve been here to share the last year of his life. She wouldn’t have traded that for anything.

But Ryan’s reaction was a damn good reason to put the brakes on her runaway libido where Chrys was concerned. If her RP turned off a far-from-perfect man, she couldn’t see why it would be any different with…whatever Chrys was.

Ugh.

Annoyed with herself, Laney eased her legs off the bed. “Some guard dog you are,” she muttered to Finn, who pushed himself up with a grunt and laid his head on her knee. She gave him what he wanted and scratched his ears for a while. “Okay, out of the way, you.” She rose and reached for her cell phone on the nightstand, but what caught her attention was a spot of yellow light.

The feather. He’d returned it to her after all. Warm pressure filled her chest. This was further proof that Chrys existed. That he’d been here. That she wasn’t losing her mind.

Smiling, she clutched it to her chest. As she held it, she inhaled the faintest hint of that incredible scent she remembered from the previous night. The feather tickled as she brought it against her nose. God, that smell is amazing. A thought came to mind and she couldn’t resist. She moved to the bottom of the bed, about where she thought Chrys had been laying, and lifted the covers to her face.

The blanket was absolutely permeated with the scent of the sun and the summertime air and the richness of growing, fragrant things. It was the scent that had surrounded her as they kissed. She would’ve bottled it if she could, she found it so appealing. And, was it just her imagination, or was this part of the blanket warmer? She rubbed it against her face and a shiver ran through her, like when he’d stroked her cheek.

I am never again washing that blanket. The thought made her chuckle. Who needs the blanket if you have the man? her mind helpfully added.

Yeah, well, she’d asked him to stay, hadn’t she?

Where the hell was he, anyway?

In the bathroom, Laney cleaned up and changed her bandages. She’d almost walked away from that job and left her hand uncovered, but at the last minute it occurred to her that she had absolutely no way to explain to Seth, should he notice, how her hand had healed so completely so fast. And he’d notice, all right. So, with a twinge of guilt over the lie, she wrapped clean gauze around her palm.

The one Chrys had apparently healed by blowing his warm, ticklish breath against her skin until she’d been hot and breathless. She couldn’t even let herself think about the idea of him using the same treatment on her leg without her pulse spiking. God, if kissing him got her this worked up, she couldn’t imagine what she’d feel if anything more ever happened.

As if.

The part of her brain shouting that she was freaking crazy, that all of this was totally nuts… Well, she boxed that up nice and tight. If being almost blind taught her anything, it was that sometimes things were more than what they seemed at first glance. A whole lot more.

“Where are you?” she asked her kitchen after she finished breakfast. Great, now she was talking to herself. But she couldn’t help it. All morning she kept expecting Chrys around every corner.

She settled in at her desk and opened her latest project—her bimonthly column for an international magazine for the blind. Each column featured a person successful in their job, who also happened to be vision impaired. Her document opened across a pair of computer monitors with huge screen magnifiers that made it possible to make out what she typed. When her vision ultimately deteriorated, she’d have to invest in some good voice recognition and screen reader software. This column was about a really interesting massage therapist…except she just couldn’t concentrate on him.

Where was Chrys?

Why had he said he’d stay if he had no intention of doing so?

Was he coming back?

One thing was certain, she’d better pull herself together before she saw Seth or he’d know right away something was up. And no way could she tell him any of this. Not if she wanted him to continue to support her independence. He’d never believe her. And why should he? Everything about the past week had been way, way outside the bounds of normal.

Focus, Laney. Right. Another couple hundred words and she’d have this thing wrapped up. She replayed part of his interview to get the quote she wanted. She’d no more started to type when a knock sounded at her front door.

Finn raised his head, sniffed, and growled.

Laney pushed out of her chair. “Now you’re going to guard the place? When someone knocks at the door instead of just appearing in my room in the middle of the night?” She hobbled down the hallway and through the kitchen, gritting her teeth the entire way. Strictly speaking, she’d been walking more than she was supposed to, and she was feeling the sting of it.

The knock sounded again.

Who the heck could it be, anyway? She rarely had visitors. And anyone who came for horse or farm-related business either met up with Seth directly or made an appointment with her.

She pulled open the front door and scanned to see who was there.

On the other side of the screen door stood an unusually tall woman. Surrounded by a deep red light.

Laney’s heart tripped into a sprint and her scalp prickled.

She didn’t know what that red glow meant, but instinct told her it was nothing good.

“Can I help you?” Laney managed, her narrow vision focused as much as she could on the woman’s drawn face. Finn pushed his body against her leg, whining and growling low in his throat.

“I hope you can,” the woman replied in an accent Laney couldn’t identify. “I am looking for Notos.”

“Who?”

Finn put himself in front of her, his agitation escalating by the moment. The woman tilted her head to the side, as if she was assessing Laney with that severe expression and stony gaze. She wore some kind of a scarf over what seemed to be unusually full hair.

“Notos. He was here. The other one, too,” she scowled.

Laney shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone by that name.” Finn backed into her, like he was trying to push her away from the door. She patted his rump. “Stop it, Finn.”

“Ah. Yes, right.” The woman narrowed her gaze. “How about the name Chrysander? Is that one more familiar?”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, and then her heart hammered against her breastbone so hard she could feel it everywhere. Chrysander. Chrys? Her gut told her that was right. Whoever this person was, she was looking for Chrys. And she didn’t bring good news, that much her instincts—and Finn’s—were making crystal clear. Laney had to get rid of her. “I don’t know anyone by those names. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

The dark red flared. “As am I.” She disappeared.

Laney gasped. She scanned her gaze over the spot where the woman had been standing. What in the freaking world was going on? Finn whined and pushed against the screen door. Trembling, she eased it open and scanned her vision over the porch on either side of the door. Empty.

Finn forced his way out and sniffed the wood where the woman had stood. He kept sneezing and shaking his head.

“Come in, Finn,” Laney whispered, her voice stolen by the fear gripping her throat. “Finn, now.”

When the dog trotted past her, she yanked the screen door closed and secured the door. She fell back against the frame and tried to calm her breathing. What had she gotten herself involved with? Better yet, what had Chrys—no, Chrysander—gotten her mixed up in?

She. Freaking. Disappeared.

As in…poof, gone, now you see me, now you don’t. Ta-da!

Trembling, Laney limped her way to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. For several long minutes, she allowed herself to think only of the rich brew. The warm smoothness going down her throat. The mix of cream and French roast. Whether it needed a bit more sugar.

Coffee, she could handle. Coffee was real.

Glowing people and sky-fighting and miraculously healing injuries? At this moment, not so much.

Mug in hand, Laney made her way to her bedroom. A monster of a headache was taking up residence behind her right eye, and a nap was sounding more and more appealing despite the fact that it wasn’t even noon. Just an hour, and then she’d get back to work.

A nap would help. She just needed a reset on this whole day.

Already imagining how good her pillow would feel, Laney took a sip of her coffee as she entered her room. A scuff of a footstep. A movement of light. She gasped and stumbled. “Who’s there?”

…

“Laney,” Chrys said, rushing to her as she slammed backward into the door. A drink sloshed all down her front. “It’s me. Are you all right?”

Gods, he left her alone for a few hours and a Fury showed up. Tisiphone, no less. If she’d meant harm, Livos might not have been strong enough to protect Laney. And where had Chrys been when the lesser god summoned him? Off losing his brother’s trail. Again.

“Shit,” she said as she steadied the mug. “Chrys? You scared me.”

He stepped in front of her and frowned. Her eyes glanced around wildly, her gaze not seeming to focus. Tisiphone’s presence had apparently done a real number on her. Sonofabitch. Next time—no, there wouldn’t be a next time. He’d just have to figure out a way to juggle finding Eurus and protecting Laney himself. Which meant he owed Zeph and Boreas some conversations pretty damn quick.

He bent down so his face was in front of hers and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “Shh, you’re okay.” His thumbs swept over her soft cheekbones. Gods, she was beautiful. He stared into the dark blue of her eyes, but she didn’t really seem to meet and track his. I need you to get me out of the stall. I’m having trouble seeing. He sucked in a breath. Could she…? “Laney, can you see me?”

She clenched her lids closed and heaved a shaky breath. “Sorta.” She tugged her shirt away from her chest. “It burns.”

Chrys glanced down. Angry red marred the skin showing above the V-neck of her shirt. “Damn it all to Hades. Take the shirt off. I can help you. Like last night.” Emitting and absorbing heat were powers granted by his godhood.

She stood plastered against the door, indecision and fear written all over her face. Blowing out a shaky breath, she tore the wet cotton over her head and dropped it to the floor.

Almighty Zeus, she was spectacular. Dark blue lace formed an intriguing pattern over the swells of her breasts. He dragged his gaze away from feasting on her many appealing attributes. “Trust me, okay?”

She gave a very small nod that looked like it had taken every ounce of courage.

The burn marks ran from her chest to her stomach to her feet. Chrys decided to ease her into it and knelt. He pressed his palms to the tops of her feet and beckoned the heat within to come to him. “Better?”

Shaking a bit harder now, she nodded.

“Do you want to sit down?”

“No, just do…whatever you’re doing,” she said, her teeth almost chattering from the adrenaline pumping through her system. It was so potent, he could smell it.

He rose and covered her stomach from her waist to just under the blue satin of her bra with his hand. She sucked in a breath, and he plunged onward, placing his other hand between her breasts, fingers reaching upward. The heat poured into him, life-giving and strengthening, but he took no pleasure in it. Not when it flowed from that which pained her.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?” He held his palms against her, making sure he’d absorbed all her pain away.

“No.” She bit down hard on her trembling lower lip. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, not when I caused it.”

“If you’re going to be popping in like this, maybe we should get you a bell.” She attempted a smile.

Chrys dropped his hands, and hers immediately flew to cover her chest. “Can you grab me a shirt from the chest of drawers over by the bathroom?”

He tugged his shirt over his head and held it out to her. “Here.”

She frowned and, after a moment, seemed to see his offering. “I have plenty of my own.”

He pressed it into her hand anyway, suddenly wanting to see her in it. Finally, she slipped it on. It was miles too big on her and so freaking sexy.

The moment she was covered, he summoned his brother. Zephyros, I need you. “I know, but I want to help. I’ve been a giant pain in your ass, haven’t I?”

She managed a nearly genuine grin. “Yeah, kinda. But you’re growing on me.”

“Like mold.”

“There’s a fungus among us.” She grimaced.

Chrys chuckled. “That was an…absolutely terrible joke.”

She covered her laugh with her hand and nodded. “I know. I babble when I’m nervous. It’s horrible.”

“Don’t be nervous. I don’t want to make you nervous.” What did he want to make her feel?

“You just healed me. Again. And you’re half naked now.”

Heat stirred within him. “Does that bother you?”

“It doesn’t bother me, exactly. But maybe we should keep our clothes on until we get to know each other a little better.”

“Annoyingly reasonable,” he said with a smile. He materialized a new shirt. “Better?”

He studied her eyes as they worked over him. He knew the exact moment she absorbed the fact he’d produced a new shirt by the way her eyebrows flew up into her hairline. “Oh, boy. I think I better sit down now.” She pushed off the door and made for the bed.

Her limp wasn’t as pronounced as that first day in the barn, but oh, how he wanted to heal her leg, too. Soon. If she’d let him.

In the meantime, he resisted the urge to scoop her up and carry her the rest of the way. Barely.

It was an odd desire for him to have, wanting to touch someone so freely, so frequently. Moments ago, he’d had his hands all over her. And he wanted more.

Where are you, Zeph?

She leaned against the edge of the bed. “You can sit, if you want.”

“That’s okay.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Look, I know you have a lot of questions about me, and the visitor you just had necessitates I tell you what’s going on.”

“The woman?”

“She wasn’t just a woman, Laney.”

“What do you mean?”

Zeph’s energy closed in fast. He materialized into corporeality, a scowl on his face.

Laney gasped, slid off the bed, and pressed her back against Chrys’s front. Was she just seeking his shelter? Did she think she was…protecting him?

He gripped her shoulders, both possibilities lighting him up inside. “It’s okay. He’s friendly…ish. This is my brother, Zephyros.”

“He just appeared out of thin air. Just like she did,” she said.

“What’s going on, Chrys?” Zephyros barged forward, the tone of his voice making it clear he sensed the Fury’s energy here, too.

“Laney just had a visit from Tisiphone.”

“Who?” she asked, looking between them.

“Jesus, Chrys. What the hell is going? And why did you involve the woman?” he asked in an accusing tone.

“Hey. Give him a break, all right? It wasn’t his fault. He was hurt.” Heat radiated off Laney, soaking into his chest.

Chrys squeezed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head before he even thought to do it. She sucked in a small breath and leaned into him, the rhythm of her pulse harder, faster beneath his hands. “I’d prefer to explain it when we’re all together. I thought I could handle it on my own, but if Tisiphone’s visit means the Olympians are ready to intervene, I’m willing to admit I need help. Laney appears to be on everyone’s radar now, which is my fault. So I need to protect her until this is over.”

She pulled out of his arms. “Okay, enough. Stop talking like I’m not here. Someone explain what the hell is going on.”

“Fine. I’ll call a meeting, but we gotta do this today. Meet at Owen’s? Boreas is already there.”

“Might be better if they came here,” Chrys said, gesturing to Laney.

“Um, hello?” Laney crossed her arms, the heat of anger crawling up her face.

“If you want Owen in on this, it’ll have to be at his place. No way he’ll be willing to leave Megan and Teddy alone. And given the revolving door of visitors here, maybe you should just move her.”

“Stop it. Just stop!” Laney yelled, drawing both gods’ gazes. “First of all, talking over me is really pissing me off, especially when you’re talking about me. Second of all, I’m not going anywhere. Third of all, what visitors? And who is Tisiphone? Start talking to me. Now.”

Chapter Nine

Laney shook she was so mad. And scared. And completely bewildered by the strange woman disappearing into thin air, and Zephyros appearing out of thin air, and the healing. Again.

“I’m sorry, Laney,” Zeph said, a blue glow surrounding him. Just like the woman’s red and Chrys’s yellow. What in the world was that about? Earlier, she’d worried she was developing halos in her vision that meant it was deteriorating, but now she wasn’t so sure. “I’ll let Chrys explain it all. See you later,” he said, and then he was gone.

“Holy crap, everyone needs to stop doing that,” she said, turning to Chrys. “You said you’d tell me what was happening here. Now would be a really good time to start.”

He heaved a breath. “It pretty much boils down to this—I’m a divine being, a wind god, to be precise, and I accidentally put you in danger. And now I have to protect you.”

Whoa. Just…freaking…whoa. “Uh, wait.” She returned to the bed and pushed herself into a sitting position. No way she was standing for this conversation. “Let’s, maybe, take that apart a little bit.”

The mattress shifted, and Chrys’s glow appeared next to her on the bed. She ran her narrow gaze over him. What she could make out was…so freaking gorgeous. Vibrant green eyes. Wavy, tousled blond hair. Warm, tanned skin. She scanned downward… And muscles that out-of-thin-air shirt did little to hide. Geez. “I know how this sounds to you.”

Even if she hadn’t been able to see the concerned expression he wore, the sincerity was clear in his deep voice. “Chrys, I already know you had a fight in the sky that caused you to crash through my barn roof. And that you’re able to heal with your touch. Even though it feels surreal, I think I’m fairly well on board with the idea that you’re…different.”

“I really am a god. The Supreme God of the South Wind and Summer, one of the four Cardinal Anemoi. We control the wind and the weather and much about the seasons.”

She knotted her fingers in her lap, mind torn between fear and absolute wonder. “A god?” Fighting in the sky, healing abilities, appearing out of thin air… “Oh, my God. I mean…” She shifted toward him. “A god? You were the winged horse.”

“Yes. It’s my sacred animal form. The Anemoi, well, our godhoods allow us to shift between human, animal, and elemental.”

Holy crap! She was sitting on her bed chatting with a god. A fantastically hot, eminently powerful god. Maybe that’s why he smelled so good? She dragged her gaze over his face, wishing more than ever that she had the full capability of her sight, because she knew she’d never seen anything more amazing than him. And probably never would again.

Her gut sank. No way all those kiss-inspired thoughts were coming true, now. Why would he want her that way? She was just a woman, and not even a particularly impressive woman at that. Hell, she didn’t even have all the usual human powers, and he had super powers.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I…just that…what does this mean?”

He looked down for a moment, and his jaw-length hair fell around his face.

Laney had to restrain the desire to run her fingers through it. The memory of the soft blond hair brushing her leg when he’d put on her sneakers for her flashed through her mind. She would give anything to feel the softness against her sensitive fingers. Preferably while they were kissing. Ugh!

He lifted his gaze to hers. “I told you I’d been fighting with my brother.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a serious fight, Laney, and it’s been going on for months. Longer, really. But it’s turned into a full-blown crisis that I have been unsuccessfully trying to resolve. When I crashed through your barn roof that night, I inadvertently brought the fight to your doorstep. And him. Eurus was here, in your house—”

“And I take it that’s a bad thing?” she asked, knowing the answer, feeling it squeeze in her stomach.

“Very. And then, just now, Tisiphone was here. What did the woman want?” Worry radiated from his voice.

“She was looking for you and somebody else—I didn’t recognize the name at first because she called you Notos. I told her I didn’t know anyone by that name.” So, if she was keeping track of all this, four gods had been to her home in the past few days? “Wait. How did you know this Tisiphone person was here?”

“One of my subordinate gods was here guarding you. He summoned me immediately.”

Another god…so, make that five. And guarding her? Anger bubbled up again. She had enough of men watching over her every move, thank you very much. Seth was enough protectiveness for any woman. “Seriously? I don’t—”

“In Greek mythology, have you ever heard of the Furies? Goddesses of the Underworld?” Laney nodded. “We call them Erinyes. Either way, the one who came here is the infernal goddess of retribution. Her job is to avenge murder. She is lethal beyond imagination. That scarf she wears? Covers a head full of snakes.”

Goosebumps erupted everywhere and she shuddered. “Are you freaking kidding me? Snakes? Why would she come here?”

“Likely, she sensed my presence and her boss probably sent her to make sure my family was keeping its word to bring a murderer to justice.” Chrys reached out like he might touch her, then dropped his hand, rose, and began to pace.

Head swimming with questions, Laney stood and limped to the foot of the bed.

He paused, and for a long moment, he seemed to study her. “I’m sorry I’ve gotten you mixed up in all this. I promise I’ll make it right.”

“So, I’m in danger?”

“Yes, but I can protect you. And if we leave—”

“Chrys, I just can’t leave. My farm manager, Seth, is one of my oldest friends in the world and he’s here every day. There’s no way I could explain this to him, and it would kill him if I just up and disappeared without any explanation. Plus…” She sighed. “I haven’t been completely honest about something, either. I’m nearly blind. I have a degenerative eye disease called retinitis pigmentosa. I was diagnosed when I was seventeen. It started with the loss of my night vision, then my peripheral vision, and then the increasing narrowing of my central vision. I’m completely blind in my left eye, and I have less than twenty percent of the central vision in my right eye remaining. I can see a very limited amount of what’s directly in front of me, like looking at the world through a straw. So traveling…it’d be hard for me.”

He walked right up to her, close enough that his warmth was noticeable against her front. “Gods, Laney. I’m—”

“Sorry? Don’t be. I’m used to it by now.”

Chrys grasped her hand, infusing his strong warmth into her and helping her calm. “I am sorry, but that’s not what I was going to say. I’m…impressed. You move around with such competence. Most of the time, I’d have had no idea… Damn, that means you helped me the night it was storming without really being able to see? And, then I shifted forms on you…”

She lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “Yeah, I guess that’s right. And, thanks. It took a lot of time to learn independent mobility. I used to crash into things all the time. I’ve taken classes that taught me how to organize so I can move around safely, but I can’t drive anymore. And if I go out in public, I have to use my cane, as much to let others know I’m blind as to aid myself in avoiding obstacles. So, you see, it’s not easy for me to just pick up and go somewhere new. My life is based around order, routine, and familiarity. It doesn’t work well any other way. You can’t make me leave.”

His thumb stroked the back of her hand, and he heaved a breath. “Okay. We’ll figure it out, but I won’t make you go if you don’t want to.” Chrys came a step closer. “Last night when I was here, when we were here in your bed, it seemed like you could see me. If you’re almost blind—”

She twisted her lips. “I could. Because—I know this is going to sound crazy—but…”

“After everything I’ve told you? I doubt it.”

She gave a small laugh. “I guess that’s true. Okay. When I look at you, you seem to…glow.”

Laney chewed on her lip, waiting for Chrys to tell her how ridiculous that was. When he pulled his hand away from hers, her stomach plummeted.

“I do? What does it look like?”

She focused on his face, and the gold seemed stronger. His expression was…serious. “You seem to be surrounded in golden light. It moves with you like it’s part of you. And not just you, either. Zeph had a blue glow around him. And Snake Lady glowed red.” She clasped her hands together as relief flowed through her. “Oh, man. I just realized that if I’m seeing these glows because you’re all gods, that means my vision isn’t getting worse. I thought the glowing was halos, and…” She shook her head. “Wow. A bit of silver lining in the midst of all this craziness.”

The gold surrounding him appeared more intense, more bright. Even his eyes seemed to glow with it. He cupped her cheek in his big, warm hand, and she leaned into it. “I’m glad. Seems like something about the changes to your vision has given you an interesting ability to perceive us.”

“Well, score one for the human. I need some way to see you guys as you pop in and out of a room.” In truth, though, relief flowed so strongly through her that it helped even out some of the chaos in her mind.

Chrys chuckled, and the sound of it was sweet and sexy. She hadn’t heard him laugh often, and she enjoyed the sound of it very much. “I know you don’t want to leave for a longer period, but do you think you’d be up for a short trip?” Chrys asked. “My family is meeting to discuss what to do about this situation and I need to go. Given everything, I’d like to bring you.”

“Uh…what kind of trip?” And how in the hell would she explain taking a trip to Seth? “I’m not sure if I could get away without it raising questions. It’s not like I leave the house very often.” She gestured to her face.

“Questions from the human man,” Chrys said, an odd tone to his voice. Like he was…no. No way.

“Yes, Seth. There’s no way he wouldn’t find my getting in someone’s car and driving away suspicious.”

An odd moment of silence passed. “Er, what time does he normally leave?”

“Around five or six, depending. He’s interviewing contractors today to fix my barn roof, so I’m not sure when the last scheduled appointment is.”

“Hmm,” he said, pulling his touch away and pacing. He turned. “What if we left after he does this evening and came back tonight?”

Excitement and just a little fear set off a troop of butterflies in her stomach. Dare to know. “I think that could work.”

He returned to her. “Okay, good. Thank you. I know this is a lot coming at you all at once. You’re handling it beautifully.” His voice was soft in Laney’s ear. She found herself leaning toward him. And, God, there was that scent again.

Slowly, she raised her gaze. Chrys towered over her, and heat absolutely rolled off him. In that moment, his eyes possessed a strange intensity she didn’t understand. She only knew how her body was interpreting all of it, what she wished he would do.

“I really am sorry,” he said. “About all of this.”

Laney blinked away the haze of lust that had wrapped around her. “I know.”

“Eurus won’t get near you. On my honor.”

Right. That’s why he was here. Don’t forget it, Laney. You’re neither experienced nor tough enough to protect your heart around someone as powerful and magical as him. Her heart? What did her heart have to do with anything? Yeah, keep kidding yourself. You were attached from the moment you thought you’d found a stray Pegasus in your barn. “How exactly is that going to work?” she managed.

“I’ll stay here as much as I can, and when I can’t, I’ll have someone else stand guard.”

Stay here? It was exactly what she’d wanted, what she’d yearned for all morning after she’d awakened to an empty bed, an empty house. She thought to ask where he’d gone this morning, but his words raised a more pressing question. “But how am I going to explain you to Seth?”

He frowned. “Why do you have to say anything to him at all?”

“Because no one’s ever here just to visit me and he’ll demand to know who you are. He’s a protective pain in the ass.” You know, in a totally loveable way. But still. His head would go all Exorcist at the appearance of a strange man just hanging around her house.

“Then, we can remain elemental. Never see us.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry but that’s…creepy. I can’t see enough as it is without wondering where my invisible god-protectors are. And how will I be able to talk to you? That’s too weird. I’ll be a nervous wreck and Seth will be all over me about it.”

He made a gruff noise low in his throat. “Then we need a good reason for me to be here.”

“What the heck would that be?” An idea came to mind. “Wait. I’ve got it. Only…any chance your godly bag of tricks includes knowing how to build a roof?”

…

Chrys drove the truck up the long gravel driveway. The one demarcated on the road by a sign that read, “Summerlyn Stables, Est. 1945.”

Summerlyn. Laney’s family name was Summerlyn. He tucked that little nugget away for further exploration.

Focusing on the driveway again, Chrys had one thought: For the love of the gods, this better work.

“What’s the plan, my lord?” Livos asked from the passenger seat. After Laney had shared her idea, Chrys had summoned his subordinate to gather all the things needed to give them a shot at pulling this off.

“First step is getting Laney’s farm manager to hire me. Second step…well, that one’s gonna be a bit more interesting. Just let me do the talking. And drop the ‘my lord’ crap.”

Livos nodded. “As you wish.”

“I know you haven’t spent as much time with humans as I have, but tone down the formality or no one’s going to buy this, okay? How’s Aphel?”

“I’ll try. And Apheliotes is healed. Thanks to your generosity.”

Chrys waved away the compliment. No one deserved to be abused at his brother’s hands. Each new evidence of Eurus’s malevolence called Chrys’s hopes into question more and more. Maybe he wasn’t savable. Maybe he wasn’t redeemable. But contemplating such a thing about his own brother was a whole lot easier than accepting it in his heart, especially since he was to blame for some part of it.

And now, with the Olympians growing impatient, it was clear that all of his effort was likely for nothing. Little time remained to convince Eurus to do the right thing, assuming he was capable of being convinced. Chrys’s doubts were multiplying.

Which meant he needed Seth’s cooperation. Because Chrys had every intention of being here to ensure Laney’s safety. No matter what. If anything happened to her, because of him… His gut squeezed and Chrys gripped the steering wheel harder. Not gonna happen. Enough pain already lay at his feet.

As he rounded a curve in the driveway, Laney’s long white house came into view. Sprawled out in front of it were white-fenced paddocks where a few horses grazed. To the left sat the red barn with its peaked roof, damaged at one low end by Chrys’s fall.

Chrys parked the truck and grabbed the clipboard just as Seth emerged from the barn. He climbed down from the driver’s seat and met the human in front of vehicle.

“Hi, I’m Chrys Notos. Olympic Construction.” He extended his hand, bracing for the touch.

The man had brown hair and eyes, and the kind of brawn that came from doing manual labor. He returned the shake. “Seth Griffin. Thanks for coming out.”

Chrys frowned. For a moment, he could’ve sworn he’d felt the kind of energy only divine beings possessed. But the sensation passed so quickly, he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his anxiety over touching playing tricks on him. “Absolutely.” He dropped his hand and gestured toward Livos. “And this is Li…Len.”

“Len,” Seth said with a nod. “Well, come on in and I’ll show you what needs done.”

“Lead the way.”

Len? Livos mouthed, his eyebrows downward slashes on his forehead.

Chrys ignored the god’s ire. “Barn looks new. How old is it?”

“Little over three years old. Mr. Summerlyn had it rebuilt not too long before he died. Unfortunately, that contractor has since moved out of town.”

“Whoever it was did nice work.”

Seth nodded. “Yeah. So, in that storm the other night, a tree came through the roof over here.” He led them to the two stalls in the back left corner. “I don’t think we lost any structural integrity, but the roof obviously needs to be replaced, as well as some of the grillwork on the end stall.

Chrys stepped into the last stall and looked up at the blue sky through the enormous jagged hole above him. In his mind’s eye, Eurus plunged the lightning toward Chrys’s heart. Sizzling phantom pain slashed through his shoulder. He looked away, surveying the warped piece of metal framing out the stall. “Floor escaped any real damage,” Chrys said, completing his evaluation. In a flash, he recalled the incredible warmth Laney had shared with him while he lay there. A hot breeze blew through the space.

“Yeah, it’s the damnedest thing. We’re lucky the tree didn’t take out this whole half of the barn, big as it was.”

Chrys turned to him, ignoring Livos’s smirk. “Any special considerations you need taken into account in getting the work done?”

“Matching materials, for one. And with all the crazy storms we’ve had this summer, I’m giving priority to anyone who can get started right away.”

“Well, let me take some measurements. And I’d like to get up on the roof, too.”

Seth nodded. “Do what you need to do. Just give me a shout when you’re done.”

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Who knew how long this battle with Eurus was going to take.

Chapter Ten

Laney couldn’t stand it anymore. She’d finally finished her column, but that left her with nothing to distract her from wondering whether their plan would work. She knew Chrys was here for his “appointment” because she’d heard a truck arrive about a half hour ago. Much as she should stay off her feet, she couldn’t resist going outside for some fresh air and a little snooping.

Slowly, she made her way to the front door. As her hand gripped the doorknob, fear erupted in goose bumps all down her arms. Last time she’d opened this door, a vengeance-seeking, snake-headed creature from the Underworld had stood there. How much weirder could this whole situation get?

Don’t even ask that. Right.

She pulled the door open and stepped out onto the thankfully empty porch. Late summer heat surrounded her, and the shift from the dimness inside to the brightness outside momentarily stole her remaining vision as her eye adjusted. Counting her paces, she eased herself down onto the top step—no way she wanted to chance the walk to the barn—and then called for Seth. Finn stood watch next to her, his breath a steady pant.

“What’s the matter?” Seth’s voice came from the direction of the lean-to storage area that formed one side of the barn.

The sun’s glare made it hard to track him in the distance. “Why does something have to be the matter? I was just taking a break from the computer and thought I’d see how things were going.”

“Last contractor’s here right now. They should be wrapping up soon. I’m not sure how quickly we’ll be able to get this done, though. Contractors are always busiest this time of year, and with all these storms—”

“Seth?” a voice—Chrys’s voice—called from a distance.

“Be right back,” Seth said.

Laney sat up straighter, her ears straining to hear what they said. Who had Chrys brought with him? When their voices trailed off into the barn, she chanted an internal prayer that Chrys would win over Seth. Maybe ten minutes later, their voices emerged again.

“Come on up,” Seth said. “Let me introduce you to the owner.” Footsteps approached. “Chrys Notos, this is Laney Summerlyn. She owns the farm.”

Laney pulled herself up by the railing next to her.

“You don’t have to get— Here, let me help you,” Chrys said, grasping her other hand.

She didn’t really need the assistance, but she reveled in the opportunity to touch him again. “Thank you. I’m Laney.”

“Chrys,” he said in that deep voice she…really liked.

When the handshake went on for a moment, Seth cleared his throat. Laney dropped Chrys’s hand and met her manager’s gaze. “Chrys is with Olympic Construction, and he has a crew available to start right away,” he said.

“That would be great.” She scanned her gaze between the men. They contrasted like a yin yang symbol, Chrys with his blond waves and golden skin, and Seth with his dark hair and farmer’s tan. Seth wasn’t a small man, by any measure—he could carry her butt, for goodness sake—but Chrys was at least four inches taller, his shoulders broader.

“Based on his estimate and availability, I’d recommend going with Olympic, assuming the references are good,” Seth continued.

“I’d be happy to provide you with some,” Chrys said. A sheet of paper crinkled. “But I hope you’ll be able to decide soon, because we’ve got other customers wanting estimates. With so much work around, my crew won’t sit idle for long.”

Ooh, he’s good.

“Understood.” Seth held out his hand. The men shook. “I’ll give you a call later tonight.”

“That’ll work. Look forward to hearing from you,” Chrys said. “And, Miss Summerlyn, nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as breathy to Seth as it did to her own ears. What the heck was wrong with her, anyway? She was acting like some lovesick teenager. As Chrys’s footsteps retreated down the path, Laney forced normality into her voice. “Well, that’s good news, huh?”

“You’re all flushed. You feeling okay?”

“Sure.” She waved his concern away. In the distance, a truck engine started. Gravel crunched under its tires. “It feels nice being outside after being cooped up all week. Wish I could ride.”

“Don’t even go there. You know the doctor said—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She hated it, but she did know and she wasn’t going to do anything stupid. “So, what are you thinking?”

“I’ll make some calls and we’ll get this set up if everything checks out.”

“Okay, great.” Bracing against the railing, she hiked herself up a step.

“Damnit, Laney. You’re not supposed to do steps.” He appeared next to her.

“Done, see? I got it.”

He huffed.

“What?”

“I try to help, and I get Miss Independence. Pretty-boy contractor offers you help, and you’re all ‘thaaank youuu,’” he said in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

“I did not do that.” Did I?

He scoffed.

“What are you? Twelve? I was just being polite.” She pushed through the front door and concentrated on the sound of the retreating truck. With Chrys leaving, did he have one of his gods here watching her even now? Man, Seth would go ballistic if he knew…

“You’re doing too much walking.”

“I know. I just needed a break. I’m going a little crazy in here.” Laney took a deep breath and prepared to make nice. “Maybe I’ll try the cane again.” She settled onto the corner of the couch.

“Yeah? I think that’d be good. I can pick it up for you tomorrow.” Her fridge opened and closed. The crack and fizz of a can of soda followed. Proof of how long she’d known Seth. He always just made himself at home.

“Okay,” she said with a yawn. This day had taken more of a toll on her than she’d realized.

“I’m going to drive out to the cottage site before I head home. The builder was out again today and I want to see how things are going. Need anything before I leave?”

“Can you grab my iPhone and ear buds off my desk?” Lying here and listening to a book sounded like another plan she could get behind. Seth returned a moment later. “Thanks,” she said as she accepted the phone from him. Oh, and a soda, too. Always taking care of her.

He kissed the top of her head. “Stay off your feet tonight, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice stolen by the memory of Chrys kissing her hair before. Her body went hot at the remembered feel of his lips… “See ya,” she managed as Seth reached the door.

The silence rang loud after he closed it behind him.

“Is anybody here?” Laney whispered to the empty room, feeling like an idiot. No response. Crap, until the roof work started, maybe whoever was here to guard her would have to remain invisible. Not relishing that thought, she untangled the cord to the ear buds and heaved a breath.

Her constant lust for Chrys was going to be a problem. But, holy crap, she couldn’t help it. Not only was he hot as hell with his sexy, tousled hair and his piercing green eyes and muscled shoulders you could just imagine holding and gripping, but if men could be beautiful, he truly was. Wholly masculine and utterly sensual at the same time. Like a big cat with its stealthy feline movement that could turn lethal predator in an instant.

Unhelpfully, her mind conjured the feel of his hand holding her wrist, his tongue invading her mouth.

To be with him, just once…

Not freaking likely. Him being a god, and all. A supreme god, thank you very much.

Ugh.

Laney slipped in her ear buds and opened the audiobook application on her iPhone. She stretched her legs out, hit play, and settled back into the comfy cushions. God knew she could use a good escape right about now. And how ironic was it that her novel was more believable than her life?

…

We are running out of time, Boreas thought as he walked back and forth across the living room, Teddy in his arms. The baby was doing everything within his power to resist sleep. His mismatched eyes—one brown and one bright blue, just like Owen’s—would droop until his long, dark lashes spread out on his cheek, then pop back open again. Megan was dead on her feet, so Boreas had sent her to nap. He didn’t mind his grandfather duties one bit.

And, anyway, it gave him a chance to mull over the problem of Eurus, the Olympians, and the fraternal feud among the Anemoi.

Knock, knock, knock.

Frowning, he approached the door and looked through the spyhole. Tabitha stood on the other side, a covered bowl in her hands. She’d clipped her dark blonde curls up off her neck, but a few tendrils hung down and framed her cheeks, occasionally lifted by the late summer breeze.

She knocked again.

“Boreas?” Megan called. “Who’s there?”

Boreas stepped to the bottom of the staircase and looked up. “I’m sorry, Megan. It’s Tabitha. It looks like she’s here for a visit. I can’t really…” With his fur robes and long white hair and beard, he wouldn’t fit anybody’s definition of normal. He frowned.

“Don’t worry about it. Couldn’t fall asleep, anyway.” Holding the bannister, Megan descended the steps, her large belly leading the way. His granddaughter would be here in two months’ time and, like her older brother, she would also be half human, half divine. Megan reached the bottom and held out her arms. “I’ve got him.”

Teddy roused at the hand-off, gave his mother a big toothy smile, and clamped his little fist around a strand of Megan’s shoulder-length blond hair. Boreas regretted the loss of the little guy immediately. He shifted into the elements, but remained in the room.

Megan tugged the door open and smiled. “Hey, Tabitha. How are you? Come on in.”

The other woman returned the greeting and stepped inside. She smelled of the flowers she loved to tend and of sweetness, like sugar. Boreas guessed Tabitha was in her late thirties or early forties, judging by the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. He didn’t see them as a flaw. Not at all.

After a few moments cooing over the baby, Tabitha held up the bowl and said, “I made too much peach ice cream, and I know how much Owen loves it.”

Megan shut the door. “You are going to be his favorite person if you keep bringing ice cream over.”

“I’m glad to have someone to try out all these new flavors on. I’m like a kid in a candy store with this ice cream maker.”

Megan led her guest into the kitchen at the rear of the house. “Well, I don’t think you’re going to find a flavor Owen doesn’t like.”

“Good.” Tabitha deposited the container in the freezer. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” She settled at the kitchen table. Tabitha joined her, crossing one long, tanned leg over the other. “I’m tired, but it’s not too much longer now.”

“Why don’t you let me babysit this weekend so you and Owen can go out? Or, seriously, I’ll watch Ted overnight and you guys could do a little getaway.”

“That sounds like heaven,” Megan said as she settled Teddy into the high chair.

“It’s only going to get tougher with two, right? And I’d love to do it.”

“I’d hate to put you out, though.”

Tabitha scoffed. “You wouldn’t, at all. I’m home by six o’clock on Friday. And I can paint while the baby sleeps.”

Boreas had known she taught art at the community college, but not that she painted. He found himself wanting to ask about her work, watch her as she stood before a canvas and created something from nothing. His ancient guilt over his wife Ori’s death surfaced, closed in, lingered. But it didn’t stop him from wondering about this human woman who fascinated him a little more each time he saw her.

Maybe it is time to move on. It had been more than a millennia since Ori died.

As his thoughts played with this idea, Boreas only half listened to the rest of their conversation. But he watched the woman, her little movements, her expressive face, how she gave Megan all her attention. And he found himself wanting to give in to his interest.

Zephyros’s energy approached.

Go to the basement, Boreas instructed as he materialized in Owen’s office. Ever since the fight with Eurus had escalated last spring, Owen had done his work with WinterWatch Environmental Foundation from his home office as much as he could instead of commuting to the headquarters in downtown DC.

Zephyros appeared next to him.

Owen spun in his desk chair, the large computer monitor casting him in silhouette. “What’s up?” he asked, rising.

“Tisiphone appeared at a human woman’s house this morning looking for Chrys.”

“Why—” Boreas and Owen began at the same time.

“I don’t know the whole story, but Chrys is going to fill us in tonight. I told him to come here. And he’s bringing the woman.”

Owen tugged a hand through his black hair. “Okay. Man, I guess the Olympians are done waiting.”

Boreas nodded. “Either that or this is just Hades sending out a feeler to see if he should force their intervention.”

Zephyros nodded. “Either way, it’s time to finish this.”

Tabitha’s presence moved above him. She was leaving. Boreas’s gaze tracked to the ceiling, where he could imagine her lithe frame in those denim shorts…

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” Owen asked.

Boreas glanced to his son. “What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He grinned. “No disrespect intended, my lord.”

Just what he needed, Owen and his brothers wanting to play matchmaker. Boreas scowled and turned to Zephyros. “Should we bring Father in on the meeting?”

Zephyros frowned. “Not yet. Let’s get the whole story and go from there.”

“Very well,” Boreas said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I know a baby who needs his Grampa.” He waited until Tabitha left and the front door closed before materializing in the living room. “My apologies, Megan. I’ll take him. You go back up.”

She pressed a big kiss against Teddy’s neck, making him laugh despite his sleepiness. “Okay, munchkin. Be good for Grampa.” She tilted the boy toward Boreas, and he pulled the little lug into his arms. “And you never need to apologize.” She patted his arm, then turned for the stairs.

Perhaps he didn’t need to apologize but, given all the time he spent here, he did need to make a change. And it was time. Eons past time. “Megan?”

She paused in the middle of the staircase and smiled down at him. “Yeah?”

“After your nap, I was wondering…how are you with a pair of scissors?”

Chapter Eleven

Chrysander could only hope that the god he was about to visit would offer the help he needed.

Passing over his father’s ancestral citadel in Aeolia—yet again devoid of his energy signature—Chrys soared in over the Aegean Sea. The island of Lemnos, now a part of modern-day Greece, took shape in the distance. It was the part-time residence of Hephaestus, god of metallurgy, technology, and craftsmanship. He was the blacksmith to the gods, the maker of all of Olympus’s finest equipment and weaponry, and the father of manufacturing and industry. If anyone could help Chrys with Laney’s roof, it was Hephaestus. In fact, there was no one more overqualified to help.

Only potential snag? He was the estranged son of Zeus and Hera, Olympus’s royal and most holy couple—and signers of Eurus’s death warrant. Chrys was hoping the “estranged” part would cover his butt.

Coming in over the flat expanse of island, Chrys spotted tell-tale plumes of smoke in the distance, where the land turned rougher and more mountainous. Triumph roared through him. Hephaestus’s forge, and the smoke, confirmed he was here rather than at his more impressive palace and workshop on Olympus. He’d taken a chance coming here. Now he just hoped that luck held out.

The god’s compound wound around the base of a mountain. Chrys materialized in a traditional tunic a moderate distance from an ornate iron gate and made his approach on foot. Armored guards blocked his passage.

“I am Notos, Supreme God of the South Wind and Summer and Cardinal Anemoi. I humbly seek council with your master.”

“You are received,” the guards said in unison. They clicked heels and pivoted, creating a space through which he could pass. The gates seemingly opened automatically.

Hephaestus’s power radiated from the forge, making it clear where Chrys would find him. The workshop was a huge complex of buildings and workspaces mostly hidden behind a sprawling villa. A smith’s hammer clanked out a steady beat near the tall, pyramidal furnace stack that sat at one end. And that’s where he found Hephaestus, bent over his anvil.

Chrys took a knee and bowed his head.

Several minutes later, the hammering stopped. “Notos. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I request a favor, my lord.”

“Of course you do. Well, rise and let’s hear it, then.” His tone was gruff, but his grey eyes shone with curiosity when Chrys met his gaze.

“I need to right a wrong, and I was hoping you could spare a few of your artisans to assist me. It would be the work of no more than a few days.” Chrys explained the nature of the project.

“And why should I do this for you?” Hephaestus limped around his anvil and eased his hunched frame down onto a bench.

Chrys made sure not to stare at the god’s gnarled hands and twisted feet, for which he’d often been ridiculed and shunned. Being Zeus’s son offered him no protection in that regard. After all, Zeus had exiled him from Olympus for the very same reason. Or so it was rumored. Far as Chrys was concerned though, the dude was totally badass with a hammer, anvil, and a pair of tongs, so more power to him. “It will help me protect someone in danger. And I know there is no one more qualified to help.”

“Bah! Don’t blow smoke up my ass, Notos. Who is in danger?”

“A human. A woman. I crashed through her roof, and she braved a fierce storm to tend to me, despite the fact she cannot see.”

Hephaestus’s head tilted. “She’s blind?” He stroked his dark beard.

“Nearly so, yes,” he said, hope flaring. Hook, line, and—

“Hmph.” Hephaestus rose, a movement that took obvious effort, and retrieved his hammer. Spinning it in his hand, he said, “And what does all this have to do with the death sentence on your eastern brother’s head I’ve been hearing about?”

Tread carefully. “Nothing and everything,” he hedged.

The god chuckled. “Oh, this is juicy, isn’t it?” He picked up a poker, one end a scorching red, and hobbled toward Chrys. “The Anemoi golden boy. Isn’t that what they say? His father’s perfect son. Perfect face. Perfect body. Has his pick of the women. And the men.” He tilted the business end of the poker close.

Chrys didn’t flinch. At this point, what was one more scar? He grabbed the neck of his tunic and wrenched it apart. “I was far from perfect even before all this,” he said of the multitude of marks carved into his skin. “But to make the point.”

Hephaestus’s gaze scanned over the remnants of Chrys’s injuries. The one above his right pec, where he’d been skewered by the lightning, remained an angry red, the skin a twisted, ruined landscape.

The god plunged the poker into a barrel of water, setting off a sharp hiss as the red-hot end submerged.

He turned away, his steps slow and halting as he returned to his anvil. He dropped the hammer on top and continued toward the back wall, where tools of every manner hung in a long row. “I can give you two men for three days. And whatever materials you need, they will supply.” Chrys resisted a fist pump. From his pocket, Hephaestus produced a ring of keys. After a moment of searching, he opened a drawer on a hidden cabinet.

“Thank you. That’s incredibly generous.”

He selected an item and slammed the drawer. “Yes, it is. But this is even more so.”

Chrys traversed the distance between them, wanting to save him the trouble of crossing the workshop again. “My lord?”

From his large fist, he released a small object bound on a leather cord. A charm? “For your blind human,” he said. He spun the larger object in his hand, then offered it, handle out. Chrys wrapped his hand around the fine grip. A dagger. The blade was fierce and gleamed in the firelight of the forge. “For you, to protect against whoever has done this to you.” He gestured to Chrys’s still bare chest. “These should even the odds a bit. The pieces are made of infernal iron, excavated from the pits of Tartarus by the damned.”

Stunned, and hope flaring more than it had in weeks, Chrys cut his gaze to the god.

“If it breaks the skin, this iron is poisonous to a god. A strike of the blade will incapacitate. A hit to the heart will kill. When worn against the skin, the amulet will protect the wearer and serve as a temporary ward against divine power. Use them wisely.”

…

Chrysander circled in on Laney’s farm, making sure Seth was gone before he materialized. The only life forms besides Laney’s belonged to her animals. He entered her living room and shifted into his corporeal form. His gaze immediately found Laney, asleep on the couch. Finn lay curled in a ball at her feet. He lifted his head, gave a few half-hearted tail wags, then rolled onto his side.

Her heat drew him closer.

The silky sprawl of Laney’s ebony hair, the porcelain smoothness of her skin kissed with a hint of pink on her cheeks and nose, the red rose of her lips. Absolutely beautiful. His gaze scanned down. He drank in the swell of her chest, his mind unhelpfully supplying the image of her lace-cupped breasts when he’d healed her burn. Lower, her legs stretched out, bandages surrounding her left shin. Sooner or later, he was going to heal her there, too. The desire to do so burned in his gut.

So much he couldn’t make right. This, he could.

Standing next to the couch, the urge to touch her made Chrys curl his fingers into a fist. How odd, for him. Yet… He gave in and reached out, stroked his knuckles over her cheek. She turned into his touch, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

Chrys eased onto his knees. He dragged a fingertip over her bottom lip. So soft. The scent of warm oranges drew him in. He leaned down, coming closer, closer. He pressed his lips to her forehead. Lingered.

Laney sucked in a breath, her head tilting back until her body was in a full-out stretch. “Mmm, Chrys,” she mumbled.

He pulled away and smiled. Still asleep. Could she be dreaming of him?

Her lips dropped open and her body moved sinuously against the soft cushions. She moaned quietly.

The sound wrapped itself around Chrys’s cock, had him wanting to trap her body against the couch with his.

“Laney,” he said. “Wake up.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Laney?” A strand of white hair caught his attention. Looking more closely, he realized it wasn’t hair, but a wire that led to an ear piece. He tugged it from her ear and pressed his lips in close. “Miss Summerlyn, it’s time to wake up.”

She gasped and flew half into a sitting position.

“Hey, hey.” He chuckled. “It’s me.”

“Shit,” she said, pressing her hand against her chest. “You suck. Stop doing that.” She flopped back against the pillow and tossed a hand over her head. “What time is it?”

“About six.”

“I was having the strangest dream.”

“Strange, huh? You said my name.”

She shook her head, as if the strands of the dream still clung tight. “I only remember this man who glowed like you and said he was giving me the gift of sight. But even after he gave it to me, I still couldn’t see.”

Chrys nodded, the dream making him wonder… “Do you wish for your sight back?” When she hesitated, he wanted to kick himself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay.” She sat up higher against the pillow and played with the hem of her shorts for a minute. “You know. I used to. When my vision first started going and I was bumping into things and getting lost in places I’d known my whole life, I definitely wished it wasn’t happening to me. When you get news like that, it’s just like going through the whole grieving process.” She shrugged. “But after a while, you adjust, because, what’s your choice? To fight something you can’t change forever?”

The words hit closer to home than Chrys ever would’ve expected. Fighting something he couldn’t change was exactly what he’d been doing. Not just this summer, but for as long as he could remember. The more he realized she’d accomplished something he’d long failed to do, the more pride in her roared through him.

“Are you always this brave?” he asked.

Her eyes went wide. “God, I don’t know. I didn’t feel brave while I was in the middle of it.”

He imagined her coming out in the storm that night to take care of a creature that had fallen through her roof. “Well, I think you are.” She fidgeted under his gaze, and he took mercy on her and changed the topic. “Still up for a trip?”

She tucked her hair behind her ears and turned toward him. “Where?”

“My nephew’s house in Fairfax.”

Both brows reached for her hairline. “Fairfax, Virginia? That’s almost three hours from here. Maybe more, depending on traffic.”

This trip wouldn’t involve cars. Or traffic. Or their physical bodies. This wasn’t a part of himself he usually shared with his human consorts, though, so he wasn’t sure how much to explain. “It won’t take that long, I promise.”

“You never know what the bridge traffic will be.” She swung her legs to the floor, her thigh brushing against the outside of his hip. “I so rarely go anywhere. And I’d like to meet your nephew. So…okay.” She twisted her fingers together. “Is he an Anemoi, too?”

“No. Owen’s a snow god. Demigod, now. He’s my oldest brother’s son.”

“Snow god. Right.” Laney shook her head. “And will your brothers be there?”

“Two of them.”

She frowned. “Not the one you fought with, though?”

“No.” The thought of her and Eurus in the same room again, especially now, was like ice crawling down his spine.

“Okay. Do I have time to shower?”

“Uh.” Bare skin. Streaming water. Hot steam. The images shot arousal hard and fast through his body. “No problem.”

She tilted her head. “You sure?”

His erection strained against his jeans and demanded he volunteer to wash her back. “Yeah.”

“‘Kay.” She stood and crossed the room. Finn jumped down and followed her.

Chrys tugged himself up onto the couch and fell back against the cushion, which smelled of her summery scent and still held her warmth. Groaning, he adjusted himself, but his mind remained hyper-aware of the fact that, just down the hall, she was getting naked. The whine of the plumbing sounded out from the back of the house.

Now she’s naked and wet.

For fuck’s sake.

He was just on edge. Focused as he’d been all summer on the situation with Eurus, he hadn’t allowed himself the usual opportunities to release some of the heat and energy his godhood generated at the height of his season. It was part of the reason the weather had been so volatile. But next to the problem of his brother’s imminent death, dipping his wick hadn’t seemed a priority.

That’s not what these feelings for Laney are about.

Sure it is.

Really, dipshit? Then why are you so compelled to touch her all the damn time?

Chrys shoved off the couch. Great. Now the voices in his head were arguing with each other.

At loose ends and far too wound up to do anything but pace, Chrys wandered around her space. He was careful not to disturb anything—he didn’t want to move something from its careful placement. Horse figurines filled a corner cabinet in the living room. Pictures lined the big mantle. A much younger Laney with Sappho. Laney with a group of kids. Several with an older, white-haired man. None of or with people that looked to be her parents’ ages. None with men she appeared to be close to. He frowned. Except for one on the end of her and Seth sitting on top of a fence rail, arms around one another, heads tilted close.

“Hey, Chrys?” she called from her room.

He stepped to the head of the hallway. And was immediately awash in her scent, made more potent from the warmth and dampness of her skin and hair. Oh, fuck. “Yeah?”

Dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, she dropped her gaze and shifted her feet. “Do you think you could, um, help me with the bandages? I can do it, but you could do it faster.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I just figured—”

Chrys was in motion, the offer to touch, to help, to ease too much to resist. “Of course.” He stopped in front of her, and the heat rolling off her brought his cock back to life. “I have a better idea, though.”

She tilted her head back. “What’s that?”

“Let me heal you.”

“Oh, I—”

He pressed in closer, until his chest brushed up against her breasts. “Please, Laney. I want to make this better.” He slid his fingers into the sleek length of her damp hair and forced her head back even more.

The sweet scent of her arousal joined her natural perfume. “I…I—”

Suddenly, Chrys needed her taste on his tongue again. Unable to resist the draw to her any longer, he claimed her mouth, devouring, searching, taking.

Laney froze, then was right there with him.

Their tongues met, dueled, twirled. He fisted his hand in her hair and guided her, deepening when he wanted, restraining her when he needed.

Her hands slid up his chest toward his neck.

Chrys gasped into the kiss, but fought the reflexive desire to pull away. Instead, he pushed her back one step, then another, until her back encountered the door. He grabbed her arms and pressed them to the surface over her head. The control flooded relief through him and fueled his arousal another notch.

“I want to touch you,” she whispered around a kiss.

His brain scrambled for a moment, and then he wedged his body in tighter, the ridge of his cock coming in snug against her belly. She unleashed a strangled moan as Chrys plundered her mouth, relished her sweet taste, bathed in her life-giving heat.

Good gods, her body was absolutely alive with her arousal. She clenched and unclenched her hands, her arm muscles flexing where he restrained her. Her abdomen writhed against his, creating a maddening friction against his erection. Her thighs shifted and squeezed.

It was only with the barest of restraint that he resisted willing her clothing away, turning her to face the wall, and tugging her hips out so he could bury himself deep.

Lost in the imagery, Chrys didn’t notice the change in her movements until she slowly dragged her injured leg up the outside of his. Her wrists pressed against his hold and a yearning moan worked up her throat. “Chrys,” she whimpered, her thigh moving higher and wrapping around.

His pulse lunged into a sprint. Damnit. He pulled back and stepped away, the phantom feeling of her flesh trapping his spiking fear through him. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his lips, regret a rock in his stomach. He could still feel her, taste her. Making sure she was steady on her feet, he dropped his hands from holding hers.

Hurt flashed through her expression, but she met his gaze. “Why do you keep apologizing after you kiss me?”

“I’m supposed to be protecting you, helping you, not, uh, taking advantage of you.”

She sighed. “Right.” She pushed off the door and grabbed its edge. “I’ll be out in a few.”

Still breathing hard, he caught the door with his hand. “Let me heal your leg.”

“And how will I explain that to Seth? Or to the doctor when I show up to get my stitches removed in a few days?”

He frowned. Damn human conventions. “Then let me help. With the bandages.” Anything to make it up to you.

She stepped clear of the door but left it open. He followed her into the bedroom, then into the bathroom in the corner.

Warm steam still hung in the air. Chrys breathed it in. Her perfume surrounded and invaded him, keeping his body ready and wanting, but at least the heat eased the turmoil roiling through his gut. He concentrated on calming his damn self down. He wanted to kick himself for hurting her feelings.

Facing the mirror, Laney gestured to the medical supplies spread out on the counter. “Everything you need is right here. Just position the long rectangular gauzes lengthwise over the cuts, tape them in place, and then we can put on the tubular bandage to cover the dressings. It’s just in a bit of an odd place for me to reach.” She braced her hands against the edge of the sink and leaned forward. Her backside pressed out toward him.

Damn it all to Hades. Chrys was immediately rock hard. She couldn’t have known what she’d done, of course, or how he’d take it, but this was the position he preferred when he fucked. He could control the act and limit his lovers’ ability to touch him. Without question, he was tempted, but he also couldn’t ignore the odd prickling of his scalp when he thought of taking her just as he had so many others.

“Chrys? Are you going to help me?”

Chapter Twelve

Laney’s heart still hadn’t settled down from the kisses up against her door. She studied Chrys’s glowing form in the bathroom mirror. Something about the reflection made his features harder to see.

“Yes, I’ll help you. Though what I want to do is heal you, but I won’t.” He walked up behind her, grabbed a couple of supplies, and sank down beside her leg.

Generous as the offer was, how would she ever explain it being totally healed? Besides, at this point, it was only a few more days til the stitches came out. She released a shaky breath. “I thought standing would be easiest. Or would you rather I—”

“This is fine,” he said, his voice gruff.

Oookay. His fingers moved against her calf, scrambling her already confused thoughts. When he’d kissed her again, he’d caught her totally off guard. But, damn, it had been an incredible kiss. Possessive, commanding, consuming. The way he towered over her. How he grabbed her hair. His restraining grip on her wrists. Never had a lover handled her that way. In hindsight, she wondered if Ryan thought her too fragile, and her only lover before him, well, they’d both been too inexperienced to do much more than insert Tab A into Slot B. She pressed her lips into a line to hold back the chuckle that threatened.

“You okay?” Chrys asked, securing another bandage in place.

“Uh, yeah.” But one thing was for sure, she’d liked the urgency and intensity of Chrys’s touch. The rough pads of his fingers smoothed tape against her skin. She bit back a moan. Actually, she liked his touch any way he gave it. Every way. And she thought maybe he felt the same way about her, too.

So why had he pulled away? Again?

She sighed, doubtful that staring at the ugly marks down the back of her leg heightened her sex appeal in his eyes. Between her puckered wounds and the twists of black stitches, she was totally channeling Frankenstein. Awesome.

The thought about Frankenstein gave her the oddest sense of déjà vu. For less than an instant, her mind conjured the image of a deformed man, but then it was gone, and she couldn’t bring the picture back into focus.

“Almost done,” he said in a low voice. “How much does this still hurt?”

The question yanked her from her dazed thoughts. “Oh, um, not nearly as bad anymore. Unless I pull at the stitches somehow, it’s just—” She twisted to look down at him, and the rest of her words lodged in her throat. He’d glanced up at her in return, and she would’ve sworn his eyes flared with golden light, more focused and intense than the aura that usually surrounded him. “…uncomfortable. Your eyes,” she whispered.

He rose and crowded in close to her, bringing that preternatural glow nearer. “Can’t be helped. It’s literally everything I can do to not hold you down so I can heal your pain. But once I start, I don’t think I could stop exploring your body with my mouth.”

Laney’s jaw dropped open and her heart tripped into a full-out sprint. His words resurrected her earlier arousal. Her nipples pressed against the cups of her bra and her panties grew damp. “That, uh, sounds…really…good,” she managed, her brain struggling to string the sentence together. She reached out.

“Don’t.” He grabbed her wrist.

Her stomach flip-flopped at the tightness of his grip. A trickle of sweat ran down Laney’s back. Was it getting warmer in here? Or maybe it was just her body preparing to spontaneously combust. All around her, the air felt suddenly charged. The hair on her arms stood on end.

“Chrys?”

The sound of her voice seemed to startle him. He dropped her hand and stepped back. “What else do we need to do?” His gaze fell to her leg.

She forced herself to focus. “Just the tubular bandage to cover the dressings. Um.” She slipped by him to sit on the toilet lid. “Probably easiest if I sit for this.”

Tension rolled off Chrys’s body and seemed to fill the small room with male heat. Having already cut a bunch of bandages to the correct length, Laney grabbed one and slipped it over her foot.

“Here,” he said, brushing her fingers away. He slid the material up her leg, stretching it so it settled over the dressings on her calf. His knuckles grazed over her skin and she sucked in a breath. He bit out what sounded like a curse, from the tone of it, though Laney didn’t recognize the language. “That it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Good. Let’s go.” In a series of quick movements she couldn’t quite make out, he was up and out of the room.

“Maybe I should just stay here,” she called. Not that she wanted to miss out on the time with him, or meeting his family, but Chrys was clearly agitated by her.

“Come on, Laney. Please.”

She pushed herself up and limped into her bedroom, her gaze first finding his unique light and then settling on his face. “I guess I’m ready.”

For a moment he didn’t respond, and then he stepped in front of her. “I want you to have something.”

“What?” she asked, hoping he didn’t hear the breathiness of her voice. Her brain was still stuck on his mouth exploring her body.

He grabbed her palm and turned it upright. Something cool and metallic fell against her skin. She traced it with her fingers. “It’s for protection,” he said, his tone deep and solemn.

Marks had been etched into the face. “What does it say?”

“Forged in righteousness.”

Emotion welled within her. Honestly, she didn’t get the significance of the inscription, but the gesture was beautiful. “Thank you.”

“Here, let me.” He lifted the necklace and she offered him her back, pulling her hair into a handheld ponytail. His fingertips skimming the back of her neck tickled and fueled her arousal. “Done,” he rasped, his breath ghosting over her skin. She turned back to him. “To work, it needs to be worn against your bare skin. Like this.” He slipped it under her shirt and the metal fell against the skin of her chest, cool and heavy. “Against your skin, it will prevent magic being used against you. Okay?”

She nodded, his seriousness beckoning hers.

He tugged it out and laid it atop her shirt again. “But, for what we’re doing next, I need it off your skin. Which leads me to a question.”

Something about the tone of his voice was odd, hesitant. “Uh, sure.”

“Do you trust me?”

“What does that have—”

“Please. Just tell me.”

She searched his face. His eyes were absolutely blazing at her, that intense light again playing around them, seemingly coming from them. “Yes,” she said.

“I don’t have a car.”

“I know. You have a truck.”

“Wha— Oh. No. I don’t have a truck, either.”

“You drove one here yesterday. And what does this have to do with how I wear my necklace?”

He tugged his fingers through his hair and groaned. Man, how she’d die to do that. Just once. “Never mind about the truck. I need the necklace off your skin so I can do this.” His hand clasped hers.

Suddenly, the world disappeared. Laney screamed as light and color exploded all around her.

…

“Are you sure about this?” Megan asked. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Boreas crossed his arms and nodded. “Do it.”

“This is crazy.” She stepped to his side.

“Maybe. But it is also time. If I want to participate in your world, I need to look the part.” With everything going on, being at Owen and Megan’s wasn’t even a question. He wouldn’t leave them unprotected. He’d made that mistake once before. Never again. He tugged the towel tighter around his shoulders and shifted in the chair.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, taking a long lock of his hair in hand. “You can’t be mad at me if it doesn’t turn out.”

He chuckled. “Fear not.”

“Sure, easy for you to say. Here goes nothing.” She lifted the scissors and cut off a length of his hair. “Oh, my God.” Megan held the long white strand so he could see it.

“Excellent. Continue.”

She dropped the hair to the kitchen floor. Speaking no further, she worked around his head. Each cut of his hair left him feeling lighter, freer.

His thoughts turned to Ori. Orethyia. His Athenian princess. From the first time he’d seen her dancing on the banks of the Illissus, he’d wanted her. And she’d wanted him in return. They’d run away, angering her father, who spread rumors that Boreas had abducted her. Ori paid the stories no mind and insisted he not do so, either.

Years later, her death came as such a shock. At her father’s invitation, she’d returned to visit him. Boreas had wanted to accompany her, but she’d begged him to let her attend her first reunion with her father alone. She’d feared that Boreas’s presence would antagonize him. Finally, Boreas had relented.

The greatest mistake of his life.

King Erechteus had slain her for disobeying and humiliating him before his people, for honoring a god above her father. Only the fact that the king fell at Poseidon’s hand in a war not long after prevented Boreas from exacting his own revenge.

Upon the sight of his beloved’s body, her face frozen in a pale mask of death, Boreas’s hair had turned immediately and irrevocably white, a physical badge of his shock and grief.

Afterward, he cared for nothing but their children and his job as Supreme God of the North Wind and Winter. He paid no mind to his appearance. He made no effort to soothe his heart with new love, even eons after the fact. He worried not about trivial needs like happiness and companionship.

And then Owen, the son he’d adopted long, long ago, met Megan. Megan’s love had restored Owen to the world, returned his humanity, and gave him a blood family he’d never before possessed.

And their joy had thrown into stark relief everything Boreas had given up on.

But he could fix that. Now was as good a time as any. No. For Owen, Megan, and Teddy, now was the time to rejoin the living.

Not to mention, Tabitha…

He sighed. One change at a time.

“You okay?” Megan asked.

“I am fine.” Or would be.

“Beard, too?” She stepped in front of him.

He smiled. “Beard, too.”

She shook her head. “Okay. I’ll cut it short and then we’ll use the clippers.”

“Good.”

“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, tugging at a hank of hair on his cheek.

“Well, I cannot believe I’ve waited so long to have it done.”

She paused and met his gaze. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “You look so much younger already.”

“Yes?” He arched an eyebrow. “Do not cry or you will be unable to see where you are cutting.”

Dabbing her eye, she gave a watery laugh. “Okay.” She finished trimming his beard.

Boreas ran his hand over his head, his face. He smiled.

Megan traded the scissors for a pair of clippers. With slow upward strokes, she ran the clippers through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m getting this exactly even.”

“Worry not.”

“Owen is going to flip out when he sees you.”

“Yes.” Boreas grinned, imagining everyone’s reaction.

She ran her fingers through the top of his hair. “I’ll leave it longer on top. It’s a style.”

He chuckled. “If you say so.”

After a few moments, she stepped in front of him again. She made a few more passes, then lowered the clippers to her side. “Just the beard now. Do you want to—”

He stood up and rubbed his jaw. “You know what? I want a clean shave.”

“Owen has razors and shaving cream in the bathroom.”

He squeezed her arm. “Thank you, Megan.”

“Um, Boreas?”

“Yes?”

Her gaze ran over his robes. “If you’re trying to fit in, it might be time to update the clothes, too.”

He looked himself over and nodded. “Indeed.” He thought of the clothing his brothers wore and willed the change. His fur robe gave way to a pair of blue jeans and a light gray long-sleeved T-shirt.

Megan gasped. “Holy wow.”

Had he done something wrong? He looked himself over again, not seeing anything amiss. “What is it?” Was the denim supposed to be this stiff?

“You look so different.” She met his gaze. “So good.”

“Oh. Good. Well, okay, then.”

“There’s just one thing.” She smiled and pointed at his feet. “You should probably try to keep those on the floor.”

Boreas had so long ago given up on any pretense of humanity, he usually paid little attention to the conventions of the physical world. “Right.” He settled himself upon the floor, standing just as a man would. “So.” He held out his arms. “How do I look?”

Her smile was slow but bright. “Very handsome.”

Footsteps jogged up the basement stairs. “Shall we see what Owen thinks?”

She nodded, a big grin shaping her pretty face. “Hey, Owen? Can you come here a minute?”

Boreas faced the passage from the living room into the kitchen. He threw Megan a wink.

Owen came through the doorway. “What’s up, angel—” He did a double take and froze. His mismatched eyes narrowed on Boreas’s face. Shock transformed his expression a moment later. “By the gods! Boreas?”

Good humor flowed through him. Since Owen’s marriage and Teddy’s birth, it was an emotion with which he’d been becoming more and more familiar. “Ha! You did not recognize me right away.”

His mouth dropped open and he appeared to struggle for words. “What…why…?”

“With all the time I spend here, I need to fit in better with this world. And I was overdue for a change.”

Owen nodded, his gaze shifting to his wife, nearly bouncing with excitement. “Aw, angel. Did you do this?” He crossed the room and took her in his arms. She nodded against his chest. Intense satisfaction at their happiness filled Boreas’s heart. “You did good,” he whispered.

“Well, I still require a shave.”

Owen stepped in front of him. “I am glad you’re here,” he said, holding out his hand.

Boreas grasped the offered hand and pulled Owen into his arms. “As I am glad to be here, son.”

And now that his physical appearance was no longer a liability, he could play an even bigger role in guarding this precious family of his. He might’ve failed Ori, but it was a mistake he’d never make again.

Chapter Thirteen

Chrys! Chrys! Laney screamed, barraged from every angle by blinding light and color. No. Not blinding. Because she could see it. Every bit of it.

She slammed back into her body, swayed, fell into something hard and warm. What the hell just happened?

“Laney, what’s the matter? What’s happening?” Chrys’s voice, deep and strained.

She threw herself around him, emotion overwhelming her, and labored to restrain the sobs threatening to tear up her throat. It had been the better part of ten years since she’d last seen light and color so vividly, so fully, coming at her from every angle.

He spoke in that language she didn’t understand, then, finally, his arms settled around her. He pulled her in tight, one hand petting her hair in slow, soothing strokes. “Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get her breathing to even out or her heart to stop pounding. She was shaking so hard she didn’t think she’d stay on her feet if Chrys wasn’t holding her.

“Can you tell me what just happened?” he rasped against her hair.

“I…I…what did you do wh-when you took my h-hand?” she managed, her limited vision filled with his unique aura from standing up against him. The near blindness was so familiar, so much a part of her. That glimpse of sight… So unexpected, it had been as terrifying as it was awesome.

He pulled back and cupped her face in his big, warm palm. His thumb stroked her cheek, catching tears she didn’t realize had spilled. For a long moment, she felt examined. She inhaled a calming breath and leaned her face into his hand.

“Come here,” he said. He led her to the bed and tugged her down beside him. “I’m sorry. I should’ve explained it. I just…I suck at this. I never do this.”

“Do what?” she whispered, trying to focus on his face.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Goosebumps erupted on her arms as he treated her to a series of soft, affectionate touches. “Get…involved. Reveal stuff about myself.”

His words had her heart thumping for a new reason. “Involved” was a good thing, right? “Involved” meant she wasn’t the only one affected by whatever was going on between them.

He leaned his forehead against hers. Laney sucked in a breath. Something about the moment felt weighted with a significance she didn’t understand. And, was he shaking?

She debated for less than a second, then gave in to the urge she’d felt since the first time they’d met. She reached up and caressed his hair. Oh, God, it was thick and soft. Her fingers ran through the golden strands, her nails lightly scratching his scalp.

He released a halting breath and swallowed hard, light seeming to concentrate around his eyes again. “I pulled you into the elements with me. Out of the physical world and into the wind. That’s what happened when I touched you.”

For a long moment, Laney tried to absorb the meaning of his words. Into the elements? “How?” She stroked his hair harder, loving the feel of it against her sensitive fingers.

He shuddered. “It’s just part of me, part of my nature. But we don’t have to—”

“I could see,” she whispered.

He lifted his head from hers and, from the way the light shifted and focused, she knew his eyes were right in front of hers. “Are you saying you could—”

“Totally see. As in”—she shook her head, amazement and more than a little fear flowing through her—“no more blindness.”

“Almighty Zeus. Are you okay? Did it hurt?”

“No. No, it didn’t hurt. It just scared the shit out of me.” She gave a small laugh despite the way her head was spinning. “It was incredible.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.”

Laney’s heart squeezed, and her chest filled with the pressure of her competing emotions. Total wonder at the return of something she thought she’d never again have, even if for only a moment. Sadness at the thought of being reminded of exactly what she didn’t and couldn’t have. Anticipation of doing it again, seeing it again.

Screw the fear. This was a “dare to know” moment if she’d ever had one. It might hurt like hell to be plunged back into the dark again, but in the meantime, she was embracing this amazing, magical opportunity to see the world in all of its full, bright, glorious detail. “I’m ready now.” She nodded. “I want to try again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please?” she whispered. “I can do it.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Finally, he grasped her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “When we shift, just think your words. I will be able to hear you. If it’s too much, just say so, and I’ll pull us right back out. You will be totally safe.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“At first, we’ll stay right here. If you can…see, just take a moment to study your surroundings. Get grounded in your sight. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” The pressure in her chest shifted, now filled in part with intense gratitude for his compassion and thoughtfulness. His concern for her was clear in his words, his touch.

“Here we go,” he said in a low voice.

She sucked in a harsh breath as they shifted. Her soul trembled.

Talk to me, Laney.

She heard his voice, just as he’d said she would, but the return of her vision was so monumental, so overwhelming, that she couldn’t divert one iota of attention from soaking in the details of the world around her. It was just her room, but it was her room. Her bed with its molded headboard and purple comforter. Her shelf of trophies and ribbons from her high school equestrian club. The evening sunlight pouring through the sheer lavender curtains and throwing rainbow prisms off of the crystal teardrop hanging in the window. A million shapes and colors flooded her brain, bolstering her memories and restocking her imagination.

Laney?

I’m okay. I’m…better than okay. It was, perhaps, the most amazing moment of her life.

What does it look like?

Just like I remembered, only more. More colorful, more detailed, more…alive. So, now what do we do? How do we get where we need to go?

I’ll guide us. It won’t take long.

It could take forever, as far as she was concerned. All right. I’m good to go.

The next thing she knew, she was looking down on the roof of her house. She squealed.

I’ve got you.

I’m okay, I’m okay. Oh, my God. She scanned all around, and her awareness fell upon the setting sun. She gasped. Somehow, that incredible emotional pressure filled her, even in this form. The sun. I haven’t been able to really see it in years.

I’ll help you see anything you want to see.

She would’ve sworn he brushed her face. But how could that be? She looked around, to the barn and the fields beyond. Sappho!

Yes. Slowly, they moved over the house, the yard, and toward the barn. The horses were grazing in the field.

Oh! She’s even more beautiful than I’d remembered. The Friesian’s black hair normally made it difficult to see her details. But now, Laney could see the whole of just how gorgeous and majestic she was. For a long moment, she lingered.

She visited each of the other horses and committed to memory their colors and markings and mannerisms. Chrys brought her to Rolly last.

What happened to him? Chrys asked.

Someone shot him a couple weeks ago. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people do to horses. Growing up, my grandfather was involved with rescue organizations. He always said, “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.” So I kept up his work after he died. When I heard about Rolly, I couldn’t resist.

The Appaloosa shook its head and stomped.

You never cease to amaze me. Before she could answer, he spoke again, I have never liked to see something hurting. He pulled her around to the surgical wound on the horse’s lower belly. And there’s no reason this guy has to.

What do you…

The question fell away as Chrys’s presence beside her seemed to change, focus, narrow. A warm wind blew around them, from them. She gasped as, before her eyes, Rolly’s wound started to change, too.

Are you doing that? That’s amazing.

For several long moments, he didn’t answer, but the steady healing—the kind that would’ve happened over the next couple weeks—continued right before her until all that remained was a scar. The horse nickered and trotted off a few paces as if trying out his new healthfulness.

When Chrys’s voice came, it was low and soft. If I can’t heal you, I’ll heal something you love.

Emotion overwhelmed Laney. He’d healed him, healed the thing she’d always loved most in the world. Another Kant quote came to mind: “We can judge the heart of a man by how he treats animals.” And by that measure, Chrys had proven himself in spades. Thank you, she managed. I can’t believe you just did that, but thank you.

As if the gift of her sight wasn’t enough…

If Laney had been in her body, she was sure her heart would’ve grown too large for her chest.

…

Chrysander was on full-out sensory overload.

First, there’d been Laney’s desperate embrace in her bedroom. He’d forced himself not to pull away. She’d needed him, and he’d wanted to be strong enough to be there for her in any way—in every way. When was the last time someone had hugged him? He couldn’t even recall the last time someone’s hands had surrounded or held him. The normal breath-stealing panic had been there, but he’d focused on Laney, on her warmth, on the comfort she seemed to receive from his touch.

Then, she’d dragged her fingers through his hair. Electricity had shot through his nervous system, skittered down his spine, and settled into the sudden steel of his cock. He always blocked a lover’s grasp from his face or his neck or his hair. It was too intimate, too familiar. But ever since he’d curled himself around her on the barn floor and realized what she’d risked to tend to his wounds, Laney Summerlyn had slowly but surely been slipping around defenses he’d built up eons ago.

Now, her absolute wonder at the return of her sight in this form… It slayed him. He hadn’t even thought such a thing might be possible. That he could do this for her, give this to her, and that she trusted him to share this experience with her—it might’ve been the most meaningful thing Chrysander Notos had ever been a part of.

He hadn’t planned on the detour to heal her horse, but hearing her talk about rescuing horses, and thinking of what she’d done for him as he’d laid injured in his sacred animal form, he suddenly had to do something else, just for her. The incredible gratitude that flowed through their intertwined energy? It was the greatest, most unexpected reward.

We should head out to meet my family now, if you’re ready?

Yes. I think I am.

Chrys willed them up, up above the fields, but low enough that Laney could still study all over which they passed. As they chased the westward-moving sun, Chrys swooped down to race along a train, sailed just over the slow-moving waters of the Potomac River, and weaved in and among the buildings of Washington, D.C. As they flew, Laney exclaimed, laughed, gasped. He anticipated each reaction, honored that she shared them so freely. When she asked if he could take her to see this or that more closely, he couldn’t have denied her if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t. Each and every detour was for Laney’s benefit and pleasure.

Chrys would’ve gone anywhere. He wanted her to see everything. And he wanted to be at her side when she saw it.

And, gods, how the gratitude and the joy and the absolute delight poured off her. He’d never felt more touched—nor derived more comfort and satisfaction from such closeness with another being—as he did while they soared through the darkening summer sky toward his brethren’s home.

After all the pain he’d caused, after all the conflict and discord his very existence had wrought, learning he had the capacity to create something so good and so pure and so righteous threatened to remake him at the most fundamental level.

And it was all because of Laney.

As her energy twirled and twisted with his on the wind, Chrys wasn’t sure he would ever truly feel content without her warmth and courage and strength at his side.

It was a sobering thought, given who he was and the current crisis, not to mention that tolerating one hug was a helluva long way from proving able to provide the kind of emotional and physical support Laney required—no, deserved.

He took a moment to pull himself together, regret filling his gut at what he needed to tell her. We’re almost there.

All right. Isn’t it all so beautiful? I mean, I knew it was. But I just didn’t remember it quite like this.

Chrys pictured her face. Almost too beautiful for words.

He navigated them toward the neighborhood and brought them in along the cozy street of well-kept houses on which Owen and Megan lived. Knowing Laney would need a moment to collect herself when they returned to their bodies, he circled into Owen’s backyard and brought them down under the cover of an old tree with broad, sprawling branches.

You might be disoriented for a few minutes, but I’ll take care of you.

I know you will.

Four simple words. Her trust shot straight to the center of his being, opened his defenses to her a little wider.

And then they were corporeal again.

Laney sucked in a gasping breath. Her fingers dug into his biceps when she swayed. “I think I need to sit down,” she rasped.

He guided her to her knees, so they knelt facing one another. “How are you?”

“I don’t know yet.” She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes, resting her forehead in her palms.

Watching her, Chrys’s gut tightened. Worry clawed through his chest. Had it been too much?

Her shoulders shook. Intense emotion rolled off her and slammed into him. And then she launched herself at him, the movement so sudden and unexpected that Chrys lost his balance and toppled backward. She landed on his chest and crawled up his body. Kisses rained down on his neck and face. Her hands plowed into his hair.

Pinned down. He was pinned down. He grunted, every muscle in his body rigid with anticipation over whether his fight-or-flight response would win out.

And then her words sank into his consciousness.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” A litany of gratitude spilled from her lips and covered him in kisses and caresses that punctuated the outpouring of her affection.

Chrys’s mind froze, waited, debated. Then he groaned, his body demanding things his mind was fighting against. Taking her in his arms, he rolled them in the soft grass. His fingers found her hair. His lips found her lips. His body settled into the cradle of her thighs.

“Chrys,” she rasped around the edge of a kiss, her hands still grasping and tugging at his hair. “Thank you…for everything.”

He mentally body-checked his anxiety, and threw himself into kissing her so deeply, so completely, so thoroughly, that he forgot all the rest of the shit going on in his head. Just forgot the hell out of it.

And, was it just him, or did the sounds of her pleasure increase the more aggressive he got?

The question blazed through his blood and had his cock punching at his jeans. So little separated him from her intense heat. And he was so fucking tempted to will the clothing away and slide home.

An awareness of energy slid through his mind. Just as Chrys’s brain came back online, a voice called out from the back porch. “Hey, when you two lovebirds are done out there, we’ll be waiting for you.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Omigod!” Heat flooded her cheeks. What the hell was she thinking, jumping Chrys with his whole family just inside? And they were all gods, too. Like humiliating yourself in front of other humans wasn’t bad enough.

“Go to hell, Z.” Chrys stroked the side of her face. “Ignore him. He’s an asshole.”

“I heard that.”

She choked on a laugh, the good humor in Chrys’s voice easing her discomfort.

“You have any brothers?”

“No,” she managed.

“Lucky,” he groused.

“Chrysander.”

“We’ll come in when we’re good and ready, you dig?” For a long moment, his lips hovered just shy of hers. And then he kissed her. Soft and slow. “You’ve honored me, Laney Summerlyn,” he said in a low voice, just for her. As if his earlier actions hadn’t done enough to warm her heart, his words touched her further. A sudden burst of wind swirled around them. He groaned, his forehead falling atop hers. “I’m sorry. He’s not going to leave us alone.”

Disappointment had no more begun warring with embarrassment when they were suddenly on their feet again. “Holy crap! Give a girl some warning, would ya?”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll try. It’s kinda second nature to me. Come on.”

“Wait.” His heat and light paused in front of her. “Do I look okay?” She smoothed her hands over her hair.

“By the gods, you could never look just okay. You are a beautiful woman. And they will love you.”

She blew out a breath, nerves tossing her stomach. “Okay. You’ll have to guide me, though. I don’t have my cane, and everything here will be unfamiliar.”

“So, how do I—”

“Just hold your arm straight down and walk normal. I’ll hold on and follow. Let me know if we come to any steps or doors or obstacles I need to step over.” She moved to his side and took hold of his bicep just above the elbow.

“A lot of flat grass and then three steps at the porch.”

“Okay,” she said, walking a half step behind him. Scanning her gaze over their path, Laney attempted to paint a picture of where they were for herself. She pushed away the disappointment that she couldn’t see the way she had moments ago. “Who lives here?”

“My nephew Owen and his wife Megan. And their son, Teddy.”

“Owen’s the snow god?”

“Yeah.”

“And is Megan a god, too? Er, a goddess?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” So, a god could be with a human? Could have children with a human? Cart before horse much, Laney? “And, uh, who else will be here?”

“Just my brothers, Boreas and Zephyros.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Three steps up. There’s a handrail.”

Laney found the metal rail, forgetting until she attempted the first step about her stitches. She gasped and paused. “Stitches,” she managed.

Next thing she knew, she’d blinked in and out of the elements again, the momentary explosion of color revealing what he’d done.

“Problem solved,” he said.

She couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Z,” Chrys said.

“Chrys. Laney.”

“Hi,” she said, her gaze finding Zeph’s blue aura next to Chrys’s golden one.

“Been here long?” Chrys asked.

“No. Just got here when I harassed you.”

Chrys muttered something in that language she didn’t understand and the wind gusted out of nowhere.

Zephyros laughed. “Come on in. We have business to attend to and we don’t have all night.”

In the distance, thunder rumbled. Laney lifted her gaze to the sky. Great. Just what she needed. A storm when she was someplace she didn’t know.

“You okay?” Chrys whispered as he guided her forward. She nodded, nerves returning. “Okay, the door opens to the right. There’s a small step up…now.”

Laney cleared the doorway. The screen door and inner door closed behind her.

“Small mud room, then kitchen, then living room after that.”

“Thank you,” she squeezed his arm and worked to assemble a picture for herself. The dim room they entered opened into a brighter, larger space. The change in the lighting momentarily stole the rest of her sight. Ahead, Zeph exchanged pleasantries with a woman.

“Where’s Ella?” the female voice asked.

“Be here any minute.”

“Good. Chrys,” the woman’s voice exclaimed. “I’ve missed you being here all the time, eating my food.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present.” He chuckled. For a moment, he seemed to lean away, but not so much that Laney had to drop his arm. “Good to see you. That baby ready to come out and meet his uncle yet?”

Laney scanned her gaze over the woman. Blond hair. Big smile. No glowing aura.

“Bite your tongue, Chrysander Notos. I might be big as a house, but this kid can stay put for another month or two.”

There was a pause just long enough to feel awkward. Thunder cracked in the distance, but closer than before. “Megan, this is Laney Summerlyn. Laney, Megan.”

Laney extended her hand. “Hi, Megan.”

A cool hand slipped into hers. “Welcome, Laney. It’s nice to meet you. Why don’t you all head into the living room. Owen and Boreas are in there.” Something about the tone of her voice changed. She sounded…excited?

“This way,” Chrys said to her.

Zeph’s heavy footsteps went ahead of them, then suddenly stopped. Next to her, Chrys drew a sharp breath.

“Good gods!” Zeph’s footsteps continued into the room. Stopped again. “Boreas?” A weighted pause filled the room. “Welcome back, brother,” Zeph said, his tone different—more serious, almost relief-filled.

“Thank you, Zephyros,” a deep voice said. More formal than the others. His aura was a bright white. Next to him, another god, with a softer white light, stood.

“Dude,” Chrys said, still next to her. “You got a makeover.”

Everyone laughed.

Laney tried to follow the conversation, attempted to visually piece together who was who, but because of the number of glowing auras in the room and her general unfamiliarity, she was uncomfortably ungrounded.

“I’ll be right back,” Chrys said. She forced a smile and nodded. “Da-yum, B. You are totally rocking the twenty-first century.” Laughter and teasing followed.

Someone slipped in next to her. “My father-in-law completely changed his appearance,” Megan whispered. “They’re just seeing it for the first time.”

Laney smiled, genuinely this time, Megan’s kindness easing the awkwardness. “How drastic of a change?”

“From long hair and beard and, uh, outdated clothes, to short hair, shaved face, and new clothes.”

“They sound happy.”

“Yeah.” From Megan’s tone, Laney knew she was smiling. A crying sounded out from somewhere in the house. Upstairs? “Oh, darn. I’m sorry. That’s Teddy. I better go get him.”

The men all offered apologies for the rowdiness of their reunion as Megan crossed the room and made her way up a set of steps on the far side, from the sounds of it. Rain pattered against the windows and, outside, the winds gusted.

A moment later, another god—a woman, by the voice—entered the room, a new round of greetings and exclamations erupting over the surprise Boreas had presented.

Unsure of the layout of the room, Laney was momentarily trapped by her disability. Thunder rolled across the sky like a growl, until it sounded from right above them. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt this out of place, this out of control. She hugged herself and wondered if it was a mistake to have come.

…

Chrysander turned from the group to find Laney standing where he’d left her. But…she appeared different, like she’d shrunk into herself. He bit out an ancient curse and crossed the room. “I’m sorry, Laney. Come meet everyone.”

“Maybe you should just take me home. I don’t—”

“I would really like you here. With me.” Way to go, Notos. Thoughtless, much? He cupped his hand around her neck, massaged the tense muscles he felt there. The strangely intriguing desire to strip her down and treat her whole body similarly surged through him. The image was immediately appealing and so damn sexy.

“So you can protect me.”

Responses competed for air time, but Chrys dismissed all the rationalizations for the truth. “Because I want you to be here.”

Finally, she nodded.

“Here. Take my arm.” Relief flooded through him when she did. “Everyone,” he said in a raised voice. “I’d like to introduce you to Laney Summerlyn.”

One by one, Chrys said their names. Laney seemed to let her gaze rest on each person, almost like she was studying them. With this many people, would she be able to keep them all straight? If the gods all appeared to have auras to her, maybe that would help.

Chrys frowned, hating the idea that she would feel even a little uncomfortable. “Hold on a second. I have an idea.” He took her hands. “You trust me?”

She gave a small, uncertain laugh. “Sure.” He pulled her into the elements. The room appeared around them, along with its four inhabitants. Make that six—Megan descended the stairs with Ted in her arms.

This might make it a little easier. Sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.

You did this so I could see them.

Yeah. He glanced to the men, all of whom were aware of what he was doing. The approval was palpable in the room.

Chrys ignored their attention and introduced her to them again.

He tried to see them as she might.

Zephyros, with his flaring blue eyes and short brown hair, stood close to Ella, a pretty woman with brown hair and eyes. The pair couldn’t stop touching one another, and it was easy to see the affection between them. Not surprising after everything they had gone through to be together. An unfamiliar pang of envy rolled through his being.

In the center of the semi-circle stood his oldest brother, now ruggedly handsome with gray eyes that flashed to silver and short, spiky hair. Given the youthfulness of his face, Chrys wondered if the pure white of his hair surprised her. It was certainly incongruous, and the transformation was definitely something he never thought would happen. Seeing Boreas like this again was a moment Chrys would never forget. And he could tell from the emotion that had overcome Zeph when his brothers had exchanged greetings that it was the very same for him.

Next, he reintroduced Owen, with his dark eyes that were actually two different colors, a fact that his long hair sometimes hid. And completing the group was the very pregnant Megan, whose blond waves Teddy gripped in his fist. With an arm around her shoulders, Owen pulled the pair into his side and kissed them, the baby first, then Megan. And Chrys’s unfamiliar envy got that much more familiar.

Thank you so much, she said to him. I can’t tell you how much this helps. It was very thoughtful.

I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again. At least, I’ll try my damnedest.

“I don’t mean to rush you,” Zeph said, “but we should begin.”

Boreas nodded. “Yes. Before the storm rages out of control.”

Chrys returned them to corporeality. It was time to say what needed to be said. Long past time, actually. He guided Laney over to an armchair, and she sat. He remained by her side as everyone found a seat wherever they could. Overhead, thunder cracked and rumbled. Another reason to get on with it.

In the Realm of the Gods it was a different story, but here on Earth, the longer multiple Cardinal Anemoi congregated in one place, the more the elements from their respective realms would clash and collide. Should they stay together long enough, what seemed a typical summer storm would escalate into a devastating maelstrom that would spare nothing and no one.

They had twenty, thirty minutes. Tops.

Which meant he needed to face the shitstorm he knew would erupt when he revealed why he’d been incapable of subduing Eurus all summer.

As if to underscore the point, thunder crashed so explosively the windows rattled and the house shook.

“All right, Chrys. Let’s hear it. What in the name of Hades has been going on between you and Eurus?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment. Chrys debated whether to start at the beginning or just come right on out with the doozy of a revelation he’d been sitting on most of the summer.

Fuck it. Shit, meet fan.

Feeling Laney’s warmth near him, he met Owen’s eyes, then each of his brothers’. “Eurus has Father’s firestone ring.”

Chapter Fifteen

Zephyros jumped to his feet. “What did you say?” Save Megan, everyone else joined him. Five pair of eyes cast their critical judgment upon him. The air in the room took on an electrical quality.

“You heard me. Eurus has the firestone ring.” Every muscle in Chrys’s body went rigid, bracing for whatever they threw at him. He’d deserve every bit of it.

“What in the seventh circle of hell are you talking about?” Zeph growled.

“Wait. That gaudy thing with the wings?”

All eyes whipped to Ella. “How do you know that?” Boreas asked.

She paled. “That night. On the bridge. He wore it then.” She didn’t need to explain further. Everyone understood implicitly that she referred to the night Eurus had killed her human form by throwing her off the tallest tower of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Chrys hated that he’d made her relive even a moment of that night.

Zeph materialized right in front of him. “By Zeus and all the gods,” he hissed. “Why have you withheld this from us? That was the end of March!” For a long moment, lightning illuminated the world outside the windows as if it were day.

Behind Zeph, Ella gasped. “I didn’t know it was significant. I’m sorry.”

He returned to her side and took her face in her hands. “You have no cause to apologize, love. You had no reason to know. Unlike him.” Fierce blue light slashed from Z’s eyes. Thunder clapped and rolled, the loud rumble going on so long it seemed it might never stop.

“He’s right,” Chrys said. Their disapproval sat like a jagged block of ice in his gut.

Teddy whined and fussed in Megan’s arms. “I think I’ll take him upstairs,” Megan said in a small voice. Owen helped her up and kissed her cheek, his intense, strange eyes following her like he was torn between joining her and remaining. Dark light flared from his gaze when it cut back to Chrys. “Go on,” he said.

Chrys blew out a breath. “I didn’t know right away. That night, I went after Eurus. For a long stretch of days, I could not find him.” Chyrs had assumed he’d holed up at his ancient citadel in the eastern extreme of the Realm of the Gods—it was a place the brothers had always avoided because Eurus’s ability to bestow misfortune and unluckiness was strongest there. “In the meantime, things were touch and go with Ella. So I hung at your place and decided that, if all else failed, I’d resolve it once and for all when I came into my season upon the summer solstice.”

“I’m still waiting to hear something that justifies sitting on this revelation, little brother,” Zeph said.

“At first I went after him with both barrels blazing. Unsuccessfully. I figured his besting me stemmed from desperation, that he knew he was fighting for his godhood. And then I switched tactics and tried to reason with him.” Zeph bit out a curse in the ancient language. Undeterred, Chrys pushed on. “The first time we conversed, I saw the ring.”

“That was still nearly three months ago. Damn it all to Hades!” Wind pounded against the side of the house, a preternatural freight train of sound.

“Look, now it’s crystal fucking clear I made the wrong decision. But at the time, I thought I could handle it. It was my season. I was by far the strongest of any of us. If not me, then who? One of the Olympians? I feared going to them might’ve put Father’s head on the chopping block, too, for not confessing the loss of the ring.” He’d tried to protect everyone’s interests, and ended up failing right down the line.

“Zephyros, the bandages Father wore that night at the Acheron. You asked him what happened and he brushed it off,” Boreas said.

“Good gods, you’re right. How in the hell could Eurus have bested Aeolus? When would he have ever had the chance?”

“Eurus was hurt, too,” Ella said, as if thinking out loud. Zephyros turned to her. She drew a line down her face with her finger. “That night, he had some sort of a mark or cut. Even in the dark, I could make it out.”

Chrys had become well familiar with Eurus’s disfigurement, but, for the longest time, not with how he’d come by it. Not until the night he’d crashed through Laney’s roof, that is. “Yes. She’s right. And I think I have a good idea how it happened.” Debating only a moment, he pulled off his shirt.

Gasps sounded out around the room. Fuck, did he really look that bad?

He gave himself a quick onceover. Enormous, uneven twisting scars above his right pec, a slashing whip mark on his left arm, a minefield of bruises and assorted smaller scars. His back wasn’t much better. Okay, so he wasn’t doing any underwear modeling or winning any beauty pageants, that was for damn sure. What would Laney make of his scars?

Chrys traced the deep scar on his forearm. “This is what appears on Eurus’s face.”

“You were whipped,” Zeph said, voice full of outrage. The lights flickered once, twice, but held. “And…stabbed? Is this from the night you crashed through Laney’s barn roof?” Chrys nodded. “Fucking hell, you are lucky to have survived.” After a moment, Z pointed at Chrys’s arm. “I wear those marks on my back, as you well know. How would Eurus have gotten whipped in the face? Father has his faults, but he would never have done that.”

Chrysander had asked himself that question before. His mind conjured the image of Zephyros kneeling in the Hall of the Gods last spring, his naked back bared and waiting. He’d endured seven lashes at their father’s hand for infractions involving the use of divine power in the human realm. Chrys had thought the charges were a whole lot of bullshit. Eurus’s crimes had been far greater. So Chrys had asked their father why he wasn’t going after—

“Shit, that’s it,” he said. “He planned to punish Eurus after you. Somehow, Eurus got that ring off of Father, but not without a fight—one that resulted in the injury on his face.”

“Aeolus must answer for this,” Zeph said, shaking his head. “We should find him, now—”

“Good luck with that,” Chrys said.

“What do you mean?” Boreas asked.

“In between getting my ass kicked for three months, I’ve been searching for Aeolus. Unsuccessfully.”

Boreas frowned, silver light flashing from his eyes. “Do you think Eurus has him?”

“I don’t think so,” Chrys said. “He’d be crowing that shit to the heavens if so.”

“We’ll find him. And he will answer for his role in this.” Zeph glared. “But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t say something before the situation went critical.”

Chrys tugged his shirt back on. “I didn’t want any of the rest of you getting your asses kicked—or worse. Not with new families counting on you. Me? I have a whole lotta nothing to lose.”

The words were out of his mouth before he’d thought to say them, and he immediately wanted to reel them back in. He didn’t need to be baring his pathetic sob story on top of everything else.

A long pause left the declaration hanging there, one the thunderous cacophony all around them did little to fill. Boreas tilted his head. “Chrysander.”

The reproach in the way he’d said his name made it damn difficult to hold his brother’s sad silver gaze.

Tentative fingers landed on his back and arm. He flinched, but calm followed as Laney slipped her fingers into his, then just stood there. Silently. Her forehead leaning slightly against his bicep.

She was standing by his side.

Awe settled into every cell in his body. That she’d taken a stand with him, for him. That she cared enough to…what? To show that she cared? Yes, at least that. And that her touch, far from eliciting the usual anxiety-filled downward spiral, released some of the tension in his muscles, some of the ache crushing his heart.

When had that ever before happened? Foreign emotion swelled uncomfortably in his chest.

He gave her hand a squeeze and swallowed hard. “I thought I could handle it,” he said in a low voice. “I should have been able to handle him. He should’ve let me make this right so he didn’t have to die.” Voicing the word lodged a knot in his throat. His brother was going to die. Almost unavoidable now. And he was going to own a part of that, any way you sliced it.

“Jesus Christ, Chrysander. Eurus lost the capacity to know what was right a long time ago. Maybe eons ago. You cannot do that which is impossible,” Zeph said, his tone more restrained now, his words echoing what Laney had said earlier in the evening.

“It is admirable that you have not wanted to give up on him,” Boreas said. “I am the oldest of the four of us and have always felt responsible on some level for not doing better by him. I should’ve done more to intervene in Father’s treatment of Eurus. It was never the boy’s fault that our mother died in childbirth. But Aeolus was blinded by his grief, and Eurus was a convenient target. He didn’t deserve it. Any of it. But, more and more, I find myself agreeing with Zephyros.”

Chrys cut his gaze to B. “It wasn’t your fault—”

“Nor was it yours,” Boreas said, nailing him with a stern, unrelenting stare, one that communicated that his older brother intuited some shit Chrys would just as soon keep private.

…

Laney didn’t know what the hell was going on. Truly, her head was spinning so fast it might fly right off her shoulders. Between the argument, the raging storm, and the power flickering, she had one nerve left. Maybe. If she was lucky. Pair that with the strange sense of foreboding she’d been feeling as she listened to their conversation, and she was damn near adrift in confusion.

But there was one thing she did know—Chrys needed her support.

In her mind’s eye, she pictured him as a lone island stranded in the midst of vast wastes of unfriendly sea, and she hated the analogy. Hated all the anger and aggression the others were throwing at him. Honestly, she didn’t understand the situation enough to know if he was in the right or the wrong, but she did understand the separating feeling of standing out from the rest. She did understand loneliness. And she sure understood loyalty, too.

Trembling with equal parts uncertainty and sympathy, she’d debated going to him. She didn’t want to intrude, or embarrass herself by tripping or stumbling. And then something Chrys had said had stolen her breath: I have a whole lotta nothing to lose.

She was out of her seat without making a conscious decision to do so, her hands reaching out toward the unusual heat that always seemed to surround him until they found his hard body. The thought that he’d been sacrificing himself for the others and that he believed no one would miss him if he’d died, that he was expendable… Her very soul revolted against those ideas until emotion strangled her throat and pressed against her chest.

When she’d curled her hand into his, for a moment, he’d tensed. But then his arm had relaxed and he’d pulled her in more tightly against him. Deep satisfaction had roared through her alongside white hot fear at the idea of him being killed. I’m here for you, Chrys. Do you hear me? I’m here.

If she hadn’t already suspected it before, the thought of losing him, the thought that he might’ve died before he ever fell into her life, brought into stark relief that she was developing feelings for the god she held in her hands. Not just lust. Not just curiosity. But scary, messy, probably-a-bad-idea feelings.

Thunder detonated above the house, like bombs were going off all around them. Reeling from the emotional revelation, Laney flinched into Chrys’s side.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded against his arm, not wanting to burden him with worrying about her.

“We’re almost out of time,” Owen said. “The storm rages too fiercely.”

“Yes,” Boreas said. “We need a plan.” As Laney looked toward Boreas, his aura suddenly warped and flashed. For a moment, it disappeared completely. Laney blinked and the effect went away. What the hell was that? Had she really seen it, or were her eyes playing tricks on her?

“Find and confront Aeolus,” Owen offered.

Everyone agreed. She continued to study Boreas, but whatever had happened didn’t occur again. She’d been straining to see everything she could since they’d arrived. Her eye was just fatigued. In truth, she had the beginnings of a headache.

“There is something else,” Chrys said, his voice sounding uncomfortable, regretful. “We need to find out who was behind Tisiphone’s visit to Laney’s house this morning. I was thinking that, well…that maybe Ella could talk to Mars and see if the Olympians—”

“I’ll do it,” Ella said.

“I do not want Ella in the middle of this,” Zeph said at the same time, his aura flashing purple. Thunder and lightning blasted the world and blackness swallowed them. The power had been knocked out. Only the fact that Laney could make out the gods’ lighted auras kept her from flipping out.

For a moment afterward, it was silent except for the baby’s cries upstairs. Owen excused himself to go help Megan, and then there were a series of small sounds Laney couldn’t interpret. Finally, Ella said, “I’m already in the middle of it, Zeph. And you’re not the one who put me there. Nor Chrys. Eurus has dragged me into this time and time again. I need to play a role in solving this problem, once and for all.”

“But, Ella—”

“I need to, Zeph.”

Admiration rolled through Laney at Ella’s courage and determination.

“Damnit,” Zeph bit out. “I understand. I do.” He sighed. “So be it.”

“Thank you, Ella.” Chrys’s respect for her was clear in his tone. “I’ve also learned from Apheliotes that Eurus keeps his son Alastor imprisoned.”

“What?” Zeph asked. “What in the hell is wrong with our brother’s head?”

“I don’t know the why of it,” Chrys said. “But if such treatment is common, it strikes me we might have allies in at least one of his sons. Apheliotes has agreed to find out what he can.” As he laid out the skeleton of a plan, pride warmed Laney’s heart and helped beat back her fear. Competent, smart, strategic—it was an incredibly sexy combination. Paired with his physical beauty, it was downright lethal.

“Given this news, with Alastor, maybe. With Devlin? Not damn likely. That apple didn’t fall nearly far enough away from the tree,” Zeph muttered.

“But it is possible,” Boreas said. “And worth exploring. Anything else? I fear we must part now.”

Chrys hesitated, then dropped Laney’s hand. “Just this.”

“What is that?” Boreas asked.

Laney struggled to figure out what they were talking about. The others came closer, and she realized they’d come to examine something in Chrys’s possession.

“Cool blade, but what about it?” Zeph asked.

Tracing her vision to Chrys’s hands, she gathered small glimpses of the vicious-looking knife he held.

“I paid Hephaestus a visit. Seems this dagger possesses some useful anti-god mojo of the Underworld type.”

That strange sense of déjà vu came over Laney again, but she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Good Gods,” Boreas muttered.

“That is the best fucking news I’ve heard all day,” Zeph said. “What’d you have to do to get his help?”

“Let’s just say I caught him in a generous mood.”

“Well, thank the gods for minor miracles,” Zeph said.

“Yeah,” Chrys said, his tone serious and intense. “And Eurus isn’t going to have a clue what hit him.”

Despite Chrys’s confidence, Laney couldn’t help but worry about him and the risk he was about to undertake. If anything happened to him, well, she didn’t know what she’d be able to do. But she’d give anything to help keep him safe.

Chapter Sixteen

As the weather continued to deteriorate, the gods exchanged rushed good-byes and departed, Boreas first, then Zeph and Ella. Within minutes, the storm ratcheted down in intensity, making it somewhat easier for Laney to breathe.

Chrys’s light appeared right in front of her. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, longing for his touch again.

“For being here. And for supporting me.”

She gave a small shrug. “I didn’t like the way they were talking to you.” Thunder rumbled and she hugged herself. “And I didn’t like the idea that you felt that no one would care if you were gone.” More words, scarier words, lodged in her throat. She forced them out. “I’d care.”

“Laney, I can’t—”

“Don’t. Okay? I get it. Just…don’t.”

He sighed. “We should go. The storm won’t dissipate until I leave.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The weather is part of what I am, part of what all of my brothers are. We control and influence it with our energy. But when we all get together, it becomes bigger than any of us individually. So the best remedy is our departure.”

For a moment, she felt like he spoke a foreign language. “So, wait. This horrible storm…are you saying you caused it?” Her scalp prickled.

“To an extent. This one was so bad because three of the four Anemoi were together at once, something we generally avoid because the concentration of our energies causes…well, this.”

Laney tried to wrap her mind around the idea that this man possessed the power to create something that absolutely terrified her. “Why not meet…wherever you’re from, then?”

“Humans aren’t permitted in the Realm of the Gods. Which would’ve meant you and Megan couldn’t come with us.”

“Oh. What would happen if all four of you were in one place?”

“Nothing good,” he said. And though she was curious, maybe she didn’t really want to know. This storm had already been enough to scare her out of her mind. At least she didn’t have to go out in it. Except… Her stomach plummeted. “To go home, we have to go out into this storm, don’t we?”

“Yeah, but since we’ll be—”

“Oh, God,” she said, hugging herself again.

His heat moved closer. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, not wanting to admit it. But, given what they had to do, how could she not? “You’re going to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

She chuffed out half a laugh. “You will, trust me.”

His knuckles dragged down her cheek. She leaned into the touch and let the words fly. “I’m scared of storms.”

“You’re…”

“Yeah.” It was quiet, but some kind of tension rolled off him. She arched an eyebrow. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

“No,” he choked out, voice filled with humor. “It is rather ironic, though.”

“Shut up. Stupid god. It’s not funny.” She pressed her lips together to hold back the smile that threatened and whipped out her hand. She managed to smack him in the stomach. Holy crap! He was a freaking wall of muscle.

Laughter spilled out of him and he grabbed her hand, held it. “Don’t worry, Laney. You’ll be safe. I promise. You’ll be a part of the elements, so they won’t hurt you.”

She sighed. “I just…I don’t know. I have a weird feeling.” Suddenly, she didn’t want to go home. Blackness filled her vision, like she was standing in the dark. She blinked and the light returned.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She was being silly. What choice did she have? It wasn’t like she could walk back to the Eastern Shore. The night’s weirdness was just getting to her. “Okay.”

“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

She chuckled. “They have popsicles stands in…wherever you’re from?”

“The Realm of the Gods.”

“The Realm… Right.”

He grabbed her hand. “No, but they totally should. Popsicles are awesome.”

Light and color filled her vision, telling her he’d pulled them into the elements again. The shift hadn’t seemed as jarring, as explosive, this time. Thank God.

They went up into the sky, and though the rain and wind were all around them, were them, it was just as Chrys had said. The wind didn’t buffet her, because she was the wind. The rain didn’t batter her, because she was the rain. The thunder and lightning didn’t scare her, because she knew exactly when they’d occur. A tremendous thrill roared through her. That she got to experience this, that he’d made her see the beauty in something that had long terrified her, that he’d shared it with her at all.

This is amazing, Chrys, being a part of this, being a part of something bigger than yourself. Thank you for bringing me with you tonight. Thank you for…getting involved. Even if he’d only done it out of obligation or duty, this moment, this night, this whole time since she’d first laid eyes on him was something to be cherished forever.

Warmth surrounded her, like he was hugging her. Words came to her, in that odd language she’d sometimes heard him speak, but not in the way they normally communicated. It was like the words were on the wind. Something about the sound of them flooded longing through her being. And heat.

Overwhelmed with everything she was feeling, everything she’d experienced this night, Laney didn’t speak again. Instead, she just soaked in every bit of the splendor of the nighttime world. After all, this was the world she’d been without the longest. Her night vision had been the first to go. Normally, she was completely blind in the dark. Now, she could see that the night wasn’t black, but was painted with a palette of blues and greys and purples that possessed its own beauty.

And Chrys had made it all possible. Gratitude joined the wonder flooding through her.

Who knew when she’d get to do this again? If ever. She didn’t want to miss a minute of their trip.

By the time they passed over the Chesapeake Bay, the storm was gone. The moon rose high in the sky, gifting Laney with a whole other vision of night. One that was as romantic as it was mysterious. For a long moment, she reveled in the sight, in the warm caress of the winds blowing through and over her. She imagined the sensation was Chrys’s fingers. Heat streaked over her, as if answering her yearning.

At the edge of her consciousness, intense sadness slinked back and forth and threatened to swamp her. How she missed seeing the world around her. What she wouldn’t give to have her sight returned to her. She’d said she didn’t wish for the return of her vision. But in a moment like this, how could she not? These experiences with Chrys were amazing, yes, but also a special form of torment because, when they got home, she’d be mostly blind again. And she’d feel the loss more acutely than she had in a long, long time.

Enough. The joy and opportunity of the moment were far worth whatever pain might follow.

The landscape below them turned familiar. We’re almost there, she said.

Yes.

They came in over the cottage construction site, then the pastures, and the barn and house came into view. It was a beautiful setting. She’d always loved it here. It was the only place she’d ever thought of as home.

Now, Chrys was going to be there with her. At least for a while. How was that going to work? Did he sleep as a human did? Would he want to sleep with her?

And would she let him if he did?

A warm gust surrounded and caressed her. And Laney knew the answer to that question.

You might feel disoriented again. I’ll help you through it.

She knew he would. And, anyway, last time she’d felt less disoriented—although that was there, too—than overwhelmed with gratitude. And lust for him. Now, she knew it was more than lust. As much as she wanted this man, this god, she also cared for him. Just how much? The night had been such a jumble of emotions, she couldn’t really define what she was feeling. But there was no question that Chrys appealed to more than just her body.

The house came closer, closer, and then they were inside. The open living room surrounded them, and suddenly she was in her body again. She gasped and swayed. Okay, definitely disoriented, she thought. Hands caught her and held her steady.

“Breathe through it. I’ve got you.”

She concentrated on her breathing, on matching hers to his. Except…his was fast, shallow…ragged? His golden light filled her vision, but she forced herself to focus. Finally, part of his face came into view, but the darkness threw too many shadows.

“Can we turn on some lights?” Somewhere, Finn shook, then he grunted as if stretching after a nap.

“Yes.”

Every light in the room illuminated.

Laney flinched, her gaze cutting from one lamp to the next as her vision adjusted. “Well, that’s…handy.”

“It’s all just energy.” Heat rolled off Chrys’s big body. His voice was tight, gravelly.

Maybe so, but it was a magnificent display of power, too. Arousal flowed through her veins, concentrating in the full weight of her breasts, the tingle of her puckered nipples, and the ache of her center. She leaned in, wanting to kiss him. Needing to.

He slipped her necklace back under her shirt. “Since we’re done traveling for the evening, you can wear this against your skin again.” His fingers lingered on her skin.

“Okay,” she said, his touch heating her blood. Did he realize what he was doing to her? “You know, I never thanked you for Rolly. In person, that is. I know it’s silly, but I care about those horses like they’re my kids.”

He dragged his fingers along the collar of her shirt. “It’s not silly. And you’re welcome. It was the least I could do.”

She released a shaky breath. “Animals never judge, you know? They love unconditionally. I don’t know. I’ve just always had a soft spot for them…” And seeing him treat an injured animal so kindly? It wasn’t just that Chrys was hot and sexy and powerful, she liked who he was, as a person. God. Whatever.

“Laney?” he said in a raspy voice.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“You’re incredibly sexy when you talk about the things you love.”

The room did a little spinny thing around her. “I am?”

His heat moved around her, until she felt him along the length of her back. He pushed her hair over one shoulder. “Yes,” he said, his breath ghosting over her skin. “Sharing the wind with you was…” His lips dragged over the sensitive spot behind her ear and he exhaled roughly. “It was an honor.”

She tilted her head, opening to him and nearly dizzy with anticipation. She’d been wanting him for days. Dreaming of what that might be like.

Strong arms surrounded her. Large hands splayed across her stomach. Slowly, Chrys moved his hands upward, dragging her shirt with the movement. He cupped her breasts.

Breathing hard, Laney fell back against his chest. His erection pressed into her lower back. The evidence that he was as affected as she was momentarily stole her breath. A hot thrill shuddered through her. She arched, grinding against his firm flesh behind her and pushing her breasts into his massaging grip.

A tingle ran down her scalp and neck. Uncomfortable. Alarming. She pulled herself upright and waded through the haze of lust.

A shadow shifted. No. A light. A black light that deadened everything around it. “Chrys?”

Maniacal laughter sounded out of the darkness. “Did the three of you really think you could gather unnoticed?” A man’s voice tsked. “I must say, I’m so glad I left her alone before. Because now you get to see each other die.”

“Get down!” Chrys grabbed Laney just as the black light flared. Suddenly, a light as brilliant as the sun flashed, stealing her remaining sight.

“No!” she screamed, jumping in front of Chrys. Electricity like a thousand pins and needles slammed into her, surrounded her, sought to penetrate and lay her heart to rest. Paralyzed, she gasped and fought to drag in oxygen. But she couldn’t…she couldn’t…

And then the world went utterly black.

…

“Laney!” Chrys yelled. Oh, no. No! Gods, have mercy.

For the space of a breath, the whip of lightning engulfed Laney’s whole being, holding her body stiffly aloft, arms strapped at her sides.

Chrys lunged for her, and the blaze disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Laney’s unconscious body fell into Chrys’s outstretched arms. He crumpled with her to the floor. The attack of energy had knocked all the lights out, and now the dark appeared pitch black in the wake of the brilliant illumination.

“Oh, gods. Laney? Can you hear me?” Chest filled with crushing, icy dread, Chrys gently rolled her off him and cradled her too-still, too-hot form in his arms. Muscles lifeless. Mouth lax. He tilted his face toward the heavens. “Eurus! Hear me! My word! My vow! I will fucking kill you if it takes my last breath!” he roared, thunder crashing overhead. But there was no reply. Eurus had gone as quickly as he’d come, a hit and run of pure, malicious evil.

“Please,” he rasped, pressing his hand over her heart.

The rapid-fire rhythm revealed the stress of the attack, but it was proof of life that would’ve brought him to his knees if he hadn’t already been on the floor. At her throat, Hephaestus’s amulet glowed. Chrys would never be able to repay that god for the life-saving gift.

“Laney. Wake up. Come back to me.” He stroked his hand over her feverish forehead.

Every particle of his being screamed for vengeance, demanded he pursue his brother to the ends of the earth. Further. He had the infernal dagger. By the gods, he would have his revenge. For Laney, for Ella, for all the others Eurus had hurt.

But not tonight. No matter how his psyche screamed its outrage, his soul was tethered to the woman lying in his arms. Everything else be damned, his duty lay right here.

What those feelings truly meant, he didn’t allow himself to explore.

Heaving a deep, shaky breath, Chrys pressed kisses to her cheek. She’d cared for him. She’d stood by him. She’d protected him. One moment, the lightning whipped toward Chrys’s chest. The next, Laney flew in front of the conflagration. Why had she sacrificed herself for him? What had she been thinking? And, now, she fought for her life.

How dare Eurus lay hands on this woman? She was his and his alone.

Chrys froze. Where the hell had that come from?

She wasn’t his. If this night proved anything, it was that Chrys did not deserve Laney Summerlyn. If he could not even protect her, he didn’t have the right to be in her presence at all. And that was on top of a myriad of other reasons why he didn’t deserve her and could never have her. His fucked-up wiring regarding touching. His need to control. The war—for that’s what this now was—that raged around him.

Needing to see her more clearly, he willed on the lights and dragged gentle fingertips over her cheek. Her shirt and shorts were badly singed. Sweat beaded over her red, puffy skin. And, good gods, was she on the verge of blistering?

Enough! She needs you!

Too hot. He had to bring her temperature down. Fast.

Without a moment’s debate, Chrys willed all of their clothing away. The more of him that touched her, the faster he could syphon the heat from her body.

He moved to cover her, and hated himself a little more—if that was possible—for having to push through the ancient anxiety that gripped him as he anticipated all that skin-on-skin contact.

His chest settled on her chest. His hips on her hips. His legs covered and surrounded hers.

Scorching. She was absolutely, intoxicatingly on fire. It would’ve been mind-numbingly arousing if he didn’t know the threat the heat posed to her well-being. Still, blood filled his cock and turned it to steel between them. He gritted his teeth, unable to control his body’s natural reaction to the temperature.

Breathing deeply, he concentrated on pulling the heat into himself.

Please let this work. Gods, maybe the amulet hadn’t protected her after all.

He absorbed what he could. And then he took more. He would take whatever he had to. For her.

Chrys pulled the energy in until it turned volcanic inside him. Restraining that amount of power had him shaking so hard he feared hurting her. He locked his jaw and muscled through the burn, intent upon his life not to fail at this one thing.

Come on, Laney! Come back to me.

Damn his brother to the eternal fields of punishment! And damn himself! This. This was the scenario he’d feared that night he’d yielded to her pleas to stay, to talk. Gods only knew what had prompted Eurus’s return to Summerlyn, but no doubt his interest had been piqued to find Chrys’s energy more prominent than it had been before.

Eurus might’ve wielded the whip, but this attack—and, dear gods, its consequences—lay at Chrys’s feet. What a fool he’d been to think he could be the source of Laney’s joy he’d felt as he sailed with her on the wind. He had always been a source of destruction. Damnit, that shit went way back, to Chrys’s childhood, to when ancient peoples feared him for the crop-destroying capabilities his storms possessed.

But, man, while guilt would always eat at a part of him for Eurus’s death, another part—a baser part—would revel in his blood and dance on his fucking bones.

Laney whimpered and her body came to life beneath him, flinching and tensing.

Relief and hope flared. But as she continued to fight beneath him, he groaned, too, her movement agonizing against his over-sensitized skin and swollen cock.

Cooler. She was cooler. Not normal, but not endangered. Thank the gods.

Her eyelids flickered. Struggled. Opened. Gorgeous blue stared up at him for a long moment, unfocused and unseeing.

“Chrys,” she gasped, her voice raw. “Oh, Chrys.” Tears welled and spilled down her temples into her hair.

The physical expression of her pain sliced into him until he could hardly bear it. But he would. Because he deserved it. And because she deserved his strength.

“Y-you…o-ok-okay?” she asked, adrenaline and shock giving her the shakes.

Me? He frowned. Surely, the dark hum of the overloaded energy vibrating through him made him mishear her. She couldn’t possibly be asking about—

“W-was so…so…sc-scared for…you.”

“Jesus, Laney, you infuriatingly brave, fearless woman. I am fine. Except for my heart, which stopped when he struck you. Except for my soul, which was nearly extinguished when I thought you dead. I am fine, because of you. But you—” Foreign, overwhelming emotion lodged in his throat, choked off the words that tried to form. Words communicating desires he had no business wanting, declaring feelings he didn’t understand and didn’t believe himself capable of, anyway.

“Back,” she said.

“What?” he managed.

“My…” She whimpered and arched under his weight. “So hot. H-hurts.”

Chrys wrenched up off her. Though her skin still bore a pink flush, the swollen red was gone. And despite everything, she was achingly beautiful, perfectly formed, utterly desirable. He raked his gaze up to hers. “Your back burns?”

Eyes wide and panicked, she nodded.

“I’ll fix it, Laney. I promise.”

Grateful for the soft carpet, he eased her onto her stomach. From neck to heels, her body bore the same distress he’d removed from her front side. It was like the lightning had seared her outside, but hadn’t been able to penetrate within.

“I’ll fix it,” he whispered again, once more covering her body with his. “Gods,” he gritted out as his chest pressed against her back and his rock hard cock nestled between the soft cheeks of her behind. Her arms lay above her shoulders, and when he covered them with his own, she lifted her hands and laced their fingers together.

Focus. Focus only on taking in the heat.

He tried. He really fucking tried. But she was squirming and shuddering and tormenting him with hot, unrelenting friction.

Almighty Zeus, one shift of his hips and he’d be in her…

Thunder rumbled overhead. Winds whipped through the trees surrounding the house. Rain fell in loud, fat drops. He couldn’t hold back energy this immense. It must release. Damnit all to Hades, he didn’t want to hurt her further.

But he was so close to the edge of his control.

Cooler. She’s cooler. He’d quelled the blaze. “Laney, is it…is it better?” he asked, tremors making it difficult to speak.

She moaned. “Yes.”

“I…I have to—” He swallowed hard. “For just a few minutes, I have to go.”

“What? No!” Despite the hoarseness, the strength of her protest anchored him. “S-stay. Need…you.”

He dropped his face to her hair. Oh, a mistake. The appealing natural scent of warm citrus infused him, fueling his frantic arousal, making him want more, demand more.

She arched, grinding her soft ass against his cock.

One hand flew to her hip, gripping, clutching, restraining. “Be still. I have the barest hold on myself right now.” He hated how terse his words sounded, but couldn’t hold back. The energy had him jacked up ‘til he was nearly instinct alone.

Get up, get up, get up, he told himself over and over, but he couldn’t gain control over his own base desires. Get in her, get in her, get in her.

“No,” he growled. He pushed himself up, his body howling in protest until he felt as if two sides of himself warred with one another.

Laney gasped. “Don’t go.” She pushed up on her elbows and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes had gone a blazing cobalt, wide, expressive, and fiery with a desire he didn’t know if he could resist.

Chapter Seventeen

“Don’t look at me that way, Laney. I’m so damn close to lifting your hips and burying myself inside you that I’m afraid to move.”

Heat roared through her, but this time it wasn’t from whatever had attacked her. It was from her pounding desire for the god currently kneeling behind her.

He was safe. And she was okay. Mostly okay, anyway. And he’d done that for her. He’d taken care of her, just as he promised.

She didn’t know what had happened in the moments after she saw that awful black light, but she did know they were damn lucky to be alive. And that made Laney not want to waste another moment. There’d be time for explanations later. Now, she wanted him. She wanted him wanting her.

“Chrys,” she croaked, her throat sore and parched. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not.” Shoving away her nerves, she pushed up onto her hands and knees, the carpet soft underneath. She stopped just shy of grinding herself into what she knew from how he’d laid on her moments before was a massive erection. Adrenaline roared through her until the room spun. His thighs straddling her calves were all she knew, all she could feel.

Rough hands settled on her hips. “Don’t. Move.” He spat out a curse in that odd language. “Jesus, woman. I’m trying not to hurt you here.”

She started to turn to him, wanting him to see the sincerity and trust in her face and eyes. Next thing she knew, he’d halted her movement by pinning her wrists against her lower back in one of his big fists. Fear and lust shot through in equal measure. She spoke over her shoulder, “You wouldn’t hurt me, Chrys. You healed me. Again.”

He tugged her upper body back against his chest, forcing her to arch against him. “You don’t understand what’s about to happen here,” he whispered, his voice low and gritty. “I don’t make love. I don’t do soft and romantic. I fuck. I dominate. And I restrain my lovers because I can’t stand to be touched. Sure, I get my partners off good, but then I walk out the door. So, whatever fantasy about us you’ve got playing in your head right now is whole solar systems away from my ugly reality.”

For a long moment, Laney was sure her heart stopped. And then it took off at a full-out gallop that left her breathless. No one had ever talked to her that way. He was just trying to scare her away. Had to be. And, truth be told, she was a little scared. But she was also wetter for him than she’d ever been for another man. Right at this moment, she couldn’t really think about why his tight grip, rough tone, and coarse words set her body on fire, but there it was. Her nipples puckered. The emptiness between her legs ached. After what’d happened, she needed to connect with him, in every way. Arousal flowed so thick through her blood, she’d take him any way she could have him.

In that moment, she yearned for him, her body, her heart, her soul.

Laney tilted her face up toward his, his warm glow filling her vision, her nose tracing along the hard angle of his jaw. “I want you however I can have you, Chrysander. I trust you.” And after what they’d just survived, she needed him, she needed the physical proof they’d made it through. Together.

He blew out a halting breath. “You shouldn’t. Right now, you shouldn’t. The healing…I am overloaded with energy right now. I can’t…I don’t think I can hold back.” His words rasped with arousal and need and pain—all three touched her down deep.

“Then don’t. I’m not fragile. I won’t break.” She dug for courage. “Don’t believe me? Feel between my legs. That’s what you’re doing to me.” She kissed his jaw, once, twice.

For a long moment, he didn’t seem to respond, and then the light in the room flared, the air took on a tingly, electrical quality, and Chrys’s muscles tightened everywhere they touched.

With a groan, he claimed her mouth with a possessive, invasive kiss she felt in every nerve ending. His hand gripped her jaw and forced her to arch further to accommodate the demands of his kiss. His tongue stroked and explored and took her mouth, stealing her breath until dizziness threatened. He wrenched back, breathing hard. “Last chance, Laney.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered. At least, she wanted to be. If he would have her. If he would take her, as he’d threatened. If he’d fulfill the dark promise of passion he’d made.

In an instant, he pushed her away until she was upright on her knees. Still holding her wrists behind her back, he urged her upper body forward, forcing her rear out. The unexpected movement threw her off balance. She thought she’d fall, but she hung by Chrys’s grip on her wrists.

His heat radiated against her backside. He dragged the head of his cock through her wetness, then pushed into her entrance.

The sensation of fullness was immediate, and he was barely inside her. Laney moaned, so desperately excited her skin seemed to tingle. Gripping her hip with his free hand, he withdrew and thrust again, and again, and then he fully seated his cock inside her, the hair on his thighs tickling her rear.

He paused, and the lights in the room flared, the brilliant white visible even with her poor vision. But she couldn’t think on the meaning of it because the pressure within her was so deliciously intense. And maddening, too. Laney was just about to beg him to move when he ground out a curse in that foreign language and pulled out. Then slammed right back in.

Laney gasped and threw her head back.

He stroked into her again and again, the barely controlled full-withdrawal-and-thrust rhythm stealing her breath and blanking her mind of everything except him. His hips snapped against her bottom and his grip tightened on her wrists. She longed to touch him, to skim her sensitive fingertips over every inch of him, to dig her nails in his back, but not being able to forced every bit of her attention to the incredible dragging friction of his hard, thick length pumping in and out of her. Add her blindness on top of it all, and his cock literally became the center of her world.

His hold on her wrists tightened until it was nearly painful. The lights flared again. Nearby, something popped—a lightbulb? The sprinkling sound of glass followed. “I’m sorry,” Chrys grunted. “I’ve got to release some of this or I’ll hurt you.” Another bulb popped, then another. From outside, a sharp wind suddenly rattled the windowpanes.

“Whatever you need,” she rasped as his hard thrusts quickened.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said, voice full of gravel, punctuating his declaration with hammering strokes. Another bulb exploded, closer this time.

She gasped. “So do you.” She fisted and unfisted her hands in his grip, partly from the numbness settling into her fingertips, partly an outlet for the erotic energy flowing through her body.

Chrys grabbed her hair and wound it around his fist, forcing her to arch. She moaned as the change in her position had him hitting new places inside her. He was completely in control of her body. And she could say with complete certainty that she loved it.

Glass shattered again, and Laney’s eyes flew open. The room had almost no electrical light now, though Chrys’s aura shown so brightly, its yellow glow illuminated most of the room.

Chrys released her hair and stroked his fingers down her spine, once, twice. The third time, he caressed all the way to where her cheeks separated. His palm settled there, just above her crack, his fingers spanning her lower back, his thumb extended downward. The pad of his thumb paused over her rear opening.

Laney whined as instinctive fear and desperate, forbidden curiosity swirled within her stomach. She shoved the fear away. He wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want. But did she want this? No one had ever even touched her there. But she couldn’t deny how much that one simple movement of his finger had ratcheted up her arousal and made her juices flow.

“Shh.” He dragged his thumb over the opening, exerting a foreign pressure against the tight pucker with each pass.

“Chrys,” she whimpered, her mind in chaos over how damn good it felt.

“I want to take you everywhere. Over and over.”

He might not have done romantic, but he certainly did erotic. His words shot straight to her clit, and her body lurched toward an orgasm that promised to be bigger than she could possibly handle. Never before had sensation felt so intense, had she felt so out of control, had another person felt so in control of not just her body, but her mind and her heart.

Suddenly, his hand returned to her hip and his pace increased. A series of fast, frenetic strokes that rubbed the head of his cock against a place inside her that had her keening low in her throat. The sound joined the rapid, wet slapping of his skin against hers and the mumbled curses that spilled from his lips. Somewhere, more lights exploded. A strange humming buzz filled the air. The room smelled hot of electricity and summer and sex. Her shoulders started to ache from the demanding pull of her body toward his, but she wouldn’t have changed anything about their lovemaking for all the world. Even if he refused to call it that.

Laney’s heart squeezed. The physical intensity between them combined with their earlier emotional connection to shove her feelings further down a path she probably shouldn’t go. She was falling for him. She knew it. It was likely going to cost her. When he left—and he would leave, she knew that—her small, isolated life was going to feel that much smaller, that much lonelier. But that didn’t change what she was starting to feel.

The pain, the pleasure, the overload of sensation and emotion of every kind—she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt more alive.

“Jesus,” he groaned, and a blast of thunder cracked above the house. Laney cried out.

Chrys tugged her wrists hard enough to force her up onto her knees and back against his chest. The position had her nearly sitting on his damp thighs, which hammered up into her in slower, harder, precise strokes that felt so much deeper. His breath rasped in her ear, mixed in with a series of low grunts and curses. She reveled in the sound of his desire, in the press of more of his skin against more of hers, and thrilled at how amazingly hot he felt. Feverish, even.

In a hot hand, he cupped one of her breasts, jutting out because of how she was arched against him. He squeezed and massaged one, then the other. As she watched, he rolled her nipples between his fingers, tight enough that she caught her breath before releasing a long moan, but not so tight that it hurt. Then he skimmed his palm down her belly, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. She quivered in anticipation. His fingers curled between her legs.

“You’re going to come for me,” he growled.

“Yes,” she rasped, the command helping to ensure it would happen sooner rather than later.

He stroked her clit, his nails occasionally scraping the sensitive flesh and shoving her arousal higher. His hand moved faster, harder. She moaned, gasped, held her breath. She was so close, so close.

“Now, Laney.” He pinched and rolled her clit between his thumb and finger.

The third tug brought her orgasm slamming into her. She cried out, her head thrashing on Chrys’s shoulder, her body convulsing. His fingers still moved, dragging out her pleasure until it was hard to breathe.

“Damn, that was gorgeous,” he said, pressing a rough kiss to her ear.

The praise made her heart squeeze, but she couldn’t respond. Her muscles rebelled, refusing to hold up her weight. She went limp against him. He wrapped an arm around her chest and they fell forward onto her stomach, his muscular form atop her, his thighs going to the outside of hers. Their sweat added a slick friction to his thrusts.

He released her wrists and pushed up onto his arms, moving within the tightness the new position created. Fast. Hard. Driving. Chasing. Thunder rumbled low and long, growing louder and more intense. He grabbed her hips and yanked her body back to meet his demanding thrusts.

“So good, Chrys,” she managed. “I knew it would be.”

“Fuck,” he groaned. Then he withdrew completely. Glass exploded and thunder splintered the nighttime air as hot, liquid stripes fell across her back.

He came on her.

The thought released a wanton satisfaction throughout her tired body. She literally wore his desire on her skin. But why had he— Holy crap, Laney! Never once had she thought of protection. Gratitude had tears pricking the backs of her eyes. How many times had he said he’d take care of her? And he had, again.

Leaning over her, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

As if she could move.

…

Chrys returned a moment later with a warm washcloth in his hand. She hadn’t moved an inch. Sleepy blue eyes peered up at him and Laney gave a small, crooked smile. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he said.

He straddled her thighs and reached out. But then he drew back and just soaked in the image of this beautiful, brave, trusting woman lying naked on the floor, painted with his seed. He’d come so close to losing control with her. Excess energy still rippled through him, making him tremble, stirring up the wind outside. Glass littered the floor in every direction, like someone had sprinkled glitter all around them.

She’d very likely saved his life tonight, and it wasn’t the first time she’d risked herself for him. Tending to him when he’d fallen through her roof, terrified of the storm that raged around her but determined to help a creature in need. Hell, she’d even stepped in front of him when Zephyros had appeared in her room that day. Why did she keep doing it?

And how could he let her continue?

The question had a ready answer: he couldn’t. He needed to leave. He needed to find another way to protect her.

Immediately, every part of him rebelled at the idea. His brain ruled out the possibility that anyone else was better suited. His body demanded more of hers—her heart, her tight slickness, her touch. And Almighty Zeus if that last one wasn’t a head-spinner.

His heart… Aw, damnit all to Hades. His heart fucking ached at the idea of leaving her.

Had he…? No. No. What he felt was guilt that he’d caused her harm, over and over, and regret that he’d intruded upon the quiet, ordered life she led. Disgust with himself for endangering her when he should’ve just stayed the hell away in the first place.

It wasn’t the first time he’d fucked everything up for someone, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. And wasn’t that a real slap in the ass.

Laney shivered, refocusing Chrys’s attention on her.

The wet cloth he held had cooled, so he balled it within his fists and infused it with his natural warmth. Then he cleaned her off everywhere he’d soiled her. She hummed, a sound full of relaxed pleasure, and a little smile played around the corner of her lips. Her obvious trust and faith in him was like a knife impaling his chest. He was greedy for it, but that didn’t mean he deserved it. And he didn’t. He set the rag aside.

Calling heat to his hands again, Chrys massaged Laney’s shoulders.

“Feels good,” she mumbled, eyes closed, lips curved in a small smile. “Masseuse could be a fallback job, if you ever need one.”

“Good to know,” he managed.

He watched his hands move over her soft skin. He’d been rough with her. Too rough. He’d called on every ounce of restraint he’d ever possessed, but with all that energy overloading him, there was only so much he could hold back. Not to mention how fucking good it felt to be inside her. Not only had she accepted every demand he’d made of her body, but her enjoyment of it seemed to match his. It wasn’t the act that some of his lovers put on for him. With her, there was no agenda, no favor seeking, no notch carving. Just pure, honest arousal and real, uninhibited pleasure. So he wanted to do everything he could to take away the pain she’d likely feel in the morning from the way he’d used her.

Pain that he’d caused. Go figure.

He massaged her neck, her shoulders, her upper back. By the time he’d moved on to her arms, her slow, steady breaths told him she’d fallen asleep.

He worked down her limbs, gently kneading and caressing. His gaze zeroed in on the redness on her right wrist.

Thunder cracked low in the sky.

He’d fucking marked her. By morning, the red stripes of his fingers would bruise. As if her skin didn’t already bear enough evidence of his destructiveness.

Speaking of which…

He swung his leg so he knelt beside her. Crisscrossed black stitches still ran down the back of her thigh and calf, her bandages gone when he’d dispensed with her clothing.

The cuts, though, were almost entirely healed. From when he’d laid atop her and drew off her heat? His energy had certainly been potent enough.

She hadn’t wanted the cuts healed. She’d had perfectly good, human reasons for her position. But now that it had begun, he would complete it. Eurus’s attack changed things. Yes, she had the amulet, but still, given everything, she shouldn’t be injured. Not now.

The thought made him wonder if her blindness was correctable. He didn’t possess that level of healing power, to be sure. And he wasn’t sure if Zeph did, either. Hephaestus? Maybe. Zeph’s father-in-law, Mars? Almost certainly. He tucked the question away for another time.

Leaning down, he willed the stitches on her calf away and released a healing stream of his warmth over what remained of the wound. This close to her, the scent of her sex made it difficult to not want to take his time, linger, explore. Gods, she smelled so damn good. He would’ve liked nothing more than to spend a whole night with his face buried between her legs, worshipping her and drinking her down.

Shaking off the fantasy, he sat up and observed his handiwork. Scars remained, but at least she would be able to walk without pain.

But now what to do? He had to go after Eurus. He had to find his father. He had to get far, far away from Laney Summerlyn.

He couldn’t leave her unprotected, and he couldn’t leave her here, which meant he also had to violate her demand to be allowed to stay here through all this. Damnit.

There weren’t many great options, and certainly none that didn’t tear at a part of his soul. With regret pressing on his chest and making it hard to breathe, he reclothed them both, her in the pajamas he’d seen her wear before, since her clothes had been ruined in the attack. He rose and surveyed the room, which looked like a freaking war zone. Given what had happened, it wasn’t far from the truth.

He commanded the South Wind to come forth. It swirled through the space and pushed the shards into neat piles. One at a time, he marshaled the wind to scoop them up, carry them across the room, and dump them into the kitchen trash. Last thing he wanted was for her to cut a foot on broken glass after she returned home. Without him, his brain added.

Ignoring the sinking feeling closing in on him, Chrys scooped her into his arms, adjusted her amulet, and did the only thing he could think of that made any sense—for both of them.

Chapter Eighteen

Laney woke up on a moan, her bones, her joints, even her skin aching. Lifting her eyelids took more energy than she had, so for a long moment, she didn’t bother to make the effort.

Exhaustion weighed on her like a lead blanket. She tugged the covers over her shoulder and turned to her side.

She gasped and pushed onto an elbow. “Chrys?” She frowned. Everything was…wrong.

Somewhere, a clock ticked.

The blanket balled in her fist was thick and chunky—an afghan?

Light streaked across her field of vision, followed by the soft murmur of an engine outside. A passing car?

Problem was, she didn’t own a ticking clock, a crocheted afghan, or a house that sat by a street.

As odd, she wasn’t dressed in the same clothes she’d worn earlier. Instead, she had on the pajamas she’d slept in last night.

Her heart hammered so hard she felt the beat’s echo under every inch of her skin. Where the hell am I? And what the hell is going on?

“Chrys?” she called, dread filling her stomach. Nothing. No answer. Just the torture of the ticking amid the silence. “Chrys!” She swung her legs off the bed. But she was totally blind, no idea where she was or what the room looked like, the darkness stealing what little vision she had. Tears sprung to her eyes.

Had whatever—or whoever—attacked her come back to finish the job? If so, why was she still alive? And what had happened to Chrys?

Panic bubbled up her throat. Please let him be okay. She choked down the fear. Until she got her bearings, she had to hold it together.

Wood floor underfoot, she sank to her knees. Crawling was safer than walking blind. If she could find a lamp or a light switch, she could begin to figure out what the hell was going on. Hopefully.

Swinging her hand proved that the coast was clear, at least to start. She felt around for a night table and eventually found one. Walking her hands up the front, she prayed she’d find a lamp.

Her fist hit glass. Something clanked, splashed, and then crashed to the floor. Laney squealed at the unexpected noise and jerked back.

Footsteps thumped nearby. Laney froze, listening. The door to her room rattled, opened. Light poured through the opening, blinding her, but the sharp contrast between the dark and light did nothing to help her see. Dreadful anticipation shivered over her skin. She flew back against the bed.

“Are you okay?”

She choked on a scream. “Who are you?”

“It’s Megan Winters. We met last night. You’re at my house.”

As Laney’s brain struggled to process this information, a male voice called from the direction of the door. “Is everything okay?”

Megan sighed. “Not really. But, yes.”

“Why am I here?” she managed, her vocal chords strained by her panic. No response. “Megan?”

“Here. Let me help you up.” Fingers touched the back of her hand. She flinched, but then clasped hands with the woman and rose to her feet. “Chrys thought you’d be safer here. Please tell me he discussed this with you.”

“Uh, no. Last time I talked to Chrys—” Heat flooded her face as memories of the sex they’d had paraded through her mind’s eye. “No, he didn’t.” She sagged against the bed’s edge and hugged herself. Blood still pounded under her skin, and the flood of adrenaline left her shaky. “What time is it?”

“About four in the morning, I think.”

“I…” She swallowed, so many questions competing for air time she wasn’t sure which to give voice to. Why had Chrys left her here? Where was he? When was he coming back? And what was going to happen when Seth discovered her gone in the morning?

As she calmed, she became aware of the light filling the room. She scanned her vision around for a moment. The details of the room’s décor remained foggy, but at least she could confirm that the woman talking to her was the same one she’d seen when Chrys had pulled her into the elements.

Megan’s voice interrupted the confusion of her thoughts. “I’m sorry. Will it help at all to know that the next time I see Chrysander, I’m going to kill him?”

She managed a smile. “Maybe. Yeah.” The humor slid off her face. “I can’t stay here. I have to go home.”

“Do you know what happened last night?” Megan asked.

A lot of things happened last night. Holy crap, her head was spinning over it all. She smoothed her hands down her front, over her pajamas. Why had he brought her here in these? She dropped her hands into her lap. “Which part?”

“After you got home.”

The memory of that dead, black light passed before her mind’s eye. Her scalp prickled. “We were attacked. In my house. But that’s all I know.”

“Mind if I sit down?” Laney shook her head, and the mattress shifted as Megan sat on the foot of the bed. “Chrys said it was his brother, Eurus. That Eurus tried to kill him but you got hit instead. The past six months, a feud has erupted and escalated among the Anemoi, the three you’ve met against Eurus. Last spring, he killed Zeph’s wife. From what they say, it’s not the first time he’s killed. Something’s happened that makes him more powerful than he should be. Chrys went with his brothers to figure out what to do. He didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Laney rubbed her forehead. “I appreciate the explanation, I do. But I…”

She pressed her fingers to her lips. Chrys should be the one telling her this. They’d made love, or had sex, or whatever he would call it. At the very least, that should’ve earned her a conversation, some basic common courtesy, not being dumped a hundred miles from home in a stranger’s house in the middle of the night. She didn’t know whether to feel humiliation that he’d dumped her off like a child who needed babysitting or be grateful that he was trying to take care of her, even if he’d gone about it all wrong. He should’ve asked her— She gasped and rubbed the back of her right leg.

“What’s wrong?”

No bandages. No stitches. No cuts. He’d healed her. “I cut my leg and had stitches. It’s all gone.”

“He healed you.”

Pressing her lips together and bottling up her mounting anger, she nodded. She’d told him not to heal her. How the hell was she going to explain her miraculous recuperation to the doctor? To Seth?

Seth. He was going to be so worried when he realized she wasn’t at the house. What would he think? What would he do? She groaned and dropped her head into her hand, a throb squeezing her skull. Not now. She couldn’t begin to deal with that problem on top of everything else.

Not safe here.

The thought crashed into her brain like someone forcefully implanted it. A montage of a thunderous rumble and flames and unapproachable heat ran through her head.

She wrenched up, her skin erupting in goose bumps. Something bad was going to happen here, she was suddenly sure of it. She forced a deep breath. The weirdness of the night was just getting to her, that was all. And no wonder. In the last twelve hours, she’d traveled through the air, been attacked by a deranged god, been healed by a god she was falling for, had sex for the first time in four years—no, had amazingly mind-blowing sex, and woken up sore, confused, and scared in a stranger’s house. It would be odd if she didn’t feel strange, after all that.

But one part of that foreboding thought stuck with her. “If I’m not safe, then that means Chrys is worried Eurus will come after me again. And if that’s true, I shouldn’t be here, endangering you and your family as well.”

“I appreciate the thought, but the guys stationed some of the ordinal Anemoi here while they were doing whatever it is they had to do. And my husband’s here. You shouldn’t be alone, not with all this going on.”

Problem was, she felt horribly alone. Chrys was gone. They hadn’t had a chance to talk after everything that had happened in her living room. Where did they even stand? I get my partners off good, but then I walk out the door. If she believed him, they stood exactly nowhere. Her shoulders slumped. “What’s ‘ordinal?’” she asked, hoping to divert her spiraling thoughts.

“Oh, I don’t know how much Chrys explained to you about—”

“Assume it wasn’t much.” Her spirits plummeted at the admission. Aside from that first night he’d lain in her bed and answered her questions about how he ended up on the floor of her barn, he hadn’t really shared much about himself. Rolly’s healing came to mind. Okay, she had learned a lot about him as a person, but not the specifics of his life and his family and his world.

“Well, there are four cardinal Anemoi, each in charge of a different wind—north, south, east, and west—and season. And there are four ordinal Anemoi, the intermediate winds, like northwest, southwest, southeast, and northeast—three of whom are downstairs right now. And then there are eight inter-ordinal Anemoi, in charge of the half-winds, like north-northwest.”

“Interesting family tree.”

Megan chuckled. “Yeah. Takes a bit to wrap your head around, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll say. Most days, I never leave my farm. I do my freelance writing, ride my horses, and help manage the farm. An exciting day for me involves shopping in Salisbury or a day trip to the beach. Now all of a sudden I might be in love with a—” Her face went hot and she wanted to disappear through the floor. Or into thin air. Since she now knew that was possible. She twisted her hands in her lap. “Please forget I said that.”

“Said what?” Megan paused. “You know what would make this night better? Coffee. And maybe some cookies. Or some ice cream. My neighbor keeps bringing over new flavors of homemade ice cream. What d’ya say?”

Laney released a shaky breath. She wanted to hug Megan for the hard right turn in the topic. “I don’t want to keep you up all night.”

“It’s fine. Teddy sleeps great, but he’s up with the sun. I doubt I’d go back to sleep before he started fussing anyway. Come on, don’t make me snack alone.”

She gave a small smile. “Okay, then, why not.” Anything was better than sitting here by herself and wondering what the hell had happened to her life. And what would happen next.

…

“Where the hell could he be?” Zeph asked.

Chrys didn’t have an answer. For two days, he and his brothers had searched non-stop for Aeolus. His villa on the Aegean Sea, his citadel in the Realm of the Gods, each of their divine estates. Boreas had gone to the Underworld to make sure their father hadn’t somehow ended up there, while Zeph and Ella confirmed with a very displeased Mars that the Olympians didn’t have him, either. Standing on the bluffs overlooking the deep blue Aegean, they’d come full circle and were no further ahead than when they started.

How is Laney doing? Chrys bit out a curse. No matter how hard he threw himself into the search, he couldn’t get Laney—or his guilt and regret at dumping her at Owen’s without a word—out of his mind.

No. The mistake had been putting her in harm’s way. Not leaving sooner. Giving in to his blood-pounding desire for her.

His body tightened. Damnit all to hell. What more did he want? What more did he truly think he could have? And at what cost?

Love ‘em and leave ‘em. His specialty.

Enough. Focus on the damn job at hand. Chrys blew out a hard breath. “What other places hold significance for him?” He traded glances with his brothers. The sun couldn’t set on another day without them finding him.

“And why has he gone so deep underground?” Zeph asked. “We’re wasting time.”

“Underground,” Boreas murmured, scrubbing his hand over his stubble-lined jaw. “What if…”

“What?” Zeph stepped closer as Boreas looked to the west, where the evening sun hung low in the sky.

Underground. Chrys turned the word around in his mind and followed his oldest brother’s gaze. Memories best forgotten sucked him several millennia into the past. To the youth of the Anemoi. To their father’s effort to control the turmoil they unleashed over heavens, land, and sea. To Zeus’s edict to rein in the power of the Anemoi or face the Olympian’s wrath.

Aeolus had imprisoned them in a cavern far beneath the sea at the edge of the known world. A place the ancients called Calpe. Today, the world referred to the location as the Rock of Gibraltar.

“That would be some messed-up shit right there,” Chrys said. Out of nowhere, clouds gathered and the winds kicked up.

“But hiding there would make a certain twisted sense, wouldn’t it?” Zeph asked. “If he doesn’t want to be found, he knows it’s the last place any of us would ever willingly go.”

Damn straight. Aeolus had kept them locked up for a year. Something about the below-sea chamber prevented their transforming into their elemental states, and so they’d been trapped and powerless. Their roars for freedom helped establish the ancients’ fear of traveling past the strait into the open ocean, beyond which, they believed, nothing existed. At least, nothing good.

During their incarceration, Aeolus had forcibly taken blood from each of the Anemoi and syphoned off a small part of their elemental natures. And had laced both into a ring that gave him control over them for all time.

The firestone.

After he made the ring, Aeolus released them from their prison at Calpe, but they’d never truly been free again.

And now Eurus had the ring.

“Well, I guess we’re going whether we want to or not.” Chrys glared to the west as the sky darkened.

“Indeed,” Boreas said. “We have to give it a look, so let’s get this over with.”

They traded glances and nodded, resolve bonding them. One by one, they shifted into their elemental forms and took to the air. Over 1,600 miles separated Aeolus’s Greek citadel and the rock formation that jutted off the southwestern tip of Europe on the Iberian Peninsula. They couldn’t get there soon enough, as far as Chrys was concerned.

Within an hour, the massive limestone cliffs appeared on the horizon. The closer they got, the more apparent the enormous scale of the rock became, rising over a quarter mile above the churning sea. Hundreds of caves and crags and caverns made up the internal structure of Gibraltar. If their suspicions were on target, within one of the most remote caverns, one not accessible to humans, they would find their father and get their answers.

And it was about time. Less than a dozen days remained until the equinox. With each passing day, the end of Chrys’s season—and the beginning of Eurus’s—approached.

When Gibraltar loomed before them, they plummeted toward the Mediterranean. A cave sat almost at sea level on the east-facing side. Their pathway to hell.

Home, sweet, home, Chrys thought.

They shot within.

At the periphery of perception, divine energy beckoned. Triumph roared through Chrys’s psyche. Aeolus was here. Fucking finally something was going their way.

They twisted and turned, threading an ever-narrowing needle as the caverns and tunnels gave way to steep crags and narrow, eroded passages through which water trickled. The air grew cooler, danker, more stale the further they descended.

But that was of little consequence. What mattered was the growing strength of their father’s energy signature. They were getting close.

Do you feel that? Zeph asked.

Chrys concentrated. And immediately picked up on what had captured his brother’s attention. More than one energy signature radiated among the rock walls.

Two. No, three, Boreas said. Take care.

Getting closer did little to clarify what they were flying into. Somehow, the signatures were dulled and warped, perceptible but unreadable.

They came through a final crevice into a long rectangular space framed by jagged stalactites and stalagmites. Not the same space in which they’d been imprisoned, at least—

Movement. Shouts. A flash of lightning exploded through the cavern. A figure shifted into the elements, the energy vaguely familiar but not someone Chrys could identify.

The stranger bolted from the space. Who was it? What did they have to do with his father being here, of all places? Only one way to find out. Chrys turned in pursuit.

“Chrysander, stay.” His father’s voice echoed off the rock.

Resentment crawling down his spine, Chrys materialized right in front of his father, Boreas and Zeph right behind him.

“Who was that?” Chrys growled. He took in his father’s appearance. Tall and broad, the supreme storm god wore his commanding presence as if it were a second skin, which made it especially odd that Aeolus could currently give Chrys a run for his money in the battered-and-bruised department. “And what the hell happened to you?”

“And when were you planning to tell us about your ring?” Zeph said, pointing at Aeolus’s unadorned hand.

“Do they ever stop talking?” Someone stepped out of the deep shadows. Tisiphone.

Damn caves. He hadn’t even sensed her. What in the hell was she doing here?

She strolled up and took a position to Aeolus’s right. Black snakes writhed upon her head. Two twined around her neck and arms.

Zeph glared, the blue light of his gaze shifting from her face to their father’s. “You’re the one who sent her? And you accused me of misusing divine power in the human realm. You sent a fucking Fury among people.”

Not just any people. Laney. The danger she’d been in was like a chunk of ice in his gut.

The snakes hissed and the sound reverberated around the room.

“You will address her with respect,” Aeolus said, controlled anger seeping through the words. “She has offered her help and I have accepted. Seeing how Chrysander has failed to handle Eurus, we should be grateful for the assistance.”

Heat roared through Chrys’s veins, casting off an electrical charge into the air. Around the perimeter of the cavern, trapped gases sparked. “Yeah, well, maybe if you’d shared the little nugget of joy that Eurus managed to get the goddamned firestone from you, I’d have had a better idea what the hell I was up against.” The sharp bite of his voice echoed off the rock formations.

Uncertainty flashed through Aeolus’s green eyes. Tension crackled between the father and sons. Finally, Aeolus’s massive shoulders sagged. “Yes.”

“That is all you have to say?” Boreas asked. “For the love of Zeus. You created this whole situation. You could at least have more to say for yourself.”

Aeolus gave his eldest son a once-over, his gaze lingering for a moment. If he had an opinion about Boreas’s new appearance, he didn’t voice it. “I am well aware of my shortcomings, Boreas. But I think our focus should remain on how to solve the current problem, rather than assigning blame for how it came to be. There will be plenty of time for that later, if we’re lucky.”

Boreas stared at him a long moment, the silver in his eyes flaring. He offered a tight nod. “Fair enough.”

“Does that mean you have a plan?” Chrys asked, the cool dampness of the cave sending a shudder through him. A few degrees colder, and he’d be having a problem in here.

He gestured to Tisiphone. “We are working on a plan.”

Chrys frowned. Why the hell had Aeolus allied with a Fury? She and her two sisters might’ve been avenging goddesses, but they were also servants of Hades. And he could be one devious bastard.

Her lips twisted upward in a wicked smile. “Your trust is so heartwarming, Notos.” She stroked the snake at her neck.

“Why should I give it?”

“Because she is on our side,” Aeolus said. “Eurus has committed so many murders—”

“Homicide. Filicide. Attempted fratricide. Attempted patricide.” She ticked off the clipped words on spindly fingers and shook her head. “It is past time he pays. Justice demands it.” The snakes on her head writhed in a wave.

Eurus’s crimes were many. About that, Tisiphone was absolutely right. Ella’s horrific murder last spring. The suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of Eurus’s youngest son, Farren, ages ago. The attack that left their father without the firestone ring.

The image of Eurus wielding the lance of lightning over his own chest flashed through Chrys’s mind. Yes, even the attacks on himself, including the one that could’ve claimed Laney. Chrys ground his teeth together. These were only the tip of the iceberg of Eurus’s transgressions.

Chrys looked at Tisiphone anew. Fierce outrage sharpened the already stark features of her face. “So you’re here solely to right these wrongs?”

She nailed him with her black eyes. “Punishing crimes of murder and avenging the dead, these are my purpose.”

“Why now?” Zeph asked. “Eurus’s crimes are not new.”

“That is true,” she said. She and Aeolus exchanged a glance. What was their deal? “But they are more egregious. More frequent. And more destructive than ever before.”

Aeolus raised his right arm, bringing his hand—minus the last two fingers—into view. He fisted and unfisted his remaining digits. Chrys stared, shocked to see his father maimed. One more crime for which Eurus had to pay.

The silence grew awkward. “So, what’s the plan?” Chrys asked, needing the conversation to move along. The cold was sinking into his muscles and joints. “We were thinking of trying to gain the alliance of Eurus’s son, Alastor. And I have this.” He materialized the dagger in his hand.

“Leave the sons to me,” Aeolus commanded.

At the same time, Tisiphone hissed and jerked backward. “Where did you get that?”

Chrys traded glances with his brothers. He spun the blade in his grip. “From a friend. It’s made of infernal iron—”

“I know of what it is made,” she said. “It’s mined in Tartarus and laces the cave system below us. And it can temporarily paralyze or neutralize a god. Or worse.”

It was nearby infernal iron that screwed with their powers in here? The cavern in which Aeolus had held them sat further underground—no wonder he’d been able to confine them. The walls were a virtual cage of the power-stealing iron. Well, now he had a way to use it to his advantage. He eyed the blade and nodded. “Yes. A little odds-evener, as it were.”

“Why do you wish us away from the sons?” Boreas interjected. “Chrysander already has Apheliotes seeing where they stand. It is a sound plan.”

Aeolus’s eyes flared green. “Call him back.”

Chrys caught the blade’s grip in his palm and frowned. “That ship sailed. Aphel left for the East this morning.”

“By the gods, Chrysander. You’ll ruin everything.” Aeolus’s voice boomed through the cavern.

Dread slinked in icy tentacles through his gut. “What the hell am I missing?”

Aeolus spun on his heel and paced away, cursing under his breath in the ancient language. Tisiphone turned, watching him.

For the first time, Chrys paid attention to the god’s clothing. Not the normal luxurious robes he wore when presiding over one of the ceremonial halls on his estates. Not the tunics often worn among the gods in the divine realm. Loose black pants. Form-fitting black shirt. Hair pulled back by a leather cord and damp with sweat…

“Wait a second. Wait just a goddamned second.” On anyone else, he would’ve sworn it was workout gear. The disappearing energy signature. The flash of light just as they’d entered the cavern. The pieces of the puzzle clicked together in Chrys’s brain. “You were fighting someone when we came.” Aeolus hesitated a fraction of a step in his pacing. That tell affirmed Chrys’s suspicions. “Who was it? Who was here when we arrived?”

Aeolus turned. For a long moment, he met Tisiphone’s gaze. She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. He drew himself up to his full height. “Not fighting. Training.”

“Who?” Chrys asked, fighting back a shiver.

“Eurus’s son, Devlin.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Tell me where you are right now,” Seth growled through the phone.

Laney scanned her gaze over her borrowed bedroom. It was the third time she’d talked to him since her “disappearance” two days before, but he was no calmer now than he’d been the first time. “I can’t, but don’t worry—”

“Don’t worry? You left the farm without any notice. Your purse, your phone, your house keys—they’re all still here. And yet I’m supposed to believe you’re just fine? You haven’t traveled by yourself since before your grandfather died.”

Guilt washed acid into her stomach. Of course he was right. And she heard, too, what he hadn’t said—it wasn’t just that she hadn’t traveled by herself, it was that she hadn’t gone anywhere without him. Between the deterioration of her vision and the rural location of the farm, she really was trapped without someone to drive her. And Seth was always there for her.

“I’m sorry,” she managed. She shifted positions on her bed.

“But you’re not going to tell me.”

She shook her head, unable to turn him down for the millionth time. “Please trust me. I know I’m asking a lot, but I’ll be home soon.”

“Trust you? How about you trust me to help you with whatever’s going on. We’ve been friends for forever. It’s my job—as your friend, as your farm manager, as the man who made a promise to your grandfather—to watch out for you. If you’re not going to tell me what I need to know to do that, for whatever reason, I’m calling the police.”

Tension roared down the line despite the silence. Had they ever been this at odds with one another? There was only one way to fix it. She held her breath for a long moment, then let the words fly. “I’m in Fairfax, Virginia.”

He didn’t respond right away. “Where?” he said, tone full of barely restrained anger.

Shoulders falling, she gave him the address.

“I’m coming to get you.”

Her scalp prickled and her stomach seemed to take flight. “No, don’t. I—”

“This isn’t up for debate.”

“But—”

“Stay put, Laney. I mean it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The line went dead.

She gaped at the phone. “Holy crap,” she whispered to herself. How the hell was she going to explain all this to Seth? The walls of the room closed in on her at the thought. She had to get out of there, just get some fresh air to clear her head and help her figure out what to do.

Laney eased off the bed and smoothed her hands over her borrowed T-shirt. Luckily, a few of Megan’s pre-pregnancy summer clothes had fit well enough to get by for a few days. She sighed and counted the paces to the bedroom door. In the two days she’d been there, she’d thrown herself into pacing out the distance between things so she could move around as independently as possible and not be any greater burden on the couple than she already was.

Six steps to the door. Knob on the left. Eight steps down the hall to the top of the staircase. Thirteen steps down to a landing at the bottom, turn left, and two more steps to the living room floor.

She crossed the living room to the kitchen. Empty. Thankful not to have run into anyone, Laney made her way to the mud room that led to the back door.

She kicked something and froze, throwing her hands out in case she tripped. Something bounced. A ball? Maybe one of Teddy’s toys?

Ahead of her, the light brightened. The back door.

A few more paces, and she was opening it, stepping out onto the brick porch. The sunlight stole her remaining vision, as it always did. No matter. Chrys had told her there were three steps. She felt for the iron railing and found it.

When she reached the grass, she stopped and allowed her sight to adjust. Underfoot, green came into focus. Laney stood there for a long moment and scanned her vision over the yard. Longer than it was wide, there didn’t appear to be any obstacles that would trip her up.

The glare remained too bright to locate what she was looking for at this distance, so Laney set out carefully, counting the number of steps she took so she could make her way back to the porch. After twenty paces, she paused and scanned again. To her left. There it was.

The tree under which she and Chrys had materialized after that first miraculous journey through the wind. After he’d gifted her with that amazing, whole view of the world. Under that tree, she’d kissed him.

Heat washed over her skin that had nothing to do with the midday sun.

She made her way toward the sprawling branches, hunching to ensure she didn’t hit her head on an unseen low-hanger. When she reached the trunk, she pressed her hand flat to the bark. Rough and craggy, she pushed her finger under a piece and pulled it away. Then she sat, her back to the tree, her knees pulled up in front of her.

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back as she breathed in a deep, invigorating gulp of fresh air. Already, just being out of doors lifted some of the weight from her shoulders, made it easier to breathe. She hated being a burden. She hated uncertainty. And she especially hated the feeling of helplessness. As nice as Megan and Owen were—and she truly did like them—she didn’t belong here.

But Chrys does.

True. But that was hardly relevant if they weren’t together.

In her head, she heard the strained rasp of his voice. I walk out the door.

She fingered the heavy amulet that hung around her neck. Whatever power it held worked. She bore no side effects from her attack.

Oh, which was the truth of Chrys? The man who says he always leaves his lovers, or the man who promised to take care of her?

And why, after a lifetime of insisting on her independence, on her ability to take care of herself, did she hope with all her heart the latter was the real Chrys?

Because you’re falling in love with him.

She thunked her head against the tree. Hard to believe it hadn’t even been two weeks since Chrysander Notos had fallen into her life. How could she be falling so hard for someone she’d known for such a short time? For someone she knew so little about, and who knew so little about her? She thought about Seth, who knew almost everything there was to know. She didn’t believe two people had to be that well acquainted to fall in love, but did she really feel that strongly for Chrys? If so, given his little speech, she was probably so, so screwed.

The breeze ruffled her hair, and Laney tucked a few wayward strands behind her ear. Random memories of the time they’d spent together ran through her mind. But they were no more helpful in sorting out what to believe. For every instance she recalled of his intense brand of care and consideration, there existed an example of him pulling away or leaving.

Why was he always pulling away?

I restrain my lovers because I can’t stand to be touched.

Laney’s throat tightened at the memory. Twin reactions coursed through her. Arousal stirred as she recalled every restraining grip, dominant hold, and commanding word from their lovemaking. But deep concern dampened the pleasure. Because she’d heard the pain behind the admission, behind his description of his “ugly reality.”

Pressure squeezed her chest. Not once had she ever fully seen Chrys, but that didn’t keep her from knowing he was a beautiful, beautiful man. Inside and out. Nothing about him was ugly. Not to her. Not even the rough sex he’d warned her away from.

She tried to recall all the times he’d pulled away…

Their first kiss, when she’d grabbed his back. In her bedroom doorway after her shower. Before she’d ended up against the door, she’d tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but he’d pushed her hands away and pinned her. He’d been totally into her until…until she wrapped her leg around his.

Her heart kicked up in her chest. Now that she was looking for the signs, she found them everywhere. In the flinches and muscle ticks and tension when she touched him. In the way his breath caught. In the way he apologized every time he pulled away.

Oh, Chrys.

The more she’d thought about their night together, the more she knew to the very core of her that his sexual dominance resonated with her in a way she never would’ve expected. Maybe it was the novelty of it, or the edginess, or the rough way he handled her—like she wasn’t fragile or damaged, but strong enough to take what he needed to give her. But as much as she knew she could accept that part of him, her arms ached to hold him. Her fingers tingled with the desire to trace over his face, to explore every inch of his body.

Neither of which he would want.

Which didn’t really matter if he didn’t want her, now did it?

Laney groaned. Her head was one big circle of confusion. And, in a couple of hours, Seth was going to be here to add to the mix. Her only saving grace was he was going to have to wade through D.C.’s horrid rush hour traffic, which would hopefully give her a few more hours to figure out how to explain the impossible without him hauling her off to the nearest psych ward.

She let herself enjoy the warm breeze for a few more moments, then pushed herself up. She didn’t want Megan to get up from her nap and worry about where she’d gone.

Counting out her paces again, she headed back the way she came.

Damnit. She swung her arms in a careful circuit, but couldn’t find the railing. She must’ve veered off her original path, but the glare of the sun after sitting in the shade made it impossible to see.

Shielding her hand over her eyes, she waited for them to adjust, that uncomfortable feeling of being out of place settling back into her shoulders.

“Are you okay there? Can I help you?” a woman’s voice called from off to the left. “I’m Tabitha, Megan’s neighbor.”

Laney cringed internally. No doubt she looked ridiculous standing in the yard utterly lost, yet probably mere feet from the door. She forced a smile. “I’ve, uh, gotten myself a bit turned around.” She gestured to her face. “I’m almost blind and still learning where everything is here.”

“Well, don’t you worry about a thing.” Her voice neared. “Any friend of the Winters is a friend of mine. How can I best help get you back inside?”

Sincerity rang through her words, putting Laney more at ease. “If you’ll let me take your elbow, I can follow you in.”

“One elbow, coming right up.” Tabitha stepped to her side and Laney took her arm.

“I smell roses.”

The other woman chuckled as she slowly led her across the lawn. “I was pruning. Warm as it’s been, some of my repeat bloomers might just have one more flowering in them.”

“Yeah? What color are they?”

Tabitha hesitated, as if the question caught her off guard. “Two are the palest, softest pink. One is white with just a hint of goldenrod along the petals’ edges. I’ve got several shades of red—one almost maroon, it’s so dark, another that’s bordering on fuchsia, and two that are the classic rose red. And then there are my absolute favorite—they have bright, canary buds that can’t help but make you smile.”

The woman’s words had the same effect. “You described them beautifully, like an artist, or a writer.”

“That is sweet of you to say. I paint, so I’ve always appreciated color.” They paused. “Here are the steps.”

“Perfect. Thank you. I can find my way from here.” She gripped the iron. “I’m Laney, by the way.”

“Very nice to meet you.” Tabitha stepped away. “Do you like ice cream?”

Laney chuckled. “Do you ever find someone who answers that question in the negative?”

She laughed, a pleasant, open sound. “Not living next to Owen, I don’t. I think that man would live on ice cream if he could. I’ve made up a few more flavors and was going to bring some over for them to try, but tell me which you prefer and I’ll make sure I bring some of that special. I have orange chocolate chip, mint, strawberry, and coffee.”

“Yes, please.”

“Uh, which?”

Laney grinned. “Any or all.”

“My kinda gal. All right. Tell Megan I’ll be over.”

Laney nodded, still smiling at the force of nature that was their neighbor. The brief conversation made her realize she missed having girlfriends, people she could chat to about everything or just nothing at all. She had Seth, of course, but it wasn’t the same. He’d talk about the horses or the farm or her medical care until the cows came home. He was the only person in the world who could share stories about her grandfather, and who understood just how important those memories were to her. But the books she was reading, her feelings and fears, men? Not so much. “Thanks again, Tabitha.”

“You bet,” she said, her voice moving away. “See you later.”

She felt around for the doorknob and found it. Amazing how a bit of kindness from a stranger could lift your spirits.

The thought made her pause. Megan and Owen had offered that, too, hadn’t they? They’d been nothing but kind and helpful and understanding since she’d arrived. And not only that—Megan was so easy to talk to. She really listened, and she was funny, and she was the only person on earth she could talk to about the whole supernatural god thing.

Get it together, Laney. Time to stop moping and start appreciating. She hated the weakness of feeling sorry for herself. Done. Enough. Over.

For now, it was time to accept the situation and make the best of it. When Seth arrived, she’d figure out what to say. And when Chrys returned—she refused to believe it could be an “if”—she’d get the clarity she needed on where they stood, and go home to nurse her broken heart if that’s the way the cookie crumbled.

Until then, she’d enjoy the new friends she was making. And the homemade ice cream wouldn’t hurt, either.

…

For a long moment, their father’s revelation hung in the darkness. Then all hell broke loose.

Zeph faced off with Aeolus. “Devlin? What the hell are you thinking?”

“You’ve let him know what’s going on, but not us?” Boreas asked.

The collective tension gave the air a sizzling, electrical quality. Chrys tugged his hair out of his face. “How do you even know you can trust him?” This whole situation was getting more complicated by the minute.

“Enough!” Aeolus glared at Zeph, who finally eased off a step. “He is strong. He is on the inside. And we need his help.”

Zeph planted his hands on his hips. “But he’s too close to his father. He’s not trustworthy.”

“There’s no love lost between them, I can assure you.”

“Not liking his father isn’t the same as not being loyal to him, for whatever reason. And it’s not the same as being free of his influence.”

Chrys nodded at Zeph. “And Aphel says while Eurus keeps Alastor imprisoned, Devlin is free because he’s doing his father’s bidding.” A thought slammed into his brain. “Son of a bitch. Devlin’s part of the reason the weather’s been so chaotic all summer. A storm or a destructive wind would arise, and I’d go thinking I’d find Eurus, only to come up empty-handed. It was clear divine energy was present, but I didn’t recognize it.” He held his hands out. “Until now. That same energy signature is all over this room, which means it was Devlin all along. Jesus, he’s been actively working with Eurus all this time.”

“Why did you think contacting Alastor would ruin whatever plans you’re making?” Boreas asked, a deep frown on his face.

“Because Eurus must believe you distrust his sons, especially Devlin. When you encounter one another in battle, Eurus must believe it.”

Zeph scoffed. “No problem there, since we don’t trust him.”

Boreas held out a hand. “What is it you’re training Devlin to do?”

Aeolus held Chrys’s gaze as he spoke. “As long as Eurus possesses the ring, the three of you are disadvantaged. Even without the ring, I am at least his equal, if not stronger, but there’s only one of me.” Chrys gestured for him to continue. “I’m training Devlin in my powers. I’m training him to become my equal.”

Outside, thunder cracked, strong enough to rumble the rock around them. A whirlwind whipped through the cavern. Two stalactites crashed to the floor in a spray of limestone.

“You’re. Doing. What?” Zeph asked, voice seething.

“Did you even hear what I just said?” Chrys asked, white-hot adrenaline sending tremors through his body. Or maybe that was just the cold.

“How is such a thing even possible? He is not your equal,” Boreas said. “He is the son of the weakest Anemoi.”

“But he will be his equal. He almost is.” Tisiphone stepped in front of Aeolus, placing her body between them.

“How?” Chrys and Zeph asked at the same time. When Aeolus hesitated, Chrys pushed. “The less you tell us, the more vulnerable you make us. What are we talking about here?”

“I’ve amplified his native powers by having him drink of the Styx, and we’ve cultivated powers resembling mine by having him drink of the Phlegethon.”

Chrys dug his fingers into his temples, his brain balking at the magnitude of recklessness Aeolus was describing. Two of the five infernal waterways, the Styx was the river of hatred and the Phlegethon the river of fire. As she resided in the Underworld, Tisiphone’s contribution to the plan was at least clear now. But by the gods, it was the equivalent of putting Devlin on rage steroids and handing him a flamethrower. “Almighty Zeus, Father. That’s not a Hail Mary, that’s the fucking nuclear option.”

Aeolus’s green eyes blazed. “He will master it. He nearly has. And as he’s been finding ways to sneak off here for two months and keep our secret all this time, I believe he has more than proven his trustworthiness. And he has the greatest access to Eurus, including in the Eastern divine realm, where Eurus considers himself safe from all of us.”

Zeph glared. “But how do you know he hasn’t already told Eurus what you’re doing here? How do you know Eurus isn’t permitting it? He could be playing both sides, and you’d never know.”

“Eurus would never allow his son to become more powerful. And Devlin holds a grudge against his father that is a mile deep and twice as wide. He wouldn’t jeopardize the chance to take him down once and for all.”

“Be that as it may,” Boreas said. “That doesn’t mean he’s loyal to you, either.”

“Indeed,” Aeolus said. “But instinct tells me he is. Trust me.”

Zeph scoffed and jabbed a finger toward their father’s hand. “That would be easier if the recent history of deception didn’t exist.”

“Perhaps. But what is your alternative? This thing is done.”

His words hung in the air between them, their truth incontrovertible.

“So it is,” Boreas said. “Now what?”

“I continue to train Devlin for at least a few more days. A week at most. Then we set a trap and lure Eurus out. Between me, Devlin, and now you with the infernal dagger, we have the means to take him down.”

Zeph shook his head. “Am I the only one who sees this has catastrophe written all over it?”

Chrys nodded, the cold making it harder to breathe. “Maybe. Probably. But Father’s right. What’s done is done. We’ll get one shot at this, so we just need to do it and do it right.”

“Agreed,” Boreas said. “But here’s my question. How are you going to lure him? What’s the bait?”

Aeolus met each of their gazes, then glanced at Tisiphone. Heaving a long breath, he looked back at his sons. “Me.”

Chapter Twenty

Chrysander saw a resignation in his father’s eyes he didn’t like, but all they had were a bunch of shit options.

“Now, you should depart,” Aeolus said. “The rock and iron shield our energy, but don’t block it completely. If a storm hasn’t already kicked up, it soon will.”

Tisiphone stepped to his side. “Same time?”

“Yes.” He seemed to hesitate, but then he turned to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

Well, hello. His brothers’ expressions bore the same surprise he felt. Since his mother left long, long ago, his father had never done more than scratch the occasional itch. No more wives. Nothing you could call a relationship. Like father, like son. But the lingering kiss spoke of something deeper, something more meaningful.

They pulled apart. “Be careful,” he said.

She nodded, then looked their way and winked. “Close your mouths before you catch a fly.”

Aeolus smiled. Chrys arched an eyebrow at the unusual display.

Tisiphone took to the back of the cave and disappeared. Since the caves possessed deposits of infernal iron, there clearly was a connecting tunnel that allowed her passage to the Underworld. Aeolus’s use of this place might’ve been twisted, but it was equally brilliant.

“Where will you go?” Boreas asked.

“Nowhere. I’m staying here.”

Chrys nodded. “When should we next meet?”

“Week from today. If Devlin appears ready sooner, I’ll send for you.”

They all agreed, then awkwardness settled into the spaces between them.

“Okay, well,” Zeph said.

“A week, then,” Boreas said. “I’ll, uh, leave first. I’m going back to Owen’s.” He met Chrys’s gaze.

Chrys’s gut clenched. A shudder tore through him. Laney. Guess it was time to face the music. “I’ll meet you back there.”

Boreas nodded, then shifted into the elements. His energy shot from the room.

“I’m going home. Stay in touch,” Zeph said to Chrys. He gave Aeolus a tight nod, and followed after Boreas.

Chrys looked, really looked, at his father. Exhaustion carved lines into the other man’s face. “Need anything?”

Aeolus shook his head.

“Well, I’m outta here, too.”

“Wait.” Aeolus stepped closer, and Chrys braced. His father’s hand settled onto his shoulder, and he forced his body to tolerate the contact. “I wronged you, earlier. This isn’t your fault. Not any of it.”

Surprise stole his response. He could probably count on one hand the number of times his father had admitted he was wrong.

“Not any of it, Chrysander. Do you hear me?”

He swallowed, hard, appreciating the words even if he couldn’t fully believe them. But still, he said, “Yes.”

“Good.” Aeolus dropped his hand. “Go, before the cold harms you further.”

“See you in a week.” Chrys disappeared into the elements.

He backtracked through the crevices and crags and caverns, anticipating the comforting Mediterranean warmth surrounding him. Already the air was warmer…so why was an icy feeling of dread crawling down his spine? He extended his consciousness, specifically opening himself to read other energy signatures. Below, his father remained as he’d left him. Ahead… Alarm. Aggression. Desperation. But it was like watching a screen filled with static. The damn rock obscured the full picture of what he was flying into.

Whatever it was, though, wasn’t good.

Chrys poured on the full force of his godhood, working his way through ever-larger spaces, until he shot out the sea-level cave door through which they’d entered Gibraltar.

Screech, screech, screeeeeeech!

What in the hell?

The rough sea tossed and crashed. Gusting winds blew spray into the air. And three enormous birds circled and dove in the tumultuous, night sky above him.

Chrys shot up. The birds swooped and dive-bombed. Lightning split the sky. He slammed on the brakes and reared back.

Not birds. Oh, shit a fucking brick. Harpies. The heads of women with long, colorful hair atop the bodies of birds with thick-barreled chests, broad wingspans, and sharp talons.

They were shrieking and circling and clawing at one space of air.

Boreas.

His brother flashed in and out of the elements as the preternatural assault continued, his shirt shredded, along with the skin underneath. Damnit all to hell. What kind of dumb bad luck was it to run into them now? Vicious and cruel, Harpies were known for abducting and torturing. If they got their claws into Boreas, it was going to be game over.

Zephyros’s energy torpedoed into one of the beasts, knocking it across the dark sky. The assault distracted the other two just long enough for Boreas to shoot up and away.

The beasts quickly regrouped and searched out their target. Chrys swung wide around their flight pattern to reach Boreas. Where had the one Zeph hit gone? Chrys scanned in a three-sixty.

There. On the peak of Gibraltar. The lame Harpy scrambled to gain purchase. Further down the ridge stood another figure, a hooded cloak whipping around him in the wind.

Not so fast, big brother, you’ll spoil my fun.

Eurus! Chrysander spun, feeling his brother’s energy but unable to pinpoint it with so many divine beings in the storm-beaten sky at once. All he knew is that Eurus’s voice came from above him, not from the direction of the unknown observer.

Boreas loosed a blood-curdling scream.

Chrys shot upward and ran into a current of superheated air. Bastard was using the South Wind—his wind—against Boreas. They couldn’t get that fucking ring back fast enough. Holding steady in the steaming flow, Chrys concentrated on attracting every bit of the air into himself. Splintering thunder cracked overhead.

Behind him, Boreas groaned.

B? B? You okay, man? No answer. Zephyros, get Father! Go!

Zeph’s energy whipped past him, scattering the Harpies as they made for Boreas again. Slashing rain erupted from the swirling clouds.

The South Wind stopped blowing, freeing Chrys to look for Boreas. They had to get him out of here.

In a cacophony of flapping wings and screeching birdcalls, one of the Harpies dive-bombed Chrys. They could perceive him in all his forms, and he just barely avoided a haircut of the ripped-out-of-your-skull variety. He whipped around and… No! Pounding thunder made the very air vibrate.

One of the Harpies had its claws deep in Boreas’s bloody bicep. The other swooped in on great spread wings to grab his free arm.

Over my dead body.

Chrys shot out over the sea, rippling into corporeal form, infernal dagger in hand.

That can be arranged, Eurus sneered.

Out of nowhere, icy air lashed at his body, created a frigid turbulence that fought his forward motion. Chrys pushed through it, drawing on the overload of South Wind heat he’d imbibed moments before. It countered the attacking North Wind, allowed Chrys to come up fast behind the Harpy that already had Boreas in its clutches.

Chrys reared back his arm just as the bird turned its feminine head. He swung the dagger in a vicious slash, opening up a bright, red gaping wound in its throat. The Harpy issued a gurgling screech and flailed, but didn’t drop his brother.

A blast of North Wind knocked him back. Chrys cloaked himself in more of the South. But the sub-zero air surrounding him would wear through his reserves quickly. Just where he was, the rain froze and ice pelted him, cutting and bruising his face and arms.

He launched himself at the bird-woman again. It thrust its wing out to protect its core, so Chrys jammed the blade through the feathers and used the leverage to pull himself up the Harpy’s big body.

With an outraged screech, it dropped Boreas, leaving him dangling by one arm in the other Harpy’s clutch.

That’s right, you screeching bitch.

He tugged the blade free, lunged for its neck, and aimed hard and fast for its chest.

Eurus materialized right in front of him, arms outreached to block the blow.

The dagger sliced full and deep across the palm of Eurus’s hand and plunged into the Harpy’s chest. His brother roared in pained outrage; the bird screeched in agony.

Eurus lunged at him. Pain exploded across Chrys’s cheekbone. The blow knocked him back, forcing him to pull the knife free, but the job was done.

A wall of frigidity rammed into him. Then another. From every angle, the blistering North Wind battered him until he was in a freefall with no idea which way was up. He could do nothing, nothing but grip the dagger with all his might. He couldn’t lose it.

Commotion erupted above him. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed in deep cracks. The remaining Harpy screeched. The cavalry had arrived. He was vaguely aware of Zeph’s and Aeolus’s voices.

He slammed into the churning black water.

Time slowed to a crawl as the impact reverberated through every part of him. The sea might as well have been cement for how much it cushioned his fall.

The height from which he fell drove him under. Waves rolled and crested overhead.

The cold stole his breath, made his muscles seize, and his joints threaten to snap.

Extreme heat, Chrys could do all day long. The cold, though? That was a complete show-stopper. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

His skin, his lungs, his eyes—everything burned.

Something seized his neck. Chrys gasped, sucking in great mouthfuls of cold sea water.

Jesus, not like this. Don’t let it end like this.

Cold. Alone. So many regrets.

Consciousness flickered.

Not yet. Not before I can… In a flash, Laney’s beautiful face, her dark hair, her deep blue eyes, all came to mind. He struggled to hold on to the image, onto why it mattered.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. It faded, and Laney was gone, and so was everything else.

…

Laney pushed away her empty ice cream bowl and rubbed her stomach. “So good, Tabitha. Thank you.” She glanced at the clock. Ninety minutes had passed since she’d talked to Seth. Depending on rush-hour traffic, he’d be here within two to three hours. God, let the Beltway be a parking lot. She needed every minute to figure out how to explain the situation.

“Can I have more of the orange?” Owen asked.

Everyone chuckled. It was his second serving of seconds.

“What?” he asked.

“All yours. Makes me happy to see,” Tabitha said.

She’d come over about an hour before, and Megan had whipped up a quick and hearty salad with crisp lettuce, chunky vegetables, sweet fruit, and grilled chicken. Summer in a bowl. The four of them had chatted while they ate, Teddy eating and playing at Megan’s side, and the fun, free-flowing conversation set Laney more at ease. For the first time since she’d woken up scared in the middle of the night, she felt comfortable, like these people were friends.

“So, Laney,” Megan said. “What kinds of things do you write— What is it, Owen?”

Laney frowned and tried to scan their faces, unsure what she’d missed.

His spoon clanked and he jerked into a standing position, judging by the movement of the white light around him. “I’m very sorry, Tabitha. This is rude and unexplainable, but you should go.”

“What?” she said.

“Owen?” Megan asked again.

Laney’s stomach rolled. The quiet alarm in Owen’s voice, so different from his usual easy-going demeanor, told her something was very wrong. “It’s okay,” he said. “Damn, too late.”

What was happening? Did it have something to do with Chrys?

An image slammed into her mind: the god they called Boreas, prostrate on the ground, Owen, Megan, others kneeling around him, Zeph pressing on his chest. She gasped as the scene disappeared as quickly as it came.

Out of nowhere, a commotion erupted in the living room. Men’s voices. Groans. Oh, God. Owen’s light darted across the room. Footsteps followed.

A hand grasped hers. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Tabitha asked.

What the hell was she supposed to say? In truth, no, not really. And what she did know would make her sound crazy. “Uh…”

“Come on,” she said, urging Laney up.

“I think we should give them some space,” Laney hedged. Surely Tabitha didn’t know what Owen, Boreas, and the others were. Owen had ordered her to leave for a reason. Obviously his senses had alerted him to the appearance of his magical family.

Tabitha tugged her up. “Sounds like someone’s hurt.”

Fear tightened Laney’s throat. “I know.”

“You know something.”

Finally, Laney nodded. “Owen’s family. They’re…different.”

“I’ll take care of Boreas. Help Chrys,” a male voice ordered. Zephyros?

Why does Chrys need help? Every fiber of Laney’s body demanded to know what was going on. Indecision pulled Laney in two directions. But Owen was right, with his family already here and having appeared out of thin air, it was too late to shield Tabitha from knowing more than she should. “Please guide me in?”

She wrapped Laney’s hand around her arm. They crossed the room and passed through the doorway. “Oh, my God,” Tabitha said.

Heart beating a mile a minute, Laney scanned her vision over the sudden crowd of people—gods, by all the divine auras—who suddenly filled the room. Zeph leaned over Boreas, who was sprawled on the floor. Owen and Megan were at his side, Teddy’s fussing ratcheting into a full-out cry.

“Stay here a minute. I’m going to grab Teddy,” Tabitha said.

Laney nodded, still searching for Chrys. Men—gods—she didn’t know stood at the windows. One pushed by her and moved to the back door, judging by the sound of his footsteps. Thunder rumbled overhead and she gasped.

Where was Chrys? Between the number of people, the rush of voices, Teddy’s cries, and the storm brewing outside, both her vision and her hearing struggled to make sense of it all. Why couldn’t she at least find the golden glow she normally saw around him?

“Let me have him, Megan.”

“What? Oh, God, Tabitha, I’m so sorry you have to see this.”

“Don’t worry about that now. I’ll take care of him. Should I call 9-1-1?”

“No,” a chorus of voices responded.

“We need to get him warm,” a man’s voice said. Who were they talking about? And where was Chrys? “Find as many blankets as you can.”

“Go with Ted,” Owen urged. Wind gusted against the side of the house.

“No, I’m not leaving Boreas.”

The sound of the baby’s cry neared. “Come on, Laney,” Tabitha said.

The depth of her disorientation tempted her to flee. But she couldn’t, not without knowing… “No. I— Do you see a blond-haired man?”

“Uh.” She paused, as if looking. “On the floor, by the stairs, but—”

“Is the path clear between here and there?”

“I really think you should—”

“Please.”

“Stay to the right, but there’s a chair sticking out in the corner.” The one she’d sat in at the meeting the other night. Tabitha’s description was just enough to orient her in the room, even if the specifics were vague.

She crossed the space, passing first by Boreas and those helping him. Déjà vu had her pausing near them. This was just like that weird thing she’d seen at the table. A premonition? Instinct? Yeah.

“You’re killing me with kindness, Zephyros,” Boreas gritted out.

His voice captured her attention, and she stared down at the small grouping. Between Boreas’s white and Zeph’s blue, a soft yellow glow trailed over the older man’s body. What in the world?

“Yeah, well, when I’m done you can pay me back.”

Boreas laugh-grunted. “Do not make me laugh right now.”

Laney forced herself away and zeroed in on a brilliant silver aura with flashes of gold throughout. Sprawled on the floor in front of the owner of that unique light lay Chrys, his aura so pale it was no wonder she hadn’t perceived it from across the room. He was shivering and mumbling, fragments of words only occasionally discernible.

She sank to her knees on the carpet near his head and reached out a hand. “Chrys?”

“Keep back,” a deep voice ordered.

Laney jerked away. She scanned her vision over the huge god at Chrys’s side dressed all in black, long brown hair pulled back.

“He has a knife and is delirious. We don’t need another injury.”

Emotion squeezed her throat. She nodded and dropped her gaze to Chrys. She yearned to touch him, to prove that he was here, to let him know she was there for him. “What’s wrong with him?”

The god ignored her. “His energy is all over you.”

Heat roared over her face, but as the full meaning of his words sank in, a fierce satisfaction filled her. “Good.”

She got the distinct feeling he was observing her. When she looked up, she saw that she was right. She found his gaze. His eyes were a brilliant green, so like… He and Chrys were related. She was sure of it. But it was a conversation for another time.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and stopped just before the bottom. “Here are blankets.”

“Good, set them there and help me hold him down so we can disarm him. He won’t let the dagger go.” Thunder boomed ominously nearby.

Hold him down… She gasped. “No! You can’t.” She leaned in closer, careful not to touch him. “Chrys, it’s Laney. Can you hear me?” His head jerked toward her. “Chrys, come on, wake up. Can you hear me?”

“You’re Laney?” the huge god asked. “He’s been saying your name.”

He has? Pressure filled her chest until she thought it might burst.

She focused on his face. So pale. Blue tinged his lips. “Chrys—”

“Laney,” he groaned. His eyelids heaved open once, twice, but sagged closed again. “La….”

“I’m here. You’re at Owen’s. Everyone’s here.”

He whispered something she couldn’t make out. His eyelids opened wider this time, and his teeth chattered. He moaned, a huge shudder wracking through him.

“What’s happening?” she asked. Rain pounded out a beat on the windows.

“It’s akin to severe hypothermia.”

“We have to warm him.” She rested the back of her hand against his forehead. So cool, too cool. She was so used to his unusual warmth that he actually felt cold to her.

He groaned and pushed his face against her hand.

Oh, he sought her touch! “He won’t hurt me,” she whispered. Instinct had her speaking the words, but the truth of them coursed through every cell in her body. “He won’t.” She crowded in closer and cradled his face in her hands. So cold. “Open your eyes. Chrys. Listen to my voice and open them.”

He obeyed, but his eyes struggled to focus. “La…”

“Yes. Listen. We need to help you. You’re holding a knife. Give it to—” She looked over a shoulder at the god beside her.

“Aeolus. I’m his father.”

Oooh. She couldn’t even process that tidbit right now. “Give the knife to your father.”

“No.”

“Chrys—”

“No, y-you.”

“What?” He was so out of it. What if he didn’t get better? Was that even a possibility for someone like him?

“You…knife. In c-case.”

Her heart squeezed. He wanted her to have it? “Okay, okay,” she said, worry and love for him nearly overwhelming her. Love? She shook her head and forced herself to concentrate. “Which hand holds the knife?” she asked his father.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I’m nearly blind. Which hand?”

“Right.”

“I’m going to take the knife now. Chrys? Okay?”

“You.”

“Yes, me.” She crawled around his other side so she could touch him as little as possible. Last thing she wanted was to increase his discomfort. Dragging her fingers down his right arm, she half expected him to flinch or pull away, but he didn’t. Finally, her hand reached his, curled in a tight, shaking fist around the grip of the dagger. “Let go. I’ll take it.” Just when she was sure he wouldn’t, his hand slowly turned and his fingers went lax. She felt for the grip and grabbed it.

Holy crap, it was heavy. Far heavier than it looked. And icy in her hands. But she’d told him she’d take it, and he wanted her to have it.

“Bring the blankets,” Aeolus said.

She leaned away from his chest as his father and the other men spread blankets over Chrys. Drawing close to his face, she whispered, “You’re going to be okay. You hear me?”

His head lolled toward her. “S-so-rry.”

“Shh.”

“Sor-ry.”

“Hey. All you need to worry about right now is getting better.” Unable to resist, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. I love you. The thought came unbidden, spiking Laney’s heart rate even further, but she just couldn’t sit and analyze it now.

Chrys tossed aside the covers and pulled her against him, his arms bands of steel around her back.

Laney gasped at the unexpected move, but then nearly melted into him. He was just doing it for warmth, she knew that. But it was so like the hugs she’d yearned to be able to give him that she couldn’t care.

Except he was so cold. Shivers wracked through him.

“Chrysander, you need the blankets,” his father said.

“He’s freezing. If he needs this, just cover us both.” She pushed herself atop him, careful to keep the knife away from his body, wrapped her free hand under his big shoulders, and nestled her face against his neck.

He groaned and pulled her in tighter, like he was trying to climb inside her skin. And if she could’ve done that for him, she would’ve. How many times had he healed her? Just once, to have the power to do this for him. She would do anything.

Heavy layers of blankets draped across her back, covering them both.

Dampness seeped through her clothing. His was wet…and a big part of the cold she felt. She lifted her head to Aeolus. “His clothes are wet. We should get them off him.” She willed the threatening embarrassment at the statement away.

“You love him.”

Competing reactions surged through her. Hesitation to admit it was true. Embarrassment at his father asking this, and in front of his entire family—not that they appeared to be paying any attention. And, if she did, fear of him not thinking her good enough. His pause when she’d revealed her disability hadn’t escaped her notice. None of which mattered right now. Only Chrys did. And she was prepared to give him whatever he needed to survive this.

“Yes, I do, but—” She gasped.

His clothes disappeared. And so did hers.

“Your heat will help him,” he said in a low voice. “Fear not. We will keep you covered. Watch over them,” he said to another god. “I will go restrain the storms.”

She buried her face in Chrys’s neck, not understanding everything going on around her, but also not caring. It took only a moment for her self-consciousness to fade, for everything else to fade away, until there was just the two of them. He needed her, and she’d do anything for him.

“I’ve got you, Chrys. I’ll take care of you,” she murmured. For however long she could. For however long he’d let her.

Chapter Twenty-One

Chrys couldn’t stop shivering. Aches throbbed through his joints. His jaw was stiff. Even his teeth hurt.

So cold. The kind of cold that got inside you and never left.

Except… The more he pushed through the fog of pain, the more he sensed a warmth. And, maybe he was dreaming, but he swore he could smell Laney’s warm, sweet scent. He forced the twenty-pound weights that were his eyelids open. “Laney?” he rasped.

She lifted her head. “I’m here.” Her hand skated up and stroked the side of his face, his hair.

Confusion swamped him. Where were they? Who was shouting? And why was Laney on top of him?

Panic loomed in the distance as the meaning of that last question sank in. She covered him from neck to shins. But though it threatened, the panic didn’t come. All he felt was relief, comfort, gratitude. A sign of just how desperate his condition, no doubt.

He became aware again of her hand petting his hair and forced his eyes to focus on her pretty face. Worry furrowed her brow even as her lips shaped into a small smile.

Almighty Zeus, he thought he’d never see her again.

“Hi,” he managed to say.

Her smile brightened. “Hi.”

A series of images flickered through his mind, but he couldn’t make them stick long enough to make sense of them. “What happened?”

“I don’t know the details, but it seems there was some kind of attack. And you’re way too cold. They said you needed heat. But I know you don’t like, um, to be touched, so I’ll get up if you—”

“Stay.” He swallowed the lump that took up residence in his throat. No judgment. No drama. It was like she just…got him. “I need you.” And I want you. Even if he didn’t deserve her. Selfish bastard that he was, that didn’t mean he could give her up. At least not right now. Not with his power drained so achingly low, not with the cold emptiness crawling through every part of him. And fuck if using her this way didn’t make him the world’s biggest asshole.

She nodded, still stroking his hair. “I will. Just close your eyes and rest.”

Her gentle touch soothed him and lured his eyes closed. “Stay,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” she whispered, and tucked her face into the nook of his neck.

…

Voices seeped into his awareness. Chrys tried to resist them, but before he knew it, he was dragged into consciousness.

“…don’t think it’s w-working.” Laney’s voice.

“Maybe a hot bath?” someone said. Owen?

“He’ll draw the heat out of bath water in minutes,” another male voice said. It was too much to keep up with. He willed himself back under again. If he could just sleep…

“Do y-you have an electric b-blanket?” Laney asked.

“I still say he needs the Acheron,” someone said.

“I agree with Boreas. The risk is too great. We’re stronger together. If today proved nothing else, it proved that. He wouldn’t be alive if he’d been alone.”

Boreas was okay? He tried to ask, but couldn’t form the words.

The conversation continued, and one thing kept Chrys from giving in to the bone-deep desire to fade away, to just escape the pain of the agonizing cold. Laney’s voice. Except something was wrong with it.

“We have t-to do s-something. I’m not enough.”

He frowned at that idea and forced his eyes open. Owen’s living room took shape around him. Laney’s soft, warm body still covered his, though she’d shifted to rest her face against the other side of his neck. And she was…shivering.

At first he wasn’t sure, because he couldn’t stop shaking. His muscles were nearly screaming from the constant tremors. But…she was, too. That was why her voice sounded wrong. Her teeth were chattering.

No. He’d caused her enough pain. Damnit, he just couldn’t stop, could he?

He swallowed hard, forcing moisture into his mouth. “Get…get her off me. Get her off,” he said louder.

For a moment, she went still. But then shudders wracked through her again.

“Now. She needs to get off me.”

“Okay,” she said in an odd voice. “Just give me a second. I, um, I don’t have… I’m not dressed.”

Not dressed? How in the hell? He concentrated on the feel of her body, the feel of her body on his. Sure enough, they were both as naked as the day their gods made them. The thought shot arousal through him, even if he was in absolutely no condition to act on it. His hands skimmed over her back. Jesus, she was freezing. The realization killed the pleasure he’d felt a moment before.

“Megan, could you m-maybe help me? Do you have a robe or something? Another blanket?”

“Yes.” Footsteps skirted around them and made their way up the stairs.

Chrys rolled his head to the side. Despite hearing the other voices, he had been so focused on Laney he hadn’t really paid enough attention.

It was a freaking packed house. Owen, Livos, and a number of the other lesser Anemoi. Except for a few clearly acting as sentries at the windows, they were all staring at him and Laney.

His Laney. Who was naked. In the middle of a room-full of males. With only a blanket separating her body from their eyes.

His arms tightened around her. Aggression and possessiveness tore through him so fierce it brought his cock to life.

Laney sucked in a breath, her stomach muscles tensing against his length.

What a goddamned piece of shit he was. Like it wasn’t bad enough he used her this way. Now he had to make it worse by getting off on it. “Everyone get the fuck out of here so she can get up.”

Except for the sentries, who kept their attention focused solely on the windows, the room cleared. Footsteps sounded on the stairs again.

“Here you go,” Megan said, pressing a fuzzy pink robe into Laney’s hand. “Do you want help?”

“No. Thanks,” she said in a small voice. When Megan left the room, she lifted her upper body off of his chest and attempted to slip into the robe while still under the covers. From throat to belly, her skin was red from the prolonged exposure to his cold. Sonofabitch.

She sat up further as she pushed her second arm into the robe. The change in position pressed the beautifully hot place between her legs into his groin.

He groaned.

“Sorry,” she whispered. Her hands fumbled to secure the robe around her. She looked over her shoulders, as if making sure no one would see her. Then she slipped off him.

Immediately, he missed the feel of her, her heat, her closeness. It was like she’d taken everything good and right in the world with her. But her health and comfort were more important.

Clutching the robe at her throat, she arranged the covers over him, tucking them in tight around his neck and shoulders. “I’ll leave your knife right here next to you.”

His knife? The dagger. A vague memory of giving it to her shimmered through his mind’s eye. “You keep it.”

She frowned, but didn’t look at his face. She didn’t meet his eyes. Maybe it was unintentional? But then she scooted away, far away it seemed, and pushed herself into a sitting position on the bottom step, the blade resting in her lap. Shaking, she pulled the robe closed over her legs. Still not looking at him, or talking. Worry shaped her expression, but there was something else there, too…

I’m not enough.

He frowned. No. That wasn’t it, was it? Because it was so the other way around. But the more he thought about it, the more he saw hurt in the set of her shoulders, in the downward cast of her eyes, in the tremble of her lips…

“Laney—”

“Don’t say anything.” She shook her head. “Conserve your energy. Just concentrate on getting better. That’s all that matters.” Using the end post of the bannister, she pulled herself up. “I’m gonna go change now.”

“But, Laney, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just—”

“I know. Really. Just rest.” She turned and made her way up the steps.

For a long moment, Chrys watched her go. With every step she took away from him, something deep inside him cried out, demanded he open his mouth and give voice to the desire careening through him. Not just for her body, or her heat, but for her, the woman. Laney.

He kept his mouth shut.

When she was out of sight, he dropped his head back to the floor and closed his eyes. It was better this way. His life was a disaster on every level. And she deserved far, far better.

…

Boreas sat at the kitchen table and ate his fifth heaping serving of ice cream. Tabitha’s ice cream. He now understood Owen’s obsession with the stuff. Not only was it delicious, but the ingested cold was restorative.

Tabitha sat across the table from him, his grandson asleep in her lap, quietly watching. He regretted that she’d gotten caught in the middle of their chaos, even as he enjoyed her company and the smell of fragrant flowers on her skin. “I am sorry you had to see all this,” he said.

Her mouth opened and closed and she shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m seeing. A half hour ago, you were literally shredded. And now you’re…not. How is that possible?”

“The less you know, the better.”

She looked down as Teddy nestled into her. “Maybe. But I already know enough to know we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Boreas frowned. “Kansas?”

Intelligent brown eyes dragged over his face, as if studying him. A foreign heat rose inside him. “You don’t know the reference?”

He shook his head. “Should I?”

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

“What is?”

“You don’t get that one either, do you?”

He swallowed his last bite of strawberry ice cream, studying her in return. “I am failing some test right now, yes?”

She shrugged. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

His body stirred at the idea. He settled his spoon in the empty bowl, crossed his arms over his chest, and met her inquisitive gaze. “I like the sound of that.”

A lovely pink arose on her cheeks. “Oh.” Her gaze flickered to his lips.

He gave in to a small smile, but it fell just as quickly as the conversation drifted in from the living room. Everyone else was in there, now debating how to heal Chrysander’s hypothermia.

His gut clenched. As if he weren’t indebted to his youngest brother enough for saving his life, Chrysander’s condition was his fault. He wanted to help, but because their winds and their natures were extreme opposites, he was the last god that could be of any use in improving his situation.

He loathed this feeling of uselessness, of helplessness.

But with every swallow of the ice cream, strength and power had returned to him. Thank the gods Zephyros had the ability to heal the kinds of wounds which had torn apart his body. It made the decision to return to Owen and Megan’s easy—a decision upon which Boreas had insisted in case Eurus decided to attack his son’s family. And it also gave them the ability to stick together, which Aeolus’s presence made possible—he had the ability to quell the storms that would’ve normally erupted when multiple Anemoi gathered in one place. Given Eurus’s madness, his apparent alliance with the Harpies, and Devlin’s treachery, they needed the strength in numbers.

Devlin. When Boreas had first emerged from Gibraltar, he’d seen him, standing on the edge of the cliff. The boy’s eyes flashed black, the same kind of deadness that inhabited his malevolent brother’s gaze, and watched as the Harpies swooped in and attacked from behind.

Zephyros’s instincts had apparently been right on the money where Eurus’s eldest son was concerned.

Had Devlin been playing Aeolus all along?

Who could say? It hardly mattered now. Even though Father still argued that the situation might not have been what it appeared, it was a risk they couldn’t take.

Which left them exactly nowhere.

Owen entered the kitchen, followed by a number of the others. “How are you?” he asked, his mismatched eyes serious.

“I will be fine. Worry not.”

He shrugged one big shoulder. “Can’t be helped.”

Boreas nodded. “Yes.” He looked at the group assembled around the room. Except for Zephyros, who had gone to collect his wife, and their shared subordinate Skiron, god of the Northwest Wind, almost all of the Anemoi were here—a highly unusual occurrence. “What is going on?”

“Chrys is still”—Owen glanced at Tabitha—“struggling to get warm. Laney’s now freezing, herself.”

Boreas’s gaze dropped to the table, to the empty bowl… Wait. “Something hot. Is he conscious enough to drink uh, uh…” He struggled to name an appropriate drink.

“Hot chocolate? Hot tea?” Tabitha offered.

“Yes, precisely.” He stared an extra moment at the woman he’d admired from afar all these long months. Trapped in the middle of an impossible situation, she’d kept her cool and helped his family. As if he needed more reasons to find her appealing. He gave her a smile.

Owen nodded. “It’s worth a try.”

Megan walked into the kitchen. “What is?”

His son turned to her. “Could you make Chrys something hot to drink? A lot of it?”

She squeezed his hand. “Of course.”

“Or—” Tabitha pressed her fingers to her lips. “I don’t want to interfere.”

“Not at all. What is it?” Boreas asked.

“If what he needs is a way to get really warm, really fast, I have a hot tub.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Ready to go?” Boreas asked, crouched at his side.

Chrys looked up at his oldest brother, more filled with relief at his survival than he could articulate. He gave a tight nod.

To his right, footsteps padded down the stairs. “What’s going on?”

Laney.

Chrys turned his head. She stood on the landing in a T-shirt and shorts, the dagger in her hand. Gods, she was so damn beautiful. His chest ached with it, with his desire for her. He wanted to wrap himself around her and never let her go.

The yearning was totally foreign, but that didn’t make it any less real. His brain was too fogged to know exactly what to make of it, though.

“Tabitha has a hot tub next door. We’re going to try using that to heat Chrys up,” Boreas said.

She nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“Would you like to come, Laney?” Boreas asked.

Chrys studied her, nearly holding his breath to see what she’d say.

“That’s okay. I don’t want to be in the way.”

Chrys frowned. She’d just risked herself for him. Again. No one had ever so frequently and selflessly been there for him the way she had these past couple weeks. He could never think of her as “in the way.” The idea revolted his soul.

Her lip quivered and she hugged herself with her free hand.

“You’re still cold,” he said, the realization releasing his protective instincts. “Come. You need the heat, too.”

When she didn’t respond, Boreas said, “He is right. Come down and hold out your hand.”

He looked to his brother. “Give her a minute to adjust. Her sight returns when she’s in the elements. It’s a little jarring.”

Boreas studied him a moment, his gaze too wise, too knowing for comfort. “Okay.”

Slowly, Laney descended to the bottom. She extended her left hand, palm down. “What do I do with this?” She raised the knife in her right.

Chrys pushed out from under the covers. “I’ll take it,” he said, accepting the dagger. “And move your necklace so it doesn’t touch your skin.”

She pulled it so it lay on top of her shirt.

“Ready?” Boreas asked. They both nodded. “Sorry I’m the only one here to do this, Chrysander. Father is busy holding off storms, and Zephyros has not yet returned.”

In his current condition, Boreas’s touch was likely to be uncomfortable, but he shook his head. He’d take an eternity of discomfort to know his brother was safe. “I’m glad you’re here, you dig?”

Boreas took their hands. His northern touch was a white-hot bite on Chrys’s still-icy skin. He gritted his teeth as they shifted into the elements. But the distance they traveled was short and the torment was over in an instant.

He crouched naked next to the in-ground tub, the water bubbling and throwing off the most fantastic steam. Except for a soft ring of lights underneath the water, darkness surrounded him. How long had he been out of it?

He looked to his right and left. Alone. “B, what are you doing?” Why hadn’t they—

His brother and Laney appeared beside him.

Laney’s expression was emotional, awed. “Thank you,” she whispered to Boreas.

For what?

Boreas nodded and turned to Chrys. “You need help in?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, ignoring the muscle fatigue and aching shivers he couldn’t control. “Get out of here before you melt.”

He arched an eyebrow. “We have this property surrounded now, too. Take as long as you want. Summon me if you need anything.” He disappeared.

Laney slipped her amulet back under her shirt.

“What did you thank him for?”

Her gaze lifted to his, a blush painting her cheeks. She licked her lips. “He held on to me…so I could look at you, so I could see you.”

The emotion in her voice wrapped around his heart. He thought of the night of the meeting, when he’d pulled her into the elements so she could put faces to all the voices she was hearing. She’d seen them all, except him, beyond what her limited vision allowed. “No doubt I look like shit,” he said, struggling against the seriousness of the moment.

She shook her head. “You’re gorgeous. Although, I already knew that.”

He frowned, unsure how to respond to the yearning in her startlingly blue eyes, slipped into the tub, and groaned.

Hail to Zeus and all the Olympians. It was pure, glorious heaven. The heat was life-giving, restoring, and soothed his cold-ravaged body so thoroughly all he could do was feel. He let himself sink under completely, the rolling hot water providing the all-encompassing warmth the blankets had not.

Laney’s voice sounded as if from a distance. She splashed into the water. Her hand hit his arm and then she grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him up. “Chrys!”

He broke the surface and sucked in a gulp of air. Whirling, he searched out the source of her alarm. “What?”

“I thought—” She pressed her fist to her mouth.

What? He replayed the last few moments. He got in, went under— Oh. “You thought…I was drowning?” His gaze dragged over her T-shirt. Her nipples pushed enticingly against the wet material. She’d waded in with all her clothes on. Trying to protect him.

Laney nodded, her expression full of concern…and something else. Something he didn’t want to examine too closely. Because damn if it didn’t make him want a whole lot of things he really shouldn’t want, not if he was to do right by her.

“I’m fine.” Taking her hand, he guided her to one of the benches along the side. “Sit. The water will warm you.” He almost urged her to take her wet clothes off, but thought better of it. Already, the hot water was filling him with strength, restoring his power, sending delicious heat flowing through his veins. The steam carried her warm citrus scent. He breathed it in, wanting more of it, more of her. His cock came to life. Before he did something stupid and selfish, he turned, crossed to the opposite side, and sank onto his own bench.

A wet slap made him look up.

Oh, damn.

Laney had taken off her shorts and tossed them on the wooden planking. As he watched, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her bare breasts underneath. Water beaded and ran down her skin as she reached to deposit the clothing behind her. The underwater lights cast an intriguing pattern of highlights and shadows over her body, one that made him want to explore all the dark parts with his fingers, and tongue.

Clearly, he felt more himself already.

“I’m glad I can see the light you give off. Between the dark, the glare of the spa lights, and the steam, I can’t see anything else.”

Can’t see? She’d charged sight unseen into the water after him? “How did you know I’d gone under?” he asked, trying to hold back the anger building in his chest. Why? Why did she keep risking herself for him?

“Your aura got dimmer for a moment. And then you didn’t respond when I said your name.” Her breath caught. “When you first got back to Megan and Owen’s, your aura was so faint I couldn’t find you.”

The compassion. The protectiveness toward him. The affection so plain on her face. It was all too much.

“Stop it, Laney. Just stop.” He hated the gruffness of his words, but couldn’t control it.

Her jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Stop…” He tugged his fingers through his wet hair. Tempting me to give in. Tormenting me with things I can never have but want so desperately I can’t breathe. Desire and regret lodged a knot in his throat.

A range of emotions played over her face. Hurt. Rejection. Anger.

Determination.

Laney pushed into the center of the pool. He sat up straight in his seat, his back coming hard against the tub’s side.

“What do you want me to stop doing, Chrysander? Huh?” She waded closer and stopped right in front of him. “Do you want me to stop caring? Do you want me to stop worrying about you when, for the third time since we’ve met, your brother has tried to kill you? And nearly succeeded? Do you want me to stop thinking about making love with you? About how good you felt inside me?”

“Stop,” he said again, bracing his hands against the walls to restrain the urges her words were letting loose, heartfelt urges that warred with every bit of his common sense.

She pushed closer, her legs skimming the insides of his spread thighs. “I can’t stop. I wouldn’t want to even if I could. I lo—”

He lunged for her and claimed her in a devouring, soul-stirring kiss. He knew what was about to come out of her mouth, because she was wearing the emotion on her face, in her eyes. He just couldn’t hear it. He wasn’t ready for it. He might never be ready for it because he wanted to hear the words so damn bad.

Laney moaned into the kiss. Cradling her face, he drew her in closer, plundered her mouth thoroughly and deeply with his tongue. He poured every bit of suppressed longing into the kiss until she was swaying, jostled by the flowing, bubbling water. She stumbled and threw her arms out for balance. But what she didn’t do was try to touch him.

As if he didn’t already care more than he should, at that moment he felt what only could be called love for Laney Summerlyn.

She pulled her lips free and gasped. “I want you. So much.”

Arousal, need, desire stormed through him until his body was strung tight, a battle between what was right and what he wanted raging within.

Gently, she removed his hands from her face. She brushed by him and he frowned. She was leaving. Her loss was like a sucker punch to the gut, but it was for the best. No matter that she was taking his whole world with her.

Laney climbed onto the bench. “You want me, too. I know you do. I don’t even have to see you to know it. I feel it.”

The words, so different from what he expected, sent his brain scrambling.

As he watched, Laney spread her knees on the bench and braced her hands against the tub’s edge. She looked over her shoulder. “Take what you want.”

Her body drew him like a magnet. And then finally, finally, he surrendered to what they both wanted.

Hunching himself around her, Chrys pressed his front to her back. His cock slid between her thighs, so very close to her incredible velvet heat. He covered her hands with his against the edge of the spa. “What are you doing to me, Laney?” he rasped.

She turned her face against his. “Loving you,” she whispered.

The words slayed him.

She loved him. This smart, brave, sexy-as-all-hell woman loved him.

He couldn’t wait another moment.

Pressing against her lower back, he forced her to arch and grind her rear into his groin. He tilted his hips, dragging the head of his cock against her heat, and drove home.

He filled her in one long stroke.

They both cried out. Chrys held her face and captured her lips, wanting to claim the sound of her pleasure, along with everything else. He broke free as his cock withdrew, then he slipped into an easy, languorous rhythm that allowed him to feel every inch of her tight channel. He used his hands to pin hers to the tub’s edge, forcing their upper bodies together as his hips tilted and thrust. It was pure, sensual torture to not drive hard and fast. But this one time, he felt himself wanting to cherish, needing to savor.

She moaned, a high-pitched sound so full of pleasure. Under his hands, hers gripped and flexed. “Oh, God. Faster. Move faster.”

He dragged his teeth down her neck, then softly bit the tendon that sloped into her shoulder. “No. Just feel this. Just feel me in you.”

“Unnh, do that again.”

He almost didn’t hear her plea over the roar of the jets. “Do what?”

“With your teeth.”

Aw, hell. Holding back his arousal had him gritting his teeth. “You want me to bite you, Laney?” She nodded. “Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“Yeah,” he whispered against the soft, wet skin of her neck. Still fucking her in excruciatingly good, slow strokes, he nibbled her there, biting her harder along that tendon, on her ear lobe, on the tendon behind her ear. Her approving moans shot right to his balls, making it harder and harder to take things slow.

“Can I ask you a question?” she rasped.

“Now?” He couldn’t help but smile. “Fire away.” Chrys caressed one hand over her front. Around the curves of her breasts, stroking over her nipples, drawing teasing circles lower and lower over her belly. She gasped and flinched. “You were saying?”

Laney let out a breathy chuckle. His fingers slipped between her legs, finding and circling the hard nub of her clit, and she moaned. “I want to make sure I do what you like.”

The sentiment was as sweet as it was sexy. “You already are.”

“No, I mean, if I wanted to, um, to go down on you, could I touch your…”

Holy fuck. Arousal kicked him in the back. He pounded into her harder, and swirled his fingers over her clit faster. “My what, Laney? Say it.”

“Cock. Could I touch your cock?”

“Jesus. You’ve been thinking about touching my cock?” Maybe, just maybe, he could be ready for her to try touching him everywhere. And his cock was sure as hell a good place to start.

She nodded and moaned. “And taking it in my mouth.”

“I would fucking love that, Laney. The touching and the sucking.” He dropped his forehead against her back and forced his hips to still. It was too good. He couldn’t make it last. But not before she found her pleasure. “You’re going to come for me. And while you’re doing it, you’re going to tell me what else you’ve been thinking about.” An idea in mind, he pushed her forward and a little to the left. “Spread your legs wider.”

She gasped. “Chrys!”

He grinned. “You’re going to spill everything that’s going on in that pretty head of yours while that jet pounds your clit with hot water. Fuck me while you get off on the jet, Laney.”

She ground her hips forward, thrusting her clit into the rush of water, then pressed back, impaling herself on his cock. She trembled and moaned and every bit of it was the most mind-blowing torture.

“Talk.”

“O-okay. Um, it’s hard to think.”

He scraped his teeth on her neck again. “Good.”

“Well, I…I wonder if you went down on me, if I could touch your hair.” She moaned louder, her movements becoming faster, less even. “Your hair is soft. It makes me want to fist my hands in it. So I just need to know if I could do that.”

He loved the contrast between his sweet Laney and the no-holds-barred Laney who came out during sex. “You think about pulling my hair while I’m eating your pussy?”

“God, yes.”

“Come. Come right now.”

Her hips jerked and pressed against the jetting water. Her walls tightened and clenched, and then she was crying out and milking him until he was biting the inside of his cheek to fight back his own orgasm. “That was fucking phenomenal. More.”

Breathing hard, she sagged against the tub’s edge. “I can’t. I think I’m gonna pass out.”

He pulled her up, setting her hips in front of the jet again. “Maybe you will, but not yet. I’m not done with you. Tell me more.”

He stroked her clit as the water pounded, using his fingers to open her lips to the pulsing water. She shrieked and writhed and shook against him.

Laney slipped the hand he wasn’t holding behind her back and slid her middle finger to the top of her crack. “I…I…was thinking about when you touched me here.”

Each admission was more sensually devastating than the last. “You liked that?” She nodded, panting hard. “Has anyone ever touched you there? Has anyone ever taken you there?”

“Nooo,” she moaned, thrusting against the jet.

“Would you like to be touched there?” She nodded again. “Now?”

“Please.”

The need in that one word nearly had him emptying his balls. She was the sweetest fucking temptation he’d ever encountered, and though he wasn’t ready to confront how she really made him feel, he wasn’t obtuse enough to think she wasn’t very, very special to him. And always would be.

“Hand back on the wall,” he growled. The speed of her compliance put another nail in the coffin of his restraint. Standing behind her, he kept his strokes slow and dragged his hand from her front around to her back. He squeezed her beautiful ass, separating the cheeks and revealing her rear opening. He stroked two fingers over the tight pucker, reveling in the moan the light caresses unleashed, and then he pushed one finger in, just a little.

“Oh, my God.” Her hips jerked, almost dislodging him from her pussy.

Chrys held the tip of his finger still, giving her a chance to get used to the feel of his intimate invasion there. Suddenly, she pushed back, impaling herself on his dick in her pussy and his finger in her ass.

In her arousal, her actions, her words, she was so honest and open and just fucking fearless. He found it sexy and appealing and admirable. He pushed his finger in further and then withdrew, fucking her with his finger while he—

“Omigod, I’m coming.” Her passages went tight, tight, tighter, and then she was spasming around him and moaning and crying his name.

It was all he could take.

He pulled his finger free, gripped her hips, and said, “Hold on tight.”

Every ounce of desire let loose as Chrys came at her with a series of hard, fast, shallow strokes.

“I shouldn’t come in you because we don’t have protection,” he growled. “But I fucking want to.” And he did. He really did. And damn if that desire didn’t warrant some close consideration. But not now.

She unleashed an answering moan. “Come on me.”

“Oh, gods, Laney.” His brain shorted as the orgasm hit him in the back.

Suddenly, she pulled away and spun on the bench. Chrys almost lost his balance but then she grabbed his ass, hauled him up to her, and claimed his cock with her mouth right at the bubbling waterline.

He buried his hands in her hair and lost himself. Absolutely lost himself to this mortal woman. She sucked and licked and moaned around him as he came until he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. The only thing he knew, the only thing he could feel, was his Laney holding him up, drinking him down, and accepting him in every single way.

Their connection—the way they fit together, the way they complemented one another, the fundamental feeling of rightness he felt when he was with her—he couldn’t deny it any longer.

Whatever happened. Whatever was right or wrong. Whether the world woke up in the morning or was going to bed for the very last time. He loved Laney Summerlyn to the very center of his being.

The fierceness of the feeling simply wouldn’t be denied.

Gently, she dropped him from her mouth and sat back in the bench. She peered up at him with the most ridiculously adorable innocent smile. “Hey, this jet works good on the back, too,” she said.

He burst out in laughter, full-out belly laughter like he hadn’t felt in, gods, months. At least. Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he leaned down and kissed her. He pulled back but kept his face close. “You know, you only asked about touching my cock, not my ass.”

Her face was already flush from the sex and the steam, but he would’ve bet money that she’d blushed, too.

“I improvised. Sorry.”

He grinned. “I’m not.”

She smirked. “Good. Me, neither.”

He kissed her again, a soft, lingering pulling of lips. “Thank you. The words aren’t nearly enough, but I need you to know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And I wanted to say—”

Divine energy appeared nearby. A throat cleared.

Chrys growled. “Z, get the hell out of here.”

Laney squeaked and sank lower in the water.

“I’m sorry, Chrys. For real. But we have to talk.”

Seriously? Just when he’d resolved to tell her how he felt? “It can wait.”

“It can’t.”

“Z—”

“Chrys, it’s Apheliotes. He’s dead.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Rage a living monster coursing through his veins, Chrys guided Laney into Owen’s living room. The pair of them were still dripping wet, having flown over after Chrys manifested them clothes. But none of that mattered. Aphel was dead. And Chrys had sent him right into the lion’s den. Destruction and devastation. His fault. Again.

But not his alone.

No question that Chrys’s existence had negatively impacted Eurus’s when they were children. But enough was enough was e-fucking-nough. The child Chrys had been was not responsible—could never have been responsible—for the heinous evil that had become his brother’s M.O. Once and for all, Eurus had to pay. Too many injustices had racked up. Thunder rumbled long and low overhead.

He surveyed the crowded room. His father, his brothers, most of the ordinal and inter-ordinal Anemoi. Owen had Megan and Teddy tucked under his arm. Boreas and Owen’s neighbor, Tabitha, stood close together, whispering to each other. Without thinking about it, Chrys pulled Laney closer and wrapped his hand around hers.

Her touch felt natural, soothing, necessary. A small shining joy among the dark chaos.

Chrys turned to Zeph. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know the specifics. We haven’t found the body. I took Ella to stay with Mars until this passes. On the way back, the pall of divine death was suddenly palpable throughout the Realm of the Gods—the aching emptiness of it just made it feel like it was someone close, someone in the family. We were near Father’s compound so we went to the Hall of the Winds. The light of the Southeast Wind was out.”

Chrys pictured the enormous compass rose built into the floor of the ceremonial hall. Each of the sixteen points was tipped with a built-in lantern that contained the divine energy of the god who served as that wind’s master. That any of the lights had been put out killed him. That it was one of his men, a god who’d served him true and faithfully for eons, was a blow to the heart. Chrys glanced at Laney. Was this the same light she saw surrounding the Anemoi? He shook his head and scanned his gaze over the group. “Hear me now. I will avenge Apheliotes.” Whatever it took. However long it took.

Approving murmurs echoed around the room.

Aeolus stepped forward. “We are all expendable. It is not the god, but the wind he serves, that matters. So I ask each of you now. Are you prepared to stand and fight?”

The gods offered solemn agreement.

Aeolus moved to the center of the room. Anger and determination carved hard angles into his face. Thunder and lightning split the sky. “I say again. Are you prepared to stand and fight?”

A loud, fierce cheer of approval and commitment shook the room. Teddy fussed but didn’t cry, as if even his divine energy understood the threat they faced.

“Make no mistake. We are at war. We will not all come out of it alive. Sacrifices will be made.” He held up his maimed hand. “And you must understand the full extent of what you are up against. Eurus possesses the firestone ring. He has power over the winds, over each of you. This is my fault. I fully acknowledge it. And I stand ready to sacrifice myself to set this right.” Murmurs sounded from around the room.

This…this was the resignation he’d seen on Aeolus’s face. As many grievances as Chrys could voice against his father, he would fight to the last to prevent any of his family from dying. They’d lost enough. Had enough turmoil. For several lifetimes.

Aeolus continued. “Together, we are strong. He cannot take us all at once. We must fight. To avenge the death of one of our own who has fallen this night. To avenge wrongs against others of our numbers in recent days, weeks, and months. To preserve and protect the human realm, as is our duty and purpose.”

Boreas pushed off the wall and stood tall. “In the name of the North Wind, I stand ready to fight.”

Zeph nodded. “In the name of the West Wind, I, too, stand ready to fight.”

“In the name of the South Wind, and in the name of vengeance for the Southeast Wind, I stand ready to kick some ass,” Chrys said. “So what’s our plan?”

Zeph’s eyes flared deep blue light. “Take out Devlin.”

Chrys held out his hands. “Wait. What? I thought—”

“He was standing on the cliffs,” Boreas interrupted. “When we were attacked. It appears he led Eurus right to us.”

Devlin was the cloaked figure he saw on Gibraltar? How the hell had he missed that newsflash? Chrys glared at Aeolus. “Sonofabitch. I told you.”

“And I’ll tell you what I told your brothers. There has to be another explanation. Devlin would not—”

“But he did,” Zeph growled. “We all saw him there. Did he help Boreas? Did he intercede in the attack on our behalf?” He left the answers to the questions hanging there.

Boreas glanced at Megan and Teddy, then to Tabitha. He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned to face their father. “We can discuss Devlin further. A higher priority is getting out of the human realm before this fight breaks loose. We must take the war to the Realm of the Gods. If it happens here it will unleash unseen devastation.”

Aeolus gave a tight nod. “Agreed.” He looked from Chrys to Laney, then from Boreas to Owen’s family. “We will go within the half hour.”

Chrys heard his father’s unspoken command: say your good-byes.

Aeolus began issuing orders to the lesser Anemoi, who resumed their sentinel duties in and around the house. Zeph and Boreas turned to Owen and Megan. Chrys couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the looks on the couple’s faces told him everything he needed to know.

Some of us aren’t coming out of this alive. And everyone knew it.

Laney squeezed his hand. “Chrys?”

He turned to her and met her gaze. I love you, he thought. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. Had it really only been a half hour ago that he’d nearly given voice to the words?

How could he possibly say them now?

How could he do anything to put Laney in any more danger? If he revealed his true feelings, she would throw herself more fiercely into protecting him and become an even bigger target.

The best thing he could do for her was stay away. Once and for all. The decision cut him deep, like a thousand icy shards filled his chest. He heaved a deep breath. “I regret it’s not safe to take you home now.”

“I’m not. I want to do something to help.” She peered up at him, expectant.

Her willingness to help, to risk herself, was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? It was why he admired her so completely and feared for her safety. He could never forgive himself if anything happened to her. Part of him would literally die.

He shook his head. “There’s no place for you here.” It’s too dangerous. But he didn’t voice those words, because he didn’t want her to latch on to his concern as his reason for sending her away. He needed her to believe…oh gods…something it killed him for her to believe. That he didn’t want her.

“But…” Hurt washed over her expression. Laney tried to mask it, she really did. “But I…” She shrugged. “My place is with you.”

“No. Your place is your farm. Your human life, with the horses you love, and your friends. As soon as I can, I will take you back.” The words were like crushed glass coming out of his throat. “I’ve enjoyed you, but I can’t take care of you, Laney.” He waved his hand at the room. “Not with all this going on, you know?”

Blue eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I love you.”

The declaration pierced straight through him. He bit down onto his tongue until the taste of copper filled his mouth. “I told you I’m not the guy who sticks around. I’m sorry.”

Laney’s hands whipped to her throat. She tugged at the cord around her neck. “Here,” she said, pulling it over her head.

He caught her hands. “I want you to have it.”

A hard, fast shake of her head. “You said it has protective abilities. You should wear it. You’re the one in danger.” She pressed it into his palm. “Please, Chrys.”

Even now, as he was breaking her heart, she thought of him first. The woman humbled him beyond all imagination.

Tears shimmered in her beautiful eyes. She pushed by, grabbed the molding to the kitchen doorway, and slowly walked into the next room. Away from him. His heart went with her, leaving a gaping, raw, empty place in his chest.

“Sure that’s what you wanted to do, little brother?”

Chrys looked up into Zeph’s concerned face. He stood where Laney had a moment before. Shaking his head, he said, “If you’d met Ella at this precise moment, would you have pursued her? Would you have drawn her further into this mess?”

Zeph’s gaze bored into him.

“That’s what I thought,” Chrys said.

Over his brother’s shoulder, Boreas caught Chrys’s attention. Tabitha kissed his cheek, her worry and confusion apparent. The show of affection apparently caught him off guard, judging by the almost comical surprise the god wore on his face. But then Boreas cupped her cheek and kissed her softly on the lips.

Zeph’s gaze followed Chrys’s. “It’s good to see, isn’t it? It’s like he’s come back to life.”

“Yes,” Chrys said. And it was so true. Except for his white hair, which had spontaneously lost its brown color upon receiving the shocking news of Ori’s death, Boreas was more his old self than Chrys had ever expected to see from him again.

Chrys couldn’t have been happier to know that Boreas had found happiness again, that he might even be in the midst of finding love. Although why he’d open himself up to that now, of all times, he couldn’t fathom. He looked away.

The hole where his own heart had been throbbed in empty agony.

But that was just his heart.

Nothing compared to what would happen if Laney died because of him. He’d lose his very soul.

…

Laney stood at the back door, staring at the great black nothingness, a combination of the dark and her night blindness. She couldn’t be in the same room with Chrys. Not now. Not when she was so close to breaking down in tears, or begging him to love her back.

There’s no place for you here. She hugged herself against the evening air.

The words echoed in her head until they ached a throbbing beat against her temples and behind her eyes.

In a short time, he’d take her back to Summerlyn and leave. And then, what? Was she supposed to pretend he wasn’t out there somewhere? Was she supposed to forget that she knew this world—the one of gods and multiple planes of existence and divine wars—existed?

She’d feared that the brief return of her sight after they’d been in the elements would make it hard to go back to her blindness. But she already knew—it was going to be much, much harder to go back to her old life without Chrys than it would be if she could never see a single thing again.

Seth. What time was it? And where was he? Ever since the Anemoi had appeared out of thin air and she’d learned Chrys was hurt, the night had been a complete and total blur. In between realizing she was in love and getting dumped, she’d forgotten about the problem of explaining everything to her best friend. Now, there was nothing left to explain. Wasn’t that convenient.

She retraced her steps into the kitchen and, after a few moments looking, found the handset to the cordless phone on the counter and dialed Seth’s cell number.

“Hello,” he barked.

“Where are you?”

“About two hours out. Trapped in stopped-dead traffic on 66. Accident. You okay?”

No. “Yeah. I was just getting worried about you.”

“I figured with rush hour traffic, it would take me three or four hours to get to you, but this is ridiculous. This is the worst storm I’ve ever seen.”

If only he knew. “Just take your time and be safe. I’ll be here when you get here. You still have the address?”

“Yes.” He blew out a long breath. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah. Yours, too.” She swallowed a knot that formed in her throat. “See you soon.”

They hung up and Laney sagged against the counter. She wanted nothing more than for Seth to get here. She didn’t want to stay where she wasn’t wanted, and Chrys had better things to be worrying about anyway.

The thought gutted her.

Shouts erupted from out back. A stream of gods ran through the kitchen, passing her in multicolored flashes of light.

Chrys paused in front of her just long enough to say, “Stay here.” And then he was gone.

Heart in her throat, Laney crept into the mud room in the back of the house. Warm, humid air blew in through the screen door. Sticking to the shadows, she stepped as close to the screen as she dared. The yard beyond was now a riot of colorful auras, formed in a circle around a single god, judging by the dark, purple light. The newcomer’s aura flashed and flared and rippled, sometimes appearing almost black, but occasionally a softer, calmer shade of purple pushed through the dark. Her heart tripped into a sprint. The flashes of black reminded her of the black light surrounding the god who had attacked her and Chrys.

“On your knees! On your knees!” someone shouted.

“I’m here to see Aeolus,” a harsh voice said.

A number of angry responses rang out, and Laney couldn’t hear who was saying what.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Devlin? What can you say to prove which side you’re on?”

“There’s no time for speeches. I have given you my word, Aeolus. Take it or don’t. But you can all get off your high horses. Where have you ever been for me and my brothers while our father tortured us? Murdered one of us?”

“You work for your father. You do his noxious bidding,” Chrysander said.

“And you make judgments without knowing all there is to know. Think what you will. I only came to warn Aeolus. Apheliotes is dead. Eurus tortured him. Knows he was on an errand for you.” He paused. The purple light flared black. “He’s coming. I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t—”

The purple-black shot into the sky.

“After him!”

Other auras pursued. Shouting voices and frantic commotion made it impossible for Laney to follow what was going on. Where was Chrys? She couldn’t perceive his gold light among all the others. And who was coming?

The lights of the Anemoi spread out, some on the ground, some in the sky.

An immense weight of anticipation hung in the air, which took on an almost electrical quality, like a storm approaching.

“Laney,” a man’s voice said. She turned, and the white aura revealed it was Owen. “Come away from the door.”

“I can’t see Chrys.”

“He’ll be okay. The safer you are, the more he’ll be able to concentrate on keeping himself safe.”

With one final look out over the dark yard, Laney moved toward Owen. He took her hand. She gasped and halted as an image sucked her in completely. Owen, standing in the middle of an overwhelmingly grand hall, silver fur robes hanging on his tall body. It disappeared as soon as it came, leaving a headache hammering against the backs of her eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” What was that? And why did it keep happening?

“Come on. Let’s get you downstairs. Megan and Tabitha are already there.”

“Is this necessary?” she asked as they descended the steps. Just how much danger was she in?

“Just a precaution.”

Outside, thunder detonated. The house shook, and Laney hung on to the railing so hard her knuckles hurt. Somewhere, Teddy wailed.

“I’m going to pick you up.” Owen scooped her off her feet and ran the rest of the way down. He made his way along a hall and into a room, where he placed her back on her feet. “Sorry.”

She attempted a shaky smile. “I’ll forgive you, this time.” Truly, though, her knees were like jelly. Probably a good thing that Owen had carried her the rest of the way down. Seth would have a field day with an admission like that.

“What happened? Is she okay?” Megan asked over Teddy’s breathless cries. “What’s going on?”

“She’s fine. I don’t—”

Thunder exploded again. And again. Right overhead.

Laney shrank into herself and grabbed her head, like the sky might fall on it. Which didn’t sound like an exaggeration.

“Come sit down,” Tabitha said, taking her hand and leading her to a leather couch.

“Thank you,” she said as she settled next to the other woman. Laney scanned her vision over the room, an office, it looked like, until she found Owen crouching on the floor in front of Megan.

“Is Eurus here?” Megan asked.

“Come here, big man.” Owen took Teddy into his arms. The boy burrowed against his father’s body, still crying, but less enthusiastically now. “I don’t know if he’s here. But I think he’s coming. No matter what happens, I want you to stay here. All of you.”

Eurus is coming? A shudder ripped through her.

An ominous rumbling sounded, as if from a distance. It got louder by the moment.

“What about you?” Megan asked. When he didn’t answer, she said, “You’re going to fight.”

“I have to.”

“Owen,” she said, her voice tight with tears. “I can’t lose you, too.”

He pulled Megan’s face in close to his, and whispered words Laney couldn’t hear over the odd rumbling, then he spoke to Teddy in that same language Chrys sometimes used. “I love all of you,” he said, passing the baby back to Megan.

He rose and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Megan choked on a restrained cry. Laney eased down off the couch and made her way to Megan’s side. Given how scared she was for Chrys, Laney could imagine some of what she must’ve been feeling. And, oh, God, what if Seth got here in the middle of this? She pushed the question away. She couldn’t let herself go there, to a place where she might lose both Seth and Chrys.

“Owen loves you, Megan,” she said. “He’s not going to do anything stupid.”

“I know,” the other woman managed.

The rumble crescendoed to a roar and slammed into the side of the house. The whole building lurched. Upstairs, windows exploded. Laney screamed and flinched, her hands coming up to her ears. Crashes and thumps continued until she couldn’t tell if she was shaking or if it was the house.

Tabitha joined them on the floor, forming a tight circle. “They’re really gods?” she asked over the noise from above.

“Yes,” Megan said. “I’m sorry about all this, Tabitha.”

“Don’t be. It’s amazing, really. I’m just sorry—”

Thunder like an eruption shook the world. The lights went out.

Laney’s cry was drowned out by Teddy’s. God, she hated thunderstorms. Hated them. She gulped down a breath and forced herself to calm down. In the windowless room, it was pitch black—at least that she was more used to.

Megan groaned. “Oh, God, no.”

“What is it?” Tabitha asked.

“Contraction,” she gritted out.

“Give me Ted,” Tabitha said. “I want you to breathe slow and deep. Have you had any false labor yet?”

“No,” she said. “But that could be what this is, right?” The hope in her voice was plain.

“Yes, so just try to relax. Just breathe.”

Laney found Megan’s hand in the dark. She squeezed it through a series of percussive poundings. Thunder? Wind? Something else entirely? Please don’t let the baby come in the middle of whatever else is out there. “I’m going to work on breathing with you so I don’t hyperventilate.” Megan gave a strained chuckle, and Laney talked to distract herself from the fear. Though she felt like she was shouting over the racket coming from all around the house. “When I was nineteen, I got turned around outside one night in a storm. I’d already lost my night vision and was completely blind in the dark. I couldn’t find my way back to the house or the barn, or even find anything to try to take cover. I finally just sat down and waited it out. Felt like hours. I’ve been terrified of…storms ever…” She sniffed, once, twice. “Do you smell smoke?”

Neither did.

But with her diminished sight, Laney’s other senses had strengthened. “I do. I swear I do.”

“Hold Teddy. I’ll go check it out.”

“Be careful, Tabitha,” Megan said.

Laney accepted the baby. He fussed and wiggled at the handoff. She could hear Tabitha’s movements but not see. Even when the door opened, no light spilled in.

“She’s right. It’s stronger out here. Stay put for a minute.”

Mere moments later, footsteps ran down the hall.

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Megan. The house is on fire. It’s coming down the steps. We have to get out of here.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chrys could hardly believe what he was seeing. Nor that Eurus was actually unleashing this horror upon the Earth.

The night sky was in chaos.

Bolts of multicolored lightning zinged through the air. Concussive blasts of thunder unleashed shock waves of turbulence that blew roaring winds this way and that. Rain slashed diagonally until it was almost impossible to see. Hail rained down in body-battering blasts. Trees had fallen—some brought down intentionally to close off the area. Homes had been damaged. Power lines were downed, wires twisting and sparking in the streets.

Aeolus wore the strain of attempting to rein in the elements in the tension on his face and in his muscles. Every time he was successful at drawing down the maelstrom of the storm, Eurus used the power of the ring to whip it up again.

Eurus had help in keeping Aeolus and the Anemoi distracted. A half-dozen Harpies swooped and screeched. And it appeared he’d lured a new ally into his malevolent cause—the Keres, female death daimons who lusted for the blood of dying and wounded men on the battlefield. The black-cloaked wraiths had gnashing teeth and vicious claws. Between the Harpies and the Keres, it was virtually impossible to get at Eurus.

Only Aeolus could get close. Father and son had engaged in nearly a half hour of grueling lightning-and-wind duels, neither making discernible headway.

Next to his father, Chrys was best equipped to take out the enemy. Between the season, the infernal dagger, and Laney’s amulet, he was about as well protected as you could be. He pulled on his rage for Eurus and his grief for Apheliotes and threw himself into the confusion of the battle.

He flew up behind a wraith hard in pursuit of Livos. Fortunately, the Keres tended to prefer the easy pickings of those unable to fight back. Battle wasn’t their specialty, and their situational awareness wasn’t well developed. Chrys zoomed in close enough to slash the blade down the Keres’s back, then veered hard left to avoid the imploding spray of blood into which it dissolved.

Chrys took out another and another, but there seemed an unending supply of the evil spirits.

Boreas and Zeph flew up. “We’re going after Eurus. All of us. At once.”

Chrys followed, determination flaring. They truly were strongest together. With the lesser Anemoi drawing away the Harpies and Keres, the three brothers launched themselves toward Eurus and all at once unleashed the combined power of their winds.

The blast knocked Eurus back, allowing Aeolus to get in an unblocked hit with a lash of lightning. Eurus screamed in thunderous rage, then unleashed a wild wall of wind that pounded into the Anemoi and scattered them uncontrollably.

Chrys slammed to the ground and rolled to the right just in time to avoid a swooping Harpy, talons out and ready to grab. Groaning from the impact, he saw the best news of the whole night. The flash of Eurus’s lightning was dimmer, less frequent. Almighty Zeus, please let that mean Father’s strike hit something vital.

“Chrys! Chrys!” Owen yelled from somewhere in the melee.

He shot to his feet and turned. “Holy fuck,” he murmured. Owen’s house was on fire. Every time rain smothered a section of flames, the winds breathed new life into it.

Laney. Oh, gods, no.

Owen raced up to him. “I can’t get in. The fire’s too hot. Megan, the baby—” He broke off, too choked up to continue.

He nodded. Chrys might not be powerful enough to defeat Eurus, as three solid months had more than proven, but he’d damn well use every bit of his power to save these humans, for whom he cared so deeply. “I’ve got it. Where are they?”

“Basement office. There’s an exterior door around back.”

Chrys whipped around to the rear of the house in an instant. He crashed through the door, sending glass and wood flying. “Laney? Megan?”

“We’re here!”

Chrys rounded a corner and stopped. He could just make them out through the smoke, congregated outside of Owen’s office door. Fire was roaring down the staircase along the wall that separated him from them. It had burned through the wall and ceiling above, which was sagging badly. The heat it gave off was enormous.

Come to Papa, he thought.

“I’m going to push back the fire and the heat,” he shouted. “When I do, you run to the back door and stay there.”

“Okay!”

Chrys shifted into his elemental form, moved to the center of the hall under the worst of the fire, called the heat into himself, and blew out the excess energy in a great gust that smothered the fire as long as he kept it going. Run, run, run, he thought. Because once he withdrew the current, the fire would come roaring back.

Relief flowed through him as the three women, Tabitha carrying Teddy, bolted beneath him and around the corner. Chrys retreated to the corner of the hall and watched as the fire tore back through the space. A section of ceiling collapsed, sending out a plume of heat and sparks. He stepped toward the conflagration and absorbed as much of the heat as he could. Deep satisfaction roared through him. As regretful as he was about the destruction of Owen’s house, the fire’s great heat replenished his energy and strengthened his body.

He materialized into corporeality as he rounded the corner, shaking with the force of the thrumming energy he now carried within. “Everyone okay?” he asked, looking to Laney. Thank the gods, she was unharmed. Rattled, but holding it together, and more beautiful than ever despite the smudge of soot on her brow.

“We’re okay,” Tabitha said. “But Megan’s having contractions.”

He nodded. “Okay if I take everyone to your house?”

“Of course.”

“Everyone wrap an arm around one of mine. You have to be touching me, including Teddy.”

Megan took his right. Tabitha took his left and wrapped the baby’s arm around, too.

Laney came up behind him. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” She pressed her front to his back and wrapped her arms around his stomach. She kissed his back, once, twice, and her love poured into him, warming and bolstering him, and making him realize he’d never given a second thought to the other women’s touches. He pressed his hand over one of hers, and shifted them into the elements.

Chrys eased out the door and drifted to the corner of the house. Carrying this many beings into the elements drew on his reserves, but the fire had given him energy to spare. He moved slowly, carefully. The Harpies and the Keres could perceive divine energy, so being elemental didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t capture anything’s notice. And if that happened with all these mortals, with Laney…

No. Focus, damnit.

He peered around the corner. Coast clear.

Pouring on the extra energy he’d imbibed from the fire, he shot across the long stretch of open space separating the houses. Half way across, a flash of light caught his attention.

Eurus had Owen pinned against the front of the house. With the fire at his back and Eurus and his lightning lance at his front, he was trapped. Sonofabitch. As a demigod, Owen had the least chance of any of them to weather an attack by Eurus.

Where the hell was Aeolus? Boreas? Zeph?

Chrys continued to the back corner of Tabitha’s house and manifested. “Go inside,” he said. He hated not seeing them in safely himself, but Eurus was raising the weapon for a death blow. Odd that Eurus was using his weaker hand to wield the lightning—Chrys didn’t have time to think on it. He took off across the space, materialized the infernal dagger, and threw it with all his might.

A blast of divine energy blew in front of Owen, shielding him and throwing him off balance. He fell to the ground.

The lance of lightning struck right through the center of the energy signature, which flashed and flickered between its corporeal and elemental forms, just as the dagger stuck deep into Eurus’s shoulder.

Two screams of agony rocked the nighttime world.

Eurus wrenched the dagger free and whipped it back toward Chrys who, with a massive guest of wind, blew it off course. Eurus staggered and weaved, and triumph roared through Chrys when he noted the gray mottled skin on the hand he’d slashed the previous day with the dagger. Hell yes, it worked! And now he’d struck him again.

Eurus shot off into the sky. The remaining Harpies and Keres retreated en masse.

Chrys reached the front corner of the house, and every bit of that triumph drained away. “No!” He skidded to his knees in the wet grass.

Boreas lay on his back in his human form, a great savage hole through his chest.

Owen crawled to him. “Gods, no. Boreas.” Calling on his powers as a snow god, Owen cupped his hands over the gaping wound. White light slipped through the cracks of his fingers. His hands turned white and icy with frost, the cold energy a soothing balm for a god of the North.

“Keep going, Owen. I’ll move us. We have to get him away from the heat of this fire.”

Sweat streamed down Owen’s face. He nodded.

Chrys grabbed Boreas’s hand and reached for Owen’s shoulder. He willed them into the elements and away a safe distance from the fire’s heat. He manifested them in the soft, cool grass in front of Tabitha’s house.

“B, you’re going to be okay, man. Eurus is gone. It’s over for tonight.”

Zephyros and Aeolus burst into corporeality behind Chrys and knelt beside him. Footsteps squished in the wet grass and Megan, leaning on Tabitha and Laney, joined the circle of Boreas’s family. She eased down next to Owen, tears streaking her face as she stroked her hand over Boreas’s short hair.

“Oh, gods,” Zeph said before he reined in his reaction. “We’re here, Boreas. We’ll fix this.” He cupped his hands around Owen’s. A golden, healing light spread over Boreas’s chest. Of all of them, Zephyros’s energy was the strongest and had the most powerful ability to heal.

Hope flared in Chrys’s chest as the visible strain left Boreas’s face. Chrys turned and sought out Livos, standing behind him on the street. He waved him over. Livos took a knee. “We need cover. All of you, draw in a fog. Thick as you can. And track down my dagger. We can’t lose it.” Livos nodded and left, and Chrys turned back to Boreas.

“We have to stop meeting this way,” Zeph quipped.

“Yes.” A great wracking cough seized Boreas. Blood spilled over his lips. “O-wen, son?” He scanned his gaze over the group, his normally silver eyes dulled to a flat gray.

“I’m here, Boreas. Right here,” Owen grunted, his arms shaking as he poured the cold energy into his father.

Fog began to roll in around their position, dense and obscuring.

Boreas’s head lolled toward Owen. “You…are great…father.” He coughed again. More blood trickled from the side of his mouth. “I’m so…proud…you.”

“Don’t,” Owen bit out. “Don’t you even think of saying good-bye.”

Boreas dragged his hand up, as if in slow motion, and placed it atop Owen’s. “Have to. My…time’s over,” he slurred.

Megan pressed a kiss to Boreas’s forehead. “Your time is just beginning. Do you hear? We love you,” she said in a tear-strained voice.

Boreas managed a small smile. “You’re best…thing ever…happened to him, Meg…”

Chrys saw what was happening. He’d seen the size of the hole, Boreas’s blood loss, and now his struggle to speak and breathe. The cold energy Owen poured into him, the healing energy Zephyros spread over him—they were mere Band-Aids. Analytically, intellectually, he knew this. But his heart…his heart could not begin to accept the tragedy unfurling before him.

His beloved brother was dying.

Chrys whirled on Aeolus, kneeling at Boreas’s feet, pale-faced and eyes filled with horror. “Do something!”

Aeolus dragged his gaze from Boreas and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. He might as well have shouted, “There is nothing to be done.” Their father turned back to Boreas and rested a hand on his shin. “I grant my permission, and my blessings, to transfer your godhood.”

“Thank you,” Boreas rasped. At the same time, Chrys, Zeph, Megan, Owen—all of them—issued a collective protest. Owen turned to look at Megan, regret and devastation on his face. Boreas’s gasping coughs quieted the group. “Zeph, please keep your healing going long enough…”

To keep me alive, Chrys finished in his mind. And the words cut deep into his soul, unleashing a physical pain that raced through his veins until he could hardly stand it. “B, fight it.”

But Boreas didn’t respond, and Chrys didn’t hold it against him, because it was an impossible request. Great waves of grief slamming his heart into his ribcage, Chrys found Laney’s sad, horrified gaze across the small circle. He wanted to go to her, hold her, shield her from everything painful and unjust and tragic in the world. He wanted her heat and her compassion and her touch to bolster him when he felt he could stand no longer.

“Owen.” Boreas patted his hands. “Release me.”

“No.”

“Owen.”

“No, Boreas, no.” Tears spilled from his mismatched eyes. “No.”

With an unseen reserve of power, Boreas pushed Owen’s hands away from the wound. “Closer,” he said. “Lean…over.”

Owen braced his arms on either side of Boreas’s head and looked down onto his father’s face. The younger god’s back trembled with restrained grief.

Arms shaking, Boreas pressed one palm to Owen’s heart, and one to his head. He spoke in low, rasping, stuttering words in the ancient language.

“As m-master of the North…Wind, as guardian of Winter”—he coughed for a long moment, more blood flowing forth—“I command…the great, cl-cleansing winds of the…North t-to bow to the…n-new master now”—he gasped, his breaths making a whistling sound—“now before them. It is not the…vessel of the g-god, but…the wind that m-must be…honored and…protected.” He sucked in a deep rasping breath. “I command the North Wind, with…all of its powers, p-privileges, and…duties, into Owen, son of Boreas,…s-son of Aeolus, and c-commend him as…the next…Supreme God of the North Wind and Guardian of Winter. I have looked into his…heart…and his mind, and he is worthy.”

Owen’s big shoulders shook. Megan’s sobs rang though the pre-dawn gray, and Laney wrapped her arms around the other woman’s shoulders.

The North Wind, called by the incantation, swirled in a light breeze, round and round. All about them, snow fell. The wind whipped it into a fragile cocoon around the whole mourning group. Inside, the breeze still circulated, as if waiting.

Chrys shivered mercilessly, more from the inconsolable grief overflowing his chest than the ravaging cold. It was nearly done.

“Repeat,” Boreas gasped. He lifted his eyebrows in silent questioning. Owen nodded. Boreas haltingly stated three more lines.

Owen repeated them in the ancient language, his voice a raw scrape. “I accept the power, the privileges, and the duties of the North Wind. I will be a fair and faithful master and a true and conscientious guardian. From this moment until I am no more.” A single sob escaped him. “I love you, Father.”

Boreas had just enough time to offer a small, knowing smile. Silvery-white light lifted from Boreas’s body, pushing Owen into an upright position on his knees. The light congregated in a blindingly beautiful orb and shot into Owen’s chest. The North Wind inside the cocoon whipped into ever-tighter circles around the whole length of Owen’s body. All at once, it seized him. Owen’s body went rigid, and then seemed to absorb the swirling wind.

He collapsed to his side. Zeph just managed to catch him. The thin, snowy walls of the cocoon drifted to the ground.

“Owen!” Megan wailed, scrabbling around the group to him.

His eyelids eased open and he slowly pushed himself into a kneeling position. He grasped Boreas’s still hand in his and tugged Megan in tight against his chest.

Boreas was gone.

Chrys’s heart railed against the reality, his mind spun and scrambled for a different interpretation, for anything else in the world to be true.

Hot tears spilling down his cheeks, Chrys laid a hand on Owen’s bent back. Zephyros’s hand joined him, as did Aeolus.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught Chrys’s attention. All the surviving lesser Anemoi surrounded them, kneeling, heads bowed.

Chrys dragged his focus back to the group, and his gaze found Laney’s, her face a mask of grief. Hand over her mouth, tears streamed from puffy eyes. That she felt so deeply for his family made him love her even more. How that was possible, since he loved her beyond all reason already, he didn’t know.

But that only added to the burden of his grief. Because Boreas’s death reinforced every one of his misgivings where Laney was concerned. The danger of pulling a human into his life, his world was too great. The risks were too massive. And Chrys could make room for nothing more in his life right now than the vengeance he needed to exact.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, encircled not as gods, but grieving together as a family.

Aeolus’s head wrenched up. His gaze flashed to the side. Chrys tracked the movement and then heard what had captured his father’s attention. A man’s voice. Shouting. Calling. Calling Laney’s name. The voice bounced off the thick fog, seemingly coming from multiple directions.

Chrys shoved to his feet. Aeolus followed.

Laney appeared next to him, her expression totally bewildered. “Seth,” she rasped. “It’s Seth.”

“What?” Chrys bit out.

“Last night, with everything, I forgot to tell you,” she whispered. “He threatened to call the police, so I told him…” She stepped forward, clearly searching for the other man in the fog.

His dark form suddenly appeared, maneuvering through the debris and devastation.

As he called her name again, Laney stepped further forward. It was clear the minute Seth saw her. He took off at a run toward her. Glaring at Chrys, he pulled her into his arms.

Laney gasped and stood rigid, as if caught off guard, but after a moment, she returned the embrace.

“Thank God. Are you okay?”

The hatred pouring off the human was nearly a physical thing, but Chrys was too numb with grief to feel it. And now, seeing the woman he loved in another man’s arms—it was nearly more than Chrys could take.

“Jesus, it’s like a war zone. There was this whirling cloud and lightning like I’ve never seen. The police have everything cordoned off for blocks and blocks. But I found a way in. I thought—” Seth shook his head. “What the hell is going on?”

Right there. Right there was a man who would take care of Laney Summerlyn. If Chrys walked like he should—like he’d said he would—Laney wouldn’t be without someone. Cold desolation filling him up until he could hardly breathe, Chrys turned away.

Dawn approached. Light enough existed to show the devastation of the neighborhood. Damaged houses, including the still-smoldering ruins of Owen’s, downed trees, smashed cars, the corpses of otherworldly creatures, including some of the inter-ordinal Anemoi, who would turn to dust when sunlight laid upon them.

“We must go,” Aeolus said in a low voice, as if he didn’t want to disturb the solemnity that still hung over Boreas’s body.

Slowly, the others all rose. Owen lifted Boreas’s body into his arms. Zeph stepped forward to support Megan, weak with exhaustion and grief.

Chrys let his gaze drift back to Laney, now standing beside Seth. The man’s expression was part lethal, part bewildered. “Father, the humans must seek shelter with us until we can figure this out,” Chrys said. They had to get their dead back to the Hall of the Winds before sunrise, but no way he was leaving Laney here unprotected. Not with Eurus and Devlin still out there.

Owen’s gaze cut to Aeolus. His eyes. Still brown and blue, but now the light that flared from them was brighter, lighter, infused with flecks of silver.

Aeolus looked from Megan to Laney and Seth to Tabitha. “So be it.” He turned to the lesser Anemoi. “Gather the dead. Leave no one behind.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Seth said. “I’m taking Laney home.”

Chrys refused to meet Laney’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to see whether she wanted to go. “Not up for discussion.”

Seth got right up in his face. “I agree completely. We’re leaving.”

The man’s eyes. They possessed an odd reflective quality Chrys hadn’t noticed before. Rage washed off Seth and, with it, the same hint of supernatural energy he’d felt before.

Aeolus shoved the two of them apart and glared down at Seth. He jerked his hand away from the human and stared a long moment. “What are you?”

Seth frowned, but Lacey stepped between him and the god. “He’s my friend.”

Aeolus gave the man another long, assessing look, then nodded. “Bring them,” he said to Chrys, then turned away. “Time is short.”

Laney wrapped her arms tight around herself. For a moment, she looked so lost and alone that Chrys had to go to her, hold her, touch her. He pulled her into his arms. Her fingers fisted into his shirt, as if holding on for dear life.

He held her for a long minute, and then he tipped her chin up with his fingers. “I am sorry beyond measure that I pulled you into the middle of this.”

She glanced away, toward Seth, then opened her mouth as if to speak.

“Please, let me finish,” he said. “We have to get Boreas back to the Realm of the Gods before the sun rises, and I can’t leave you here. Not now.”

Her eyes went wide. “I can go to the Realm of the Gods?”

“Normally, it is forbidden. But Father can invite you into his home if he so chooses.” When the Olympians found out humans had been there, there would likely be hell to pay, but really, so much shit was waiting to hit the fan that one more thing wouldn’t make much of a difference. “However, I must make you sleep for this trip.” Human consciousness couldn’t well tolerate the transition between the human and divine dimensions.

“I trust you, Chrys. Whatever you need, I’ll do.”

Were his heart not already buried under so much grief, the words would’ve pierced him.

One hand around her back, he pressed his other to her forehead. A warm, soothing wind poured over her and dragged her under. She went limp, and he caught and lifted her into his arms.

Seth lunged, but Aeolus blocked his path and forced him into unconsciousness. He hefted the man over his shoulder. “There’s something about this one,” he said.

Chrys nodded, but now wasn’t the time to figure it out.

Zeph and Livos repeated the process with Megan and Tabitha.

In the east, the first slivers of dawn threatened.

One by one, they shifted into their elemental forms and shot skyward toward a future that no longer made any sense.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dressed in long ceremonial robes, Chrysander stood at the South point on the giant compass rose inlaid into the floor of Aeolus’s Hall of the Winds. The ceremonial hall was huge and round, with a domed ceiling that gave it the soaring feeling of a temple. Murals telling the stories of the exploits and service of the Anemoi decorated the walls in muted hues.

At the start of the private installation ceremony, five of the sixteen spots stood open, the corresponding lanterns dark. A sixth spot stood open while the light still burned—Eurus’s cardinal spot in the East. In addition to Boreas and Apheliotes, the gods of the North Wind and Southeast Wind, the compass rose stood empty on its East-Northeast, West-Southwest, and South-Southeast positions.

They’d lost five good, nay, great men last night. His heart hurt so badly, Chrys still found it nearly impossible to draw in a full breath.

Aeolus made his way around the circle, first installing three new inter-ordinal Anemoi, all the eldest sons of their deceased fathers. He promoted Phoenicias from god of the East-Southeast Wind to become Apheliotes’s successor in the Southeast, and Phoenicias’s son succeeded his father. One by one, the new gods filled in and fortified their circle. New lights shone in each of their lanterns.

The ceremony was needed and it would strengthen them, but it also emphasized that nothing would ever be the same.

And then Aeolus stepped to the top of the circle, where a large ornate ‘N’ was tiled into the floor. Owen stood back from the circle, outside of it, in long fur robes reminiscent of the kind Boreas used to wear.

“Owen, chosen son of Boreas, son of Aeolus, step forward to claim your godhood and your rightful place as Supreme God of the North Wind and Guardian of Winter.”

For a long moment, Owen stared at the dark blue ‘N.’ Chrys could only imagine the grief weighing down on Owen now. In one fell swoop, he’d lost his father and the quiet life he’d chosen and built with Megan, Teddy, and the baby on the way. As a full god, his life was no longer wholly his own, and he came to power in the midst of war, when nothing was certain and no one was safe.

Owen stepped into place as the master of the North Wind. He repeated the words he’d said for Boreas during the night: “I accept the power, the privileges, and the duties of the North Wind. I will be a fair and faithful master and a true and conscientious guardian. From this moment until I am no more.” His voice was heavy with sadness.

Aeolus lifted the circular glass lantern out of the floor and opened a door on the side. Since Boreas had already bestowed his northern energy, the interior was empty. Except… Aeolus reached in and removed something. “Open your hand,” he said quietly. “The day you married Megan, Boreas arranged for these to be placed here. They each now contain remnants of his divine energy.”

Owen extended his hand and received the gift. For a long moment, he struggled to rein in his grief. His brow furrowed, his eyes squeezed closed, his lips pressed tight together. And then he nodded and opened his eyes. “Thank you,” he rasped. Just like Boreas to do something so unexpectedly thoughtful, whatever it was.

“Your light will guide and lead the North Wind. Place it within so all will know you as its master.”

Owen raised his other hand and turned it palm up. He looked at it, concentration plain on his face, and a small orb of bright white light lifted from his skin, hovered. He placed it within the lantern.

Aeolus secured the door with a skeleton key and lifted the lantern high. “Long live the North Wind.”

“Long live the North Wind,” everyone answered, the joined voices echoing against the cavernous ceiling.

Aeolus gave the key to Owen to safeguard, for the only one who should ever have access to that divine energy was the god himself, then he settled the lantern into its space on the floor, completing the circle. Once again, sixteen lights shined, although one threw a pall over each of the other fifteen.

But Chrys had seen proof in Eurus’s desiccated hand that the infernal dagger was effective against him. And that gave him hope.

As the group began to break up, Owen stood looking a little lost. Zeph must’ve seen it, too, because they both crossed the compass rose to him at the same time.

Owen glanced up, pain shining out of his strange eyes. He opened his palm. Three faceted crystal snowflakes glimmered in the low light. “He always gives us snowflakes.” He cleared his throat. “Gave.”

“You brought him back to life, Owen. These past few years were the happiest he’d had in a very long time.”

Chrys nodded. “That kind of happiness means everything, and the three of you gave it to him.” He felt Zeph’s gaze on him. “What?”

His brother arched a brow. “If happiness means so much, why are you throwing yours away?”

Owen crossed his arms and tilted his head, as if waiting to hear the answer, too.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t,” Owen said, his eyes flaring with that new silver light. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about. Not on the day we lay my father to rest. Honor Boreas’s death by living your life.”

Chrys planted his hands on his hips, pressure filling his chest. Didn’t they know how badly he wished he could just have what he wanted, consequences be damned? “It is her life I am trying to protect.”

“We are in the shit right now, Chrys. There’s no doubt about it,” Zeph said. “But this war will end. She’s here. She’s seen the worst. Maybe you should give her a say in it.” He gripped Chrys’s shoulder. “Just be sure before you throw away forever. It doesn’t come along very often.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Owen said. “Speaking of forever, I’m going to go find Megan. Thank the gods, her labor pains stopped, but I think she’s in shock.” He tugged his hand through his black hair. “We have a lot to figure out.”

“And you will,” Zeph said. “Go. She must be eager to see you.” The new god of the North Wind stepped away. “Oh, and Owen?”

He turned, the fur robes swirling around him.

“You are our brother as surely as Boreas was. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”

Chrys nodded. “That’s the damn truth.”

“Thank you…brothers.”

As he watched Owen stride toward the ornate doors, Chrys didn’t envy the challenges the new god of the North Wind and Megan now faced. At least Ella was a goddess, and she and Zeph could live together in the Realm of the Gods. While Boreas had found a way to extend the span of Megan’s life, she was still a mortal, still human, and as such could not live in this realm. Zeus strictly forbade it.

Now that he thought of it, their situation offered yet another reason why Laney was better off without him. How many sacrifices did he expect her to make for him? Not that he’d ever voice such a thing. Owen had enough to deal with right now, and Zeph often regretted that Ella never had the chance to choose her goddesshood for herself. He’d made that decision for her, though there wasn’t a chance in hell she would’ve chosen any differently.

What would Laney choose? The thought slid insidiously through his brain.

He knew the answer. He could still hear her voice declaring her place to be with him. No matter how much he yearned to make that come true, he wasn’t worth that kind of sacrifice, and Chrys would never ask her to make it.

…

Laney woke up with a start and sat bolt upright. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. The bedding below her fingers was silky soft. Ahead of her, the wall seemed to be made of light. She scanned her vision over the space, attempting to assemble the puzzle. The details she gathered told her it was a bedroom…

Memories returned to her in a rush. The fire, the battle, Boreas’s death. Her throat went tight as she recalled the devastation in everyone’s voices as they’d said their good-byes. The love they’d all shared was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever witnessed, and their loss of it, one of the most tragic.

“I don’t want to lose you, Chrys,” she whispered into the silence. But she already had, hadn’t she? Her heart of hearts demanded that he loved her, too, that he’d showed it time and again even if he’d never said the words. Wishful thinking, no doubt.

Now, it was just a matter of time before he returned her to Summerlyn.

Nearly overwhelmed just about every way you cut it, Laney took a moment to scan her gaze over the floor. It appeared clear of obstacles. She got up and crossed the room. Was this truly the Realm of the Gods? How long had she slept? Where was Chrys? And what had happened to Seth?

Seth. Laney sucked in a breath and spun her feet to the floor, a strange memory flooding back to her. When Seth had hugged her upon their reunion, Laney had gotten the oddest image in her mind. It was Seth, but not as a man. As a lion. Sorta. He’d had wings, too, and a great bird’s head.

Voices sounded outside in the hall.

Debating for a moment, she slowly crossed the room toward the muffled conversation and dragged her hand along the far wall. Her fingers found a handle and she cracked open the door.

Owen’s bright white aura was the first thing she noticed—brighter than it had ever been before. Megan walked beside him.

“Dada, Dada,” Teddy’s voice called out.

After everything they’d been through, she didn’t want to intrude, but they spotted her before she could retreat.

“Are you okay, Laney?” Megan asked.

“Oh, yes. I just woke up and I…” She shrugged.

“Things just broke up,” Owen said. “I’m sure Chrys’ll come find you in a few. Aeolus has had a feast prepared.”

“We’re going to get Tabitha,” Megan said. “We’ll see you there.”

Laney’s stomach flip-flopped. A divine feast in the Realm of the Gods. How much more magical and fantastical could her day get? That strange lion-bird image shot into her mind and she didn’t let herself answer that. “All right. Thanks.”

Owen lifted Teddy into his arms and turned. A flapping of heavy fabric sounded out.

She scanned her gaze over the retreating family. It was very possible her sight was failing her, but she would’ve sworn that Owen was wearing long, silvery robes. Just like the ones she’d seen in her mind’s eye when he had taken her hand to lead her to safety.

“That’s not possible,” she said to herself.

“Oh, but it is,” a voice said from behind her.

Laney whirled, her heart in her throat. Judging by the grey, metallic aura, another god stood before her. “Who are you?”

He hobbled closer. “You don’t remember?”

“Should I?” Now that she thought about it, there was something familiar about his short height and gruff voice… The old man from her dream. She gasped. “But it was just a dream,” she murmured.

“Incorrect. It was a visitation. And I bestowed upon you a gift.”

“Gift?” She focused on the god and struggled to bring his details into focus. Unkempt brown hair. Hunched back. Gnarled hands. It was the man from the dream she’d had the day Chrys posed as a contractor.

“The gift of prophecy. Life is about balance. You lost one sight. I gave you another.”

Another? Dizziness threatened. “I don’t understand. You mean…the things I’ve seen were visions? Like, the future?”

“Yes. Your ability will get stronger with time.”

“Seth,” she whispered, her mind reeling. How could what she’d seen be his future?

“Is safe. And he is also a griffin. Or, at least, he could be. The blood runs through him, if distantly.”

“A…griffin? What is that?” she asked, not sure she really wanted to know.

“King of the beasts. Guardian of priceless treasure. Part lion, part eagle. Very strong. Very courageous. Paired with your line long, long ago. For protection, of course.”

“My line?” she asked, mind absolutely swirling with all this information.

“Distant descendant of Auxesia, one of the three Horae—the one who watches over nature’s growth in summer.”

Laney shook her head, absolutely speechless. Both their names actually meant something? Actually connected them, even if only in a small way, to this magical world? Her heart drummed a fast beat against her chest. She pressed her palm there to keep it from flying away. This was all so crazy. Starting with the idea that she would be able to see the future. What could she do with an ability like that? How could she help people with it? The possibilities were overwhelming. “Your gift…it’s truly amazing,” she finally said. “Thank you. ”

He gave a small bow. “I am Hephaestus. I have been keeping an eye on you.”

His words should’ve brought fear, but for some reason they didn’t. “Why have you watched me?”

“Because I am always curious how things work and what makes people tick. And because we are alike.”

A nervous laugh spilled from her. “How so?”

“Both of us have bodies that could hold us back, but we haven’t let them now, have we?”

She thought of the hunched over way he walked, recalled an image from her dream of gnarled feet and hands. This god felt some affinity with her because of her blindness? As if he hadn’t already honored her enough with his gift. She grappled with how to respond. “We all have our challenges,” she finally said.

“Indeed. And there’s that genuine, selfless character again, rare and unusual qualities in my experience. ”

She struggled to keep up with the unusual god’s pronouncements. “I don’t…really know what to say to that. Thank you,” she rushed to add. “But…I’m just like anyone.”

“Ach. You are not. Three times you have risked your life for another.”

“Chrys? It’s what anyone would do for someone they—” Heat spread across her face. She hugged herself.

“Ah, yes. So you do love him?” He stepped closer, and Laney realized she was taller than him because of the way his back and shoulders had curled.

What did it hurt to answer? If he’d truly watched her, he already knew. “Yes.”

“Then I have a question for you.”

The hair raised on her arms and the blood raced in her veins. Laney’s stomach tingled, like she was balanced on the edge of a vast cliff. “Dare to know,” she whispered to herself. She met the god’s expectant gaze. “Okay. What is it?”

“If you had the choice between the return of your visual sight or remaining blind and gaining long life, which would you choose?”

A shiver passed through Laney’s chest and over every inch of her skin. Such a thing was possible? And this god had the power to offer it? Laney’s whole life narrowed to this one moment. “What do you mean by long life?” she asked, nearly breathless.

“The ability to stay with immortal Chrysander for as long as you wish, but mostly blind, as you are now.”

The walls of the room swam and buckled. Laney swayed.

Hephaestus’s rough, calloused fingers gently caught her arms. “Steady, lass.”

“I wouldn’t grow old or die?” She shook her head. “I don’t even know that he wants me.”

“And what if he did?”

Her heart thundered, sending blood roaring through her ears. If there was even a chance, Hephaestus was offering them a way to be together forever. “The choice would be easy. I would choose love, so I would have to choose long life and blindness.”

“Would you like to make this choice?”

“Laney,” a voice behind her rasped. She turned. Chrys stood in the doorway. How long had he been there? She dragged her gaze up his big body to his face. He was shaking his head. “Don’t do this. I’m not worth it. You could see again.”

Hope and fear filled her chest in equal proportions. “I don’t want my sight. I want you.”

“Hephaestus, please,” he said.

“The choice is hers, Chrysander Notos. She has earned it.”

“Remember your joy when we flew in the elements,” Chrys said, his voice desperate. “Remember your wonder at getting to see again. The sun, Laney. Sappho, your farm, your books…a million things. You could have all of it again.”

She shouldered back the side of her psyche that latched on to his rejection, and listened to what he wasn’t saying. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her. It was that he didn’t think he was worthy of her sacrifice of these things.

Her heart ached for him. “You are worthy, Chrys.” Her choice would prove it to him. As soon as the words left her mouth, certainty flooded over her in a warm rush. She turned back to Hephaestus. “I would like to make the choice. Long life and blindness.”

“So be it.” Hephaestus pressed one gnarled finger to her forehead and another to her heart. Electric tingles ran through her, and a white haze descended over her mind. Chrys’s voice sounded out, but Laney couldn’t decipher the words. She seemed to float outside herself for a long moment. Then, in a rush, she slammed back in. Her knees buckled, and she fell.

Warm arms caught her, cradled her against an even warmer chest. The rightness of the feeling flowed through her. The hazed lifted. Was it done? Was it really true?

Hephaestus leaned over her. “Indeed it is.”

“I said that out loud?” The old god grinned and nodded. She grasped his hand and kissed a gnarled knuckle. “Thank you.”

“You have chosen powerfully, Laney Summerlyn. You shall keep your prophetic sight.” He straightened, at least as much as he could. “This is for you, Chrysander. Do not open it until you’ve made your choice.” He hobbled two steps backward and lurched to a stop. “Oh, and we finished your barn roof. No thanks to you, Notos.”

Then he disappeared.

…

Chrys looked from the now empty floor in front of him, still echoing with the series of wild pronouncements, to the incredible woman lying in his arms. Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of her sacrifice, he sank the rest of the way to his knees.

Every reason he’d used to convince himself they couldn’t be together fell away, and, in a great rush of faith, Chrysander surrendered. To need, to want, to love.

She had given up something for which she had long yearned for the mere possibility of a love, and a life, with him. With him.

Yet, she had no idea how he felt about her. How powerfully love and admiration and pure, simple awe flowed through him for her. All she knew were the lies he’d told—that he didn’t want her, that his life had no room for her. The lies were a shameful disgrace in the face of the enormous gift she’d bestowed on him. A disgrace he needed to correct right now.

“Chrys—”

“I love you,” he rasped, his throat so tight the words were barely audible. He swallowed, hard, and crushed her to him. “I love you,” he said louder. “I want you. And I’m so sorry—”

“You love me?” Joy scattered every doubt from her beautiful eyes. A smile brightened her whole face, even as her eyes glassed over. “I love you, too. Nothing means more to me than you.”

Chrys cradled her face and kissed her for all he was worth. Every longing, every yearning, every hope he’d ever had for and about her, he poured into the kiss. Her love and acceptance were like a balm to his soul, warming those places that had been left cold and unattended his whole, long existence. Breathing hard, he pulled away. “I want to make love to you.”

Cheeks flush, lips swollen, she nodded. He saw his desire mirrored back to him on her lovely face. “I’m yours. Always.”

He rose in one movement and crossed to the big bed, sending a rush of the South Wind behind him to secure the door. Willing their clothes away, he sprawled her on the center of the bed and climbed between her spread thighs. His cock twitched and throbbed, already aching for their joining. He dragged his fingers from her throat to the soft curls between her legs. He rubbed his thumb over the hard nub of her clit. She was already wet and wanting with desire. For him.

“Jesus, you are gorgeous and so damn sexy. I want to spend the rest of my life exploring you, bringing every one of your fantasies to life. But right now, I have to get in you.”

She grasped his cock and guided him to her opening. “I need you.”

He thrust forward and filled her in one slick penetration. An ecstatic groan tore out of him. Nothing had ever felt more right, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Like he was home.

Laney threw her hands above her head and arched beneath him. “You feel so good, Chrys.”

Bracing his fists on either side of her stomach, his body took over, moving in deep, fast strokes through her tight heat. The iron amulet knocked against his chest in time with the grinding rhythm. He dragged his gaze down her body, alive and writhing with arousal. Her hips rocked, her breasts shook, her teeth scraped at her bottom lip, her hands fisted and grasped at the covers above her.

Seeing a lover this way wasn’t something he was used to. And Laney…she was absolutely breathtaking to behold. And he wanted to feel her, feel this, every bit of it.

“Laney,” he rasped, the foreign desire to touch resurrecting a hint of his ancient anxiety.

“I love you,” she panted.

The declaration, so freely given, so deeply felt, blanketed the apprehension just enough that he thought he could take the chance… “Touch me.” His heart tripped into a sprint. “Oh, gods, touch me.”

Eyes wide, she reached up and grasped his face in gentle hands. “Shh, it’s okay.” Her fingers stroked his cheeks. “You can trust me. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never do anything you don’t want.”

He swallowed, hard, his breath rushing from his chest. “More.”

She lifted her legs and wrapped her calves around him, rubbing and stroking his ass as he thrust.

The sensation was electric. Warmth and pleasure overloaded his skin and crawled down his spine, gathering in his balls. “Aw, gods, I want—” He lowered his body fully onto hers, his hands fisting in her hair, his hips thrusting wildly. Everywhere they touched, her heat seared and soothed him until his head was spinning with the incredible, foreign sensation. She smelled so good, warm and feminine and sweet. He breathed her down deep, but couldn’t get enough. Would never be able to get enough. “Hold me,” he gasped against her lips.

Her arms came around his back in a tight, warm embrace.

He groaned and claimed her in a fierce kiss. Their tongues swirled and licked, their lips and teeth nipped and pulled. Their breathing was rough and panting. Chrys dropped kisses everywhere he could reach without giving up one iota of her touch.

His hands were filled with black silk. His torso pressed against the firm mounds of her breasts. Their stomach muscles, damp with sweat, rubbed and slid. Her thighs squeezed his pistoning hips and her heels spurred into his ass, completing the mind-blowing full-body experience. He’d never felt anything like it before. “You’re the only one,” he said, emotion raw in his voice.

A high-pitched whimper tore out of her. He captured the sound with his mouth and worked his hips against her clit. His cock stroked hard and deep, and he angled his thrusts until she was mewling and whimpering into his mouth.

“Gods, Laney, give it to me. Give every bit of it to me.”

For a long moment, she held her breath and her whole body went tight. Her orgasm tore through her—her slick sex milking the part of him deep within her, her body thrashed and bucked under him in great waves, and her nails dug into his back. Gods, he hoped she marked him.

As her orgasm went on and on, Chrys got lost in her clenching heat. His grinding rhythm grew jerky, a glorious pressure filling his balls. He went light-headed at the overwhelming sensation, and then his orgasm slammed into him, shooting up his spine and down his legs. His release erupted into her, filling her up and spilling over them both.

When his body finally calmed, he lifted his head. Laney smiled up at him, her eyes full of love, her expression totally blissed out. Her hands dragged lightly up his back and found his hair. She combed her fingers through it, her nails soothingly scratching his scalp. He could’ve purred.

She’d touched him. Every part of him. Until he couldn’t feel where he stopped and she began. And he’d felt…good, right…alive.

Awed, he shifted his hands to stroke the damp hair off her face.

She stretched beneath him, a long, luxurious movement. Grimacing, she reached beneath her hip. “What’s this?” The little leather bag Hephaestus had given him.

“I don’t know.” Do not open it until you’ve made your choice, that’s what Hephaestus had said. And Chrys had made his choice—he’d chosen Laney. They worked together to release the thin string holding the top of the satchel closed tight.

“How much of my conversation with Hephaestus did you hear?”

“Most of it. Enough to know you and Seth have ancient divine connections, and that you did the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“I did it for me, too.”

He kissed her, just a light, worshipful brushing of lips. They finally got the strings untied. “Hold out your hand.” Chrys dumped the contents into her palm.

Two rings, both made of brushed infernal iron, one band thicker, the other thin.

Certainty and gratitude roared through him.

Laney brought her other hand to explore the objects. She gasped. “Are these—”

“Yes.” He picked up the smaller ring. “When the chaos is behind us, we will do this right. But until then, Laney Summerlyn, I promise to love and cherish and honor you, forever. Will you be mine?”

Her breath caught and her eyes went glassy. “Yes.”

Chrys slid the ring, a perfect fit, on her finger. Thank you, Hephaestus.

She grasped the remaining piece. “Chrysander Notos, I promise to love you and take care of you and be there for you in every way you need me, for the rest of my long life. Please be mine.”

“Always,” he rasped as the cool iron settled on his finger. His cock hardened at the sight, slow but sure. “I want you again,” he said, slowly moving his hips.

She nodded. “Anything you want. Everything you want. I love you.”

“As I love you, Laney, and I always will.”

Dark days lie ahead—only ten sunrises separated them from the fall equinox and Eurus’s ascension. He and Laney would face every challenge, together. Everything else was uncertain, but not this. Never this.

Did you love Chrys? Find out how the story begins—and ends—in Laura Kaye’s award-winning Hearts of the Anemoi series!

Acknowledgments

From his very first breath, Chrysander Notos had his own way of doing things, never easy, never straightforward, never boring or dull. And that made bringing him to life one of the most challenging and fulfilling writing experiences I’ve ever had. I know so many of you have waited to spend more time with the golden boy of the Anemoi, and I hope you love him as much as I do.

I have to offer thanks first and foremost to Christi Barth, who read the entire manuscript and pushed me again and again to go deeper. To have such an incredible critique partner and wonderful friend in the same person is a true privilege. I must also thank my best friend Lea Nolan, who brainstormed with me, cheered me on, shared Panera cookies, and held my hand more times than I can recount. Stephanie Dray, Joya Fields, Marta Bliese, and Laura Thompson (my horse expert!) provided encouragement, moral support, and tough love that kept me going when life went off the rails. Again. And again.

Thanks, always, to Heather Howland, for loving the Anemoi as much as I do, for making me shine, and for never letting me get away with a thing! She’s the kind of editor authors dream of working with. A special word of thanks to Kari Olson of A Good Addiction blog, who won an Entangled Publishing contest and got to name Boreas’s love interest, Tabitha. You did great! Thanks to Jenn Schober for always being there with an encouraging word!

I also need to offer thanks to someone who doesn’t know she inspired me. My former graduate student, Dana S., was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa and faced the news with such courage and determination. Dana, I hope I’ve done RP justice here. To learn more about RP or donate toward finding a cure, visit the Foundation Fighting Blindness at www.blindness.org.

Huge love always goes out to Laura’s Heroes, the best street team an author ever had. To Brian and my girls, thank you for supporting me so completely. I love you. And, as always, I have complete love for the readers, who welcome characters into their hearts and minds and let them tell their stories over and over again. ~ LK

About the Author

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Laura Kaye has written more than a dozen books in contemporary and paranormal romance. She grew up amid family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses, cementing her lifelong fascination with the supernatural and storytelling. Laura lives in Maryland with her husband, two daughters, and cute-but-bad dog and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.

www.LauraKayeAuthor.com

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Discover Laura Kaye’s Heart of the Anemoi Series

North of Need

West of Want

East of Ecstasy

Devlin Eston, black-souled son of the evil Anemoi Eurus, is the only one who can thwart his father’s plan to overthrow the Supreme God of Wind and Storms. But first, Dev must master the unstable powers he’s been given. Distrusted and shunned by his own divine family, the last thing he expects is to find kindness and passion in the arms of a mortal. But Devlin’s love puts Annalise in the path of a catastrophic storm, and in the final Armageddon showdown between the Anemoi and Eurus, sacrifices will be made, hearts broken, and lives changed forever…or lost.

Hearts of Anemoi Bundle

Includes North of Need, West of Want, and South of Surrender

You might also enjoy the Heroes series by Laura Kaye

Her Forbidden Hero

Former Army Special Forces Sgt. Marco Vieri has never thought of Alyssa Scott as more than his best friend’s little sister, but her return home changes that. Now that she’s back in his life, healing wounds he never thought would heal, will he succumb to the forbidden temptation she presents one touch at a time?

One Night with a Hero

After growing up with an abusive, alcoholic father, Army Special Forces Sgt. Brady Scott vowed never to have a family of his own. But when a one-night stand with new neighbor Joss Daniels leads to an unexpected pregnancy, can he let go of his past and create a new future with Joss?

Coming soon...

Dare to Resist
a Wedding Dare novella by Laura Kaye

The only woman he wants is the one he’s been sent to kill...

Keegan lives to exact revenge on the evil demon who sired and abused him. When his father devises a plan to bring on the apocalypse, Keegan and his three half-brothers, interdimensional bounty hunters for the Elden Council, are charged with capturing and delivering him for punishment.

Gallery owner Brynn Meyers has no idea her ability to read memories embedded in objects means she has demon ancestry. Unfortunately for Brynn, she’s also the key to raising an ancient zombie army, which puts her on every demon’s Most Wanted List.

And no one wants her more than Keegan’s father.

Keegan must protect Brynn from his father, but he’ll have to learn to harness the other half of his genetics—the far deadlier, uncontrollable half—when he starts to fall for the one woman standing between him and the vengeance he so desperately seeks. The one woman he’ll never be able to resist.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Rosalie Lario. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Libby Murphy and Heather Howland

Cover design by Heather Howland

Print ISBN 978-1-62061-039-8

Ebook ISBN 978-1-6206 1-040-4

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition August 2011

To my parents, Gladys and Ramiro, who instilled in me the belief I can accomplish anything I put my mind to; my sisters, Dixiana, Rebecca, and Jeannette, for always believing in me—no matter what; my Titi Annie, who taught me that a strong woman may fall, but she never stays down; and last but certainly not least, to Joel and David. You are my heart, my life, my inspiration. Accomplishments mean little without loved ones to share them with. This one’s for all of you.

Dear Reader

Blood of the Demon started with a dream. A dream of a woman who could read the memories stored in objects, and a man who was half demon. For most people this would have been a nightmare. For me, it was the start of an adventure!

Little did I know when I started writing Blood of the Demon that it would lead me to a wondrous journey filled with demons, dragons, fae, and just about every other type of supernatural being you could imagine. Once I met Keegan and his half-brothers Taeg, Ronin, and Dagan, I knew their world was one I would be immersed within for much time to come.

What I love most about these half-demon heroes is that, no matter their circumstances, they always stick together. Despite their horrific upbringing at the hands of their father, they believe in family. They believe in the power of love.

So it was with great delight that I gave each of the brothers something worth fighting over. Someone worthy of their fierce, all-consuming love.

I hope you enjoy my Demons of Infernum as much as I have. Wishing you many adventures to come.

All my best,

Rosalie

Chapter One

She wasn’t what he’d expected.

Keegan crouched on a nearby roof, watching, waiting for her gallery to clear out. A stray gust of cold wind whipped through the night air, ruffling his jacket. It didn’t matter. Considering where he’d come from, the cold was a welcome relief.

The woman had looked fragile when he’d caught a glimpse of her through the store’s large window front. Undeniably beautiful, with her long honey-brown hair falling in waves around her heart-shaped face—but fragile nonetheless.

It was the perfect cover. No one would ever believe what she truly was, what lived inside her. But the blood never lied. She wasn’t what she seemed.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Keegan had felt a stirring of lust rise within him at the sight of her, blindsiding him with its unexpected force. It had simply been too long since he’d gotten laid, something he’d have to remedy soon. Didn’t have anything to do with the woman. It couldn’t.

After all, she might very well be dead by the end of the day. Because if he received the order, he’d have to kill her.

He fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and called his brother. As expected, Taeg answered on the first ring. Skipping the useless chatter, Keegan said, “I’ve got an eye on the target.”

“That’s perfect.” Even over the phone, the relief in Taeg’s voice was palpable. “What now?”

“As soon as she’s alone, I’ll grab her.”

“You don’t think Mammon has managed to find her yet, do you?”

Keegan gave a short laugh. “If he had, he would’ve taken her already. Waiting’s not his style.”

“Yeah, right,” Taeg muttered. “Don’t I know it?”

“I’ll keep you posted.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

Even though he couldn’t see her from this vantage point, he wasn’t worried about losing her. Not after he’d tagged her scent. He closed his eyes and inhaled, giving himself over to his sense of smell. Sorting through the various odors he’d picked up—the rich aroma of coffee, the ashy smell of a discarded cigarette, the pungent stench of rotting food—he discarded them, one by one.

Yes. There she was. Her scent was unique. Like strawberries and cream. Something he’d tried only recently and discovered he loved.

Would she taste just as sweet?

Shit. What was he thinking? She wasn’t a potential lay, but a dangerous and powerful weapon. Maybe even the enemy. He’d do well to remember that.

Finally, the store emptied of everyone but her. He supposed the right thing would be to go in and question her. But what if Mammon was no more than a few steps behind him? He couldn’t take that chance. Not when the stakes were so high.

He would take her back to the apartment with him. There, he could question her at leisure and decide what to do without having to worry about Mammon or his henchmen discovering them. But what were the odds of her going along with him willingly?

Well, he couldn’t worry about that now. He’d simply take her.

The night had grown dark enough that he didn’t bother heading for the roof exit. Instead, he walked to the side of the building facing the narrow alleyway and stepped off. He landed the six-story fall with a thud that shook the ground. A cracking sound, followed by a twinge of pain shooting up his right leg, made him pause, but he ignored it as the fissure healed itself. The homeless man lying unconscious in a puddle not ten feet away mumbled and stirred before growing still once again.

Keegan crossed the street, his gaze single-mindedly locked on the figure of the woman visible through the window as she buzzed about the front of the gallery. A ray of light from a small lamp decorating the window caught her hair, spinning it into a web of gold. In that lighting, she looked almost like an angel.

But why was he thinking about the color of her hair? She wasn’t an angel—not by a long shot.

And her luck was about to run out.

…

Brynn Meyers stifled a yawn as she tidied up the eclectic space of her showroom floor. With its old furniture and traditional chandeliers, the space more closely resembled an antiques shop than an art gallery. She’d started it several years ago with the inheritance she received following her father’s death from a car accident, just a short time after her mother died of breast cancer. It seemed like she spent every waking moment there. If she wasn’t working, she was painting in her small studio located in the back.

“Just two hours of painting tonight, then I’ll go to sleep early for a change,” she told herself. “This time I mean it.”

God, how pathetic was she? Was she so lonely that she had to start bargaining with herself?

No, not lonely, Brynn. Just a loner. There’s a difference.

Really, there was. Even if deep down inside, part of her wished she wasn’t quite so alone. So unique.

Her hand grazed the easel holding the painting that had arrived earlier today. She turned to examine it more closely. Created by her favorite artist, it drew her in because of the artist’s tendency to incorporate unusual materials into his work, such as the tattered pieces of muslin glued to this painting. It was an amazing work of art, and the cloth was obviously old and worn.

Brynn brushed her hand against the gathered fabric. Closing her eyes, she focused on the feel of it at her fingertips, on the shadows of memories that whispered to her, begging her to uncover them.

The muslin yielded beneath her touch, revealing its deepest secrets. Her vision narrowed, focusing in on the fabric as its memories hurtled toward her. Several hundred years old, the painting began its journey to her as part of an elegant dress worn by a Frenchwoman. Images of the woman’s trembling fingers flowed into Brynn’s mind, and she smiled at the impressions of the woman smoothing the material down, eagerly anticipating a visit from her secret lover. Then, in a scene years later, someone tore apart the dress for scraps. Even later, the bits of fabric were twisted and crafted into a rag doll, cherished for many years by the little girl who lovingly slept with it until she became too old for dolls.

The flashes of memory faded away. Taking a deep breath, she slowly returned to the present.

It’s just a bit of fabric. She often had to remind herself of that. The memories embedded in inanimate objects tended to make them seem alive to her. But they weren’t. They were just conduits for energy. And for some reason, she had the ability to sense this energy. This was a gift she’d had her whole life, and what had initially drawn her to art. Each piece had a story, an experience, rooted within it. Older art pieces could be positively overwhelming.

Of course, her so-called gift wasn’t limited solely to art. There were times when it didn’t seem like much of a gift at all—like when she discovered something she wasn’t supposed to know. Case in point: when she’d touched her last boyfriend’s cell phone and learned he’d recently used it to make an assignation with his ex-girlfriend. God, what a string of losers she’d dated recently.

The front door opened with a loud chime and Brynn snatched her hand away. Not like anyone would ever know what she’d been doing, but for some unexplainable reason, she always feared her gift would be discovered. Life was difficult enough without being branded a freak or a psycho.

She lifted her gaze to find a tall, well-built man standing in the doorway. Her breath caught as her eyes traveled from his skintight black shirt, highlighting every curve of his muscular chest, to the dark, shaggy hair framing his olive-toned face. A shiver ran through her. He embodied Dark and Dangerous, with the leather jacket to match.

And crap, she was ogling him like a slab of meat in a lion’s den.

She wiped her suddenly damp palms against her slacks before moving forward to greet him. “Hi, welcome to Meyers Gallery. I’m Brynn.”

He stared at her outstretched hand for so long that she fidgeted. Maybe he’d noticed her wiping her palms and had gotten grossed out. Great.

She started to pull her hand back, but he stopped her by at last reaching out to clasp his hand over hers. A tingle of awareness flashed across her palm, so sharp she had to struggle to hold back a startled gasp.

“I know,” he said.

“What?” Brynn took a second to remember what they were talking about. Once she did, she flushed anew. This hunk of a man was making her lose her train of thought. “You mean you know my name? Have we spoken on the phone before, then? Are you here about one of the new art pieces?”

“No,” he said, without releasing her hand.

His grasp was warm, heating Brynn from the inside out. The sensation was so disconcerting she needed another long second to process his response. “No? Well then, how can I help you?”

The man smiled, but something resembling regret flashed through his bluish-green eyes. Lord, they were amazing.

“Sorry,” he said, the sound curling around his lips like a lover’s caress.

Her gaze drifted to his full, luscious mouth, and she couldn’t look away. If she didn’t get him out of here soon, she was afraid she might jump his bones. Never before had she felt so viscerally attracted to a man, and it was unnerving, to say the least. This was the sort of distraction she didn’t want or need.

“You’re sorry? About what?” She tried to tug her hand back, but the man’s grip held firm.

“About this.”

His left arm came at her so fast she only saw a flash of it, right before his fist connected with the side of her face. There was a burst of pain. Then, she went blissfully numb.

Chapter Two

He’d made it all the way uptown with an unconscious woman in his arms and hadn’t been spotted once. Not bad. Then again, he did have a few assets at his disposal. Like not having to use the ground.

Keegan carried the woman’s limp figure into the Upper East Side penthouse apartment the Council had lent him and his brothers. The place was a far cry from the tiny shack he lived in back at home. The office alone was bigger, not to mention the four sizable bedrooms. And the amazing view of the city skyline from the wall of windows in the living room was nothing to scoff at. Too bad the magnitude of the situation didn’t allow him to enjoy the view.

Taeg and Dagan, however, seemed to have no qualms about living it up. Sprawled out on the huge leather sectional in the living room, beers in hand, they watched some sports game on the large plasma television. The two of them didn’t even look up when he entered the room.

“Glad to see you two douchebags can relax when this whole world is on the verge of being destroyed,” Keegan said.

“No problem,” Dagan said, before turning his attention back to the screen.

Smartass.

Taeg shrugged and kicked his feet off the coffee table, swiveling his head in Keegan’s direction. He was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the words Why Do Today What You Can Put Off Until Tomorrow?

Keegan stifled a snort. “Nice shirt.”

Taeg rose and started toward him. “My favorite thing about Earth so far is the shirts. Followed closely by the supercool lingo. Did you know ‘Fuck off’ is practically a greeting in this city?” He stopped a few feet away and examined the figure of the unconscious woman lying in Keegan’s arms. “Wow. She’s a real looker. What did you do to her, anyway?”

Keegan would’ve thought that was obvious. A dark purple bruise in the shape of his fist marred her otherwise flawless cheek. He swallowed past the flare of emotion that tightened his throat. “Knocked her out. How else was I going to get her back here?”

“I could have gotten her to come with us willingly, if you’d let me go with you,” Taeg said. “But no, you wanted to go off and be Master of the Universe all by yourself.”

“She was my responsibility.”

“Yeah, and we all know how much you love responsibility.”

Keegan ignored the unreasonable stab of irritation his brother’s words provoked. He was only annoyed because Taeg was an ass. No other reason. Of all his half brothers, Taeg especially knew how to push his buttons. The only way to win this battle was to ignore him.

“She’s a job, and nothing more,” he told Taeg. “And don’t forget what we might have to do to her.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Taeg smiled, though there was no humor in it this time. He obviously dreaded this as much as Keegan did. Taeg wasn’t a monster. Not like their father.

Keegan’s irritation melted away. His brothers didn’t want to be here any more than he did. It wasn’t their fault, what they were born into.

“Where’s Ronin?” he asked.

“I’m here.” Ronin appeared in the doorway leading from the kitchen. He was the second youngest of his half brothers, older than Dagan but younger than Taeg. “So you got her, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Did she seem to know anything about Mammon or her ancestry?”

“I haven’t questioned her yet. But there wasn’t a trace of demon activity surrounding her. I figured I’d get her out of there first and ask questions later.”

“Good idea.” Ronin waited a beat before saying, “So…are you going to hold her all day, or what?”

Shit.

Embarrassment flooded through Keegan. He hadn’t even considered letting go of the woman. Holding her in his arms eroded his ability to think straight, like the blood kept trying to rush out of his brain and into other parts of his anatomy.

I really need to get laid soon.

That was it. Nothing more.

Keegan turned and strode into the room they’d specifically prepared for her. For Brynn. As he carefully laid her on the bed, he couldn’t help but think how well that name suited her. It was just as interesting and unusual as she was.

With her figure encased in tight wool slacks and a fitted black sweater, the outline of her slim form was clearly visible. Small, firm breasts. Flat stomach. When she’d looked up at him back at her art gallery, her eyes had been a soft, calming green.

She was beyond enticing.

The sound of a throat clearing roused Keegan from his slow survey. He looked behind him to see Ronin and Taeg crowding the doorway.

Ronin nodded toward Brynn. “Looks like you hit her pretty hard.”

“Didn’t mean to.” What a dick thing to do, hitting her like that. But he’d had no choice. Not really. There was no knowing how close Mammon was to finding her, or if he hadn’t gotten to her already. Either way, he’d needed to get her out of there fast. “I’ll heal her.”

“That’s not necessary,” Ronin interjected. “Not when I can do it with a simple touch.”

Ronin started toward Brynn, but Keegan surprised himself by letting out a low growl. “I said I’ll do it.”

Shock registered on Ronin’s face, and he held up his hands, backing off. Not that Keegan blamed him. Where did he get off being angry at the thought of his brother touching Brynn?

He must be losing his mind.

“Let him do it.” Taeg’s smooth voice dispelled the tension in the room. “You know how Keegan likes to suffer for his sins.”

“Fuck you,” Keegan said, taking a seat on the bed next to Brynn. He withdrew his iron pocketknife, flicked it open, and cut a shallow groove in his palm. After pressing his hand to her cheek, he drew it away. His blood seeped into her pores, healing her blood vessels. The swelling went down, and within a few seconds she was good as new.

He wiped the remnants of his blood off her cheek, trying not to think about how soft and cool her skin felt beneath his hand. She was just a woman, and a human one at that.

Well, mostly, anyway.

“So what now?” Ronin asked him.

“Now, we wait for her to wake up, and we question her. Then we’ll decide what to do with her.”

Taeg gave a soul-weary sigh. “Sounds great. I’m gonna go drink some more.” He did an about-face and disappeared.

Unable to help himself, Keegan turned back to the woman. So soft and feminine.

The sound of Ronin moving behind him barely registered. “You did more than just walk tonight, huh?”

“What’s that?”

Without another word, Ronin poked his fingers through the jagged slits in Keegan’s jacket and shirt, making contact with the bare flesh of his back.

Keegan fought back a flush. “Oh. Almost forgot about that.” Which was unusual for him, something his intuitive little brother had no doubt picked up on.

“I had a feeling,” Ronin replied dryly. “Might want to change before she wakes up.”

“Yeah, good idea.” If she didn’t settle for outright panic and screaming when she awoke, she was bound to have questions for him. He didn’t need to add any more to that list. Standing, he followed Ronin out of the room and clicked the door shut, then slid the lock on the outside into place.

…

Brynn opened her eyes to taupe satin wallpaper, dark wood furniture, and the faint smell of fresh, clean linen. She turned her head to the side, confirming that she was lying on a bed. A soft, comfortable bed with silky chocolate-colored sheets and a faux fur bedspread folded across the bottom. Where the hell was she?

Wait. What happened?

It all came back in one blinding rush. The gallery, the too-hot-to-be-real man. His fist shooting toward her face.

Oh, crap.

Brynn jerked up off the bed. Her first instinct was to panic, but she forced herself to calm down. She’d been through something like this before…and she’d learned from that horrible incident that she was stronger than she looked. That was something the creep who’d dared to take her was about to find out…

She lifted two fingers to touch the spot where the man had hit her but, amazingly, didn’t find even a hint of pain. What the hell? He had hit her, that much she knew. So why didn’t she feel it?

She couldn’t believe that the man had hidden behind his gorgeous exterior and managed to totally catch her off guard. Had knocked her out. And apparently brought her here. To his…to his…palace?

“That asshole.”

The amazing skyline view from the tall windows on one side of the room, as well as the lush décor of the massive space, told her the word palace wasn’t too far off. She was obviously in an exclusive luxury apartment, one on the Upper East Side if she didn’t mistake the view.

What kind of criminal brought his victim to a place like this? He was probably a rapist. Or a serial murderer. Well, it didn’t matter. Whatever his reasons, he might have caught her off guard once, but it wouldn’t happen again. And she wasn’t scared of him. She wouldn’t allow herself to be. Not with what she could do.

“Once I get my hands on you, you’ll regret it,” she muttered. No doubt he’d regret it.

The hollow sound of her heels clacking on the wood floor vibrated in her ear as she stalked over to the door on the far side of the room. She tried the knob. Locked. Great. Just great.

The walls seemed to close in on her, the surrounding space shrinking until she once again felt like she was inside the trunk of that car, fighting off her nausea and wondering what he was going to do to her. She forced herself to shake the feeling off and then pounded on the door. “Is anyone there? Hey, where are you? Let me out.”

When there was no immediate response, she pounded louder. “Come on. Hello? Let me out!”

Brynn was about to lift her fist for a fresh bout of knocking when the doorknob turned with a click. She scampered back as the door swung open.

The hunk from the gallery stood on the other side, sans leather jacket. He wore an impassive expression on his face.

Her fingers clenched into fists at the sight of the man who’d imprisoned her. He was about to pay. “You.”

He opened his mouth. “Let me explain—”

Without further thought, she rushed him, pummeling her fists into his chest. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even budge. He was like a freaking steel beam. But that was okay. She’d get him, anyway.

She lifted her hand to his throat and dug into his bare skin. Giving herself over to her senses, she willed the flow of energy through her body, just as she’d done so many times before. Her arm grew hot with the familiar sensation of energy drawing through her fingers, working its way inside her with an electric sizzle.

But instead of collapsing as she expected, the man merely lifted one perfect brow. “Ow.”

That was it. That was all he said.

“Ow?” Brynn repeated, going numb with shock. She’d felt it! She’d felt the familiar draw of energy. But instead of falling to the ground in an unconscious puddle, he just said, Ow?

Ow?

“Impossible,” she gasped.

He tilted his head to one side. “What exactly are you trying to do?”

This couldn’t be happening. That particular ability had never failed her before.

She brought both hands to the bare skin of his muscular arm, right below the sleeve of his shirt, doing her best to ignore the spicy, masculine scent emanating from his body and the heat of his rigid flesh beneath her palms. Seriously, the man must be running a fever. He was scorching hot.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she once again concentrated on summoning her energy. Again, she felt it flow, but he stood still in front of her. He didn’t even flinch.

She staggered back. “Oh, crap.”

It didn’t work on him.

For the first time in a very long time, a strange sensation stirred in the pit of Brynn’s stomach, churning her insides to a rolling boil.

Pure, unadulterated fear.

She was stuck in a room with a psychopath who’d knocked her out and kidnapped her, and she had no way to defend herself. No way to fight back.

Oh, God, she was totally screwed.

…

Brynn stumbled away from Keegan, appearing scared for the first time since he’d entered the room. An uncomfortable twinge tightened his gut. He didn’t want her to be scared of him. Which was ridiculous. After all, why should he care? She was the heir, that much he knew from the intel given to him by the Council. If there had been any doubt of that, she had confirmed her identity when she’d laid her hands on him and a lightning bolt of energy had shot through her fingers. No mere human would have that sort of ability.

He held his hands in the air, moved forward far enough to kick the door shut, then leaned against it, trying to look as non-menacing as possible. “Listen, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you, okay? My name is Keegan.”

She backed up until she was on the far side of the room, by the large set of windows. She seemed to notice she was wringing her hands and dropped them to her sides. “What do you want with me? If—if it’s money, I don’t have that much, but I’ll give you whatever I have—”

“I don’t want your money, Brynn,” he interrupted, keeping his tone soft and calm. “Right now, I only want to talk to you.”

“You’re not going to—?”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Keegan tried not to wince at that lie. He might very well have to hurt her. But if he did, it wouldn’t be because he wanted to.

She nodded, but she seemed to doubt the sincerity of his tone because her gaze darted about the room as if checking for possible weapons. It settled for a moment on the bulky lamp by the bed. The lamp probably was heavy enough to bash in a human’s head. But she’d be unpleasantly surprised if she tried using it on him.

“If you’re not going to hurt me, why did you kidnap me?”

Keegan sighed and closed his eyes. The question he’d dreaded. He probably should have allowed Taeg to simply charm her into telling them what they needed to know. She wouldn’t have been afraid that way. And he wouldn’t be stuck coming up with a story she would believe. But as stupid as it might be, the least he owed her was her free will. He didn’t want to take that from her. No, he knew all too well what that felt like.

Finally, he settled on a perverted version of the truth. “It’s sort of a long story. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll tell you?”

Brynn cast a pointed glance around the room and then at the bed, which was the only piece of furniture she could sit on. “I don’t think so,” she said in an icy tone.

Keegan chuckled at her bravado. She was tougher than she looked. “Sorry, I guess not.” Slowly, so as not to alarm her, he drew away from the door. “What do you know about your ancestry?”

She appeared startled, as if that were the last question she’d been expecting. And who could blame her? “My—my what?”

“Your ancestry. Where you come from. Who your ancestors are.”

“I…not much. My parents weren’t exactly into the whole family-tree thing. I can only go as far back as my grandparents.”

Keegan scoffed. “I figured. You humans are so focused on yourselves that you forget about the past.”

“Us…humans?”

Shit. He needed to watch what he said.

He cleared his throat. “I meant humankind in general.”

Confusion gradually replaced the fear on her face. “Listen, uh…Keegan, right? I’m not really sure what you’re getting at here, but—”

“Did you know that your ancestry can be traced back to the ancient Egyptians?”

“What? No.” A hint of interest colored her tone. “Really, that far back? I mean, that’s kind of cool, but I still don’t know what it has to do with you kidnapping me. And how the hell do you know that, anyway?”

All right, here it went. Hopefully she’d buy it. “Brynn, one of your ancestors was an Egyptian priest who lived about three thousand years ago. He created something, a book. When he died, he was buried with it. And now there’s someone who’ll stop at nothing to find it.”

All true so far. But here’s where he had to start stretching the truth. “The man who’s searching for the book believes you can lead him to it. He’s not a good…person. If he gets his hands on you, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

Her confusion morphed into doubt. “But…but that’s ridiculous. I don’t even know anything about my great-grandparents, much less some obscure relative who lived three thousand years ago.”

“Nonetheless, it’s true.” He kept his tone calm and flat. That, more than anything, seemed to sway her into believing him.

“Who keeps track of their ancestry that far back? How could he even think I might lead him to the book?”

“He’s insane.” Which was true. You didn’t get much crazier than Mammon. Keegan knew that all too well.

She crossed her arms over her chest, brows furrowed. “Yeah, well, that still doesn’t tell me how you got involved.”

“I…” Fuck. He took a breath. Time for some quick thinking. He settled on the first half truth that popped into his head. “I work for a secret branch of the government.”

What would the Council members think to hear themselves described that way? They were far more powerful than just one government—than just one world, even.

“We’re trying to stop him,” he added, “and part of that means protecting you.”

Unless it becomes too dangerous. Then we’ll have to kill you.

“A secret government organization, huh?” Brynn’s tone was ripe with suspicion, and who could blame her? “Why did you bring me here? Am I supposed to believe this is some sort of safe house?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She arched a brow. “Where’s your government ident-ification, then?”

Man, but she was cheeky. And the devil help him, he liked it.

Yeah, well, don’t get too caught up in singing her praises. You still don’t know whether or not she’s playing a game.

“We’re an unofficial branch. We don’t get identification.” Then, before she could question further, he asked, “Brynn, have you been contacted or followed by anyone unusual the past few days?”

“Other than you?” She snorted with a slight shake of her head. “No.”

Keegan straightened and pushed off the door. “I need you to be straight with me. You’re not helping anyone, are you?”

“Who would I be helping?” When he took a step toward her, she lifted her hands in front of her. “Stay back.”

He stopped, curiosity getting the better of him. “What exactly is it that you can do with your hands?” He was willing to bet it was more than just mere emission of electricity.

She glanced down, appearing startled, as if she just realized she’d lifted them. “Hmm? Oh, nothing. It doesn’t seem to be working, anyway,” she murmured, so low that a human wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

Another stirring of sympathy churned in his gut. This couldn’t be easy for her, having to deal with her loss of powers on top of being kidnapped. “Do you want to try it again?”

“What?” She let out an uncertain chuckle. “You expect me to fall for that? I’m not getting anywhere near you.”

“You have nowhere to go,” he pointed out. “I could overpower you at any moment if I wanted to. In fact, I could have hurt you while you were unconscious, if that were my true intent.”

She bit down on her lip, the simple vulnerability of her action making him feel like a total tool.

“I can sit on the bed, if you like,” he offered.

After a moment’s pause, she gave him a jerky nod. “Okay.”

Keeping his movements even, he sat on the bed with his hands in full view at his sides.

Brynn inched forward. “Lift up your shirt.”

Keegan sucked in his breath at the unexpected arousal her words caused. It wasn’t as if she’d asked him to get undressed. She just wanted to make better contact with his skin. But his cock didn’t seem to know that.

Down, boy.

If it kept reacting that way, there’d be no doubt in her mind what he was thinking, and she’d run across the room screaming. He tugged his shirt up to his chest, his movements slow and his breathing steady.

She crept forward, like a curious deer fearing a trap.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said again.

Finally, she stood only a few feet in front of him. With an indrawn breath, she placed her hands on his chest. His eyes closed of their own accord. Her hands were slightly cool to the touch, but softer than anything he’d felt before; a breath of freshness in the otherwise stale, cruel world that made up his entire existence. Once again, the strange sensation of electric current zinged off her fingertips. It tingled to the point of being uncomfortable, but nothing more than that.

“Nothing,” she breathed, seemingly abandoning her fear as she knelt down in front of him and squeezed her palms tighter against his chest.

He opened his eyes to peer down at Brynn, who was clearly so focused on trying to do whatever it was she could normally do that she didn’t realize she was kneeling between his splayed legs. The position put her head level with his stomach, so close her strawberries-and-cream essence practically assaulted his senses.

“Is it me? Or is it you?” She lifted her eyes to his for the first time since touching him, and her breath audibly caught in her throat. “So warm. Why are you so warm?”

Keegan’s pulse raced. He couldn’t help himself. With her looking at him that way, her green eyes clouded over, he didn’t stand a chance.

“I just am,” he whispered, all the while trying to remind himself who—and what—she was.

He wanted to kiss her, to feel those lips on his. To taste her pink little tongue. He longed to surrender to the desire that tightened every muscle in his body, to the instinctive need to know her. Yes, it was wrong, but he had a hard time caring right now.

Mission be damned.

He inched toward her face. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move away. If he could have one taste, he could forget about it. Get it out of his system. Go on with the mission.

Just one taste…

“Am I interrupting something?” said a voice from the doorway.

Brynn flew up and shuffled away, toward the window, as Keegan aimed his guilt-filled gaze in the direction of the door.

Taeg leaned against the doorjamb. Apparently, he’d managed to open the door without Keegan noticing. And by the look on his face, Taeg hadn’t missed what had almost happened with him and Brynn.

Well, that was just great.

Chapter Three

Brynn retreated to her spot by the large window as another man leaned casually against the doorframe. He resembled Keegan, but he was a little narrower and had a slight cleft in his chin. His carelessly tousled dark brown hair was quite a bit shorter than Keegan’s shaggy cut.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Keegan stood and smoothed his shirt down. “He’s my brother.”

Brother? Well, that explained the similar build, the resemblance, and the general hotness. Was everyone in his family just as gorgeous as he was?

Then it hit her. A mortified flush crept to her cheeks. Oh, God.

What on earth had she been doing, kneeling on the floor in front of him like that? If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d been about to kiss her. And she’d been about to let him.

Jesus. The guy was her kidnapper. He might be trying to feed her some line of bullshit about being a government agent, but she wasn’t buying. And despite that, she’d still allowed him to sway her with his good looks and his hotter-than-molten-steel body. And oh, what a body it was. His rock-hard muscles had pulsed underneath her palms. She wiped her hands on her slacks.

She’d heard of Stockholm Syndrome before, but she’d known this guy for a total of ten minutes, tops.

Lord, I’m such a slut.

“I was just telling Brynn about her ancestry.” Keegan ran a hand through his hair as he addressed his brother. “About the man who’s trying to find her.”

“Yeah, sure you were,” his brother responded, his tone saturated with sarcasm.

Rising up to her full height, Brynn assumed a challenging pose and addressed the brother. “Let me guess—you expect me to believe you’re a government agent, too, right?”

“Agent?” He choked out a laugh, glanced at Keegan, and then laughed again. “Yeah, sure, I’m a regular James Bond.”

“Taeg,” Keegan said in a warning tone.

“I’m Taeg,” he said, ignoring Keegan as he moved toward Brynn with an outstretched hand.

She stared down at his hand, hesitating.

“I won’t bite.” Though the wolfish smile on his face said maybe he’d like to. “Promise.”

Oh, what did she have to lose?

She took his hand. “I’m Brynn. Wish I could say it was nice to meet you. But I’m not feeling too nice right now.”

Taeg snickered as he let go of her hand. “I get it. Believe me.”

Wait a second. He now stood right here in front of her. All she needed to do was reach out and touch him…

Without taking another second to contemplate it, Brynn placed her palms on his chest and concentrated on her powers.

“Ouch!”

He jumped back. But that was it.

“Unbelievable.” Her touch had once leveled a man twice Taeg’s size, and to him and Keegan it was just a minor annoyance. What was going on here?

Taeg gave her an appraising look, tilting his head to the side much as Keegan had earlier. “What were you trying to do?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Nothing.”

“She tried the same thing with me earlier,” Keegan said from his spot by the doorway. “With a similar effect.”

“Hmm…” Taeg put a hand to his chin. “You’ve got some powers, huh?”

“Wha—what?”

Why the hell would that even cross his mind? It wasn’t like anyone ever believed what she could do, so why would a total stranger make that assumption? Sure, he’d obviously felt something when she’d touched him, but wouldn’t a normal person assume it was just static in the air or something of that nature?

“Powers.” Taeg grinned. “Want to see what I can do?”

Keegan stirred. “Taeg, stop—”

Before Keegan could cross the room, Taeg grabbed her, his hands searing hot where they touched her arms over her light sweater.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Brynn glared into his eyes. The blue depths of his irises seemed to swirl around his pupils.

She couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. Nothing existed but those swirling, blue-green eyes.

“Relax,” he said, his voice soft as honey.

Amazingly, a liquid sensation washed over her, slowing the rush of blood in her veins and the rapid pumping of her heart. Her body went boneless, until Taeg practically held her up by the arms. Deep down she knew she should be afraid that she was no longer in control of her own body, but she wasn’t. Instead she felt calm…tranquil.

Keegan approached and grabbed his brother’s arm, as if about to push him away. “I said stop.”

Taeg’s eyes turned to Keegan, and Brynn fought back a whimper. She wanted his eyes back on her.

What had he done to her?

“Let me do this,” Taeg snapped at Keegan. “We have to know.”

Keegan paused, an angry scowl on his face. “Fuck.” He whirled and paced about the room.

Taeg returned his attention to her, and she exhaled in relief.

“It’s all right,” he drawled, a rakish smirk on his face. “Tell me, do you know anyone by the name of Mammon?”

Mammon? Who? “No.”

“Has anyone unusual approached you the past few weeks, or has anything weird happened to you?”

Other than this? She shook her head. “No.”

“What can you do with your hands?”

“I…” Why the hell did she feel so compelled to answer? She never shared her secret. But she couldn’t stop herself. “I can make people pass out. Almost like I’m draining their energy. At least, I used to be able to do that.”

Taeg actually looked impressed. “Pretty cool. What else can you do?”

“I…” Perspiration built at Brynn’s temples from her effort to keep her mouth shut, but she was powerless. She couldn’t stay quiet. “I can read energy off objects, get their memories.”

Taeg whistled, glancing over at Keegan. “You hear that? Our little friend is turning out to be pretty interesting. Over three millennia, and she’s still gifted.”

His words caused a tidal wave of confusion to wash over Brynn. What did he mean, still gifted?

Keegan stopped pacing long enough to spit out, “Hurry up and finish it.”

Taeg chuckled and turned to Brynn. “Do you know how you got your abilities?”

“No.” She licked her lips, which suddenly felt too dry. “How are you doing this?”

Taeg smiled at her. Right now, his face was the most captivating thing she’d ever seen. The angular cheekbones, the almost imperceptible cleft in his chin. The shadowy stubble just starting to grow on his jaw. His voice was smooth as butter when he said, “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

Now that he mentioned it, she really did. How had she ever lived without kissing those impossibly full lips before?

“Yes,” she whispered, moistening her trembling lips. She leaned forward, but before she reached Taeg, Keegan rushed him. Jostling her to the side, he grabbed his brother by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

Now that Taeg no longer supported her, her limbs felt like goo. She stumbled and fell to the ground. The crazy compulsion to kiss Taeg faded until she wondered if she’d ever really felt it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Anger radiated from Keegan in violent waves, making Brynn’s stomach knot. From this position, he resembled a feral animal, one with no qualms about killing its prey.

Taeg choked out a laugh as he reached up to pry Keegan’s hand from around his neck. “I was just screwing around,” he rasped, clearly amused, even though it looked like Keegan was throttling the life out of him.

Keegan said something else, but it wasn’t in English. Instead he spoke a deep, guttural language Brynn had never heard. But she didn’t have time to contemplate that, because she could only focus on one thing.

Taeg had done something to her. When he’d touched her, looked at her, she’d done whatever he had asked, whatever he’d suggested. Even now, the reminder of how full and kissable his lips had seemed made her heart pound and her body temperature heat.

Holy crap—Taeg had powers, too!

She wasn’t alone anymore.

Brynn rose to her feet, forcing herself to brush aside that one rogue thought. Because right now there were far more pressing matters to discuss. She raised her voice so she could be heard over the two men, who even now yelled at each other in a foreign tongue. “Okay, who are you guys?”

…

Keegan glanced at Brynn, who stood facing him and Taeg like some angry warrior queen. Her fists clenched into tight balls at her side, and her chest heaved in a way that accentuated what lay beneath her top. The fact that Taeg probably hadn’t missed that, either, pissed him off to no end.

He turned to his brother and spoke once again in their native tongue. “You were supposed to find out what she knows—not make her question us even more. What is wrong with you?”

“I told you I was just fucking around,” Taeg responded in the same language. “Now stop being a dick and get your hand off my throat.”

“Have you forgotten who she is?” Keegan punctuated his words with a shake of his wrist. “You really think it would be a good idea to get involved with her?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Keegan froze, flustered by the sudden uncomfortable feeling that his brother had just set him up with that whole little display.

“I can’t understand you two,” Brynn said from across the room. “What language are you speaking?”

Keegan ignored her. He unclenched his fist and released Taeg, his anger disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. His brother had only been trying to make a point—and he’d made it well. Brynn was clearly off limits.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied to Taeg. “She was trying to use her power on me when you walked in earlier, and I let her, so she’d know it didn’t work on me. There was nothing else going on.”

Taeg threw him a disbelieving look as he massaged his throat. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, bro. Just remember—she’s the key to the fucking apocalypse. Not just here on Earth, but maybe every planet there is. If we can’t find the book before Mammon does, she’s gotta get dead. And fast.”

Keegan gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to pounce on Taeg once more. Damn it. He had to calm down. He turned to Brynn, who stared at the both of them in confusion, no doubt wondering what they were saying. “I know that, man. I barely know her. And if I have to, I will kill her.”

“Good,” Taeg said. “Just remember that. Because you may very well have to. And if it comes down to it and you puss out, know that I will.”

Every muscle in Keegan’s body tightened at the clear warning in Taeg’s words. With a menacing growl, Keegan whirled to face him. “Are you threatening me, little brother?”

“You’ve never let me down before.” Taeg raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “But you’re my brother. It’s my job to keep you in line if you’re being a shit. Just make sure you follow through with what you need to do, and there’ll be no problem.”

That was it. Taeg had pushed him too far. He always pushed him too far. How dare he even suggest Keegan wouldn’t live up to his responsibility? He wasn’t their father.

He straightened his back, putting him a good inch or two taller than Taeg. “What exactly are you implying?”

Taeg looked at him dead-on, a challenge in his eyes. “I think you know already, bro.”

Keegan gritted his teeth, seconds away from lunging, when Ronin’s even voice sounded out from the doorway. “What’s going on in here? I heard the yelling and banging from down the hall.”

A sense of peace and calm washed through Keegan, the mark of Ronin’s presence. Most of the time, that particular ability came in handy, but every once in a while, he just needed a good fight.

“Let me guess,” Brynn said from across the room. “Another brother, right?”

Keegan glanced at Brynn, who was staring at Ronin with an expression of disbelief. He switched back to English. “This is our younger brother Ronin.”

“Of course he is.” Brynn let out an incredulous chuckle. “Did they specially breed you guys in a lab or something?”

He exchanged a confused look with Ronin. What did that mean?

Brynn must have caught the glance, because she explained. “Since you’re all so hot, I mean.” Then, as if just realizing her words, she flushed a bright red, which only served to make her that much more alluring.

Keegan fought back a reluctant chuckle.

Taeg wasn’t quite as reserved. He gave Brynn an impish grin. “You’re pretty hot, too.”

Keegan’s amusement vanished in a flash. Another low growl rose in his throat, aching to tear out. He cleared it instead. Something about her made him territorial, but he couldn’t afford to indulge in his true nature. Not with this woman, and especially not with his brother on his ass.

Brynn laughed and shuffled her feet uncomfortably, as if fighting an instinctive urge to back away. “Are there any more of you?”

Ronin smiled at her. “Our youngest brother, Dagan. He’s out for the moment, though.”

Out? Keegan switched back to their native tongue. “Where did he go?”

“Bar down the street,” Ronin replied.

“He went to a bar? Now?”

“Think about it, man,” Taeg said to him. “You know he’s a softie. He doesn’t want to get to know her if we’re going to have to end up killing her.”

Ronin gave a curt nod in agreement, and Keegan felt a moment of guilt that he hadn’t considered that. Dagan was a lover of women. An unrepentant playboy, yes, but he would never physically hurt a woman. Of course this would be hard on him. Well, it was for the best that Dagan wasn’t here, because if he had been, he’d probably be trying to get into Brynn’s pants, too.

“Can you guys please speak English?” Brynn asked, placing extra emphasis on the last word.

“Sorry.” Keegan turned back to her. Despite all she’d been through today, she was still standing. Still fighting. He could only hope he wouldn’t have to extinguish that light in her eyes.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t up to him. For that reason alone he had to tread carefully.

Brynn edged over to the bed and sat, her gaze wide and unfocused. “So that’s why you guys are keeping me here? You have abilities like me, don’t you?”

Taeg gave Keegan a glance and let out a casual shrug. “Yeah. Sure, that’s it.”

“You’re part of a secret organization for people with powers,” she continued in amazement.

Well, if that made her feel better about this whole thing, Keegan wasn’t about to disabuse her of her notion. Especially since her fear had evaporated as she uttered that statement.

“That’s right,” he said to her.

“Like a gang of superheroes,” she added.

She thought they were superheroes? Taeg’s and Ronin’s gazes shot to Keegan. They looked as startled by her assumption as he was.

How wrong she was.

But on the other hand, now that she mentioned it, it seemed like a perfectly good cover.

He turned back to Brynn, fighting to keep his face expressionless. “Yes, that’s what it is.”

She tilted her head and studied him, her eyes filled with a tinge of uncertainty that twisted deep in his gut. Devil help him, he didn’t want to hear the sadness in her voice, didn’t want her to be afraid.

“How am I supposed to trust you?”

Keegan directed his gaze toward Ronin and crooked his head.

Taking the hint, Ronin crossed the room and crouched in front of Brynn. “I know this must be hard for you. But we’re trying to protect you. We need for you to trust us.”

Even from where he stood, waves of calming energy radiated off Ronin. Brynn obviously felt them, too, because her shoulders relaxed and the tension smoothed out of her face. “Okay.”

“See, bro,” Taeg said, so that only he could hear, “things go better when we work together.”

Keegan nodded in acknowledgment. Taeg was right. Smug and annoying most of the time, but right.

Taeg clasped his shoulder and squeezed before leaving the room.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Ronin asked Brynn as he rose from his spot.

“I was taken before I could. And by taken, I mean Keegan knocked me out.” She glowered at Keegan, and he broke eye contact so she wouldn’t see the guilt on his face.

Ronin touched Brynn’s arm. “I’ll make something for us to eat.” He glared at Keegan as he made his way toward the door. “Dinner in an hour. I’ll need some help.”

Keegan waited until Ronin had left before speaking. “I’m sorry for hitting you. I didn’t think you’d come with me if I explained all this to you, and we needed to get out of there fast. We don’t know how far Mammon has come in locating you.”

“Okay.” Brynn thoughtfully rubbed her chin. “Why don’t I hurt, by the way? Is that one of your gifts? You are gifted, too, right?”

Damn, he didn’t want to talk about this right now. Or ever.

“Yes.”

She appeared to consider that for a second. “What else can you do?”

Oh, no. He wasn’t about to discuss his other abilities with her…especially not the ones he had no real control over. “Why don’t we talk about this another time? I’ve got some things to settle before dinner.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, Keegan turned and stalked toward the door.

“Will you at least leave the door unlocked?” she called behind him. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t dare turn around. Those green eyes of hers were far too distracting. If he looked into them, he was afraid he might go weak. He already felt way more for her than he should. “Not this time.”

Keegan closed the door and bolted it. The sound of something soft hitting the door punctuated Brynn’s shout of frustration. He chuckled. Apparently she didn’t like to be locked up. But then he sobered. After all, who did?

Ronin paced the length of the living room while Taeg leaned against one of the large windows, staring out of it.

“What do you think?” Keegan asked.

“She’s telling the truth,” Taeg said. “She doesn’t know anything about what she is, or about Mammon. The girl’s as innocent as they come.”

Even though Keegan had already arrived at the same conclusion, it was still a relief to hear it coming from Taeg’s mouth.

Ronin stopped pacing and turned to face Keegan. “Now what?”

Taeg closed his eyes and sighed. Keegan opened his mouth to reply, but Taeg beat him to it. “Now we kill her.”

Unexpected fury coursed through Keegan’s veins, boiling his blood. “No,” he said, at the same time that Ronin said, “What?”

Taeg raked a hand through his short hair. “Do you think I want to kill her? She’s sweet, not to mention hot. But she’s too dangerous to live. We’re talking about the end of the worlds as we know them, man.”

“No.” Keegan said it again, because it was worth repeating. “We’re not going to kill her just like that. Not when there’s a chance we can stop this without having to shed her blood.”

“I agree with Keegan on this one,” Ronin chimed in. “We don’t kill unless there’s no other option. We’re not Mammon.”

Taeg sighed, keeping his gaze steady on Keegan. “You’re just saying no because you’ve got a thing for her.”

“What?” Ronin said. “Is that true, Keegan?”

“No.” The word came out shakier than he’d intended, and Keegan had to clear his throat before repeating, “No. You both know that I’ll do my duty above all else, but I don’t want to take an innocent’s life unless it becomes a necessity.”

Ronin pressed his lips into a thin line and turned back to Taeg. “She’s mostly just a woman. An innocent woman.”

Taeg ran a hand through his hair again, a simple gesture that belied his frustration. “Dagan would agree with me, and you know it. That’s why he’s at the bar getting shitfaced right now, instead of here with us.”

“We’re not doing it,” Keegan said. “Not yet, and not if we don’t have to.”

After a long moment’s silence, Taeg sighed. “Okay, fine. We’ll hold off for now. Have dinner with her. Treat her like a guest who can’t leave. If she has any questions about us, we’ll go with that stupid superheroes story.”

Ronin nodded. “Agreed.” Without another word, he turned and headed toward the kitchen.

“Superheroes,” Taeg muttered. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Should we tell her that we’re demons instead?”

“Only half.” Taeg’s response was automatically defensive, born from years of trying to justify what they were.

“She’d believe the other half even less,” Keegan reflected dryly.

Taeg grumbled in wordless acknowledgment. “I need a beer.” He turned to follow Ronin, but then stopped and faced Keegan dead-on. “Take my advice, bro. Stay away from her. She’s dangerous. And I don’t just mean in a key to the apocalypse sort of way.”

Much as it irked Keegan, he had to agree with Taeg. Brynn was dangerous. And it appeared he was weaker than he’d ever thought, because even now all he could think about was how inviting her lips had looked when she’d asked him what else he could do.

The problem was, even though he knew better, he really wanted to show her.

Chapter Four

Was she dreaming? Was this entire day some deluded figment of her imagination?

The events of the past few hours were too crazy to believe. First, she’d been kidnapped from her gallery and forced to relive the fears of her past; the memory of that childhood incident had returned so forcefully and vividly that she’d practically choked on the stifling heat of the air in the trunk of the car.

Then she’d found out her kidnappers were gifted like her and that they might actually be good guys. Brynn never would have even considered buying that story if Taeg hadn’t shown her what he could do.

Even though she’d arrived on less than promising terms, something inside her longed to place her trust in Keegan and his brothers. Maybe it was because they’d had every opportunity to harm her but instead had treated her well. After all, why would they have bothered explaining anything to her if they intended to hurt her?

Or maybe it was the amazing discovery that they had abilities, too. She’d never been so vain as to think she was unique in the world, but honestly she never thought she’d meet other people with abilities. Not even her own father had admitted what he could do, and he was her flesh and blood.

She had finally found other people like herself. What would it be like, to be able to confide in others about her powers? To learn more about their own? To not be so alone anymore?

Brynn let out a ragged sigh. She’d just found out her abilities were due to her ancestry. At last she had an explanation for what she could do. Even more, perhaps she would be able to learn the limits of her powers—to determine whether she could do more. She should be excited at the prospect, but she wasn’t. Not when she was locked in this room like a prisoner. There was no worse feeling than being trapped…even if this luxurious space was a far cry from where she’d been imprisoned that one horrible time.

Shuffling into the bathroom connected to the bedroom, she examined the area. Even for a bathroom, it was vast. Every movement sparked an echo that bounced off the cream-colored walls. She picked up a silver-plated hairbrush lying on the countertop. Maybe it could give her a glimpse into the lives of the men who were holding her.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the heavy feel of the brush, on the ridges of the metal beneath her fingertips. It heated in her palm as the memories drifted to her in waves. She caught glimpses of the brush passing from one set of fingers to another in preparation for storage. Other than that? Nothing.

Like everything else she’d touched in this room, the brush was new, and no true memories had been associated with it yet.

Crap.

She released the brush and it fell to the marble countertop with a loud clang. She walked into the bedroom and slumped onto the bed. It would have been nice to learn a little more about the brothers, but the objects in this room weren’t telling their stories. The men’s odd language made it obvious they weren’t from around here. But if they were foreign, their American accents were perfect.

For the millionth time, Brynn’s mind wandered to Keegan. He was similar to his brothers in so many ways—certainly no more strikingly handsome than they were—but something about him called to her, made her hormones go into overdrive. For God’s sake, she’d almost kissed him earlier.

If only she could trust that he really was just trying to protect her. But certain things about his story didn’t make sense. Something was off. They knew about her abilities, for one. And about this Mammon guy, who was supposedly tracking her just because she happened to be the ancestor of some long-dead Egyptian priest. Who the hell did that, anyway?

Brynn sighed, feeling a knot of tension curl up between her temples. She was probably being a total idiot for not acting more freaked out. After all, someone who wanted to protect you didn’t generally knock you into unconsciousness and then keep you imprisoned, no matter how nice the prison. That much she knew from her past. But Keegan didn’t feel dangerous—at least not in a psycho-killer sort of way…and so far he was night-and-day different from the psychopath who’d once taken her.

This was all so confusing.

The door to her room unlocked with a click, jarring her from her jumbled thoughts. Brynn rose as Keegan opened the door. He leaned against the doorjamb. “How are you doing?”

She fought to calm the sudden racing of her heart as she drank in the sight of him by the doorway. How could he affect her so intensely? “I’m fine, but I’ve got a lot of unanswered questions. And I don’t like being locked away.”

The strength of her voice surprised her, but then, she’d come a long way from the frightened little girl who didn’t know her own powers…even if they didn’t seem to be working the way they should. She was still strong. She would be brave.

He nodded, an expression of understanding on his face. “I’m sorry about that, but it’s for your protection.”

“Don’t I get to decide how I should be protected?” She crossed her arms, trying her hardest to look pissed off instead of conflicted.

His brows knitted, and he pressed his lips together. “Not this time.”

Brynn swallowed her exasperated sigh and tried for reason. “Listen, if what you said earlier about protecting me is true, then you’re being a caveman. You seem to think you can just club me over the head and drag me away, no questions asked, but it doesn’t work like that anymore.”

He chuckled and spoke under his breath. “Believe me, if I were a caveman, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it as the innuendo behind his words struck her with all the force of a speeding bullet.

He couldn’t have meant it like that.

Keegan reddened, likely realizing what he’d implied, and cleared his throat. “I meant if I were a caveman, I wouldn’t have bothered explaining anything to you.”

“Oh.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“We’ll talk some more over dinner. Come on.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice.

Brynn strode forward, trying not to show her discomfort when Keegan didn’t give her enough space to walk by without touching him. Her heart thumped as she slid past him. From fear and not excitement, she told herself, though even she couldn’t be sure if she was lying. The heat of his arm seared her shoulder.

Pausing, she turned to face him. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes.” He wrinkled his brow. “Why do you ask?”

“You feel so warm,” she said. “Your brothers did, too, come to think of it.”

Keegan stared at her for a moment before throwing her a playful smirk. “Didn’t you say we were hot earlier?”

“I…” Her cheeks heated. He was teasing her.

Keegan lost his flirtatious smile and shrugged. “We all run a little hot. Got it from our father.”

“That’s weird.”

“Probably the least weird thing about any of us.” He pushed away from the door. Then he motioned to another door directly across from hers. “That’s my room.”

Before Brynn could reflect on the fact that his room was mere steps from hers, Keegan said, “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

He started forward several feet ahead of her, giving her the space she so desperately needed, and led her through a long hallway decorated with marble flooring and elegant wall sconces. They passed two more doors.

“Taeg’s room, and Ronin and Dagan are sharing this one,” Keegan said as they walked by. He pointed to the final door in the hallway. “That’s an office.”

“This place is huge. Whose is it?”

“So, obvious that it’s not ours, huh?”

“Well…” Brynn paused before admitting, “I tried reading just about every object in that room, and they all seemed to be new. No real memories attached to them. If it’s yours, then you just moved in.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “We’ve got it on loan, actually. Belongs to that government agency I told you about.”

“The secret branch of the government? You were serious about that?”

His lips twisted into a brief half smile. “Yes.”

Not sure whether or not to believe him, Brynn whistled. “No wonder taxes are out of control, if this is what Uncle Sam is buying.”

They reached the end of the hallway, and he pointed to another short corridor. “The foyer is over there, and this is the living room.”

“Whoa.” Brynn crept behind him.

The living room was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows lining one entire wall.

She slid forward until she stood in front of them and took in the view. “This is absolutely amazing.”

The window glass reflected the image of Keegan moving behind her. Her heart rate quickened.

“Yes,” Keegan murmured, his hot breath fanning the back of her hair. “It is a breathtaking view.”

The hint of huskiness in his tone confused the hell out of her. Despite the fact that this situation made her skin prickle with fear, the spicy, unique scent emanating from him caused her womb to grow achy and moist. It was crazy, how she responded to him. The guy kidnapped you, remember? But her body couldn’t seem to make sense of it…of him.

“There you are.”

The sound of Taeg’s voice made Brynn jump. By the time she turned to face him, Keegan had already scooted away, his expression shuttered.

Taeg smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dinner’s ready.”

She slunk behind Taeg and Keegan as they headed into a small dining room next to the oversized kitchen. Their tense silence made her feel guilty, like she’d done something wrong. The table was set for four, with an Italian feast: lasagna, Italian sausage, peppers, and baked ziti. Even a few more dishes she couldn’t identify. It looked like enough food to feed a dozen men.

Brynn stared at it for a moment, then addressed Ronin, who seemed the likeliest culprit. “You can cook?”

“No, but I’m excellent at ordering in,” he admitted. “Sit down, please.”

She waited until Keegan and Taeg were seated before speaking again. “Okay, now I want some answers.”

Keegan exchanged a glance with his brothers. “What’s the question?”

“Well, first off, if you expect me to believe all this, how did you first find out that I was… gifted?”

He took a deep breath. “The government keeps a tab on everyone with powers. We don’t know how they do it.”

“Okay. Then how did you find out about this guy Mammon, and that he’s after me?”

“We were told about it,” Taeg jumped in. “You know, by this covert branch of government superheroes we work for.”

Brynn stared at Taeg for a long moment, and then blinked. “I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” The tone of his voice indicated he was, but the four of them appeared so serious.

Keegan spoke to him in their language, and Taeg answered in kind. Even while she internally acknowledged that Keegan’s guttural speech was some weird sort of turn-on for her, it annoyed her she couldn’t understand the men.

“English, please? And where are you from, anyway? I don’t recognize that language.”

Keegan toyed with the silverware next to his dinner plate. “A remote province of Serbia.”

“Really?” Why did she feel like she was getting half truths at best? “Your English is excellent. You don’t even have an accent.”

Keegan directed his gaze down with a small cough. “We’re well-studied.”

There was a moment of marked silence, punctuated by the sound of Taeg’s fingers tapping on the tabletop. Brynn studied her clasped hands as she contemplated Keegan’s words. “So, if what you’ve told me is true, then this person named Mammon is after me because I’m related to an Egyptian priest who lived over three thousand years ago, right?”

Keegan nodded. “Yes.”

“And he believes I can lead him to the priest’s tomb, and to the book that was buried with him?”

Taeg snorted.

Keegan pierced him with a dirty look before saying, “That’s what he believes, yes.”

“And you plan on…what? Protecting me until he’s caught?”

Taeg and Ronin examined their empty plates while Keegan responded. “Yes.”

“Well, how long do you think that will take?” she pressed. “And you don’t expect to keep me locked up here the whole time, do you? I mean, I have a life. A job. I can’t just stop showing up to my own gallery.”

“You’re the owner,” Keegan said. “Couldn’t you close it down for a few weeks or get someone else to run it? You could tell them you had some pressing business to attend to.”

Well, her assistant, Amanda, realistically could take over for a week or two. Brynn didn’t have anything major going on. Still…it didn’t add up. Special gifts or no, why would the government go to all this trouble just to save her from a crazy man? Why, when they could just surround her with around-the-clock security to shadow her every move?

The truth hit her full-on. She flew to her feet, and her chair scraped loudly across the wooden floor. “You want that book, too, don’t you? And you somehow think I’ll be able to lead you to it.”

Taeg fired a startled glance at Keegan, who sighed and rested his chin on his knuckles as if he were thinking about what to say. “We do want it, but we don’t hold anything more than an optimistic hope that you’d somehow be able to help us find it.”

Brynn bit her lip. On a fundamental level, she’d known there was more to the story than what he’d told her. But she was surprised he’d admitted it. She sat back down and scooted in her seat, taking her time to reply. “What’s so important about it? And don’t lie and tell me nothing.”

Taeg garbled something in their language, followed by Ronin. Keegan made a staccato reply.

“English, remember?” she said, keeping her voice purposely sweet.

Keegan returned his attention to her, appearing hesitant for the first time since she’d met him. But after a brief pause, he said, “The book your ancestor created is referred to by many as the Book of the Dead.”

Taeg groaned. “Come on, man.”

“She deserves some truth,” Ronin said to him. “We’re asking her to trust us. Let Keegan tell her why.”

Brynn ignored the two of them, keeping her gaze directed at Keegan. “The Book of the Dead? You mean the Egyptian funeral rites?”

He shook his head. “No, not those, but a true book of the dead. A book containing a magical spell with the ability to bring back those who have died. To resurrect them. Whoever used it would be stronger than any human—indestructible, but at a price. Those brought back to life would require sustenance in the form of flesh.”

She stared at him, waiting for the punch line. When it didn’t come, she chuckled. “You’re telling me that this book is supposed to create zombies?”

“Zombies?” Keegan looked pensive for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, zombies. In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Oh, sure, why not? ’Cause zombies were actually possible. Her chuckle became a full-blown laugh. “And this guy Mammon actually believes that’s true? Wow, he really is crazy.”

Keegan took a deep breath. “What if he isn’t that crazy?”

Nobody else laughed. Instead they stared at her as if she were the crazy one. She sobered. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, completely earnest now. “Brynn, what if it’s true?”

Chapter Five

Ronin couldn’t sleep. Dagan was still out, doing the devil knew what. He’d probably met some woman at the bar and ended up going home with her. Things were too quiet without the steady tempo of his heavy breathing. Funny how quickly he had become accustomed to sharing a room.

“Damn it.” He gave up trying and hopped out of bed. Padding out into the hallway, he contemplated walking toward Keegan’s and Brynn’s rooms but decided against it. If Keegan was acting stupid, he didn’t really want to know right now.

He knocked once on Taeg’s door before opening it. His big brother lay on his bed, watching something on the large LCD screen mounted to the wall. He glanced at Ronin, then picked up the remote and turned the television off.

“How many times have I told you to knock first, bro? I could have been in here watching porn, for all you know. How’d you like to walk in on that?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time this week,” Ronin muttered. “Besides, I did knock. If you didn’t blast your television so loud, you would have heard it.”

Taeg sat up. “What’s going on?”

Ronin closed the door and leaned up against it, swallowing hard. “You were right. Keeg does have feelings for her.”

“I know.” Taeg sighed and combed a hand through his hair. “So what are we supposed to do about it?”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do. Besides, no matter what he feels for her, he’s all about doing the right thing—obeying the Council’s orders.”

“Yeah, after all the shit Dad did, who can blame him?” Taeg scowled. “He’s the oldest, the one who was under Dad’s thumb the longest. Sins of the father, and all that crap.”

Ronin nodded. “He’ll do what he has to do.”

“I know,” Taeg said. “Still, we should keep an eye on him. That girl is nothing if not tempting. And you and I both know Keegan doesn’t get laid nearly enough.”

“Anything less than once a week isn’t enough, as far as you’re concerned,” Ronin said.

Taeg chuckled. “I can’t help it if I’m irresistible. You might get lucky more often, too, if you didn’t scowl all the damn time.”

Ronin shook his head, biting back a laugh. At least Taeg wasn’t as bad as Dagan.

“Now get the fuck out.” Taeg lay back down and picked up the remote. “Good Will Humping is about to come on.”

…

Keegan stood outside Brynn’s door, staring at it like some lovesick schoolboy.

What was wrong with him? She was just a woman. A human woman. But his body didn’t seem to care who she was or what he might have to do to her. It liked her anyway.

He’d given up lying to himself about not being attracted to her. Oh, he was. And the more he learned about her, the more he liked her. Earlier tonight, after he’d dropped the bombshell about the Book of the Dead, she hadn’t believed him. Judging by the way she gaped at them, she thought they were a bunch of psychos. But she didn’t freak. She listened when he explained to her that supernatural forces existed, and then she said she needed time to think about it, before picking up her fork and finishing her meal in silence.

Brynn was strong. Stronger than he’d imagined any human woman could be. But would she take it in stride when he told her about her ancestry, or when she learned that demon blood flowed through her veins?

The practical part of his brain wondered why he should bother telling her. After all, it didn’t change anything—either they’d find the book before Mammon did and discover a way to destroy it, in which case Brynn would be free to return to her normal life, or they wouldn’t. And then he’d have to kill her.

But he refused to take the coward’s way out. He’d tell her as much as he could without damaging her sanity. He owed her that much, at least. He might be many things, but he wasn’t a monster.

He wasn’t his father.

Sighing, he pressed his forehead against Brynn’s door. She must be long asleep by now. Sleeping peacefully, he hoped, despite the circumstances. But what if…

What if he opened the door and walked to her bed, lifted the covers, and crawled in beside her? She might scream. Or welcome him.

He closed his eyes as he imagined touching his lips to hers, sure they’d taste of strawberries. That little tongue of hers would meet his. Perhaps she’d boldly open her legs to take him in. Rake her nails down his back as he thrust home.

Keegan groaned at the thought. His cock rose to impossibly hard heights, tenting the fabric of his pajama bottoms as if pointing the way to Brynn’s bed. To his salvation.

Or to his doom.

It wasn’t that late at night. If he were smart, he’d get dressed, wander down to the corner bar, and pick up the first willing woman who looked his way. He’d be pumping away inside her within the span of an hour and would alleviate the ache that had only seemed to build ever since he first laid eyes on Brynn. But somehow, that idea was almost as unappealing as bedding a belakor demon.

No, he was better off using his hand. The devil knew he was already well acquainted with it. With a heavy sigh, he walked back into his room. No point in fighting it—he already knew exactly who he’d think of while he jacked off.

…

Brynn was on fire. Warm hands seared her flesh as they dragged her sweater over her breasts and then, in the span of a heartbeat, slid her slacks down and off. Ragged breaths of hot air heated her neck a moment before smooth, full lips pressed a kiss there. A flaming tongue licked a trail up her throat before flicking across her lips. A moment later, a mouth claimed hers, their tongues tangling over and over.

She couldn’t open her eyes. Or maybe she just couldn’t see.

“Keegan?” she panted.

“Yes,” he murmured. With a quick tug, he tore away her bra as if it were made of no more than tissue paper. Then his lips closed over one breast, teeth dragging across the taut bud with a roughness that tore a cry from her lips. He moved to the other, tongue rolling over her nipple.

Brynn moaned softly. “No, we can’t.”

“Shh,” was all he said. He shifted, and another tear sounded as her underwear fell away. Before she could suck in a breath, he’d placed his hands on her knees and tugged them apart. His slick tongue seared her core.

“Oh…yes,” she cried. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he used his lips and tongue to propel her to the edge of ecstasy in the span of less than a minute. Her breath hitched and she bit her lip to stifle any further encouragement. She shouldn’t want this so much…but then she’d never before been caressed by a man who actually knew what she could do. Who accepted her for who she truly was.

Keegan rose with a husky laugh. “Are you ready for me?”

Niggling concerns invaded her dreamy haze. She didn’t even know this man, for Heaven’s sake. “But—”

With one long, hard stroke, he thrust deep inside.

Her back arched and the soles of her feet dug into the mattress. “Oh my God!”

The sound of her own heavy cry jarred her awake. She sat up, chest heaving.

Disoriented, she glanced around. Enough light streamed in from the large windows for her to see that no one else was in the room. She peered down—her clothes were in one piece and on her body where she’d left them. The sheet lay in a tangled mess at her feet.

“What was that?” she whispered, still panting. She’d just had the most intense, mind-blowing orgasm of her life, and it had all been a dream? A dream?

She threw herself backward onto the pillows, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. The dream had just exploded on her and her heart felt like it was about to burst in her chest. In retrospect, she should have immediately realized it was nothing more than an illusion. She’d barely uttered a word in protest, and she’d known Keegan for less than twenty-four hours. She would never be that slutty in real life.

Would she?

“Oh, crap,” she moaned, thumping a fist on the bed. She was in trouble. Here she was, dreaming about a man who might very well be a total nutcase. After all, he actually believed there was a book that contained a spell to create zombies. It was laughable. Totally absurd.

Or was it?

Most people would never believe in someone who could drain energy with a simple touch. Or someone who could control others with hypnotic eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, this Book of the Dead really did exist.

Argh, this was all so confusing. It would be easier if she could trust that the men were here to protect her, rather than imprison her. But the locked door definitely wasn’t a good sign. Were they being truthful with her, or was there something else going on here? Something far more frightening than a madman searching for a magical book?

On top of all that, she had nothing other than the clothes on her back, and that was just damned annoying.

Brynn kicked at the sheets until they dislodged from around her ankles. “That’s it.”

Tomorrow morning she was going to demand that they either let her go home to get more clothes, or accompany her there. After all, Keegan had insisted she wasn’t a prisoner here. If they weren’t willing to do something as simple as that, it didn’t matter that her powers didn’t seem to work on them. She’d find a way out of there, regardless.

Chapter Six

Mammon reclined on the four-poster, king-size bed in his luxury Egyptian hotel suite, a warm woman laying facedown beside him. He crossed his arms under his head as he contemplated the book. It seemed to be the only thing he thought of these days.

What a discovery that was, to learn the fabled Book of the Dead did, in fact, exist, the culmination of his many years of research. It was utterly exhilarating.

When he found it, he would bring to life creatures so indestructible they’d tear apart man and demon alike. And every one of them would answer to him. Finally, he would have the wealth and power he deserved.

First, he would take over Earth. He liked this world, with its abundance of vices. He would linger here as long as he could. Once he’d exhausted these resources, he’d move on to another world. And then another.

Nothing and no one would have the power to stop him. Not even the damned Council. After decades of having to obey their commands, of being forced to witness the things they’d done under the guise of the greater good, he would finally have them bowing to him. Oh, and bow they would. Right before he broke them. He would be an infinitely better ruler of all dimensions than the Council was.

As for Keegan, Taeg, Ronin, and Dagan, well, they had their part to play in this, too. And they would. All he needed was the book. That, and the heir.

But it was simply a matter of time until he discovered the heir.

Loud rapping sounded outside the door leading into his room.

“Enter.” Mammon didn’t bother covering his unclothed form. He didn’t give a fuck who saw him naked, and the woman lying next to him was too unconscious to protest her own nudity.

The door opened and Leviathos entered. Not for the first time, Mammon was struck by Leviathos’s resemblance to a boy he’d once known. Belpheg had been the most powerful being Mammon had ever encountered; even as a young adolescent, his ability to manipulate energy had been uncharted, something Mammon had learned when he’d rescued the child from the edge of his village while the Council was in the process of decimating the boy’s entire clan. How he wished he hadn’t lost track of the boy after he’d saved him from annihilation. His abilities would be helpful to Mammon now. But there was no lamenting the past. Besides, once he had his army of the undead, he would need assistance from no one.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Leviathos simpered.

With Leviathos’s good looks and suave demeanor, it was sometimes difficult to believe his second-in-command was, at heart, a total fool. If Mammon had sensed anything resembling Belpheg in Leviathos when he’d first taken him in, he’d quickly been disillusioned of that notion. But if Leviathos could be counted on for one thing, it was for his resentment of others’ good fortunes. Jealousy was what made him such a good lackey now—and the reason Mammon would have to kill him as soon as he came into power. Leviathos’s grasping ways would never allow him to remain a minion the whole of his life. Fool he might be, but Leviathos posed a danger to him if Mammon allowed him to live.

“What is it?” he asked Leviathos.

“I’ve brought the daily report as you requested, Lord,” Leviathos said, using the title Mammon had commanded of all his minions. “Our Egyptian scholar is still tracing the priest’s genealogy.”

“Still?” A tide of rage surged within him. He rose and stalked toward Leviathos, taking perverse pleasure in the way he winced and inched backward. “The search has taken too long as it is.”

“W-we are getting closer, m-my Lord,” Leviathos stammered. “The scholar has been working around the clock, but this world is full of billions of humans. It isn’t an easy task.”

“Then tell him to work harder,” Mammon snarled, poking his finger into Leviathos’s chest. “In fact, I suggest you aid in the search yourself. If we fail to uncover the heir, it will be on your head.”

Leviathos nodded and turned to leave the room.

Mammon waited until he was almost to the door before asking, “How goes the search for the book?”

Leviathos paused, and then turned. A flicker of fear crossed his face. “We have an army of men searching every inch of the Valley. It cannot be much longer now before it is found.”

He had better hope so. If the Council discovered the book before he did…

Life on the run held no appeal for him, but he faced a lifetime of it if he failed in this mission. That wasn’t about to happen. He would die first.

“You know what I would do to you if you ever tried to double-cross me, don’t you?” he asked in a silky voice.

Leviathos flinched but met him with a steady gaze. “I would never do that, Lord.”

Liar. But he would never get the opportunity. Leviathos’s days were numbered.

Turning, Mammon motioned to the woman in his bed. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t care. She was simply an object to slake his lust. Given that she’d been unconscious the better part of his session with her, she was likely a drug addict. That, or Leviathos had slipped her something before bringing her to him.

“Take her out of here,” he said. “But keep her handy. I may have use for her again.”

Leviathos walked to the woman and hoisted her into his arms. Her head rolled to the side at an unnatural angle, and he examined her closely. “The woman is dead, my Lord.”

“Dead?” Well, he couldn’t feel remorse for that. Women were weak. Far weaker than men. They could be counted on for nothing more than momentary physical satisfaction. That was a lesson his own father had taught him at a fairly young age. “What a pity. She was a tolerably good fuck.”

“Should I dispose of the body?”

After a moment’s thought, Mammon gave a careless shrug. “Hold on to her. She’ll keep for a few more hours.”

…

Much as he’d done just a few hours before, Keegan rested his forehead on the door leading into Brynn’s room. He’d barely slept last night, his mind consumed with thoughts of her. And if she’d had any idea of the sorts of dreams he’d had, she would have blushed clear into next week. He was pretty sure more than a few of the things he’d dreamt about were illegal in some states.

Clearing his throat, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Brynn was already up, her bed made. She sat on it, running a silver brush through her hair. Damned if she didn’t turn bright red when she saw him.

“Good morning.” Keegan fidgeted, fighting off the uncomfortable feeling that she knew what he’d dreamt about. That was impossible.

Brynn averted her gaze, and she set the hairbrush down beside her. “Wish I could say the same.”

“What’s wrong?” The question came out far more clipped than he’d intended it to.

“What’s wrong?” She let out a bitter laugh and met his eyes with a haunted look. “I’m a prisoner here, that’s what’s wrong.”

They were back to this? “I thought we already covered that it’s for your own good—”

“Yeah, you’ve told me before. You’re not holding me prisoner—you’re protecting me.” A flash of temper sparked in her eyes. “Well, whatever. All I know is you won’t let me leave. How am I supposed to feel safe and secure in a situation like this?”

“I’m trying to protect you,” he answered gruffly. “Not make you feel safe.”

“How can you expect me to calmly sit here when you haven’t given me any evidence of what you claim? All I have is your word.”

She had every right to be angry. He would be, too. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her go. “My word will have to be enough for now, Brynn. I won’t risk letting you loose and having something happen to you.”

Her lips twisted into a frown. “So, what? I’m just supposed to pretend I’m happy with this whole scenario? I mean, I don’t even have any clothes to change into.”

Shit. She was right. He hadn’t considered that.

“Look.” She tugged at her hair, her eyes darkening with exasperation. “I just…I don’t do well behind locked doors. And you can’t blame me for being a little concerned. You expect me to believe what you’re telling me, but you haven’t given me any proof that you’re the good guys.”

Good guys. Yeah, right.

“I’m not asking for much,” she said, her pleading making him feel even guiltier. “Just let me go home and get some clothes. If what you’re saying is true, then I’ll come back here with you of my own accord, not as a prisoner.”

“I can’t let you leave,” he told her. “Even if you promise to come back. It’s too dangerous. What if…what if I go buy you some new clothes?”

Devil, had he just volunteered to go shopping for her?

Brynn stepped toward him, a plaintive expression on her face as she touched his arm. He forced himself not to fidget at the spark of awareness. For all he knew, she didn’t feel the same way.

“Keegan, I appreciate that. But please, let me go home and get some of my own clothes. You can come with me. Think of it as a show of faith. You do this, and I’ll come back with you, okay?”

He gritted his teeth, knowing what his brothers would say if he agreed to this. To put it mildly, they wouldn’t be pleased. He opened his mouth to refuse but the words wouldn’t come. For all he knew, he would have to kill her soon. She deserved to have some sort of concession from him.

Screw it. She wasn’t asking for much, and with the four of them there, they could protect her. “Fine. Okay. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

Brynn sighed, her shoulders relaxing with relief. “Thank you.”

With a brusque nod, Keegan stepped into the hallway and closed the door. He hesitated for a moment before walking away, leaving the door unlocked.

He found Ronin and Taeg in the kitchen. Ronin sat at the counter, surfing his laptop, while Taeg scarfed down a huge bowl of cereal at the table with an open beer next to him.

“You’re a fucking drunk,” Keegan muttered.

Taeg shrugged, taking no offense. “I think better when I’m not sober.”

“Hey, man,” Ronin said without looking up, “I’m researching Egyptian tombs.”

“Yeah,” Taeg added, “we can’t just sit around on our asses waiting for the Council to find the book.”

Ronin nodded. “It’s a needle in a haystack, but we might as well start searching for where this Egyptian priest was buri—”

That was all well and good, but somehow trying to find a possible location amidst all of Egypt didn’t seem as imperative as making sure that a woman who was facing the possibility of death enjoyed her last days as much as possible.

“Get dressed,” Keegan interrupted. “And wake Dagan up, too.”

That got their attention.

“Where are we going?” Ronin asked.

“We’re gonna take Brynn to her home so she can pick up some clothes.”

Taeg sputtered, choking on his cereal. “Are—are you out of your mind?”

Chapter Seven

“I love this deli. They have the best croissants,” Brynn said to Keegan as she inhaled the mouthwatering scent of baked goods. Her fear and doubt had begun to melt away as soon as she hit the sidewalk, especially since he’d let her use his phone to call her assistant, Amanda. She’d made up an excuse for why she’d left in such a rush and wouldn’t be back for a while. Amanda seemed suspicious, but Brynn didn’t want to involve her in any of this. Not if there really was a madman stalking her. In the end, she’d told Amanda she’d be keeping the gallery shut down until further notice. Not the best situation for her pocketbook, but thanks to her parents’ inheritance, she could afford to keep things afloat. For a little while, at least.

Keegan’s willingness to let her call someone backed up his claim that he wasn’t keeping her prisoner. Hell, the man had even volunteered to go shopping for her, and she hadn’t missed the look of distaste on his face when he’d said it.

His brothers walked several feet behind her, though none of them appeared particularly happy to be taking this trip and Taeg kept mumbling to himself. Earlier, she thought she’d heard him grumble to Keegan, “Why don’t we take her to Disney World next? The Taj Mahal?”

“Shut it,” Keegan had snapped.

Dagan joined them, and he was just as good-looking as his brothers. Not that she hadn’t already expected it. She’d met him back at the apartment when he staggered into the living room, clearly hung over. He’d barely said two words to her, though his words had sent a shiver down her spine. His voice was the most amazing she’d ever heard, the kind that could coax a woman into doing pretty much anything. Right now, he stayed as far away from her as possible. She didn’t know what she’d done to make him dislike her, but it was clear that he did.

Whatever. She had bigger problems. Like the fact she couldn’t even look at Keegan without the memories of last night’s dreams flooding into her mind, leaving her aching for things she shouldn’t desire…especially from a man who’d knocked her out and then locked her in his apartment. But then, he was taking her back home now, wasn’t he? If that wasn’t a gesture of good intent, she didn’t know what was.

“Thanks for bringing me back to my place,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” The beauty of Keegan’s smile blinded her for one heart-stopping moment. Lord, he was gorgeous.

Focus on something else. Anything else. Oh, like maybe the fact that he kidnapped you.

Yet she found she couldn’t bring that topic up again…not when there seemed to be the beginnings of an uneasy sort of truce between the two of them.

“I would think the government could afford a private driver rather than having us take the subway,” she half joked instead.

“I usually just fly—” He hesitated, his brows drawn together. “Never mind.” He slid a hand across his hair, an awkward silence hanging between them.

Eager to dispel it, she jumped on the first thought that came to mind. “You never told me what it is that you can do. Is it the same thing as Taeg?”

“Charm others?” Keegan laughed. “No.”

“So, what is it?” she pressed when he didn’t go on.

“I…I’d rather talk about you right now. How long have you known about your powers?”

Ah, so he was uncomfortable with what he could do. Well, she knew all too well what that was like, so she let it slide. For now.

“I’ve been reading memories off objects for as long as I can remember. I think my father could do something like that, too, though he never admitted it. To be honest, I never thought I would find others with abilities.”

“You sound relieved,” he said.

“It’s hard being around normal people when you aren’t.” She shrugged. “I guess you know all about that.”

“I suppose so.” Keegan chuckled, and then hesitated for a fraction of a second. “So there’s no one waiting for you at home, then?”

“No.” Definitely not. “It’s hard to date when you can read a man’s memories. Even a simple brush of his shirt might coax me to learn more, and that’s not the sort of compulsion I can always fight. A lot of times I see stuff I’d rather not know.”

Case in point, her first serious boyfriend, an investment banker named Mark. She’d been so in love with him, and had thought he felt the same way…until she’d met him out for dinner after work one day. The moment he’d pulled her in for a kiss, the sleeve of his shirt had touched her palm, setting off a tidal wave of memories. Suffice it to say, he hadn’t spent the afternoon in client meetings as he’d claimed. Not unless a naked gymnastics session at a hotel with a curvy blonde counted as a client meeting.

He gave her a curious look. “What sort of stuff?”

“Oh, you know, stuff they’ve done.” She laughed to cover her embarrassment and the residual hint of pain she felt whenever she thought of Mark’s betrayal. “Usually, I find out a lot more than I’d like to know about their love lives. It tends to be a turnoff.”

Keegan nodded and arched a brow. “I can understand that. What about your ability to drain other people’s energy?”

The memory of the day she’d discovered that particular power came back to her in one big rush, threatening to choke her with its heaviness. Sweeping the panic aside, she locked the memory back into her mental vault. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. Might never be.

“You know, it’s weird,” she said instead, turning her gaze to him. “What I can do—the energy draining thing—it’s worked on everyone I’ve tried it on.” It had certainly worked well enough on Mark that day. He’d dropped like a stone, leaving her only slightly mollified as she walked away from him and out the door of the restaurant. “Everyone except you and your brother, that is. I wonder why?”

Keegan hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—”

“Don’t mean to interrupt your little heart-to-heart up there,” Taeg shouted, his voice sarcastic, “but isn’t this where you live, Brynn?”

She glanced at the building next to her. Whoa. They’d almost passed her apartment building. Taeg, Dagan, and Ronin had stopped right in front of it, close to twenty feet behind them.

“Oh, yes it is.” Heat burned her cheeks. Being in Keegan’s presence was far too distracting…and she was beginning to realize that might turn out to be very dangerous indeed.

…

Keegan was screwed, and the icy glares his brothers lobbed at him as they climbed the stairs to Brynn’s apartment only reaffirmed that conclusion. He liked Brynn. Liked her to the point that he wondered how he’d be able to off her if the Council ordered him to.

Damn it. How had he allowed himself to get into such a bind? He thought he was above this. But a few vulnerable looks from her, and all he wanted to do was please her. Brynn’s demon ancestry was clearly on full display here. Only a woman with succubus in her blood could bring a grown man to his knees like this.

He ran a hand through his hair, willing himself to calm down. In all honesty, that wasn’t fair. Brynn didn’t know what she was, and any mystical powers of seduction had likely diluted, along with the bloodline, in the 3,000 years since that Egyptian priest had mated with the succubus. Anything he felt for her was on him, a hundred percent.

He couldn’t forget their true mission. Wouldn’t. She was just a job, and a very important one at that. If he had to destroy her to save the world, he would.

“Here we are.” Brynn’s nervous smile quickly dimmed. “Oh crap, I don’t have the key. It’s in my purse back at the gallery.”

Keegan exchanged a glance with Taeg, who muttered, “Be right back,” before walking down the hallway and turning the corner.

She turned to him with an apologetic look. “I guess we have to go back to the gallery first.”

“No we don’t,” Dagan responded flatly.

Brynn tilted her head in Dagan’s direction. “What? Why?”

A second later, her front door clicked. When it opened, Taeg stood on the other side. He adopted a roguish grin. “Come on in.”

She gasped. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” he quipped. And in a way it was. Taeg’s particular brand of fae magic.

Brynn stepped into her apartment. “No, really, how did you do that?”

Taeg sobered. “You don’t want to know.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but she must have decided to let the matter drop because she simply exhaled and turned away. Keegan didn’t fool himself into believing the matter was over, though. She’d eventually ask again, and she’d keep asking until she got an answer that left her satisfied. That much he was sure of, from the short time he’d known her.

“I’m going to go change my clothes. I’ll be right back.” Brynn disappeared through a door and swung it shut.

Keegan glanced around the tidy living room. It was tiny but very bright, with blond wood floors and daisies arranged in a glass vase on the coffee table. From what he already knew of Brynn, it suited her.

A hard, unexpected shove sent him staggering toward the wall. Taeg pounced on him, grabbing him in a chokehold. “What the devil is wrong with you, bro?”

Dagan stepped behind Taeg. “I’m with Taeg on this one, man. I’m doing everything I can to avoid getting attached to the chick, and here you are, eye-fucking each other already?”

“Fuck off,” Keegan said.

“Right back at you, bro,” Taeg snarled.

“Settle down, everyone.” Ronin stepped forward with his hands up. “Let’s think this through.”

Ronin’s soothing energy spread through Keegan, and he fought it back with a low growl. He didn’t want to calm down. Right now, he was itching for a fight.

Taeg must have felt the same way because he shouted, “Tone that shit down, Ronin,” keeping his eyes on Keegan the entire time.

Keegan pried Taeg’s hands off his throat, pushing him away with a hard shove. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here, little brother.”

“You’d never let me, big brother,” Taeg shot back. “And right now, you’re being a huge asshole.”

“That’s it,” Keegan bit out, lunging at Taeg. His fist connected with Taeg’s jaw.

Taeg’s head whipped back. He rolled his neck before looking back at Keegan with a devilish chuckle. “All right, let’s go.”

He flew at Keegan, slamming his fist into the side of Keegan’s face. Keegan swung Taeg around, about to retaliate, when Ronin’s voice boomed, “Stop it now!”

The barely restrained fury in Ronin’s voice stopped them, all the more effective because he rarely lost his temper.

Keegan’s rage faded as quickly as it had come. Taeg’s, too, apparently, since he mumbled out a quick “Sorry.”

“They were just letting off some steam,” Dagan said to Ronin with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, well, any other time you two can pummel each other to the ground and I won’t give a rat’s ass,” Ronin said through gritted teeth. “But right now we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“I know.” Keegan started pacing. “Damn, I know that.”

Once he’d calmed down enough to speak rationally, he turned to face his brothers. “I won’t deny that I find her attractive or that I feel bad for her. But I’ll do what I must.” When they continued to look dubious, he said, “I will. I have to. There is no alternative. If it’s one life or the destruction of billions, then I’ll do what has to be done.”

After a tense silence, Ronin nodded. “We all will.”

The heavy air in the room dissipated.

“You really do need to get laid, bro,” Taeg said.

Dagan chuckled, but his expression became pensive. “You know, I met these adventurous twins the other night—”

He broke off as the door to Brynn’s room opened. She stuck no more than her head out. Devil, was she only half dressed? It sure looked like it from this angle.

“Is everything okay in there?” she asked. “I thought I heard something bang against the wall.”

“Fine,” he said, while his brothers mumbled similar responses.

“Okay. I’ll be right out.” She shut the door and Keegan let out a deep exhale. He could stand around here all day, getting into pointless fistfights with his brothers…or he could come up with a plan.

Keegan turned back to Taeg. “Hey, what about that incubus friend of yours who moved to this world a few years back, the one who worked under Mammon for a while?”

“Cresso? He was in London last time I heard from him.”

“Can you track him down, maybe see if he can get wind of what’s going on in Egypt?”

Taeg nodded. “No problem, man. He detests Mammon. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.”

“You and Ronin are right,” Keegan said. “We need to do something to find the book, even if we have to dig up all the damn graves in Egypt ourselves. We—”

“Shh,” Ronin interrupted him. He slanted his head to the side. “Do you feel that?”

Keegan stilled and concentrated. If Ronin sensed something, that meant something was there.

Yes, there it was. Like a pulse of energy. Something malevolent.

“Shit.” Keegan’s eyes darted toward Ronin as they both realized what it was. “Demons coming—”

The front door exploded, and a small army of demons marched inside, some humanoid like them and the rest glamoured into human form. But the energy that emanated off them gave them away. Demons always recognized other demons that way.

The invading demons stared uncertainly at one another before one of them turned to Dagan and said, “Who the fuck are you?”

“One, two…” Taeg counted the demons out on his fingers before shooting Keegan a deep look. “Ten of them, bro. You know that fight you’ve been itching for?”

“Yeah.” Keegan bared his teeth at the nearest demon. Ten to four? He probably wouldn’t have minded those odds if Brynn wasn’t in the same apartment.

As if she’d sensed his thoughts, the door to her room opened. “What—?”

She cut off with a gasp, shock and confusion etched all over her face.

“Get back in your room,” he ordered. “Lock the door.”

He didn’t have time to make sure she heeded his command before one of them jumped him. The demon’s fist smashed into the left side of his face. His head jerked to the side, the loud crack in his jaw accompanied by a burst of pain and the metallic tang of blood. He ignored it, using the momentum to duck when the demon swung again. The demon lost his balance and stumbled forward. Keegan shoved him at the same time he swung his left fist. It caught the demon square on his ear. He hit the ground hard and didn’t get back up.

“You want some?” Dagan yelled somewhere behind him. “Take that!”

Keegan turned just in time to see his brother’s obvious relish as he knocked another demon to the ground with a brutal blow to the head. A quick glance confirmed his brothers had wholeheartedly thrown themselves into the fray. Guess they all needed to let off some steam. He turned his attention to the next demon.

Blocking jabs and throwing punches consumed the next few minutes. The demons got a few lucky ones in, too, and one asshole broke Keegan’s nose with a kick to the face and dropped him to the ground. These guys were trained to fight, and this was taking too damn long. What if more of them showed up?

Shit. Times like these, he wished he had more control over his other abilities, the ones he’d inherited from his mother’s side of the family. But no—they were too sporadic, too uncontrollable. Too fucking dangerous.

“Watch out,” Taeg yelled.

He whirled. A long, wicked dagger headed for him. Blocking the hit just in time, he disarmed the demon and slit his throat.

Finally, there was no one left to fight. His war haze cleared enough for him to see Taeg, Ronin, and Dagan standing over the bodies, shallow wounds covering their faces and torsos.

Keegan nudged one of the demons with his foot, rolling him onto his back. His glamour had slipped in his deep state of unconsciousness. Red horns sprouted from his green, pockmarked face. Two mouths existed where one should be. Maliki demon. Flesh-eater.

“Ugly asshole,” he commented to no one in particular.

“Oh, shit,” Dagan said.

Keegan turned his gaze toward him. “What’s wrong?”

Dagan’s eyes darted over the bodies of the fallen demons. “Only nine of them here. One escaped.”

“Not good.” Keegan let out a curse as worry and fear settled in his stomach like a lead weight. Not good at all.

“This was obviously Mammon’s work,” Taeg said.

Ronin touched his fingers to a gash on his arm, which immediately knitted itself together. He gave Keegan a meaningful glance. “You know what that means, right?”

Keegan nodded at him. Oh, he knew. His tone flat, he voiced what they had all clearly deduced.

“It means Mammon knows about Brynn.”

Chapter Eight

Brynn leaned against the locked door of her bedroom with her ear pressed to the cold, hard wood. Thumps, yells, and crashes had punctuated the huge brawl in her living room. There had been so many of them—more than Keegan and his brothers. That much had been clear.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she searched her room for potential weapons. But of course, she didn’t own any. With her gift, she’d never thought she might need one. Now she didn’t know if her abilities even worked anymore.

The fire escape. She could take that. But what if more men waited downstairs for her?

Oh, this sucked. Big time.

Fear and uncertainty filled her. What should she do? The primitive urge to scurry away warred with her desire to stay and make a stand. If anything, she was pissed as hell that a strange group of men had invaded her personal space—her sanctuary. But she was no match against a small army, not if her powers weren’t working.

After what seemed like an eternity, the sounds of battle had died down, settling into a murmur of voices. Please, please, let that be Keegan and his brothers.

She’d strained, trying to hear. Finally she heard the unmistakable sound of Keegan’s voice saying, “We’ve gotta move. Now.”

“Oh, thank God.” Taking a deep breath, she unlocked her door and swung it open. A loud creak interrupted the silence, and she poked her head out. Keegan and his brothers stood in the living room, battered but largely unhurt as they examined the figures of the men lying on the floor.

Superheroes. That was what she’d called them yesterday, and obviously she hadn’t been far off. Her own little band of superheroes. Respect and admiration for them swelled up inside her. These guys kicked major ass.

“What was that?” Her voice cracked from the remnants of her fear. “Was it Mammon?”

Keegan swiveled his head toward her, his nose bloody and crooked. His face lit with alarm. “Stay in there.”

Wait a second…his face.

“Your nose, it’s healing.” She stumbled toward him, surveying him and then his brothers. Taeg’s and Dagan’s wounds weren’t disappearing, but Ronin… “You, too, your wounds are healing. How is—how is that possible?”

“Brynn, go back into the room,” Keegan ordered.

Keegan and Ronin could heal themselves? Amazing. No wonder they were so badass.

The large gash down the center of Keegan’s nose closed itself. Other than a few stray droplets of blood, his nose seemed untouched. She took another step toward him, but her foot collided with a hard object. She’d run into one of the downed men. She lifted her gaze back to Keegan.

Wait!

Doing a double take, she stumbled backward to get a closer look at the figure of the man at her feet. No, he wasn’t a man. Not a man!

His characteristics were definitely male and his body mostly human, save the gray pallor of his skin. But his face—it was all wrong. Five eyes instead of two. Rhinoceros-like horn instead of a nose. Ridged spikes covered his forehead. His nauseating stench burned her nostrils, like a horrid mixture of wet dog and burning asphalt.

Warm hands gripped her arms, and someone shook her. “Brynn. Brynn.”

She instinctively fought back before looking up to see Keegan’s face. His lips moved and he was clearly trying to reassure her, but she couldn’t hear him over the loud, shrill sound of an alarm.

He shook her harder. “Brynn, stop screaming!”

She realized with a start that he was right. Shutting her mouth abruptly, she moved her gaze back to the thing on the floor. She couldn’t help it.

“Look at me,” Keegan said, his voice harsh.

She focused on his eyes, his lips, his nose—his fully healed nose. When she found her voice again, she sputtered, “What the fuck is that thing?”

Another figure on the floor moaned and stirred. Taeg strode over and kicked him, and he stopped moving. But even from here, it was obvious he wasn’t human.

“What are they?” she whispered.

Keegan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he reopened them, they blazed with the intensity of some unspoken emotion. Almost like he felt sorry for her. But when he spoke, all he said was, “Demons.”

“Demons?” She laughed. Then laughed some more, wrenching out of his grasp. In some distant part of her brain, she recognized she bordered on hysteria. “Demons?”

Keegan just stared at her.

“Are you kidding me? Demons?”

“You freely accept people with special abilities,” Ronin said as he moved next to Keegan and pinned her with his gaze. “Is it too much of a stretch to believe that demons might also exist?”

“Yeah, but…” What were they going to tell her next, that aliens were real, too? “But I have special abilities.”

Dagan coughed. “You also have dem—”

“Dagan,” Keegan snarled, followed by a string of foreign words. Dagan yelled back in the same language. Keegan shook his head and pointed to the front door, punctuating his movement with a few staccato words. Even though she didn’t understand Dagan’s response, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was some sort of curse. Dagan shot Keegan the finger before whirling around and stomping out the front door.

She concentrated on reading Keegan’s expression. “You actually expect me to believe those were demons?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

His flat, no-nonsense response sparked an inkling of a suspicion she didn’t even dare acknowledge. She took several deep, calming breaths. “How? How do you know all this? How can you tell me with such certainty that these are demons?”

He exchanged a serious, telling glance with Ronin before answering her. “Because, Brynn…I am one.”

…

Back at their borrowed apartment, Keegan paced the length of the living room while Taeg stood by the windows. Dagan and Ronin sat on the leather sectional, though relaxation looked like the last thing on their minds. Tension filled the air, thick and oppressive to the point that it overwhelmed.

“Shit,” Keegan said. “Where is Mammon getting his info?”

“Good question,” Taeg grumbled as he stared out the expansive windows. “He discovered Brynn’s identity right after we did, and we’ve got the whole damned Council on our side. If I didn’t know any better, I’d wonder whether he has an informer on the inside.”

“He doesn’t know where she is now,” Dagan pointed out. “At least we have that.”

Ronin shook his head. “With intel that good, it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out.”

Double shit.

Keegan punched the wall nearest him, not caring that it gave way beneath his fist.

Ronin was right—if they stayed here, Mammon would eventually find Brynn. If that happened, Keegan feared what would occur. Not just to Brynn, but to this entire world.

“Okay.” He withdrew his hand from the rubble and watched the scrapes heal. “Until we’ve recovered the book, the best thing we can do is move. Ronin, find somewhere else for us to stay in another city. We’ll move every couple of days.”

“Got it.” Ronin rose and left the room.

“Taeg, Dagan, you two go to Egypt. Try to find out everything you can about possible locations where the book might be buried. Also, see if you can get Cresso to talk to the local demon population, maybe catch wind of something.”

“What about you?” Taeg asked.

“Ronin and I will guard Brynn. Splitting up is the best way to spend our time right now.”

“Divide and conquer, and all that rot,” Taeg quipped halfheartedly. He turned to Dagan. “I’ll flash over to London, round up Cresso. Once you know when your plane is coming in, give me a call. I can meet you at the airport.”

“Done,” Dagan said.

Taeg grunted and turned to Keegan. “Listen, bro. Be careful, okay?”

Keegan gave him a terse nod. “Yeah.”

The air shimmered almost imperceptibly in front of Taeg, creating the invisible fae path only he could travel. He stepped into it and disappeared, leaving Keegan alone with Dagan.

“You think Brynn will be okay?” Dagan asked.

“Don’t know,” Keegan answered truthfully.

After he’d confessed his ancestry to her, she’d clammed up. She’d simply stopped communicating, though she had enough presence of mind to allow him to usher her downstairs and into a taxicab. They’d ridden in silence the whole way back to the apartment, and once they arrived she’d gone straight to her room, where she’d stayed for the past half hour.

Would her mind handle the stress of what she’d just learned? She had to accept the truth, or her thread of sanity might snap. After all, she was mostly human.

“I’ll go check on her,” he said.

Dagan nodded and turned to leave, but then he paused. “I’m worried about you, dude.”

“I’m fine,” Keegan answered automatically.

“Just…don’t get in over your head, okay?”

Keegan gritted his teeth and fought the urge to snap at Dagan. He was just being a caring brother, after all. If Dagan didn’t care, he would be little better than a monster.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m in control.”

Dagan hesitated, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say more. But in the end, he nodded and left.

Keegan started down the hall toward Brynn’s room. No point in putting off the inevitable. He had to make sure she was okay. But he couldn’t help but wonder if she would welcome him, or if she’d have a million questions about what he was and what he could do. Maybe she’d shrink away in fear, cower in front of him the way others did before his father. She might see him as a monster.

If she did, would he be able to deal with it?

…

Brynn sat on the bed and stared out the window, not really seeing anything. To think that yesterday, her biggest worry had been figuring out why Keegan kidnapped her. That seemed like a cakewalk compared to today’s problems.

Demons. Keegan actually expected her to believe he and his brothers were demons.

Even if she did believe in demons—which she wasn’t willing to admit just yet—she’d never believe Keegan was one. Those things lying on the floor of her apartment? They looked like demons, with their grotesque faces and off-colored flesh. But not Keegan. Not his brothers.

On top of that, he didn’t seem evil. She’d seen some real evil in her life, and yeah, she supposed he might be pretending, but no one was that good an actor. No one.

She jumped at the knock on her door. Before she had time to answer—or even decide if she wanted to—Keegan walked in, his movements deliberate and his hands visible at his sides. He paused near the door and left it open, clearly doing everything he could not to frighten her further.

“Brynn, we need to talk.”

“About what?” She chuckled humorlessly. “About the demons littering my apartment floor? About your claim that you’re one, too? Or that maybe I’ve gone insane?”

Keegan leaned against the wall. “You’re not crazy.”

“Right.”

“Listen, I know how hard this must be for you.”

“No,” she interrupted, her tone flat, “you don’t.”

“Okay. No, I don’t. But as crazy as it might seem, this is your reality. You have to deal with it. Your life depends on it.”

She shook her head in the vain hope that it would clear her thoughts. “What do you want me to say? Before today, I never knew if I believed in Heaven, and now you’re expecting me to believe in Hell? In demons?”

“No.”

Keegan strode toward her and dropped to one knee in front of her, and she fought the instinct to scoot back. She forced herself to study his face, so very human in appearance. Two eyes, a normal-looking nose. He wasn’t a demon. He couldn’t be.

“No, Brynn. Everything you believe about demons is wrong. A perversion of tidbits of information humans have gleaned throughout the years. Demons aren’t evil creatures from Hell.”

Brynn blinked at him. “They aren’t?”

“There is no Hell. At least not as far as I know.”

She furrowed her brows. “Well then, what are they?”

“Demons are…well, they’re a different race. To be specific, they’re a race of beings from a world that exists in another point of space.”

Huh? “Um…what?”

“Another dimension, Brynn,” he said gently.

“You actually expect me to believe you’re from another dimension?”

Keegan’s gaze bored into hers, his bluish-green eyes burning with an intensity that spoke to the depth of his emotions. “It’s called Infernum. I was born there, and it’s where I live. I was sent to Earth to stop Mammon.”

Brynn laughed. She had to. If she didn’t, she would cry. Or scream. “You were sent to Earth? So, how are you supposed to have gotten here? Through a tornado?”

“What?”

“You know, like Dorothy? Wizard of Oz?”

Straight-faced, he said, “I’ve never met this wizard.”

“Never mind,” she muttered.

Keegan raised a brow and tilted his head to the side. “There’s a portal to the Otherworlds. It’s guarded by the Elden Council, composed of elders from each of the worlds. The Council allows interdimensional travel under given circumstances. It’s how Mammon arrived here on Earth. Me and my brothers, too.”

How could she respond to what he said? It was so insane.

“Okay, let’s say that I buy this. It goes against every belief I’ve ever had, but I can’t deny what I saw back in my apartment, and those things were definitely not human. But”—she inhaled deeply—“you expect me to believe you are one, too?”

“Yes,” he responded, his gaze even. “I do.”

“No. No, you don’t look like they did. You look like a normal person.”

Keegan chuckled. “There are all types of demons, just as there are all types of humans. Some, like me, appear human. Others less so.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Brynn,” he said, placing his hands on her knees, “I can prove it.”

Her heart stopped for a fraction of a second before resuming its staccato beat in her chest. “How?”

Keegan breathed in and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, their usual bluish-green had been replaced by a deep, fiery red, the color swirling in his eyes like a whirlwind of flames.

“Holy shit,” she cried. She scrambled backward on the bed, away from Keegan, and covered her mouth with her hands.

He shut his eyes, and when they flickered open, they were back to normal. He rose and walked around the side of the bed toward her. “Brynn.”

“No.” She brought her hands up in front of her. “No, wait.”

Keegan froze, expressionless. His tone was gruff when he said, “Don’t fear me.”

“Oh, God.” She rubbed her hands over her face. How quickly her life had morphed into a Stephen King novel. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Brynn—”

“Just let me think for a moment.” A firestorm of thoughts blazed through her mind before she settled on one thing. “If most of what we know about demons is false, does that mean you aren’t evil?”

Keegan fidgeted, his fingers rubbing absently over the fabric of his dark jeans. How sick was it that even now, she noticed his long, artistic fingers, their flawless masculinity?

“Our culture doesn’t view morality on the same terms as yours,” he said. “My world is much darker, more morally ambiguous. But I will say that there are those who are evil and those who aren’t. Same as your world.”

He had a point. She’d found that out firsthand at the age of eleven, the day she learned about her other power. Humans could be pretty sick, too. Actually, now that she thought about it, maybe those sickos weren’t human. Maybe they were demons. That was something she’d never before had to consider. How many of them were there on Earth?

She gulped. “My power—how I can drain energy? It doesn’t work on you.”

Keegan nodded. “Because of what I am. I don’t believe your ability works on demons.”

Well, that answered her question. Talk about a cosmic Fuck you. “So wait. Now that I know there are really scary things like demons out there, you’re telling me that the one thing that’s kept me safe all these years doesn’t even work on them?”

He sighed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry that your sense of security was destroyed. Really, I am. But it was false to begin with. You aren’t invincible. There are things out there that can hurt you, that aren’t affected by your abilities.”

The truth of his words seeped into her very core. “I can’t believe this.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

She gave him a shaky nod. Carefully, she studied him. He appeared so very human, with his lean, muscular physique, the heavy pectorals outlined under his T-shirt, his sculpted face and jaw. Even his eyes seemed normal.

Maybe she didn’t want to know, but she had to ask: “Is this what you really look like?”

“Except for the eyes. Those are glamoured.”

“Glamoured? You mean…magic?”

Keegan chuckled and sat on the bed next to her. “There’s magic in all worlds. Even yours.” He slowly reached forward and took her hands in his, giving them a pointed look. “Is that so difficult to believe, given what you can do?”

She gently pulled her hands out of his. Everything Keegan had told her made sense, in some crazy way. But there were still some things that didn’t add up. “So this guy who’s supposedly after me, this Mammon—”

“Is a demon,” Keegan finished. “What I said about him coming after you is true. He discovered that the Book of the Dead exists, that it really can resurrect the dead.”

Her mouth fell open. “It really can do that?”

“Not only that, but you are the key to the resurrection.”

The key?

“But, how? How could I possibly do that?”

“When your ancestor made the book, he created it so that only one of his bloodline could work the spell.”

Only one of his bloodline. Ah. “That’s me.”

“That’s you,” Keegan confirmed with a short nod. “In fact, from what the Council can tell, you’re the only one left.”

“I don’t understand. Why does Mammon want to create an army of zombies? That’s just insane.”

Keegan laughed, although the sound was humorless. “If he has control of the book, he can command them. They’d be stronger than humans, stronger than even demons. And they’d follow his bidding.”

Brynn shook her head. “I still don’t understand.”

“Mammon is an avaritia. A greed demon. He desires wealth and power above all, though he might try to convince himself and others that he’s doing all this for a good reason. He’s starting with this world, but he won’t rest until every human being is subjugated…or eaten. Then he’ll move on to other worlds until, ultimately, they’ve all been destroyed.”

“This is totally crazy,” she murmured.

“But true, nonetheless.”

“How did you get stuck with the duty of going after him?”

“Me and my brothers work for the Elden Council as Detainors. Interdimensional bounty hunters of sorts. It is our job to hunt down and bring violators from Infernum to the Council for punishment. And for now, to protect you.”

God, this was all so fantastical. If only…if only she could trust him.

Wait. There was something she could do.

“Do you have anything old with you, anything from your home world?”

After a long moment, Keegan nodded. He reached under the collar of his shirt and withdrew a thin leather cord that hung around his neck. On it was a talisman made of some sort of metal. “I’ve had this ever since I can remember. I think it was a gift from my mother.” He drew it over his head and handed it to her. “She died when I was a baby.”

She traced the shape with her finger. “A dragon?”

He nodded.

“It’s beautiful.” She closed her hand around it, shut her eyes, and gave herself over to her senses.

A barrage of images and emotions flooded over her, beginning with a woman standing before a wooden crib. Overwhelming love and acceptance flowed from her as she removed the same necklace, and with a teary smile, pressed it into the bedding where an infant slept.

The scene faded, replaced by the image of a little boy, his fear unmistakable as a handsome but frightening man loomed over him, his fists raining down with punishing force. “I’ll teach you yet, boy. You’re my son. Don’t you ever forget it!”

Another scene replaced the last. The little boy had grown older, and the same man arrived after a long absence, along with a terrified nursemaid who carried a bundle in her arms. The man coldly summoned him forward as he bade the woman to unwrap the bundle. “Meet your new brother, boy. His name is Taeg.”

Yet another scene formed. The frightened boy had grown into a young man. He watched in helpless fury as the same man beat another brother to a bloody pulp. With sudden, blinding determination, he resolved that—even if it were over his dead body—this would never, ever happen to Ronin again.

Brynn let go with a cry, snapping back to present day. Remnants of emotions borrowed from Keegan intermingled with her own. She dimly realized he’d taken her into his arms and now supported her. Throwing her arms around his neck, she gasped as the emotions tore through her. His masculine scent comforted her, making her feel safe and warm.

After some time, Keegan pulled her back. “Are you okay?”

Brynn nodded and spoke around the heavy lump in her throat. “That horrible man I saw was your father, wasn’t he?”

He lowered his gaze, his mouth tight. “And a truly evil demon.”

“Tell me about him.”

He didn’t speak for some time before he let out a deep exhale. “Growing up, I knew my father’s word was law. He always wanted us to be like him, but we weren’t. We tried to be, for a time, but it was pointless. To him, every other person was nothing more than a tool to be used for his personal gain. We couldn’t be that way. We couldn’t not care, and we couldn’t use and abuse others the way he did.”

“So he beat you,” she said softly.

Keegan shrugged. “Whenever we did something that he didn’t approve of—which was often—he punished us all.”

“But he was hardest on you,” Brynn whispered.

“No. He was hardest on Ronin. Unlike the rest of us, who went to live with my father as infants, Ronin didn’t join us until he was almost ten. He was stubborn and disobedient, so my father constantly tried to beat him into submission. I stepped in whenever I could.”

“You mean you purposely antagonized him to take the heat off your brothers.”

“Yes. But after a while, even that stopped working. That’s when we escaped.”

The depth of his emotions—as well as his despair at not being able to protect his brothers from their father—sat like a heavy weight on Brynn’s chest.

“You were very brave to stand up to him.”

“I should have gotten in between them, should’ve made sure he never touched my brothers. The night we escaped, it was only because he’d almost killed Ronin and Dagan. No matter how I try to justify it, the truth is that I was a coward. I failed them.”

Brynn placed her fingers under his chin and turned his gaze toward her. “You’re crazy. You didn’t fail them—you protected them, when you were little more than a child yourself.”

He scoffed at her words, clearly not believing them.

“Ask any one of your brothers and I’m sure they’ll tell you the same.” She’d bet his brothers would be horrified to hear him say that he failed them.

Keegan dropped his gaze and swallowed hard. When he looked at her again, his eyes blazed with emotion. “My whole life, I’ve resolved that no matter what, I wouldn’t be anything like him.”

“You’re not. You could never be,” Brynn whispered fiercely. She might not have known him long, but after sharing some of his memories, she might understand him better than almost anyone else. Despite his upbringing, or maybe because of it, he was inherently good.

Keegan shook his head. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what I am capable of, or the things I’ve seen and done, or the things I’ve sworn to do.”

The bleak look in his eyes broke her heart. What would it be like to grow up in such a dark, hellish dimension with no mother and an evil, abusive bastard for a father?

Another tide of emotions swept over her, but this time they were sharper, sweeter. They were her feelings for Keegan, and sympathy comprised just one part of them.

“Keegan,” she said.

He opened his eyes. Whatever he saw there must have surprised him, because he sucked in a breath. His gaze grew hot and hungry, the pupils of his eyes darkening as they lost their focus.

Brynn touched his lips. They were firm yet soft, his breath making fiery little puffs against her flesh. “You really do run hot, don’t you?”

He let out a husky laugh. “Demon heat. We clock in at over one hundred degrees.”

More evidence that while he might appear human, he wasn’t. But her body didn’t care what he was. It wanted him so badly she feared she might melt into a puddle of desire. She needed to feel him. To touch him. To taste his lips on hers.

She leaned toward him. “Keegan—”

“Brynn.” With half-lidded eyes, Keegan slowly closed the space between them. But a mere second before their lips touched, he lurched backward.

“What’s wrong?”

He rose and strode across the room, faced the windows, and thumped one with his fist. “Damn it.”

She blinked as the sharp desire she felt for him faded to a dull ache. “What is it?”

“We’ve got too much going on right now. Another layer of complexity would…it would be foolish.” He sighed and pressed his forehead against the glass.

Brynn’s body filled with heat when she realized she’d been soundly shot down. Was he just using their situation as a convenient excuse to let her down easily? Or could he in fact desire her, the way she did him?

Keegan turned and silently walked toward the door.

“Wait,” she said.

He paused, his back still to her.

“I forgot to ask earlier. Back at the apartment, I saw you and Ronin heal. Then, a few minutes later, Taeg and Dagan were fully healed. Can all demons do that?”

Keegan turned around, seeming reluctant to do so. “The demon race is, as a whole, stronger and quicker to heal than the human race. But many of us have unique abilities. While Taeg and Dagan heal quickly on their own, Ronin and I can heal both ourselves and others.”

“So you each have different abilities?”

“It’s not so surprising, given we have different mothers.”

“Your ability to heal comes from your mother?”

“Yes.”

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he beat her to it. “Right now there’s something else you need to know.”

The way he said that made her mouth go dry and her heart skip a beat. She tried not to let her trepidation show in her voice. “What is it?”

Keegan fidgeted, then flat-out said the words that would change her life forever.

“Brynn, you’re part demon, too.”

Chapter Nine

“You were what?”

“Overpowered, my Lord,” the frightened demon sniveled, his nervous gaze darting from here to there as if he searched out an escape route. “There were several of them, and very powerful. There was nothing we could do.”

“You could have killed them,” Mammon roared, slamming his fist onto the exquisite wooden coffee table gracing the sitting area of his luxurious Four Seasons suite. The force of his blow punched a hole straight through it. He absently wrenched his hand through the mess of splinters.

“I’m sorry. We tried,” the demon whined. He looked plaintively at Leviathos, as if he would save him from Mammon’s wrath. As if he could.

“Damnation.” Mammon rose to stare out the large window. Not even the expansive view of the Nile could calm his temper now. “You say the demons were protecting her?”

“Yes,” he said. “They called for her to retreat into another room before we attacked.”

Well, this changed things. Apparently, the Council members weren’t quite as foolish as he’d thought. They’d somehow managed to locate the girl before he had. Yet he couldn’t allow them to win. Their twisted reign must come to an end.

“I’m very disappointed, Leviathos,” he said.

“We did everything we could to locate her, Lord,” Leviathos said, a hint of defiance in his otherwise conciliatory tone. “It was the scholar. He didn’t act quickly enough.”

Mammon gritted his teeth. Snarkiness aside, Leviathos was right. The damn scholar had been far too slow. Yes, he would pay for this. “Have him tortured for two weeks and then kill him. No…better yet, save him for me. I’ll do the honors myself.”

Leviathos let out an almost imperceptible shiver. “Yes, Mamm—Lord.”

Mammon turned to pace the room. “This complicates things. Now we must discover who has taken her, and where.”

He would have to visit her dreams and coax her into telling him. A laborious process, to be sure, but now that he knew her name and was assured she was the heir, it was doable.

“Did they do or say anything to give you an indication of their identities?” Mammon asked the frightened demon. “Did they call each other by names?”

“No, my Lord.” The demon shook his head emphatically. “But there were four of them, and one of them called another bro.”

Mammon froze in midstride with his back to the demon.

“Bro?” Leviathos repeated in alarm.

Mammon whirled to face the demon and prowled toward him. The menace in his expression must have been unmistakable, because the demon rose from the couch, cowering in front of him, his expression terrified.

“What did these men look like?” Mammon asked.

The demon squeaked at the steely, foreboding tone in his voice. “They all looked si-similar, my Lord. Tall with dark hair.” He dared a glance at Mammon, lowering his hands from his face. “Somewhat like you, in fact.”

“What?” Mammon roared.

Barely realizing what he was doing, Mammon wrapped his hand around the demon’s throat. The demon’s eyes widened, and he managed to utter one sharp squeal before Mammon twisted and yanked. His body fell to the ground as his head detached from the rest of him.

Mammon eyed the head for one moment before dispassionately tossing it over his shoulder. He turned to Leviathos, who had risen and was currently regarding him with a look of abject horror.

Mammon growled, his mind consumed with only one thought.

“Keegan… ”

…

For the second night in a row, Keegan wandered the halls instead of going to sleep. Strange, he hadn’t initially cared one way or another about this borrowed apartment. But now that they’d be leaving it tomorrow, he realized he would miss it.

Brynn infiltrated his mind the way she had ever since he’d first seen her. But this time, it was with a growing sense of desolation.

They were running out of time.

Mammon had already discovered her identity. How much longer before he found the book? If he got to it before they did, their options would be drastically limited.

Maybe there would be no choice at all.

Things might have been simpler if he hadn’t given Brynn his necklace, and if he hadn’t allowed her to read its memories. Something inside him couldn’t help but wonder if giving her access to his memories had been a crucial mistake. Her obvious distrust had morphed into compassion, and then into horror for what he’d experienced as a child. Who knew what she would have thought if she had learned his other secret, his mother’s legacy? Would that have been too much for her? Or would she have handled it just as gracefully as she’d handled everything else so far?

She truly believed he was a good man, and she trusted him now. And if he’d correctly read the lust etched onto her face, she desired him. How could he betray her?

Keegan paused outside her room, his forehead to the door, as if by that simple act he could forge an unbreakable connection with her. For the first time since he’d broken free of his father, he wished he were somewhere else, living someone else’s life.

He didn’t want to bear this responsibility. Didn’t want to have to make a choice between this vibrant, engaging woman and the rest of this world. Maybe all of the worlds.

He hadn’t expected Brynn to be such a shining beacon of hope and life, and he hadn’t expected to connect with her so deeply. If he was charged with ending her existence, if he went through with it, would he really be any better than his monster of a father?

His heart told him no. But what were his options?

One life or many?

There was no winning choice here.

Keegan lifted his palm to the door. It was cold and hard beneath his hand. The way he should be. But apparently, he wasn’t wired that way, no matter how hard he tried.

He couldn’t fail. The Council depended on him. His brothers depended on him.

This was his duty.

With a deep sigh, Keegan pushed away, stepped into his own room, and shut the door. With any luck, he would sleep a dreamless sleep tonight. But as he settled into bed and closed his eyes, something told him that was as likely as Mammon deciding to abandon his nefarious plot.

…

His fists flew at her with abandon.

“I’ll train you yet, boy.”

“No,” Brynn tried to choke out. “No, I’m not…”

But he didn’t listen and continued to hit her, blow after punishing blow.

The scene faded, and the pain with it. Now she walked within a dark, moist cave. Glimmers of moonlight shone in from cracks in the ceiling, illuminating portions of it. Somewhere deeper inside, water trickled, landing on the ground with marked little plops.

Fear permeated the air, palpable in its intensity. This place terrified her.

A shout from farther inside the cave pricked her flesh. Heart pounding, she followed the low noise, winding through a narrow passage. It opened up to a larger space, moonlight streaming in. Brynn bit back a cry at what she saw.

A woman was chained to the wall. She had an ethereal appearance, with long blond hair flowing in heavy waves to her waist. Her gown was so white it almost gleamed in the soft light, and in front of her stood a man. He was tall and slender with full dark hair cut short. Even though his back was to her, Brynn recognized him as Keegan’s father.

“Please don’t,” the woman begged him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He laughed. One hand carelessly snatched at her dress, rending it in two.

“No,” Brynn cried, her voice a perfect echo of the woman’s own panicked scream. Neither of them heard her. The woman continued to stare at Keegan’s father, fear and horror on her face. When he began to unbutton his pants, Brynn screwed her eyes shut.

“Brynn, are you okay?” said a deep voice.

She opened her eyes, and she was back in her apartment. In her own bed.

Keegan sat on the mattress beside her, a question in his eyes.

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Bad dream.”

Keegan smiled. “You’re still dreaming.”

“I know,” she whispered. Part of her recognized how intrinsically odd it was to be having such vivid dreams, but compared to everything else that had happened these past few days, she could deal with a strange dream or two.

“How are you doing with everything?”

“You mean how am I dealing with finding out my ancestor mated with a succubus? That I’ve got demon in my bloodline? That this is how I got my abilities?” Brynn snorted. “Yeah, no big deal.”

He touched her face and caressed her cheek, a wicked expression crossing his eyes. “You’re tough. You’ll deal.”

She nodded, and he turned to her window, covered only by a sheer, billowing curtain. “It’s almost daylight outside. Not much time to waste.”

“For what?” she asked.

Keegan shot her a cocky grin. “For this.”

His hand moved to the back of her neck and he pulled her to him, taking her mouth in a demanding kiss. She moaned and plastered her body to his, deepening their kiss. He lowered her back onto the bed, snatching away her sheet. His searing tongue traced a path from her throat to her collarbone. There, he paused to pull down the thin strap of her silky nightgown, his breath causing a shiver on her sensitive flesh as he bared one breast.

“Yes,” Brynn moaned.

Keegan chuckled before lightly blowing on her nipple. It puckered from the heat of his breath. Then, an agonizing heartbeat later, his lips closed over it, rolling the sensitive bud around in his mouth and tugging on it.

“Keegan,” she breathed, tracing her hands from the heavy, corded muscles of his back down to his rock-hard backside. She wanted to feel the heat of his flesh under her fingertips. Her fingers crawled underneath the fabric of his pajama bottoms, while his hands slid her nightgown up to her thighs.

“Do you like this?” he asked, his voice husky.

Brynn gasped as his fingers expertly found that sensitive spot between her thighs and one finger dipped inside.

“You know I do,” she panted.

“Hmm,” he replied in satisfaction. He kissed his way down her stomach, thrusting his finger deeper this time, as his head journeyed downward.

Brynn moaned and closed her eyes, reveling in the exquisite sensation of his fingers playing over her. Moving inside her.

“Ooh, that… Don’t stop,” she whispered.

He chuckled, and it sounded a little different this time.

“I’m definitely liking this dream,” he said. His voice had changed, more gravelly now. A little deeper. The atmosphere had suddenly shifted, going from playful to menacing.

Brynn’s eyes flew open, and she screamed. It wasn’t Keegan’s face smiling at her anymore.

It was his father’s.

“Brynn,” he rumbled, a sinister look coming to his face, “I need you—”

She awoke with a jolt. Sweat glistened all over her body and her heart galloped in her chest, as if it longed to race away from the horror of that dream. She scanned the entire room, making sure there was no one else there. But sure enough, she was alone. Unlike her dream, she wasn’t in her apartment, but rather in her room at Keegan’s borrowed condo.

“It was just a dream,” she whispered. “Just a dream.”

Lord knew she’d had pretty vivid ones the past two nights.

But it didn’t feel like a dream.

She lay back down, willing her heartbeat to slow a fraction. She closed her eyes in the vain hope she might somehow fall asleep again, but when she did, all she saw was Keegan’s father. And the unholy glaze in his eyes as he’d ogled her, taking in her bared breasts with satisfaction.

How quickly it had morphed from a hot, wet fantasy into a nightmare. She could practically feel the heat of Mammon’s gaze on her naked flesh. The sinister cruelty of his smile. Just thinking about it made her skin crawl. When he’d said, “I need you,” she’d gotten the sense he wasn’t talking about sexual satisfaction. Ridiculous, she knew. Her mind was only manifesting him due to the stress of the past few days. But still…it was more than a little disturbing.

Well, she knew one thing. If she never had one of those dreams again, she would die a happy girl.

Chapter Ten

It took Taeg well over a day, and visits to more than ten local demon bars, before he managed to track down Cresso’s London address. Other than a few visits Cresso had paid to Infernum, they hadn’t kept in touch since he’d moved to Earth. It wasn’t like there was cell phone service on Infernum or anything.

After all these years, Taeg still wondered how the hell Cresso had managed to get clearance from the Council to move. Guess some demons just had all the luck.

He didn’t bother walking the short distance from the bar to the address the bartender had given him. What good was being half fae if you didn’t make use of the fae paths?

Taeg concentrated on the address and a shimmering path opened up in front of him. Only certain types of fae—or, in his case, half fae—could see or travel the paths. Even then, they couldn’t traverse to other worlds—just to different points in the one they were on.

The current caught him, pulling him forward as if he were weightless. The best way he could describe it to his brothers was that it was like waterskiing over a rainbow. Totally exhilarating.

In the span of an instant, Taeg stood in front of Cresso’s apartment. He gave a sharp rap on the door. After several minutes, he knocked again. Finally, the door opened, but instead of Cresso, a beautiful woman with flowing black hair stood on the other side. She wore only lingerie, and she eyed him in a way he couldn’t help but respond to. The energy emanating from her identified her as some type of demon, but even through her glamour, it was obvious she was one of the good-looking ones.

“Well, hello there,” he said in an appreciative voice. She was hot enough, and he’d gone without for long enough that he couldn’t help himself, even though he knew that if she was with Cresso she was a succubus, and therefore off limits. Unless he wanted to die an awful, soul-sucking death, that was. Sex demons like incubi and succubi could only mate with each other without killing their partners, and that was some fucked-up shit if he’d ever heard it. Kind of like nature’s way of thumbing its nose at the species.

She smirked and opened the door wider, cocking her head in blatant invitation. “Hey, yourself. Why don’t you come in, handsome?”

Even while his brain told him he needed to focus on finding Cresso, his cock fought and won the battle to respond. Damn thing had a mind of its own. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Taeg strode in and turned to face her as she closed the door. Behind him, another door opened. He whirled to see a second demon, this one blond, exiting a room. Unlike her companion, she wore nothing other than a set of lacy panties. She saw him and slid the door shut before stalking toward him.

“What do we have here?” she asked, her voice a sexy rumble in her throat. The hungry once-over she gave him put him in mind of a predator spotting its prey. Her gaze lingered on the words stamped across his T-shirt: Orgasm Donor. Lips curving into a slow smile, she glanced back up at him. “I’ll take three.”

“I saw him first,” whined the black-haired demon.

“We can share,” the blonde retorted, shooting him a wicked little smile. “We always do.”

Oh, shit. These two were definitely putting off succubi vibes, which made them dangerous as hell. If he didn’t focus on the objective, he could be in serious trouble here. “Wait, I’m actually looking for—”

“Ladies, ladies, what have I told you about playing with my visitors?”

Taeg turned toward the sound of Cresso’s voice. He stood outside the door the blonde had come out of, with another barely clad woman on his arm. His hair was messed up and he wore only a pair of slacks, the fly still undone. It was more than obvious what he’d just been doing.

The blonde gave Cresso an exaggerated pout. “Sorry, baby. He just looked so delectable. We couldn’t resist.”

“Cresso, man, it’s good to see your ugly mug again,” Taeg said to his old friend.

“You, too.” Cresso beamed at him. “It’s been too many years. How the hell did you find me?”

“Asked around. You don’t keep a low profile, you know.” Taeg strolled forward to clasp Cresso’s hand.

“Never have.” Cresso chuckled, then addressed the women. “Give us a moment if you will, loves.”

“Okay,” they replied in unison, then turned to shuffle back into Cresso’s bedroom. The blonde grabbed Taeg’s ass as she walked by him. Saucy wench.

Taeg shuddered and watched them go. He waited until they’d shut the door to turn back to Cresso with a sharp whistle. “Three of them, man? You always were a fucking pervert, but still. Come on.”

Cresso laughed. “My appetite only seems to increase with age. Want a beer?” He headed toward the kitchen without waiting for a reply, buttoning his slacks as he walked.

Taeg followed him in. “Yeah, well, if you don’t mind my asking”—he pointed his thumb toward the direction of the women—“they’re—”

“Succubi,” Cresso said. He tossed him a beer. “Of course they are. I just saved your ass back there.”

Taeg fought an embarrassed flush as he pulled out a chair, taking a seat at the small kitchen table. “I would have stopped them.”

Eventually.

“Yeah. Right.” Cresso sat at the table and took a swig of his beer. “You know, I’m working on a little theory, trying to find a way for succubi and incubi to mate outside the species without killing their partners. But I’m not quite there and I’m guessing you didn’t come all the way to Earth because you wanted to fuck a succubus. So, why are you here?”

“Mammon,” Taeg said simply.

“Hmm, my old mentor?” Cresso’s nose wrinkled in evident disgust, but then, the incubus knew just how monumentally fucked up Mammon was, since he’d had the misfortune of working for him before Cresso got transferred to Earth. “What’s that bastard done now?”

“Oh, he only plans to take over all of Earth. For starters. And he’s actually found a way to do it.”

Cresso let out a disbelieving laugh. “How?”

Taeg filled Cresso in on the Book of the Dead and the events of the past several days, including Brynn and her role in the whole thing.

“Shit. This is not good, man,” Cresso said. “And he already knows that this Brynn is the heir?”

“Yes.” Taeg stared grimly at his beer. “If we don’t find the book before Mammon does, the Council will order us to kill her to stop Mammon from succeeding in his plan. And I really don’t want to do that.”

Cresso nodded in understanding. “I agree it’s no fun to have to take an innocent life.”

“Not just that.” Taeg chugged the rest of his beer, then turned to Cresso. “Keegan has feelings for her.”

Cresso winced. “Ooh. Tough break. Well, you know I’m always in for a good fight.”

Yeah, Taeg knew it. Not only was Cresso a loyal guy, but he hated Mammon almost as much as Taeg did.

“So, what do you need me to do?”

“Head to Egypt. From what we hear, Mammon has gotten quite a few demons on his side. He’s promised them a demon hierarchy once he’s taken over the world, and they’re foolish enough to believe it. See if you can talk to a few of them to find out where they’re searching for the book. I can’t do it, for obvious reasons.”

“Nor your brothers. Mammon is bound to have told his minions to be on the lookout for the four of you.” Cresso nodded his agreement. “I’ll make flight reservations to leave within the day. Unlike some of us, I can’t just disappear in one place and reappear in another.”

“Yeah, I’m just special that way,” Taeg replied, his voice deadpan.

Cresso was silent for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’ll never get over how perfectly normal you and your brothers are, given the circumstances.”

“Yeah well”—Taeg shrugged—“we don’t get to choose who we’re born to.”

Chapter Eleven

By the time their plane landed in New Orleans, Brynn was tired and on edge. Her nightmares last night, on top of everything else she’d learned in the past few days, weighed on her shoulders until she wondered how much more she could possibly take. Add to that her growing attraction to Keegan, and there was no way she could have rested on the plane. Not with him sitting right next to her, so close she could’ve reached out and licked him, had she dared.

Her body didn’t seem to care that Keegan was a demon, or that they were on the run. It didn’t care about anything other than how good he smelled and how deliciously small and safe she felt next to him. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had felt the same way. Once they’d landed, he practically dove off the plane in his haste to get out.

Then again, maybe he’d never been on a plane before.

“I can’t believe this,” Keegan muttered to Ronin, who was navigating the rented car through the crushing traffic toward their French Quarter hotel. “I tell you to find us another place to go, and you bring us here.”

“No better place to hide than among a crowd of drunken revelers. Besides, the Council keeps a hotel suite on permanent reservation in this city.”

Though Ronin’s reply was breezy, he acted as anxious and tense as she felt right then. Even though he drove confidently, his erratic weaving made Brynn suspect he’d never driven before. But more likely it was due to the tenuousness of their position. They couldn’t run from Mammon forever. Damn her ancestor and his weakness for that succubus. It was because of them that Brynn was here right now.

On the way to the hotel, Keegan explained more to Brynn about her ancestry. She’d been too overwhelmed last night to ask about it in detail, but the Council he worked for seemed to know quite a bit about the Egyptian priest who was the cause of all this mayhem.

“His name was Iyri,” Keegan said. “What you should know is that demons have been crossing over to Earth for many millennia. Humans have crossed over to Infernum, too, though few have lived to tell the tale.

“Iyri was one of the very few humans who have a natural resistance to succubi, something he discovered when he was seduced by one. As you can imagine, Sitha was pretty surprised when, instead of dying, he seemed to have a limitless supply of energy she could feed from. And he was shocked to learn the beautiful young woman who’d just seduced him was, in fact, a demon.”

“Yeah, that would put a damper on any relationship,” Brynn murmured. He threw her a dry look. Too late, she realized she’d unintentionally insulted him.

Red-faced and feeling like total shit, she opened her mouth to apologize, but before she could say a word, Keegan continued. “Being a man of magic as well as faith, Iyri used a spell to trap Sitha, to bind her to him. He spent the next several months studying her while she fed off him. However, it seems, somewhere along the line they fell in love.”

“What did they do then?” Brynn asked.

“The problem was that Sitha was on the run from the Council—a fugitive—for some past crime. The Council learned of her whereabouts and ordered that Iyri return her to them for punishment.”

“But he didn’t?”

“He loved her too much to let her go. And by that time, she was already pregnant with his child. A true rarity, the child of a demon and human.”

She fought back a blush. “So humans and demons can actually, you know, mate?”

“Yes. It happens more often than you might think. Though as I said, children from those matches are rare.”

“What about…” This time she did blush. She couldn’t help it. “I know it probably wasn’t a concern back then, but what about diseases?”

Keegan turned his intense gaze on her. There was a hint of a question in his eyes. Lord, he didn’t think she was talking about the two of them, did he? That wasn’t what she was getting at, even if her awareness of him was so acute that her heart sped up with every move of his body.

“Demons don’t carry diseases,” he finally said. “Nor can they transmit them.”

“Oh,” she replied.

“At any rate,” Keegan continued, “Iyri created the book. It contained a spell that allowed for the resurrection of the dead, in a form that was stronger than human or demon. They would be strong enough to protect Sitha from the Council. But there’s always a price to pay for strength. The dead had to feed off living flesh in order to subsist.”

Brynn shuddered. “That’s horrible. But he did it anyway?”

“Love makes people do strange things,” Keegan said. “Because he recognized the danger of this book, he crafted the spell so that only one of his bloodline could activate it. With it, he would be able to control the army of the dead.”

“God, that’s crazy. He loved her so much he went to any length to save her.”

Keegan nodded. “Even at the expense of his own world.”

“So what happened then?” she pressed.

“The Council found out about his plan and stopped him before the spell was fully completed. The dead were in the process of reanimating, but they crumbled to the ground when Iyri was killed. The Council tried to destroy the book, but Iyri had made it indestructible, so they buried it with him in a hidden, unmarked tomb. Many believe the tomb is somewhere in the Valley of the Kings, but no one knows where. Not even the current Council. The old Council members purposely didn’t keep any record of it. In fact, no one was supposed to know about it at all, but one of the men responsible for digging the grave spread the tale, and it survived to modern day.”

Brynn sighed. To be sure, her ancestor had committed an evil act, but he’d done it with only the best of intentions—for love. “What happened to Sitha?”

“They allowed her to live long enough to give birth to the child. Female offspring of succubi are born full succubi themselves, but male offspring take on most of the characteristics of their fathers. Since the child was a boy, he was given to a human family with no knowledge of his demon heritage.”

“My great-great-grandfather, many times over.”

Keegan nodded, a strand of hair dropping to cover his eyes. Right then, they blazed blue-green, but she couldn’t help but recall what they had looked like unglamoured—red, intense, and expressive. Beautiful, in an alien sort of way.

“Sitha’s gift, as well as Iyri’s magic, was passed on in various, progressively weaker incarnations,” he said. “Until you. You can drain humans of their energy and read inanimate objects, all because of Sitha and Iyri and their love for each other.”

Brynn closed her eyes for a long moment, the details of her distant past penetrating her mind. “It’s such a sad story.”

“That’s life,” he said. “Shit happens.”

As they pulled up to their hotel in the middle of the French Quarter, she couldn’t help but think about Keegan’s blunt response to the story. The events of the past few days had made it perfectly clear that he was right: shit did happen.

…

Ronin stood on the expansive balcony of their two-bedroom suite. Thankfully, it faced the street, so Brynn could see the crowds of people roaming below, even if she couldn’t partake of their revelry. She’d done nothing but pace their suite since they arrived yesterday, and he couldn’t blame her. Her life, even all of her perceptions about life, had done a one-eighty in the past few days.

Keegan was on the phone in one of the two bedrooms, debriefing with a Council liaison. Devil only knew what was going on in there.

Hurting a woman went against everything Ronin stood for. Growing up with the knowledge of what happened to his mother, he’d vowed to never abuse a woman. So far, he’d managed to hold true to that vow, even when his father’s fists had tried to sway him otherwise. But now, if the Council ordered it, he would have to stand idly by while Brynn’s life was snuffed out. Or worse, if Keegan couldn’t go forward with it, he’d have to do it himself. It was enough to drive a man to drink.

Where were Taeg and Dagan when you needed them?

As if on cue, his cell phone rang, the caller identification showing Taeg’s number. “Yeah?”

“Well, hello there, Miss Sunshine,” Taeg’s voice rang out. “You manage to keep from beating in Keegan’s face yet?”

“That’s only a concern with the two of you,” Ronin said.

“Oh, yeah.” Taeg let out a dry chuckle. “I tried Keeg’s cell, but he didn’t answer. What’s our big bro up to?”

“Council debriefing.”

“Aw, fuck a duck. That shit is so annoying. Anyway, let him know I met Dagan’s skinny ass at the airport. Cresso’s flight is due to arrive in a couple of hours. I’ll touch base again once we know more.”

“Got it.”

There was a short beat of silence before Taeg spoke again. “Hey, man, I got a hunch.”

“Not another one of your hunches,” Ronin said, rolling his eyes. “What is it?”

“Our guy Iyri was a high priest, right?”

“Right.”

“And wasn’t the priest’s ceremonial office located in Memphis?”

“From what we’ve read, yes.”

“So I’m betting that’s where he was when he was captured,” Taeg said.

“Yeah, that makes sense. You’re thinking—”

“What are the odds the Council would decide to bury him right there?”

Ronin thought about it for a minute. “Knowing the Council, pretty damn good. Shit. I bet Mammon’s got his demons searching in the wrong place.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I’ll flash over to the site of ancient Memphis while Cresso’s making the rounds locally.”

“Sounds good. In the meantime, I’ll do some research, see if I can narrow down a location for you.”

“Ten-four. Over and out,” Taeg said before hanging up.

Ronin let out a chuckle. “What a dick.”

But an amusing one.

He headed inside for his laptop, but no, it was locked in the room with Keegan. He was stuck waiting for him to finish.

Ronin paused in front of Brynn’s room. She’d been awfully quiet the last few hours. He knocked on the closed door, and then again, a bit louder. She didn’t respond.

Shit.

There was no way she could have left without him noticing. Could she?

“Brynn?” He twisted the knob and pushed open the door. His timing couldn’t have been worse.

She chose that moment to walk out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped over her head. And not a stitch of clothing elsewhere. She let out a sharp scream, snatched the towel from her head, and used it to cover herself.

“Sorry,” Ronin choked out, slapping his hands over his face. It was too late to un-see what he’d seen, though, and the image of that would stick with him. Her curves were subtle, but they were most definitely there. If Keegan found out, he’d be a dead man.

“What do you want?” Brynn gasped.

His cheeks grew warm, and he opened his mouth to reply, but the hot air that blew along the back of his neck choked off his response.

Oh, shit.

Keegan’s voice growled behind him, sounding more animal than man. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Chapter Twelve

Keegan speared Ronin with his glare, waiting for him to respond.

“Nothing,” Ronin said, though it was obvious that wasn’t true. “Nothing’s going on.”

He tried to calm the unreasonable bloodlust that rose within him at the thought of his brother seeing Brynn naked. Clearly, that had been a mistake; Ronin’s crimson face betrayed his embarrassment. Still, the beast within him wanted to fall on his brother in a mass of snarling fury.

“Why didn’t you knock?” Brynn asked Ronin irritably.

“Sorry.” Ronin opened one eye, and once he was sure she was fully covered, the other. He glanced at Keegan, and Keegan knew Ronin’s words were mostly for his benefit. “I did knock. Twice. I got a little worried when you didn’t respond. Guess you didn’t hear me.”

“Oh,” Brynn said in a soft, embarrassed voice. “What’s going on?”

Keegan stopped glaring at Ronin long enough to look at her, but then he wished he hadn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about what was underneath that towel. “Nothing new.”

“You spoke to the Council?” Ronin asked.

“You did?” she asked eagerly. “What did they say?”

“Nothing new,” he said. Which was true. They hadn’t made any headway in locating the whereabouts of the book.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, her face falling into a little frown.

“Listen,” Ronin said to Keegan, “I heard from Taeg. He’s got a hunch on something.”

Thank the devil. Keegan honestly didn’t know how much longer he could stand just a few feet away from a barely clad Brynn. Knowing she was one tug from being naked drove him insane.

“Wait,” she cried, as Ronin started closing the door. “I want to hear this, too.”

“It, um, doesn’t really have much to do with you,” Ronin said.

She bristled at those words. “Doesn’t everything about this mess have to do with me?”

Ronin gave him a questioning frown, and Keegan shrugged. As long as what his brother had to say didn’t have anything to do with the Council’s possible death order, what did he care if she listened in? As long as she was fully clothed.

“Get dressed, then meet us in the parlor,” Keegan said. Fighting the urge to indulge in another once-over of her body, he turned and left.

Ronin followed him. “So, really? Nothing new from the Council?”

Keegan was beyond frustrated. “They’ve got their scholars searching their records, but there aren’t any clues on the tomb’s location. Mammon’s already placed a team there, under the guise of being a wealthy investor funding a major archaeological dig, and they don’t want to red-flag human leaders to a potential problem.”

Ronin sighed. “Bureaucratic bullshit.”

“Never ends,” Keegan agreed. “By the way, stay the fuck out of Brynn’s room. Got it?”

His little brother broke out in a fierce blush. “Yeah, got it.”

He seemed appropriately embarrassed, so Keegan moved on. “What’s Taeg’s theory?”

“Oh, get this,” he said, excitement spreading across his face. “What if everyone’s searching for the book in the wrong place?”

“What do you mean?”

Ronin relayed the conversation he’d had with Taeg.

“No shit.” Keegan had to admit that something about his brother’s hunch seemed dead-on. If a high priest was going to make a power play against a mighty council of otherworldly beings, wouldn’t he want to do it from his ceremonial headquarters?

Brynn’s voice sounded behind him. “What is it?”

Keegan watched her stride into the parlor, a curious expression on her face. “Taeg thinks we might be searching for the book in the wrong place. There’s a good chance the tomb it’s buried in is located in Memphis.”

“Memphis?” she echoed, lifting a brow in obvious disbelief.

“The ancient Egyptian city of Memphis,” Ronin clarified.

A pink flush brightened her cheeks. “Oh, that one.”

“If we could only find out exactly where he was when he was captured…” Ronin trailed off, his mind apparently already occupied by thoughts of the ancient city. “I’m going to go do some research.”

He left the parlor.

Keegan was struck by the uncomfortable realization that this was the first time they’d been alone since he’d almost kissed her. How foolish he’d been.

Worse, he still wanted to kiss her. Very much.

Seeking to break the tension, he walked to the window and glanced out of it. Crowds of revelers swarmed the streets. It would be so easy to get lost in a crowd this size. So very easy. What would it be like, to forget about all of this turmoil for a while and just enjoy life? To allow Brynn to experience at least the illusion of freedom?

He surprised himself by turning back to Brynn. “Want to go out for a bit?”

“Really? I mean, yeah, I’d love to.” She hesitated. “I hate to ask, because I really, really would like to go, but is it safe?”

“Should be safe enough in the crowd of people. The odds of Mammon finding us here are slim. It’s not as if he has a GPS tracker on you. Your apartment and your gallery, on the other hand, won’t be safe to return to until this mess is figured out.”

“My gallery.” Her face took on a pained expression that disappeared so swiftly he thought he might have imagined it. She grabbed her long black coat and followed him to the door. “Why do I need to stay inside at all, if Mammon can’t track me?”

“I said the odds are slim. Not impossible. He’s got demons working for him everywhere. Given the consequences if he does find you, I’d say it’s better to err on the side of caution.”

Brynn appeared lost in thought as they hopped in the elevator and he pressed the button for the opulent lobby. When she turned to him, a vulnerable look haunted her gaze. “Are you going to be able to find him, Keegan? Do you think you’ll be able to stop him?”

The quiver in her voice just about killed him. Hoping to reassure her, he lifted his hand to caress her cheek. “Yes, Brynn, I do.”

Something hot and heavy blazed in her eyes, something that made it impossible to look away. His breath caught.

The elevator opened and three interested pairs of eyes peered at them. For the first time he realized they’d edged closer together, until they stood mere inches apart. Clearing his throat, he hastily broke away.

Brynn hugged her coat to her as they stepped into the frigid cold. The smell of stale beer and piss stained the air around them. Drunken revelers wearing masks and beads careened past them, laughing riotously as they zoomed down the street carrying beer cups.

“I didn’t realize it was Mardi Gras until we got here,” she said.

“Mardi Gras?” He frowned, unfamiliar with the phrase. “What’s that?”

With an exasperated shake of her head, she said, “How is it that you seem so normal, yet you know nothing about popular culture?”

“We learn as much as we can before visiting other worlds, but our timelines are usually pretty short.”

“Sometimes you amaze me.”

She explained the history behind the celebration while he watched the throngs of people walking past, some barely dressed.

“I’m afraid some of these people are going to freeze to death,” he told her.

Brynn followed his gaze to a thin woman wearing nothing more than a mask, pasties, a thong, and what looked like her weight in beads. She laughed. “Most of them have probably had so much liquor they barely even notice.”

Surely, a dangerous state for beings as fragile as humans. He saw something ahead and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

Fighting to pull her through the crowd, he led her to a booth where a man sold masks and beads. Keegan picked an elaborate purple and gold full-face mask with feathers on one side. “This one suits you.”

“It’s pretty.” She put it on and he moved behind her to tie the strings in the back. “If I’m wearing one, you need one, too.”

Keegan shrugged, then chose a black and gold jester mask that he figured was masculine enough. He squatted, waiting impatiently while Brynn tied it behind his head. Her intoxicating scent closed in on him, overwhelming even the foul stench of the streets.

Too close. She stood far too close for comfort.

As soon as she finished tying the knot, he pulled away and turned to face her.

“That looks great on you,” she said.

Laughing, he paid the man at the booth. He led her away from the huge, swaying mass of people on one end of the street. When they approached another crowd pocket, he grabbed her hand, and this time he didn’t let go. He told himself it made sense, given the amount of people on the street. But he didn’t try to fool himself—touching her felt good. Her cool hand warmed in his, and he envisioned what it would feel like for her soft fingers to caress other parts of his body.

Cursing inwardly, he forced himself to think about something else. He scanned the crowd, searching for any signs of danger, but found nothing. “Maybe Ronin was right about hiding out here.”

Her glance was curious. “Why do you say that?”

“The crowd—not to mention the masks—should provide more than enough safety.”

“Ooh, does that mean I actually get to leave the hotel room?”

Keegan laughed at her eager tone, squeezing her hand. “As long as one of us accompanies you, I don’t see why not.”

They walked for several long minutes, taking in the craziness around them, before he paused in front of a restaurant with only a small line of people waiting to eat.

“Do you like French cuisine?” he asked her.

“Love it.” She practically skipped to the end of the line.

Later, when they’d sat at a private booth and ordered their food, she asked, “So do you need to eat, just like huma—you know, just like we do?”

“Not quite the same. Our foods are similar, but I could get by eating once a month if I had to.”

“Weird.” Brynn blinked. “How about liquids?”

“Same.” She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he decided to beat her to it. “Do you find it difficult to restrain your natural abilities in crowds like this?”

“Huh. I never thought about it.” Her gaze tilted upward while she mulled over his question. “No, I suppose not. My powers are hidden, waiting to be called out. But for the most part, I control them, and not the other way around. I can use these, for example, without too much trouble.” She lifted the fork set on the table in front of her. “What about you, with your powers?”

“Same.”

Brynn studied him carefully. “What is it that you can do, anyway? You never told me.”

Damn. He hadn’t considered his question might lead to this. He tapped his fingers on the table as he considered how best to answer. “It’s my blood that has the ability to heal, and it happens quickly.”

“Can it heal just you, or others, as well?”

“It can heal others, too.”

“Impressive. So how does that work? People don’t have to drink it or anything, do they?”

“The blood is simply placed on the wound and it heals. Works on bruises, too.”

“Bruises? Oh, so that’s why I didn’t have a sore jaw when I woke up in your apartment?”

He winced. Now that he knew her, the memory of striking her filled him with shame. Wordlessly, he nodded.

“Huh.” Her face took on a considering expression. “Okay, what else can you do?”

Keegan shrugged and shifted in his seat. He briefly considered not answering at all, but knowing her, she would keep asking. “Demons are generally stronger and faster than humans, which is why we can be such a danger to them.”

“Yeah, but why come here, anyway? I mean, why not stay in Infernum? Is it that bad?”

She had no idea.

“It’s not exactly welcoming. It’s barren and primitive in many ways. Desolate, like your deserts, and always dark, but constantly hot, even at night.”

“And you work there as a…Detainor?”

Keegan nodded. “I hunt down treaty violators from Infernum who flee the Council.”

“How did you get the job of capturing Mammon on Earth?”

He couldn’t very well tell her the truth. At least not all of it. But she deserved to know something—it was her life that was in danger—so he settled for bits and pieces. “Mammon is a special case. He was a well-respected scientist back in Infernum, and he had a position as a high-level adviser to the Council.”

Brynn blinked at that. “A…a demon scientist?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “Why so surprised? Our world studies science, like yours.”

“I don’t know. I guess I assumed from your description that it isn’t very advanced.”

“As it happens, Mammon is a brilliant demon. The Council used to send him on missions to other worlds, to catalog the different species and study their biology.”

“You’ve said worlds several times. Just how many are there?”

“Dozens. Thousands. Who knows for sure, other than at the highest level of the Council?”

“Thousands?” She gaped at him, wide-eyed. “You’ve totally blown my mind.”

“It’s a large multiverse, Brynn.”

“Why does the Council want to catalog species?”

“It’s made up of males and females from a variety of worlds, and I suspect its members don’t trust one another. That’s why someone from Infernum was sent to catalog humans, whereas someone from Earth might have been sent to Infernum to catalog demons and angels. We—”

“Hold on, hold on.” Brynn lifted both hands. “Did you just say angels?”

“Again, not quite the same as what you humans have imagined. They are a species of beings who can fly. They fancy themselves the royalty of Infernum, living in castles built into the sky, far from the mayhem located on the ground.”

“Why call them that, then? Why angels and demons?”

“More than likely, human perceptions of angels and demons have been borrowed from prior interactions with both species, stretched and twisted over time, idealized into notions of good and evil.”

He reached across the table and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. Even though he knew better, he couldn’t help but want to comfort her. “I know this is difficult for you. I’m impressed with how you’ve been handling things.”

“Yeah, that’s me”—Brynn gave him a trembling smile—“totally unflappable.”

He chuckled, letting go of her hand when the waitress arrived with their food.

“So,” she said once the waitress had left, “the Council members didn’t know Mammon was dangerous?”

“Oh, they knew he was capable of evil.” They knew it all too well. “But to them, evil is relative. As long as he did his job—and did it well—they overlooked some of the less savory things he did.”

“Which were?”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Hopefully she’d get the hint and drop it. He didn’t want to go into this. Not now. Not ever.

“What?” she insisted. “I want to know.”

Of course she would. And she deserved to, never mind how much he didn’t want to speak of it. “He had a weakness for kidnapping females in the worlds he visited and raping them.”

She gasped. “And the Council knew about this?”

“Yes.”

“And they did nothing to stop him?”

He couldn’t mask the bitterness in his tone. “As I said, to the Council, evil is relative.”

“Unbelievable,” Brynn muttered, fury written all over her face. “How can you stand working for people like that?”

“Things aren’t always as black and white as they seem. There is one good thing that’s come of all this, though—once the Council learned of Mammon’s latest scheme, they couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. This time, they had to act.”

“So you and your brothers were sent here to stop him.”

“Exactly.”

When she opened her mouth to speak again, he motioned to their food. “Let’s eat.”

Sighing, she nodded. They ate the rest of their lunch in companionable silence, and then started back toward their hotel with their masks back in place.

A few blocks from the hotel, Brynn asked, “What are your lives like at home?”

What could he say to that? It was dangerous, but she wouldn’t want to hear that. And unfulfilling. “Me and my brothers mostly work, and we’re lucky to have jobs. There isn’t much in the way of occupation in Infernum.”

“Really? What does everyone do, then?”

He snorted. “Every demon’s occupation is to avoid getting killed, and for many of them, to find a way off the damn world.”

“So, you don’t have anyone waiting for you back at home? A wife? Children?”

Now her questions were becoming too personal for his comfort. “No.”

Brynn quickly averted her eyes. “Oh.”

They entered the lobby, and he followed her into the elevator, taking off his mask. She did the same. When her gaze didn’t meet his eyes, he realized she was embarrassed.

Shit. He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad about questioning him. It wasn’t like she’d known she was going to hit on a sore subject.

“I would like to have a family,” he grudgingly admitted. “But my world is too dangerous.”

She met his gaze, not bothering to hide her surprise. “Have you ever thought about leaving?”

Had he ever thought about it? Sometimes it was all he thought about.

“I’ve requested clearance, but it’s been continuously denied. One of the hazards of being a productive citizen of my world, I suppose. Those who don’t benefit Infernum are generally the only ones granted visits to the other worlds, since so many of them fail to return.”

“But then don’t you have to track them down?”

His lips twisted into a brief smile. “Only the dangerous ones.”

She didn’t seem to notice when they got to their floor, not until the elevator door began to close and he stuck his hand out to stop it. He held it open for her, trying in vain to ignore the way the perfume of her essence wrapped around him. But when her arm brushed against his chest while she exited the elevator, he couldn’t ignore how his skin heated and his heart thumped.

This woman was dangerous, and not just to the world.

Alarmingly out of control, he edged in front of her and walked toward their suite, his legs not moving fast enough. Ronin would provide just the buffer he needed. And now. By the time Brynn caught up with him, he’d already reached the door and retrieved the key card from his pocket.

She closed her fingers around his arm. “Keegan, did I say something wrong?”

Damn it. She’d touched him. He glared at the hand that rested on his arm, then slowly brought his gaze up to her face. Something in his eyes must have frightened her, because she inhaled, her pupils large and unfocused. The air around them changed, grew heavier. Blood rushed into his ears with a low, roaring sound, overpowering all his other senses.

“Keegan?” Her voice came out breathy as she tilted her head in question.

Fuck it. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed to know what she tasted like. Just once.

He grasped her hand, pulled her forward so that her back hit the door to their suite, until she fully faced him. Even over her heavy coat, he felt the rapid beat of her heart, like a frightened rabbit. Moving slowly enough to give her a chance to turn away, he bent his head toward hers.

Her lips curved into a smile, clearly welcoming him. He groaned and crushed her to him, claimed her mouth in a kiss that was hauntingly familiar, while at the same time completely new.

She moaned, flicking her tongue against his lips as she molded her body to his.

Devil, but she was intoxicating. She tasted of the most exotic essence of fruit, as if she were meant to be devoured. Right now, that was all he wanted to do—peel the layers of clothes off her body and taste every delicious inch of her bare flesh. He would wrap her legs around his waist, sink into her warm flesh, and pound away inside her until he took them both into oblivion.

No. He couldn’t do this. It was wrong, like the worst sort of betrayal to her and to his brothers. To the damned Council, even.

Aw, hell.

Brynn whimpered in protest as he broke away. Muttering an oath, he hit his fist against the wall, leaving a dent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“We can’t.” He turned around to face her. “No, we can’t do this.”

“I don’t understand.” Her face, still softened with desire, took on a pleading expression. “So what if things become more complicated? They already are more complicated.”

She was right. She didn’t understand, didn’t know what was at stake here. And he would never tell her. Damn Mammon. Damn the Council for putting him in this position.

There was only one way to push her away: lie to her.

He shook his head, letting out a bitter laugh. “You don’t understand. I’ve already got enough problems having to babysit you all over the fucking place. You think this is fun for me?”

She stared at him, stunned. “I thought—”

“Yeah, you thought,” he bit out. “For one second, maybe you should think about something besides yourself. I’ve got enough to deal with right now. I don’t need any more complications.”

Her eyes went round as saucers. “But…”

Stomping forward, he swiped the key card across the lock, then pushed the door open. “Get inside.”

She obeyed, turning to look back at him. The confused, hurt expression on her face almost destroyed him. “Keegan, I—”

Without another word, he yanked the door shut.

…

Brynn stared at the door for several long minutes, blinking back the frustrated moisture that threatened to leak out of her eyes. What was that all about? He was the one who’d pulled her in for a kiss. Then he’d broken away all offended, like she’d stolen it from him or something. Was he out of his mind?

She stalked into the parlor, throwing the mask to the floor.

Where did he get off treating her like that? It wasn’t like she’d begged him to kiss her. He’d been just as willing a participant as she was in the whole thing. She didn’t understand him at all.

She moved out to the balcony and looked below to where crowds of people still milled about, many of them probably headed toward the next parade or to one of the numerous novelty shops. Her body was a mass of quivering nerves, fury blending with the remnants of sexual desire. What a mess her life had become.

Random spots of color caught her eye as she looked down into the crowd. All the chaos down there was beautiful, in its own strange way. Her fingers itched with the sudden urge to paint. But she hadn’t packed any art supplies when she’d been at her apartment. The demons had attacked before she could decide what to bring, and afterward…well, she hadn’t thought much of anything other than the monsters lying in her living room.

She could really use her paints now. It was the one thing she could always count on to calm her down. Biting her lip, Brynn glanced back inside the suite. Keegan had stormed off somewhere to do God knows what, and Ronin was apparently still holed away in his room researching. Her gaze moved down to the mask lying on the floor. She wouldn’t foolishly put herself in a dangerous position just because she was angry, but Keegan had said they should be safe enough on the streets wearing their masks.

She’d find some supplies, maybe even be back before they noticed she was missing…

He would kill her if he found out. But right now, she didn’t care. Taking a deep breath, she went inside and grabbed the mask, then snatched a spare key card and some money from the coffee table. After a quick peek outside the door to make sure Keegan wasn’t still there, she put on her mask and left.

Chapter Thirteen

“You’re such a dick, Keegan.”

He’d been called a great many names in his life, but none as bad as what he was calling himself right now. He leaned against the side of the hotel building. What a tool he was. He’d been a total ass to Brynn. And what had she done, other than allow him to kiss her?

“Fucking douchebag,” he muttered.

The guy in front of him heard, and must have thought Keegan was talking to him because he whirled around, an indignant look on his face. From the way he stumbled and almost fell, it was obvious he’d drank way too much. But not enough that he didn’t see the deadly glimmer in Keegan’s eye and backed down.

“Sorry,” the guy mumbled before rushing away.

How could he treat Brynn like that, all because of his own attraction to her? Because of his own weakness? When she had touched his arm, questions written all over her face, he’d been unable to stop himself. He’d had to kiss her, and damn the consequences.

It was all his fault.

He banged his head against the building. If he was going to blame others for his own shortcomings, he was no better than his father.

He refused to be like him. Would never be like that.

Keegan pushed away from the wall and strode back into the lobby. He rode the elevator, wondering how he would apologize to her. He’d be lucky if he could spit the words out without her taking a swing at his head. And if she did, he wouldn’t blame her. In fact, he’d probably let her.

He entered their suite and walked to Brynn’s door, rapping lightly. “Brynn?”

When there was no answer, he knocked again, repeating her name.

Again, no answer.

He hovered at the door, uncertain if he should open it. What if he caught her in a state of undress the way Ronin had earlier? He didn’t want to intrude on her privacy. But at the same time, he had to make sure she was okay and tell her he was sorry.

Keegan slowly swung the door open and poked his head inside. “Brynn?”

Her bathroom door was wide open, and the light off. He went inside and peeked around. Anxiety gripped him when he realized she wasn’t there. After jogging to his and Ronin’s room, he opened the door. His brother sat at the small desk, tapping away at his laptop.

Ronin didn’t bother looking up. “What’s up?”

“Where’s Brynn?”

“What?” Ronin jerked his head up. “I thought she was with you.”

“Oh, shit.” He turned and ran to the parlor, then the balcony.

Ronin followed, not far behind. “I don’t understand. You two went out a few hours ago.”

He turned to face his brother and admitted his failure. “I dropped her off here and left about half an hour ago.”

“Without telling me?” Ronin grabbed the collar of Keegan’s jacket. “What is wrong with you?”

“Fuck off.” Keegan pushed him away.

Ronin staggered backward but came at him again, shoving him against the wall. Keegan fought back, snarling, before his brother tore away from him. “Stop. Let’s stop. This isn’t helping anything.”

Keegan’s chest heaved as the bloodlust dissipated. Ronin was right. Each moment they stood here fighting each other like dumb assholes was another moment when Brynn could be getting farther away.

“Could she have been taken?”

Ronin thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “No. At least, not here. I would have known.”

“Okay. So she’s out there somewhere. We’ll go look for her. She’s probably wearing a mask,” he said, and described it.

“Got it. Do you think she’s in the hotel somewhere, or could she have left the building?”

The most dangerous thing for her to do would have been to leave the building. Somehow, Keegan had a feeling that was exactly what she’d done. “Let’s look outside.”

They raced downstairs, neither of them bothering to mention the obvious fact that finding her among this crowd would be nearly impossible. He wasn’t going to think about it. They had to find her, for their sakes. For her sake.

When they reached the outside, Keegan motioned to the right. “You go that way. I’ll head over here.”

“Done.” Ronin rushed off.

Keegan raced down the street, searching every alley and corner along the way. He found a few women wearing Brynn’s mask, and when he’d ripped them away, one screamed, another stared at him dumbfounded, and two giggled and tried to kiss him. An hour later, evening neared, and he’d had no luck finding her.

With a heavy heart, Keegan walked back toward the hotel. What was he going to do? What if she’d been taken? It would mean disastrous things, not only for the world but for Brynn.

He was two blocks away when he saw a woman up ahead, moving in the same direction as he. She carried a shopping bag in her hand, a mask tied around her head, and her clothes and hair matched Brynn’s. He raced to her and whirled her around.

She jumped, a fearful look in her eyes, until she recognized him. “Keegan,” she breathed, looking relieved.

Damn, he thought he’d lost her. He’d thought…

He hugged her to him, burying her head in his chest.

“Argh, you’re suffocating me,” Brynn choked out.

“Sorry.” He pulled away, closing his eyes for a moment. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m sorry. I just—”

Relief suddenly gave way to fury. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I—”

“Do you know how dangerous this was?”

A passerby saw them and stopped. “Ma’am, are you okay? Do you need help?”

“Fuck off,” he said, shooting the man an icy glare.

The man appeared frightened, but he stood his ground. “Ma’am?”

Brynn turned to give him a shaky nod. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” The man shrugged and stalked off.

“Come on.” Keegan took her arm and half dragged her toward the hotel. Standing inside the elevator, he punched the button for their floor, taking deep, full breaths to calm his rage.

“I… I’m sorry,” she said.

“Take off that fucking mask.”

Fingers trembling, she obeyed.

When the elevator opened on their floor, he led her to their suite and ushered her inside. “Go to your room. I have to call Ronin and let him know I found you.”

Keegan was half surprised when she didn’t argue or bristle at his tone, just walked into her room and closed the door. He took out his cell phone and called his brother. A low beep came from the room he shared with Ronin. Following the sound, he found his brother’s cell phone lying next to his laptop.

“Shit,” Keegan said, hanging up the phone. Ronin must have forgotten all about it in their haste to find Brynn.

He gave himself a few minutes to calm down before he went to Brynn’s room and opened the door without knocking. She sat on the bed, her coat thrown haphazardly to the floor in front of her.

He couldn’t hide the note of accusation in his voice. “Don’t you realize what could have happened if Mammon’s minions had found you?”

Fire burned in her eyes. Her voice quivered. “I was upset, and I needed to paint. It’s the only thing that calms me. So I went to get some supplies.”

She motioned toward her shopping bag.

Keegan sighed and closed his eyes, racked with guilt. He was such an ass. He’d never bothered to ask her if she needed anything to help her relax—hadn’t even thought about it.

“Why did you act like that earlier?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, ruthlessly tossing those guilty feelings aside. No matter how shitty he’d behaved, she shouldn’t have left the room. She should have known better. And he should have known better than to leave like that. “You are not to leave this hotel without Ronin or me, understood?”

“Listen,” she said, standing. She walked toward him, stopping just a few feet away. “I know you’re trying to protect me and all, but you need to chill. You said it was safe enough out there.”

Protect her? That was a laugh. Little did she know, she wasn’t his ward. She was his prisoner.

“Even if there weren’t demons out looking for you,” he said, “the streets are filled with drunk, crazy assholes.”

“I had my mask on, for God’s sake. Besides, have you forgotten what I can do to humans? In fact, one drunken idiot did try to feel me up, and all I had to do was touch him with one finger and he fell to the ground.”

His hands clenched into involuntary fists. “Someone tried to touch you?”

“And I protected myself,” Brynn said. “Like I’ve done all of my life.”

His fury built to a crescendo. But not at her, at the nameless guy who’d tried to grab her. He wanted to head downstairs so he could find the man, but it wasn’t like he knew who it was—he’d have to kill every guy on the street.

“Brynn, you are not to go out alone.”

She stared at him, chest heaving as her gaze shimmered with unspoken fury.

“Why did you act that way earlier?” she asked.

He refused to back down, and he wouldn’t give her what she wanted, wouldn’t bare his soul. She was the one who would answer to him. That was the way it had to be.

Keegan ground his teeth together as he pushed off the wall and walked to her, knowing full well that his height would intimidate her. But he used it anyway. She had to understand that she couldn’t just waltz out of here whenever the mood struck her. “You stay in the suite. Do. You. Understand?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

She hurled her fist toward his face. At the last moment, he caught it and swung her around, her back knocking against the wall. He stood in front of her in an instant, imprisoning her with his body. Taking her wrists in his hands, he pinned them above her head.

This time he didn’t feel so guilty about the fear in her eyes. Not when they unmistakably intertwined with excitement.

“Don’t push me,” he warned, his face inches from hers.

She gulped, and after a moment, her eyes hardened with challenge. “I’ll do whatever I pleas—”

Before she could finish, he captured her lips in a punishing kiss, thrusting his tongue inside her sweet-as-honey mouth, swallowing her gasp as he kissed the air right out of her lungs. She moaned, and his already hard cock twitched. Keeping her arms restrained, his tongue moving with hers, he poured all of his emotions into that one kiss.

Something rammed into his groin.

“Son of a bitch!” He broke away, dropping both hands to protect the sensitive spot. Brynn stayed plastered to the wall, her chest heaving. He looked at her in disbelief. “You…kneed me.”

“It’s no more than you deserved.” Her eyes blazed as she glared at him. “What did you expect? First you kiss me, then you insult me, and then you jump me all over again. And you think I’m going to take it without any argument? What is your malfunction?”

“I…” Straightening, he backed up a few inches when she poked her finger in his chest.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? Am I really just an inconvenience to you?”

“No.” What a vision she made. Anger flushed her cheeks and darkened her normally calm green eyes to the color of the sea during a raging storm. He didn’t know whether to be wary or turned on, but right now he was a little of both. “You aren’t an inconvenience.”

“Then what?” she persisted, her brow crinkling. “Why did you push me away?”

“Because…”

“Finish it. Why?”

“Because I shouldn’t want you, that’s why,” he admitted, unable to stop himself from saying the words, despite the fact that he fucking knew better. “But I can’t help it. I do.”

Her eyes narrowed in on him and he drew back, raking a hand through his hair as he pondered where they would go from here. From the way she stared at him, he half expected her to try and punch him again. No doubt he deserved it.

“Oh, Keegan…” she said instead, her voice soft and somber.

“I—”

Before he could say anything further, she jumped him, expertly closing her mouth over his. He stumbled backward a few steps at her unexpected weight before wrapping his arms around her and returning her kiss. Knowing the whole time it was wrong, but unable to stop.

She lifted first one leg, then the other, to wrap around his hips. Her movement brought his cock right in line with her core, and he rubbed up against her. Even then, it wasn’t enough. He needed her closer, until he was inside of her. He wanted it with a burning intensity that overwhelmed all sense of reason.

“I told you not to push me,” he reminded her hoarsely, breaking away.

Her luscious lips curved into a wicked smile. “But I want to push you.”

That much was clear. With a muttered curse, he stumbled a few steps to the low dresser and sat her on top of it. Her new position aligned her perfectly to his body, as if she were tailor-made for him.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Bending down, he claimed her lips in another deep, searing kiss.

…

Brynn was on fire. Keegan’s tongue thrust against hers, matching the pulsing rhythm of his arousal rubbing between her thighs. It was almost too much. She arched her back as her hands traveled under the light fabric of his shirt. She tugged his jacket off and tossed it to the side, gasping when he did the same to her sweater.

He gazed at her black, lacy bra for a long moment before groaning and cupping each of her breasts with his hands. Then, with a simple flick of his hand, the bra came off and fell on the floor alongside her sweater.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he said, stroking his thumbs along her nipples. “Just as I’d dreamed.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You dreamed about me?”

He chuckled, obviously amused, as he lowered his head to take one breast into his mouth. She arched with a low cry, pressing his head to her body. Then he moved to lavish the same attention on the other, tugging and rolling his tongue across the nipple.

She needed to feel him—not just the corded muscles of his back, which even now rippled under her touch, but his length pressing so determinedly against the front of his jeans. Keegan let out a harsh groan as she unbuttoned his fly. The hardened heat of his arousal felt like steel against the fabric of his jeans. What would he feel like under her fingertips?

Nothing would stop her from finding out.

“Brynn,” he gasped.

She unzipped his jeans, then took his silky length into her hands. He was big and hard and oh-so-hot against her palms. Closing a fist around him, she slid her palm up, then down, reveling in the feel of his flesh. He tore his mouth from her breasts and buried his face in her neck, breathing in ragged bursts of air. “That feels so good.”

He rewarded her with another kiss, keeping time with the shaky movements of her hand. But he broke away with a husky laugh and gazed down at her, an almost sad expression crossing his face. “If there were a Hell, I’d be going to it for sure.”

Gently, he tugged her hands away from his arousal, and in response, she made a mewling protest that she could hardly believe came from her. She whimpered when he licked her belly button, and at the same time, his deft fingers unbuttoned her jeans and tugged off her boots. Faster than she could blink, he’d slipped her jeans down and off her.

“Wow, you’re fast.”

He chuckled, his breath caressing the bare skin of her belly. “Sometimes you have to live in the moment.”

Her giggle turned into a soft cry as he knelt down and tore off her lacy underwear, just as easily as he’d done in her dreams. Tossing her legs over his shoulders, he cupped her ass and lifted her off the dresser. His tongue found her slick core and unceremoniously dipped inside.

“Oh, God!” Her shaky arms supported her body while he pleasured her with his mouth and tongue. In seconds, her whole body shook uncontrollably as she panted, on the verge of orgasm. “Please…don’t stop.”

She moaned her disappointment when he broke away and rose. She was almost there. But then he kissed her, slow and erotic, and soon she was squirming once more.

He looked at her with marked satisfaction. “Just as I’d thought.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You do taste like strawberries and cream.” His lips found hers as he thrust a finger inside her wet core. She struggled for breath, pushing her hips upward. He withdrew it, then held her hips down with one hand. The other hand moved between her legs. Before she could brace herself, he’d thrust two thick, long fingers all the way inside. She cried out, arching her back. Her body convulsed in a mind-shattering orgasm that only increased in intensity as he continued to move his fingers in and out. He didn’t stop until the last of her spasms had died away.

“Brynn…” he groaned against her lips.

Pulling away, she dropped her gaze to where his erection jutted out of his half-undone jeans. She circled her hand around it. “Please. I need you.”

“I need you, too. More than you know.”

Crushing her into his arms, he breathed into her neck for a long moment before lifting her off the dresser and carrying her to the bed.

A loud knock cracked through the air a split second before they reached the bed. Ronin’s voice was barely audible through the wooden door of the suite. “Keeg, are you in there? I forgot my cell phone. My key. Fuck. Keegan?”

The door rattled again, sounding perilously on the verge of being broken in.

Keegan cursed. Dropping her on the bed, he broke away hastily, his expression equal parts lust, guilt, and regret.

Feeling uncertain, Brynn watched in silence as he quickly zipped himself back up.

“Keegan?” she whispered.

“Get dressed,” was all he said, before turning and striding out of the room.

The door rattled after he closed it, like he was doing something to it.

She found her clothes and pulled them on. When she stood in front of the door, Keegan’s and Ronin’s muffled voices filtered through the wood, though they were too low for her to pick up any actual words. Holding her breath, she carefully turned the knob. It stuck. Stifling a curse, she tried to pull it open, but nothing.

That asshole! Somehow he’d jammed the lock as he’d left. Once again, she was imprisoned.

Brynn willed herself to calm down as she slid to the floor, her back against the door.

It’s okay. It’s for your own protection. You’re not a prisoner.

The problem was, she wasn’t so sure she believed it anymore.

Chapter Fourteen

He couldn’t sleep.

Ronin finally gave up trying and rose off the bed, staring across the room to where his big brother lay on the second double bed. He had a funny feeling Keegan couldn’t sleep, either, but was pretending otherwise.

“Keeg?” he said, testing his theory.

His brother’s chest continued to rise and fall evenly. Not even a twitch.

Yeah, he was definitely faking it. That fucker.

He needed a drink.

Ronin padded out to the parlor. After filling a glass to the brim with straight whiskey, he opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside. Even now, crowds of half-naked drunk people stumbled throughout the streets.

“Idiots.” He chuckled. Damn, how he envied them. No cares in the world. No idea just how precarious the fate of their world was right now. They were so blissfully ignorant.

Not once had he ever had that luxury.

Ronin took a big gulp of his whiskey, feeling it burn down his throat and wishing it would drown his worries. But he knew it wouldn’t. He knew what Keegan and Brynn had been up to earlier. Was his brother stupid enough to think he’d buy the line of bullshit he’d tried to feed him about how he was “talking” to Brynn? Yeah, right. Talking. That he’d even tried to get him to believe that spoke to Keegan’s desperation.

Keegan was in immediate danger of going over the edge, if he hadn’t done so already. And Ronin couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him. Worse was the realization that if Brynn wasn’t the heir, he wouldn’t want to stop him. Keegan deserved some happiness in his life. Too bad the woman who seemed most likely to give it to him was the one woman they might have to destroy. And if Keegan somehow lost his mind and tried to challenge the Council, they would kill him.

Why can’t life ever be easy?

Now he had to decide whether or not to report what had happened to Taeg. If Taeg knew, he’d probably flash over and terminate Brynn himself. Not because he was an asshole—which admittedly, he was—but because he loved Keegan too damn much to let him risk his own life.

…

Brynn was back inside her New York apartment. Some distant part of her brain recognized this wasn’t possible. She was dreaming. It felt real, though.

A breeze blew in through the open window, fluttering her sheer curtain so that it resembled a butterfly taking flight on gossamer wings. She pulled the curtain all the way to the side. Instead of her familiar nighttime street view, she saw a never-ending backdrop of desert. Nothing but desert.

“Egypt.”

“Is that what you see?” said a gravelly voice.

Brynn’s heart pummeled her ribcage. She forced herself to swallow hard before glancing behind her. It was Keegan’s father. Again. He stood beside the door to her room, an intrigued expression on his deceptively benign face. She recalled her earlier dream of the woman in the cave and fury rose within her, followed in equal parts by fear. This man was the personification of evil…and for some reason she couldn’t explain, the image of him haunted her sleep.

“Get out of my dream.” She turned back to the desert scene, making sure her dismissal of him was clear. Instead of obeying, he stood next to her and surveyed the view, the fabric of his slacks sliding against her nightgown. She stifled a shudder of disgust, reminding herself that it was only a dream. She could make herself wake up whenever she wanted. Couldn’t she?

At least this time, they were both fully clothed.

“What part of Egypt is this?” he asked in a casual tone.

Answering him seemed idiotic, considering he was part of her imagination, but somehow she felt compelled to. Maybe if she engaged him, whatever dark recess of her mind had conjured him up would be appeased. “I’ve never been to Egypt before, so I can only guess it’s Memphis.”

Keegan’s father stilled. “Memphis?”

Brynn shrugged. “I imagine. Since I heard the name, it’s been rooting around in my subconscious.”

“Indeed.”

Brynn surveyed him closely, studying the similarities and the differences he had with Keegan. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing, I imagine.” He gave her an oily smirk. “Rooting around in your subconscious.”

That made sense. She still hadn’t processed the whole deal in her mind. Keegan’s memories had shown her just how evil his father was. How had such a heinous demon, an abuser and a rapist, managed to create four decent sons? Mind-boggling.

He surveyed her room. “No Keegan here tonight, I see.”

She’d noticed that, too. “No. Not tonight.”

“Hmm…I would have thought you’d be dreaming of where you are right now.”

“The hotel?” she scoffed. “No, no unresolved feelings about that.”

“But it’s such a nice location.”

“Yes,” Brynn agreed. “I always did like this city.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment. “I would so love to see your view from your hotel.”

She stared at him. This was easily one of the weirdest dreams she’d ever had. “You have seen my view. You’re my subconscious, remember?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “Still…paint a picture for me, will you?”

“Whatever.” With a careless wave, Brynn pictured the hotel suite. In a flash, her apartment disappeared and they stood outside on the hotel balcony, staring down at a small crowd of people littering the streets.

“Ah, Royal Street,” he breathed. “I always did like New Orleans.”

“I already said that,” Brynn noted, and shook her head. Now she was starting to repeat herself. Weird-ass dream.

He turned back to her. “Thank you, dear.”

“For what?”

Keegan’s father grabbed her hand and bent down as if to kiss it, but she snatched it back before he could. Her skin crawled as if a thousand ants crept over it, provoking an unreasonable stab of fear. She choked in a breath and her fright morphed into anger. This was her dream, and she controlled it.

“I don’t care if you’re a figment of my imagination. Don’t touch me, asshole.”

“I do so like a fighter.” Laughing softly, he straightened and peered over the railing. “One more thing, Brynn.”

“What?” she snapped.

His lips curved upward. “Good-bye. For now.”

Before she could respond, he reached out and gave her a hard shove that sent her flying over the balcony railing. She somersaulted in the air, then hung there for a moment, unable to do anything more than stare at him in shock. Gravity kicked in, and she zoomed toward the ground.

Could you die in a dream? Was that even possible?

She let out a sharp scream as the ground grew closer… Shit!

She jolted awake. Gasping, she sat up in her bed and tried to calm the galloping of her heart. If the stress of everything that had happened over the past few days didn’t kill her, then these crazy dreams might.

…

Early morning light trickled into the room, casting shadows along the wall. The streets were probably at their emptiest. If he was going to leave, now was the perfect time.

Keegan heard sheets rustling behind him as Ronin shifted in his bed, but he didn’t bother to look. His brother wouldn’t be waking any time soon, not unless he woke him. He’d just gone to bed a few hours ago.

At least one of them had managed to get a few hours’ sleep. As for him, well, he’d lain in his bed all night, doing little more than dozing off here and there. The few moments of sleep he had gotten had been haunted by nightmares of his father and the horrifying ways Mammon had tortured him and his brothers. For years after they had initially escaped, Keegan had feared their father would hunt them down and take his revenge. Eventually he’d come to accept the notion that they were finally free of him…but he was wrong. They would never be free, would never be able to outrun the past. The best they could do was try to counteract the horror of their youths with all the good they did now, catching fugitives for the Council. And that was why it was so important to complete this mission.

The chains of responsibility weighed down heavily on him. His obligation was to the Council. To his brothers. How many times had he impressed upon them the need to do what was right, to do the opposite of what their father would have done? And now here he was, putting everything in jeopardy. All because of his dick.

No. That wasn’t true. It wasn’t his dick that was a danger to him.

Brynn had gotten under his skin. Somehow he’d let her worm her way under there, with her green eyes and laughing face, and her undying optimism and belief that others were inherently good.

Ronin’d had that particular trait once, before his father had beaten it out of him.

He harbored no doubt that Ronin hadn’t believed a word of what he’d said yesterday. The silent censure in his eyes was proof enough. But he hadn’t challenged him, like Taeg or even Dagan would have. No, he’d kept quiet, to mull things over in typical Ronin style.

Shit. What was he going to do?

He wasn’t good enough for Brynn. That was obvious. Here she was, trusting him implicitly, and all he could do was feed her half truths, at best.

She wasn’t meant for him. But, by the devil, she had fit him perfectly yesterday, tasted divine. Keegan closed his eyes, savoring the memory of how right for him she’d felt.

One thing was certain: he couldn’t just sit here, awaiting an order that might mean the difference between Brynn’s life or death. He had to do something.

Keegan moved to Ronin’s bed and bent to shake his shoulder. He awoke with a start, sitting up with a questioning look in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You keep an eye on Brynn. I’ll be back by tonight.”

Ronin rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“To meet with the Council in person.”

Alarm crossed his brother’s face. “Keeg, no.”

Keegan didn’t bother to listen. What was the point? He’d already made up his mind.

He turned and left the room, fighting the urge to unlock Brynn’s door and look in on her before he left. For all he knew, it might be the last time he’d see her. Because once the Council heard what he had to say…

They might very well choose to end him.

Chapter Fifteen

Taeg flashed over to Cresso’s tiny studio apartment in the middle of Cairo, where he had taken up residence ever since arriving in Egypt just a short while ago. Since Cresso expected him, and he didn’t want to risk blowing his cover by being seen with him, he didn’t bother knocking. Instead, he landed on the other side of the front door. “Anybody home?”

“In the kitchen,” Cresso called.

Taeg walked the three steps it took to get from the front door through the barren living room and into the shoebox-size kitchen, decorated in depressing shades of beige. A mini stove and set of double cabinets lined the far wall. Cresso was seated at a tiny round table that had collapsible legs.

“There’s my favorite faerie,” he quipped, throwing Taeg a mischievous grin.

“Fuck you,” Taeg said without heat. Cresso knew how much he hated that.

With a chuckle, Cresso motioned toward the only other chair. “Got us some Chinese takeout.”

“This place is a shithole, man.” Taeg took a seat and picked up one of the white cartons, taking a peek inside. “Ooh, lo mein.”

“Gotta play the part,” Cresso said with a shrug. “Can’t be staying in a four-star hotel if I’m supposed to be a down-on-his-luck demon looking for some quality work.”

“Suit yourself, man. I’ve got eight-hundred-thread-count sheets on my four-star hotel bed, thank you very much. So, have you found anything out yet?”

“Spoke to one guy so far. He said they’ve still got demons working night and day to comb through the Valley.”

“Yeah, I figured. There was no activity going on in Memphis when I went there yesterday.” Taeg practically inhaled a huge bite of lo mein, then pointed his fork at the carton. “This is some good stuff.”

“Leave it to you to still have an appetite.” Cresso let out a dry chuckle. “So what do we do next?”

Great question. And he knew just the answer. “Got any beer?”

“Help yourself.” Cresso gestured toward the tiny refrigerator.

Taeg grabbed two beers before responding. “We need to get ourselves a team to start digging up Memphis, I guess. We’ll have to do it on the down-low so Mammon doesn’t catch wind. Ronin’s been working on narrowing down the location for us.”

“What about the Council? Will they help with some men?”

“The Council?” Taeg snorted. “They’ve been supremely unhelpful to this point. It’s almost like they’re trying to disclaim any responsibility for what happens.”

“Well, that’s fucked.” Cresso shook his head. “Sounds like them, though—a bunch of bureaucratic assholes.”

“You would know, since you work for them.”

“Adviser—not employee,” Cresso pointed out. “Besides, you work for them, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Taeg said, his voice deadpan.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Cresso asked, “What’s Dagan up to?”

“I told him to go out and relax, take a load off. This whole deal has got him moody as a chick.”

Cresso sneered, shaking his head. “You and your brothers baby him way too much. Just because he’s the youngest doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have any responsibility. He’s a grown-ass man.”

Taeg shrugged. “So?”

“So, he could really be useful if you let him. In fact, he’d probably kill to feel like he was useful. Instead you encourage him to screw around like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”

“Whatever, man. I don’t encourage him, but at the same time I’m not stopping him, either. Let him have some fun. At least one of us gets to.”

Cresso snatched one of the beers. “Suit yourself.”

Taeg didn’t bother to reply, because Cresso didn’t understand. Dagan was upset about what they would likely have to do to Brynn, and who could blame him? If one of the four of them could escape his worries for a while, why not let him?

Let Dagan have his fun. Taeg would do what had to be done in order to save this world. No matter how unsavory the prospect.

…

“What do you expect us to do about it?” the monotone voice of the Council member asked.

Keegan stared at the Councilman’s eyes, trying hard not to let his fury show. The Council used some sort of cloaking spell when it met with petitioners and the eyes were all he could see. Even though he knew there were quite a number of them seated around the large semicircular table located on a raised platform, the entire area appeared pitch black, save the one Councilman’s large, almond-shaped eyes. His voice was the only one Keegan could make out, too. The rest, when they spoke, sounded like incomprehensible whispers. He had never quite figured out what species that one Councilman was, but he certainly wasn’t demon or human.

“What do I expect you to do?” Keegan finally responded. “Provide enough people to make a quick dig for the book would be a good start.”

There was a chorus of whispers all around him. The Councilman’s gaze shifted from here to there before finally returning to him. “We cannot spare large numbers. The fewer who know about this, the better.”

Keegan shook his head in disbelief. “With all due respect to the Council, I don’t understand you. You give us no help, knowing Mammon has recruited an army of hundreds here on Earth, yet somehow you expect us to stop him.”

The Councilman’s voice was cold as ice when he responded. “Need I remind you that you asked for this opportunity to stop Mammon? In fact, as I recall, you insisted.”

“You know why,” Keegan said, no longer caring that he showed the full extent of his fury. “And when my brothers and I agreed, we certainly didn’t realize that it would be just the four of us.”

More whispers echoed, and the Councilman whispered back, until finally he turned to Keegan. “We will do our best to accommodate your request. We will be in contact within the next few days.”

Great. Fucking great. They were brushing him off.

Keegan gritted his teeth. “What about the heir?”

The Councilman’s eyes blinked at him. “What of her?”

Keegan breathed in and out several times. Losing his cool would accomplish nothing. “As I’ve already told you, she is an innocent.”

“Many are.”

“Allow her passage into another dimension,” he urged, restraining the angry growl that threatened to spill forth. “She will be safe there, since Mammon can no longer use the portal without facing immediate imprisonment.”

“That would require the agreement of Earth’s Grand Council member, and we cannot—”

The Councilman was cut off by angry whispers. His eyes swung wildly from one spot to another.

Keegan’s mouth dropped open as he realized the truth behind the Councilman’s unintentional revelation. They had to be kidding him. “She doesn’t know, does she? Earth is in serious danger of having all of its humans wiped out, and you’re not even going to tell its leader?”

“You risk much, saying this,” the Councilman hissed.

The whispers continued all around him, and Keegan realized the immediate peril behind his situation.

Fuck me.

The Council couldn’t help him. Its members couldn’t even agree among themselves.

There was a lot more going on behind the scenes than he’d ever imagined. Things he couldn’t even comprehend. If the Council was keeping things from its own members…

He was in serious trouble. Time to do some major backpedaling.

“I’ve reconsidered my position,” he said in a smooth tone that belied the furious pounding of his heart. Thank the devil they couldn’t hear it. He hoped. “I can have my brothers dig while I guard the heir.”

The Councilman conferred with the other members for a moment. “Agreed. And if Mammon should find the book before you…”

Keegan stood still, waiting for the rest. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t like it.

Finally, the Councilman turned back to him. “If he finds the book first, there will be no need to contact us for further instruction. You are to immediately destroy the heir, then report back to us.”

The words hit him like a blow to the chest. Keegan breathed in deeply. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected this, especially after his lousy attempt at saving face. Still, it hurt. He’d failed Brynn. One more mark on his long list of failures.

“Understood,” he said to the Council, making sure to keep his voice even. Turning, he walked toward the portal waiting to transport him back to New Orleans.

No two ways about it. Brynn was still in peril…which meant he was seriously fucked.

Chapter Sixteen

Keegan downed another shot—his fifth one so far—and set the empty glass on the worn and dented wooden countertop. Just his luck. A city of over a million people, and he’d somehow managed to stumble upon a bar that catered mostly to demons. The waves of energy vibrating off the others buffeted his senses, forming a deafening cacophony that almost drowned out the stench of his own failure.

Almost.

How had he managed to become such a total fuckup? He couldn’t do anything right. Not only had he not been able to protect his brothers when they’d needed it most, but now he’d let himself become responsible for yet another person. Just one more on the long list of people he couldn’t help.

Someone rubbed against his shoulder. He looked to his side and watched a pretty demoness take a seat on the barstool next to him. She was all lush curves and sly glances, and there was no mistaking the interest in her eyes.

“You look lonely,” she said in a sultry voice.

“Yeah?” he replied bitterly, motioning to the bartender for another round.

“What’s the matter, baby? Having some problems?”

Keegan chuckled into his empty shot glass. “You could say that.”

“Maybe I can help.” She leaned in closer to him, near enough that he could see down her blouse. “I’ve been told I’m very good at solving problems.”

The invitation in her voice was all too clear. And he couldn’t be less interested. While he might have found her alluring once, right now all he could think about were laughing green eyes and hair the color of honey.

“I have a place down the street from here,” the demoness continued, fluttering her lashes as she ran a teasing finger down his arm. “We could go grab a drink there, and you can tell me all about it.”

Her touch awakened a glimmer of interest in Keegan’s cock. After yesterday’s close call, that wasn’t too hard to do. He ached to get off, to be buried inside warm, willing flesh.

He considered her offer for all of half a second. While going home with her would certainly solve a lot of his problems, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when he’d be imagining it was someone else the entire time.

Shit. What had he been thinking yesterday? He’d almost made love to Brynn. Worse, he still wanted to, even though he knew it couldn’t happen.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

The demoness’s eyes widened and she sat back with a look of affront on her face. “What?”

“Sorry, uh…forgot I have to go somewhere.”

He ignored her angry sputter and threw some cash onto the counter. If his time with Brynn was limited, he wouldn’t waste it here. Who knew what would happen tomorrow? Tonight, he was going to take her out. Let her have some fun. After all, it was the least he could do.

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, given he was halfway drunk and didn’t know how he’d keep his hands off her, but right now he didn’t care. He needed to see her.

…

Keegan had been gone since she’d woken this morning. Brynn had tried convincing Ronin to tell her where he’d disappeared to, but he wouldn’t budge. In fact, he hadn’t left her alone all day, other than when she went into the bathroom. He sat next to her the entire time, plugging away on his laptop.

Right now, he was on the phone with Taeg.

“Yeah, he’s still gone.” Ronin aimed a sidelong glance at Brynn before he stood and turned to face away from her. “I’m thinking we should just start in the necropolis. It seems the most likely place… Yeah, well, it doesn’t look like we’re going to get much help.”

Ronin sighed and began pacing as he listened to whatever Taeg was saying. “Maybe I should fly in to help. What about Dagan? You should make him do something.”

Brynn gave up trying to watch television. She clicked it off and walked to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. Even from inside, she spotted the heavy crowds on the street.

“What? What do you mean, he hasn’t come back yet?” Ronin said. “Damn it, Taeg, we’re on a mission here, and it’s not to see how many chicks we can bang.”

Her cheeks flushed at his crude language, but she didn’t turn around. Maybe he’d think the sights occupied her and he’d keep talking. Maybe she’d find out where Keegan was.

“I don’t know, but we need to—”

Ronin broke off at the sound of the door to their suite opening.

Brynn whirled to see Keegan striding in, a grim look on his face. The heavy weight in her chest eased a fraction. “Keegan.”

“Hey, Keegan just walked in,” Ronin said into the phone. “Yeah, I’ll call you back later.”

“Everything okay?” Keegan said, stopping in front of her. Something about his voice sounded off. Sad.

Brynn nodded. “I’m fine.”

Ronin dropped his cell phone on the table and stood next to Keegan. “How did it go?”

“We’ll talk later.” After a moment’s pause, Keegan added, “What about you? Any discoveries? Anything on Taeg’s end?”

“Nothing new,” Ronin said grimly.

Keegan nodded and turned to Brynn. “Want to go out for a while?”

She hadn’t expected that, but she wasn’t about to turn it down.

“I’d love to.” She snatched up her coat and slipped it on before he could change his mind.

“I’ll go, too.” Ronin headed for his jacket, but Keegan stopped him with a shake of his head.

“You stay here and keep working.”

For a second, Ronin looked like he would argue. But as if he and Keegan shared some sort of silent agreement, he merely nodded.

Brynn followed Keegan outside their suite and to the elevator. She waited until they headed down to start questioning him. “Where did you go?”

“I went to see the Council.”

“Really? In New Orleans?”

He chuckled at her obvious confusion, a fraction more relaxed for the first time since he’d returned. “The Council isn’t really anywhere. It convenes on a plane between dimensions.”

Between dimensions. There he went, astounding her again. “So how do you meet with them?”

“Through an interdimensional portal. There’s one in every major city. It can take you from one world to another, or it can bring you to the Council’s plane.”

Why did she still expect a “gotcha” somewhere after the things he said? But it was quite clear he wasn’t toying with her. This was real. “Oh, God. This is crazy.”

His smile was sympathetic. “Too much?”

She paused for a long moment, then shook her head. “No, I want to know. How does it work? Can anyone use it? Do people stumble into it by mistake?”

Keegan draped his arm around her back and led her through the lobby, out into the chilly air of the street. “No, but you need clearance from the Council. It’s invisible, but it emits a repellant force that steers most people away.”

“Wait a second. If there’s a portal in every major city, how come we couldn’t just use that to get here instead of flying?”

“Traffic control,” he said, straight-faced.

“Are…are you shitting me?”

“No.” He uttered a short laugh. “The Council would never have time for anything else if it had to monitor use of its portals within dimensions. So all travel within any given world has to be done according to that world’s means.”

“Even when you’re trying to catch a sadistic madman who’s in danger of taking over an entire world?”

“I never said the Council didn’t have a twisted sense of logic.”

Apparently, that couldn’t be more true. “What did you talk to them about?”

“I asked for some help digging for the book in Memphis.”

“And?”

“They blew me off.” Though the words were said in a casual tone, she got a sense of just how pissed he was.

“Why would they do that?”

“Stupidity. Politics.” Keegan shrugged. “Whatever the reason, it appears we’ll need to solve this problem ourselves.”

That was crazy. If he wasn’t going to be angry, then she’d do it for him. “That’s ridiculous. Why bother sending you here to guard me at all? Why not just have me killed?”

Keegan averted his eyes, and her stomach did a panicked flop. She froze in place so abruptly that he kept walking, and she lurched when his arm on her back pushed her forward. “Wait. You were sent here to kill me, weren’t you?”

He stopped and turned to face her, two bright spots of color appearing on his cheeks. “If I had been, you’d be dead already, wouldn’t you?”

Well, he had a point there. He was far stronger and quicker than she was, and her number one defense mechanism didn’t even work on him. Still, something about this made her very uncomfortable.

“I suppose you’re right,” she finally said.

Keegan gave her a curt nod, then led her toward a bar advertising hurricanes, New Orleans’s classic rum punch. “Come on. A drink should warm you up a bit.”

Three hurricanes later, Brynn definitely felt warmer, even though night had already fallen. The citrus punch was deceptively mellow-tasting. She was also well on her way to becoming shitfaced.

Somehow they ended up migrating to one of the countless night parades, and to her surprise, even Keegan seemed to enjoy it. She stood on her tiptoes to speak into his ear. “Guess they don’t have anything like this where you come from, huh?”

“Like this?” He glanced toward several women who stood nearby, baring their breasts as a float sailed by. His gaze stuck there for a long moment before flashing back to her. “No, not quite.”

Brynn laughed and shook her head. Keegan might be a demon, but in many respects, he was still a typical male.

Crowds of people swarmed around them, adding to the street’s pulsing energy. Even though they kept getting jostled around, she didn’t feel unsafe. No doubt it had everything to do with the demon standing next to her. Practically speaking, that blew her whole demon assassin theory right out of the water.

“Hey, babe.” A drunken college-age kid sidled up to her, holding up a few strings of beads. “Show me your tits, and I’ll give you some beads.”

“Fuck off,” Keegan said, shoving the kid to the side.

“Hey,” he protested. But then he sized up Keegan—who towered at least an entire head taller—and must have realized he wasn’t that drunk.

“Thanks.” Brynn gave him an appreciative smile and he grinned back before tugging her in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her and suddenly, she wasn’t at all cold anymore. Not when she had her own personal furnace, heating her in more ways than one. Her heart gave a little thump in her chest before resuming at a staccato beat that warmed her blood and flushed her cheeks. Despite all the craziness of the past few days, it almost seemed worth it to have this one moment in time.

With a sudden, blinding intensity, she realized she’d begun to fall for Keegan. Hard.

If anyone had told her last week that she’d be falling for a demon, she would have laughed him or her all the way to the insane asylum. But now that it was happening, it felt right. Destined, even. Demon or not, he was more like her than anyone she’d ever met. He understood what it was like to be different. He knew what she could do, and he didn’t care.

She held him tightly against her, and settled in to watch more of the parade. Concentrating wasn’t easy, though, with Keegan pressed to her back. Having him so close turned her on in ways she couldn’t even explain. And if she wasn’t mistaken by the hardness she felt at her back, he felt the same way.

The parade ended after what seemed like hours. Keegan grabbed her hand and gently tugged her along. “Come on, we’d better head back.”

They walked a few blocks before she stopped him. “Wait.” She didn’t want to have this conversation with Ronin in the next room.

“What’s wrong?”

Sliding her hands in her pockets to calm her sudden shivers, she moved close enough that he could easily hear her. “We need to talk. About yesterday.”

Keegan adopted a disgruntled expression and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. “Brynn…”

“Don’t blow me off again.” She took a deep breath, as if that would help calm her nerves. It didn’t. “We need to talk about what happened.”

He opened his eyes and shook his head. “We lost control. That’s all that happened. Situations like this…life and death…they tend to work up your emotions—”

“Oh, come on. You’re not going to tell me that none of what happened was real, are you? Because I know what I felt, and it was most definitely real.”

“It’s not. Think about all you’ve been through these last few days. It’s natural that you would—”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Brynn…”

She inched even closer, so close that Keegan’s heat penetrated her coat, and lifted a hand to his cheek. “I’m being chased by a sadistic madman who wants me just because of who I’m apparently related to. You’re doing a great job of protecting me, but who knows what the future holds? For all I know, I may very well be dead tomorrow. Is it wrong for me to want a little something good in my life right now?”

He pressed his cheek deeper into her palm, his expression softening, though he didn’t respond.

“I like you,” she continued, because now that she’d started, she might as well get it all out. “And it must be obvious that I want you. No complications. No strings. What’s wrong with that?”

Keegan inhaled, his eyes glazing over with a hint of lust she didn’t want him to contain. “Damn it, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking.”

“You…” His eyes narrowed into slits while his jaw clenched in an obvious battle for self-control. For a moment she thought he would pull away. But then, with a muffled curse, he reached for her.

Yes.

Grabbing her waist, he hauled her to him, crushing his lips to hers, heating her from the inside out. She threw her arms around his neck, unable to stop herself from undulating against him. Keegan severed contact, then led her into a little alleyway between two buildings a few feet away. It was damp and dark and smelled like piss, but she didn’t care about that right now. At least it was empty.

He pushed her back against the wall and kissed her again.

“I want to feel you,” she whispered, uncaring how brazen she acted right now. She wanted him and she wasn’t afraid to say it.

Sucking in his breath, he unzipped his jacket and pulled it open. With deft fingers, he unbuttoned her heavy coat and pulled that open, too. Stinging cold whipped through the air, buffeting her body. But then he moved closer and pulled the ends of her coat around his sides. It acted as the perfect shield.

“This is wrong,” he rasped, skewering her with the intensity of his gaze. If his eyes hadn’t told her he wanted her, the hardness of his arousal pressing against her would have.

“No.” She shook her head in denial. If he stopped now, she’d kill him.

“It is,” he insisted, even as he hungrily ran his gaze over the upper swell of her breasts. His voice sounded tortured and resigned, all in one. “But I still want more.”

Lowering his lips to hers, he slid his warm hands under her sweater and up to her breasts, where he cupped them over her bra. He slipped his thumbs underneath the fabric and rubbed them across her nipples, and his rock-hard erection burned a hole where it pressed against her hip.

“You feel so good,” she confessed. She pushed her hands underneath his shirt, warming them on his hot flesh. Like silk over steel. She couldn’t get enough.

“Brynn.” He breathed her name like it was a prayer. Like she was his salvation. He tugged her tight jeans open and tugged them down until they were low enough to slide his fingers inside her panties. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Already so wet.”

He found her clitoris and used the tip of his index finger to rub against it in a way that made her immediately squirm and pant for breath. She moved her hands to the fly of his jeans and clumsily unzipped them, dropping them low to free his erection. He was so hot and hard in her hands, and merely looking at him made her mouth water.

He groaned as she moved her hands up and down on him. She slid lower to hold his testicles, as his fingers slid between her slickened folds. He thrust one of them inside her. Unable to help herself, she cried out, and he bent his head to swallow the sound.

His fingers moved in and out of her, each upward thrust bringing her to her toes. She let loose a throaty moan and, after one final thrust, came apart in his arms. Arching her back, she tightened her fist around his arousal and sucked his tongue into her mouth. Lord, she longed to be closer to him, as close as two people could get.

He held her tightly as she rode out her climax. Her legs shook so badly she wondered if they’d ever support her again. Keegan made her feel so incredible. So invincible. She wanted to make him feel like that, too.

Her breath came out in harsh pants as she worked him once again, and he’d become so rigid he pulsed in her hand. Breaking their kiss, he buried his face in her hair. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna come.”

“I want you to come,” she whispered, cupping and squeezing his testicles. Right now, she wanted it more than anything.

With a low cry, he gave in, jerking his hips as he climaxed into her hands. She moaned and licked her lips. Even though she’d already come, the simple act of getting Keegan off made her hot all over again. She tightened her grip, continuing to slide up and down while he shook with the aftermath of his orgasm.

Finally, he lifted his head to give her another deep, open-mouthed kiss.

“Next time you come,” she confessed to him huskily, “I want to taste it.”

He hissed and shuddered, his eyes glazed with desire. “I—”

They started as a dry voice with a New Orleans accent drawled, “Excuse me, sir, madam…”

Brynn tipped her head toward the figure standing less than ten feet away, at the entrance to the alley. Oh great. A police officer.

Thankfully, her long coat shielded much of their bodies. Keegan drew it tighter around him as he addressed the cop. “Good evening, officer.”

“I’m sure it is,” the officer said, his tone amused. “While I understand and appreciate how much you may be overcome with the joy of these festivities, you need to take it back to your hotel room, okay?”

“Sorry, officer,” Keegan choked out. “We’ll be gone in just a moment.”

“You do that now.”

Brynn hid her flaming face in Keegan’s chest while the chuckling police officer turned and walked away. “Well, that was just a little embarrassing.”

“At least we were wearing most of our clothes,” he said. He rifled in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a napkin, then used it to wipe her hands clean before tossing it and zipping up his jeans.

She’d been so into him that she’d forgotten about their surroundings. Worse, she wasn’t the least bit sorry about it. Even though it had happened in a foul-smelling alley, it still counted as one of the best sexual experiences of her life.

Keegan smiled, then took her hand and led her out of the alley. They took a few steps before he put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “Come on, we’d better get back.”

She couldn’t help but be happy. She’d never felt closer to anyone than she did to him right now. And the fact that he was one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever met only made it better.

He’s mine. For now, at least, he’s all mine.

She brushed aside that little part of her that insisted on pointing out that he wasn’t a man at all, but a demon. What did that matter?

“Will you come to my room later? After Ronin is asleep?” Asking it that way made her feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush. It was embarrassing and exhilarating, all at once.

He hesitated a moment, but then he gave her a soft nod.

Her nerves calmed. Maybe, just this once, she’d get what she wanted.

As she’d half expected, Ronin waited up for them back at the hotel suite. He seemed frazzled, like maybe he’d patrolled the suite the whole time they’d been gone. Upon seeing them, he stopped and scowled. “Where the hell have you guys been?”

“Out walking around.” Keegan frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Taeg and I have both tried calling you, man.”

Keegan reached into his jacket and retrieved his cell phone. “Battery’s dead. What’s up?”

Ronin sighed. “Dagan’s missing. It’s been almost a day since Taeg last saw him.”

The stony silence in the room was almost deafening.

“Could he maybe be with a woman?” Brynn asked. “I overheard you saying he does that a lot.”

“No,” Ronin said, shaking his head, his eyes grim. “He would never be gone this long.”

Keegan frowned at the ground, voicing their general fear. “It’s possible that Mammon got to him.”

Swearing, Ronin strode over to the nearest wall and punched it. As he pulled his hand out of the drywall, his phone rang.

“It’s Taeg,” he said before answering. “Hello? Yeah, they just got back… You did? Man, I was so worried.”

“What is it?” Keegan said, striding forward to take the phone from Ronin.

“Wait.” Ronin lifted a hand to stop Keegan and sidled away before he could grab it. “Hold on, Taeg.” He looked up at Keegan. “He found Dagan. He’s fine. He got himself into a bit of a mess with a woman.”

“That fucker,” Keegan snarled.

“What’s that?” Ronin said, turning his attention back to the phone. “Yeah?”

He gave Brynn and Keegan a funny look, then moved away again before continuing in a flat tone. “Yeah, I understand. Yeah I know…I know, man. Okay, that’s a plan. All right, I’ll do that.”

“What is it?” Keegan said as Ronin hung up.

“Nothing. Just Dagan and his bullshit.” Avoiding Keegan’s glare, he forced a laugh. “Taeg promised him a real beating if he ever pulls something like that again.”

“Ronin,” Keegan said in a warning tone, slowly backing up, “quit messing with me. What’s going on?”

Ronin took a deep breath. “I—”

He cut off abruptly, cocking his head to the side. “Do you feel that?”

Keegan froze. He turned to Brynn, his eyes wide. “Shit.”

Her breath hitched as she took in his fear. A sudden burst of adrenaline pumped through her veins, skyrocketing the beat of her heart. If he, of all people, was frightened, then it couldn’t be good.

“What is it?” she gasped.

“Demons,” he said grimly.

“A whole shitload of them,” Ronin added. “And they’re approaching fast.”

Brynn had time to do no more than take a deep swallow before Keegan grabbed her hand and rushed them toward the door.

Chapter Seventeen

Keegan raced Brynn toward the elevators, Ronin only steps behind. About halfway there, the elevator doors opened and a small army exited. The acrid stench of boarg demons assaulted his senses. Why did they always smell like they’d rolled in their own piss?

“Shit.”

“The stairs are back this way,” Ronin called.

Keegan spun Brynn around to follow his brother, tugging on her arm to move her faster as they hastened toward the stairwell. Seventeen floors were a lot of stairs to take with an army of demons at their backs. But as it turned out, they didn’t make it down one flight before they ran into another group of demons heading up the stairs toward them.

Ronin halted, staring down at them as if debating whether or not to try and fight his way through anyway. “Son of a bitch.”

Any other time Keegan would have said, “Hell, yeah,” but he counted at least ten of them, more than he and Ronin could take on without risk of injury. That wasn’t an option now, not when they had Brynn to consider.

“The roof,” he ordered, doing an about-face and dragging Brynn up the stairs. They’d just reached the top of the landing leading out to the roof when the first group of demons converged with the second, barreling up after them.

Keegan tried to open the door, but it was locked. He backed up and hurled his body forward, throwing his shoulder against it and easily busting the lock. Closing his hand around Brynn’s, he all but carried her into the frigid night air.

He froze halfway between the door and the edge of the roof. Brynn let out a harsh gasp beside him but was otherwise silent. The night was dark, but enough artificial light drifted up from the street lamps that the three of them saw what was on the roof—four winged figures. They were hideous, with their leathery gray flesh; webbed, bat-like wings; backward-bending legs; and hooves where their feet should be. Compounded with their seven-foot height and wide, muscular bodies, they were a menacing sight.

“Guess Mammon anticipated us heading up here,” Ronin said.

Keegan nodded. Of course he had.

“What are they?” Brynn whispered, her voice raspy with fear.

“Rayamara demons.”

“They…fly?” she choked out.

“They fly,” Ronin said.

They were also very rare, but Mammon had somehow managed to not only locate, but retain, a small number of them. They surrounded the roof, and a small contingent of demons now gathered at his back. They were cornered.

Just my luck.

Keegan whirled to face the demons at his back. Scattered across the roof, they slowly stalked forward with devilish smirks on their faces.

“What now?” Brynn cried.

“Make a getaway,” Ronin said. “I’ll hold ’em off.”

“Getaway?” Brynn squeaked. “How can we possibly go? There’s nowhere to go from here.”

“No,” Keegan said to Ronin. “I’m not leaving you.”

“There’s too many to fight,” Ronin said.

His brother was right. They were surrounded by at least fifteen demons.

“Even if you could hold all of them off, I can’t just abandon you,” Keegan said.

“Can you…you know?” Ronin asked him.

Brynn turned to look at Keegan sharply. “Can you what?”

He ignored her. Now wasn’t the time to answer questions. “It’s never come to me at will before, only by accident.”

That was the rub of his most powerful ability. It had a mind of its own.

“What are you talking about?” Brynn asked.

Ronin ignored Brynn, too. He gave Keegan a look fraught with meaning, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. “Then what choice do you have, man?”

Keegan fought back the sudden stinging behind his eyes. His brother would gladly give himself up for him, for their cause. But he wasn’t about to abandon Ronin.

“Come, now,” one of the demons said, stepping apart from the rest of the phalanx. “This is such a touching little family gathering. Why the gloomy faces?”

“Fuck you,” Keegan snarled.

“Aw, come on.” The demon laughed. “Why treat me that way? After all, I’m almost family, too, considering I’m here on behalf of your father.”

“Your…father?” Brynn cried. She wrenched her hand out of his and turned to plaster him with a confused, semi-accusing glare.

“Later, Brynn,” Keegan said.

The demon turned his attention to Brynn with an evil grin on his face. “You’re almost family, too, pretty girl, after all the help you’ve been. By the way, Daddy says thank you for helping him find you.”

“Don’t you look at her,” Keegan said. But then the meaning of the demon’s words hit him. “What?”

He turned to Brynn, but she stared at him with wide, confused eyes. “I don’t know what he’s—”

“Oh, she really doesn’t know,” the demon interrupted with a sinister laugh. “That’s what makes it so great. I only found out about it myself just now, when your father told me.”

What the fuck was he talking about? Keegan was sure the confusion on his face read as loud as Brynn’s.

“I’ll tell you what.” The demon inclined his head and gave Keegan an appraising once-over. “I’ll let you fight me one-on-one. If you win, I’ll let you leave.”

One of the other demons hissed and edged forward. “But Vhen, the boss said to—”

“Shut up,” Vhen roared. “I’m the boss here.”

The protester stepped away without another word. Leave it to demons to do whatever the hell they wanted, regardless of their orders.

“What about the heir?” Keegan asked, though he didn’t believe for one second Vhen would let him leave if he won.

“She stays.” Without further warning, he dropped his glamour, growing taller and wider, taking his true demon form. Another rayamara demon.

Vhen lunged toward Keegan. Pushing Brynn toward Ronin, Keegan leapt for the demon, meeting him halfway. His fist connected with Vhen’s face even as he fell backward, the larger demon landing on top of him. The other demons shifted about, as if wondering what to do, given the unexpected turn of events. But in the end, they all just stood there, watching the scene unfold.

Vhen lifted off him and slammed one of his clawed hands into Keegan’s face, tearing large gouges into his flesh.

“Keegan,” Brynn screamed.

He grabbed the demon’s wrist before the creature could slam his hand down. That familiar twinge of pain told him his flesh was already repairing itself. He shoved Vhen and the demon flew, which gave him enough time to get off the ground before Vhen sprinted back for more.

Keegan ducked under one of Vhen’s massive wings as it lashed out at him. He whirled around and delivered a roundhouse kick to his spine. Vhen fell hard on his knees, but used his wings to catapult himself into the air. Faster than Keegan could begin to process, Vhen landed behind him, grabbing him by the throat in a brutal chokehold. Vhen wrapped his other hand around Keegan’s throat, his claws digging in deep and cutting off his air supply.

“No,” Brynn yelled. “Ronin, help him.”

Ronin shushed her while Keegan struggled not to fall to his knees. His vision blurred, the tiny black dots lining his sight warning him he was about to pass out if he didn’t do something now. One of Vhen’s wings wrapped around him, enveloping him like a lover’s caress.

Perfect. Keegan knew all too well the weaknesses of that particular appendage. It was Vhen’s mistake not to have thought about that. He seized the demon’s wing and yanked hard, rending the wing almost in two.

Vhen screamed, releasing Keegan’s throat and retreating in agony. Keegan spun to face Vhen, sputtering for breath as his throat healed itself. Even the process of healing was pure torture.

“What are you waiting for, idiots?” Vhen said to the demons huddled along the roof while he nursed his damaged wing. “Kill them. Get the girl.”

Keegan inched toward the edge of the roof, stopping next to Brynn. She found his hand and squeezed tightly, her breath wheezing out in frantic, ragged exhales that clouded the frigid air. Terrified as she was, she stood tall as she followed him.

Sudden fury coursed through his veins, boiling his blood. Damn these demons for doing this to her. Damn Mammon for using a clueless woman as a pawn in his sick quest for power. It wasn’t fair. Not to her, nor to him and his brothers.

Rage built in his chest, heating his very core until he became so hot he could have been made entirely of fire. Steam escaped his pores, fogging the air.

Oh shit. It was happening.

Ronin flicked his gaze toward him, eyes widening. “Is it… Are you doing it?”

Keegan was too steamed to respond. Literally. It built up like a furnace until there was only one way to release it.

“Duck,” Ronin yelled to Brynn, grabbing her hand and yanking her down to the rooftop.

Keegan whirled to face the winged demons guarding the edge of the roof, feeling his eyes blaze in his sockets. He opened his mouth and breathed out, but it wasn’t air that escaped. Instead, a heavy stream of fire coursed from his lungs, spraying the area in front of him.

The winged demons stopped fighting, mouths open in shock, as the fire spread over them, incinerating their flesh quicker than they could react. They fell backward into the air, their bodies already nothing more than blazing bones. By the time they landed on the ground below, they would probably be no more than powder.

Brynn’s harsh scream abruptly cut off. But he couldn’t worry about her right now. Not when demons still lined the roof and his fury boiled over inside of him. He breathed again, his flames spreading over the demons who’d scattered across the rooftop. Within seconds, their burning bodies fell to the ground, a few of them lucid enough to utter agonizing screeches before their lungs dissolved to ash.

Finally, there was nothing but smoking piles of dust and the putrid stench of charred flesh.

He was out of juice. The fire receded, sliding down his throat and contracting into a ball of liquid heat somewhere in his chest. His mother’s legacy, a gift he’d never been able to control.

Exhaustion spread over his body, making his knees go weak.

“Brynn,” he practically choked. She’d seen what he could do, what lived inside him. Would she shriek and cower in terror? Would she run from him now that she’d seen his dark power?

Dreading her reaction, he turned to face her. But she wasn’t cowering in fear. Rather, she knelt, with Ronin’s arms still wrapped around her, and gazed up at him, a mix of awe and fascination covering her face. There wasn’t a glimmer of fear or revulsion anywhere.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

Keegan’s heart did a lazy spin inside his chest.

Ronin slowly stood, pulling Brynn with him. “That was a close one. You really waited until the last second there.”

“You know I have no control over it,” Keegan said.

“What was that?” Brynn asked.

Keegan took a breath. “I—”

He cut off as the door leading onto the roof cracked open and spun around to face it. It was Taeg, who panted as if he’d raced all the way up here. Seeing them, he bent over, nursing a stitch in his side.

Keegan’s momentary relief morphed into suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Taeg straightened, still breathing heavily. “I flashed to your suite, caught the stench of demons in the hallway, and followed the residual energy up here. Are you all okay?”

“Yeah,” Ronin said. “Keegan did his fire-breathing routine and fried them all to a crisp.”

“No shit?” Taeg said, impressed. “Good timing, huh, bro? Sorry I missed that.”

“What are you doing here?” Keegan repeated. He focused in on Ronin, whose face was set as grim as a funeral director’s.

But then it all clicked into place: Ronin’s terse conversation with Taeg, the demons’ attack, and Taeg materializing here on the roof.

No. Oh, fuck, no.

Mammon had found the book.

Which meant Brynn had to die.

No. He gasped for air, only to find he couldn’t take enough in. Not Brynn.

All these years of blind faith and duty to the Council. All his admonitions to his brothers that they must do what was right, at all costs. And now, because of fate, because of his father, he was supposed to kill the one woman he’d ever had real feelings for.

It wasn’t fair. And, even if it meant saving the world, it wasn’t right.

No. He wouldn’t do it.

They could defeat Mammon another way. Somehow.

“Listen,” Taeg said, moving deliberately, “we need to talk about what—”

Faster than anyone could blink, Keegan sucker-punched Ronin. Hard. His nose shattered into pieces with a loud crack. He crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold.

“Keegan,” Brynn cried in a mixture of shock and censure. She dropped to the ground beside Ronin, grasping his shoulder as she peered into his battered face.

Yeah, that was an asshole thing to do, but Ronin would heal. By the time he woke up, he’d probably have no more than a slight headache. Brynn, however, would suffer far worse than that if Ronin and Taeg succeeded in their mission.

Taeg dematerialized, and a fraction of a second later he reappeared right in front of Keegan. Taeg’s fist caught Keegan’s jaw. “You prick. Why did you do that?”

“You know why.” He grabbed Taeg’s shoulders and held on tight. There was no way he would let go.

Taeg grabbed onto Keegan’s shoulders in a similar lock, his face red with fury. “Come on, you dickweed. We warned you over and over.”

“I know,” Keegan yelled. “I can’t help it. She’s innocent.”

“Mammon has the book,” Taeg said. “Innocent or not, she’s the key to the fucking apocalypse. And if that happens, a lot more innocents will die.”

“She shouldn’t die because of something she has no control over.”

“That’s our fucking job, man.”

“I—” Anything else Keegan might have said died with Brynn’s loud gasp. Keegan pushed Taeg around so he could see Brynn, who’d risen to her feet.

“I knew it,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “I knew that had to be it, but I didn’t want to believe it. My gut told me you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“I…I can’t,” Keegan ground out. “I can’t do it, okay?”

“You dick,” Taeg muttered, shoving him back about ten feet. They continued to wrestle. “You have to do it. We have no choice.”

Keegan shook his head. “No, Taeg, it’s not right. Listen, we can find another way to stop Mammon. We have to.”

Taeg stopped struggling long enough to look at Keegan, a compassionate expression on his face. “We can’t. It’s too great a risk.”

“You said it yourself: Things go better when we work together,” he said. “We can find a better way…”

“There is no other way, brother. I’m sorry. Really I am.”

Keegan’s stomach rolled and his head pounded like it had been hit with a hammer. He contemplated his choices, pissed there were so damn few of them.

He would have given anything—even his life—not to have to do this. But he had to. He had no choice.

“You’re right,” Keegan said to Taeg. He stilled and slightly relaxed his grip.

Taeg threw him a look of utter relief and started to do the same.

“You’re right, Taeg,” Keegan repeated. “And I’m sorry, too.”

Before Taeg could react, he shoved his head forward, ramming his forehead against Taeg’s jaw with a deafening crack.

“Ow.” Taeg grabbed his jaw, lobbing a shocked glance at Keegan before dropping to his knees like a rag doll.

Keegan raced to Brynn, who’d crept backward toward the exit during their struggle. Now she hovered there, as if debating what to do. He stopped just a few feet in front of her. “Brynn.”

She stared at him uncertainly. Then, after what seemed like a lifetime but in reality was no more than a second or two, she gave him a slow and hesitant nod.

His heart gave a pained twinge. Trust shone in her eyes, telling him she believed in him, even if he didn’t believe in himself.

He wouldn’t let her down.

“Take my hand.”

Brynn hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his.

He gave her a soft smile. “You trust me, right?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Then hold on tight.”

He pulled her close, and she circled her arms around his neck. Here goes nothing.

With a practiced flick of his shoulders, his leathery red appendages tore through the fabric of his T-shirt and jacket. They flapped hard, generating heat as they sliced through the air.

“Oh my…God,” Brynn said. Her eyes grew wide as her gaze skipped from his face to his large wings. With a gentle shove, he took off into the air.

“Keegan,” Taeg yelled below. “Keeg, come back. Please, bro.”

Brynn wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on tight. An expression of pure wonder lined her face. “What are you?”

“Brynn, I didn’t know how to tell you before,” he said. “I’m only half demon.”

“And the other half?” she asked.

“The other half…is dragon.”

Chapter Eighteen

Back at the hotel suite, Taeg clasped his hands to the back of his neck while he paced the length of Ronin’s bedroom. He’d passed the hour since Keegan had fled alternating between fury and dread. Try as he might, he couldn’t see a happy ending in this for his big brother, and that just about killed him. They were really up shit creek this time.

“Where the hell could they be?”

“Who knows?” Ronin wearily replied from inside the closet, where he packed up their meager belongings.

Taeg touched his hand to the jaw Keegan had recently broken. It was already fully healed, thanks to Ronin. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Can’t you? We both saw it coming. We just didn’t know how to stop it.”

He let out his breath in one long rush. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Now we’re seriously fucked.”

“True,” Ronin muttered.

“Aw, devil’s balls.” Taeg stomped over to one of the beds and kicked the wooden footboard. It shattered into pieces, the mattress thumping to the ground.

Ronin stepped outside the closet and eyed the mess he’d made. “The Council is going to blow its stack when it gets the bill for this place.”

“Screw them.” Taeg swiveled around to confront Ronin. “Why didn’t you do it, man? Why didn’t you kill her when you had the chance?”

Ronin looked him straight in the eye. “I couldn’t. You knew I wouldn’t be able to. That’s why you came.”

“Damn it.” Taeg’s anger at Ronin melted away as quickly as it had come. He leaned back onto the dresser behind him. “None of us should have had to. It was a sucker’s mission from the very start, one the Council knew we wouldn’t turn down, thanks to our father.”

“They never gave us the resources we needed to fight him,” Ronin pointed out.

Taeg let out a deep sigh. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah. So what now?”

“Now?” Taeg said. “Now we go out and get wasted. Drink ourselves into oblivion. Party down until the fucking apocalypse.”

Ronin lifted a brow. “No, really.”

What choice did they have? They couldn’t abandon Keegan. Would never do that. Which left only one option.

“Now, little brother, we come up with another game plan.”

…

Brynn couldn’t stop staring. It was incredibly rude, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Half dragon,” she said.

Keegan threw her a smile from the driver’s seat of the car he’d stolen after they touched down on the outskirts of New Orleans. “Dragon-shifter, to be exact.”

“Dragon-shifter? What does that mean?”

“Well, one of the other dimensions contains a shifter world. It’s called Enevora. Everyone on that planet can shift forms, from humanoid to animal—wolf, jaguar, dragon, you name it.”

Brynn sat up straight in her seat. “Wait—there are all types of shifters there? What about monkeys? Mice? Insects?”

Keegan chuckled. “You name it, there’s a shifter for it. Even some animals you’ve never heard of. That’s not all, either. There are gargoyles, gremlins, trolls.”

“All on the same planet?”

He nodded. “There’s also a water dimension with mermaids, harpies, and sirens.”

Mermaids? How many times as a child had she dreamed of being one, and now she learned that they actually existed?

“Even the immortal beings your world has mistaken for Greek gods exist, on a world called Olympus,” he continued. “They aren’t quite all-powerful, as is written into the mythology, but they do have the ability to control the weather, death, and regeneration, and they can only be killed by beheading.”

“Whoa. Will you ever stop surprising me?”

“Not today.” He tapped his fingers along the steering wheel in a gesture that belied his anxiety. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just didn’t know how.”

“I don’t blame you.” Still, considering that Brynn knew about his demon heritage, how did one bring up the topic of dragons? Even more amazing was that she fully accepted it, without any resistance. Well, okay, not too much. After everything she’d seen the past few days, dragons were just one more crazy thing to add to the list of weird. Not only that, but she had to admit that in a strange way, it sort of turned her on. The man could fly. He was like her very own Superman.

“Can you actually morph into a dragon?”

He shook his head. “Full shifters can. But since I’m a half breed, I only have a few abilities. I can partially shift, creating wings, which you saw.”

Yeah, those were weird. Leathery red appendages that probably spanned twice as wide as he was tall. But they weren’t like the rayamara demons’ wings, not by any means. They were beautiful, in their own way. Majestic.

“That was amazing,” she confessed, “to soar in the air, above the city. It was so…exhilarating.”

“Some might find it frightening.”

“Not me.” When the corners of his mouth ticked up, she asked, “What other abilities do you have from your dragon heritage?”

“My ability to heal.”

Brynn lifted a brow. “So that’s not a demon trait, but a dragon one?”

“What I told you about demons is true. We do have preternatural strength and speed, and the ability to heal quickly. But it’s nothing compared to what dragons can do. Dragon blood heals, and incredibly quickly.”

“You’re pretty much invincible, huh?”

“Oh, I can be killed,” Keegan said. “Beheading kills about anyone. And if I were to somehow lose all of my blood, I wouldn’t be able to heal myself.”

“So vampires are dangerous to you, then,” she joked.

“They could be,” he answered.

“Wait…what? Vampires exist, too?” She gulped at his patronizing glance. “Okay, let’s leave that topic aside. For now. What else can you do?”

Keegan snickered. “I have a slightly enhanced sense of smell, and, well, you already saw the fire-breathing.”

“Yeah. Why didn’t Mammon anticipate that you would wipe out his men that way?”

“He never knew about it. In fact, it’s only happened twice before, and both times by complete accident.”

Huh. In that case, they had gotten pretty lucky tonight. But wait…

“Oh, and Mammon is your father?” She turned to glare at him. “That one would have been really nice to know.”

“It’s not very easy to explain. How do you tell someone that your father is a psychopath but still expect them to trust you?”

“Good point,” she grudgingly admitted.

Keegan tapped on the steering wheel a little longer before curling one hand into a fist and beating it against the base of the wheel. “How the fuck did Mammon find us? The book?”

“I don’t know. That demon said I told him, but I…” She broke off as the dreams of the past several days came back to her in a flash. Shooting up in her seat, she said, “Wait a minute. I’ve been dreaming about your father.”

His expression was baffled. “What?”

“Ever since I had that vision when I touched your talisman. At first, he was just there. But then he started talking to me. I might have…I think I—” She broke off with a loud groan, burying her hands in her face. “In my last dream of him, I mentioned Memphis and New Orleans. Oh crap, have I been communicating with him in my sleep?”

“If he has that ability, it’s something I never knew about.”

“But…that has to be it, right? I mean, how else could I have led him to us?”

“Don’t know.” His brows drew together. “I’ll look into it, see what I can find out.”

Seeing the exhaustion written all over his face reminded her how tired she was. She fought a heavy yawn but ultimately lost the battle. “I want to know about you and your father. Tell me your family history.”

“I will. After you get some rest.”

“But Keegan,” she protested.

“I’m serious. You look exhausted. Get some rest while you can. Just…if you dream about Mammon, don’t tell him a thing, okay?”

She thought about protesting some more, but her eyelids were growing awfully heavy. Leaning her head back against the seat, she asked, “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Don’t know. Somewhere safe. Which reminds me.” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his cell phone. He rolled down the window and tossed it out. “Don’t want to be tracked.”

What he meant was that he didn’t want his brothers to find them. Brynn closed her eyes as gut-wrenching guilt washed over her. Keegan had chosen her over his brothers, whom he obviously loved very much.

“I don’t regret my decision,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts.

“Thanks.” She reached across the seat and closed her hand over his.

He flipped it over and laced his fingers with hers.

Here they were, holding hands like high school kids and running away to destinations unknown. It might have been romantic if their lives hadn’t been on the line.

Even if Keegan didn’t regret it, as far as his brothers were concerned, he’d committed an act of betrayal. He’d gone against his word. For her.

And now they were being hunted, not only by Keegan’s father but possibly by his brothers.

Oh, sweet heavens, what were they going to do?

…

After a fast food stop and a trip to the gas station, where Keegan had bought a cheesy New Orleans Saints sweatshirt to replace his torn jacket and shirt, Brynn had finally fallen asleep. Keegan snuck a peek at her. For the past few hours she’d slept with her head against the window of the car, her neck awkwardly scrunched. She’d probably wake up with one hell of a crick in her neck if she didn’t shift position soon.

Amazing how, in the midst of all this, she managed to look so peaceful, with long eyelashes fanning down above her cheeks and her mouth slightly open. The air was scented with the sweet fragrance he’d come to recognize as Brynn, making him hungry for something he couldn’t articulate.

Damn it. How was he going to protect her?

He grasped her shoulder and shifted her onto the seat, so that her head fell backward onto the headrest. She didn’t even twitch. Her last sleep had come too long ago, back at the New Orleans suite.

Just thinking about New Orleans, and his brothers, made him frown. What were they doing now? How disappointed in him they must be. He’d always impressed upon them the necessity to live up to their obligations, and here he was, fleeing his own.

But if he’d done the wrong thing, then why did it feel so right?

Keegan lifted his hand to Brynn’s cheek and caressed it before returning it to the steering wheel.

“Shit,” he muttered. What was he going to do? Keep running from place to place, fleeing both Mammon and his brothers?

But what choice did he have if he wanted to save Brynn’s life?

He passed an exit sign for Daytona Beach.

Keep driving. That’s what he’d do for now. Drive until he couldn’t drive anymore. Then rest a bit while he considered their options.

There was only one thing he couldn’t do now. One thing he wouldn’t do.

He wasn’t about to give Brynn up.

Chapter Nineteen

The first thing Brynn noticed when she awoke was the glowing green of the dashboard clock. It read 4:34, and from the daylight streaming in through the car window it was clearly afternoon. She’d slept for well over ten hours. She lifted her head to look around. It didn’t look like they were even in the same country anymore. The narrow highway they drove on was bound by sparkling blue waters on either side.

“Where are we?”

“Just outside of Marathon, in the Florida Keys,” Keegan said. “We’re about to stop. Any weird dreams?”

“No dreams at all.” Thank God for that. She must have been more exhausted than she’d realized.

True to his word, when they pulled into the small town, he stopped at a restaurant, where they enjoyed a long, leisurely lunch that almost made Brynn feel like she was on vacation. Then he drove to a state park and stopped the car.

“Are we…camping?” she asked as she followed him out of the car.

“Not exactly.” He led her toward the water, where a few other couples walked along the beach. As he stared out at the calm ocean, a wistful expression crossed his face. “I’ve always wanted to see this.”

Brynn placed her hand in his. “Guess there isn’t anything like this in your world, huh?”

“No.” Keegan shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Not even close.”

The weather was perfect, warm even, in her winter clothes. The aquamarine waters of the ocean lapped gently against the shore. There wasn’t a more romantic sight. If only she could enjoy it more. “So, what do we do now?”

“Now we wait.”

“Wait?” Brynn blinked. “For what?”

“You’ll see.”

What they waited for was apparently for people to clear out. As soon as there was no one else around, Keegan wriggled out of his sweater and tucked it into the back of his jeans. Brynn’s eyes flicked down to his smooth, muscled chest, marred by nothing other than the dragon talisman dangling around his neck. Her eyes stuck there for a long moment. She couldn’t help it. The man deserved to be stared at.

“What are you doing?” she finally asked.

“This.” Without another word, his wings grew out of his back. Before she could react, he grinned and snatched her up. Zooming out over the water, he flew low in the sky.

“What if someone sees you?” she choked out. Not that she was complaining. She liked having his arms wrapped around her, no matter the reason.

“They’d probably just think they were seeing things. You’d be amazed at what people can pass off as a trick of the light.”

Okaay. “So where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said again.

You’ll see turned out to be a tiny private island several miles off Marathon Key. A large two-story house on concrete stilts took up most of the space on the island, with a dock built outside the front and a small boat moored to it.

Keegan slowed down, waves of heat emanating from his wings as he flapped them in broad strokes. He touched down onto a second-floor balcony. A moment later, his wings disappeared and his back appeared normal once again, not even a ridge or groove to mark the spot where his wings had grown.

She finally managed to tear her gaze off him long enough to glance out at the view from the balcony. “Wow, this is amazing.”

“Isn’t it? I read about it somewhere.” Keegan paced the length of the balcony, edging around the small seating area and two deluxe lounge chairs as he took in the sights from all corners. With his chest bare and his sweater tucked into his waistband, he resembled some sort of medieval pirate, set to plunder his next port of call.

“How do you know this place isn’t occupied right now?” she asked.

“I have my resources. I was looking into it as a vacation spot on the odd chance the Council granted me one if we stopped Mammon. Owners shouldn’t be back for a couple of months. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the French doors, which opened without any difficulty.

“Guess they don’t anticipate many break-ins here,” Brynn said.

“Or they figure anyone who goes to the trouble of getting here deserves a payday. Let’s go look.”

The doors opened to a large bedroom with a metal-frame canopy bed draped in netting. An adjoining bathroom sported a large Jacuzzi tub. They found one other bedroom on this floor with feminine décor, and another adjoining bath. The main floor housed a great room, a half bath, and a kitchen, as well as a wraparound veranda with more sweeping ocean views.

This was heaven. Brynn sighed as she sunk onto the white down cushions of the rattan couch. They were so soft she might have been lounging on a fluffy white cloud. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t,” Keegan said, his tone grim. “You never know when we’ll have to leave.”

He was right. Still, except for the insane demon chasing her, it was almost like being on vacation.

“I could use a shower,” she said. “Better yet, a long, hot bath.”

“Me, too.” Keegan sat on one of the matching rattan chairs directly across from the couch and exhaled loudly as he closed his eyes and put his feet up on the coffee table. Somehow, he managed to look enticing, even while clearly exhausted.

When he didn’t look as if he would go anywhere, she quietly rose to her feet. The least she could do was give him a few minutes of peace. Especially since just being around him had her hormones in overdrive. Something about zipping through the sky in the arms of a magnificent winged dragon made her long to stay there.

She took the stairs up to the smaller bedroom and snooped in the closet. Whoever the owners were, one of them was a woman close to Brynn’s size. She grabbed a silky light-blue robe that hit her at mid-thigh. For one second, she considered using her ability to learn more about the robe’s owner. But then, why bother with someone else’s memories? Right now she had enough of her own to deal with. She filled the Jacuzzi in the smaller bathroom, added some lavender-scented bath salts, and soaked.

Half demon, half dragon-shifter. What an amazing being Keegan was. She’d thought she had it rough, growing up with abilities. They were nothing compared to what Keegan could do.

How had he managed to grow up into such a good man? Having seen Keegan’s father in her visions, she knew how evil he was. Now, knowing that he and Mammon were one and the same, she didn’t know how Keegan had made it.

One thing was certain: she was determined to have no more secrets between them.

She crawled out of the tub, tugged on the robe, and searched for Keegan. She found him on the balcony where they’d initially landed, looking out over the water. His hair was wet, and he had only bothered to put on his jeans. The muscles of his bare back rippled with every breath he took.

Good Lord, he was breathtaking.

Even from behind, he was a sight to behold. The way his broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist, the muscular arms, the sharp curve of his backside in his jeans. He might be half demon and half dragon, but he looked all man.

Mine, that selfish inner devil of hers said. That was the part of her that wanted to taste him, to hold him. Maybe even keep him.

She shook herself out of it and moved to stand beside him. “There you are.”

He didn’t turn her way, but the corners of his mouth lifted. “Just taking in the view.”

It was so quiet out here. So peaceful. Not another soul around. Not for miles.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

Keegan didn’t speak for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. “I’m wondering what my brothers are doing right now.”

She slid her hand along the concrete balustrade until it covered his. “Oh, Keegan, I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“Do you think they’re looking for us?”

“I don’t know,” he responded.

It must be killing him. After everything the four of them had been through, their father had finally managed to tear them apart.

Don’t forget your role in this whole thing, Brynn.

Yeah, right. As if she could.

“Tell me about your father,” she said.

Keegan sighed, withdrawing his hand from her grasp. “It’s hard to talk about.”

“I want to know,” she insisted.

His features lined with weariness, he turned to face her head-on. “Okay. But you first. I know you’ve been keeping something from me.”

When she threw him a blank look, he clarified. “How did you find out about your ability to drain energy?”

“Oh, that.” Crap. But hadn’t she just vowed there would be no more secrets between them? That worked both ways. Turning so her side pressed into the balustrade, she took a calming breath and met his expectant gaze. “I…I found out about my other gift when I was eleven.”

Ordinarily, she pushed these memories into the recesses of her psyche, not wanting to relive anything about that day. Now, for the first time ever, she was going to talk about it. “I was walking home from school one day when a man drove up in his car and snatched me.”

Keegan gave a pained wince and touched her hand. “I’m sorry.”

The remembrance of the event inundated her with recollected sights and sounds. The stifling heat of the closed-in space. The utter absence of light. The fear that she would die in this prison. Then, the realization that what was about to happen was a million times worse than being locked in a trunk. She swallowed back the pained moan that threatened to burst from her lips. It was all in the past. She had survived, and she was strong enough to tell this story. With Keegan by her side, she might be able to do anything.

“He threw me into his trunk and took me to his house, locked me in the basement.”

His jaw dropped and his eyes clouded over with unmistakable anguish. “I had no idea. You must have been terrified when I took you.”

She shook her head, driven by the inexplicable urge to reassure him. “No, it wasn’t the same thing. I think…somehow I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. I sensed that you were a good man.” Or maybe she had just grown that much stronger since that horrible event of her youth.

Keegan looked away, guilt written clearly on his face. He didn’t believe her words, and it didn’t take a genius to determine that he was mentally berating himself for his actions. Knowing what she now knew about him, it broke her heart that he judged himself so harshly. After all the hell he’d endured as a child, he was still a good man.

Brynn forced herself to continue her story. “He left me there in the dark for a few hours.” Waiting and sick to her stomach with fear. She’d tried to escape but the basement door had been locked and the windows had been too high, with nothing in the dank room for her to climb on. The recollection of the damp, moldy smell in the basement assaulted her nostrils. It had been so large, so dark, that she’d imagined a monster lurking behind every column and in every corner…even while instinctively knowing that the biggest monster of all was the one who’d imprisoned her there to begin with.

“This is horrible,” Keegan said, swallowing hard.

She barely heard him, caught up in the frightful memory. “When he came down again, he started to say horrible things about what he was going to do to me. He was so big, so scary.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“It’s okay. There’s a happy ending, I promise.” Taking a deep breath, she continued. “He tore my dress and…and touched me.” Had tried to do things to her that no man should ever contemplate with a child. “In that moment, I just knew. It was like I felt this thing inside me, wanting to come out. I put my hands on him, closed my eyes, and just concentrated. It was so crazy—I felt the energy drain out of him. He collapsed to the ground almost instantly. I kicked him a few times to make sure he was unconscious, then ran to one of his neighbors’ homes. They called the police.”

What a relief to get that part of the story over with. Not only that, but she actually felt better now that she’d shared it. Maybe the wound from that day was finally healed. “They said he had a minor stroke, but I knew it was me. And I tested it a couple of times after, with guys who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“You’re very brave.” Keegan’s tone made it clear he was 100 percent sincere.

“Somehow, I have a feeling that what I went through was nothing compared to you, was it?” When he looked away and didn’t respond, she touched his cheek and gently nudged his gaze back in her direction. “Tell me, Keegan. About your father. What did he do?”

…

Keegan mentally traced the curves of Brynn’s face. She was so lovely, with her curious gaze trained in on him as she waited for him to speak. But where to begin? His past wasn’t something he liked to revisit, but she deserved to know. She needed to know.

“I told you before that Mammon is a scientist and was once an adviser to the Council, right?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, he decided during one of his cataloging missions to experiment with cross-breeding for personal gain. He was in the shifter world at the time and, being the self-centered demon he is, decided to pick the most majestic and elusive race: dragon-shifters. He captured my mother and used drugs to keep her insensible, unable to shift. He raped her repeatedly, only letting her go when he knew she was pregnant.”

Brynn’s eyes full of unspoken emotion, she touched his shoulder. It was soft and warm, and just the slightest touch of her fingers drove him crazy. How was that even possible?

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I don’t remember her,” he confessed. “I only know the story because my father told me.” Coldly and without a care in the world. His mother had been nothing but an instrument for Mammon. Just as he and his brothers were meant to be instruments. “Later, when I was almost a year old, Mammon returned to that world and took me from my mother. She struggled, and he killed her. He brought me back to Infernum with him to be raised by a successive string of wet nurses. He had a habit of burning through them.”

“But…but you said permission is needed to travel through the portal,” Brynn sputtered. “Didn’t the Council find out about him killing her? Didn’t they care at all?”

Keegan gave a humorless chuckle as he began pacing the length of the balcony. “They found out and disciplined him, but it was nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Like I told you before, to the Council, evil is relative. They didn’t condone his actions, but he was valuable to them at the time, and so they let it slide.”

“How could they do that?” she asked, her voice thick with horror. “How could they care so little about a woman’s life? About a child?”

“They are what they are, Brynn.” He’d stopped trying to figure out their agenda ages ago. What was the point? “Later, on another world, he captured a faerie. An—”

“Oh my God, faeries?” Brynn took a shaky breath, visibly composing herself. “Sorry, keep going.”

“The faerie was an air sylph, to be exact, one of the most innocent species among the fae. After studying the race, he managed to ground her so she couldn’t dissipate into the air or flash away to escape.”

“Flash?” Brynn asked.

“Some faeries can manipulate space,” Keegan explained. “Travel from one spot to another in the span of an instant. They call it walking the fae path, or flashing. After Mammon captured the sylph, he raped her until she was pregnant, and he later came back for the child. Taeg.”

“Whoa.” Brynn shook her head. “So even though you and Taeg are brothers, you’re very different, aren’t you?”

“In some ways,” Keegan said. “We’re all half breeds, byproducts of Mammon’s crazy experiment. Dagan’s mother was a siren. Same story with him. But Ronin…he’s a little different. His mother was an angel.”

“One of the beings from your planet?”

“Right. She got away after he raped her, and she was harder to catch. But eventually, he tracked Ronin down, when he was a young boy. Ronin’s mother wasn’t there at the time. Mammon told him he would kill his mom unless he came to live with him, so he did. But he was always disobedient. He hadn’t grown up with Mammon like the rest of us did.”

“So Mammon beat him,” she finished.

Keegan nodded. “All the time.” The horror of the night he and Taeg had returned home to find Ronin beaten, bleeding, and half conscious on the floor—along with a bloodied Dagan, who Mammon had sliced open for daring to defend his brother—was what had finally driven him to escape Mammon’s household with his brothers. He would never forget the helpless fury he’d felt at knowing that their father, the man who was supposed to guide and shelter them, could so cruelly torture his own sons. He’d known then that Mammon was incapable of love…and that was how he and his brothers differed from the man who’d given them birth.

Keegan had sworn that fateful night to protect his brothers from their father. To teach them to be the exact opposite of him. And every day since, they had embraced their love for one another, because it was the one thing that set them apart from their monster of a dad.

Brynn tilted her head to the side. “What abilities do your brothers have?”

“Taeg can flash, as well as charm.”

She laughed. “I’m familiar with the latter, thanks. Wait, if he can flash, does that mean he can find us anywhere we go?”

“No, he has to know where we are.”

“Well that’s a relief. What else?”

“He can change from his normal form to air and become intangible and invisible.”

“Invisible?” She let out a delicate shudder. “Creepy.”

But extremely useful, unless you were someone like Mammon who anticipated that and took steps to ground any air sylphs within a certain range. “Ronin can also grow wings, though they look very different from mine. He can heal himself or others by touch. He also has this really annoying ability to calm others with his presence.”

“I sort of noticed that.”

She was more perceptive than he’d even realized, then. “Dagan, like all sirens, can breathe underwater. He’s got an incredible singing voice, though he’d kill me if he heard me say that.” He let out a laugh. “He also… Well, like sirens, he seems to have sex appeal that many women can’t resist.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed that.” She actually seemed surprised. Then she gave him a sheepish grin. “I suppose I was too busy looking at you to notice much.”

Her frank admission caught him off guard. To his chagrin, his face heated, along with other body parts.

“Your father was trying to create his own army of people with special abilities.”

Very perceptive of her. Again. “That’s right. It threw a big wrench in his plans when we left instead of falling in line with him.”

“I’m sorry you had to grow up that way. But more than anything, I’m so proud of the man you are in spite of it.”

His breath caught at her words. He moved away and turned to look out over the balustrade before he went and did anything stupid. Like lose his heart. “I’ve been thinking more about these dreams you had of my father. Have you had any other strange dreams since you met me?”

“Strange dreams?” she asked in a choked voice. “I guess I’ve had some vivid ones, but…”

She moved beside him and pushed his arm so that he was forced to turn and face her. Damn she was beautiful, with her flushed face and her slightly dilated pupils. Like a goddess.

“Wait a second. That first night after you took me from the gallery, do you think you might have been communicating with me through my dreams?”

That first night? He froze. His dreams that first night were nowhere near G-rated. “Why? What did you dream about?”

“You and me. In my bedroom?” She flushed, but rather than look horrified or embarrassed, she looked almost like…well, like she might be a little turned on.

“I had dreams like that, too,” he admitted. “You think it was telepathic communication?”

“I think so.” She cast her gaze downward and nodded fervently.

“It wouldn’t be the first thing Mammon held back from the Council.” Damn that bastard.

Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep inhale, then let her breath out slowly. Despite himself, his gaze was drawn downward. Did she have anything at all on under that tiny excuse for a robe? From the way it dipped between her breasts, he didn’t think so.

What would she do if he untied the sash of her robe? Just thinking about it made him grow hard. He wanted her, with an intensity he’d never felt before.

“What are we going to do about Mammon? About your brothers?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But I’ll figure something out.”

“No, we will,” she said, her eyes intense. “I don’t know how we ended up here or why you chose to save me, but I’m thankful for it. We’re in this together.”

Together.

Why did that very word make his heart rate accelerate and his limbs go weak? Devil, but he wanted her. Given the gravity of the situation, the last thing on his mind right now should be the creamy expanse of her skin visible above the neckline of her robe, or the little pearls of her breasts budding underneath the silky fabric. But he couldn’t help himself.

As if sensing his thoughts, she peeked up at him from underneath her long, curly lashes. “So what do we do now?”

“Now?” His voice came out raspier than he’d intended. “Now we rest here for a bit. You’re safe here.”

“Do you really think we’re safe?”

On an island in the middle of the ocean, almost a thousand miles from where they were last located? “Yes.”

Maybe not forever, but for now they were.

She shot him a seductive smile and just like that, his body was ablaze. “Then I know a few things we can do.”

“What?”

Brynn took a deep breath. “Keegan, make love to me.”

Chapter Twenty

If she weren’t so turned on, Brynn would have laughed at the shock evident on Keegan’s face. She wanted him. Knowing about his father, about the way Keegan was conceived and raised, only made her want him more. He was a survivor. Selfless. And for right now at least, he was hers.

“Brynn,” he said in a choked voice, “I don’t know if that’s a good—”

She pressed her lips to his before he could finish his protest. Lord, he was warm. So incredibly warm.

He crushed her to his body with a muffled groan. Even through the fabric of his jeans, his erection pressed hot and hard against her side. She ran her hands from his neck down to his back. His muscles tensed and pulsed under her fingertips, a testament to just how taut he was right now. If ever a man needed loosening up, it was him.

She slipped her hands in between their bodies, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. He broke away long enough to say, “Wait, I—”

“No more holding back.” She unzipped his jeans, rising to her toes for another kiss. Then, sliding her hands up his chest, she broke the kiss. She trailed her lips down to his throat and farther down to his waist, where she swirled her tongue around his belly button, much as he’d done to her before.

“Brynn,” he groaned.

“Shush. Let me.” She knelt in front of him, watching his anticipation build. But then she saw what he wore under his jeans. Nothing.

One gentle tug freed his cock from the confines of his jeans. It angled toward her, as if eager for her attention. He was so hard and so incredibly arousing. So perfect. She wrapped her hands around his erection and took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head before sucking.

“Oh…damn.” He groaned and clutched her head, letting her go on for several moments before tugging her away. “Stand up.”

She obeyed, panting as she rose to her feet. He visibly collected himself. Just when she thought he would protest, he lifted his gaze to hers. The hunger in his eyes was undeniable, and it took her breath away.

He motioned toward one of the lounge chairs. “Go sit down.”

Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. At last.

…

Keegan watched Brynn walk to one of the chairs, which was covered with thick padding. She sat on it and waited, licking her lips while her hungry gaze devoured his stiff arousal. He knew she feared he’d change his mind, but he wasn’t about to back down. Not now. He couldn’t.

After tugging his jeans all the way down and stepping out of them, he joined her.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.

He chuckled and knelt in front of her, untying her robe. One tug was all it took to pull the robe open, slowly unveiling her to his view like a priceless work of art. His breath caught. “You’re the beautiful one.”

And she was, with her small, firm breasts topped by dusky, beaded nipples. He took one in his mouth, tugging and sucking on it until she moaned and arched her spine. Then he greedily lavished the same attention on the other. Finally, he trailed kisses down to her stomach and parted her legs, exposing her to his view.

“Keegan,” she gasped.

“Lie back,” he whispered. She obeyed, and he slid a finger between her legs, flicking and pressing against her clit. When he sucked it into his mouth, she cried out, her hips lifting off the lounge chair. The sound of her pleasure was beyond arousing.

Rearing back, he rubbed along her slit, spreading the moisture, and slowly pressed one finger inside her. She was so wet, so hot. So tight. He couldn’t wait to be there.

“Oh, please,” she gasped, pulling his hair.

“Shush,” he whispered, blowing lightly over her flesh. Bit by bit, he slid another finger in with the first. Then he moved them in and out, keeping time with her heavy moans. His cock twitched, eager to take their place. He was so hard he ached. But he wanted to make her come first.

He had to taste her again. Arranging her legs over his shoulders, he replaced his fingers with his tongue. Delicious. She tasted so sweet, he didn’t ever want to stop.

“Keegan,” she screamed, her whole body arching upward.

That’s it. He groaned in satisfaction as she came apart beneath him, her thighs tightening around his head. Then, when her spasms died away, he rose over her.

“Please,” she said, her gaze down between their bodies as she grasped his erection and pulled him forward. He groaned at the almost painful pleasure of her hand enclosing him. She guided him to her, trying to press him in. “I want you so much.”

“Yes,” he growled, bracing himself on his elbows as he pressed down. The head of his cock slipped in, the heat and pressure making him gasp. “So tight.”

He brought his lips to hers, giving her a deep kiss as he pushed, slow and steady, all the way inside. She was so incredibly tight, and from the way she panted against his mouth and wriggled under him, he sensed she was a little uncomfortable with his fullness inside her. Still, he didn’t stop until he had completely seated himself within her. He couldn’t.

His balls were so heavy and full it felt like he might explode. But not yet. Not yet.

As he kissed Brynn and waited for her to adjust to him, his mind was consumed with one thought. Just one.

Home. She felt like home.

…

Brynn breathed in and out, holding on tightly to Keegan while he kissed her. She’d come so hard against his tongue, had gotten so wet, that she would have thought he’d slide right in. But still, his size took a little getting used to.

“I’m good now,” she whispered.

He shifted, gazing at her from half-lidded eyes. “You sure?”

“Yes.” She gasped as he pulled almost all the way out, then thrust back in. Then again and again, tensing his hips each time. Lifting all the way up onto his hands, he angled his hips even more for maximum penetration. She felt so amazingly full. So great. This was what she’d been missing.

“More?” he asked between thrusts.

“Oh…yes,” she gasped, digging her fingers into his ass and drawing him deeper into her. Already, her body shuddered and spasmed like it would fall to pieces. Each silky, gliding thrust brought her that much closer to the edge.

With a low growl, he lifted one of her legs over his arm and angled himself so that she felt each and every thrust all the way to her core.

She came apart again with a scream, her legs shaking from the force of her orgasm.

“Brynn,” he cried as he followed her into oblivion, pumping his hips deep inside her. Only after she’d milked every last drop did he fall on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her. That had been so incredibly intense. Even now, she had residual pulses where his flesh still met hers.

“That was…wow.”

He lifted his head to shoot her a lazy, satisfied grin. “Yes, it was.”

When he lifted off her, she rolled to her side and scooted backward to give him some more room next to her. Not that it helped. The lounge chair was so narrow he still threatened to topple off it, but he didn’t seem to care. He just stared at her, smoothing her hair down. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, then bent down to kiss her.

No—they were incredible together. When he gave her an inscrutable look, Brynn asked him, “You aren’t having any regrets, are you?”

“Just one.”

Disappointment washed over her in waves. She hadn’t expected him to say yes. “What is it?”

“This lounge chair is too damned small.”

“Oh.” Relieved, she let out a little giggle.

He rose and lifted her into his arms in one easy movement, shooting her a naughty grin.

“What?” Brynn asked as he carried her inside and gently laid her on the large bed.

“Again,” he said, covering her mouth with his.

…

Full dark had already fallen by the time Keegan awoke from his deep slumber. Moonlight streamed in through the French doors, illuminating Brynn’s sleeping form. She lay on her stomach, the silk sheets covering up to her waist. Her skin was a shade of pale cream under the light of the moon.

“My moonlight goddess,” he whispered. Damn, he was becoming a total sap. If Taeg could hear him now, he’d laugh him all the way into the next dimension. But he didn’t give a shit.

He hadn’t slept this deeply in ages. And it was all because of Brynn. She was the light to all the dark that warred inside him. Practically, he knew he should feel bad about what happened. She relied on him to save her life and probably believed she was indebted to him. He couldn’t bring himself to regret anything that happened between them. Brynn made him experience things he’d never felt before, things he never expected to feel.

Like hope. For the first time in a long time, he saw a glimmer of hope.

Now all he had to do was figure out exactly how Mammon was communicating with her, see if he could use it to find a weakness, and figure out a way to kill him.

Easier said than done.

Demons were unable to kill their own parents. Apparently, that was nature’s way of ensuring demon offspring didn’t do the parents in. Too bad nature never gave a fuck about how those parents treated their children.

That was the thing that sucked the most about this whole mess. If it had been any other man, Keegan would have stopped him. Nothing would get in his way. But he’d never been able to defeat his father, no matter how hard he’d tried. Now that he was older and stronger, if he had the rest of his brothers to help him, they might stand a chance against Mammon. But the way things were now…

“Shit,” he muttered.

One thing was certain.

He would fight until the bitter end.

Chapter Twenty-one

Taeg waited impatiently for Ronin to exit the terminal at Cairo International Airport. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. Not like they were in any particular hurry. He just wanted to get the hell out of there so they could figure out what they were going to do.

“Finally,” he said as Ronin walked out of the terminal area, a weary look on his face.

“We can’t all just teleport,” Ronin said.

Taeg grunted. It wasn’t like he could blame Ronin for being on edge. They all were.

They hopped into a taxicab outside the airport.

“I hate the fucking morning,” Taeg grumbled. It was way too damn early.

Ronin fought back a yawn. “Yeah, me, too.”

“Humph.” After a moment’s silence, Taeg said, “We had to switch hotels, since Mammon tracked us to the one we were staying at before.”

“Do you have any clue how he did it?”

Taeg shrugged. “Beats me, bro.”

“I don’t understand.” Ronin rested his head against his seat and closed his eyes. “I mean, why would Mammon go to the trouble of planting a demoness at the hotel bar to lure Dagan and drug him insensible?”

“Because he wanted to keep us occupied trying to find our missing brother while his goons snatched the book out from under our noses.”

“Yeah, but why not just order her to kill him while she had him? Our deaths seem to be his overall intent, so why not?”

Taeg let out a deep sigh. “He’s fucking with us, that’s why.”

Ronin shook his head, a look of distaste crossing his face. “I really hate him.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, man.”

Ronin lifted his head to look at him, one eyebrow arched in question. “Preaching to the choir?”

“What? It’s a human phrase I learned,” Taeg answered defensively.

Ronin chuckled. “You sure are taking to Earth, man. Like a fish to water.”

“Fuck off.” But Taeg couldn’t help his grin as he turned to look out the window. Things couldn’t be that bad yet if Ronin still had enough of a sense of humor to rib him about his colloquialisms. “I like it here.”

“I do, too,” Ronin said. “Have you heard from Keegan?”

Taeg’s light mood faded as quickly as it had come. “Not a word. Tracked the GPS on his phone to the side of the freeway on the outskirts of New Orleans. He must have tossed it on their way out of town.”

“I don’t blame him. We tried to kill his girl.”

That pissed Taeg off, mostly because it made him feel so damned guilty. “He knew that we might have to.”

“I know, man. I know.”

Taeg’s anger and guilt faded under the calming influence of Ronin’s ability.

“I hate it when you do that,” he said.

“Yeah, I know that, too.”

The taxicab pulled up to their Cairo hotel. Taeg dragged himself out of the car and led Ronin through the lush lobby and up to their top-level suite. Dagan and Cresso already waited for them in the large sitting room.

Ronin glanced around the space. “This is…gaudy.”

Taeg let his gaze drift over the muted animal-print rug and couch, gilded coffee table, and two-tone metallic entertainment center housing the fifty-eight-inch LCD television. “This is the finest in Egyptian luxury, bro. Enjoy it.”

Cresso chuckled from where he sat in a striped armchair. “Is the Council springing for all this?”

Taeg let out an amused snort. “Yup.”

Cresso rose and crossed the room to clap Ronin on the shoulder. “Good to see you, man.”

“You, too.” Ronin’s gaze moved to Dagan, who sat in a chair that matched Cresso’s. “And you, too, little brother. Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”

Dagan colored at the obvious references to his run-in with the demoness. “Fuck off.”

Ronin chuckled as he took a seat on the large, elegant couch. “Speaking of the Council, anyone contact them?”

“No,” Taeg said as he sat next to Ronin, “and screw them, anyway. They won’t lift a finger for us, so they don’t deserve to know squat.”

Cresso nodded with a casual lift of his brow. “Don’t blame you for feeling that way, man.”

Dagan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “So, what now?”

“Exactly,” Taeg grumbled.

“Are we going to go after the girl?” Cresso asked.

“No.” If Keegan had chosen to risk it all for Brynn, then Taeg would respect that. His duty was to his brother. He should have remembered that before, when Keegan was practically begging for his help on that damned New Orleans rooftop. If he had, Keegan would have been here with them now. Instead, he’d been forced to run and hide from the very people who loved him the most. And they really could use Keegan now.

“We’re going after the book.”

Three sets of eyes jerked in Taeg’s direction.

“Serious?” Dagan finally asked him.

“Serious as cancer. Ha, that one’s for you, Ronin.”

“How do you plan on getting it?” Ronin asked him.

“Since we’ve been a little busy, Cresso’s been keeping an eye on Memphis for us.”

Cresso nodded and jumped in. “Mammon’s workers cleared out of Memphis right after he found it. Most of them were sent home. But a number of them went back over to the Valley of the Kings. They’ve been setting up an elaborate system of tents out there.”

“What?” Ronin lobbed a confused glance in Cresso’s direction. “What the hell for?”

“Think about it, man,” Taeg said. “Mammon’s already got the book. All he needs is Brynn and he’ll become the ultimate ruler of this world. The king.”

Dagan chuckled dryly. “Mammon’s got the biggest ego of anyone I know. He would find it fitting to begin his rule on Earth at the Valley of the Kings, right underneath one of this world’s greatest wonders.”

“Plus, let’s not forget how many stiffs must be buried out there. Perfect place to raise an army of the dead.” Taeg shook his head. His bastard of a father had always been a clever one, he’d give him that.

“You think he’s planning on permanently taking over the whole site?” Ronin laughed and leaned forward in his seat. “That’s ambitious, even for him. I can’t see him bedding down in one of the dusty old pyramids.”

“Hence the tents,” Taeg said. “Knowing him, they’re probably heated. He’ll have enough workers there to cart his necessities in.”

“In other words, all of his luxury items,” Dagan said with a smirk.

Taeg snorted. Dagan was right, no doubt. “He’s probably planning on building something more permanent once he takes over. Hell, he might even plan on knocking down all the damned pyramids and building a massive monument to himself.”

Cresso rubbed his chin, letting out a little chuckle. “That does sound like your father.”

“He’ll have guards set up all around the site,” Taeg continued. “Demons, of course. The regular guards were likely paid off when he first started digging in the Valley.”

“Shit.” Ronin rose and paced throughout the room. “So how can we get to the book? Odds are, Mammon will already have wards in place to prevent anyone from flashing in and out of the site.”

Taeg cast a pointed look at Ronin. “Don’t forget we’ve got a set of wings.”

Ronin’s glance was dry. “How could I forget? They’re mine, after all.”

“Yeah, well, you could support my weight. We could get as close as possible to the place. Then Cresso and Dagan could cause a distraction while we fly in.”

Ronin’s eyes widened. “What about the rayamaras? He’s bound to have them all over the place.”

“That’s what the distraction is for,” Taeg said. “We’ll do it at night, too, when we’re less likely to be spotted.”

Ronin stared down for a long moment, then sighed. “Once we get in?”

“We find the book. My bet is that it will be wherever Mammon is.”

“We can’t fight him,” Ronin said. “Not if we expect to win.”

“You don’t have to fight him,” Dagan said. “Just get the book away from him somehow. If you can do it quickly enough, you could fly yourself and Taeg out of there before he can stop you.”

“A lot of ifs to this plan,” Ronin noted.

Yeah, and didn’t Taeg know it. “I won’t lie to you, to any of you. It’s risky as all get-out. But what are our other options? We can either keep trying to find Keegan so we can kill his girl, or we can do nothing. If we do nothing, the Council will find out soon enough that Keegan’s gone. They’ll take him out, too. You know they will.”

“Only if they can find him,” Ronin said.

Taeg shook his head. “Now that he’s gone into hiding, he’s got no money. Nowhere to go. Brynn’s surely not used to living like that. How long do you think they’ll last out there?”

“You’re right,” Dagan agreed.

“When would we plan on doing this?” Ronin asked.

Yeah, that was the kicker. Taeg took a breath. “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Cresso asked. “Why so soon?”

“The longer we wait, the more time Mammon has to get his resources in order, to figure out the weak spots in his security. Our best bet is to do it right away, while he’s still setting things up over there.”

“Good point,” Dagan said.

Taeg leaned forward. “Keegan’s never asked us for anything, never dared to want anything for himself. He deserves a chance at happiness. The odds are slim, but maybe we can give it to him.”

Dagan shrugged. “I’m in.”

Ronin nodded with a deep sigh. “I’m behind you, too. But Taeg, it’s practically a suicide mission.”

“I know.” But he was going to do it anyway.

There was a long moment of silence before Cresso spoke up. “Hell, I’ve lived long enough. Count me in.”

“Thanks, man.” Taeg gave Cresso a grateful nod. “Really.”

“Eh, your dad’s an ass. I’d love to help take him down. As a matter of fact, I’ve got some thoughts on how we can cause a distraction…”

…

One good smack was all it took to bring the insolent demoness to the ground.

“I told you, only one-thousand-thread-count sheets on the bed.”

The demoness rubbed her cheek and gave him a fearful look. “But my Lord, they are—”

“They are not!” Mammon shouted. He turned to pace about the large, luxurious tent that had been set up for him. Truly, he was growing impatient with this whole scene.

The demoness scrambled to her feet. For one moment he thought she would slink away, but then she stiffened her spine and addressed him again. “I checked the label myself. These are what you asked for.”

Mammon stared at her in mute amazement as fury fueled his veins in a fiery flood. No one ever dared talk back to him…not if they expected to live, that was. In fact, he almost admired her for her bravery. Almost.

Quick as a shot, he sped across the room and grabbed the demoness by her throat. She croaked in protest and closed her fingers over his in an effort to pry them away, but her strength was no match for his own. With a squeeze and a jerk, he twisted her neck, severing the tendons. He released her and she fell to the ground, sightless eyes staring up toward the tent’s ceiling.

His murderous rage faded as he examined the body of the demoness. He hadn’t taken her head, but the damage was so extensive that he wasn’t sure she would be coming back from this one. Pity. Now they would have to find a replacement for her.

“Guard,” he yelled. When one of his men, a brute boarg demon, entered the tent, he pointed at the demoness’s body. “Take her out, and those bed linens as well. Make sure someone returns with the correct bedding or it will be your head.”

The boarg demon gulped. “Yes, Lord.”

Mammon barely noticed as he gathered the body and linens, and then scurried away. He was too busy rethinking the wisdom of his decision to move his operations to the Valley. Even though this tent was the fanciest of its kind, more akin to a luxury cabin than a mere tent, the hotel suite had been so much more lavish. But it was only fitting that he begin his reign over Earth in such a powerful place. The message it would send to the world was a strong one. He would be the first king of all the Earth.

The only problem was that he’d expected it to happen already. Keegan had thrown a serious wrench in his plans by taking off with the heir, and he was truly annoyed about that.

“He’ll pay,” he muttered.

He was willing to admit that some small part of him had held out hope his sons would return to him once he began his rule over Earth. After all, he’d spent so much time cultivating them, breeding them for their specific abilities. He’d sired other half-blood children, of course…too many to count. The female offspring he’d automatically discounted. He’d needed strong sons, not weak women. But none of his sons had been as promising as those four, which was why he’d chosen them to come live with him. A few of the offspring he’d kept track of over the years had seemed equally strong, but they had been less than perfect for other reasons. Like the half-breed vampire. He shuddered at the memory of the child’s cold, observant eyes. Even though it had been an infant, Mammon could tell it would one day become too difficult to control. But he’d never expected that of Keegan, Ronin, Taeg, or Dagan.

The simple fact was that Mammon had thought he would be able to mold in his image the four sons he’d collected, to use their abilities for his benefit. They would have been his ultimate weapons. That they had betrayed him, slipping away in the night and seeking protection as employees of the Council, still infuriated him. If there was one thing he regretted, it was losing control the night they’d fled. He’d almost killed two of them. But they shouldn’t have left him. They were his sons. If it hadn’t behooved him at the time to continue his role as adviser to the Council, he would have collected them straightaway, and damn the consequences. Yet he hadn’t been ready to do that then.

And now…now they were as good as dead to him. All was not lost, however. Once he took the place of the Council, he would simply make more. His position would allow him to garner the most gifted females of each species. And this next time, he would take a firmer hand to ensure that his sons never questioned their loyalty to him. Clearly he’d been far too lenient on his sons.

“Damnation.” He stalked over to the small, elegantly decorated dining table that had been set up in one corner of the massive tent and furiously swept all the expensive china off it. The dishes clattered to the floor, shattering into tiny bits.

Being a scientist, as well as a former adviser to the Council, had certainly had its upside. He’d discovered during one of his Earth assignments that demons possessed the ability to communicate telepathically with humans through their dreams, a process he’d termed dreamscaping. How easy it had been to withhold that information from the Council, which made it a potential tool—one he’d used on Brynn. But he hadn’t been able to dreamscape with her since the night she’d fled with Keegan, and now it was as if she slept too deeply for him to reach her.

Even though she’d likely already realized she had been communicating with him through her dreams, he still wanted to visit with her. Humans could be so amazingly foolish when it came to inadvertently imparting information in their sleep.

No matter. He would find her sooner or later. Or he would find a way to make her come to him.

Mammon strode out of his tent, ignoring the guards that snapped to attention as he sought a good view of the Great Pyramid. When he was king, he would use his slaves to build a monument ten times larger than this. It would become the symbol for his might, an object that struck fear in the hearts of all Otherworlders. Because they would know that, unless they obeyed his every command, he’d be coming for them, too. Eventually they would come to thrive under his rule. They would realize that, unlike the Council, he knew best.

Mammon smiled.

It wouldn’t be long now. Whether she knew it or not, Brynn was as good as his.

Chapter Twenty-two

When Brynn awoke, she was lying in bed alone. But the door to the bedroom was open, and Keegan’s whistled tune carried all the way from downstairs. He sounded happy. Arching her back into a deep stretch, she let out a wide grin. She could relate.

Her achy muscles protested when she sat up. Lord, she was tender.

Keegan had felt badly about the way he had made love to her last night. He thought he’d been too rough with her, no matter her assurances to the contrary. In fact, he’d only become convinced otherwise after she’d thrown him onto his back and straddled him this morning, riding him so hard that they’d both almost passed out.

That was fun.

It took her a few minutes of searching before she remembered Keegan had discarded her robe outside yesterday. She quickly retrieved it. Even though she knew no one was around to see, it still felt scandalous to parade outside naked. Tugging on the robe, she made her way downstairs, where Keegan stood in front of the stove, flipping something in a pan. The smell of pancakes scented the air, eliciting a low growl from her stomach. How long had it been since her last meal?

He must have heard her soft steps, because he turned to grace her with a sexy grin. “Morning.”

He’d borrowed a pair of pajama bottoms from the home’s owner. They were light blue and a little too wide for his frame. Even though he’d tied the drawstring tight, they still rode low on his hips, in danger of sliding down his body.

“Yummy,” Brynn said, though her gaze was stuck on his chiseled torso and the faint trace of hair beneath his belly button that disappeared into the waistband of his bottoms.

Keegan sobered, devouring her with his hungry gaze. “Stop that, or we’ll be having more than pancakes for breakfast.”

“Sorry.” She diverted her gaze with a blush. When had she become such a hornball? They practically made love all night and it was still all she could think about.

“Me, too,” Keegan said.

Was he reading her mind?

“This is all new for me, too,” he clarified.

“Oh.”

Keegan laughed, then turned to load a plate with pancakes. “I thought we could eat outside on the veranda. It’s beautiful today.”

“Sounds wonderful.” She grabbed a plate and headed outside to the cozy dining table. The sun blazed down on them, a perfect complement to the soft, cool breeze. For the first time she noted that it was more like afternoon than morning. But then, her conception of time had been all screwed up since they’d arrived.

Keegan sat across from her, appearing more relaxed than she’d seen him…well, ever.

I did that, she thought with a burst of pride.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked. “No dreams about Mammon, right?”

“No dreams at all lately, not that I can remember. Do you think he’s tried?”

“Don’t know.” Keegan’s brow creased. “I wish I knew more about this ability, but I don’t.”

“It’s nothing you’ve ever heard of before?” she asked.

“No.” Keegan sighed. “I need to speak with my brothers, tell them about it. I’ll head over to the mainland later today and borrow someone’s phone.”

Though he didn’t say it, he was worried about talking to them. Brynn clasped one of his hands. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezed. “I know you are. None of this is your fault.”

That was true, but for some reason she still felt guilty. He’d chosen her over his brothers. Over his duty to the Council. It wasn’t fair that he’d had to, but she was sure glad he had. “Thank you.”

Keegan opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something. But in the end he just smiled. Somehow, it managed to convey all the wicked things he was thinking about doing to her.

Sucking in her breath, she did everything she could not to read his thoughts. If she did, they’d end up in bed again, and there was still so much they hadn’t talked about.

“Do you think the Council knows yet?”

“Don’t know,” he said evenly. “Doesn’t matter either way.”

“What will they do when they find out?”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine.”

“They’ll order your death, won’t they?” Somehow, she knew that would be the end result, and it frightened her.

“It’ll be fine,” he repeated. When she didn’t respond, he tugged on her hand. “Come here.” She rose and sat on his lap. He enclosed her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

Wrapping her arms around Keegan, she buried her face in his neck. He smelled like soap and spice and the indescribable scent that was unique to him. So warm. Wrapped in his arms, she almost believed it would be okay. Almost.

“We can’t run forever,” she said.

He tugged her head backward so he could stare into her eyes. His gaze was bright and earnest. “Brynn, I can fly. We’ll soar all over this world, if that’s what it takes.”

Wow, that was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.

She stroked a hand through his silky hair and traced her fingertips down his straight nose to the center of his full lips. Her heart swelled and filled with emotion, burning a hole in her chest until she could no longer hold back the words that longed to escape. “Keegan, I want you to know I—”

He cut her off, his lips crushing hers, devouring her with his heated kiss. One hand deftly untied the sash of her robe and he pulled it open, baring her breasts to the gentle breeze. “I could never get tired of looking at you.”

As if to prove it, his gaze warmed her, and her nipples hardened even more under his stark perusal. He lifted his fingers to pluck them and lowered his head to lap at the stiff peaks. One hand crept down to her waist and he lifted his gaze to hers. An unspoken question glimmered in his eyes.

He wanted her. Again. And God help her, she wanted him, too. Desperately. After all, who knew how long they would have together? They had to savor every moment.

Keegan’s eyes narrowed in on her as if he could read her thoughts. His thumb reached out to brush across her taut nipple. “Tell you what. Why don’t you eat something first, then come back inside with me?”

“What about…” She couldn’t even think when he touched her like that. Didn’t want to think. Only wanted to feel. “What about the mainland? Your brothers?”

His eyes flashed with equal parts promise and desire. “They can wait.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Full dark had fallen over the Valley of the Kings some time ago. Tents had been set up along—hell, even through—the archaeological dig sites. Mammon must have greased a lot of human palms to get this setup going without being questioned. He already had security measures in place, too, like wards that prevented Taeg from dissipating or flashing. Just as they’d expected.

Taeg adjusted his earpiece from his spot at the highest cliff overlooking the Valley. “Can you hear me, Cresso?”

“Loud and clear,” Cresso’s voice called over the earpiece.

Taeg used his binoculars to look down to the cliff below, which jutted out directly over the Valley. “I see ten rayamaras, all keeping watch. Who knows how many demons there are on the ground?”

“Gotcha. I’ll send the ishtari demons in now.”

Ishtari demons could fly. Female ishtari had large breasts and were a particular weakness of male rayamaras, especially since the ladies loved to play hard to get. Luckily, Cresso knew two of them, and they’d agreed to fly in to play a couple of horny demons looking for a good time. He’d also flown in a group of succubi from London, and at this very moment he drove them toward the entrance to the Valley.

“Where are you?” Taeg asked him.

“Should be pulling up with my lady friends in about five minutes.”

Taeg watched through the binoculars while the two ishtari made an entrance, flying onto the cliff where the rayamaras patrolled. They touched down and sauntered to the nearest demons. The remaining rayamaras took note and, like flies scenting honey, flew to their side.

“Are you sure this will work?” Doubt and concern colored Ronin’s tone as he paced back and forth between Taeg and Dagan. “I mean, isn’t it a little obvious, sending horny chicks to the flying demons and to the ground demons all at the same time?”

“Of course it’s obvious,” Taeg said. “And of course it’ll work. There’s nothing like a smoking-hot, horny chick to make a guy’s big brain check out and his little brain take charge. As Dagan can attest with that haknasa demon who got him the other night. Isn’t that right, baby bro?”

“Fuck you,” Dagan grumbled.

Taeg snickered while keeping his eyes on the scene below. Sure enough, the rayamaras surrounded the two ishtari, watching them with unwavering intensity as the ishtari flirted and struck poses intended to show off their generous curves.

“We’re here,” Cresso whispered into Taeg’s earpiece.

Taeg shifted his binoculars downward and saw the RV pull up to the front gate. The guards at the entrance rose to attention, prowling toward the vehicle. Cresso opened the door and exited, looking for all the world like a friendly tourist.

Taeg heard one of the guards growl to Cresso, “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, I was just driving through the area with the ladies here, and we figured we’d stop by to see the pyramids,” Cresso said, adopting a carefree tone. “You got something special going on here?”

“Don’t mess with me,” the guard snarled. “I can feel that you’re all demons.”

“Yeah.” Cresso chuckled sheepishly. “Fire demons. We do a traveling show, you know, fire and acrobatics and all that shit. Humans love it. They think it’s some crazy magic act. Makes us tons of money.”

“Fire demons, huh?” the guard said dubiously. “Why don’t you show—?”

“What do we have here?” a woman’s coy voice crooned. One of the succubi scrambled out of the vehicle, her long blond hair flowing behind her. Taeg recognized her as one of the demons from back at Cresso’s place. She sauntered up to the guard and trailed a finger down his chest. “Hello there, handsome.”

The guard lost his defensive posture. He let out an uncertain chuckle. “Hi.”

Taeg laughed to himself. “See? Nothing like a hot piece of ass to make a man go brainless.”

Cresso cleared his throat, as if silently warning Taeg to shut up lest he risk being heard over the earpiece.

The other guards surrounding the RV shuffled in place as the remaining succubi piled out, cooing about how excited they were to be at the site of the pyramids. The succubi approached the guards, engaging them in conversation. Sure enough, within less than five minutes, the place more resembled happy hour at a singles’ bar than a heavily guarded entrance. And Mammon was no doubt sitting imperially in his tent, dreaming about what he’d do once he ruled the world, clueless as to what was going on outside. The ass.

Cresso covered his mouth and murmured, “Sublime.”

The code for them to proceed.

Taeg glanced toward the rayamaras, who were still preoccupied with the ishtari. Dropping his binoculars, he clicked off the earpiece and turned to Ronin. “Showtime.”

Ronin nodded and sprouted his wings, flicking them open. Full, soft, and white, they were pretty damn spectacular, though Taeg would sooner die than admit that to his little bro.

“I can’t believe I have to stay here,” Dagan grumbled.

“Ronin can’t carry the both of us down there.” Taeg clapped him on the back. “Besides, we need at least one person to report to the Council if we don’t make it out alive.”

“Don’t say that, jerk,” Dagan said. Despite his angry words, an undertone of fear colored his voice.

I shouldn’t have said that. No need to make his little brother worry more. “Kidding, bro. I’m not planning on kicking it anytime soon, okay?”

At Dagan’s terse nod, Taeg turned and spread his arms perpendicular to the ground.

“This is really fucking annoying, you know,” he admitted to Ronin, “to have to be carried around like this.”

Ronin laughed. “Well, that’s just about the only bright spot in my entire day.”

He moved behind Taeg and hooked his arms under and around him, holding on tight as he zoomed up into the air.

“Shit.” Taeg swallowed hard and closed his eyes as they flew over the cliff ledge. He’d almost forgotten what this felt like.

Ronin chuckled into his ear. “This is nothing like riding the fae path, huh?”

Not even close.

They soared over the camp undetected. So far, their plan was working.

“There.” Taeg pointed to one tent, the largest by far. Bigger than many small houses, it had Mammon written all over it.

Ronin changed direction with one practiced flip of his wings. A few seconds later, they touched down next to the large tent. Taeg sighed with relief. Flying was a whole lot scarier when one took off from the ledge of a cliff.

Flipping the earpiece back on, Taeg whispered, “We’re in.”

“Got it,” was Cresso’s terse reply. What he was thinking, but didn’t say, was loud and clear—it would be a hell of a lot harder getting out than it was getting in. Taeg clicked the earpiece off. Cresso didn’t have to say it. He already knew.

Ronin motioned to one side of the tent and Taeg toed along the outer wall, keeping as far in the shadows as possible. Not surprisingly, two demons stood side-by-side at the entrance to the tent—boargs, by the looks of them.

Well, Mammon may have personal wards to keep from being charmed, but Taeg was willing to bet that didn’t extend to his minions. For one, fae wards were far too valuable to waste. For another, Mammon was so sure of himself he probably thought there was no way Taeg could break in here.

That was his mistake.

Taeg slid unnoticed, only feet away from the boargs, then flipped around to face them. He gave them a cocky grin. Their eyes widened with alarm one millisecond before he placed his hands on them. His gaze bored into theirs, charming them into submission. Boargs were so easy, probably because there was such little brain to charm. He leaned in close, fighting the urge to gag at the foul stench of rot pouring out of their mouths.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Go to the side of the tent and take a two-hour nap.”

The boargs blindly obeyed, and Ronin stepped up beside Taeg. The entrance to the tent was open but covered by heavy mosquito netting. Taeg shot Ronin a look that warned him to keep an eye out, then carefully lifted the netting and stepped inside.

The interior of the tent, though hard to see in the dim light, was just as luxurious as he’d expected. He was even standing in a small foyer. Off to his right, separated by more netting, was a great room with seating and dining areas. It was empty, but angry voices drifted from farther in the back. He crept into the great room.

“…growing impatient,” Mammon said to someone. “Keegan sorely tries me with his antics.”

“We’ll find him, my Lord.”

Taeg gritted his teeth at the sound of Leviathos’s voice. It still burned his ass that his former childhood friend had aligned with his father, after all the stuff Leviathos had seen him do as a child and after all the misery Mammon had put Taeg and his brothers through. One day, Taeg would hold him accountable for his actions.

But today was not that day. He had more important things to do right now.

Taeg edged toward the back room where Mammon and Leviathos stood.

“I hold you responsible for this, Leviathos,” Mammon seethed.

“But, Lord—”

“If you had retrieved the heir’s name from the scholar before the Council determined it, we would not be in this situation. I should skin you where you stand.”

“But…but, Lord,” Leviathos blubbered.

You deserve it, asshole, Taeg thought with satisfaction. Something on the dining table caught his eye and he froze. His heart gave a sick plop and then settled into a faster rhythm. It was a thick book, made of some sort of metal with a golden clasp.

The Book of the Dead. It had to be.

“We must find the heir,” Mammon continued from the other side of the tent.

Taeg stole across the room, focused on the book. He was so close to it. So damn close.

He reached for it and ran his fingers along the cool metal before lifting it. His heart gave a triumphant squeeze. He’d gotten it.

“You never fail to disappoint,” his father’s smug voice said from behind him.

Taeg whirled around. Mammon and Leviathos stood at the entrance to the back room, staring out at him. Mammon wore a pompous look on his face, but Leviathos’s expression was one of bitter hatred.

Son of a bitch.

Taeg adopted a casual pose and flashed them a cocky grin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, I knew you’d come,” Mammon said. “I knew as soon as Keegan absconded with the heir that you’d try to steal it out from under me. Your loyalty to your brother makes you weak and predictable.”

Well…fuck.

“Your loyalty to no one but yourself makes you sick and pitiful,” Taeg retorted, feeling smug satisfaction when the smirk faded from Mammon’s face.

“You’re one to talk,” Leviathos growled, stepping in front of Mammon. “Where was your loyalty when you betrayed me?”

Ouch, that stung. Mostly because it was true. Taeg had betrayed Leviathos once, when they were supposed to be best friends. He’d been young and incredibly stupid. But that didn’t excuse what Leviathos had done. “How could you join him? You grew up beside me. You knew how evil Mammon was.”

“All I know is that he tried to keep you and your brothers in line. He should have beat you more, as far as I’m concerned.”

Leviathos’s words had their intended effect: to piss Taeg off. He let out a snarl and Leviathos tensed, clearly ready to pounce.

“Leviathos,” Mammon snapped, and the demon jumped as if he’d forgotten Mammon was there before turning back to him. “You forget your place. It’s behind me.”

Taeg would have laughed at the incensed look on Leviathos’s face, but he had more important things to focus on right now. Like getting the hell out of there. “Well, it’s been fun catching up, Dad, but I gotta hit the road.”

He swung around and grabbed the book, then ran toward the exit.

“Stop.” Leviathos rushed at him, an expression of pure rage on his face. Taeg let him come close, then swung around in a flying kick that brought Leviathos to his knees in front of him. He lifted the book and smashed it over Leviathos’s head. The demon slumped to the ground in a daze.

“Damn, that felt good.” He leered at Mammon and whipped toward the exit again but stopped dead short when four demons staggered in. One held Ronin in front of him, a dagger to his throat. He struggled against them, but he stopped when the weapon cut deep into his flesh, releasing blood down his neck.

“Sorry, Taeg,” Ronin said without emotion. “They snuck up on me.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

Taeg lifted his hands. “Take it easy, boys.”

“Drop the book, Taeg,” Mammon said in a bored voice.

Oh, shit. He was so fucking close…but he couldn’t abandon Ronin. He would never leave a brother behind, no matter what else was on the line. Gritting his teeth, Taeg obeyed. As soon as the book left his hands, four more demons marched into the tent, snatching Taeg and yanking his arms behind his back. “Easy, pansy-asses,” he ground out.

Mammon laughed, and even after all these years the sound made the hair on the back of Taeg’s neck stand on end. “I was beginning to wonder how I would manage to snag the heir. Thank you, sons, for making it easy. Now that I have you two, you’ll lead Keegan—and her—right to me.”

“Bite me,” Taeg spat at Mammon.

Mammon scowled and approached. “You never should have left me. You’ll live to regret that.”

“I doubt it.” Taeg snorted.

The last thing Taeg saw was Mammon’s evil smile, a second before he lifted his fist and smashed it down on Taeg’s face with enough punishing force to knock him out.

Chapter Twenty-four

She was so beautiful while she slept, with her hair fanned out to one side and illuminated by soft rays of light from the early morning sun. Like a sea of honey.

He could watch her sleep for hours.

Keegan rolled onto his side and ran his fingers down Brynn’s stomach. What would it be like to wake up next to her every morning? To grow older with her? To watch as her stomach swelled with child—his child?

He yearned for that with an intensity that took his breath away. But it would never be. They were from different worlds. Too different. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to defeat his father, he would have to return to Infernum.

Even if Brynn couldn’t be his, he had to do everything in his power to save her. He needed to go to the mainland and find a phone to call his brothers. Maybe this time they’d be willing to listen, willing to help him concoct a plan. Hell, he’d beg them if he had to. She deserved a good life. A normal life.

A life without him.

Her brows furrowed and she shook her head from side to side, though she was still asleep.

“No,” she whispered.

Keegan’s heart constricted. Was she dreaming? He reached out to shake her, when she awoke by herself. She sat up in the bed, panting for air.

“What’s wrong?” He touched her chin, turning her face to him.

Brynn’s eyes welled with moisture. She swallowed heavily before whispering, “I had a dream about Taeg and Ronin. They were captured by your father. There was someone else there, too. Mammon was…torturing them.”

Keegan stopped breathing. His gut twisted and wrenched as if someone were squeezing his innards and trying to yank them out.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Could that really be happening?” she asked, wearing an expression of horror.

No. Please no.

Keegan carefully schooled his expression into one of reassurance. He spoke the words even while he slid off the bed and searched for his jeans. “If anything, Mammon is likely trying to trick you.”

“Where are you going, then?”

“To the mainland. To call them. It’s past time I did, anyway.”

She bit her lip, looking uncertain, but he couldn’t give her any more reassurance. He didn’t have any more to offer. That sick feeling in his gut told him that, somehow, her dream was all too real. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Brynn nodded. “You’ll be careful?”

“Always.” Keegan bent down and pressed a kiss to her lips. Then he grabbed his shirt, walked to the French doors, and tossed them open. Unfurling his wings, he took off fast.

Could Mammon have gotten to his brothers? If so, would they even still be alive? Worse, would it be better for them if they weren’t? His father had inflicted unimaginable torture on him and his brothers as simple punishment for childhood misdeeds. The thought of the things he would do to sons who had dared betray him made Keegan sick to his stomach.

After arriving on the mainland, it was easy enough to head to the nearest boardwalk and relieve an unsuspecting passerby of his cell phone. Dread unfurling in his chest, he dialed Taeg. It rang several times before a gravelly voice answered, “Hello?”

Keegan’s heart squeezed, practically cutting off his air supply. “Mammon,” was all he said.

The voice chuckled. “Well, hello there, son. I was expecting your call.”

“If you’ve hurt them, I swear I’ll—”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making idle threats, are you, son?”

Keegan clenched his fist, biting down on his teeth so hard that a molar cracked, and then immediately healed.

“Not to worry. Your brothers are still alive, along with that incubus friend of theirs.”

Cresso.

“Though they hardly deserve to be after they tried to steal the book from me in a harebrained attempt to save the heir’s life,” Mammon added.

There was a scraping sound, then a second later, a scream. It sounded like Taeg.

“Don’t,” Keegan said. He instantly cursed himself. Show his father weakness would only result in more torture for his brothers. He took a deep breath before continuing in a more even tone. “What do you want?”

Mammon laughed. “You know what I want. The heir.” When Keegan didn’t respond, Mammon added, “I tell you what. Though I’m still put out by the way you and your brothers ran away in the middle of the night, if you bring me the heir we’ll let bygones be bygones. Just think—when I am ruler of this world, you will be its princes.”

“No thanks,” Keegan replied caustically.

“So quick to refuse, hmm? You think you are so principled, don’t you? Well, how about this to sweeten the deal? Once I am done with the heir, you can have her to do with as you wish.”

Keegan froze. “What do you want to do with her?”

“I simply need her to resurrect the army. Once she has done that, I have no use for her. She will come to no harm by my hands.”

Somehow, he doubted that. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I will swear a blood oath. You can save your brothers and your woman. You can even revel in my power. It’s too good a deal to pass up.”

Yeah, it was. Keegan asked the obvious question. “Why would you agree to this?”

“You are my sons. I’ve bred you to be powerful. Useful. Why would I destroy such works of art if I could instead have you on my side?”

So that was it. Nothing to do with love. Not that Keegan was still foolish enough to believe Mammon had any of that for them. They were tools to him, and nothing more.

What was he going to do? He couldn’t let Mammon take over this world. The consequences would be far too deadly. But he couldn’t let him torture his brothers to death, either.

Keegan absently paced. “Let me consider it—”

“I’ll give you two days,” Mammon said. “You know where to find me. At least, Dagan does.”

“Dagan?”

“You didn’t know? The littlest one got away. He’s off licking his wounds somewhere, no doubt.”

“Two days,” Keegan finally said. “Give me your word that you won’t hurt any of them until I get there.”

“Done,” Mammon said in a tone of supreme satisfaction.

The phone clicked silent.

“Shit!” Keegan yelled. He ran to the boardwalk railing and smashed it with his fist. The wood splintered and crumbled to dust underneath his hand.

If only he had called Taeg as soon as they’d left New Orleans. If only he had tried to reason with him more before stealing Brynn. His brothers had sacrificed themselves to save Brynn’s life. They had sacrificed themselves for him. He couldn’t let them die because of it. He wouldn’t. Saving them was the only option.

Damn, he hated this. No matter what he did, he’d let someone down. But there was one thing he could do, at least. One way to right the wrongs he’d done these past few days.

Collecting himself, Keegan dialed Dagan’s cell phone.

“Hello?” His brother’s voice was rough, as if he’d been crying or screaming in frustration.

“Dagan, it’s Keegan.”

“Keegan?” Dagan gave a semi-hysterical chuckle. “Nice to hear from you, brother. I’d put Taeg or Ronin on the phone, but they’re off being tortured right now.”

“I know. I just spoke with Mammon.”

“You did?” Dagan audibly collected himself. “What are we going to do?”

“I have a plan. Listen carefully. And Dagan, don’t argue with me.”

Chapter Twenty-five

For the millionth time since Keegan had left, Brynn tried to concentrate on reading the novel she’d found on the coffee table. It was no use. She could barely read a word. She didn’t allow herself to think about the possibility of her dream being real. With a shudder, she recalled the way Mammon had stood by and watched while his henchman flayed strips of skin from Taeg’s and Ronin’s flesh, then forced Ronin to heal them both so he could do it all over again.

No. It was inconceivable. No father would order that to be done to his children. Not even Mammon was that great a monster.

A thump sounded out from above. Keegan.

She rose and headed toward the staircase, expecting to find him on the second floor. But then he appeared at the top of the steps. Something in his expression stopped her cold. “Keegan?”

Instead of answering, he raced down the steps toward her. She backed up a little at the intensity blazing on his face. “What’s wrong?”

He stood in front of her, and without saying a word he pushed her against the wall next to the staircase and kissed her thoroughly. The kiss went on and on, growing more and more heated, until she trembled with the force of her passion. She finally gasped and pulled away. “Your…your brothers?”

Burying his head in her neck, he licked and sucked at her sensitive flesh while his fingers roamed down her body.

“Does Mammon have them?” she tried again.

“They’re fine,” he mumbled against her neck, then kissed his way down her throat.

“Keegan,” she persisted, pulling his head away, “I can tell something’s wrong. Did you talk to them?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine.” But he wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“Something’s up. Tell me.”

“I’d rather not talk about it right now.” He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then bent down for another kiss.

Their conversation didn’t go well. Her heart broke a little for him. Keegan had probably asked his brothers for their help in keeping her alive. They must have said no. Again.

She was tearing his family apart.

She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but before she could, he untied her sash and drew her robe open. Leaning down, he closed his mouth around one of the hardened peaks of her breasts. She shuddered at the sudden temperature change. His body heat, combined with the wicked things he was doing to her, set her on fire.

“We should talk about it—”

“Later,” he said. Clearly, he only had one thing on his mind right now. His lips trailed hot kisses down her stomach as he lowered to his knees. Then, before she could utter another word, he lifted one of her legs and drew it over his shoulder.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue expertly found her center and delved in. She moaned. The man was a master. Within seconds, he made her entire body tremble on the verge of orgasm. All thoughts of talking fled as he flipped her other leg over his shoulder, fully bracing her weight. He rose to his feet, sliding her back up against the wall.

“Keegan,” she gasped. She had the discomfiting sensation of flying, which wasn’t altogether a bad thing.

His tongue laved expertly at her flesh, each silky stroke driving her to new heights of ecstasy. Unable to help herself, she undulated against him. She was almost there. So close.

One of his hands left her body, and his zipper rasped as he unfastened it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked before she could lose all thought.

“Just…” He slid her back toward the ground. “Just let me love you,” he said in a voice tinged with desperation.

Just let me love you. Those five simple words drove her to the edge. Because it would be easy, so easy, to let him do that very thing.

He was right. Now wasn’t the time for talking.

She grabbed his hair and yanked him toward her, kissing him while she pressed into him. He tugged his jeans lower and lifted her body flush to his so the tip of his arousal slid along her folds, spreading her moisture. He apparently sensed she was more than ready, because he dipped into her, and with one hard thrust, seated himself all the way inside.

“Keegan,” she cried. Her climax tore through her with all the ferocity of a runaway train.

He ground against her with hard, powerful thrusts that quickly drove her to the precipice once more, as if he was determined to drive her crazy with his lovemaking. If so, it was working. She tightened her legs around him, reveling in the way the muscles of his ass flexed under her calves with every pump.

Right now, she felt crazy. Out of control. And she wanted him to feel that way, too.

“Wait.” Unhooking her legs from around his waist, she shoved him back, breaking apart their bodies.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, a frown on his face.

“I…” She blushed as she was overcome by—of all things—a sudden burst of shyness. “Have you ever made love while flying?”

His hunger-filled eyes widened a fraction and he wordlessly shook his head.

“Do you…do you think it’s possible?”

“Yes.”

That was all she needed to hear. “Come on.”

She grabbed his hand, starting up the stairs. In the master bedroom, she shrugged completely out of her robe, then turned to help him take off all his clothes.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He snatched her into his arms before she could respond and carried her out onto the balcony. The bright afternoon sun shone down on them, even as a cool breeze made her shudder.

His eyes glittered with unspoken emotion as he set her down. He obviously wanted her, but still he looked so…sad.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He smiled, his gaze raking up and down her body. “Right now, I’m perfect.”

Kneeling in front of her, he spread her legs and used his lips and tongue to ready her for him again. In one smooth motion, he flexed his wings out wide, so every ridge and groove was visible, and she traced the spot where they grew out of his back. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He lifted his head to shoot her a blazing look. “Feels good.”

“Oh. Oh.” She’d never considered that he might actually get pleasure from her touching them. She rubbed outward, starting where they met his back. They felt like hot leather beneath her fingertips. Not at all unpleasant.

“That feels so good,” he groaned. “Don’t stop.” He buried his face between her legs once more, driving her insane. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he rose.

“Now.” He lifted her and pushed up off the ground. His wings flapped against her back while his cock unerringly found her entrance. Before she could so much as catch her breath, he thrust forward, driving all the way into her. The heady pressure of him inside her, the erotic slap of his wings against her flesh, was too much to bear.

She screamed his name, wrapping her legs and arms around him. Her body entwined so tightly around his that she didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

There was no space between them anymore.

…

Brynn. Right now, nothing mattered but her. This moment was something he would never forget.

Keegan held her to him as she rode out her pleasure, flapping his wings to keep them soaring above the water. His cock jerked and stiffened, but he ignored the urge to come. He wanted to make this moment last forever.

Finally, her awareness returned and, with it, her sense of caution. “Wait,” she gasped, looking down to the water far below.

“I’ve got you,” he reassured her. When she nodded, he pulled his hips back, then forward, using his wings to give him momentum as he built up a rhythm inside her once again.

She would never know how special this moment was to him, to soar so high with her. He would forever treasure this experience, and he hoped that she’d do the same.

Emotions surged within and threatened to overwhelm him. Reining them in, he flew toward the balcony. He sat her on the narrow balustrade, holding on tight as he found his footing and spread her thighs wide. Then, with singleminded intensity, he set about making her fall apart in his arms once more.

She cried out, grabbing onto his shoulders and arching into him.

He sucked on the taut little peaks of her breasts, pink and ripe like berries. He would make her come so hard that she would never, ever forget him.

Planting his feet, he ground into her. “Come for me, baby. Again.”

With a high, keening cry, she did. She slid her hands down, grabbing his ass and holding him to her as if she would never let go.

Closing his eyes, he lost himself in her. With a harsh shout, he came hard and deep.

He knew there was no Heaven. But even if there had been, this was the closest he’d ever get. Keegan bit down on his lip as his emotions threatened to burst forth, manifesting themselves in words he could never live up to and promises he could never keep. He had no words to give her. He’d already given all he had.

Chapter Twenty-six

Brynn woke to a quiet, darkened bedroom. Was it night already? With all the craziness, her internal clock was screwy. And it didn’t help that Keegan had worn her out by making love to her for hours. He’d acted as if nothing else in the world mattered.

For a time, it hadn’t.

Now that the haze of passion had worn off, she realized they hadn’t talked about his conversation with his brothers. He was obviously torn up about it. But she couldn’t just let it fester. It would kill him.

She would make him open up whether he wanted to or not.

Brynn rolled onto her back and stretched. For the first time she noticed the other side of the bed was empty. The sheets didn’t appear ruffled, as if Keegan hadn’t slept there.

No, wait. The bed wasn’t empty. A scrap of paper lay on his pillow.

She sat up and flipped on the bedside lamp. Prickles of dread broke out over her body, coalescing into a heavy lump in her throat. This wasn’t good. Even without reading it, she knew that. Heart racing, she picked up the paper and read it.

Brynn,

Someone will be coming for you tomorrow. He’s promised to watch over you, keep you safe. Please go with him.

Don’t try to find me. Your safety is more important than anything. Not just to me, but to the world.

Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.

Keegan

“No.” Brynn crumpled up the paper and threw it across the room. “No!”

She jumped off the bed, barely pausing to yank on her robe before she threw the French doors open and ran out onto the balcony. “Keegan. Keegan!”

Nothing. Only silence.

She rushed back inside and peeked into the spare bedroom before flying down the stairs.

She darted toward the front door and threw it open, stopping long enough to flip on the floodlights before she raced out into the night. “Keegan. Where are you? Please, answer me!”

There was no response. Nothing but silence. She headed toward the boat dock and ran until she reached the edge.

Empty.

Her heart slammed up against her ribs with all the force of a sledgehammer.

He’d left her. He’d taken the boat and abandoned her here so that he could save his brothers, and he’d mostly likely gone to his own death.

That was why he hadn’t told her about it. That was why he’d marooned her here.

Panting, Brynn fell to her knees in the sand. She lifted her head and tried one more time. “Keegan, please!”

Nothing. Nothing but the damning silence.

Bowing her head, she blindly stared down at the sand in front of her. She couldn’t believe he’d left her without a good-bye, knowing he would probably never see her again.

She blinked back the moisture from her eyes, willing a sense of numbness to kick in. But it wouldn’t come. The pain was all too real.

Damn you, Keegan. Damn you.

…

By the time Keegan arrived, it was early morning in Egypt. He found a concealed ledge that overlooked the Valley. The flight alone had taken almost an entire day. The two days Mammon had given him were just about up.

If Mammon had broken his promise not to hurt them…

He concentrated on breathing evenly, trying to calm the rage and despair churning around in his gut.

Earlier, he’d told Brynn there was no such thing as Hell.

How wrong he’d been. There was a Hell, and he was in it.

Thinking about her brought the crushing weight of hopelessness down on him. He would never again know her warmth or feel her arms around him. For the first time in his life, he’d found someone worth fighting for, and worth dying for. But she would never be his. They’d had no more than a few stolen moments in time together.

It had been so unexpected, so sudden. So unavoidable.

Keegan picked up the cell phone he’d taken from an unsuspecting man at the airport and dialed Taeg’s number. As he’d expected, Mammon answered.

“Where are they?” he said to his father.

“Keegan.” Mammon’s voice was jovial. “I was beginning to think you’d backed out. Your brothers’ guards grow antsy.”

“You mean their torturers.”

Mammon laughed. “Should I inform them to prepare for disappointment?”

“We’re here,” Keegan responded.

“Excellent.” There was a moment of quiet. Keegan lifted his binoculars. As he’d expected, mere moments later the rayamaras lifted off, circling the area. “Will you be coming to join us, then?”

“Don’t bother with your flying demons,” Keegan said. “They won’t find us.”

“Ah…that close, hmm?”

“Yes. But you won’t get what you want until you bring out Taeg, Ronin, and Cresso. I want to ensure that you’ve kept your word not to harm them.”

“So distrusting?” Mammon asked. He didn’t sound too upset about it, though.

“I learned from the best.”

“Indeed. Very well. Just a few moments.”

He spotted movement from the largest tent on the grounds and shifted his binoculars as Leviathos headed to a smaller tent.

“I trust you’ve explained all of this to the heir?” Mammon said.

Keegan didn’t bother answering. Instead, he said, “I want you to swear a blood oath.”

“I’ve already given you my word,” Mammon said in a disgruntled tone.

“And we’ve already established just how much that’s worth. Jack shit,” Keegan ground out. “Swear a blood oath that you will let them leave unharmed, and that you won’t ever again cause harm to any of us. Or to Brynn, for that matter.”

“You ask for too much,” Mammon said.

“Think of what you’ll get in return, Dad. An entire world to rule as you wish.” When silence answered on Mammon’s end, Keegan pressed, “You’ve already promised me as much. This makes it official.”

“Fine,” Mammon finally spat. “I swear to you that I will leave them and your precious heir unharmed. But you haven’t even revealed yourself to me. I won’t guarantee your safety until I see that you have delivered what you have promised.”

No more than he’d expected. And Keegan was willing to live with it. Or, in this case, die for it.

“Done,” he said.

The flap to the smaller tent opened and Leviathos exited, followed by Taeg, Ronin, and Cresso. Though they staggered, that was probably due to the guards hauling them around with their hands tied behind their backs. Compound that with the fact that this was probably the first time they’d walked in days, and it was a miracle their feet supported them at all.

With the exception of their tattered, frayed clothing, they appeared relatively unharmed. But he knew better than anyone that appearances were deceiving. Knowing Mammon, he’d probably forced Ronin to heal himself and the others so he could torture them over and over again. The sadistic bastard.

The flap to the large tent lifted and Mammon stepped outside.

Hatred churned within Keegan at the sight of his father, threatening to bubble over into pure rage. He forced it back. Now was not the time to go berserk. Even if he did summon his fire-breathing ability, he couldn’t save all three of them. Not before Mammon got to them.

“Do you see them?” Mammon said into the phone.

“Yes. Now your oath.”

“Knife.” Mammon spat out the terse order to one of the minions guarding the tent. The guard hastily dug a knife out of his pocket, and Mammon used it to cut a shallow groove into his arm. “I swear by my blood, in exchange for your presence, no harm shall come to your brothers, your friend, or the heir. The prisoners will be free to go, as will the heir once she’s satisfied her mission.”

Mammon threw the knife to the ground. “Satisfied?”

He was. A blood oath was unbreakable to one of his kind without dire consequences. “Be right down.”

He stepped out of his hidden recess, sprouted his wings, and glided toward the camp. He ignored the rayamaras, who spotted him and circled behind, blocking his escape. They didn’t understand that he wasn’t about to escape. He’d freely accepted his fate: one life for many. There was no choice to be made here.

Mammon’s expression grew from baffled to suspicious to downright livid when Keegan touched down alone. “Where is the heir?”

Keegan cast him a toothy grin. “Not a clue. She’s not with me.”

“But you said we,” Mammon said in a low, furious tone.

“You said I’d be a prince.” Keegan gave him a casual shrug. “I was using we in the royal sense.”

“Deceiver!” Mammon yelled. He moved lightning-fast and struck Keegan full on in the face, dropping him to his knees.

Shit, that hurt. Mammon always did have a stone fist.

But then again, it was all too familiar, being in this position in front of his dad. Just some old father-son bonding time. Nothing new here.

“Keegan!” Taeg called, but when he tried to rush forward, the guards held him back.

Keegan rose to his feet, spitting out blood. His nose cracked as it mended itself. Instantly, four of Mammon’s guards surrounded him, yanking his arms behind him while his father furiously walked back and forth.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Mammon said.

Keegan shrugged. “You swore an oath to set them free without harm.”

“Keegan—” Ronin said.

“Shut up!” Mammon shouted. He turned back to Keegan, a tight smile on his face. “But you don’t have the same protection, do you?”

Keegan adopted a bored expression.

“Bro,” Taeg said in an alarmed voice, “what the fuck are you doing?”

Mammon gritted his teeth and whirled to face Keegan’s brothers. “You are all eternal disappointments. It’s beyond me how any of you could be children of my loins.”

“We often wonder the exact same thing,” Ronin said in a dry tone.

Ignoring that, Mammon took a cell phone that Keegan recognized as Taeg’s out of his pocket and tossed it in front of Taeg.

“Deposit them in the back of a vehicle,” he said to the guards holding them captive. “Drive them to Cairo and then let them go.”

Leviathos’s expression grew anxious. “But Lord—”

“I swore a blood oath, you idiot. Besides, they are no longer of any use to me.” Mammon turned, dismissing his lackey and ignoring Ronin’s and Taeg’s shouts as they were dragged away.

Keegan ignored them, too, keeping his focus on Mammon. It didn’t matter what they had to say. Now they were safe. As their big brother, he had a duty to protect them, and that was all that mattered.

Mammon studied him for a moment, then gave him a sly smile. “You think you are doing the noble thing, sacrificing yourself for your brothers?”

Damn right, he did.

“We’ll see,” Mammon said, reading the look on his face. “You believe you’ve won, but you’ve only postponed the inevitable. You see, now I have the one thing the heir wants most.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, keeping his voice level.

Mammon barked out a laugh. “You underestimate the power of love.”

Love? Keegan ignored that foolish little kernel of hope that rose in his chest. He didn’t want her love. He wanted her to live, to be happy—even if his heart wrenched at the thought that it wouldn’t be with him. “Brynn doesn’t love me.”

“Are you so very foolish that you don’t recognize love when you see it?” Mammon shook his head, his eyes dark with pity. “I recognized it solely from invading Brynn’s dreams. But then, I’ve always recognized love. It is the best of all emotions because it makes those feeling it the weakest. What better thing to exploit than that? The heir will come for you, and when she does, I’ll get what I want.”

“No.” Keegan shook his head in denial. “She won’t.”

After what he’d sacrificed, what they’d all sacrificed, she couldn’t possibly consider giving herself up for him. And if there was even the smallest chance she might, he’d taken precautions to ensure she didn’t.

Mammon turned to the guards who held Keegan captive. “Take him to the holding area.”

“What should we do with him?” one of them asked. He gave Keegan a vicious poke in the ribs.

“Use your imagination.” Mammon whirled about and started back toward his tent. He turned at the last second and gave Keegan a long, slow look before shaking his head in clear disappointment. “Such a waste.”

“Glad you think so,” Keegan couldn’t help but respond, even though he knew he should be keeping his mouth shut if he wanted things to go easier on him.

Mammon pursed his lips and turned back to his men. “Start draining his blood slowly. We want to give the heir motivation to come sooner rather than later, don’t we?”

After Mammon left, the guards unleashed their fists on him with blow after blow. He fought back, relishing in each jab and hit he landed, taking perverse pleasure in the scream one of the guards let loose when his arm broke with a loud snap. He ignored his own broken bones and the pain as they healed. Nothing existed but this fight and releasing as much ass-kicking as he could before they inevitably brought him down. Yeah, he’d pay for it in the torture tent, but right now, he didn’t give a fuck. They continued hitting and kicking him until he stopped fighting altogether, his strength completely zapped.

It’s no more than I’d expected, he thought as they dragged him toward the torture tent. Mammon knew his weakness—that he would no longer have the ability to heal himself once he’d been fully drained. He knew he would die.

At least my brothers are safe. Brynn is safe.

At the very least, he had that.

Chapter Twenty-seven

By the time Brynn heard the rumble of a motorboat approaching, she’d already tried to think of a million different ways to get off this stupid island. After all, it had been well over a day since Keegan had left her. But short of swimming to the mainland, there was no way out. To think that such a dreamy safe haven could so rapidly become a prison.

Where was Keegan now? The mere thought of him in Mammon’s grasp was beyond horrifying. If his father got ahold of him, she had no doubt the torture he’d endure would be unbearable. Why hadn’t he stayed? She understood his loyalty to his brothers, but why did he have to go it alone? Together, they might have found another way.

Brynn rose to her feet on the dock and watched as the boat came closer. She didn’t see anything at first, as it was close to midnight, and even with the floodlights from the house the night was still dark as hell. Squinting, she shaded her eyes from the bright light on the front of the approaching boat.

Who would Keegan have sent for her, anyway? With the exception of his brothers—who, as far as she knew, still wanted to kill her—and his father, she didn’t think he knew anyone else on Earth.

The engine cut, and the person inside looped a rope over the dock post. At last, its spotlight dimmed and the figure stepped off the boat.

Brynn blinked as her eyes adjusted to the change in light. Then, once she made out who it was, she gasped. “You!”

“Brynn—” Dagan started, but she didn’t let him finish. She turned and sprinted toward the house.

“Brynn,” he yelled. His footsteps pounded hard on the sand behind her.

She panted as she flew toward the front door, trying to ignore the stitch forming at her side. If she could just get inside, she’d… Well, she didn’t know what she’d do, but at least she’d have a few extra moments to think.

“Wait!” A second later, he tackled her to the sand.

She went down hard, biting her lip in the process. The metallic tang of her blood filtered onto her tongue.

“No,” she cried, grabbing two handfuls of sand as he twisted her around to face him.

He pinned her with his body. “Listen—”

She closed her eyes and threw the sand in his face.

He reared back. “Shit.”

Brynn swung her palm at him. When it connected with Dagan’s chin, he yelped, but before she could fight him further, he grabbed her hands and trapped them high over her head.

It was no use. He was far too strong.

“If you hurt me, Keegan’s gonna kill you,” she spat at him.

“Damn it, Brynn, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he said. “Keegan sent me.”

Shocked, she stopped struggling. “Why would he do that? He knows you’re trying to kill me.”

“Not anymore. If you’d listen for a moment, you’d know that.” From the way he shook her for emphasis, she figured he was more than a little pissed about the whole sand thing.

She opened her eyes, blinking them furiously, and shook her head to clear off the remaining grains of sand. Admittedly, if he had wanted her dead, she probably would be by now. “You’re not trying to kill me?”

A drop of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Okay, how would I even know to find you here if Keegan didn’t tell me?”

He had a point. Brynn relaxed under him.

“Are you going to stop attacking me now?”

“Sorry,” she said.

Dagan pushed off her with a curse, sitting on his heels. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and spat some blood to the side. “Shit. You managed to blind me and make me almost bite off my tongue.”

“Really?” She did that?

“I can see you’re torn up about it,” he said dryly. “Don’t worry, I’ll heal.”

Yeah, well, he’d wanted to kill her before, so he could suck a big one. Besides, she was absurdly proud she’d managed to hurt him. If she could injure a powerful demon even without her abilities, maybe she was stronger than she thought.

“I promised I would keep you safe,” he told her grimly. “So that’s what I’m going to do.”

That was what Keegan had said to her in his Dear John note. The memory of it came back to her in one searing flash, sending an echo of pain slicing through her gut. Brynn sat up. “Keegan really sent you here?”

Dagan dropped his hands from his face. “Yes.”

He lifted to his feet, then offered her his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it. “What made you change your mind? About killing me, I mean?”

Dagan laughed, the bitter sound slicing through her. “If he’s sacrificing himself to save your life, the least I can do is honor his wish to keep you alive.”

“Sacrifice?” Brynn stared at Dagan, her eyes going wide. Pain sliced through her midsection like a punch to the gut. “He’s exchanging himself for Taeg and Ronin?”

“It’s what he wanted.”

“No, we can’t just let him give himself up. We have to stop him.”

“It’s already done.”

Brynn clamped her mouth shut. She stared at Dagan for a long moment. He stared back, unflappable. “We can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

Dagan’s eyes softened, and he reached for her hand. “Keegan wants you to be safe. Don’t forget the consequences if Mammon gets ahold of you, Brynn. He made a decision. We need to honor it.”

Could he really be suggesting that they do nothing? Nothing? “So what’s your plan, then?”

“I have a friend who owns a condo in Miami. He’s agreed to let us borrow it indefinitely. We can go there. You can make a new life, if you want. Start over—”

Brynn yanked her hand away from his. “You actually think I’m going to be able to forget about him? To just go on with life as if nothing happened? Are you crazy?”

“I expect it because Keegan expected it,” Dagan said. “Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain.”

“No.” She pushed away from him, but he caught her by the waist. “No, I won’t.”

“It’s time to go.”

“No!” She slapped him. When he did nothing, she made a fist and punched him in the chest. She wanted something from him. A flinch. A curse. A promise that he would do something. When she got nothing, she struck him again, taking out all of her anger and frustration on his chest. He barely budged, and he allowed her to hit him over and over before finally grabbing her and holding her tightly to him.

“No, let go!”

She tried to push him away, but she surprised herself by instead wrapping her arms around his neck. Anger and frustration gave way to despair. Agony.

“It’s okay.” Dagan squeezed her tightly, rocking her back and forth as he stroked her hair. “It’ll be okay.”

She clutched his shoulders, bitter sobs tearing out of her throat. “We can’t just let him go. We can’t.”

He pressed her tighter to him. “We have to.”

…

Dagan strode aimlessly around the living room of their borrowed Miami Beach condo. Though the sweeping ocean views from the large windows were stunning even at this time of night, he barely paid them notice.

Brynn had closed herself off in one of the condo’s three bedrooms as soon as they’d arrived. Her eyes had been nearly swollen shut from the heavy tears she’d cried, and she’d clutched her stomach as if she was in pain. A broken heart hurt beyond belief…that he well knew from past experience.

“Shit.” Kicking off his shoes, he threw himself onto the brown Ultrasuede couch. He’d gone from facing the possibility of losing two brothers to the certainty of losing one.

Worse, what if Mammon tricked Keegan somehow and ended up keeping them all?

Ever since he could remember, Dagan had heard music inside his mind—a byproduct of his siren heritage, he supposed, since sirens spent the majority of their lives expressing emotions through song. Rich chords ebbed and flowed in his head, the harmony changing and the volume lowering or increasing dependent on his frame of mind. The occasional popular song would seep in there, too, if the lyrics were particularly appropriate to his mood…

But there was always music.

Right now, harsh, discordant tones that spoke of pain and suffering echoed loudly in his head. Intense, clashing rhythms melded with fierce, pounding beats, sparking a symphony of soul-numbing regret. If only they could have done something differently. If only he could have acted differently. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, wondering how the hell he was going to comfort the woman who clearly loved his brother when it was so obvious that Keegan wasn’t going to be coming back. Not in one piece.

He bent forward and wearily dragged his hands across his face. Damn, but he hated feeling so uncertain, so beaten. He wanted to help his brothers, but he knew he couldn’t. Keegan had asked him—practically begged him—to take care of Brynn. The least he could do was honor this one last wish.

The sudden ringing of his cell phone made him jump. Only three people had his number, and he’d be glad as hell to speak to any one of them right about now. He hopped off the couch, rushed to his jacket, and fished out the phone.

Please. Please let this be them…

When he answered, Taeg’s tired voice replied, “Man, am I glad to hear your voice.”

“Taeg! Thank the devil. Where are you?”

“In Cairo. Keegan exchanged himself for us, bro.”

Dagan took a breath. “Yeah, I know. He told me what he was doing.”

“And you let him do it?”

“He was going to do it with or without me,” Dagan said.

“Fuck.” Taeg sounded too tired to be angry. “So, where are you?”

“I’m with Brynn.”

“What?”

“Keegan asked me to take over her protection, and I agreed.”

Dagan expected an argument from Taeg. Instead, he sighed. “I understand. If he thinks saving her life is worth dying for, then we need to respect that.”

His thoughts exactly. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Taeg replied. “We can’t get Keegan back. Not without the Council’s help. And we can’t go to the Council if we’re going to protect Brynn. We’re up shit creek, no paddle, you get the drift.”

The door to Brynn’s room opened. She walked out, even more puffy-eyed than before, if that was possible.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

For a moment, Dagan debated not answering, but it wasn’t like she would stop asking. “It’s Taeg. Keegan was able to get him and Ronin freed.”

She covered her mouth with her hands, then stumbled toward him on shaky legs. “Let me talk to him.”

Devil, did she want to know what Mammon had done to him? What he was going to do to Keegan? The very idea made Dagan’s heart pound in tune with the desolate chords ringing in his head. She shouldn’t have to think about it. “Brynn—”

She stopped directly in front of him and held out her hand. “Let me talk to him,” she repeated, her voice hard as steel.

After a moment of hesitation, Dagan obeyed.

Brynn placed the phone to her ear, not bothering with a greeting. “Are you still trying to kill me, too, or have you given up on that?… Well, I need to talk to you, then… Can you come here? I know you can flash. Keegan told me about it… Yes… Okay.”

She recited the condo’s address and hung up before returning the phone to Dagan. “He’ll be here in a sec.”

Sure enough, moments later the air shimmered with Taeg’s path and he appeared out of nowhere. He was obviously wearing a fresh set of clothes, not looking like a man who’d been tortured for the last two days. But Dagan detected the exhaustion and the undertone of horror in his eyes, and he had no doubt he’d suffered greatly at their father’s hands.

For a while there, he thought he’d never see him again. “So glad to see you, brother.”

“Me, too.” Taeg clasped him in a tight embrace.

Dagan held on for a long moment, then pulled back. “Ronin?”

“He’s fine. He’s at the hotel with Cresso.”

So they all were free, then. All except for Keegan.

“Taeg.” Brynn approached, grabbed Taeg’s arm, and turned him around to face her. “You have a plan to get Keegan out of there, right?”

Taeg exchanged a glance with Dagan. “The site is heavily guarded. There’s no way we could infiltrate it without more people. I think it’s pretty clear that we can’t expect any more help from the Council.”

Brynn shook her head. “We have to do something. There has to be a way. Maybe we can pretend to set up an exchange.”

“No.” Taeg took her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Keegan went to a lot of trouble to make sure you were safe. We can’t endanger your life.”

“I thought you, of all people, would understand.” Brynn scrunched Taeg’s shirt in her hands in an unconscious gesture of pure desperation. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away.

That simple act of bravery broke Dagan’s heart, and he knew why Keegan had fallen in love and given himself up for her. He would honor that sacrifice if it killed him.

“I dreamed about what he did to you,” she said to Taeg. “You know Keegan’s probably going through worse than that right now. You can’t just leave him there.”

Taeg cast Dagan a frantic look, as if his resolve were wavering. Well, if it was, he would be strong for all of them. For once. “I’m sorry, Brynn. There’s nothing we can do.”

Brynn flinched and took a shuddering breath. Then she drew herself up, untangling her fingers from Taeg’s shirt. “I see I was wrong about you guys.” She wriggled out of Taeg’s grasp and backed away. “I thought you were brave, but you’re not. You’re both cowards.”

With one last death stare, she turned and stomped back to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Taeg watched her go. He turned to Dagan, his eyes red and swollen from the tears he held back. In an uncharacteristic moment of weakness, he asked, “There isn’t anything we can do, is there?”

Dagan felt the heavy weight of his own tears pressing behind his eyelids. So pointless. Crying would accomplish nothing. He fought them as he shook his head. “Not this time, big brother. Not this time.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Brynn was surrounded on all four sides by sand, rock, and pyramids. Although it was dark, a world-class lighting system illuminated the area. Ahead of her, dozens of white tents were set up in all shapes and sizes.

This wasn’t any normal dream. She stood in the Valley of the Kings.

Rooted to her spot, she willed the ice in her veins to heat. Something bad was going to happen here. Part of her longed to wake up before she saw what it was, but she had to know.

The canvas tents rustled in the breeze as she strode forward, farther into the camp. Other than that, eerie silence filled the open space. She headed for the largest tent but stopped when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a mottled tent.

No, not mottled. Stained.

From the inside.

“Oh, God.” She covered her mouth with her shaking hands. No denying what that was. Blood. Lots of it.

“That’s the one,” said the now-familiar rasping voice.

When she whirled around, Mammon stood directly behind her, a polite smile on his face.

“You.” She ran at him, struck his cheek with her fist.

His head snapped to the side. He laughed and turned to look at her again. “That almost hurt, little Brynn.”

“Go to hell, you monster,” she spat.

“Hell?” Mammon’s lips curved even wider. “This is Hell, and I am its master. Come see.”

Brynn’s world spun, and suddenly she stood in front of the bloodstained tent. Pure dread unfurled in her stomach, rising in her throat and threatening to suffocate her.

No, she didn’t want to go in there.

But when she tried to stumble back, she couldn’t. No way to go but forward.

The tent flap rose of its own volition. Brynn swallowed hard and stepped through the doorway, fighting the urge to vomit.

She stood inside a torture chamber. Blood was splattered everywhere, even on the low table that held a variety of wicked-looking devices—knives, daggers, rods, weapons her mind couldn’t even process. The tangy smell of blood permeated the air, threatening to choke her.

Keegan was there, lying on what appeared to be a gurney. Heavy iron manacles strapped his hands and feet to it, and his clothes clung to him in tatters. And in front of him stood a large demon, who lifted the knife and sliced Keegan’s stomach.

“Keegan,” she screamed.

She tried to run toward him, but she couldn’t do anything but watch as his flesh immediately wove itself back together, his guts sucking back into his body with an audible slurp. From the way he groaned and convulsed, it appeared the healing process was almost as painful as the wound.

“No, Keegan,” she sobbed.

He didn’t look at her, didn’t appear to hear her at all. The demon slashed again, drawing another guttural yell from Keegan.

“No, please, no,” Brynn whispered. Tears rolled down her face, blinding her.

“I’m afraid he can’t hear you, dear. He’s quite lost in his pain.”

She turned her head toward the voice.

Mammon had appeared beside her.

She tried to lunge at him, but once again she couldn’t move or rake her nails down his face the way she longed to. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do to destroy him. “You monster. How could you do this to your own son?”

Mammon inclined his head toward her, giving her a speculative glance. “You can stop this, you know. You have the power. Simply turn yourself in to me, and I’ll set him free.”

“No,” Keegan cried.

Brynn whipped her head toward him.

“No, Brynn,” he said through gritted teeth. Agony was etched all over his features. “You need to stay away. Promise me. Promise—”

“Shut up,” Mammon yelled, pure rage contorting his face.

The demon put the knife down and picked up an iron poker. He lifted his hand and a ball of fire appeared in his palm.

“Fire demon,” Mammon said conversationally. “I found it fitting.”

The demon heated the poker in the fire, then plunged it into Keegan’s side. The stench of cooking flesh burned her nostrils. Brynn turned away, choking on her own bile as Keegan screamed.

“Make him stop,” she pleaded with Mammon.

“Only you can do that, Brynn. Come to me and his agony will end. But I give you fair warning. You have no more than a couple of days before it is too late.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“Do you see that apparatus at his side?”

He motioned toward what appeared to be a sharp iron spike digging into Keegan’s flesh. Attached to it was a red hose that snaked all the way underneath the gurney.

“What is that?” she whispered.

“Blood. Once he is fully drained, there will be no coming back. Remember that.”

“How could you—?”

“Brynn.” Keegan gave her an entreating look. “Promise me. Promise you won’t come.”

“I said be quiet,” Mammon screamed. He flew toward Keegan, and she felt the sudden sensation of being thrown backward. She flew out of the tent…and jolted awake in her bed.

“Oh, no,” she moaned. “No, Keegan.”

Brynn buried her face in her hands.

She couldn’t sit idly by while the man she loved was tortured to death.

She loved him. Oh, God, she loved Keegan. Somehow, it had snuck up and smacked her on the face, but it was indisputable. The man she loved was dying. And she was the only one with the power to save him.

Brynn remembered some of Mammon’s first words to her. That almost hurt, he’d said. And Dagan, back on the island, had been hurt, too.

Demons were strong and powerful, yes, but they weren’t almighty. Keegan had told her demons couldn’t defeat their parents, but that didn’t mean the parents were indestructible.

Could she do it? Was she crazy to even contemplate it?

The odds were that she’d probably die. But she couldn’t wait in Miami and do nothing.

Decision made, she bounded off the bed.

…

Taeg sat slumped over on the end of his bed, facing the large wall of windows overlooking the ocean. It was a fabulous view. Why was he the one here seeing it instead of Keegan?

He was responsible for this. If only he hadn’t decided to try to get the book. He’d made so many mistakes, and Keegan was the one who’d paid for them. Deep inside, he knew the gruesome torture he and Ronin had undergone was nothing compared to what Keegan endured now. And that was killing him.

Taking in a deep sigh, he buried his face in his hands. He’d gladly trade his life for his brother’s. But he wasn’t going to get Keegan out of Mammon’s grip alone, or even with his brothers’ help, and the Council would sooner destroy Brynn than help them. What options did he have?

Taeg looked up at the sound of his doorknob turning. Brynn crept inside, then shut the door behind her. She wore the same clothes as before.

“Brynn, what’s wrong?” He rose off the bed and started over to her, but she met him halfway. “What is it?”

“Listen…” She took a seat on the side of his bed.

“Do you need to talk, Brynn, because I can—”

“I don’t need you to baby me. I’m here because I had a dream.” She looked away for a second, then back at him. “More of a vision, actually.”

“Vision?” Was she kidding? He walked back to the bed and sat beside her. “I didn’t know you had visions.”

“I think I know of a way we can save Keegan,” she continued, ignoring his comment.

“What?” Taeg’s heart broke out into a fierce gallop. “How?”

“Keegan said the resurrection spell gives power to the person in possession of the book. Well, I’ll need to hold it in order to work the spell, won’t I?”

Taeg frowned, not liking where this conversation was headed. “So what?”

“So, when I perform the spell, I’ll have control over the army. I can order them to destroy Mammon.”

Disappointment coursed through him. “Yeah, but, one, you’ll have let loose an army of zombies, and, two, what are the odds of Mammon actually letting you hold the book while you perform the spell?”

“I’ll tell him I have to hold it, and…and that it also contains a counter-spell. As soon as he’s gone, I can order the zombies back into the grave.” Brynn’s gaze flickered down. “I saw it in my vision.”

For one second, hope flared, but then reality set in. Taeg was all for saving Keegan, but not if the risk was too great. He’d already made one foolhardy decision this week. Well, several, actually. He couldn’t afford another. “No way, Brynn. It’s far too risky. What if he gets to you before the zombies get to him?”

“He won’t.” Brynn leaned forward. “Think about it. He’s at the Valley of the Kings. Bodies are literally buried everywhere. And they’ll all do as I command.”

“If it works. There’s just as great a chance that you’ll end up dead and Mammon will have control over the book and the army. Keegan didn’t give himself up so you could walk into a trap.”

“But it’s not.” Brynn put her hand on his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “It would be one thing if I didn’t already know how this was going to end, but I told you, I saw it. It’ll work.”

Taeg stared at Brynn, his defenses wearing down. He wanted to believe her. “Dagan won’t go for it. Keegan has rarely, if ever, coerced him to do anything. He takes his vow to protect you seriously.”

“I know,” she said evenly. “That’s why I’m here with you now.”

Shit. Shit. If he agreed to this, he’d betray Dagan’s trust. But if it meant saving Keegan’s life…

“Please, Taeg.” Brynn stared at him with beseeching eyes. “You know better than anyone what he’s going through right now. We have to save him.”

She went right for the throat. The mere thought of what they’d done to him, of what they were doing to Keegan, made him want to howl in agony. “You promise you’re right about this? You’re sure you’ll be able to do it?”

Brynn grabbed his hand and squeezed tight. “Yes.”

Damnation, if they somehow managed to make it out of this okay, Keegan would kill him and Taeg wouldn’t blame him. But how could he live with himself if there was a chance he could save Keegan and he didn’t take it?

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s do it. But we have to leave now, before Dagan catches on.”

She smiled and rose off the bed. “I’m ready.”

…

Fresh out of his dreamscape with Brynn, Mammon rose off his bed with an angry growl. He barely noticed the frigid air as he stomped, bare-chested, out of his tent. At the moment, he had only one thing on his mind: his blasted sons. Why did they continually seek to destroy him? After all he had done for them, this was how they rewarded him?

He stormed into the tent where he’d left Keegan. One of the guards stood in front of his son, working him with a jagged knife. Ignoring the guard, Mammon asked, “Why?”

Keegan groaned.

“Leave us,” Mammon ordered.

The guard dropped his weapon and left.

“Why?” he asked again.

Gasping, his skin slick with sweat and blood, Keegan turned his head. “Why what?”

“Why did you and your brothers desert me? Act against me? After all I’ve done for you. I made you, for devil’s sake.”

“You mean you raped our poor, innocent mothers.”

His son was such a fool, always focused on trivial matters.

“They were mere tools for your creation. You wouldn’t be here if not for me. So why betray me?”

Keegan actually chuckled, the insolent fool. It turned into a hacking cough. “Because you are an evil, sadistic demon with no care for anyone but yourself.”

Mammon lifted a brow. “And?”

“And you actually have to ask why that’s a problem.” Though he must be in utter agony, the boy had the nerve to sound amused. Patronizing.

What a supreme disappointment they had all been to him. Good riddance to the four of them. His future progeny would put their talents to shame.

Mammon strolled to the weapons table and ran his finger along one of the bloodstained knives. “Was warrior service to the Council preferable to a life of power and luxury in your father’s service?”

“Yes,” Keegan said.

A burst of fury whipped through Mammon. He knocked the table to the side and it upended, knives flying everywhere.

“What about now?” he shouted. “Is even torture preferable to serving your father?”

Keegan laughed, leaving no doubt as to the sincerity of his tone. “I’d rather die.”

Mammon rose to his full height. “As you wish, son.”

He turned and stalked out of the tent. The guard waited outside. “Double the rate of his blood extraction,” he told him. “Leave only the barest amount necessary to keep him alive.”

From this moment on, his duty as a father was done. His sons had chosen another path and they must pay the price for it. Now it was time to focus on the future. On his reign.

And if he had to do it alone, then so be it.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Brynn and Taeg made it to the Valley of the Kings in record time, mostly because they knew they had to move quickly. If her dream was accurate—and she had no reason to believe it wasn’t—Mammon was bleeding Keegan to death, and not even a half dragon could survive that.

Dagan had been calling Taeg nonstop, and she harbored no doubt that he’d found them both missing and put two and two together. He must have called Ronin to tell him, because soon enough, he joined in the calls to Taeg. Thank goodness Taeg refused to answer any of them. The last thing she needed was for him to start rethinking his agreement to help.

Taeg seemed pretty sure that Dagan trailed them, so that gave them something else to worry about. At least he’d done a moderately good job of masking his impatience over having to fly with Brynn rather than flashing over to Egypt.

Brynn sat next to him inside their rented car about a mile outside of the entrance to the Valley. He turned to her, uncertain. “Brynn, are you sure—?”

“I’m sure.”

He handed her his phone. “Remember what I told you.”

“Okay.” Brynn took a deep breath, then dialed Keegan’s number. A gritty voice answered. Though she’d never actually heard him in person before, she recognized him immediately. Just the sound of his voice made her shudder. “Mammon.”

“Brynn.” Mammon sounded delighted. “So wonderful to hear from you.”

“Cut the shit.” She made her voice as hard as possible. “I want an oath from you. A blood oath.”

After a moment of silence, Mammon laughed. “A blood oath, hmm? Which of my sons is with you?”

“None of your damned business. I want you to swear that once I come to you, you’ll let Keegan walk out of there unharmed. Promise you won’t hurt him or me.”

“How will you know I’m telling the truth?” he asked, his tone smooth as silk.

“Walk out into the middle of your camp. Out in the open.”

“Ah, I take it you are nearby? How delightful.”

“Stop stalling,” she snarled.

“Fine. I’m going out now.”

She put her hand over the phone and turned to Taeg. “Okay. He’s doing it.”

He nodded and then disappeared.

Brynn waited until Mammon said, “I’m here.”

“Okay,” she said. “Now promise.”

“I swear on my blood that in return for your cooperation, Keegan will be allowed to leave unharmed, and that I will not harm you, either. Are you satisfied?”

Taeg flashed into the car, winded, like he’d been running. “He cut himself. It’s done.”

Brynn nodded. “I’m on my way.”

She hung up, niggling tendrils of fear and uncertainty shooting down her spine. Too late to back down now.

Taeg read her thoughts. “Don’t worry. You already know how it’ll turn out.”

“Yes.” She turned away. “You’ll wait for Keegan?”

“You know it. Brynn, please be careful. If anything happens to you…”

She forced a smile. “I will. I promise.”

He seemed satisfied with that. “You got the dagger?”

“Right here.” She patted the scabbard holstered to her stomach underneath her loose-fitting sweater. He’d given it to her after they touched down in Egypt, insisting that she take it for protection. But the bleak look in his eyes had said it all. He didn’t think she would stand a chance of succeeding if she needed to use it. Still, she was grateful for the weapon. It would be the only one she had against Mammon, since her ability to drain energy didn’t work on demons. And unbeknownst to Taeg, she truly did plan on using it.

“Well, then, good luck.” With one last reassuring look, he flashed away.

Brynn slid into the driver’s seat. She was on her own now. On her own and terrified. Apparently, she’d done a good job of convincing Taeg about her vision. Too bad she couldn’t do the same to herself, since it was all one big lie. She didn’t know how this would turn out. But she had to try something. With one last reassuring pat of the dagger, she started forward.

Please, please let this work. Her only advantage was that she was human and female and, therefore, undoubtedly weak as far as Mammon was concerned. She would have to exploit that at the best possible opportunity.

The entrance to the Valley crept up far sooner than she’d expected. Several armed guards waited outside the gate. They straightened as she pulled up, and then approached her vehicle.

She shifted the car into park and opened the door, sliding out of the seat. “Hello, I—”

“Come on,” one of the guards said gruffly, grabbing her arm and yanking her forward.

Another guard slid into place at her other side, and a few men closed ranks behind her. Ah, so these were Mammon’s minions.

They dragged Brynn through the barren entrance and all the way across the clearing in the camp to where Mammon waited. Just as they had been in her dreams, tents were set up throughout the space, with the pyramids looming in the background.

“You are as beautiful in real life as you are in your dreams,” he said once she was within hearing distance.

“Save it.” She kept her voice tough, even though inside she trembled. “Don’t forget your oath. Where’s Keegan?”

Mammon tipped his head sideways, toward the spot where Keegan struggled against a couple of Mammon’s guards as they dragged him toward the exit.

Oh, thank God, he hadn’t seen her yet. She stepped backward.

“You can’t let him know I’m here,” she whispered to Mammon. She didn’t know what he’d do if he saw her.

Mammon appeared to think it over before nodding. He motioned for his guards to step in front of her, concealing her from Keegan’s view.

Brynn watched the guards drag him toward the entrance. Ragged sobs threatened to tear out of her throat, but she choked them back. She’d made her choice, and she didn’t regret it. No matter what happened to her, he would be safe.

“Never fear, my dear,” Mammon said, turning to face her. “He’s been shown to the exit, as promised.”

Brynn focused in on Mammon, on the rage and fury that bubbled up inside, threatening to consume her. “You’ll pay for this, you evil monster.”

He lost his oily smile. “No, you stupid human, for this I will be rewarded. Now, let us get started, shall we?”

…

Keegan stumbled as the guards hauled him through the entrance. What the hell was going on? Were they planning to kill him all the way out here?

He pushed against one of the guards and the demon fell, landing on his knees.

“You got lucky, idiot,” the guard hissed, his face reddening as he rose to his feet. “Now get lost, before your luck runs out.”

Lucky? Keegan edged backward, staring at the guards in confusion. He didn’t understand. They were letting him go?

“Keegan!”

Stiffening, he turned toward the sound of the familiar voice. “Taeg.”

Relief rushed through him, and he slumped forward. A wave of dizziness hit him. How much damn blood had he lost? Right now, it felt like most of it.

His brother caught him before his knees gave out. “Are you okay, bro?”

“Okay?” He didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t sure how he felt. Only that he was alive, and somehow it was thanks to Taeg. “How did you—?”

“Later.” Taeg directed a meaningful glance toward the guards and supported Keegan’s weight as he led him forward. “Let’s get you in the car, man.”

For the first time Keegan noticed the car a few feet away, its driver’s-side door open. Taeg drove here instead of flashing? Why? Unless he did it to retrieve him, knowing he would be too weak to fly.

Taeg helped him into the passenger seat, then jogged to the driver’s side, where the keys already waited in the ignition.

“How did you do it?” Keegan asked while Taeg started the car.

His brother’s brow crinkled, and he examined the interior, looking at it as if he’d never seen it before. Then again, he’d never driven before today, so it made sense.

Taeg shifted the car into gear and they squealed forward, practically tumbling Keegan onto his brother’s lap. The blood loss and exhaustion from the last few days’ events slammed into him.

“How did you manage to drive this thing all the way out here?” he slurred.

“Get some rest.” Taeg’s voice seemed far away. “Try to recuperate. You’re going to need all your energy.”

Keegan nodded as sleep threatened to overtake him. But he couldn’t help but wonder what Brynn would say when she found out he was free.

Brynn!

“Is she safe?” He lurched forward, unable to keep himself upright anymore.

“Everything’s fine. Everything will be fine.” Without taking his eyes off the road, Taeg pushed Keegan’s chest, gently forcing him back onto the seat. “Now just rest.”

Moderately reassured, he surrendered to an exhausted slumber. He wasn’t sure how long he was out, but he was jostled awake when the car made a bumpy turn. Sitting up, he looked around. “Where are we?”

“Old gas station,” Taeg answered, his voice clipped.

The dilapidated white shack was stained a dull brown from the sandy dirt of the road. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

“Why are we—?”

“I called them earlier and told them I’d meet them here.” Taeg put the car into park and opened the door, stepping outside without another word. He headed toward the shack.

What?

Opening his door, Keegan exited the car and started after Taeg. He was only a few feet away when Ronin stepped out from the side of the building.

“Ronin.” His brother looked fine. They both did.

Ronin turned to look at him, and much to Keegan’s surprise the expression that crossed his face was almost pitying. Why would he look at him like that?

Just then, Cresso stepped into view, followed by Dagan.

“Dagan?” He’d expected his little brother to be with Brynn. Did that mean…was she here?

Heart soaring, he waited expectantly for her to come into view. But nothing. His brothers all watched him silently, wary looks on their faces, and it all fell into place—Brynn wasn’t coming. She wasn’t even here.

His gaze drifted back to Taeg, and the guilty expression Keegan thought he’d imagined when he first saw him suddenly made sense. So that was the reason for the car. Not to transport him…but Brynn.

Taeg had helped her exchange herself for him.

Sudden fury slammed into him and he focused every bit of it on Taeg. “You. How could you?”

“Hey, wait a sec—”

Keegan lunged at him, practically flying those last few feet. His brother stumbled, holding onto him but not fighting back.

“Wait. Stop,” the others yelled.

He ignored them, concentrating his rage on beating the shit out of Taeg.

“Stop it,” Taeg finally yelled. “I have a plan.”

A plan? Keegan paused. “Brynn…”

“We’re getting her back,” he said. “All of us. I promise.”

“What are you planning?”

“We’re going in. We’re gonna stop this and get your girl back.” Taeg gave him a measuring look. “I really hope you’ve got it in you, bro.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, whatever that mechanism is that triggers your powers, you’re gonna have to figure it out fast. Because, dude, we’re gonna need you to breathe fire.”

Chapter Thirty

The inside of Mammon’s tent was every bit as opulent as Brynn expected, and just as creepy and disgusting. How was it even possible that this demon had fathered Keegan and his brothers?

After Keegan left, Mammon had directed the guards to bring her inside and guard her while he prepared himself for “ultimate rule.” Whatever that entailed. That had been two hours ago. She’d spent the time searching for an escape, but guards manned every inch of the place, clearly prepared for her to try something. She was totally stuck in here.

This sucked.

Please, Taeg, keep Keegan safe.

It killed her to think she might never see him again. But maybe…just maybe…

No. She couldn’t allow herself to hope. Right now, she had to focus on stopping Mammon. If there were no other possibilities, she knew the one thing that would stop him: her death.

But Mammon wouldn’t kill her. No, he’d resort to torture until he broke her. If it came down to it, and she was unable to destroy him, she’d have to take herself out of the equation.

Could she take her own life to prevent the apocalypse?

She took a deep, calming breath. If there is no other choice, you’ll have to.

At last, Mammon returned. “I know it’s a bit rustic, but this is only the beginning. Once my empire is established and the rubbish is cleared away, this will make an excellent base.”

“Rubbish?” Brynn echoed in disbelief, rubbing her tender arms. The demons who’d deposited her in here were brutes. “You mean the pyramids?”

Mammon shrugged. “They are simply the relics of an ancient past no one cares about. The monuments that will be built for me will make these pyramids pale in comparison.”

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “Wow, you really do have a big ego, don’t you?”

He didn’t seem the least bit offended. “I am merely confident in my ability to be the ultimate ruler, my dear.” He headed to a small dining table and lifted the tablecloth, reaching underneath it for a medium-size wooden chest. He deposited it on top of the table, opened it, and took something out.

Her heart squeezed tightly when she realized what it was. “The book,” she whispered.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

It was. Mesmerizing, in fact. She took several steps toward it before Mammon snatched it up. “Not so fast, my dear.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me how to work the resurrection spell. I thought I made that clear during our dreamscaping.”

“Dreamscaping?”

“The term I use for our telepathic communication. It is one of my best discoveries, and one I have kept secret from those fools at the Council.”

Brynn shook her head. “I won’t do it.”

Mammon’s amusement disappeared. The evil glint in his eye made her gulp and take a step back. “Oh, but you will. Or the demon you love will die.”

“You swore you wouldn’t harm him.” Fear weakened her knees. Had Mammon not kept his word?

“I swore I would let him leave unharmed. But I didn’t swear that I wouldn’t have my men hunt him down once he’d gone or that I wouldn’t kill him if he came back.”

Anxiety and fury gnawed at her stomach. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, but I can.” Mammon laughed as he looked at the book and stroked it, his eyes glazing over for a moment. He refocused on her. “I can have them hurt you, too, darling. That’s the problem with blood oaths. You are only bound to your literal words.”

Brynn swallowed back her curses. “If you want me to perform the spell, you’ll have to give me the book.”

“I don’t think so. I will open it for you, and you can read the spell.”

“What makes you think I’ll even be able to read it? It isn’t written in English, is it?”

“You are the heir. It is meant for you to read.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She shrugged. “Or I might have to examine it closely to figure out how to use it.”

Mammon frowned at the book, but he must have decided she had a point because he approached her. Brynn resisted the urge to back away, clenching her fists tightly. Every instinct in her body told her to flee, which was difficult to ignore.

He stopped in front of her and held up the book. There were only two thick metal plates, held together by gold hinges and a clasp. “What do you see?”

Brynn stared at it for a moment. “Nothing. Maybe if you open it?”

“Damnation.” He turned it back toward him and clumsily worked the clasp, opening it before he flipped it back to face her.

Brynn examined the hieroglyphs engraved on the metal, trying to get a reading off them. But it was just a bunch of pictures she couldn’t read. “Sorry. It’s all Greek to me.”

A low snarl rose from his chest. “If you are lying to me, I swear—”

“I’m not.”

He lowered the book with a muttered curse. Brynn took an involuntary step back at the rage in his eyes. For a moment, she feared he would strike her. But instead, he whirled to pace about the tent, grumbling things she couldn’t understand. At last, he turned to face her again, training his features into a calm mask.

“Hold it. Tell me what happens then.” He held it out to her but kept a tight grasp on it.

She gasped as the cool metal made contact with her fingers. Its immediate pull urged her to use her senses to read its memories. She didn’t dare think about resisting. She had to know…she had to.

Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the book. She saw a man—Iyri—chanting in a language that was foreign yet familiar, while he etched the images into the metal. He uttered a spell of protection, making it indestructible. A gorgeous woman stood by his side, her belly softly rounded with child. He felt equal measures of love and despair for her. He must protect her at all costs. Not only her but his child. His bloodline.

“Use this gift, children of my loins. Ultimate protection. If needs be, ultimate power. Call it forth as you will, and use it wisely.”

Iyri performed the spell, and the bodies of the resurrected rose from the earth around him. But he was caught before he could finish it; a dagger plunged into his heart. The bodies fell to the ground and crumbled to dust.

The memories stopped abruptly, flinging Brynn back to the present. She choked on her breath, phantom pain shooting in her chest at the spot where the dagger had struck Iyri.

Mammon’s hands trembled. “What? What is it?”

So that was it.

It appeared Iyri had kept a little secret all of his own, something no one could determine by simply reading the incantations. No, only someone who read memories would know what the spell did.

Wouldn’t Mammon be surprised when he learned the truth?

Steeling her gaze, Brynn glanced up at Mammon. “I can read the words now.”

He breathed, an unholy light glimmering in his eyes. “Go on. Do it.”

Fighting back the shadow of a smile that threatened to creep onto her face, she started to chant.

“From the bowels of earth I call to thee, to protect and shadow over me. Until the need for guard is waived, and you are called back to your grave.”

She recognized the meaning behind the words even though they weren’t in any language she’d ever heard before. Immediately, the earth around her rumbled but she continued on, ignoring it.

Mammon tore his gaze away from the book, his attention drawn outside to the rumbling of what felt like a mini-earthquake. “Is it done?”

Oh, it was done. “Yes.”

His lips curled back to reveal his teeth, and he yanked the book out of her hands, striding toward the exit. Curious, Brynn followed. She stepped outside the tent and gasped.

Knowing what was about to happen was very different from actually seeing it.

Bodies, no more than skeletons, dug themselves out of the earth. The ground not more than ten feet in front of them crumbled upward as dozens of mummified corpses rose from it. The scene was beyond terrifying, like the worst horror movie come to life.

“Oh, sweet heavens.” Covering her mouth, Brynn inched backward.

Mammon’s minions screamed and scattered at the sight of the zombies. One unlucky demon didn’t move fast enough and was torn apart, the zombies feasting on his limbs. As they ate, flesh modeled itself over bare bones.

Beside her, Mammon watched in fascination, the book held tightly in his grasp. “Is it like this all over your world?”

“No, just in the vicinity of where the book is.”

His lips curled into a grin. “And they all answer to me.”

Well…

Several pig-like demons ran toward them, shadowed by a small group of zombies. Brynn instinctively jumped backward and moved to hide behind Mammon. He grabbed one of the demons by the neck.

“Kill her,” he ordered, propelling the demon toward her.

He moved to obey, drawing a dagger out of its sheath. But that was as far as he got before three zombies leapt on him.

“Oh, shit!” Brynn screamed. She edged away, unable to avert her eyes as the zombies devoured the demon less than five feet away from her. Lord, they stank like ten-day-old road kill.

“What?” Mammon stared at the zombies in confusion. His attention darted back to Brynn and, pointing to her, he said, “Kill the girl.”

They stopped eating momentarily, turning their gazes toward him while their bodies continued to regenerate. Then, as one, they returned to their demonic feast.

Mammon lobbed an accusing glare at Brynn. “What is this?”

“Oh, forgot to tell you. The book doesn’t actually control the army,” Brynn said, gracing him with an airy smile. “The heir does.”

Mammon glared at her for a long moment, rage building behind his evil eyes. “What?”

“The army is meant to protect the priest’s bloodline.”

“No.” He gripped the book so tightly his knuckles turned white. “No, how dare you lie to me?”

“I can’t help that what you believed was wrong.”

His chest heaved as he absorbed her words. Then, he moved in front of her and grabbed her neck, choking off her circulation.

The zombies lurched toward them. But Mammon must have heard them, because he shifted around to her back, keeping his hand on her neck, and used her as a shield. She screamed as the zombies got within inches of her, close enough that their stench burned her nostrils and their gore dripped onto her clothes. Recognizing the danger to her, they stopped.

“Stay back,” Mammon ordered them, desperation thick in his voice.

They obeyed, edging anxiously, as if searching for his weak spot.

“Tell them to back away,” he whispered in her ear.

She opened her mouth to respond…when the sky burst into flames.

Chapter Thirty-one

An involuntary screech tore from Brynn’s throat as streams of fiery red sprayed the air, creating thick plumes of smoke. A winged figure flew toward the camp.

Keegan.

With Taeg on his back.

Fire blanketed one corner of the camp, setting demons and zombies ablaze. But then, just like that, Keegan appeared to run out of fuel. The fire dissipated, though the carnage remained.

Through the thick smoke, Brynn barely made out the figures of Keegan and Taeg dropping to the ground. They pulled swords from their backs and fought her new army. They attacked, and the zombies mindlessly lurched forward to defend themselves.

She opened her mouth to scream at Keegan, but before she could say a word Mammon dropped the book and clapped his free hand over her mouth.

“Isn’t that funny? Turns out they’re fighting their own side.”

Brynn kicked her heel against Mammon’s shin and tried to elbow him in the stomach. He muffled a curse and dodged her elbow, using the zombies’ preoccupation with Keegan and his brothers to his advantage as he edged her backward into the tent. Once inside, he twirled her around and shoved her into the great room. She landed in a crumbled heap on the ground.

Mammon loomed over her, cruelty slashing across his face. “Are you going to cooperate now, my dear?”

She rose to her feet and circled the inside of the tent, staring at him in disbelief. “You can’t command the army. Give it up.”

Mammon scoffed at that. “I haven’t lost. I merely have to reevaluate. I may not be able to command the army, but you can. And I control you.”

Control her? He wished.

“Fuck you,” she snarled. She made a run for the exit, but he caught her by the arm and his fist clipped her on the chin, dropping her to the ground. Agony erupted at the point of impact. The pain that spread across her face was so intense she feared her jaw might be broken.

“Fuck,” he screamed, grabbing his face. A purple bruise had formed there.

Disoriented, Brynn peered up at him, noticing a thin row of bruises darkening on his neck. What on Earth? “The blood oath.”

“Yes.” He gripped her arm and dragged her toward his bedroom. “I’ve sworn not to harm you, so whatever harm I do to you will come back to me threefold.”

“Let go.” She tried to get to her feet, but Mammon hoisted her over his shoulder, not stopping until he reached the side of his bed and dumped her.

Hell no.

Brynn’s fist flew out and connected with the side of Mammon’s face, in the same spot as his new bruise. He flinched and drew away. She used that moment to reach inside her sweater and slide the dagger from its sheath. Then she lunged at him, swinging it toward his neck in a long arc.

The blade came within an inch of slicing him, but Mammon moved aside at the last second. Instead of cutting his neck, it grazed the top of his shoulder, leaving a shallow cut.

“Bitch. You’ll pay for that.” He snatched her wrist and squeezed.

She held the dagger for as long as she could, but intense pain spiderwebbed through her wrist, eliciting a ragged scream from her. The bastard had broken her wrist. The dagger fell to the ground with a dull clang.

Still holding her firmly in his grip, Mammon punched her, hitting her square on the jaw. Stars erupted in her vision. She must have blacked out, because when she came to, he straddled her and was fitting her wrists into a pair of manacles chained to the top of the metal-framed bed.

Her jaw and wrist were on fire, and the unpleasant tang of blood coated her throat.

“A warning,” he said, his voice smooth and full of control. “I don’t mind pain the way you so obviously do, and I heal a damn sight faster. So anything short of killing you is fair game.”

Panic and desperation overwhelmed her.

“No. No, please.” She stifled a scream as he jarred her injured wrist. It hurt so freaking badly.

“Hush.” Mammon sat back, smiling down at her. “Don’t like to be tied up, do you? I’ll have to remember that. For later.”

His words elicited deep-seeded horror. Although she tried, she couldn’t hide it. All at once, she was that little girl again, whimpering in the trunk of the strange man’s car, wondering what he would do to her.

No. She couldn’t relive that scene. She couldn’t be helpless again.

She bucked upward. “Stop!”

Ignoring her, Mammon tore a heavy strip off his sheet and gagged her with it. “Don’t want you spilling our little secret, do we?”

He rose off the bed and walked to a small table in the corner. Lifting a large, heavy-looking sword, he turned back to her. Brynn struggled against her binds, biting on the gag to ease the pain of her shattered wrist.

Mammon looked on with an evil smile. “Perhaps if you had behaved, things would have worked out differently. Your lover is still my son, after all. But now, I’m going to kill him.”

Keegan must still be weak from blood loss, and on top of that he was fighting demons and zombies. He’d be no match for his father.

No.

“Don’t worry, dear.” Chuckling, Mammon walked back to her and patted her face. “I’m going to let you watch.”

…

Keegan fought as if his life depended on it. As if Brynn’s life depended on it. Because it probably did. He’d been too late to stop the army, but he could still save her life. Damn the Council. Damn Earth. All that mattered now was Brynn.

A zombie lunged at him, snapping its teeth as if it were dying for a taste.

He reared back, then swung his sword in a loose arc. It caught the zombie across the neck, slicing off its head. The head and body fell inches from each other, but even then, the headless body rose and crawled toward its skull, trying to reassemble itself. Keegan kicked the head and it flew across the field like a soccer ball.

They wouldn’t die, these fuckers. No matter how many times he hacked at them, the damned things kept putting themselves back together. And if the gory demon bits strewn about the camp were any indication, the zombies were hungry.

“You okay?” Taeg grunted beside him as he hacked away at a small group of zombies. Nearby, Ronin and Dagan, who’d flown in together, did the same.

“Yeah,” Keegan replied. Still weak as hell, his arm ached so badly he wanted to cry, but at least he was alive. All that mattered now was getting to Brynn.

“At least we don’t have to worry about the demons anymore,” Dagan called beside him.

That was true. The few demons who hadn’t hightailed it out of there were either currently fighting off zombies or being snacked on by them.

“Do you see Brynn anywhere?” Ronin yelled.

“No.” Not that he could see much. The zombies appeared in waves, and residual plumes of smoke clouded his vision.

“Let’s try to flank him so he can fly out of here,” Taeg shouted.

Damn. He didn’t want to leave them but he had to find Brynn. Devil only knew what Mammon was doing to her.

After much slicing and hacking, his brothers managed to get him enough room to safely fly out. “I’ll be back.”

“Just go get her,” Taeg yelled as a zombie took a chunk of flesh out of his arm. He viciously hacked it in half. “Take that, you piece of shit.”

Keegan sure as hell didn’t want to leave his brothers in this position. But he took flight nonetheless. Brynn was here somewhere. He dropped in front of Mammon’s tent, betting this would be the first place he’d take her. As he stepped inside, Mammon’s gritty laugh drifted from the rear of the tent.

Mammon, you fuck.

He ran to the back…and stopped, his blood turning to ice.

Mammon stood in front of Brynn, a sword in his hand. He’d chained her to the bed and gagged her, and she watched him with utter terror.

“No,” Keegan roared.

Mammon whirled, and Keegan focused all of his rage on his father. The bastard had tied her up. Made her afraid.

He was going to die.

“Keegan,” Mammon said. “I’ve been waiting for you, son. Here I was, telling your delicious little morsel that it wouldn’t be long until you came.” He looked back at Brynn and deliberately licked his lips. “And I’ll admit, she is delightful. Imagine all the fun we’ll have once you’re dead.”

Keegan charged him, sword swinging. Mammon jumped back and lifted his weapon in time to block the swing. Their swords connected with a loud clang and vibrations rattled Keegan’s arm, sending a jolt of agony spiraling upward.

“Why bother?” Mammon laughed. “You know you can’t win.”

Brynn struggled against her binds and mumbled something he couldn’t hear. Keegan ignored her, circling Mammon, who jabbed his sword toward Keegan’s throat. He blocked the thrust, staggering backward as Mammon advanced. Hitting the end table, Keegan kicked his foot up to shove Mammon away.

Mammon stumbled but caught himself before he hit the ground. Keegan rushed him, but his father swung his sword the opposite direction than he’d expected. He sidestepped it, but not quickly enough. A gash opened on his cheek, and it immediately and painfully healed.

“Ha.” Mammon chuckled. “How does it feel to always be second best to your father?”

“You’re nothing compared to me,” Keegan growled. Again he attacked, but Mammon parried his thrust.

“So say you. You are merely a cheap imitation of my greatness.” He bared his teeth. “I daresay your little heir will even think me a better lover.”

Keegan tried his best to ignore his father’s attempts to goad him into recklessness. Problem was, it was working. He advanced, swinging his sword in a high arc. Staggering back, Mammon blocked it. Keegan used the opportunity to move closer. He lifted his other fist and punched him, connecting solidly with his jaw.

Mammon untangled his sword and stumbled away, spitting blood to the side. “Lucky hit.”

“I’m feeling lucky,” Keegan replied. If only he really meant it. With his body bruised and sore and still weak from the loss of blood, he was certain he would pass out at any moment.

The sounds of the outside battle grew closer to the tent. Someone—one of his brothers—yelled, and the tent shook as the melee flowed inside. Mammon directed a momentary glance outside the bedroom entrance, then swung at Keegan with renewed vigor. He leapt back to block it.

“Keegan, we’re getting creamed out here,” Taeg called, his voice anxious.

Keegan stole a glance out at the great room and found Taeg, Ronin, and Dagan in there, fighting back the flood of zombies flowing into the tent. The creatures ripped and tore their way inside, and the entire canvas began falling down around them.

Shit. They were fucked.

Mammon laughed as he aimed his sword at Keegan. Although Keegan stopped it, his collarbone broke from the impact, buffeting his body with pain. He gritted his teeth as a hoarse yell tore from his mouth, and his sword clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees.

“Oops.” Mammon’s eyes lit up. He lifted the sword above his head and readied for a decapitating swing.

Oh, shit. Shit!

Keegan fumbled around the back of his jeans for the dagger he’d hidden there, knowing all the while that by the time he got it out, it would be too late.

Brynn uttered a muffled scream. “Stop!”

Mammon hesitated, lobbing Brynn a surprised glance.

Yes. Keegan’s fingers closed around the dagger. He yanked it out of its scabbard and slammed it upward, through his father’s belly. A loud crack sounded as the blade broke through Mammon’s ribcage and lodged itself into his heart.

“Ugh…” Eyes widening, Mammon glared at the dagger embedded deep inside his chest. Keegan kept a tight hold of it as Mammon’s sword dropped from his limp fingers and he slowly slumped to his knees in front of him.

Mammon’s glazed eyes met his, echoing his shock at what had just happened. A thin line of blood dribbled from the corner of his lips.

After a moment of complete silence, Taeg uttered, “Uh…what just happened?”

Keegan tore his gaze from Mammon, and his mouth dropped open.

The canvas separating Mammon’s bedroom from the great room had all but disintegrated in the melee. Taeg, Ronin, and Dagan stood with their backs to one another, with zombies surrounding them.

Motionless zombies, who stood there staring at him. No, wait…

At Brynn.

Chapter Thirty-two

Brynn, although still manacled to the bed, struggled to sit up. She spat out the rest of her gag and threw them a dirty look. “That’s what I was trying to tell you the whole time. The zombies are mine.”

Keegan choked on a cough. “Yours?”

“They were never meant to obey the holder of the book,” she continued in a disgruntled tone. “It’s me they obey. They were only fighting you to protect themselves. You attacked them first.”

Keegan stared at Brynn in stunned silence. Taeg laughed behind him.

“They obey you?” he repeated dumbly.

“Yes. Now someone please get me free.”

Ronin slowly backed away, his sword pointed at the zombies. When he seemed sure they wouldn’t attack, he dropped his weapon and moved to Brynn. He rummaged inside the drawer on the end table and pulled out a key, then unlocked the manacles.

She let out a pained cry.

“What’s wrong?” Keegan said.

“My wrist.”

Ronin grasped her wrist in his hands. “I’ll heal it. I don’t think Keegan has any blood to spare right now.”

Mammon made a choking sound, drawing Keegan’s attention to him. “Kill me.”

Keegan looked at Mammon. Really looked at him. He’d actually never been this close to his father before. At least, not when he wasn’t busy defending himself from attack. Funny how weak he appeared now. Weak and old. Pathetic.

He barely noticed Taeg and Dagan move next to him. He slowly rose to his feet, pulling Mammon up with him.

“I’ll bet that hurts like a son of a bitch,” Taeg said coldly.

Dagan laughed. “Won’t kill him, but more than enough to make him damn near paralyzed. Yeah, it’s got to sting a little.”

“Kill me,” Mammon repeated, his eyes bright with pain. “Better dead now than a prisoner to the Council. Give me the honor of death, as I would have done for you.”

Keegan turned to Taeg, who simply shrugged, then to Ronin and Dagan.

“It’s up to you,” Ronin said.

“He deserves to die,” Dagan added, pure hatred etched on his face.

“You know I would do the same to you,” Mammon gasped.

He was right. Mammon would have easily done the same to him, and he would have laughed while he died. No doubt, he would have raped Brynn right in front of his still-warm corpse. For that alone, he deserved to die.

Keegan gave him a cold, hard laugh. “No.”

“What?” Mammon panted. His fingers dug into Keegan’s shoulder.

“I said no.”

He swore he’d never be like his father, and he wasn’t about to start now. As much as he wanted to see the man dead, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Keegan shoved him backward. Taeg caught him and wrapped his fingers around the blade, twisting until Mammon screamed, eliciting a ragged chuckle from Taeg. “Can’t have you breaking free, can we?”

“Keegan.” Brynn threw herself into his arms. Staggering, he pulled her tight and closed his eyes. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.”

He laughed despite himself. “I was going to say the same thing to you.”

Brynn kissed him deeply, her tears scalding him where they landed on his cheeks. When she pulled away, her eyes glowed with emotion. “I was scared. So scared for you. Damn it, Keegan, I love you.”

“I…” He trailed off without saying the three little words he so desperately longed to. What was the use? Break her heart now or break it even worse later? Because now that Mammon was captured, he’d have to return home.

She seemed to realize he wasn’t going to, and her hurt and disappointment punched him in the gut. Composing herself, she stepped out of his arms and turned to face his brothers. “What now?”

“Can you get rid of the zombies?” Ronin asked.

Brynn nodded. “I think so.”

“We need to get Dad here back to the Council for punishment,” Taeg said.

“And once we do, we’ll be sent back to Infernum,” Keegan added gently.

Her eyes widened and a myriad of expressions crossed her face as comprehension dawned.

“Oh. Oh.” She carefully studied each of Keegan’s brothers. “But none of you wants to go back there, do you?”

“Fuck no,” Dagan said. “That place is a shithole.”

“Don’t you think you might be able to petition the Council to let you stay here, now that you’ve caught Mammon?”

“Yeah, right. If only.” Taeg snorted, tightening his grip around the dagger.

Mammon groaned.

“Well…” Her brow crinkled as if she were considering something. “Can you get me in front of the Council?”

“The Council ordered your death. I’m not letting you anywhere near them,” Keegan said, surprised she’d brought it up.

“What are they going to do, kill me?” she countered. “They can’t. They need me to get rid of the zombies.”

“Still, only a fool would throw that in their faces, especially since it protects you only until the zombies are gone.”

“I’m not a fool,” she said. “And I’ve got an idea.”

“No. No way.” He crossed his arms, wincing at the residual trace of pain in his shoulder. With his low blood volume, damn thing was taking longer than normal to heal. “I’m not putting you in danger.”

Taeg shifted, uncomfortable. “Um, I’m gonna take Daddy Dearest outside.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Ronin muttered, echoed by Dagan. The three of them hightailed it out of the tent, Mammon in tow.

Brynn shook her head as she watched them leave, then turned back to Keegan, her expression a cross between pleading and exasperation. “Can’t you trust me?”

Her words twisted in his heart. “I trust you, Brynn, but…”

She took his hand in hers, her grip sure and tight. “For once, why don’t we work together?”

Brynn’s honest words wore down his defenses. The bottom line was that Keegan had never trusted anyone enough to help him, not even his brothers. In a way, that was what had gotten him here to begin with.

“Please, Keegan,” she persisted. “I know what I’m doing. I promise.”

He believed her. More than that, he believed in her. She was worthy of his trust, and he owed it to her to give her that. “Okay.”

“Good.” Brynn took a shaky breath. “Now, help me find that damned book.”

…

Leviathos watched from his spot hidden in the cliff side as Keegan loaded Mammon into the trunk of their rental car. The girl folded herself into the car, the book held tightly in her grasp.

He harbored no pity for Mammon. The man was a fool. He’d let his delusions of grandeur consume him, until in the end he’d been weak. So weak.

Leviathos wasn’t about to make that mistake.

He watched Keegan drive away. Now was not the time for the book, but that time would come. He would find a way to retrieve it. To use it. Now, thanks to Mammon, he knew it didn’t work as they’d expected. But it was still invaluable. The heir could control the army, and he would find a way to control her. But unlike Mammon, he’d do it slowly, take his time, and make no mistakes.

His attention shifted to Taeg, who stood guard at the entrance to one of the pyramids. His mouth tightened. Taeg was no doubt strutting around like a rooster, thinking he’d won. He’d always thought he was the shit. And true, for many years, he was. Winning at sports. Winning Ana’s heart. But Leviathos had learned to not desire those things anymore. Not until he was in a position to make them his by right.

Good riddance to Mammon. Without him, Leviathos was free to act as he wished. He’d use what he learned from him to his advantage, leaving all of his old master’s weaknesses behind.

One thing was certain: Taeg and his brothers hadn’t seen the last of him. Not yet.Leviathos stepped back and turned to leave…when he noted the profile of a man standing no more than a few yards away. The tall, gaunt man wore a white linen shirt and pants that emphasized his thin form and the dark color of his hair. An aura of power emanated from him, raising the hackles on the back of Leviathos’s neck. A prickle of foreboding traveled down his spine, bringing with it an involuntary tremor of fear.

The man didn’t acknowledge Leviathos’s presence, but rather kept his eyes on the moving car, now a tiny speck in the distance. However, there was no doubt that the man was aware of him. Tendrils of power, pulsing with almost visible energy, snaked off the man toward him.

Finding his voice, Leviathos addressed him. “Who are you?”

A hint of a smile tugged the man’s lips upward, and he turned to face Leviathos full on. Something about his face seemed familiar, and with a start he realized the man’s nose and mouth somewhat resembled his own. This was no lost relative, however. He wasn’t even a demon. But whatever he was, he was powerful.

“I’m somebody who can help you.”

Annoyance at the man’s presumptiveness lent Leviathos’s voice steel. “What makes you think I need any help?”

“You want power. You deserve it. I can help you get it.” The man nudged his head in the direction of the car. “I can even help you get your hands on the object in that vehicle.”

Paranoia set in, warring with the fear coursing like lightning through his veins. “How do you know about that? Who sent you?”

The man laughed. “I know a lot of things, and I come of my own accord.”

Somehow Leviathos believed him when he said that. The man started forward, approaching him, and Leviathos resisted the instinctual urge to back up. “So what’s in it for you, then? You don’t expect me to believe you’re just some sort of Good Samaritan, do you?”

That elicited a chuckle from the man. “Not in the least. I surmise that the object would be helpful to me, too.”

Leviathos stiffened. If the man thought he was just going to back away and relinquish the prize, he had another thing coming.

The man must have noticed Leviathos’s body language, because he held his hands up. “Relax, I don’t want the book for myself. I want you to have it.”

Leviathos stared blankly at the man. “Well, then, what do you want?”

“Your loyalty.”

Despite the aura of danger the man put out, a laugh still bubbled out of Leviathos’s throat. “I just rid myself of one ‘master.’ I’m not about to sign on with another one.”

“I don’t want to be your master. I just want your assistance on a one-time basis, once you have hold of the book and retain its powers.”

Huh. Just one time? Sounded like an interesting prospect…if the man could do what he said. But somehow, given the power pulsing off him, Leviathos believed him.

“What’s your name?”

A slow grin lit the man’s face. “It’s Belpheg.”

…

“You dare seek our council?” The Councilman’s monotone voice echoed inside the chamber.

Brynn held her ground, doing her best to ignore the creepiness of the Councilman’s eyes, which was all she could see of him. “Yes, I dare.”

“Don’t forget that she’s the reason you have Mammon and the book,” Keegan said from beside her.

Taeg and Ronin had stayed behind, guarding the zombies she’d ordered into one of the pyramids while she and Keegan stood before the Council with Mammon and the book. The whole trip had been worth it, especially when she got to see the look on Mammon’s face as one of the Council’s prison guards carted him away with the dagger still embedded deep in his chest.

“She’s a danger to us all,” the Councilman said to Keegan. “And you were ordered to kill her.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t.”

A creepy chorus of indecipherable whispers echoed all around the Councilman. “You deserve to be tried for this—”

“Save it,” Brynn snapped. The indrawn breaths from the black space told her she treaded on thin ground, but she really didn’t care. She already hated these beings for what they’d allowed Mammon to do to Keegan and his brothers, and to the women who had birthed them. She wasn’t about to treat them like gods. Not even close. “You have a shitload of zombies packed into a pyramid. They’re dying to get a bite of human flesh and I’m the only one who can stop them.”

“Do not make idle threats,” the Councilman hissed. “We know you would not abandon your fellow Earth dwellers to a fate such as this.”

Brynn fought a tendril of fear. “You don’t know anything,” she said coldly. “I don’t have any family left on Earth. I don’t care what happens there. The only way I’ll call the zombies off is if you honor my requests.”

“You insolent—”

The Councilman broke off, and his eyes darted sideways. The chorus of whispers grew to a loud crescendo as his eyes grew wider. “C-Councilwoman,” he stuttered. “What an unexpected surprise.”

“Give it a rest.” The voice was unmistakably feminine, angry, and strangely familiar. Out of nowhere, another pair of eyes appeared next to the Councilman’s, but these were human-looking. “Council members, you dared try to keep this incident a secret from me?”

The whispers erupted.

Keegan chuckled. He leaned toward Brynn. “It appears that Earth’s Grand Council member has just discovered what’s been going on behind her back.”

Brynn gave him an incredulous look. “You mean they never told her?”

“Silence,” the Councilwoman spat, her tone brooking no argument. The chorus fell silent. Her gaze moved to Brynn. There was something so familiar about it. Almost like she’d seen those eyes on television before. Wait, was that…could that be—?

“Speak, madam,” the Councilwoman said to her. Her tone, far kinder that that of the Councilman’s, filled Brynn with hope. “What requests must be honored in order for you to call off the army?”

Brynn tried to calm her racing heart. “I want your word that I won’t be harmed.”

“Done,” the Councilwoman said.

“I also want Keegan and his brothers to live on Earth.”

Keegan sucked in his breath, and Brynn clasped his hand. He held on tight, as if every nerve in his body was tightly wound in anticipation of what the Council would say.

The Councilwoman’s eyes twinkled, possibly with amusement. She glanced back and forth at the invisible Council members until finally she turned to Brynn. “Keegan and his brothers are valued employees of the Council. Would they be willing to continue as Detainors here on Earth?”

Keegan gulped. “We would be honored to do so.”

The Councilwoman nodded. “Then it’s done.”

“One more thing,” Brynn said. Maybe she was pushing her luck, but she was going for it.

“Yes?” the Councilwoman asked, definite amusement in her tone now.

“They get to keep the New York apartment.”

The Councilwoman answered with a hearty laugh. “Agreed. Now, the counterspell.”

Trying not to smile, Brynn lifted the book and read from it.

When the counterspell was complete, the Councilwoman nodded. “You may go.”

“Thank—”

Keegan grabbed her hand and abruptly dragged her to the portal. Once inside, he pulled her into his arms. “You really have balls of steel, don’t you?”

Brynn stared at him, a mass of emotions overwhelming her. They hadn’t discussed what would happen between them if he stayed on Earth. He’d never told her he loved her. But maybe, just maybe…

She shot him a flirtatious glance. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to love you. Forever and always.” He gave her a kiss that stole her breath.

Her heart nearly burst with pride, with happiness. Keegan was hers. He was totally hers now, and she would never let him go.

“That’s a really long time,” she teased. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said. And from the sincerity in his eyes, she didn’t doubt it.

She laughed, unable to stop the happy sound from bubbling forth.

“I love you, too.” She yanked his head down for another kiss, then broke away long enough to say, “You know, that Councilwoman, I think she was—”

“Shush.” Keegan laughed, placing a finger to her lips. “Don’t say it. They depend on anonymity.”

Before Brynn could protest, Keegan kissed her again. Then again, until she completely forgot what she had been about to say.

Epilogue

“You’re insatiable,” Brynn murmured.

Keegan ran his hand down the milky-white flesh of her thigh. “Look who’s talking, love.”

“True, I think I could do that all day.”

He laughed and buried his face in her neck. “Let’s try it and see.”

“Mmm…how much longer before your brothers come back?”

“Hopefully another week at least,” he said, the sound muffled against her skin.

“Stop.” She giggled. “This apartment is more than big enough for all of us.”

“True, but it becomes much harder to make love in every room when they’re here.” He pressed a kiss to her breast, and she arched up to meet him. “Besides, we are on our honeymoon.”

“Yeah, it was nice of them to give us some time to ourselves.”

“Mmm.” Keegan traced his tongue around her nipple, delighting in the way it puckered at his touch. It was sweeter than any berry. “I’m sure they’re off having fun.”

Brynn sighed. “Except for Taeg.”

“Hmm?” he said absently.

“Taeg.” She pushed on his shoulders, and he reared back. “I know he’s out there looking for Leviathos.”

“As he should. The man is insane and dangerous.”

“I know, but I’m afraid it’s becoming an obsession to him.”

Keegan didn’t say anything. What could he say? That Taeg was convinced Leviathos would try to come after her? That Keegan thought it might happen, too? No, she deserved to live happily, without fear. That was why Taeg worked so hard to find Leviathos. And Keegan loved him for it.

“He’ll be fine,” he finally said.

“I know. I just worry about him.”

“Well,” he said, “I know of a way to take all your worries away.”

His hand drifted between her thighs until he found her warm center and stroked inward, reveling in the way she shuddered beneath him. She let out a little gasp and moved under his fingers.

Before Brynn could do more than utter a laughing protest, Keegan slid down and showed her just how adept he could be at making her forget.

Did you love Keegan? Check out the complete Demons of Infernum series by Rosalie Lario!

Acknowledgments

First I must thank my family for putting up with my countless late nights of writing, excessive pizza ordering, and general brain fogginess as I’ve mapped out this series. You inspire me to be a better person, and that makes you all heroes in my book!

My deepest gratitude to publisher extraordinaire Liz Pelletier for believing in and taking a chance on my story.

To Heather Howland and Libby Murphy, you ladies rock! What more can I say? And to Suzanne Johnson, who is utterly amazing *wink*. I couldn’t ask for a better editing team than this.

And much appreciation to my critique partner and friend, Mary Abshire, for supporting my vision, even through those craptastic first drafts.

About the Author

Rosalie Lario practiced real-estate law for several years before finally admitting to herself negotiating contracts wasn’t nearly as fun as dreaming up stories. When not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and son in their home state of Florida, as well as searching out things that go bump in the night. You can learn more about Rosalie at her website at www.rosalielario.com.

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Discover Rosalie Lario’s award-winning Demons of Infernum series...

Mark of the Sylph

Half-demon Taeg Meyers is desperate to destroy the spell holding his sister-in-law bound to an indestructible book that will create an army of the undead. Librarian Maya Flores is his best hope for uncovering the ancient sword he needs. Unfortunately, she is on a one-woman mission to destroy the evil demons who took her family and she’d rather kill Taeg. As he fights for her trust and to save his family, she is forced to face the truth—not all demons are evil, and she’s falling in love with one, too.

Heart of the Incubus

Touch of the Angel

Call of the Siren

It was her destiny...

Tara Collins just wants to be normal. Everyone else wants her dead.

Tara’s eccentric aunt raised her to be fearful of the world and follow the rules. But after her aunt’s death, Tara is ready to take control and experience life for the first time. But she quickly discovers that everything she’s been told is a web of lies. Determined to solve the mystery of who she is truly, she hires private investigator to help her uncover the truth.

Christian Roth is more than your average PI. A vampire and ex-demon hunter, Christian lives among the humans, trying to be “normal.” But recently, things seem to be falling apart. There’s a crazed demon hell-bent on revenge hunting him down, and a fae assassin on the loose with an unknown target. And the Order he abandoned desperately needs his help.

As the secrets of Tara’s past collide with the problems in Christian’s present, she finds herself fighting her attraction to the dark and mysterious investigator. Falling in love does not fit into her plans at all, but Tara soon learns that some rules are meant to be broken.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Nina Croft. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

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Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Marie Loggia-Kee and Liz Pelletier

Cover design by Liz Pelletier and Heather Howland

ISBN 978-1-62266-959-2

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition February 2013

To my sister, Anne, who introduced me to vampires.

Dear Reader

Welcome to the world of the Order of the Shadow Accords!

I never actually start writing a book with the intention of writing a series, but then something invariably happens. Usually involving me falling madly in love with one of the secondary characters and needing to spend more time with them. This was certainly the case while writing Christian and Tara’s story. I fell head-over-heels in love with Piers Lamont, a two thousand year old French vampire, Christian’s friend, and the current head of The Order. Piers became the hero of book two, Bittersweet Magic.

Not content with giving my heart to Piers, I went on to fall badly for Asmodai who was actually the villain of the story. Asmodai is a demon from the Abyss, bent on revenge, but utterly gorgeous and perhaps redeemable.

And that’s why I love this series so much. Most of the characters hover somewhere between good and evil and often the line is a little blurred. But nobody is beyond redemption. I love watching strong characters battle with their darker sides, struggle to do the right thing, and sacrifice everything to protect what’s theirs.

I hope you fall in love with them as well.

- Nina

Part One

Breaking all the Rules

Chapter One

Rule Number One: Never question the past.

Tara took a single step into the alleyway and stopped.

Up ahead, something shifted in the shadows and a waft of warm air carried the stench of dirty smoke and rotten eggs to her nostrils. A prickle of unease shivered across her skin.

No way was she ending up dead in a dark alley before she had a chance to break Rule Number One. Wrinkling her nose against the smell, she held her breath and backed out into the bright lights of the main street.

And straight into something solid and unexpected.

For a second, she thought she must have hit a brick wall. A brick wall that hadn’t been there thirty seconds earlier.

“Are you okay?”

A brick wall that talked.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned.

Her eyes were level with his chest and at first all she registered was his immense size. Taking a slow step back, she forced her gaze upward. In the artificial light, he was leached of color, with black hair pulled into a ponytail, and skin so pale it appeared white. She went still as silver eyes captured hers. For a second, she stared mesmerized, unable to drag her gaze away from the stranger.

“Are you lost?” He spoke again, breaking the spell.

“No. Yes. Maybe.” She waved the map clutched in her hand. “I was considering a short cut.”

A short cut to the railway station and a fast train away from here. For the last ten minutes, she’d been dithering. Should she go ahead, break Rule Number One, and perhaps come to a messy and premature end? Or should she run away and try to forget the stupid rules had ever existed?

“A short cut down a dark alley? Has no one ever told you it’s dangerous to wander down dark alleys alone?”

Was there some subtle threat beneath his words? Did he look vaguely menacing for a moment? Or was it merely her overactive imagination playing games with her? He was just a man—a tall, powerfully built man, but quite respectable in his sleek, dark business suit and red tie.

Still, a little voice in her head whispered to her to turn and walk away—though perhaps not down the dark alley.

But something held her back.

All her life she’d been afraid. Aunt Kathy had brought her up to fear just about everything, and she’d done a brilliant job. But Aunt Kathy was dead, and Tara refused to live like that anymore.

“Well?” he murmured and she realized he was waiting for an answer.

“Actually, yes. I’m quite aware of the dangers. But I have an important meeting and my mind was on other things.” Like running away.

He considered her for a moment. “Where is this important meeting? Perhaps I can help.”

“CR International. You know it?”

His lips curved into a slow smile and suddenly she realized how devastatingly attractive he was. “You mean the CR International building behind you?” A faint trace of amusement tinged his voice.

She pursed her lips but turned slowly. He wasn’t kidding. It stood directly opposite, on the other side of the street. An immense structure of steel and smoky glass with CR International in big gold letters over the door. How the hell had she missed that? “Oh…thank you.”

This was it. Either she’d discover the truth, or she’d be blasted by a bolt of divine retribution. Time to find out which.

She took a few steps but couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. The man still stood, hands in his pockets, watching her, a strange almost hungry look in his eyes.

“Overactive imagination,” she muttered and headed across the street.

A young man sat behind the reception desk; handsome, with dark red hair like a fox and blue eyes that perfectly matched his shirt.

“I’m Tara Collins,” she said. “I have an appointment with Mr. Grant.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here.” He reached for the phone beside him, but it rang before he picked up, and he sent her an apologetic glance. “One moment.” As he listened, a startled expression flickered across his face. “Sure, Christian. No problem.”

He put the phone down. “Ms. Collins?”

Tara nodded.

“I’m afraid Mr. Grant can’t see you tonight.”

Tara sagged with relief and bit back a “halleluiah.” She’d done her best, but now she could legitimately put off breaking Rule Number One just a little while longer. Like forever maybe.

“Absolutely no problem,” she said. “Shall I make another appointment? Perhaps in a couple of weeks? A month? A year…?”

A year sounded good.

He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “No need. That was Mr. Roth—the owner of the company—he’ll see you instead. I’ll take you up myself as access to the thirteenth floor is restricted.”

He called one of the security guards over from beside the door and spoke with him quietly then came out from behind the reception desk.

“My name’s Graham. If you’d come with me…”

She followed him, not to the bank of elevators where a few people waited, but into a smaller one around the corner. Inside, there were just two buttons, one pointing up and one down. Graham pressed the up button, and they rose smoothly. When the doors opened, he didn’t exit. Instead, he pointed to a set of black double doors opposite.

Tara stared at them, unable to shake the feeling that this was the point of no return. What if Aunt Kathy had been right? What if there was a very good reason not to question the past?

“Go ahead,” Graham murmured from beside her. “Mr. Roth doesn’t… bite.”

Tara scowled at the faint thread of amusement in his voice—it seemed as though everyone was finding her funny today. She stalked out of the elevator.

This floor appeared deserted, and hushed. Her feet made no sound on the thick carpets as she walked toward the imposing doors. Without giving herself any more time to think, she pressed her finger lightly to the smooth black metal and the door swung open. Inside, the room was in semi-darkness, the only light spilling in from the floor to ceiling windows that lined the far wall.

Perhaps no one was home.

She hovered in the doorway, unsure whether to stay or go, when a man spoke from inside.

“Come in, Ms. Collins.”

The voice was low, husky, and vaguely familiar. She hesitated a moment more and then took the few steps inside. Behind her, the door swung shut. The air was cool against her skin and she glanced around.

“Lights,” she muttered. “Lights would be good here.”

A faint click, and warm light filled the room. Tara blinked a couple of times then her gaze locked on the figure seated behind the huge steel desk.

The man from the alley. Why wasn’t she more surprised?

“You know,” she said. “You could have introduced yourself.”

A small smile curved his lips. “And spoil the surprise?”

Yeah, right.

He stood slowly, then came around the desk to stand in front of her, one arm outstretched. Tara fought the urge to hide her hands behind her back; something about this man set her on edge. Of course, it could be that the whole “breaking the rules” thing was just screwing with her mind, that right now, she was predisposed to see weirdness in everything.

She grasped his hand firmly, intending the greeting to be brief, but his fingers tightened around hers. Her gaze shot to his face. He wasn’t a handsome man; his features were too harsh for that, with pale skin stretched tight over hard bones. But his silver eyes held her mesmerized as he lifted her hand. For a moment, she was sure he intended to kiss it, but he merely inhaled deeply. Something flashed in his eyes, something hot and hungry, and a shiver ran through her. Then the expression vanished as if it had never been.

“I’m Christian Roth.”

“So your receptionist told me.” She gave a tug. “Could I have my hand back?”

He smiled and released her, then gestured to a chair in front of his desk.

“Why don’t you sit down and tell me how I can…help you.” He waited until she was seated, then returned to his own chair. “So, Tara Collins, why do you need a private investigator?”

This was the moment she’d built herself up for over the last six months. She’d even practiced the words in front of the mirror. But now, at the last second, they didn’t want to come out. She cleared her throat. Took a deep breath. She could do this.

“I want you to find out who I am.”

There, she’d done it. Broken Rule Number One.

She sat very still, staring at her hands. Her aunt had always been a little vague about the actual consequences of breaking the rules—just that they’d be dire. Tara had always imagined some sort of fiery bolt from above. Now she waited for it to crash down and annihilate her.

Nothing happened.

“So, you’re not Tara Collins?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’ve always been called Tara Collins. But I don’t know who she is or who my parents were or where I came from.”

“Perhaps you’d better explain a little more.”

She wished she could. Really she did. But she had no explanations; nothing she’d discovered since her aunt’s death made any sense. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

“A good place to start.”

Was he mocking her? But his expression was bland and she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I was brought up by my Aunt Kathryn. At least I always thought she was my aunt. We lived in a house on the Yorkshire moors. Aunt Kathy was a little…eccentric.” And that was the understatement of the century. “She never left the house and she would have preferred it if I never left, though sometimes I would…”

“You would?”

Sometimes she would sneak out and hide on the moors, high above the nearby village, and watch the people go about their normal lives, and dream of being part of that. But that sounded pathetic and for some reason she didn’t want Christian Roth to think her pathetic. “Sometimes I would go out, but mostly I’d stay. It was an odd life, but I didn’t know any different, and I was happy, at least when I was younger. Then six months ago my aunt died.”

The familiar sense of loss washed over her. Her aunt’s death hadn’t been sudden—she’d been ill for a long time—but it had been the end of everything Tara had known.

“And?”

Her hands gripped the edge of the desk in front of her. “And I found everything she had told me was lies.”

“Everything?”

“I don’t think she was even my aunt. I don’t know who she was, or why she brought me up. After she died, I found papers, but there was nothing about her. It was like she never existed.” She glanced at his impassive face. “My whole world was a lie. Everything I was brought up to believe in.” All those stupid rules she had followed for the last twenty-two years.

“So what is it you’d like me to do?”

She frowned. Hadn’t she been clear? “I told you, I want you to find out who I am. Who my aunt was and why she was looking after me.” When he remained silent, she continued, “I have money to pay you. The house was in my name and I have all sorts of investments. I’ve got copies of the paperwork here. I thought it might help.”

She took out the folder containing the meager amount of paperwork she’d been able to find about herself and her aunt and placed it on the desk in front of him. She watched as he flicked through the file, his eyes widening. Hers had almost popped out of her head when she’d seen how much money her aunt had stashed away, all in Tara’s name.

Christian closed the file and sat back. “Why do you want to know?”

It was a good question, and one she’d asked herself many times. She had a life now. She had friends, was going to college, getting real qualifications. She had a chance of that normal life she’d always dreamed of. But while she’d love nothing more than to forget the past, she couldn’t. All the time, in the back of her mind, the questions niggled.

Why had her aunt lied? What was she hiding? What was so bad that Aunt Kathy had concealed them away in that big old house on the moors? And what was it with all the stupid rules? The list of questions was endless and she needed answers.

“My life has been pretty odd until now and I just want to be normal. But what if I’m not?”

“So really, you want me to find proof that you’re normal?”

She smiled; she’d come to the right place after all. “Yes.”

There was a light tap on the door. She glanced over her shoulder as Graham peered inside.

“Christian—”

“What is it?”

“Piers Lamont is in reception.”

“Okay, Graham. We’ve finished here for the moment.”

Graham closed the door behind him and Christian rose to his feet. “Well, Ms. Collins—”

“Please, call me Tara.”

“And you must call me Christian. Well, Tara, I’ll read through the papers and see where we can go from there. Perhaps you can come back in a few days and answer any questions that come up.”

She stood. “Do you think you’ll find anything?”

“I’m sure I will, and don’t worry,” he added. “There will be an explanation.”

Tara searched his face, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Or was he just trying to placate her, because really he thought she was crazy, and he wanted to get her out of there fast? But his face was bland, impossible to read. Suddenly she felt drained. She’d done it, broken the rules, and now she had to live with whatever they found.

“Tara?”

“Yes?”

“One question before you go. How did you choose me?”

For a moment, she considered lying—after all, she had just said she wanted to be normal. Then she shrugged. “I didn’t choose you. My cat did. He’s called Smokey and I’ve had him all my life.”

He scrutinized her as though wondering what to say next, or perhaps whether to say anything at all. “And just how did…Smokey, choose me.”

“Well, he didn’t pick you personally, just your company. He put his paw right on your advertisement.” Christian regarded her with a strange expression in his eyes, and she hurried on, “I don’t want you to think I’m crazy or anything, but Smokey is actually super bright and I did look you up on the internet afterward.”

“Very…sensible.”

Why did she get the impression that “sensible” was not the word he was thinking of right now? Perhaps it was time to leave.

He must have decided the same, because he strode past her and opened the door. Graham waited on the other side.

By the time she entered the elevator, Tara was grinning like the mad woman Christian no doubt thought her to be. She’d done it—broken Rule Number One—and hadn’t been struck down by a bolt from above. Then again, maybe it was a delayed reaction. Maybe that bolt would hit her as she walked out the door. Her grin faded.

“Are you okay?’

The elevator had stopped, but Graham watched her, a slight frown on his face.

“Sorry?” she said.

“Mr. Roth can be overwhelming when you first meet him.”

“He was very kind. I’m just a little worried about what he’ll find out.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” Graham pressed the button and the doors parted. A man stood waiting, and Tara’s mouth fell open.

He looked like a rock star. An enormous rock star. Shoulder length blond hair pulled into a ponytail, blond designer stubble, lots of black leather. She had a brief impression of him smiling at her, before Graham nudged her out of the elevator.

The rock star inhaled deeply as she passed. “Mmm. Sugar and spice.”

Her feet slowed, but Graham somehow maneuvered her, not very gently, across the reception area. She glanced over her shoulder. The rock star was definitely smiling.

The cold air hit her face as Graham escorted her from the building.

“Mr. Roth told me to make another appointment in a couple of days’ time.”

“Friday,” he said. “Seven o’clock.”

“I can take time off, come during the day, if it’s easier.”

“Mr. Roth prefers evening appointments. Seven will be fine.”

He disappeared back into the building. Glancing at the dark alley opposite, Tara took a deep breath and set off down the brightly lit street.

Now for Rule Number Two.

…

Her cat?

Christian Roth stared at the closed door. He’d lived a long time, and very little surprised him these days. But her cat?

He inhaled, catching the lingering scent of her on the air. It was mouthwatering; a sweetness tinged with a sharp, bitter flavor he found intoxicating. He’d spent the entire interview wondering whether she tasted as good as she smelled.

She was also ravishingly pretty, with that bright blond hair and huge green eyes. But that wasn’t usually enough to catch his attention. There was something more, something very different about Tara Collins. He just couldn’t work out what.

Yesterday, someone had left him a very cryptic message, suggesting he should meet her. He’d been undecided. Then earlier this evening, Piers had called and told him there’d been a demon sighting close to his building. Hunting demons wasn’t Christian’s job anymore, but he’d gone as a favor. He’d tracked the demon to the alley opposite and then been totally distracted by a delectable blonde who’d crashed into him and sent his senses reeling.

She’d had the same effect when she walked into his office. For the first time in what seemed like an age, his hunger had risen. Even now, his gums ached with the need to feed. If it hadn’t been for Piers’s imminent arrival, he’d have gone hunting tonight with little Tara Collins as his prey.

But Piers was on his way. First the phone call, now a personal visit. Piers was head of the Order of the Shadow Accords, the organization that policed the supernatural world, and whatever he wanted, it was unlikely to be good news. Still, Christian couldn’t deny the twinge of excitement that twisted his guts. He’d made the right decision to leave the Order, but he missed the exhilaration of the chase, the thrill of the kill.

Graham stuck his head around. He had a slightly frazzled look in his eyes, no doubt from the unexpected visitor; Piers tended to have that effect on humans, even ones like Graham, who had spent time around their kind and knew what they were.

“He’s here,” Graham said.

“Send him in.”

“Another thing—Piers saw your new client in reception, and I’m guessing he liked what he saw.”

“Shit.” He’d have to warn Piers off, which was bound to pique his interest.

What was so alluring about Tara Collins?

Piers was dressed in his usual gear, black leather pants and a long black leather coat. Tall, around Christian’s six-foot-four, he was lean and hard, and beneath the coat, he’d be armed with enough firepower to take down an army of demons. He looked exactly what he was—a killer.

He grasped Christian in a huge bear hug, and clapped him on the shoulders. Then his hands fell away, and he stepped back.

“Christian, you look like shit.” A slow grin spread across his face. “In fact, it’s worse than shit—you look like a businessman.”

“I am a businessman.”

“A boring businessman.”

Christian didn’t bother to deny it.

“You also look hungry.”

“I haven’t fed in a few days.”

“Days?”

“Weeks then.” Christian shrugged. “It’s not a problem.”

“Talking of eating, I ran into someone coming out of the elevator. Young, blond.”

“Leave her alone.”

“She smelled delicious.”

“She’s a client. I don’t want you eating my clients. Now, what brings you here?”

Piers shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered across to the windows to stare out at the lights of the city. He appeared outwardly calm but Christian knew him too well. Something was bothering him and Christian had to curb his impatience as he waited.

Piers turned back to face him. “I want you to come back.”

It wasn’t anything he’d expected and he frowned. “Not going to happen. I left the Order twenty years ago—for good.”

“Come on, Christian, you know it’s not that simple.”

“Can’t you cope? You want me to come back and take over?”

“Hell, no,” Piers said. “I like being the boss. We’ll take you on as a consultant.” His eyes drifted down over Christian. “You look like a consultant. Besides, don’t you miss it?” Piers moved behind the desk, sat in the huge leather chair, and spun. “This is fun, but it hardly compares to hunting demons.” He came to a halt facing Christian. “How can you live like this?”

“Easy.”

Piers considered him for a moment, head to one side, weighing his next move. “Gabriel’s dead.”

Impossible.

Shock ripped through Christian. And following close on his disbelief came a wave of regret. The emotion was unexpected, and he turned away to give himself time to think.

Gabriel was the youngest of the Order’s agents, but he’d still been strong. He should have been stronger than anything he came up against.

“We need you back, Christian.”

“Tell me what happened to Gabriel.”

“We don’t know what happened to him. He went out on a call last Friday night—a typical minor demon sighting—and vanished. He never called in. Nothing.”

“So how do you know he’s dead?”

“What else could it be? We haven’t heard from him in five days. Besides, Ella confirmed it. You know she’s never been wrong.”

A ripple of distaste ran through him at the mention of the Order’s tame witch. Ella had long ago given herself over to the dark practices, but she was powerful, so the Order protected her.

“She also believes something big is coming,” Piers said.

“Another war?”

“She couldn’t say. But there’s more. It was Ella who told us to come to you.”

Christian’s eyes narrowed as he processed that piece of information. Not good news. “Why?”

“Again, she couldn’t say, just that you had an important part to play.”

“Couldn’t say, or wouldn’t? Does she know more?”

“I don’t think so, but you know Ella—she has her own agendas.”

“You were fools to keep her on. I told you that when you took over. You should have eliminated her after the last time.”

“She’s useful.”

“She’s evil.”

Piers smiled. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Christian pursed his lips. It was an ongoing argument between them. “Do you really believe we’re evil?”

“Good, evil, who knows? By most peoples’ standards we are. So, are you coming back? Will you help?”

“I need to think about it.”

But it was a lie—he didn’t need to think. Excitement unfurled deep inside him, rising to the surface and mingling with the hunger that already stirred in his blood. He knew he’d go back.

Piers grinned. “You’ll be back. Just don’t take too long.” He got up, nodded, and left the room.

Christian sank into the chair behind his desk and rested his head on the back of the seat, staring into space. So few emotions touched him now, but he recognized sadness. Gabriel had been one of his, the last of his offspring.

Christian had left The Order after the last demon war, sickened by the carnage, but also aware of the darkness rising within himself, of the part of him that reveled in the slaughter, that loved to slake his hunger with demon blood.

So he’d stepped down, pursued a different life, a life among humans.

Now Gabriel was dead, and Christian would have his revenge. He’d hunt down whatever had taken Gabe, kill them, and drain their blood. It was a long time since he’d feasted on immortal blood. Humans were fine, but nothing beat the blood of a demon.

His hunger rose. The office suddenly seemed like a cage. He needed to get out into the night.

Graham glanced up as he entered the outer office. “You have a finance meeting in half an hour,” he said as Christian paused by the desk.

“Cancel it.”

“Where are you going?”

Christian smiled, with a small flash of fang. “I’m going hunting.”

Chapter Two

Rule Number Two: Never drink alcohol.

So what was next?

Tara touched the chain she always wore around her neck, rubbing her fingers over the familiar heart-shaped crystal. Perhaps she wasn’t ready for Rule Number Three yet, but she was meeting Jamie and Chloe at a bar, and planned to have a damned good go at Number Two.

The bar was a trendy place done up like an old-fashioned pub, with wood paneling and horse brasses hanging on the walls. It was popular with the after-work crowd and the steady hum of voices met her as she pushed open the door. It took her a moment to locate her friends in the dim light. They were arguing about something but shut up as she approached. They both smiled brightly.

Tara frowned. “Everything okay?”

“Great,” Chloe said. “And I love your hair.”

“You really think it’s all right?” Tara ran a self-conscious hand through her hair. She’d gone out that morning with it down to her waist. Now it was cut off blunt, level with her shoulders.

“It’s gorgeous. That long fringe is very sexy, makes your eyes look enormous.”

Chloe and Jamie were new friends; Tara didn’t have any old ones. She had literally bumped into Jamie on her first day in the city. Nothing in her life had prepared her for London, and Jamie had helped her from the start. After six months, it was as if she’d known him all her life.

Chloe lived in the apartment below Tara.

“Jamie was just telling me that I’m a bad influence,” Chloe said. “That you’re a nice girl, and I shouldn’t try to change that.”

Tara took off her coat and perched herself on the red leather stool opposite. “I don’t want to be a nice girl.”

“Hah!” Chloe grinned. “I told you so.”

Jamie frowned at her. “She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s obviously still in shock from her aunt’s death.” He stood up. “I’ll go get you a drink. You want a coke?”

“No. I’ll have a…” She didn’t know what to have. Chloe was drinking a pint of something dark and not particularly appetizing.

“Guinness,” Chloe supplied.

“You do not want to drink Guinness,” Jamie said.

“I’m determined to break Rule Number Two tonight. So accept that, or sit down, and I’ll get my own drink.”

“Rule Number Two?” Chloe asked.

“My aunt had all these stupid rules. Rule Number Two was never drink alcohol.”

Chloe’s eyes widened. “You mean you’ve never had a drink? Not ever?”

Tara shook her head.

Chloe regarded Tara curiously. “Your aunt sounds like she was crazy. Why did you stay so long?”

“I’d planned to go to college when I was eighteen. But Aunt Kathy got ill, and I couldn’t leave her. I was all she had and, rules or not, I loved her.”

Still, it had given Tara insight on how love could be used against someone, and she never wanted anyone to have that sort of power over her again. An unexpected vision of Christian Roth flashed through her mind, and a wave of heat washed over her.

“What are you thinking?” Chloe asked. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.”

“Nothing. You know, I think I’ll have a glass of white wine.”

Jamie didn’t appear happy about it, but he went off to the bar without any more argument.

“It’s quite sweet really,” Chloe said. “Jamie and you, I mean. It’s like he wants to look after you.”

“I don’t need looking after.”

Chloe patted her arm. “Of course you don’t, sweetie. How did it go with the private investigator?”

“I never got to see Mr. Grant.”

“You didn’t?”

“He couldn’t make it. I saw Christian Roth instead. He’s the owner of the company.”

Chloe gaped at her. “You saw Christian Roth?”

Tara nodded. “Do you know him?”

“No one knows him. At least, if they do, they don’t talk about it. He’s like this totally mega-rich recluse. Absolutely gorgeous, or so the rumors go. There’s always stuff in the papers about him but never photographs. I can’t believe you got to see him. What was he like?”

“He was very nice.”

“Very nice?” Chloe said, her voice rising in disbelief. “I can’t believe anyone would actually get to see Christian Roth and have the nerve to say he was ‘very nice.’ Come on, spill the beans, tell all.”

“Tell all what?” Jamie placed a very small glass of wine in front of Tara, and another pint of Guinness for Chloe.

“Tara had a meeting with Christian Roth.”

“Really? That’s…interesting.”

“Interesting?” Chloe shook her head. “It’s not interesting. It’s amazing.”

Tara inspected her drink. She thought about taking a sip but decided to put it off a little longer. After all, breaking Rule Number Two was a momentous occasion, and she was determined to treat it as such. Instead, she considered what to say to Chloe.

“Christian Roth was…” She paused, unsure how to express what she’d felt about it, yet equally unsure she wanted to put it into words. “The rumors were wrong. He isn’t gorgeous, at least not in any normal way, but there was something about him. It’s more than looks, there’s this sort of aura.”

Chloe sighed. “That, my friend, is pure power. He runs that company single-handedly, and it’s huge. The Investigations side is only a tiny part. And yet, he took an appointment with you. It’s unbelievable, and not a little strange.” She considered Tara for a moment. “Maybe he caught a glimpse of you coming into the building and liked what he saw. Did he make a pass?”

“No, he didn’t!” But Tara remembered the hot look in his eyes as he held her hand, the energy that had leapt between them at his touch.

“So is he going to take the job?” Jamie asked.

Tara nodded. “I left some papers with him. I’m going back in a couple of days. He reckons there will be some sort of logical explanation for what my aunt did.”

“Oh come on, Tara,” Chloe said. “Logical? What sort of person keeps their kid in total isolation? And uses moral blackmail to make them stay.”

“She was ill,” Tara said gently.

Chloe ignored the interruption. “I bet he finds out that she lost her own baby or something and decided to grab another one.”

“I suppose it’s possible.” But something told Tara the solution wasn’t that simple.

Chloe continued, “Why don’t you do a search on old kidnapping cases and find out if any babies went missing around that time?”

“It can’t do any harm,” Jamie added. “You might even be able to do it on the Internet.”

Tara felt her interest rise. At least it was something she could do herself instead of sitting around waiting. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Now, to breaking that rule.”

The wine was pale golden. She raised the glass to her nose and breathed in the light, fruity fragrance. Glancing up, she found Jamie watching her intently. She held his eyes as she brought the glass to her mouth and took a sip. The wine was cool, not sweet but tart, and refreshing. She swallowed, felt the liquid slide down her throat. She smiled at Jamie. “See? Absolutely no—”

She stopped mid-sentence and frowned. There was a sharp, bitter aftertaste that burned in her throat. She was about to comment on it when something went pop inside her head. Flames flickered in her belly and a wave of wild exhilaration washed over her. Alcohol was even better than she’d expected. She wanted to get up, run, scream, rip something to pieces, preferably with her teeth. And she was hungry, ravenously hungry. She wanted meat.

Which was weird because she was a vegetarian.

Still, she needed to get up. She put her hands on the table and pushed. Nothing happened. She seemed to have no strength in her arms. She stared at Jamie and Chloe, who watched from across the table, eyes wide with shock.

“Tara, what is it?”

She licked her dry lips. “I want—” The words stuck in her throat, she could hardly force them out of her mouth. She gripped the edge of the table until her fingers hurt. The world was shrinking, a black mist encroaching around her until all she could see was a small circle of light that framed Jamie’s face.

“Tara?”

His voice sounded as though it was a long way off. The circle shrank to a pinprick and everything went black.

Chapter Three

Christian woke as the sun went down over London.

He stretched, reveling in the feeling of well-being—he hadn’t felt this alive in decades. He’d hunted the previous evening, and his body was replete, filled with power. But it was more than just the feeding. Piers had been right. He missed the excitement of heading the Order, and now he had the chance to go back.

There was also his newest client, Tara Collins. His mind filled with the intoxicating scent of her. The sensible thing would be to keep their interactions strictly on a business footing. Relationships with humans never worked.

Only trouble was, he was bored with being sensible.

The Order and Tara Collins. What to do?

He stood in front of the open closet and knew he’d made his decision when he pushed aside the formal business suits and pulled on his old Order gear.

He paused on his way out of the building to talk to Graham.

“Nice outfit,” Graham said, his gaze running over Christian’s long black leather coat.

Christian placed the file he’d gotten from Tara on the reception desk. “I want you to look at this. Find out what you can on the aunt.”

“Sure, boss.”

It was still early when he walked into the bar, and most of the tables stood empty. Slow music played in the background, and the lights were dim. Ella’s scent lingered in the air, sharp and acrid. Christian found her sitting on one of the stools that lined the back wall and took a moment to study her. She hadn’t aged in the thirty years he’d known her, and he wondered who’d paid for that—all magic had a price, and Ella had never been too particular about who paid it.

She’d dressed to impress in a skintight dress the color of fresh blood. It showed off her perfect figure, slender yet with all the right curves, but then Ella was unlikely to leave that sort of thing up to nature. He wondered what she looked like shorn of all the spells. Some sort of raddled old hag was his guess, complete with warts on her nose.

She wore sheer black stockings and crimson stilettos. Her legs were crossed and one foot bounced in the air. Glancing up as he approached, her sullen expression was replaced by a curving smile that didn’t quite reach her dark eyes.

Christian strode over and stopped in front of the table. “You came.”

“The great Christian Roth calls and everyone comes running.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t reply.

Ella shrugged. “Piers ordered me to come and give you anything you want.” She stared up at him from sultry eyes, hot and sensual. “What do you want, Christian?”

Shuddering in disgust, he made no effort to conceal the reaction, and she scowled.

“You could at least make an effort to be pleasant. You asked for this meeting, after all.” She wiped the frown from her face with practiced ease and smiled again. “Come on Christian, honey, we could have fun together. You liked me once.”

“Let’s be clear about this.” His voice was ice cold. “Be thankful I left the Order when I did. If I’d stayed, you would have died twenty years ago.”

The smile slid from her face, and for a moment, fear showed in her expression. But she quickly regained control. “Don’t be so sanctimonious, you’ve killed—countless times. Why look down on me for doing the same thing? The Order knows I can’t do my work without making some sacrifices.”

“And are all the sacrifices you perform for your work?” Christian grabbed her chin between his finger and thumb, forcing her to look into his eyes. He studied her pale flawless skin. She had to be in her sixties—she could have passed for twenty-five. “Been sacrificing virgins and bathing in their blood, Ella?”

“Don’t be disgusting. I use anti-wrinkle cream—it can take years off a woman.”

He released his hold on her chin. “We might both kill, but our reasons are worlds apart.”

“But then, you hardly need to worry about wrinkles. And neither would I if you’d agree to my request.”

“Females never survive the transition.” She’d come to him more than thirty years ago, asking to be changed, to become a vampire. That she could even think he would consider it was crazy.

Her expression became eager. “I’ve been working on a spell—”

He eyed her coldly. “I would tie you to the stake and light the match myself before I would consider turning you. Or allowing you to be turned.”

“Bastard!”

“Without a doubt. And now the pleasantries are over, perhaps we can get down to business.” He slid on to the stool opposite her. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I thought Piers had already told you. I don’t know what more I can add.”

He forced down the anger that threatened to overwhelm him. “Just tell me what you saw.”

“Not a lot. The night Gabriel disappeared, I saw him in a vision. I warned him not to go. He didn’t listen.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “You taught him too well, Christian. He’s never trusted me, and that’s your fault. If he’d listened to me, instead of you, he’d still be alive.”

Christian ignored the taunt. “Piers said the demon was only a minor one, that Gabe should have had no problem sending it back. So what happened?”

“How should I know? At a guess, they’re getting strength from something way more powerful.” She took a sip of her wine. “From what I’ve picked up, the lesser demons are hunting for something. This isn’t just normal mischief. Someone is sending them across and whoever it is, they’re lending them power.”

“Who would be strong enough to do that?”

“Not many. Probably one of the seven. Could be your old friend, Asmodai.”

His eyes narrowed at the name, and he felt the familiar surge of hatred at the thought of the demon prince. “Have you any proof of that?”

“None, but it makes sense. He hates you, probably not as much as you hate him, but he still hates.”

“Piers told me that you believed I was involved.”

“I saw you, straight after the vision with Gabriel—the two are obviously connected.”

Christian didn’t like her, but he sensed she was telling the truth. He also knew he had all the information he was going to get tonight. But did Ella really believe Asmodai was involved, or was she just trying to wind him up? It was hard to tell. She hated Christian, but she also wanted him, wanted what she believed he could give her, and that made her dangerous.

He stood up. “If you discover anything else, you’ll let me know.”

“Of course, oh Lord and Master.”

Christian ignored the sarcasm. His cell phone rang as he left the bar. He glanced at the caller ID. “Piers?”

“Things are just getting better and better,” Piers said.

Christian sighed. “What is it?”

“I just received a tip-off. Apparently the Walker is around.”

Christian’s fingers tightened on the phone . “Are you sure?”

“That’s what the man said. The Walker’s been seen, and he’s hunting.”

“Hunting what?”

“My informer didn’t have a clue, but he reckoned we’d want to know.”

Too right, he wanted to know. Unlike demons, the fae had little desire to come to earth. They tended to hold humans in total contempt, along with anything else that wasn’t pure fae, and the Walker was the worst. He was also an assassin, and had no right setting foot out of the Faelands. What the hell drew him so far from home?

Gabriel was dead, one of the seven probably involved, and now the Walker was abroad. Was it all tied in or mere coincidence? Coincidence seemed unlikely. He didn’t believe in coincidence.

“You still there?” Piers asked.

“Just thinking. You need to set up a meeting with the fae.”

Piers swore. “Yeah, I’d already decided that, but I hate fucking fairies.”

Christian agreed. At least you knew where you were with a demon. The fae were tricky. He ended the call.

There were a few people he could talk to who might have information. Or he could return to the office, but that held no appeal. He headed off into the night.

…

Dawn was close by the time he returned to CR International. Graham, as he’d expected, was still at the reception desk.

“Good night?” Graham asked as he came through the doors.

“No,” Christian growled. “A complete fucking waste of time.”

Graham raised an eyebrow, and Christian shrugged.

“Fae problems. I spent most of the night trying to find out just how big, but I don’t seem too popular. I couldn’t find anyone who might talk. They all seem to be avoiding me.”

“Is that significant?”

“Probably. Definitely. How about you?”

“I looked up that information you asked for, about Kathryn Collins.”

Christian forced his mind from the night’s findings or rather lack of them. “Aunt Kathy?”

“Yeah, Aunt Kathy. You’re not going to believe it. And you aren’t going to like it.”

Christian sighed. “Give me the file.”

Graham handed it over and Christian flicked through the contents. “You’re sure about this?”

Graham nodded.

Christian thought about Tara Collins. What was it she’d said she wanted? A normal life? He suspected he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t going to be pleased about this information. That was, if she ever got to the point of even believing it.

…

The young red-haired man, Graham, was at the reception desk when Tara came through the sliding doors of CR International at seven o’clock on Friday night. He looked up as she stopped in front of the desk and regarded her curiously. A slight sense of misgiving niggled at her. She ignored it and smiled with forced brightness.

“Hello,” she said, “I have an appointment with—”

“I remember. You can go right up.”

“I can?”

He nodded.

“Don’t you need to come?” she asked.

His lips curved in a smile, and he shook his head. “Not this time.”

Within minutes, she stood outside those huge double doors, her stomach churning, her pulse thundering.

It wasn’t entirely the thought of seeing Christian Roth again—though that came into it. The truth was, she was still shaky from her bout with Rule Number Two. One teensy sip of wine and she’d blacked out. She’d eventually woken four hours later, to find herself on a trolley in the local ER.

In the two days since, she’d almost managed to convince herself it had been some sort of allergic reaction to the alcohol. Almost but not quite, because she clearly remembered those few seconds before she’d blacked out. The wild exhilaration racing through her veins. It had felt so good. Even now, if she closed her eyes she could feel a residual buzz humming in her blood. That was so not normal.

She’d raised a hand to knock when the doors swung open and Christian stood before her.

Tonight he hadn’t bothered with a suit, but was wearing black cargo pants and a black button-down shirt. He looked lean and mean, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Which was strange. Last time she’d been so sure he wasn’t handsome, now she couldn’t look away. She made a lingering sweep of his body before forcing her gaze to his face.

“You look different,” she said.

A flicker of amusement flashed in his silver gray eyes. “I’ve been eating well,” he murmured. “Come in.”

He stood back and gestured for her to enter. Tara hesitated, then took a deep breath and stepped past. She stood just inside the door and listened as it clicked shut behind her. “Right, shall we get on with this?”

“First, can I get you a drink?” he asked.

Tara shuddered at the thought of alcohol. She wasn’t ready to face that particular challenge just yet. ”I don’t think so.”

“A coffee, something to eat?”

“This isn’t a social call, Mr. Roth.”

“I thought we’d decided you would call me, Christian.” He circled, his eyes sliding over her. “I like your outfit, by the way, very nice. Black suits you.”

“Er, thank you.” He was standing too close, and she edged away and sat in one of the upright chairs in front of the desk, clutching her bag on her lap.

He took the seat opposite her and regarded her through half-closed eyes. His gaze lingered on her mouth then dropped lower to focus on her throat. Tara refused to twitch under his stare, however much she wanted to.

After a minute, he smiled. “You seem more confident this evening.”

“I am. I’ve decided I’m being stupid worrying about all this—there’s bound to be a rational explanation.”

“There is?”

“Yes. My friend, Chloe, thinks maybe Aunt Kathy kidnapped me as a baby.”

“Why would she do that?”

A flicker of irritation jabbed at her. “Because she lost her own baby, or maybe she couldn’t have one. I did a search on the Internet and found all these cases.” Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the papers. She handed them over and his eyes widened at the hefty file. “I’m convinced I’m in there somewhere. So I thought maybe you could concentrate your investigation on these.”

He stared at the file. “Let me get this straight, you want me to investigate all these missing persons. Have you any idea how long that would take?”

“I told you I have the money.”

He opened a drawer in his desk, dropped the file in, and slammed it shut. “In the meantime, I do have some information regarding your aunt.”

Tara had been leaning toward him eagerly, now she drew back in her chair. A lump formed in her throat. She tried to swallow it, but it stuck somewhere halfway down. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Why did she feel afraid? She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasted the sharp metallic taint of fresh blood.

She swiped her tongue over her lip, wiping away the drop of blood, and Christian stood abruptly, shoving back his chair. He crossed the room to stare out of the window, his shoulders tense, fists clenched at his side. Then the tension drained from him, and he swung around to face her. His gaze flickered to her mouth, then away, but not before she saw the heat in his eyes.

What was up with him?

It was weird, but she had the strangest feeling he was thinking about kissing her. Probably more delusions.

Tara forced herself to break the silence. “So, what did you find about my aunt?”

“Are you sure you won’t have that drink?”

“Yes,” she said impatiently. “Just tell me, please.”

“Do you have a photograph of your aunt, a recent one?”

“Sure.” After searching in her bag for her purse, she removed the small photo she always carried and handed it to him. Christian glanced at the picture briefly, then returned to his desk and opened a file. Taking out a photograph, he compared it to the one Tara had given him, before handing the second photo to Tara. “You agree that this is your aunt?”

“Of course it is.”

“That’s a photograph of Kathryn Collins. A photo taken nearly twenty-three years ago.”

Tara studied both pictures. “But she looks exactly the same.”

“I know, but then the dead don’t age.”

“What?” She must have misheard that last comment.

“The photograph I just gave you was taken over twenty years ago,” he repeated. “Shortly before Kathryn Collins was killed when a drunk driver ran her car off the road.”

The room went out of focus. Tara closed her eyes, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. A woman with the same name as her aunt, who looked identical to her aunt, had died over twenty years ago. There had to be an explanation. She opened her eyes to find Christian watching her, his face expressionless.

“Let me get you that drink,” he said.

“No!” A drink was the last thing she needed. She took a gulp of air. “I’m all right. I just need to think this through.” Her brain latched on to the obvious answer. “Identical twins?”

“How would that explain the fact that your aunt didn’t age? Because she didn’t, did she? Think back, Tara, remember your aunt when you were young. Was she really any different?”

Her aunt had just always been her aunt. Tara closed her eyes and pictured her first memories. Aunt Kathy explaining the rules when she was little, then again at regular intervals all the time Tara had been growing up. And each time she looked the same. Even her aunt’s hair had never changed although Tara could never remember her going near a hairdresser.

She rubbed her temple with the tip of her finger, then pressed hard against her closed lids. She opened her eyes to find Christian still watching her. “What do you think happened?”

He crouched in front of her and ran a finger down her cheek. She shivered, his touch cool against her heated skin. Then his thumb brushed over her lower lip and she felt it as a caress low down in her belly. He was so close. If she leaned forward just a little bit…

He straightened and backed a step away. “What do you know of the supernatural?”

The question caught her off balance. “You mean, ghosties and ghoolies and…” She frowned. “I seriously hope you’re not trying to tell me my aunt was a ghost.”

“Actually no, I don’t think your aunt was a ghost. You could touch her couldn’t you? She ate and drank like a normal person?”

“Yes, she ate like a normal person. Because, you know what? She was a normal person.” Albeit a rather strange one, but Tara pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

“Tara, your aunt was far from normal.” He gestured to the photographs. “However much you dislike the idea, you have to acknowledge that something strange was going on.”

Tara forced herself to calm down. “Okay, tell me what you think happened.”

“The body of your aunt was never buried.”

“Yes it was, I was there at the funeral.”

He sighed. “I mean twenty years ago.”

She felt a spark of hope. “Well obviously it wasn’t buried, because she wasn’t dead. They made a mistake.”

“There was no mistake. I’ve seen the death certificate and the coroner’s report—she was dead twenty years ago. The body disappeared before it could be buried. There are reports, they’re all in the file.”

“You’re telling me I was brought up by a dead person. That Aunt Kathy was some sort of zombie?” She could hear her voice rising.

“Not a zombie, no.”

“Well, thank goodness for that.”

“There are other ways to reanimate a corpse.”

Tara bolted from her chair. “I am not listening to this.”

“You have to. The woman who brought you up has been dead for over twenty years.”

She stared into his face, sure she must have heard him wrong, but no, he seemed serious. Suddenly she was furious. She took a step toward him and poked him in the chest. It was like stubbing her finger on a lump of rock and she winced. “You are so not funny.”

She blamed her cat for this. Trust Smokey to pick the one nutcase private investigator in the whole of London. “And by the way,” she added. “You’re fired!”

She grabbed her purse and stormed away. She’d almost reached the door when he spoke again.

“Tara—”

She whirled.

Somehow, he was right behind her and she almost slammed into him. She put up her arms to ward him off and her palms flattened against his chest. He leaned forward and kissed her.

She stood there, hands splayed against his chest, while he touched her only with his lips. The kiss was slow, erotic. He tasted her with his tongue, and she let him do whatever he wished. It was over far too soon, and he stepped back.

In a daze, she opened the door and was just about to step through when he called her again. She stopped and turned.

He handed her the file, his expression sympathetic. “When you’ve read this, calmed down, and are willing to listen, come back.”

“When hell freezes over.”

She tried to calm herself as she rode down in the elevator, but bitter disappointment clogged her throat. She’d been so hopeful a private investigator would find a nice logical explanation for what had happened in her past, why her aunt had kept them isolated for so many years. Instead, she’d hired a madman, who talked about dead people as though they had the power to walk and talk and eat. A madman who’d had the nerve to kiss her. She could still feel that kiss against her lips—she’d never imagined a kiss could feel like that.

Graham regarded her as she stepped up to the reception desk, his eyes widening as he took in the red folder she clutched. Did he know what was in there? Had they laughed as they put it together?

“Would you like another appointment?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I won’t be coming back, and you can return this to your madman of a boss.” She slapped the file on the desk and headed for the door.

“Tara.”

“What?”

“You could be in danger.”

She stalked from the building. Outside, she gazed about for a moment then headed for the alley opposite—the quickest way to the train station. She hesitated at the entrance; the alley was narrow, the streetlights penetrating only a few feet, and beyond that, utter darkness.

Of course she wasn’t in danger. Of course she hadn’t been brought up by a dead woman. Of course there wasn’t something really scary waiting for her down this alley.

And if there was, all she could say was—it had better watch out.

Chapter Four

“Well that went well,” Christian murmured.

What the hell had happened to keeping his hands off her?

Though it wasn’t his hands that were the problem. He hadn’t been able to resist that one fleeting kiss, and she tasted as good as he’d expected. A delicious combination of bitter and sweet he’d never encountered before. If he had put his hands on her he probably would have dragged her back in here and not let her out again until sunrise.

But she didn’t want that. She wanted “normal,” and he was about as far from normal as it was possible to get.

Perhaps he should have kept the information about Kathy Collins to himself. He had considered that option, but was worried. Tara was obviously human—it came off her in waves—so why would she have an undead guardian? And why had the undead guardian up and died? Presumably, the spell giving her life had run out of power. But who had brought Kathryn Collins back to life in the first place and why?

There had to be a good reason, because magic like that never came cheap. Someone had paid a high price to protect Tara. And if she didn’t find out why she needed safeguarding, her chances of a normal life were remote.

Part of him liked the idea of protecting her, but he knew nothing good could come of bringing her into his world however much he might crave it. A wave of bitterness washed over him. It had been more than five hundred years since his wife and two daughters had been slaughtered in a demon attack. Christian had nearly died himself. The Order had offered him a chance to get his revenge. Since that night, he’d embraced the darkness wholeheartedly. For centuries, he’d fought demons, slaughtered demons, feasted on their immortal blood.

Until one sunset, he’d risen from his sleep to realize he no longer wanted that life. Or rather death.

He’d turned his back on the Order and tried to make a place for himself in the world of humans. But now he was bored, and he wanted more. He wanted Tara Collins. Maybe just one small taste and afterward, he would sort out whatever mess she was in, and send her on her way unaware how close she had come to the darkness.

His cell phone rang. It was Piers. “What?” Christian growled.

Piers chuckled. “Bad moment? Is your balance sheet not adding up?”

“What do you want?”

“Are you aware that there’s a lot of demon activity going on tonight?”

“So, send someone after them.”

“Aren’t you interested where?”

Christian sighed. “Get to the point, Piers.”

“They’re right outside your building. Again.”

“What?”

“I thought that might wake you up. I can send out agents, but I thought you might want to take a look.”

Demons shouldn’t even be able to pick up the fact that he was here. He’d paid a very expensive warlock a whole load of money to have the place warded, to make himself invisible.

“I’m on to it,” he said.

“Let me know what you find.”

Christian slipped the phone into his pants pocket, a flame of excitement burning in his belly. If he couldn’t have sex with the delectable Tara Collins, fighting demons had to be the next best thing.

He went to the cupboard at the back of his office and pulled on a shoulder holster. After selecting a semi-automatic pistol, he made sure it was loaded and shoved it into the holster. He strapped a knife sheath at his waist, tied it down to his thigh, and slotted in the eight inch serrated blade. He covered the whole lot with a long, black leather coat.

Avoiding reception, he slipped out the back way. The door opened into an alley that ran along the rear of the building, and he stood in the dim light and scented the air.

There it was, the faint tang of sulfur. He inhaled deeply to determine which direction it was strongest. He set off down the alley, emerged onto the main street, and he glanced around. Another alley cut across the street opposite. Some instinct made him the peer into the darkness.

Far up ahead he could make out a figure hurrying in the opposite direction: Black coat, small and a bright head of blond hair. Christian recognized her immediately.

Had she no common sense? Even if she didn’t believe in “ghosties and ghoulies,” there were plenty of human scavengers who loitered in dark alleys, just waiting for people naive enough to venture down them.

He hustled after her, keeping to the shadows. He would make sure she reached her train station, and then he would go demon hunting. But as the darkness crowded around him, the strong odor of sulfur filled his nostrils.

Up ahead, Tara slowed until she came to a halt at least twenty feet from the end of the alley.

Keep moving, he urged, silently. She could still come out of this unharmed if she reached the main street—nothing would follow her there. It took him mere seconds to realize why she had stopped. A demon blocked her path. From a distance, it appeared almost human, only the dusky red skin identified it as something from the Abyss. That and the rank odor that intensified as Christian moved closer. The demon appeared oblivious to him, all its concentration on Tara. Christian drew his knife; he could take the thing down before it touched her.

A second demon slithered down the wall to Tara’s right. Christian went still. His knife was raised and ready to throw, but he glanced between the two, unsure which presented the greater threat. While he hesitated, the second demon leapt for Tara. It landed catlike on her shoulders, and she crashed to the ground under the weight. Her head cracked as it hit the concrete, and she lay unmoving, the demon crouched on her chest.

A wild fury roared through Christian and he reacted without thinking. All his muscles tensed, and he flew the last few feet landing close beside them. His free hand gripped the demon’s tangled hair; he ripped it away from Tara and flung it against the wall. It clambered to its feet, a low hiss emerging from the narrow, skinless lips. Up ahead the first demon drew closer, and from behind him came the unmistakable scent of a third.

He cast Tara a quick glance. Lying on her side, her hair covering her face, she appeared unconscious, but Christian could see no visible damage.

“Give us the woman, and you may go.”

The first demon spoke. All three stood, side by side. Why weren’t they running? They seemed unafraid, but had to know they were no match for a vampire.

“Let us have the woman, and you can go on your way, Christian Roth.”

Christian frowned. “What do you want with her?”

“A little fun.” The demon licked its lips. “A little food.”

Adrenaline coursed through his system and his excitement rose. It had been years since he’d had a good fight. One of these lesser demons would have been a miserable waste of time, but three might give him a good workout. He held the knife loose in his hand and waited for them to make a move.

Two of them attacked without warning. Christian braced his legs and stood his ground. At the last moment, he raised the knife and impaled one through the throat. He pushed it away, wrenching the blade free, and the second was on him, grappling, its sharp pointed teeth snapping at his face. It latched onto his shoulder, slicing through the leather of his coat and sinking its fangs deep into his flesh.

The demon was incredibly strong, and too late he remembered Ella’s comment that lesser demons were borrowing power from something stronger.

Ignoring the pain, Christian brought his free hand up, took hold of its throat, and ripped it away. His shoulder tore as the teeth remained locked into the muscle. Then he was free. He tightened his hold on the creature’s neck, and the bones snapped under his fingers. Tossing the body from him, he spun to face the third demon. His shoulder was on fire and blood ran down his arm. He needed to finish this before he weakened.

The last demon circled him warily. It sniffed the air, muscles tensing, and Christian realized it was poised to run. He hurled the knife, taking the demon straight through the heart.

For a moment, he stood panting. Nothing moved, and he crouched beside the body. The demon was dead. He dragged his knife free and used it to sever the head with one hard downward stroke. The scent of warm blood rose up and he swayed toward it, then forced himself back. They were dead—too late to feed now. He worked quickly, cutting off the other two demons’ heads and watching them disintegrate into a pile of greasy gray ashes.

He rolled Tara onto her back and skimmed his hands over her. She moaned but didn’t regain consciousness. Her face was pale, except for a dark bruise blossoming on her forehead. Rising to his feet, Christian swayed and rested his hand against the wall for balance. He was losing blood fast.

He needed to get Tara away, but there was no way he could carry her back. Besides, the streets were busy, and they’d hardly be inconspicuous. He pulled out his phone to call Graham, but at that moment a black SUV appeared at the head of the alley. The driver’s door opened, and Piers grinned at Christian.

“Shame about the coat,” he said. “Need a lift?”

…

Tara snuggled down. The pillow felt so cozy, soft as down, and silky smooth against her cheek. A dull ache throbbed at her temple, but as long as she didn’t move too much it was bearable. She had no idea where she was, but she was definitely not in the alley, and that had to be a good thing. She thought about opening her eyes, but decided to put it off a little longer.

There were other people around. Muted voices, the rustle of clothing, but it all seemed far away. The last thing she remembered was that thing in front of her. It had come out of nowhere dressed in dark pants and a jacket with the hood pulled low over its face. At first, she’d thought it was a mugger or rapist, and she’d prepared to fight for her life.

It had come closer, sniffing the air, and a disgusting stench filled her nostrils—dirty smoke and rotten eggs. The hood had fallen back from its face and she’d gotten her first clear glimpse of her attacker.

It was red.

Not pink, but dark red. With yellow eyes.

She’d decided defending herself wasn’t the good idea it had seemed a moment ago. No, running had seemed a much better option. Until something hit her from behind.

After that—nothing.

Oh God, perhaps she was in the lair of the red thing. She hoped not.

Opening one eye a fraction, she peered out through her lashes. The first thing she saw was Christian. A half-naked Christian. He still had his black pants on, but had stripped to the waist, and Tara had never seen anything quite so beautiful. His shoulders were broad, his hips lean, and the bits in between all ridged with muscle. His skin was pale, perfect with a light sprinkling of dark hair between his nipples and down his almost concave belly to disappear into the low-slung waistband. Midnight black hair hung loose around his shoulders, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

“Graham?” Christian spoke softly, and the young man came into view. He seated himself on the end of the bed not far from Tara. He didn’t even seem to notice her, simply sat, his hands in his lap, a small smile on his face. Tara had the feeling she was watching something private. That she should sit up. Tell them she was awake. Get out of there before it was too late.

Instead, she lay still as stone, hardly breathing, and watched.

Christian came up behind Graham and laid a hand on his dark red hair. He stroked his fingers through it, and tugged the head back, baring the long line of his throat. He moved in closer, rested one knee on the bed and pulled Graham back against his body, wrapping his arms around the other man’s chest. Lowering his head, he licked at the throat, then his lips drew back exposing a huge pair of fangs he sank into Graham’s neck.

Tara must have made a small noise because someone moved beside her. She dragged her gaze from the two men. A third man sat in a chair, his long legs resting on the edge of the bed. She recognized him as the blond rock star lookalike who’d been waiting for the elevator two days ago.

He smiled at her.

“Christian,” he said. “Your guest is awake.”

Christian didn’t release his hold on Graham but he went still. His gaze caught hers, and held her trapped for long minutes. Then he closed his eyes and continued feeding.

Because that’s what he was doing.

He was feeding.

Drinking blood.

Tara forced her mind to accept what she saw. Maybe he was just pretending. Or maybe he was insane, as she had told him earlier, some sort of supernatural wannabe, with a pair of stick-on fangs. But if he was pretending, he was doing an excellent job. She could see him swallowing as the blood flowed down his throat. Graham’s face was blank, almost dreamy, his lips parted. He wasn’t struggling; in fact, his whole body seemed to be straining upward. It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen, and a strange lightness filled her mind while her body grew hot and heavy.

She heard a low, masculine chuckle from beside her, and she forced her gaze back to the blond.

“It looks good, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “So very, very good.” His voice was low, husky, his eyes heavy-lidded, and he was staring at her greedily. “It’s certainly making me hungry.”

He grinned at her, flashing a pair of fangs that she hadn’t noticed before. Her eyes widened. She scrambled into a sitting position and pulled herself as far from him as she could. He chuckled again and reached a hand toward her.

“Piers!”

The hand dropped, and Piers shrugged.

Christian had finished feeding. Graham sat with his eyes closed, breathing fast, but he appeared unharmed.

Christian came round and stared down at her from the side of the bed. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes flicked from his naked chest, to his face, to the blond man on the other side of her, and back to his face.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Am I?”

He reached forward, and she had to force herself not to flinch. For once, his fingers felt warm against her skin as he tilted her face so he could examine it closely. A brief flare of anger flickered across his expression, then it was gone.

“You’ll live,” he said.

She glanced again at the other man. He was sitting back relaxed in his chair, but hadn’t lost that hungry expression. She shivered. “Will I?”

Christian smiled briefly. “You’re in no danger here.”

Tara believed him. She didn’t know why, but she did. Sitting back against the pillows, she studied her surroundings. She was in a large spacious bedroom. The furniture simple but luxurious. The bed she sat on, the largest she had ever seen. “Where am I?”

“In my apartment. In the basement beneath the offices.”

“In the basement?” Of course he would live in the basement. Vampires didn’t like the sun, after all. Her brain stopped. She hadn’t allowed the word into her head before. Now she rolled it over in her mind.

Vampire.

It was crazy. She needed to get out of there. But first, she wanted to know how she’d got there.

“How did I get here?”

“You were attacked in the alley after you left here.” He frowned. “Has no one ever told you it’s dangerous to go down dark alleys at night?”

“Actually, yes. You did.” She sighed. “Anyway, it’s your fault.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you reckon that because…”

“I was angry when I left here. I don’t think too well when I’m angry.”

“Only when you’re angry?” he asked

“Hah, hah.” She scowled. “So how did I get here?”

“I found you unconscious after you’d just been attacked. I scared them off and brought you back here.”

She could see now that he had a rough bandage around one shoulder. “You fought those things?”

He nodded.

“Why did they want me?”

“You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Once they’d got a look at you—”

“A sniff more like,” Piers interrupted. He leaned toward her and took a deep breath. “You smell delicious.”

Tara ignored him. “What would have happened if you hadn’t come along?”

Again, it was Piers who spoke. “They would have taken you to some dark, lonely place where they would have played with you for a while. Not long perhaps, though it would have seemed like an age to you, and then, in all probability, they would have eaten you.”

Tara stared at him, trying to determine if he was telling the truth or trying to scare her. She decided a bit of both. “You’re not a very nice person. Did you know that?”

Surprise flashed across his face, and he laughed.

“No, I’m not nice, but there aren’t many people who would have the nerve to tell me that.” He stood and said to Christian, “I’m going to check that everything’s quiet outside. Then I’ll be back to stitch your shoulder.” He nodded in Tara’s direction. “Get rid of her.”

She glowered. “Get rid of me?”

A flicker of humor flashed in Christian’s eyes. “Not permanently, but Piers isn’t comfortable with humans around the Order’s business.”

“The Order?”

“Never mind.”

“You’d have to kill me if you told me, right?” She peered into his face. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

He smiled and turned to Graham, who still sat at the end of the bed. “Graham, why don’t you get us all a drink?”

Graham seemed to shake himself awake. He nodded, got up, and went over to a fridge against the far wall. “Beer okay?”

“Do you have any coke?” Tara asked.

“Sure.” He took the tops off three bottles and brought them over. “Here Boss.” He handed one to Christian, another to Tara. He sat in the seat next to the bed and drank. Tara watched as Christian took a gulp from the bottle.

“You can drink?”

“Yes. It’s actually quite easy. You just lift the bottle to your mouth—”

Graham sniggered. Tara scowled but drank her own coke.

“Is there anyone who can come and pick you up?” Christian asked. “I can send one of the security guys with you, but you might feel happier with someone you know.”

“Maybe. I’ll phone Jamie.”

His eyes sharpened on her. “Jamie?”

“He’s a friend.”

“A boyfriend?”

Suddenly, she remembered that he’d kissed her.

“No, just a friend. My bag—?”

Graham picked it up off the floor and handed it to her. She rummaged around for her cell phone, then glanced at Christian. He raised an eyebrow but turned away to give her at least the illusion of privacy.

Jamie answered straight away. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m at CR international.” She paused, wondering how to ask this without too much detail and without mentioning she had been wandering down dark alleys. She couldn’t face a lecture just now.

“Tara?”

“Jamie, could you come and pick me up?”

He was silent for a moment. “Why do you need picking up? What have you done now?”

Tara scowled. No way was she mentioning the dark alley. “Er, I fainted again. I’m just feeling a little shaky. I don’t want to go on the train on my own.”

“You fainted. Have you been drinking again?”

She took a deep breath. “No, I haven’t been drinking. I missed lunch, that’s all it is.”

He probably didn’t believe her, but after a moment he sighed. “I’ll pick you up in reception in half an hour.”

She put the phone away and glanced up to find Christian watching her, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“What?” she asked scowling.

“He sounds more like your father than your boyfriend.”

“I told you he’s not my boyfriend, but I met him soon after I came to London. He sort of sees it as his duty to make sure the country bumpkin doesn’t do anything stupid in the big city.”

“No doubt a difficult job.”

He turned to Graham. Something passed between the two men and Graham got up without a word and left the room. Tara stared after him then back at Christian. He was still half-naked, and he was still a vampire and he was sitting on the edge of the bed as if he had every right to be there. She inched away. He inched right after her.

“Is your head okay?” he asked.

“It’s fine, just a little sore.”

She fidgeted. She wasn’t used to scenarios involving half-naked vampires and beds. Hell, she wasn’t used to half-naked men and beds. Or even half-naked men and Christian was hard to ignore. There was so much of him.

“Right, I’d better get up and go meet Jamie.”

His lips twitched. “You have half an hour.”

“You could hear that? Don’t tell me—some sort of vampire powers.” She was quite proud of herself for saying the word without succumbing to hysterics. “Even so, I should get up.”

He stroked down the line of her jaw. His fingers were cool now, but her skin burned where he touched. “Don’t I get a reward for rescuing you? A kiss perhaps?”

Another kiss? She stared at his mouth. His lips were beautiful, but it wasn’t his lips she was worried about, it was what was behind them.

“I’ll write you a check,” she mumbled.

He smiled as if he could see what was going on in her head. “You have no need to fear me,” he said. “I’ve fed tonight.”

“I know, I saw.”

She shuddered at the memory, but it wasn’t from horror. She remembered the expression on Graham’s face as Christian fed. Heat flared again, low in her belly. She wasn’t used to desire, but she could recognize the signs, and they terrified her. What she should be doing was running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Instead, she stared, mesmerized as those lips lowered slowly toward her own.

Chapter Five

Tara didn’t protest as Christian’s hands slid into her hair, angling her face toward him. He kissed her, his tongue sweeping along the line of her closed lips.

“Open your mouth, Tara. Let me taste you,” he whispered.

For a moment, she resisted, but she wanted his kiss so much. Maybe this was another vampiric power and he’d cast a spell on her. Then his lips were on hers again, and it didn’t matter.

She opened her mouth, and the kiss hardened. His tongue thrust inside and without thought, her hands went up to tangle in his hair. His huge body came over her and pressed her onto the bed until she could feel his hardness through the layers that separated them.

Breaking from the kiss, he raised his head and held her gaze as he ground his hips into the softness of her belly. Heat flooded her, pooled at her core, and her eyes widened. Christian shifted lower, until he pushed against the junction of her thighs, and her whole body went up in flames.

“Oh.”

He smiled, lowered his head, and kissed her again. She lost herself in that kiss, only coming back when he went still against her. Opening her eyes, she followed his gaze.

She closed her eyes again and pretended she was home and there was no six-foot-plus of half-naked vampire on top of her. And no six-foot-plus of fully dressed vampire lounging in the open doorway.

Piers watched them, an expression of amused curiosity on his face.

She shoved at Christian and tried to wriggle from under him.

“Don’t move for a moment,” he murmured into her ear.

She stilled.

Sighing, he rolled off her. He lay for a moment staring at the ceiling then sat up and pushed off the bed in one fluid move.

“Just wondered whether you were ready to have that shoulder stitched yet,” Piers said.

Christian turned toward him. For the first time since she’d woken, Tara felt real fear. She shivered as she watched him stalk toward the other man. He moved slowly but every step radiated menace. He stared at Piers through narrow silver eyes. If the look had been directed at her, she would have shriveled up in fear.

Piers just grinned. “Well, at least you don’t seem bored anymore.”

Christian stared at him for a moment longer, and the tension drained out of his body.

Tara scrambled to her feet. She wanted out of there now—way too much testosterone pounded through the room.

Someone had removed her boots and coat, but she spotted them on a chair. Christian watched her, a slight frown on his face, but he didn’t protest as she pulled them on.

“Right. I’m off,” she said.

Christian crossed the room and stood before her. “I’m letting you go because you need time to think. When you have, come back to me.”

Probably in about a thousand years, but she refrained from saying the words aloud. Instead, she forced her face into some semblance of a smile, and nodded.

He tilted his head toward her. This time, she swayed away from him, but his hand slid beneath the hair at the back of her neck and held her in place. The kiss was hard and fast, and afterward he whispered into her ear, “You will come back, Tara. We have unfinished business.”

She glanced at the bed, not sure whether he was referring to that or to the search for her aunt, but she didn’t feel up to asking. Perhaps it was better not to know. He stepped away, and she breathed again.

Tara headed for the door, but at the last moment, she turned and studied him. He was beautiful, but now she recognized it as the beauty of a predator, and underneath she could sense something cold, menacing.

“Are you evil?” she asked.

A startled expression crossed his face, then he shrugged. “That’s something you must decide for yourself.”

She nodded and left the room, ignoring Piers who stood aside to let her pass.

Graham waited for her outside. He didn’t say anything, just led her to the elevator, but as they stood in the closed space, Tara couldn’t stop herself from glancing at him surreptitiously. She recalled the expression on his face as Christian fed. He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow.

“What does it feel like?” she asked. “When a vampire feeds?”

He shrugged. “Vampires in general, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve only ever fed Christian.”

“What’s it like?”

“Like the best sex you’ve ever had,” he said, his expression dreamy. Then he grinned. “And I’ve had some great sex.”

“I’ve never had sex.”

His eyes widened. “Bloody hell. A virgin. Better not let Ella get a whiff of you.”

“Ella?”

“Never mind.”

She looked at him shyly. “Are you and Christian… Do you—”

“Have sex? Sleep together?”

She nodded.

“No. Christian is strictly into girls for sex. More’s the pity.”

The elevator doors opened and she followed him out into the reception area.

“Say, is that your friend?” Graham asked.

Jamie loitered on the other side of the glass doors, looking out of place and uncomfortable. His eyes latched onto her like a lifeline, and she smiled.

“Yes, that’s Jamie.”

“He’s cute.”

She ignored the comment. “Right, I’m off.”

“Just a moment.” Graham led her across to the reception desk and reached over the counter. He pulled out the red file she’d left earlier. In that long ago time, when she hadn’t believed in reanimated corpses, vampires, or any of the other things that go bump in the night—or lurk in darkened alleys.

He handed it to her. “You might want to read that now.”

She slanted him a rueful smile. “I doubt it.” But she took the file and stuffed it in her bag.

“And here’s my card. Just in case you feel the need to talk.” He nodded toward Jamie. “It’s best you don’t mention any of this to your friends.”

“Who would believe me? Trust me—you don’t need worry about that.” But she took the card as well and slipped it inside the file in her bag. “At the moment, I don’t want to think about it, never mind talk about it.”

He smiled. “Come on, you can introduce me to your friend.” He led the way out through the doors and came to a halt in front of Jamie.

“Hi, I’m Graham.” He held out his hand. Jamie took it with obvious reluctance.

“Jamie,” he muttered.

Graham appeared amused, but he dropped the hand and turned to Tara. “Remember, call me if you need to talk.”

She nodded.

“What are you going to need to talk to that guy about?” Jamie asked as Graham went back inside the building and the doors shut behind him. He stayed on the other side of the doors and watched them.

“Sorry?” she said to Jamie.

“I asked, what are you going to talk to him about that you can’t say to me?”

He sounded jealous, but Jamie had never come on to her like that.

“Nothing. I don’t plan to go back. I’ve sacked Christian Roth from the case. I decided it was a waste of time. I’m going to do some research into the kidnappings and missing persons myself.”

“So how come you were still at the offices?”

“God! What is this, twenty questions? If you must know, I wasn’t. I’d left already. Luckily, Christian found me.”

“Christian? Found you where? Where did you faint?”

“In an alley,” she mumbled. “On the way back to the station.”

“What the hell were you doing in an alley?”

She heaved a huge, audible sigh. “Leave it will you, Jamie. I fainted but I’m okay, honest, just a little shocked. I’ll go to the doctors tomorrow,” she lied. “I’m probably anemic or something.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Then he shrugged. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”

“A steak,” she said. “I want a nice, big juicy steak.”

“But you’re a vegetarian.”

“Not any longer.”

…

Just how long was he supposed to give her, Christian wondered on waking the following evening.

A month, a week, one night?

One night sounded good. He was tempted to go and see her later that evening, but he’d promised to give her time. In most cases, he would have cleared her memory of the whole vampire thing before he sent her home last night. Piers had been pissed off that he hadn’t, but Tara was different. She had her own issues, all tied up with why a dead woman had been caring for her for the past twenty-two years.

But those issues could wait. They weren’t likely to be pressing, whereas Gabriel dead and gangs of super-strong demons roaming the city were. His first priority was to kill the demons or send them back to the Abyss where they belonged. Then he’d be free to pursue his little human.

How difficult could it be? He could sort out the demon problem tonight, and see Tara tomorrow.

…

The Order was housed in an office block, in the center of the business district of the city, a fifteen minute drive from his building. They rented out the upper floors to human businesses, but the building went below ground almost as far as it went up toward the sky, and it was here that the Order staff worked.

Security cleared him, and he rode the elevator down to the lowest level where Piers had his office. It had once been Christian’s office, but now reflected Piers’s more flamboyant personality.

“We lost another agent last night,” Piers told him. “Stefan.”

A shaft of pain ripped through him. Stefan, like Gabe, was one of his. He’d been a good man before death and a good vampire after. “It doesn’t make sense. Why kill agents? They must know we’ll come after them.”

“Maybe they are getting ready for another full-scale attack. Maybe they’re trying to weaken the Order.”

“Picking off odd agents isn’t going to do that. There has to be something more.”

Piers shrugged. “It could be that the attacks are more personal. You know Ella believes that Asmodai is involved. That he’s the source of the extra power. Maybe he’s after you.”

Christian frowned. “Why me? Why make it personal?”

“You were head of the Order during the last war. You were responsible for beating Asmodai and banishing him back to the Abyss. He must know that you wanted him killed. And look at the agents we’ve lost—Gabriel and Stefan. That sounds pretty fucking personal to me.” He cast Christian a pointed glance. “And perhaps he knows you feel the same way about him.”

“Don’t go there,” Christian growled.

“Look, I don’t know what happened, and I don’t care, but don’t ever try and deny there’s bad feeling between the two of you over and above your involvement in the wars.”

Christian rubbed his forehead. Piers was right. It was too much of a coincidence.

“We need to capture one of these demons,” Christian said.

“Sounds like fun.”

“It’s not going to be easy. They’re strong, and working in teams. Make sure none of the agents go out alone, and next time there’s a sighting we go in force. Get one of them alive. We need to find out who’s sending them and what they’re after. And we need to find out fast.”

Piers grinned. “It’s good to have you back. I was seriously worried with all that businessman shit going in.”

Christian frowned. “This is only temporary.”

“Yeah, right. And afterward, you’ll be going back to your balance sheets. Of course you will.”

Christian didn’t answer.

“There’s also the little matter of the Walker,” Piers added. “The two things couldn’t be connected, could they?”

“I can’t see a connection. The fae never leave their lands if they can help it.”

“Yeah, they’re too fucking superior to mix with the likes of us.”

“And there’s no way demons could have gone anywhere near the Faelands, or we’d have far more than the Walker to contend with. Did you have no luck arranging a meeting?”

“Not yet. If he’s around he’s keeping a low profile.”

“Maybe the information was wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

Christian fought down the nagging sense of frustration building inside him—he wanted this over with.

A knock sounded on the door, and they both glanced up. Piers crossed the room and spoke briefly with the agent, before turning back to Christian. “There’s been a confirmed sighting close to where you nailed those three demons last night. That’s right next to your building again. Looks like it is you they’re after. Let’s go get the bastards.”

They stopped at the weapons room.

“Remember we want them alive,” Christian said as Piers strapped a sawed-off shotgun to his thigh.

“These things have already taken down two of my men. I’m not taking any chances.” He slipped a couple of grenades into the slots on his belt. “Don’t worry, they’ll be alive.” He grinned. “They might also be in bits, but they’ll be alive.”

…

As the vehicle came to a halt, Christian slipped out of the SUV and sniffed the air. Straight away, he picked up the rank sulfur smell of a lesser demon. Something shifted in the shadows up ahead.

“There they are,” he said.

Piers came to stand beside him. “I see them. Just the two.” He sounded disappointed as he drew the shotgun from the holster at his thigh. “I’m going to take out the one on the left, you bring down the second one, and we’ll take it back for questioning.”

“Okay, just remember, if you use that thing,” Christian nodded at the gun, “we have about five minutes before the cops get here.”

Beside him, Piers raised the shotgun. “Don’t waste any time then.”

The explosion filled the alley, and the first demon disintegrated in a shower of gore. Christian licked his lips as the warm blood sprayed across his face, a surge of power hitting his gut as the demon blood entered his system.

The second demon raced down the alley. It glanced back over its shoulder as Christian took aim. The shot took it through the shoulder, whirling it round full circle and hurling it to the ground. Christian kept his gun cocked in his hand as he approached. He slipped the toe of his boot beneath the body and flipped it onto its back.

Crouching beside the injured demon, Christian grabbed it by the hair and dragged its head back. Its eyes flickered open, yellow, no pupil, only a thin black slit down the center. The eyes were lashless and dazed; they blinked a few times and focused on Christian. The recognition was instant.

“Christian Roth.”

A wave of fury washed over him. So this was personal. But why?

His grip tightened on the demon’s hair. “Tell me why you are here. Tell me, and you can live.”

“And go back to my master and inform him that we failed? It’s better to be dead.” It shrugged. “But our master told us there is no more need for secrecy. He wants you to know. He wants you to fear what is coming.”

Christian’s eyes narrowed. “Who is your master?”

“I serve Asmodai.”

“Why does he want me dead?”

The vile creature stared up into his eyes, and its lips curled into the semblance of a smile revealing pointed white teeth. “Who says he wants you dead? That is not the plan—or at least not yet.”

“So what does he want?”

The light was fading from the demon’s yellow eyes. It coughed and a froth of blood erupted from its lips, staining black against the dark red skin. When the coughing fit was over, its head fell back, the yellow eyes staring blankly into the night sky.

Christian swore.

“Weren’t we supposed to take it back for questioning?” Piers asked.

“It must have taken poison.”

“Obviously. So Asmodai is coming after you.”

“It seems that way, but we’re no closer to knowing why.”

Piers shrugged. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you, and he’s not alone in that. I could name a dozen people who would like you dead.”

“Thanks, Piers. Very helpful. Are you going to call in a squad to clean this mess up, or are you going to leave London littered with dead demons?”

“Already on its way.”

Christian got to his feet. So, Asmodai was coming after him. Let him come. This time Christian would finish him off. Though he had an idea it was going to take longer than he’d originally envisaged.

In the lull following the chaos, a vision of Tara flashed across his mind—it looked as though he wouldn’t be seeing her anytime soon.

Chapter Six

All Tara wanted was an ordinary life.

A life like everyone else. Was it too much to ask after her peculiar childhood?

Obviously it was.

Slumping in her seat, she stared at her laptop. Displayed on the screen were details of the last missing person case that could even remotely be connected to her or Aunt Kathy. According to the information, the missing baby had turned up alive and well a few weeks later. So the kidnapping theory appeared to be a dead end.

Tara dreaded what was next. She reached into her bag and drew out the red file Graham had given her a week ago. She didn’t want to read the file because she didn’t want to face up to what she knew was true.

Christian Roth was a vampire.

She’d searched her mind for alternate explanations, from hallucinogenic drugs to hypnosis—and rejected them all.

That brought her back to the red file, because if Christian Roth were a vampire, then what other supernatural beings existed in the world—like zombies.

Though Christian said that her aunt wasn’t a zombie. That had to be a good thing, didn’t it? Who wanted to find out that the woman who brought you up, who you loved, had been a flesh-eating monster?

Some other sort of reanimated corpse, then. Just how many kinds were there? Taking a deep breath, she opened the file.

But instead of reading, she sat back in her seat. She’d been doing her best not to think of Christian, but her best wasn’t particularly good. When she closed her eyes, he was there, in her mind, as she’d last seen him—six-foot-four of half-naked vampire.

Her first ever kiss had been with a freaking vampire. What was it with her? She couldn’t even fall for a normal guy.

She opened her eyes. It was lunchtime, the college library was busy, and they were everywhere—nice normal men, some of them even good looking, and none of them vampires. She banished Christian to the back of her mind, picked up the first sheet of paper in the file, and started to read.

When she got to the end, she wasn’t any closer to the truth than before. The file just contained the evidence Christian had spoken of, including a coroner’s report stating cause of death. Kathryn Collins had died of a broken neck at the site of the accident.

The next sheets were copies of newspaper articles, one about the accident, and a second relating to the disappearance of the body, which had been taken from the morgue the day after she died. Nobody knew why, and no clues were ever found.

What hit Tara hardest was that Kathryn Collins died leaving no family. Her parents were dead and she’d had no siblings. None. Where did that leave Tara as her niece?

Absolutely nowhere.

She rubbed at her forehead to ease the dull ache throbbing behind her eyes. This information brought her no closer to finding out who she was or where she came from.

Frustrated, she went to close the file and noticed Graham’s business card. Without giving herself time to think, Tara pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number.

After a couple of rings, he picked up. “What?”

He sounded grumpy, and she almost put the phone down. Instead, she forced herself to speak. “Hello, it’s Tara—Tara Collins.”

He was silent for a moment. “Tara, sorry, I was asleep—not quite with it.”

Tara glanced at her watch; it was almost one o’clock.

“Hey, I work nights,” he said as if reading her mind.

Of course he would work nights—after all, he worked for a vampire. “Sorry I woke you.”

“No problem. You want to talk?”

“Please.”

“Where are you?”

She told him.

“There’s a coffee shop just round the corner,” he said. “Ginelli’s. I’ll meet you there in forty minutes.”

…

The place was clean, but basic, made good coffee, cheap food, and catered almost exclusively to students. With his long, elegant frame dressed in a silver gray designer suit and a dark blue shirt, Graham appeared like some exotic creature who’d wandered in by mistake. Tara in jeans and a jumper felt scruffy next to him.

He smiled as he sat down. “So, you want to know all about vampires.”

“Actually, I’d prefer to forget that they even exist. I guess that’s not going to happen, is it?”

“No, probably not.”

“Are you allowed to talk to me? You’re not breaking any code of secrecy.”

“I can tell you, but they’d have to kill me, sort of thing?” He shrugged. “There is a code. Humans who get involved with vampires either don’t speak of it or they don’t survive very long.”

“So why are you talking to me now?”

“Christian told me to tell you whatever you wanted to know.”

“But why?”

“Maybe because you need to believe in order to find out what happened with your aunt, but I don’t think that’s it. I think he likes you.”

Tara stopped stirring her coffee. “You do?”

“I do, and that’s not something I’ve come across in the five years I’ve known him. Oh, I’m not saying he’s celibate or anything, but he doesn’t do relationships.”

“We’re not having a relationship.”

“No?”

“I just feel that if I’m going to keep him on as an investigator—and I’m not sure that’s going to be the case—then I need to understand what he’s like, what I can expect.”

“So, ask away.”

Tara took a sip of coffee, stirred it some more. She wanted to know everything, but that wouldn’t sound very cool.

“What are they? Where do they come from? Are they a different species or were they once human? Do—”

Graham held up a hand, a slight smile on his face. “That’s enough questions to start with. I’m not sure what they are, and I’m not sure they do either. I once asked Christian, and he said all they knew was that they were descended from an original group, but no one knows where that group came from, or if they do, they aren’t telling. But I do know Christian was once human. A long time ago.”

“How long? How old is he?”

“I’m not sure exactly. He was born sometime in the Middle-Ages, so over five hundred years, but he doesn’t talk about it much.”

Wow, five hundred years. What would it be like to live that long? Go through all those changes, and see so many people die. She wondered if that bothered him, or whether he just saw humans as food. “Are you human?”

He grinned. “What do you think? Yeah, I’m human.”

“So how did you get mixed up in all this?”

“I’m Christian’s human servant.” He thought for a moment as if wondering how much to tell her. “A bond forms when a vampire feeds a number of times from the same human. I’m tied to him. I don’t mind. He saved my life.”

“How?”

“I was sixteen, living on the streets and I was a real fucked-up mess. One night I pissed off the wrong people. They took me down an alley, and beat on me. I was almost dead when Christian came along. I’ve been with him ever since.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“I was a street punk—I wouldn’t have lasted much longer out there.” He grinned. “My mouth got me into trouble so many times it was lucky I lasted as long as I did. Now look at me.”

She did. There was nothing of the street kid left in him, with his designer suits and his perfectly cut hair, his air of languid grace.

“I’ve got a great job,” he continued. “Even if I do have to work nights. Christian has shown me a whole different way of life. All I have to do is donate a little blood now and then, and that’s hardly a hardship.” His face took on that dreamy expression he’d had when Christian had fed, and a wave of heat washed over her.

“Are you in love with him?”

He appeared startled at the question. “Who wouldn’t be? He is seriously gorgeous, but I told you he doesn’t go for guys, not like that.”

“What about female vampires?”

“There are none. Not that I know of. Something to do with the process. They don’t survive.”

“So no little vampire babies?”

“God, no!”

They were silent for a few minutes.

“What’s the Order?”

“You’ll have to ask Christian about that, but I doubt he’ll tell you anything. All I know is Christian was involved up until about twenty years ago. Piers Lamont, the other vamp you met, is the big boss now, but I’m not sure what they do or why. The only other person I’ve met from there is Ella. She used to drop by the office occasionally. She’d had a thing with Christian a long time ago and would like to have a thing again.”

“Ella?”

He grinned. “She’s a witch, and I mean that in the literal sense. Don’t worry—she’s no competition. Christian can’t stand her, won’t even see her.”

Tara sniffed. “I wasn’t worried.”

“No, of course you weren’t.”

Tara decided to change the subject. “Do you know what was in that file? About my aunt?”

“I did the research. It’s tough.”

“I can’t believe all this—vampires, dead aunts. I keep thinking I’ll wake up and it will all be a bad dream.”

“Christian will get to the bottom of it for you.”

“Yes, but what will he find? All my childhood, I watched from the sidelines, never belonging, never joining in, and I thought that was going to change. All I ever wanted was to be normal.”

“You might be surprised how your view of what’s normal changes. Besides, being normal isn’t all that great. Boring even.”

“Sounds lovely. I can’t help wondering, if I could go back, would I just leave it well alone?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have had a choice. In the end, your past would have caught up with you.”

“It doesn’t matter. Now it’s too late.” She gave a small smile. “I’m scared.”

He patted her hand. “Christian will take care of you.”

Why didn’t that make her feel better? Could it be the fact that Christian was a vampire? “And who’ll protect me from Christian?”

“Do you want protection from Christian? If you were really scared, you wouldn’t be talking to me, you’d be running away as fast as you could.”

The comment brought her up short. She could go away, start over somewhere new. She rejected the idea. “I’m not running away.”

“Good. I have to go. When you’re ready to come in again, give me a call.”

She nodded. “I will, soon.”

He got up to go and Tara asked him one more question.

“Are vampires evil?”

“I saw some bad things when I lived on the street. I learned to recognize true evil and Christian is not that. On the other hand, I wouldn’t say he was entirely good either, but that would be boring.”

…

Two days later, Tara headed down in the elevator, deep underground beneath the CR building.

She’d come to the conclusion that she had to return—Christian was her best bet at discovering her past. But it would be on a strict business basis. No kissing and absolutely no biting.

She would have preferred to take the elevator up to a business meeting on the thirteenth floor. Instead, she was sinking fast. Christian was down there in his private quarters, somewhere south of the sub-basement. Graham had hustled her into the elevator before she could argue.

Her knees wobbled and a queer little twist of something tightened her belly.

Get a grip. Business only.

Christian was there when the elevator doors slid open. He was fully dressed. No half-naked vampire for her tonight.

At least, not yet.

Then again, it was early.

She didn’t know where that thought had come from, and she tried to put it from her mind.

He was all in black again, the business suit gone, but he looked good. It suited his pale skin and dark silky hair, which he’d left loose on his shoulders.

“Tara,” he murmured her name and reached out a hand. She took it in hers, feeling that same tingle as their skin touched. He lowered his face and inhaled deeply, turned her hand over, and kissed her wrist where her pulse thundered close to the surface. His tongue stroked her skin and she trembled, half expecting to feel the sharp bite of his fangs. Before she could pull free, he raised his eyes. They were beautiful, mesmerizing, and she realized she didn’t want to be free after all.

She was in big trouble. One minute in his presence and all her good intentions vanished. He smiled a slow curl of his beautiful lips and dropped her hand.

She breathed again.

“Come.” He slipped a hand to her waist and guided her into his apartment.

They were in a sitting room this time. The furniture was sparse but luxurious with huge sofas upholstered in scarlet silk.

Was that to hide the bloodstains in case it got messy?

Though she was pretty sure Christian would never be so unsophisticated as to spill his food.

Candles flickered all around the room. An ice bucket stood on the small table, containing a bottle of champagne, and next to it two champagne flutes. She wouldn’t be touching that. Whatever happened tonight she was determined to be conscious throughout it.

“Did Graham tell you I wanted to talk about my aunt?” She stared around the room again. “Do you often conduct your business meetings by candlelight?”

He smiled. “Are you worried what my intentions might be?”

The worry factor took second place to a slow burning rise of excitement that twisted her insides. Her blood thundered through her veins, and her heart pounded.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Can I get you anything to eat?”

“No.” She peered at him sharply. “Are you?”

He chuckled and looked her up and down very slowly and very thoroughly, lingering, she thought, far too long on her throat. His eyes were half-closed and gleaming behind his thick lashes when they returned to her face. “You think I’m going to leap on you and bite that pretty neck?”

She didn’t answer, and he prowled around the back of her, coming to a halt so close she had to force herself not to move away. His hands caressed her hair, sliding away the silky strands to bare the line of her throat.

“You smell so delicious.”

Tara twitched, but his hands held her in place. His lips were on her skin and a wave of heat washed over her. Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth opened against her throat and his tongue stroked, slow and cool against her heated flesh.

“Maybe just a little taste…” His teeth scraped her, and she braced herself for his bite. Instead, he turned her in his arms, allowing her to see the hunger burning in his eyes. So hot, so fierce that she gasped.

“See, you’re quite safe with me.” He lowered his lids for a moment. When he opened them, his expression was blank. “One day soon, I hope you will trust me enough to allow me your blood, but perhaps you are not quite ready for that yet.”

He slid his finger down the line of her throat, pressed it against the vein, and lingered on her pulse. “Though I don’t think it is only fear that makes your pulse beat so fast, and perhaps you are ready for this.”

He lowered his head and kissed her. His lips were incredibly soft against hers, not demanding but requesting her compliance, and without thought her mouth opened beneath his. How easily her resolutions vanished,

His tongue slid inside. Instantly the kiss deepened, and she lost the ability to think rationally. His hand drifted up to cradle the back of her skull and held her steady while his mouth ravaged hers. Tara lost herself in the sensations coursing through her body—so new, so intense. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to one of the huge scarlet sofas.

He sank down, pulling her onto his lap without breaking the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue thrust into her mouth and stroked. At first, she allowed him to have his way, but it wasn’t enough, and she started to move with him. At the soft glide of her tongue, his grip tightened. His hands slid over her, grinding her against the hardness of his body. It was like steel, and the muscles of her belly knotted and warm wet heat pooled between her thighs. Her body seemed to take over, and she wriggled her bottom into his hips, until he groaned against her mouth.

The air filled with a musky, feral scent, and Christian stilled. His hands gripped her arms, and he lifted her from him, depositing her on the cool silk of the sofa. He shifted as far from her as he could while staying seated.

Tara stared at him, fighting the urge to crawl across the space between them. She wanted him, needed him. She made a move, and he put up a hand to ward her off. It was like being doused in cold water.

“Why?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “I think that perhaps you’re not so safe after all.”

Chapter Seven

Rule Number Three: Never remove the Talisman

She didn’t want to be safe. She wanted to be in his arms. Christian smiled, his lips drawing back to reveal the long, razor-sharp canines.

“Oh.”

Tara stared at them in awe. All signs of humanity were stripped from his face, revealing the cold ruthless predator beneath. The smile slid from his face, and the humanity crept back into his eyes. He laid his head against the cushions and stared at the ceiling.

“I haven’t felt the urge to feed so strongly for a long time.” He regarded her curiously. “What is it about you, Tara Collins? Why do you affect me like this? Perhaps we should get down to business after all, and see if we can’t find out. First I need a drink.”

He switched on a light and the room became brighter. “There,” he said, “much more businesslike.”

He rose and moved around the room blowing out the candles, then he picked up the bottle of champagne and poured himself a glass. He glanced at her, and she shook her head. After swallowing his drink in one gulp, he poured another and came back to sit at the far end of the sofa. “Don’t look so worried. I have myself under control.”

It wasn’t Christian she was concerned about. She was the one who’d been out of control. Who’d nearly begged him to make love to her, to take her any way he wanted. And it frightened her. Falling for a vampire was not part of any plans she had for her future.

“So,” Christian said, “tell me about your aunt.”

Tara forced herself to concentrate. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. What was she like, how did you live, anything you think might help us get to the bottom of this.”

“I don’t remember anyone else, ever. It was always just Aunt Kathy and me. Oh and Smokey, of course. That’s my cat,” she added.

“I remember,” Christian said wryly.

“We lived in this big old house on the Yorkshire moors. It was very isolated—Aunt Kathy liked it that way. She didn’t trust outsiders, which was everyone except me. We had our food delivered, and my aunt schooled me at home. That’s why I’m at college now. She taught me a lot, but I don’t have any qualifications.

“I wasn’t supposed to leave the grounds, but sometimes I would creep away when she was busy. I liked to watch the people in the village. It’s funny, I didn’t realize how weird our lives were until I started watching other people.”

“You never thought to leave?” His expression was thoughtful, but the pity she dreaded was absent.

“Of course I did. I told her I was moving out when I was eighteen, but she got ill, and I couldn’t leave her alone. Despite everything, I loved her. She gave me the best life she knew how.”

“Hmm.” He sounded skeptical. “Did she ever mention the past or anything about your parents?”

Tara smiled. “You’re joking—and break Rule Number One?”

“Rule Number One?”

“My aunt liked rules. Number One was never, ever talk about the past, and I didn’t. It still makes me nervous to talk like this, as though I’m doing something wrong.”

“Were there a lot of rules?”

“A few. Rule Number Two was ‘don’t drink alcohol.’ I tried that, and it turns out it was a good rule. Maybe I have some sort of genetic disorder that can’t cope.”

“What happened?”

“One sip of white wine and I passed out.” She glanced at the champagne bottle and shuddered. “I won’t be trying that again anytime soon.”

“You’ve broken rules one and two. Is there a Rule Number Three?”

Tara smiled. “Rule Number Three—never take off the talisman.”

“What talisman?”

She reached beneath the collar of her shirt and pulled out the necklace. “It belonged to my mother. Or at least that’s what Aunt Kathy told me.”

Who knew whether it was true? Now, it seemed unlikely, and a wave of sadness ran through her. It was the one thing she had from her mother, or thought she’d had. “I’ve always believed that was true, so Rule Number Three wasn’t hard to keep.”

He rose to his feet. “Can I see?”

She held the necklace up. He took a step closer and cupped the pendant in his hand, turning it with his long elegant fingers. It was a heart-shaped locket made from some sort of opaque crystal.

“Does it open?” he asked.

She ran her nail along the seam, caught the minute catch, and the locket sprang open.

Christian dropped his hand and took a step back. His eyes were wide and fixed on the open locket still held between her finger and thumb. The contents were so familiar—a strand of her mother’s hair, or so Tara had always believed, blond like her own.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s some sort of spell,” he answered slowly. “The hair has been charmed and it’s powerful. This is warlock’s work.”

It just looked like a strand of hair to Tara. “What’s it for?”

“I have no idea, but there’s one way to find out. Take it off.”

A wave of reluctance washed over her.

Christian watched her curiously. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s stupid, but I don’t want to take it off.” She dropped the locket and fought the urge to hide it inside her shirt.

“Maybe not so stupid—I’m guessing there’s some sort of compulsion built into the charm. Which makes me even more curious about what it’s doing.” He thought for a moment. “Close your eyes. I’m going to take your mind off the locket, give you something else to think about.”

“What else?”

“Me. Now be a good girl and close your eyes.”

Tara closed her eyes. She sensed the movement as he came to stand behind her, so close his breath feathered through her hair. A hand stroked the soft skin of her neck. She shivered at the touch, and heat flared low in her belly as her body remembered the feel of him. He brushed aside her hair to bare the side of her throat and his lips pressed against her. He kissed her neck softly, opening his mouth against her. His sharp teeth scraped her skin, and she stiffened. “Christian—”

“Shh,” he murmured against her throat. “I’m not going to bite. Relax.”

She tried, but relaxing really wasn’t an option with his hands gliding up her body, skimmed her belly. They hovered over her breasts, hardly touching, but lightly grazing. Her nipples tightened, and she groaned. His hands again. It took her a moment to realize he was lifting the necklace over her head.

“It’s off. Open your eyes.”

He came to stand in front of her, her necklace dangling from one finger. His eyes met hers and something close to horror flashed across his face.

“What is it?”

He thrust the necklace at her. “Put it back on.” His voice was harsh and strained.

“Why?”

“Don’t argue, just put the necklace back on. Now.”

She took it from him with trembling fingers and lifted it back over her head. Christian turned away, his back rigid, his fists clenched at his side.

“What is it?” When he didn’t answer, she touched his shoulder. He flinched. “Christian, you’re frightening me. Tell me what you saw.”

For a moment he stayed where he was, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. He took a deep breath and relaxed. When he turned, his expression was blank.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“I don’t believe you. If you don’t tell me, I’ll take it off again.”

“Don’t do that until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“But what’s it doing?”

“It’s hiding something. Or rather masking something.”

“What—”

He held up his hand. Tara bit her lip but shut up.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s the truth. When you take it off, it’s as if you’re transmitting some sort of message, but who’s picking it up or why, I don’t know. And until I find out, you keep it on.”

A cold lump settled in Tara’s stomach. She’d seen something bordering on fear in Christian’s eyes. What the hell did it take to scare a vampire? She thought about pushing it, but his expression was closed, and she knew he wouldn’t tell her anything more. Instead, she forced herself to think through the options. “I’m not sick or anything, am I?”

He smiled. It was faint, but a smile nevertheless. “Nothing like that. Was that the first time you’ve removed it?”

“No, I took it off when I was leaving Yorkshire. I was upset—I’d found out most of what my aunt had told me was lies. I was going to leave it behind with everything else from that life. It was almost impossible, but I managed to take it off and hang it from the gatepost. I was halfway down to the village, and ran all the way back and put it on again. In the end, I couldn’t leave it—it was the only thing I had from my mother.” Her legs trembled, and she sank onto the sofa. “Do you think it matters that I took it off?”

“Probably not.” He smiled. She knew it was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it didn’t work.

“What do we do next?” she asked.

“We need to go to Yorkshire.”

“I don’t want to go to Yorkshire.”

“I think I should take a look around. See if I can get a sense of what went on there. What your aunt actually was and how she came to be. We’ll go tomorrow night. There is one more thing we can do tonight. I’d rather go alone, but it might help if I have the locket, and as you can’t take it off, you’ll have to come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Order.”

A shiver of excitement ran through her. Graham had said the Order was ultra-secret. There would be vampires and maybe other things. But why would Christian take her there now? What was so important about the talisman?

The familiar weight of the locket comforted her, but she couldn’t shake the conviction that Christian knew more than he was saying. And what he knew wasn’t good.

“Just one thing,” Christian said. “When we get to the Order—”

“Yes?”

“Don’t do anything and don’t say anything.”

Chapter Eight

The drive to the Order took them along the embankment beside the river Thames, where the lights of the pleasure cruisers glinted on the water. Then past the London Eye, the giant Ferris wheel that rotated languidly above the city, and into the business district. They finally turned down a ramp and pulled into an underground parking garage.

Christian glanced at his passenger as he switched off the ignition. She’d finally stopped shaking. She was rattled and who could blame her? He was rattled himself.

He took a risk bringing her here—Piers wouldn’t like it—but he wanted one of the Order’s witches to take a look at Tara’s talisman. Maybe a witch would be able to identify the warlock who’d made the charm. They often left some sort of signature easily recognizable by others of their kind.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

He was about to get out when she put her hand on his arm. She licked her lips, her small pink tongue flicking out, and he remembered the taste of her; hot and sweet with just an underlying hint of bitterness to balance. Addictive, and he wanted more. Much more.

As the memory washed over him, he had a sudden flashback to the good part of the evening. The earlier part before he’d made a huge error of judgment and decided that getting down to business was the sensible move. He should have just kissed her some more. They might be in his bed now, not in an underground car park about to face six-foot-four of pissed off vampire.

“Christian?”

“Sorry, I was miles away.” Back in his bed with Tara sprawled naked on top of him. “What is it?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

He smiled. “I’m just doing my job. It’s what you hired me to do.”

She searched his face. “Is it just a job?”

She appeared so young and so uncertain that he leaned across and kissed her on the mouth. It had been meant as a reassurance but instead of the quick kiss he’d intended, his lips lingered against hers, relishing the taste of her. Definitely addictive. Finally, he remembered where he was and drew back.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked.

She licked her lips again as if tasting him, and heat flared in his groin.

She nodded. “Let’s go.” Without waiting for him, she opened the car door and jumped out. Christian sat a minute longer, willing his body under control, then followed her.

He’d called Piers from the car, and someone waited at the elevator to escort them. Tara sized up the guard.

“Is everybody here a vampire?” she asked quietly.

“Not everybody, but most of the agents. We’re actually here to see a witch.”

“Ella?

Christian frowned.

“Graham mentioned her,” she said.

He made a mental note to have a word with Graham. Though he had told him to tell Tara whatever she asked.

“Hopefully not Ella,” he replied.

“Why? Graham told me you used to be close.”

Yes, he was definitely going to have a word with Graham. “Not that close,” he said. “And a long time ago.” Why was he worried that Tara might believe him involved with Ella?

“Ella is not a big fan of mine anymore. But the Order employs other witches. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened. Piers waited for them and, as expected, didn’t look happy. Without speaking, he whirled and strode off down the corridor.

Christian put a hand to Tara’s waist. He directed her after Piers, glancing down at her once or twice as they moved through the building. It was obvious she tried to be subtle as she stared—and failed totally.

Piers led them into his office and slammed the door.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” he demanded. “You know it’s against Order policy to bring unmarked humans.”

Tara stood straight and stared back, but Christian smelled her fear. And that meant so could Piers.

“Unless,” Piers continued, “you plan to kill her afterward.” He grinned as the little color in Tara’s face fled. “I could take care of that little job if you like.”

“Piss off, Piers.” Christian turned to Tara. “Go sit over there for a moment while I talk to this moron.”

Tara frowned at the command, but decided now was not the time to exert her independence. She sat on one of the leather and steel chairs in front of Piers’s desk.

“I want one of the witches to have a look at her talisman,” Christian explained. “Maybe they can identify who worked the charm.”

“What do you think it’s doing? And why’s a human wearing such a charm?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Okay, but you’re going to wipe her memory of all this, aren’t you?”

Across the room, Tara stared at the floor, hands clasped tight on her lap. As though she sensed his attention she glanced up and smiled, and something shifted inside him. Something he had never expected to feel. Certainly not for a human.

“Perhaps. When this is over.”

“You need to mark her, Christian.”

“I’m not sure she’ll agree.”

Piers stared at him in total amazement. “If I explain what will happen if she doesn’t agree—she’ll agree.”

Christian stilled. His eyes narrowed and his gums ached as his fangs elongated. “Don’t touch her,” he growled.

“Perhaps you should explain then. It’s the one safeguard we have against the humans turning on us. There can be no exceptions.”

Piers spoke the truth, but the time was coming to an end when they could live in secret among humans. They should plan how to move forward when that time came rather than cling to the old rules. It was an argument he had had with Piers many times.

“I’ll talk to her, but alone.”

Piers nodded. “I’ll go speak with Ella.”

…

Tara wasn’t going to admit it, but she was terrified. Had been since they walked out of the elevator and she realized she was deep underground, surrounded by the undead, and all that stood between her and a horrible end was another undead.

She watched as the two men, or rather two vampires, spoke. Their voices were pitched too low to hear, but the exchange didn’t seem friendly. Despite the difference in coloring, they were curiously alike. Both tall, pale skinned, and stunningly gorgeous. She wondered whether it was because they only chose tall, handsome men to change into vampires or if something happened during the change.

She knew, by the way they frequently glanced her way, that Piers and Christian were discussing her. Piers appeared angry—Christian must have broken a few rules to bring her here. Then again, he didn’t strike her as the sort of person who bothered with rules. Ever.

Unlike herself, who had lived the first twenty-two years following a set of rules given to her by a dead woman. At the thought of rules, her hand went to her locket. She’d broken Rule Number Three, and it hadn’t turned out any better than number two. What had Christian seen that was so bad? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Tara.” Christian held out a hand to her. She stood and walked toward him. As his fingers wrapped around hers, she instantly felt better.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Piers said.

Christian nodded. “Thanks, Piers.”

He left the room.

Christian pulled her toward the desk then pushed her shoulder until she sank into the chair.

Alarm flickered through her. “I’m going to need to sit for this?”

He took the seat opposite and sat for a moment, watching her closely.

“What?” she asked.

“Vampires have remained secret among humans for thousands of years only by following a strict set of rules. One of the Order’s jobs is to ensure that everyone upholds those rules.”

“I guess you broke a few by bringing me tonight.”

“A few. I thought it was worth it to get the information we need, but perhaps we should have had this conversation before I brought you here.”

“What difference would it have made?”

“We have two ways of dealing with humans who discover our secret. The ones that survive the experience, that is. The first is to erase their memories.”

“You can do that?”

“Short-term memories are easy. The longer the memory is in the mind the harder it becomes, and the more likely we are to cause some sort of permanent damage, so we try to do it as soon as possible. It’s how we deal with those humans we feed from.”

“Have you ever done it to me?”

He shook his head. “Sometimes I hunt, but I don’t need to feed with much frequency any more. Most vampires have humans who they feed from regularly.”

“Like you and Graham?”

He nodded. “Those we feed from more than once, we bind to us by the second method.”

“And that is?”

“We mark them.”

“Mark them with what?”

“It’s not a physical mark. It’s a” —he thought for a moment— “psychic mark.”

“You mark their brains?” Tara shuddered. She didn’t like the thought of anyone doing anything in her brain. Christian watched her closely, and she realized where this was going. “You want to mark my brain, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to, but I have no choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“You’re right, but perhaps I should set the choices out before you.”

She swallowed. “Go ahead.”

“The first is obviously that you allow me to mark you. I promise you the process will be painless.” His eyes swept over her, suddenly hot, and she had a flashback to the feel of being enclosed within his arms. Heat coiled low in her belly as though it had been waiting for something to set it aflame again.

“You might even enjoy it.” A shudder ran through her at the dark promise in his voice.

She stared into his face for long moments then broke the link between them. “And the alternative?”

The smile faded from his face. “That Piers marks you by force, and I can’t promise that won’t hurt.”

Shock flashed through her. “You’d let him do that?”

“I don’t think I would have any say in the matter. I’m strong, but perhaps not that strong. We’re surrounded by over a hundred vampires. Of course, I would fight—you are, after all, my responsibility—but in all likelihood, I would die. So I think the question you need to ask yourself is would you let me mark you now, or would you prefer I’m killed and you’re held down while Piers rapes your mind.”

“You’re trying to scare me.”

“Perhaps. Am I succeeding?”

She took a deep breath. “So maybe you’d better explain this whole marking thing, because I’m not letting you into my mind without knowing what you’re up to.”

Amusement glinted in his eyes. “It will tie you to the vampire who marks you.”

“Tie? In what way tie?”

“There would be some… compulsion involved.”

“You mean I’d have to do what you say? I don’t think so.”

“Tara, we have the ability to make any human do as we say, it just takes less effort with those that are marked.”

“Let me get this straight. You can make me do what you want.” He smiled again and nodded. “Have you?” she asked.

“No.”

“Could you?”

“I believe so. What else is it you wish to know?”

She found it hard to move past the whole compulsion thing. “Tell me more about this tie.”

“Your life would be bound to mine. If I were to be destroyed, in all likelihood you would die.”

Her heart skipped a beat, then sped up as she realized it was the thought of Christian being destroyed that upset her, rather than her dying in response. When had she started to care about him?

“And are you planning on that happening anytime soon?” she asked.

“Not planning, no.”

She could live with that. “So, last question. Is it permanent?”

“I’ve never tried to remove a mark. Perhaps it’s possible. Most humans are happy with the benefits of belonging to a vampire.”

She remembered Graham with his designer suits and his dreamy expression when he thought of Christian feeding. Then her mind focused on one word and her whole body tensed. “Belonging? I don’t want to belong to anybody.”

He sighed. “I think you must trust me on this one, Tara. I promise I’ll not abuse the mark, and afterward, if possible, I’ll remove it.” He took her hands. A sense of calm washed over her, and she wondered if he were doing something to her mind. “And Tara, there are benefits.”

She eyed him warily, not quite convinced that her idea of benefits and Christian’s would coincide.

“You will be stronger,” he said, “and live longer. I would take care of you—you’d be my responsibility.”

“The stronger and living longer bits I’ll take. The responsibility thing you can keep. From now on, I’m nobody’s responsibility but my own.”

“So you’ll allow me to do it.”

“I don’t see that I’ve got a choice.” She sighed. “I can’t believe you didn’t think about this before you brought me here.”

He appeared about to speak, but the door opened, Piers stepped in, and Christian dropped her hands.

Piers focused on Christian. “Has she agreed?”

Christian nodded. Piers studied her for a moment. She shuddered at the expression in his eyes. He wanted her, she could see that, but it was what he wanted her for that worried her most. All he said was, “Pity.”

“So what happens now?” she asked. Christian had promised it wouldn’t hurt, but her whole body clenched at the thought of the unknown.

“It will be done in a moment. Turn and face me.”

Christian moved closer and put his fingertips to her temple. “Relax.”

She stared into his eyes. For a moment, her mind opened to him, as though he were becoming one with her. Then everything locked, and she was back in her own head alone.

Christian frowned. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

His fingers tightened on her forehead. He stared at her again but this time her mind remained her own.

“What’s going on?” Piers asked.

Christian dropped his hands. “It’s not working.”

Piers moved to stand over them. “What do you mean ‘not working’?”

“I’m not marked?”

Christian shook his head. He turned to Piers. “I can’t get in. Her mind is shutting me out cold. I’ve never felt this sort of block before.”

“Shall I try?”

Christian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “No,” he growled.

“What’s happening?” Tara asked.

“We spoke of compulsion, a vampire’s ability to force a human to do something. I want to see if it works on you.”

“What are you going to make me do, act like a chicken or something?”

He smiled though he didn’t appear happy. “Nothing like that.” He thought for a moment. “I’m going to make you stay seated in that chair. I want you to try and get up and walk across the room.”

“When?”

“Now would be good,” Piers said.

Tara got up and crossed the room. “Is that it?”

A look passed between the two men. Christian frowned but Piers turned toward her. After a moment, he shook his head. “Nothing.”

“I told you to stay out of her mind,” Christian snarled.

Piers held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t get in.”

“What’s going on?” Tara asked.

“You seem to be able to keep us out of your mind. Which presumably also means we can’t erase your memories.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” she asked.

Piers looked at her, and his eyes were cold. “Is it going to be a problem, Christian?” The question was asked in a soft voice, but Christian tensed.

“Don’t lay a finger on her,” he said. “Not one finger.”

“Actually, fingers didn’t come into what I had in mind.” Piers shrugged. “What do you suggest?”

“It may have something to do with the talisman. Maybe the magic keeps us out.”

“Then she must take it off.”

“Not here and not until we know more about it. Look Piers, I’ll vouch for her. Keep her close, she won’t betray us.”

Piers regarded them silently for a moment, then nodded. “But you are responsible, and you mark her as soon as you can. Now, let’s get Ella in here see if she can tell us something about this talisman.”

The door opened and a woman walked in. Tara had been predisposed to disliking Ella but she needn’t have bothered. A wave of revulsion washed over her as the woman stepped inside. Tara couldn’t rid her mind of the idea she was in the presence of something evil. Dressed in black leather trousers and a black shirt that clung to her full breasts and flat stomach, Ella was a female version of the vampires, but she wasn’t a vampire. She ignored Tara, her attention on the two men. Strolling up to Christian, she stroked her scarlet tipped fingers over his chest.

“You wanted me?” she purred.

It set Tara’s teeth on edge. She took a step closer to Christian, only just resisting the urge to place a possessive hand on his arm. He glanced at her and back at Ella.

“Hardly,” he drawled.

Ella’s face hardened. Her eyes narrowed on Christian, then flicked to Tara and something dark shifted across her expression.

“We want you to look at something,” Piers said.

“What?” She sounded sulky now.

“Tara?” Piers gestured to her to come forward, and Tara took a reluctant step away from Christian. Ella ran her eyes over her.

“A human? What’s she doing here?”

“She belongs to Christian.”

Tara didn’t like the word, but at that moment, belonging to Christian sounded like a very good idea, so she didn’t argue.

“She’s not marked.”

“No, she’s not. Now can we get on with this?”

Ella shrugged. “What do you want?”

“Show her the talisman, Tara.” Christian spoke softly beside her.

Tara pulled the locket from beneath her shirt and held it out. As Ella moved closer, Tara had to fight the urge to step back. She did not want the other woman to touch her.

Ella reached out but her hand dropped back before she touched it. “Can you open it?” she asked.

Tara flicked open the catch. Ella stared at the contents, her eyes widening in surprise.

“What can you tell us?” Piers asked, sounding impatient.

“Not a lot. It’s powerful, but what it’s doing is shrouded, part of the magic. Where did it come from?”

“That’s what we want to find out. Can you tell us who made it?”

“No. For once there’s no signature, which is strange in itself. As though the maker didn’t want to be identified, but there aren’t many powerful enough to make this charm.”

“Could you do it?” Christian asked.

Ella shook her head.

“So how many could?”

She tilted her head. “Three or four, maybe.”

“Can you make us a list, find out where they are, who’s the most likely.”

“I suppose I could. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“You don’t need to know,” Christian replied.

Ella’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not my boss anymore, Christian.” She glanced at Piers, but he said nothing, and she shrugged again. “I’ll let you know.”

“Ella, I want this kept private.”

She looked ready to argue but turned and stalked from the room. The door slammed behind her, and Tara released the breath she’d been holding.

“Nice lady,” she said.

Piers chuckled. “No, she’s not. She’s neither nice or a lady.” He turned to Christian. “I think you may be right. It’s time for her to go.”

“She’s a dangerous woman to leave around,” Christian said.

“Oh, I don’t plan on leaving her anywhere,” Piers replied with a grim smile.

“Well, don’t do anything before she gets my information.”

Were they calmly discussing killing Ella? Maybe she hadn’t understood the conversation. Then she remembered the evil lurking behind the woman’s face, and shivered.

Christian’s arm curled around her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded. She wanted to go home. She wanted her pajamas and a cup of hot cocoa and Smokey purring on her lap. She wanted to pretend everything was normal, but the normal world she wanted seemed farther from her than she could ever have believed possible.

Piers said, “Keep me informed. I want to know what happens.”

Christian nodded and led her from the room. She tried to keep her eyes focused ahead, but something made her glance to the side. Ella stared at the two of them. She smiled as she caught Tara’s gaze, but her eyes were filled with such malice that Tara’s steps faltered, and she stumbled against Christian.

Her eyes were on Ella, and Christian followed her gaze.

“Ignore her,” he murmured. “She can’t do anything to you.”

Tara wanted to believe him, but she felt the other woman’s eyes bore into her as the elevator door closed behind them.

Chapter Nine

Christian opened the passenger door for her. “I’ll take you back to your apartment.”

“That’s okay. You can drop me off at the train station.”

He shook his head. “I want you to pick up some things. You’ll be staying at my place tonight, and tomorrow we go to Yorkshire.”

Neither proposition sounded appealing right now. “I’ve had my fill of vampires for the night, thank you, and I’m not ready for the whole basement thing.”

“You can sleep in the penthouse.”

“You have a penthouse?” She tried not to sound impressed.

“Yeah,” he answered dryly. “It’s at the top of the building.”

However desirable she found Christian, she just wanted to go home. She wanted her pajamas, her cat, and that mug of cocoa. She craved the safety of the familiar. “I want to stay at home.”

“It’s not an option. I told Piers you wouldn’t be a problem, which means I have to make sure you’re not.”

Her mouth tightened. “I’m not going to tell anybody. Your secret is safe and all that crap.”

“Don’t make this difficult.”

“Or else what? Are you going to order me? Hey, didn’t you forget something? It doesn’t work. You can’t actually tell me what to do. Well you can, but luckily for me, I don’t have to do it.”

“You think mind compulsion is the only way to control you?” He took a step toward her. Refusing to back down took an awful lot of effort, and Tara could feel her legs trembling with the struggle to hold them in place.

“I’m sure that there’re all sorts of vampire scary stuff you could do, but you did promise you wouldn’t hurt me.”

He sighed. “I won’t hurt you, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you, but you are coming back with me tonight.”

In the dim light of the underground car park, he appeared huge and solid, his expression implacable. If he wanted to, she was sure he could pick her up and put her in the car.

“Okay,” she said, “but I will want cocoa.”

“Graham makes excellent cocoa.”

Neither of them spoke as he drove out of the underground garage and onto the street. The roads were quiet. It was almost midnight, and she needed to ask Chloe to feed Smokey and give him a cuddle each evening. Hopefully, she’d still be up.

Christian seemed to know the way to her apartment, and half an hour later, they pulled up in front of the building.

“Do you want to wait out here?” she asked and tried not to sound too hopeful.

“No.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “You know I’m not going to escape out the back window and run away.” Ignoring the comment, he got out of the car, walked around, and opened her door. She sighed and climbed out. “Just get one thing straight. I do not belong to you, okay?”

“I agree, you do not belong to me,” he replied. She started to walk away and almost didn’t hear the softly spoken, “yet.”

A ripple of some unknown emotion ran through her. Anticipation or trepidation, she really wasn’t sure, so she decided to ignore it. She was getting good at that.

She let them both in through the front door. A light was on in Chloe’s flat, and Tara decided to go there first. Christian stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Where are we going?” he asked. “Your flat’s on the second floor.”

“Do you know everything?” she snapped. “We’re going to see my friend Chloe. I’m hoping she can look after Smokey for me while I’m away, because otherwise I’m not going anywhere.”

“Graham can come in and feed your cat,” Christian said.

She raised a hand to ring the bell, but paused. “Does Graham do everything you tell him?” She was curious as to the answer. Of all she’d learned tonight, the compulsion thing worried her the most. She had no intention of letting Christian have that sort of power over her.

“Yes,” he replied.

At least he wasn’t hiding it. Sighing, she pressed her finger to the bell. Nothing happened, and she leaned closer. Inside, she could hear music and someone moving about. A minute later, the door opened a crack, and Chloe peered through the gap.

”Hey, what’s going on?” She unlatched the chain on the door and opened it wider, only then noticing the man standing behind Tara. Her eyes widened, and she grabbed Tara’s jacket and pulled her inside, slamming the door behind them. Releasing her hold, she stared at the door as though expecting it to crash open.

“Tell me that is not Christian Roth,” she whispered.

“Well I could,” Tara said. “But unfortunately, I’d be lying.”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, then tell me you haven’t brought Christian Roth to my doorstep while I’m wearing plaid pajamas.”

Despite everything, Tara grinned. The usual Goth gear had disappeared, and Chloe wore a pair of red and black plaid flannel pajamas, and big, pink fluffy slippers. “Sorry,” Tara said. “I’d be lying again.”

“Oh my God, what am I supposed to do?”

“I just came to ask a favor.”

Chloe shook her head. “Right, I’m with you. My brain may have left for a moment, but it’s back now, honest. What do you need?”

Tara opened her mouth to speak but Chloe scurried around Tara and peered through the spy hole. “Yup, just checking, he’s still there. And Tara…” She put her eye to the hole. “…he’s huge.” She straightened. “Sorry, but honestly, it’s not often you have a hunky billionaire standing outside your door.” She glanced down at herself. “And I am just so not dressed for this.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tara said. “Look, I have to go away for a few days—”

“You’re going away with him?” Chloe nodded in the direction of the door.

“Yes. I hired him again and we’re going up to Yorkshire, to my old house, to see if we can find something out up there. I wondered if you would care for Smokey while I’m away.”

“No problem, but are you sure you’re all right with this? You’ve only just met this guy, and now you’re going away with him. All alone.” She scrutinized Tara. “Are you okay, you look a little strained?”

“It’s just been a long night, but I’m fine, and Christian’s been a real gentleman. He just wants to help me find out about my past.”

“Hmm, I look at him and I’ve got to be honest, the word gentleman is not the one that springs to mind.”

Tara wanted to ask what word did spring to mind, but maybe she was better off not knowing. “Perhaps not, but appearances can be deceiving.”

“Does Jamie know about this?”

“No, we just decided tonight. But it doesn’t have anything to do with Jamie.”

“No, I suppose not. You know we’ve sort of been seeing each other. Jamie and me, I mean.”

“Really? That’s fantastic. I—”

A tap on the door interrupted her. Obviously Christian. Tara considered ignoring him, but the tap came again. Harder this time. “We’re coming,” she shouted. “Have a little bloody patience.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Probably the company I’m keeping,” Tara said darkly.

“I thought he was a gentleman?”

“He is. Now, are you going to come up so I can show you where everything is?”

“Hell, yes.” Chloe said. “I want to meet Christian Roth.” She gave her outfit one more disgusted glance and shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Tara opened the door. Christian was hovering just outside. “Back off,” she said.

He took a step back but smiled.

“Christian, this is Chloe, a friend. Chloe this is—”

“Christian Roth.” Chloe held out a hand. “I’ve read all about you, Mr. Roth.”

“I doubt that,” Tara said.

Christian took Chloe’s hand. “Please call me Christian. Any friend of Tara’s is a friend of mine.”

Tara rolled her eyes. How corny could you get? But Chloe seemed to lap it up. Leaving them holding hands, she headed up the stairs, let herself into the apartment, and called Smokey. He appeared out of the living room, purring and weaving between her legs. As she reached down to stroke him, he hissed and streaked away, disappearing back from where he’d come from. She turned to see Christian and Chloe standing in the open doorway.

“Are you going to invite us in?” he asked.

“Come in.”

He stepped over the threshold.

“Just a minute.” Tara peered around the sitting room door as Smokey’s tail disappeared behind the sofa. She frowned. Smokey was normally a very friendly cat, at least with people. Could he sense Christian’s true nature? That made her wonder if vampires could drink animal blood. Ugh! She made a mental note to ask him.

When she turned back, he was watching her.

“You wait here,” she said. “I’ll show Chloe where the cat food and so on is. Then pack a bag. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

“No problem.”

She dragged Chloe into the kitchen and shut the door behind them.

“I distinctly remember you telling me he wasn’t gorgeous,” Chloe whispered. “Are you mad?”

“Probably.” She didn’t want to talk about Christian. “Right, he has two meals a day—”

“Who? Christian?”

“No Smokey, of course. It’s all in here.” She opened the freezer door. “He has chicken in the morning and beef in the evening. I cook it for him, and they’re all labeled. If you get the next meal out when you feed him, it should defrost, but don’t leave it anywhere he can get it. In the oven is best.”

“You’re not going to talk about the two of you, are you?”

“There is no two of us. Now, he can let himself in and out from the roof terrace, there’s a cat flap, but sometimes he gets stuck out the front and you have to let him in.” She glanced up to find Chloe frowning at her. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Good. That’s all really, but if you have the time, I’m sure he’d appreciate a cuddle in the evenings.”

“And who will you be cuddling in the evenings?”

“No one, I told you, it’s just business.”

“He doesn’t look at you as if it’s just business.”

“How does he look at me?”

Chloe smiled. “Like he wants to eat you up.”

Was it just an unfortunate choice of words? She hoped so. “I’m really grateful, you know, and I’m sorry I bothered you so late.”

“I would have been seriously pissed if you hadn’t. I wouldn’t have missed meeting him for anything. Come on, I’ll help you pack your bag.”

Tara led her out of the kitchen. Christian was where they had left him by the door, but he lounged against the wall relaxed, arms folded across his broad chest. His eyes followed them as they crossed the hallway to Tara’s room but he didn’t speak.

“Don’t you just love the strong silent type?” Chloe asked with a giggle.

Tara ignored the comment. She dragged a small bag out of the wardrobe and put in some underwear, jeans, and jumpers. She placed her own flannel pajamas on the top.

Chloe picked them up and shot them a look of disgust. “Haven’t you got anything more appropriate?”

Tara snatched them from her and put them back in the case. “I’m going to Yorkshire in the middle of December and most likely the heating will be off. So, believe me, these are appropriate.”

“But hardly romantic.”

“I told you it’s—”

“Just business, I know, but I bet it doesn’t stay that way.” She sighed. “It’s so ‘Cathy and Heathcliffe,’ just the two of you alone on the moors. I bet it will snow, and you’ll be stuck there for months, having to share body heat.”

“We will not be sharing anything, especially not body heat.”

Chloe ignored her. “Don’t worry about me and Smokey—we’ll look after each other. You stay as long as you like.” She hunted through Tara’s wardrobe as she spoke. After pulling a black silk shirt off the hanger, she folded it carefully before placing it in the bag. “Don’t you have any dresses?” she asked, continuing her search.

Tara looked at her in amazement. “You hate dresses. I’ve never seen you in a dress.”

“Yes, but I’ve never been on a romantic break with Christian Roth.”

Tara opened her mouth. Closed it again. What was the point?

Chloe moved to burrowing in the drawers. “Ah,” she said, “here they are.” She held up the lacy black bra and matching panties they’d bought on a shopping trip, and added them to the bag. Tara shook her head but zipped up the case and put it on the floor.

“Thank you.” She reached out and hugged Chloe. “I always wanted a friend. I’m glad I found you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Chloe said, and tightened her arms around her.

After a moment, Tara took a step back. “Right, that’s it then?”

“Toothbrush.” Chloe said.

“Toothbrush?”

“Believe me, you’re going to want to brush your teeth. Probably like every five minutes. I’m always like that when I get a new man.”

Tara shook her head again but went into the bathroom and filled a bag with toiletries and make-up. She added it to the case.

Christian straightened as they came out of the bedroom and took the case from her. Tara peered into the living room. It didn’t look like Smokey would to make an appearance. “Smokey is behind the sofa, and the keys are on the side, over there.”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Chloe said. “And you” —she turned to Christian— “you look after her.”

Amusement flickered across his features, but he nodded.

Tara gave Chloe one last hug and followed Christian down to the car.

Part Two

Discovery and Denial

Chapter Ten

“What time is it?” Tara mumbled.

“Just gone one.” Graham carried a steaming cup of coffee that he put down on the table next to her.

She was on the scarlet sofa in Christian’s apartment. She’d come down from the penthouse just after sunset as instructed and found Christian already up and gone. According to Graham, he’d had a call from Piers soon after he’d awakened and disappeared shortly afterward.

She yawned. “One in the morning?”

“Yes, and Christian’s back.”

A jolt of excitement hit her in the stomach, and she sat up, running a hand through her hair and searching the room. “Where is he?”

“You’re to meet him in the underground garage. He wants to leave straight away.”

They were driving to Yorkshire that night. It was a good four-hour journey even without delays, and obviously, Christian would want to reach their destination well before sunrise.

Because he was a vampire.

“I’ll take your case.” Graham broke into her thoughts. “And meet you down there. Drink your coffee, and there’s a bathroom through there if you want to freshen up.” He picked up her small case and disappeared out the door.

In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. She appeared pale, her eyes huge and shadowed, and she knew it was as much worry as sleeplessness.

There, she had admitted it to herself. She was scared of going back to Yorkshire. Scared of what she might find there. All day, she’d tried not to think about it, but was heading back to the one place she had sworn never to return to, and was doing it in the company of a vampire.

Underneath the worry was a glimmer of excitement at the thought of spending time alone with Christian. Totally inappropriate excitement. No way did falling for the undead have any part in her future. Still, she couldn’t deny that deep beneath the surface was a cauldron of anticipation that threatened to overflow and set her on fire.

Unless she kept it firmly under control.

She found Christian waiting for her. He was dressed in a long black leather trench coat and leaned, arms crossed, against a black SUV. He appeared wired, like he’d taken something.

“You’re not hungry, are you?” She stared at him suspiciously.

He straightened and a small smile played around his lips. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, which gleamed with an almost palpable excitement.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice was low and dark, sending shivers down her spine. “I’ve fed.” His tongue came out and stroked over his lower lip as if remembering something amazingly good.

Why didn’t that make her feel better? She couldn’t help but wonder whom he had fed on. “Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to get peckish on the journey.”

“Sorry about the delay, something came up. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

His eyes slid over her and a slow burning heat glowed in the pit of her belly. She stared at him for long moments before closing the space between them.

“Let me take your coat,” he said. “It’s a long journey, and you may as well be comfortable.”

Tara slipped out of the coat and handed it to him, trying to ignore the way his gaze wandered over her body. She’d dressed sensibly in jeans and a sweater for the Yorkshire December weather, but his eyes seemed to probe beneath the bulky clothes, to strip her bare.

He opened the car door and tossed her coat onto the back seat. She moved to get in, but his hand on her arm stopped her. She almost jumped.

“Relax,” he murmured.

Her eyes flicked to his face in disbelief. “I can’t. I thought I was leaving all the weirdness behind and starting a new life. Yet here I am.”

“You’ll have your new life.”

“Yes, but I want a new normal life. With normal people,” she reiterated. She thought about adding “not with a vampire” but that was rude. Besides, he’d never actually said he wanted her in his life. Maybe she was just a client, but even as the thought flickered through her mind, he bent and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“Normal can be highly overrated,” he said.

She pulled back. “Not when you’ve never had it.”

“There are other things you’ve never had,” he said in that same low voice. He stepped closer, crowding her against the vehicle. His hands came up, sliding into her hair, tilting her head so she had no choice but to look up into his face. He was all dark shadows and glowing eyes in the dim light of the underground garage. He kissed her again. His lips slanted hard over hers. She opened her mouth to protest, and his tongue slipped inside. It took all of ten seconds for Tara to become mindless. All her good resolutions forgotten. She closed her eyes, her hands reached up to grasp his shoulders, and she sank into the kiss. Long minutes later, he raised his head.

Tara let out a small whimper, and her grip tightened on his shoulders. He was so close she could smell the faint musky scent of his skin. She opened her eyes as a slight smile flickered across his features.

“I told you—normal is highly overrated.”

He gripped her hair and tugged her head back almost roughly. His lips were at her throat, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh, and her whole body tensed in anticipation as she waited for the sharp pain of his penetration. He nipped the skin between his teeth but the pain never came. Instead, he released her and she felt the slow almost languid stroke of his tongue against her taut flesh. The sensation was exquisite and without thinking, her head fell back to allow him access.

He ran a finger down her throat, and then took a small step back. “Did you know you have other veins, other places I can feed from?”

She stared at him wide eyed and he picked up her limp hand. He stroked the pad of his thumb across the thin skin of her inner arm. “One here at your wrist. And one…” He dropped her hand and reached down between them. “And one just here, between your thighs.” He stroked his finger down the seam of her jeans. “Would you like that, Tara? My mouth between your thighs?”

Tara couldn’t answer; she’d lost the ability to speak. Her insides were melting and threatening to slide out of her body.

He laughed softly, his hands gliding over her back, sure and firm. They splayed over her bottom and pulled her into him so she could feel every hard inch of him against her. He shifted, and the rigid line of his erection pressed against the softness of her belly. Her body clenched, and she curled her fingers into the hard muscle of his upper arms. He held her against him for a long moment. Then released her and took a step back.

He smiled ruefully. “I told myself I was going to give you time, let you sort out your personal issues before I gave you anything else to deal with. I guess I’m not very good at not taking what I want.”

He stroked the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. She trembled, dropped her hands from his arms then backed against the car and breathed in slowly.

“Er, right. Hadn’t we better get going?” She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. “After all, you don’t want to be on the road when the sun comes up.”

They drove through the almost deserted streets of London. Tara stared at his hands on the wheel, the long, elegant fingers. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms, the skin pale with a slight sprinkling of dark hairs. He had a circle of scars, like bracelets, around each wrist, as though he’d been tied up at some time. Was it before he became a vampire?

She had so many questions she wanted to ask. How old he was, where he came from, had he a family? She made a mental note to ask him sometime but just now, she didn’t feel inclined to break the silence. Despite what had happened between them, the atmosphere in the car was comfortable. So she sat back and watched the passing lights.

After a while they left the city behind and sped northwards on the dark motorway. The car was warm and she drifted off into a light sleep.

…

Christian knew the moment she fell asleep. He glanced away from the road. Her eyes were closed, her lush pink mouth slightly open. He remembered the taste of her. He’d almost lost it. All his good resolutions had vanished with the first taste of those lips. She was intoxicating.

He could blame some of it on the demon blood he’d drunk that night. He could still feel it race through his body, intensifying his senses.

Piers had called him with news that another agent had died, and they had gone hunting together. They had caught up with the demons and taken them down, sated themselves on the blood—just like old times.

Still, it hadn’t lessened his hunger for Tara; he was beginning to crave her like an addiction. He’d almost bitten her back there. That was the unfortunate aspect of demon blood—it lowered his inhibitions.

What would they find in Yorkshire? What secrets would the house hold and would it reveal them? An undead guardian and a magical charm. Why? What could she be hiding?

Whatever it was, he was sure Tara was unaware of it. He thought of her desire for a normal life, and knew he had to let her go.

Three hours out of London, snow began to fall.

…

“Tara, we’re almost there.”

A hand touched her shoulder, and she opened her eyes. The car had stopped moving, and the interior light was on. They were cocooned in darkness, a swirling mass of snow outside, and beyond that nothing. She turned to find Christian watching her.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked.

Was she? She nodded. “Of course. It’s only a house.”

He switched off the light and turned the ignition. They drove slowly. A layer of snow crunched under the car’s wheels, and the dark trees on either side were shadowed in the headlights’ beam. Tara stared straight ahead.

“I guess you know this road well?” Christian spoke into the silence.

“Not well. We didn’t leave very often. In fact, I don’t remember Aunt Kathy ever leaving.”

“Probably the magic that kept her alive was tied to this place.”

“What? So she would have—” She’d been going to say died, but that didn’t seem the right term for someone who was already dead. “I used to cut across the moors to get to the village, so this track wasn’t used much. Just deliveries and things.”

Up ahead she saw the wrought iron gates at the entrance to the house. “There it is,” she said. “I have the keys, just a moment.”

She found the big old-fashioned keys in her bag and opened the car door. Swirls of snow entered the warm interior and she shivered. “I need my coat, it’s freezing out there.”

Christian took the keys from her and exited the car. A minute later, the gates swung open, and he climbed back in and drove through. He halted the car at the midpoint through the gates.

“The gates are warded.”

Tara could see nothing unusual. “Warded? What does that mean?”

“More magic. My guess is it’s a cloaking device. Hiding what’s inside.”

“But there’s nothing there to hide.”

“No, but there was…you.”

She rubbed at the point between her eyes to erase the tension. “Why would anyone want to hide me? I can’t do anything different. I’m ordinary.”

“You’re not ordinary. I don’t know what you are, or why someone should feel the need to hide you away, but there is something about you, something I sensed straight away. Your scent is exotic, deliciously intoxicating.” He breathed in deeply, his eyes half shut. “I’ve never come across a human or a supernatural being who smells quite like you. No, whatever you are, you’re different.”

“I don’t want to be different.”

Christian shrugged. “We rarely get what we want. We just have to learn to accept what we are. Come on, let’s get you inside before you freeze.”

Chapter Eleven

The building appeared out of the darkness. Half hidden by the swirling snow, it loomed gray and huge.

“You need to drive round the back,” Tara said.

Christian pulled up in the shelter of the house, and Tara got out of the car and hurried to unlock the door. It opened straight into the farmhouse kitchen. After stepping inside, Tara was amazed at the feeling of welcome that washed over her. She pressed the light switch just inside the door, hoping the power was still on, and relaxed as light flooded the room.

This had always been her favorite part of the house. For a moment, she stood and let the feeling run through her. She’d built the place up into some sort of nightmare, when in fact she had been happy in the only home she had known for twenty-two years. While from the outside the house had appeared grim and austere, the inside was warm and welcoming. It was only as she grew older that she felt hemmed-in, trapped.

A noise made her turn back to the open door. Christian stood on the threshold, snowflakes settling like stars in his dark hair. He was so big he filled the doorway.

“You need to invite me in,” he said.

She remembered he’d asked the same thing at her apartment. One more vampire lore confirmed. “Come in,” she said, and he stepped over the threshold.

“How does it feel to be back?” he asked.

“Actually, it feels good. I never hated the house. I just wanted to see something of the world.”

“I’ll go get the stuff from the car.”

He returned a few minutes later with her small case and a box. He put the case next to her and the box on the table. “Graham said you might need some food, coffee and so on. This should keep you going for a couple of days at least.”

“I think I may be in love with Graham.” She opened the box. “You want some coffee? Do you even drink coffee?”

He nodded.

Tara put the coffeemaker on; everything was exactly where she expected. She puttered around the room, putting things away, stroking her hands over the comfortable, familiar furniture. She found Christian watching her. “What?”

“You seem at home here. I thought you hated this place.”

“So did I. After Aunt Kathy died, I wanted to get as far from here as possible. A lot of it was guilt. I sort of promised her that I would stay here.”

“When?”

“When she was dying, or whatever she was doing. She made me promise to stay here and to keep the rules. And I did—promise I mean—then as soon as she was gone, I packed up and left.”

She poured the coffee and sank into one of the chairs, cradling the hot mug in her hands. Christian drank his coffee fast. “I’m going to take a quick look around outside, then I need to find somewhere to spend the day.”

“There’s a cellar.”

“Sounds good.”

She watched as he went out the door, closing it behind him and leaving her alone.

…

Outside, the snow had stopped falling. A couple of inches lay on the ground but Christian didn’t notice the cold as he walked around the house. The clouds had also cleared, the black sky was studded with stars, and a sickle moon shone overhead, reflecting off the snow.

The house had a strange, timeless feel, and he knew there was magic at work. Powerful magic, as though they were in a bubble cut off from the outside world. He searched the area, trying to get a sense of the source.

A wall ran around the entire property. He walked toward the nearest section and put his hand to the cold stone. The hum of magic ran through it, sending a frisson of shock up his arm and down through his body. It was the same magic warding the gates. He strolled the perimeter, touching the wall with his fingertips. The circle was unbroken.

It was probably safe for Tara to remove the talisman inside the wards. He might get the chance to discover what she hid under there. Someone had paid a high price to give this level of protection, and he was betting the cost wasn’t only money. Dark magic was stronger but always demanded a blood price. Whose blood had paid for this, and why?

About time they found out.

He turned back to the house. In the kitchen, Tara was slumped over the table, another cup of coffee in front of her, and a pile of blankets and pillows at her feet. She wasn’t moving, and a flash of alarm shot through him. He touched her arm lightly and she shifted under his hand, moaning softly. She was fast asleep.

He sat down opposite her. Her head rested on her folded arms, one side of her face turned toward him, and his eyes ran over the pure line of her cheek, the arching curve of her brow. There was a slight shadowing beneath her eye, and one hand clenched the talisman as it lay, still around her neck, on the table.

Someone had done all this to protect Tara. Would she still be here if the aunt had not “died”? What had gone wrong? Had the magic binding Kathryn Collin’s soul to the earth failed? Or had the spell been deliberately broken? Was someone, even now, hunting for Tara?

An overwhelming need to protect her rose up inside him, hitting him hard in the gut. Tara was his to care for, and whoever came after her would have to go through him first.

Mine, the word screamed in his head.

He couldn’t ever remember feeling this way—he wanted to keep her close and safe. The thought pulled him up short. It wasn’t in his nature to care, certainly not for a human because a relationship could only be fleeting. He should find out whatever was after her, destroy them, and afterward, he would find the strength to walk away and leave her to her normal life.

He stroked the hair from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, and she sat up.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “I didn’t sleep much last night.” She took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Cold,” she muttered putting the cup down. “So did you find anything out there?”

“The whole place is warded. In effect, we’re inside a spell that I believe stops anything on the outside from sensing the presence of anyone within its boundaries.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know, but it’s probably safe to take off the talisman here.”

“Then why did Aunt Kathy always insist I wear it here.”

“Probably just being extra cautious. So are you willing to try?”

“It’s what we’re here for, but do you think we can leave it until tomorrow night? I’m tired and… Maybe I just want to forget about it for a little while.”

He nodded. “It’s not long until dawn.”

“Do you have to sleep during the day?”

“I no longer have to sleep, but it is preferable.”

She hesitated for a moment then asked, “Do you sleep alone?”

She watched him out of those enormous expressive eyes. And he knew she would spend the day with him. All he had to do was ask, and he could have anything he wanted from her.

Her body and her blood.

A wave of heat washed over him, and for a moment his resolve weakened and a slow fire started in his belly. He shook his head—this would only make the inevitable parting harder. Only minutes ago, he’d decided they could have no future. Most of his existence, he had taken what he wanted and not thought about the price. Now he found he didn’t want Tara to pay.

Did he sleep alone? He rose to his feet. “Always.”

Chapter Twelve

Tara woke up in her old bed. Snow was falling again, swirling against the glass, obscuring the outside world. Chloe hadn’t been far wrong—perhaps the snow would strand them together, cut off from everything. It should have sounded romantic, until she remembered the speed he’d shut the door in her face the previous evening.

Talk about mixed signals—first the kisses, then the brush off.

She should have left it when he’d told her he always slept alone, but no, she’d pushed. She hated it, really hated it, when people said they were doing something for “your own good.” Her aunt had used the phrase all the time. Tara was quite capable of making up her own mind. If he didn’t want her after all, she’d rather he came right out and said it.

Yesterday, she’d decided to keep the relationship with Christian on a strict business footing. Now, after a few kisses, she was miffed because he’d insisted on sleeping in the cellar alone. Not that she wanted to sleep in the cellar. The place was nothing but a dark hole under the ground—it should fit Christian to perfection.

After showering and dressing in warm clothes, she went outside to decide what she was going to do. She left the gardens by a small gate that opened onto the moors, but stayed close to the house. Having grown up around here, she knew how little it took for the weather to turn hazardous. Instead, she headed toward a former haven—a huge rocky outcrop that overlooked the village below.

Standing on the edge, she surveyed the picture-pretty village. There was a pub, and a café, a post office, none of which she’d ever entered. How many days had she lain on this rock gazing down and dreaming of a normal life?

It was strange coming back here. She’d built it up to be terrible, but she’d had a happy childhood. For a dead woman, Aunt Kathy had been amazingly kind.

What else was she going to find out about herself? Had her mother, whoever she was, gotten mixed up in the supernatural world and tried to protect her daughter? And who was her father?

She remembered Christian’s expression when she took the talisman off last time: Shock and fear. Would it be any better the next? It made no difference. She would remove the talisman and break Rule Number Three. But she’d persuade Christian to take her to the pub. They could have a drink together—a drink with normal people.

Well—normal people and a vampire.

…

“You want to go to the pub?” Christian stared at her as if she was a crazy woman, as if she’d asked for something weird.

“It’s what normal people do.”

“It may have escaped your notice, but I am not a normal person.”

Once again, he was dressed in black, all six-foot-four of him. She doubted that the villagers of Shelby had ever come across anyone quite like him before, but she didn’t want to go alone. “You can pretend, can’t you?”

“You want to have a drink?”

“No, I don’t want to have a drink, but that’s not the point. I’ve never been to the pub in Shelby, or the café, or even the post office. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I take off the talisman, but I have a feeling it isn’t going to be any kind of normal. So first, I’d like you to take me to the pub, and we can both pretend for a couple of hours.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” His eyes settled on her mouth. He was going to kiss her, she was sure of it, and small flames flickered to life in her belly. “Will I get a goodnight kiss at the end of it?”

Tara swayed toward him until he was so close she could see the black circle around his silver eyes.

He stepped back and shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Disappointment tore through her, and it took her a moment to realize he’d agreed. “Right, I’ll go get changed.”

Christian raised an eyebrow. “Will I need to change?”

“No,” she said, looking him up and down. “You’re perfect as you are.”

…

They drove down into the village and parked outside The Coachman’s Arms. As they stepped into the pub, all faces turned to stare at them. Perhaps it would have been a good idea for Christian to change his clothes after all, though Tara doubted he possessed anything that would blend in with this particular setting. With his tall, broad figure and the black leather trench coat, he appeared exotic and a little dangerous. In fact, he stood out like a panther at a garden party. He couldn’t even take the coat off as she had seen what was underneath.

“I don’t go anywhere unarmed,” he’d replied when she suggested that he might want to leave the gun behind. At that point, it had occurred to her that she might have been better off leaving him behind, never mind the gun.

The pub was small and snug with a long wood bar at one end and a small spattering of tables. The walls were dark red with horse brasses hanging from hooks and pictures of the moors. Christian had to duck as they crossed the room to avoid the low wooden beams. She found an empty table and pushed him toward it. “Sit down. I’ll get us a drink.”

She bought Christian a beer and herself a Coke and could feel the barman’s eyes—along with everyone else’s—on her as she made her way back across the room. .

Christian took his drink and eyed her glass as she sat.

“What?” she said. “I like Coke.”

“Some supernatural beings react to alcohol.”

“In what way?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. Why couldn’t they chat about the weather or something?

“Demons go crazy. It brings out their darker side.”

“It’s a good job I’m not a demon, then. I just passed out, and that was bad enough.”

He looked around the bar. “Do you know any of these people?”

“I recognize some of them. Most people have lived here all their lives.”

“So they would have been around back when you were born?”

“I suppose so. Do you think they might remember anything?”

“Newcomers are always noticed in these sorts of places. Do you want to try?”

She did. A pang of excitement jolted through her at the thought that someone might remember them coming all those years ago. There were only about fifteen people in the pub. Some, like the barman, were too young but most were quite elderly. She wasn’t very good at approaching people, a hang-up from Rule Number Four—never talk to strangers—but there was one man seated at the bar who caught her eye and raised his glass. He appeared to be in his fifties, so he should remember her moving here with her aunt. Without giving herself time to think, she got to her feet and walked across to him.

“Hello,” she said.

He nodded. “Evening.”

“I wondered if you’d mind talking with me for a moment. My name’s Tara, I used to live at the house on the tor.”

“I know the house.”

God, this was hard. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Glancing at the barman, he raised his glass. The barman poured him a pint and put it down in front of them.

“Would you mind talking to my friend as well?”

He looked across at Christian, who, to give him credit, wasn’t doing anything obvious to draw attention to himself. “No problem.”

Christian stood as they approached and nodded. They all sat down.

“I’m Ted Carter,” he said.

“Christian Roth.”

“Well then, what can I tell you?”

“My aunt died recently—”

“Aye, I know, and we were all sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. My aunt was a very private person and didn’t tell me much about my family. I was wondering if you remember when she came here.”

“Of course I do. It was the talk of the village for a while. Not that she ever gave us much to talk about, she kept to herself.” He paused and took a sip of his drink. “Well, they both did.”

“Both?”

“Your aunt and your mother. At least, I presume it was your mother. She was pregnant at the time, heavily pregnant, and she had a look of you about her.”

Tara went still. For some reason, it had never occurred to her that someone would remember her mother. “Can you tell me about her?”

“Not much to tell, I’m afraid. I only saw her once, but she did stick in my mind. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment, a small smile playing across his features. “I think we all fell in love with her just from that one sighting. She was like something from another world, too good for this one.” He shook his head. “It’s not like me to be fanciful, but she had that effect.” He gave a rueful smile, pulled himself back from the past, and focused on Tara. “She was a lot like you, you know. A tiny little thing. With hair so blond it was almost silver and long, right down her back. Like yours used to be when you lived here, and her eyes were the exact color of yours, like new spring grass.”

Tara blinked back tears and took a gulp of coke. “Sorry,” she said. “But no one’s ever spoken to me of my mother before. Can you remember anything else?”

“She carried a big gray cat, cuddled it the whole time, and she seemed sad.”

Had she known then that she would never see her child grow up? “Do you know what happened to her?”

He shook his head. “I told you, they kept to themselves. Bill Tyler used to do the deliveries up there. He told us once that he heard a baby crying in the house. That wasn’t long after they moved here, but no one ever saw your mother again. Never saw much of your aunt either. Though we did see you.”

“You did?”

“Aye, on and off we’d see you running wild on the moors. Or sitting on that big rock watching us all. Some of us wanted to do something about you—it didn’t seem right you spending all that time alone, not going to school, but we were told it was all in order, your aunt was teaching you.”

“Yes, she did.”

“It still didn’t seem right, but what could we do, and you seemed healthy and happy enough.”

“I was. Happy I mean, at least most of the time.”

“Good.”

Tara tried to make sense of what she had learned. What had happened to her mother? Could she have given birth and simply abandoned her daughter? What could make any woman do that? Perhaps she had hated Tara’s father, whoever he was, and staying with Tara would have reminded her of him every day. So she left, and maybe, even now, she was alive somewhere.

But Tara knew in her heart that her mother hadn’t abandoned her. At least, not voluntarily. She knew it with a certainty, and a deep well of grief rose within her. She swallowed back the tears. How could you grieve for a mother you’d never known?

Christian had told her that someone had gone to a lot of bother to hide her, keep her safe. Her mother must have cared for her enough to try to protect her, but from what?

She ran her hands through her hair, pressing her scalp to relieve the tension.

“Are you all right?” Christian watched her closely.

“I’m fine.” She shrugged. “I’ll go get another round in, shall I? Mr. Carter?”

He nodded and Tara jumped to her feet and headed to the bar. When she returned, she put the drinks onto the table and slipped into her seat.

“So, I reckon you would notice any newcomers around here?” Christian asked.

“Too right. We’re not exactly on the tourist track.”

Christian took a sip of his beer. “Have you noticed any other strangers recently?”

Ted Carter gave him a sharp look. “Not recently, no.”

Christian smiled. “How about a few months ago, around about the time Tara left.”

The other man nodded slowly. “Aye, we had a few strange types asking questions around about then.”

Tara frowned. “Questions about what?”

“I never spoke to them.” He looked thoughtful for a minute. “Do you mind if I invite someone over to join us?”

“Of course not,” Tara answered.

He crossed the room, returning a few minutes later with a middle-aged man and woman. “This is Bill Tyler and his wife, Jean.” He smiled. “Jean, you might be interested to know, is the teacher at the village school, and one of the main voices calling for something to be done about you.”

“You should have gone to school,” the woman said.

Both men rolled their eyes as if to say, here we go again.

“Right then,” Ted said. “Bill here was the one who spoke to the strangers.”

“What did they want?” Christian asked.

Bill glanced across at Tara. “It was strange. They turned up the day after you left, but they didn’t ask about you specifically, in fact, they didn’t seem to know much about what they wanted. Asked if we’d noticed anything strange in the area recently.” He grinned. “I said they were the strangest things we’d seen in a while. Weren’t too pleased about that.”

“What did you tell them?” Christian asked, and an undercurrent of darkness threaded through his voice.

Bill raised one eyebrow. “Nothing. We don’t speak to outsiders, but it was more than that. I didn’t like them. Straight off there was something not quite right, like they were looking down their noses at us. Anyway, that was the first lot.”

He sat back and took a swallow of his drink.

“There were more I presume?” Tara sensed Christian’s impatience. She was surprised the others couldn’t.

“Aye, a day later, but these seemed to know a whole lot more. Asked about anyone who had come to the area in the last twenty-two years.” He took another sip of his drink. “Then they asked about your mother.”

Tara sat up. “What?”

“Gave a spot-on description. They obviously knew her, but they didn’t mention your aunt. Or you, for that matter.” He turned back to Christian. “And before you ask, no we didn’t tell them anything either.”

Christian smiled.

“So,” Bill said, “do you know these people?”

Christian stared into the man’s eyes. Bill shook his head in some confusion. Christian turned to the others and held their gazes for a moment.

“Right,” Bill said, “Where were we? Oh yes, you asked about the weather, and no it’s not typical, very unusual to have this much snow, this early.”

Tara looked from him to Christian. The latter smiled at her, and she realized with a jolt that she had just seen vampire powers in action. He had wiped their brains of the conversation. Without any effort.

“Okay,” Bill said. “My round.”

Chapter Thirteen

“That was amazing,” Tara said as she let them into the house.

She’d been silent on the way home, deliberately not thinking about all she had learned earlier in the evening. Instead, she’d concentrated on the pleasure of just talking with ordinary people. They’d all been so nice, and in the end, a group of them gathered around the table, chatting and laughing. She’d learned more about the village and its inhabitants tonight than in the twenty-two years she’d lived there. She’d also come away with two invitations to dinner.

Christian had been perfectly behaved, silent for the most part. No doubt he’d wrapped himself in some sort of vampire invisibility thing. Still, dinner with Jean and Bill might stretch his normal abilities beyond the breaking point.

Tara unwrapped her scarf, took off her coat, and turned to find Christian studying her. His half-closed eyes gleamed in the dim light and for a brief second, he allowed her to see his hunger for her.

Heat washed through her, and she swallowed, hard.

Okay, maybe she’d already stretched him too far because he appeared way beyond normal now. His smile revealed a brief flash of fangs, and the blood thickened in her veins until she could feel it thundering through her body.

His gaze still on her, Christian shrugged out of his coat, unbuckled the shoulder holster, and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. His movements were graceful but gave the impression of leashed power, barely controlled, seething just below the surface. What would he be like if he released all that power? Instead of frightening her, the thought made her temperature climb even higher.

“Are you ready to do this?” Christian murmured.

She knew he meant the talisman. Or at least she thought he did.

He stared at her throat as though he could already taste her blood. Then he moved to stand beside her, leaning his long body against the solid wooden table, arms crossed over his broad chest, his hooded eyes locked on hers.

“I suppose so, but first—”

“Yes?”

“Will you kiss me?”

Shock flashed across his features then he smiled. “You mean like the end of a date?”

“Maybe, I’ve never actually had a date, but I’m sort of scared of what you’re going to find when I take off the talisman, and maybe you won’t want to kiss me afterward.”

“Come here,” he ordered, his voice low, mesmerizing. She entwined her fingers with his and he tugged her closer until she almost touched him. “I can smell your blood.”

“Nice.”

He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear then stroked one long finger down the soft skin of her neck. At his touch, her blood caught fire; she lifted her chin and bared her throat. He bent down and his cool breath shivered across her heated flesh. For a moment, she thought he was going to take what she offered. Instead, he kissed her where the blood pounded so close to the surface, and whispered against her ear. “Soon.”

Sliding his hands around her shoulders, he held her still. His mouth hovered over hers, and she trembled in anticipation. He kissed her, just the fleeting meeting of their mouths, before drawing back, teasing her, tempting her so she leaned closer to him. She needed to feel him against her, all of him, but he held her away and kissed her again, his mouth tasting hers, lingering for a moment then retreating. It was intense, beautiful, and in no way was it enough. He raised his head and stared into her eyes.

“There is nothing we could discover that would stop me wanting to taste you,” he said. “But if I do so now, we’ll still be making love at dawn.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He laughed and the sound rippled over her skin. “I’d be flattered,” he said. “Except I’m not sure which you want more, me, or not taking off the talisman.”

She sighed. He was right.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Christian interrupted her thoughts. “Come, we’ll do this together.” He pushed her gently into the chair and pulled another close so they faced each other, knees almost touching. “Take off the talisman, Tara.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. For a minute, she held the locket between her fingers, rubbing her thumb over the rough surface, remembering all the times she had held it and thought about her mother. She lifted it over her head. As she went to hand the locket to Christian, he shook his head, and she placed it on the table.

He looked at her for a long while as he squeezed her hands in his. She tried to feel reassured, but she didn’t like his blank expression. What was he hiding from her?

…

A sense of foreboding washed over Christian. Something lurked behind her eyes. She still appeared human, but it was like a thin veneer concealing some other form. He breathed deeply and the faint rank, bitter scent of rotting eggs assaulted his nostrils. Demon.

His eyes flickered around the room, searching for an explanation, but they were alone, and his gaze returned to Tara. He inhaled again. The taint of sulfur was still there, but overlaid with something exotic and sweet. It rolled around his senses, intoxicating and sensual. His cock stirred in his pants and heat coiled low in his belly. The prickle in his gums reminded him that he longed to taste her. He closed his eyes and savored the feelings. Whatever she was, it made no difference.

And whatever happened in the future, he knew he would have her this night, in every way possible. She would be his.

“Christian, what is it?”

An edge of panic floated beneath the surface of her voice. Opening his eyes, he made no attempt to hide the hunger in his gaze. He’d kept so much of his real self hidden from her, concealing his exact nature, afraid she wouldn’t be able to accept him. Now he let her see beneath the mask, and her eyes widened with shock. She swayed toward him, but then shook herself and sat up straight.

“Tell me what you see,” she said.

“I see nothing, but you smell…” He leaned closer and inhaled. “Delectable.” He stroked his tongue along the line of her throat. “Edible…irresistible.”

…

At the first stroke of his tongue, Tara’s body melted and her mind ceased to function. She wanted desperately to know what he had seen when she removed the necklace. If anything, he seemed to want her more. It was an almost tangible thing between them, and a flicker of unease rippled through her.

He nuzzled at her neck, nibbling at her flesh, and tremors of pleasure shot through her. She squirmed in her seat, but forced herself to make one more try. She slipped her hand between them and pushed. It made no difference. He was immoveable.

“Please, Christian, tell me.”

He sighed against her throat. Then sat back, and Tara watched, fascinated as he pulled himself under control, wrapped it around himself like a cloak. She waited, holding her breath as the hunger faded from his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said. “There’s something there, you’re different.” He searched her face. “It isn’t in how you look. It’s in your very essence.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell what it is. May I try something?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me, Tara?”

Strangely she did. She nodded.

“I want to try and get inside your head. We need to do it at some point anyway.”

“We do?”

“You heard me with Piers. I promised. And you’re less likely to come to harm once you bear my mark. Too many people in my world have met you now, and for some reason you’re not easily forgotten.”

“You won’t make me do anything I don’t want?”

He murmured, “I assure you that you will crave every last thing we do together with every cell of your body.”

“Promises, promises…” But she had no doubt that he spoke the truth. “Okay, what do I have to do?”

“Nothing. Just don’t fight me.”

He took her chin between his finger and thumb, raised her head, and stared into her eyes. Tara waited for something to happen. After a minute, he released his hold and sat back.

“Well, that was a bit of an anticlimax,” Tara said. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was sure with the talisman gone you’d be mine to take, but I can’t get in. Your mind is locked up tight.”

“What does it mean?”

“It could be a number of things. I don’t want to speculate without knowing more.”

“Why?” she asked. “Are all these ‘things’ unpleasant?”

“Not at all,” he said, and she had the distinct impression that if not lying outright then he was being stingy with the truth. “But it’s been a long evening for you and there is one more thing we can do tonight.”

“And that is?”

His eyes roamed over her before setting on her throat. “I can taste you.”

“Taste me?”

“Drink your blood.” His voice dropped, low and dark. Sharp prickles of sensation shot through her body, stiffening her nipples to hard little nubs, clenching the muscles of her belly into tight knots of desire. She shifted in her chair and he smiled.

“We can tell a lot from a person’s blood. It may reveal exactly what you are, what has been done to you. Are you willing to let me drink from you, Tara?”

She stared at him, mesmerized as the tight hold on his control slowly unraveled, letting the monster peer out from within. He smiled with a flash of fangs, and her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth but no sound came out, and she closed it again. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. A fierce flare of excitement gleamed in his silver eyes and an echoing surge shot through her.

This was the point of no return. She didn’t care.

He stood up and lifted her effortlessly in his arms. Her body rested against the coolness of his chest as he carried her through the dark house and up the stairs. He kicked open her bedroom door and laid her on the bed. The curtains were open and moonlight streamed in through the window.

Staring down at her in the dim light, he truly appeared part monster, his pale face filled with a fierce predatory beauty. Her eyes ran down his body, snagged on the bulge in his pants, and her whole body tightened in anticipation.

He started to unbutton his shirt, and her eyes followed his movements. He paused halfway. “Are you sure? You say you don’t want to belong to me, but once this is done, I’ll not easily let you go.”

Tara hardly heard his words. He couldn’t stop now. Desire flowed through her like a living thing, but she didn’t have the experience to show him how much she wanted him.

“Please, Christian,” she said.

It was enough. He ripped open the remaining buttons, shrugged out his shirt, and tossed it onto the floor. He was beautiful, pale like marble, each hard line perfectly sculpted. His ribs were visible and his flat belly ridged with muscle. A line of dark silky hair bisected his stomach, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. She followed it down, swallowed and caught his eyes. They were hooded, gleaming beneath his lashes. He held her gaze as his hands went to the fastener of his pants and flicked it open. He paused before sliding down the zip.

Tara’s heart raced, the blood thundering in her veins. His soft laughter echoed in her ears.

“Scared?” he said.

He dropped his pants to the floor and stepped out of them. He was naked now, while she was still fully clothed and burning up. She couldn’t take her eyes from him. The silky hair thickened, forming a dark nest from which his cock rose proud, erect, almost vertical against his flat stomach. Pale glossy skin stretched tight, the head swollen, darkened with a faint blush of blood, and he was huge, though she had nothing to compare him to. She couldn’t take her eyes off his shaft, which jerked with a life of his own.

“You look as though you have never seen a naked man before,” he said. The heat rose in her cheeks, and his eyes narrowed. “Tara, have you seen a naked man before? Have you ever actually done this?”

Tara decided to misunderstand him. “What?” she asked. “Provide dinner for a vampire? Nope. Never. This is definitely a first.”

He smiled at her answer, and knelt on the bed beside her. She breathed in the musky, almost feral scent of him, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. He stroked her cheek.

“A virgin? I suppose it’s unsurprising considering your upbringing. But intriguing all the same.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. I never got the opportunity. But it makes no difference, so don’t worry that I’m going to go all weird on you. This is just sex, right?”

“Just sex?” A flicker of something flashed in his eyes. “If you say so, but I think you’ll find that there is no ‘just’ about what we’ll do together, and no, it makes no difference, but perhaps I would have been a little more discreet,” he gestured down the length of his naked body, “had I known.”

She looked again at his cock. It twitched under her gaze and her insides threatened to melt. She could almost feel him inside her the desire was so strong. She pressed her thighs together to relieve some of the tension, licked her lips, and heard him groan. He straddled her hips, and reaching between them, he picked up her hand, brought it to his body, and wrapped her fingers round him. He was cool and hard, the skin like satin stretched over steel. She squeezed, and his head went back. She released him and fluttered her fingers up over the swollen head. It pulsed, and he groaned again. He put his hand back over hers, stopping her movement.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” He gripped the sides of her jumper, slid it over her head, then traced the black lace on her bra. “Pretty.”

He trailed one long finger over the soft swell of her breasts. His nail dragged across the swollen nipples, and lightning flashed to her groin. He repeated the action, and her hips rose of their own accord. Slipping a hand beneath her, he flicked open the catch of her bra, peeled the straps down her arms, and tossed it to the floor. He sat back on his heels and covered her breasts with his large hands. His palms were cool against the fiery heat of her skin. For a moment, they squeezed then drew down to frame her breasts as he took one pouting nipple between his teeth. She went wild beneath him as pleasure shot through her body. His hands held her still with ease as he kissed and licked her breasts, sucking on the sensitive nipples.

She thought she’d explode as the sensations rushed through her and settled in the hot, swollen place between her thighs. She needed something, anything, and her hips bucked against the restraining cage of his body.

“Shh,” he said against her breasts, while his hands glided down over her belly and stoked the fires inside her. They moved lower and he cupped her denim-covered sex in his palm, his fingers pressing upwards to her core.

She strained against him.

It wasn’t enough.

She needed him inside her.

He slipped open the fastener of her jeans, slid down the zip, and tugged her jeans and panties down over her legs. He paused to pull off her boots and socks, and she was free.

The cool air brushed her skin. Raising her head, she stared down the line of her naked body. He stood at the foot of the bed, clasped a hand around her ankles, and dragged her legs apart. A slow smile spread across his features as he drew the scent of her arousal into his nostrils. “You smell divine.”

He knelt between her open legs and trailed one hand up the inside of her thigh, his fingers stroking over the thin skin. “I can feel the blood in your veins,” he whispered.

Chapter Fourteen

Tara went still as Christian lowered his head and kissed the exact spot where his fingers had been. His lips parted over her skin and flames shot upwards to the junction of her open thighs. She wanted to cry out with the need that thundered through her. Instead, she bit down on her lower lip and tasted the sharp metallic blood on her tongue.

Christian raised his head slowly, sniffed the air, his eyes focusing on the drop of blood that clung to her lips. He moved, faster than she could have believed possible, and he was crouched over her, his hair falling about his shoulders, his lips drawn back to reveal the razor sharp fangs. She should have been afraid, but instead she licked the blood from her lip with the tip of her tongue.

Hunger flared in his eyes, the silver now streaked with crimson, and a low growl trickled from his throat. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he had regained some level of control.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said.

He lowered his body onto hers so the hard length of his erection pressed into her belly. His hands moved up to cradle her face, the pad of his thumb running over her lower lip. Tara flicked out her tongue, teased him, and his body jerked. Leaning close, he kissed her. Tara opened her mouth beneath his and his tongue thrust into her.

She rubbed her hips against his straining erection.

“Slow down,” he said against her lips. “Or I’ll lose control.”

“I don’t care.”

He laughed softly and the sound moved across her body like a caress. “I can see that, but you’re small and I’m—”

Tara glanced down the line of their bodies and a flicker of fear shot through her, cramping the muscles of her belly. “Not,” she finished for him.

“I’ll make sure it’s good for you.”

She breathed slowly and forced herself to relax.

“Good girl.”

He slipped a hand between their bodies, stroking over her breast and belly, down through the soft curls at the base. He parted the lips of her sex with skillful fingers, fondling the already saturated folds. One long finger slid inside her, and her muscles clenched tightly around it. He withdrew and slid the finger now slick with her juices higher. He teased and tormented her, his finger gliding lazy circles around the hard little point of her desire. Tara’s thighs fell open, and she heard his low masculine chuckle. She didn’t care—she had to have this. She pushed up against his hand. At last, he touched her there, and she cried out. He rubbed his finger over the tight little nub, pinched it between his finger and thumb, and she screamed as her world exploded.

He played her mercilessly, waiting for the tremors to subside, touching her again, sometimes softly, then increasing the pressure until she was mindless with pleasure. She hardly noticed him shift up her body, positioning himself between her wide-open thighs. Only when she felt the huge swollen head of his cock nudge the opening to her body did she come back to herself. She shifted to accommodate the sheer size of him as he stared into her eyes.

“Give me your throat, Tara,” he said.

She raised her head and bared the long line of her throat. Her whole body tightened, anticipating his penetration. With one fluid move, he plunged deep inside, and a fierce stab of pain shot through her. Tara threw back her head to scream as Christian sank his fangs into the soft flesh of her neck.

The scream caught in her throat. He pinned her effortlessly, and after a few minutes, the pain subsided, and she calmed. He filled her completely, but he hadn’t yet moved. As she relaxed, he shifted his hips, grinding his pelvis against her, giving her a flash of the pleasure she’d felt moments ago. The last of the pain vanished. She moaned, and he loosened his hold. His fangs were still buried deep in her vein and now she felt the slow drugging pull as he drank her blood. It tugged at places deep inside her as he started to move. The drag of his cock as he withdrew created exquisite sensations, and the push as he filled her completely stoked the fire at her core.

The mouth locked at her throat held her immobile, and she gave herself up to the sensations building inside her. Moving more easily within her as her tight muscles accustomed themselves to his invasion, his speed increased, still controlled but powerful. She wanted his lovemaking to go on forever and at the same time, she needed it to end.

He released her throat, and suddenly she could move again. He rose up above her, fierce and wild, her blood staining his fangs crimson. Withdrawing from her almost completely, he held himself poised until his muscles strained with the effort.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded, and he smiled, his eyes not leaving hers as he shoved into her hard. She gasped, but her body rose up to meet him and her legs wrapped around his waist as he drove them both over the edge. She clung to him as she exploded the second time, and still he kept moving as the orgasms rolled over her. Finally, when she could take no more he went rigid above her as his own release thundered through him.

…

Christian gazed down at the woman beneath him. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared unconscious. Had he pushed her too far? She’d seemed to be with him all the way. He stroked his tongue over the small wounds to quicken the healing, and felt for her pulse. It was strong and steady. He rolled onto his side, propped himself on one elbow, and watched her sleep. Her blond hair lay tousled, her pink lips open, her cheeks still flushed with desire.

She shifted uneasily, and he reached out a soothing hand, caressed her cheek, wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her to him. She didn’t wake, but her body snuggled into his as though it belonged there. He held her back curved into his chest, curled his arm around her, and took one sweet breast into his palm. Lowering his head, he found the soft place where her shoulder met her neck and breathed in deeply. He caught again that same whiff of sulfur overlaid by a deep rich sweetness. He’d tasted the same delicious mix in her blood and now her life source buzzed through his system like a drug.

Demon blood.

Intoxicating.

He hadn’t wanted to accept it, but the truth was impossible to deny. He could smell it on her. Taste it in her blood. It appeared that his little human was not a human after all. Or at least not completely human. Maybe there was human in there, but there was also demon, and something else that gave her a sweetness he had never before encountered.

He tightened his grip on her. He’d hated demons for so long. Devoted his life to keeping the earth free of their taint.

Now he might very well be in love with one.

The irony struck him hard. He’d never believed in love, but this must be it. He wanted to keep her close, keep her safe, lose himself in her body. He wanted to protect her from pain, and this little piece of news would cause her a whole shit load of pain. How was he supposed to tell her that her normal life would never happen?

His hand tightened on her breast, and she shifted in her sleep. He massaged her gently, grazing his palm over the nipple. It tightened to a hard nub against his hand and he took it between his finger and thumb tugging until she moaned and wriggled her warm little bottom against him. His cock hardened and his balls ached viciously. He wanted her. He couldn’t feed again yet, but he was desperate for the taste of her on his tongue.

He slipped a hand down between them, pushed between her thighs, and found her still wet, warm and slippery.

“Christian?” she whispered his name as he pushed one finger up inside her. He stroked the soft skin of her bottom then wrapped a hand around one slender thigh, lifting it to give him access. He opened her gently, and his cock slipped inside her as though it belonged there. He nuzzled her neck, grazed the skin with one razor sharp fang, and lapped at the beads of blood that welled from the wound as he moved inside her.

…

Tara came awake fully as his fang grazed her skin. Christian was behind her, curved around her spine, wrapping her in a warm, sensual glow. He was also buried deep inside her, his arms enfolding her. One hand tugged at her engorged nipple while the other gently stroked her swollen clit. She was on fire as he thrust slowly. She wanted it to go on forever but she craved the release he could give her. She let herself go, giving herself up to the sensations building inside her until she was free and flying.

She slept again afterward. When she woke, he was still beside her and she was wrapped in his arms. She felt different and realized something fundamental had changed deep within her mind. Whether from his lovemaking or feeding, Christian had forged a connection between the two of them, like a low hum, whispering through her brain. Tara found it strangely comforting.

She knew that soon she was going to have to ask him what he had discovered but for a little while, she wanted to forget.

“Where did these come from?” She stroked her fingers around the scars that circled his wrists.

His eyes followed the movement. After a minute, he gripped her hands, settling them palm down on his naked chest and pressing them down with his own. His skin felt warmer now, smooth as satin under her fingers, but he wouldn’t distract her so easily. Tara wanted to know everything about him. Where he came from, what his life had been like before he died. Graham had told her Christian didn’t talk about his past but she refused to be put off.

“I thought you healed all scars?”

He sighed. “Not those that happened before we were changed.”

“So you got them before you were turned into a vampire?”

Christian rolled onto his side, trapping their hands between their bodies. It brought his face close and his breath feathered across her cheeks. “You don’t want to talk about this,” he said against her skin.

A shiver ran through her but she shook it off. “Actually, I do. I want to know, and it will take my mind off my own problems for a little while.”

He drew in a deep breath. She thought he was going to refuse her, but he pulled himself up, dragging her with him so he rested back against the headboard. He tucked her under his arm, and she relaxed against him.

“I was born in 1502.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “1502? That makes you—”

“A lot older than you. If you want to hear this, I suggest you stop interrupting. It’s not a story I’ve told before.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Go ahead.”

“My parents were rich by the standards of the day. I grew up in a manor house. I was betrothed at thirteen and we married when I was eighteen and Elizabeth fourteen.”

Tara opened her mouth to say something. Christian shot her a look, and she closed it again.

“We were happy. Over the next few years, we had two daughters. A son would have followed, but it was not to be. My family was murdered. I didn’t know it at the time, but the Earth was in the middle of one of the demon wars. A particularly long, drawn-out war. They happen every so often, and we normally manage to put them down without too many problems, but there are always human casualties. My family was targeted because of me.”

He rested his head against the wall behind him, and stared into space. It was such a long time ago but he obviously still felt the guilt.

“If the demons killed them, how could you be responsible?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not so much now, but during the wars in the Middle Ages, demons and the fae recruited humans to work with them. They can sense when a person is susceptible to their ways and approach them with promises of rewards. I wasn’t, but it was common knowledge I’d had problems with the church. I was against many of their practices and spoke out, believing my position would protect me. So perhaps I drew the demons to me. When they realized I would never work for them, they killed my family out of spite.”

He shook his head. “I’ll probably never know the details, but I found out later they were killed on the orders of a demon called Asmodai. He’s one of the seven princes in the Abyss, and I suppose I should be flattered that he came for me himself. After the murder, the church leaped at the chance to have me arrested. I blamed myself after my family died, and didn’t care what happened to me.

“I was imprisoned, although my position kept me alive for three years. Three years in a dungeon chained to a wall in the darkness, thinking about what had happened.” He held out his hands to show the scars on his wrist. “That is when I got these.” He lifted himself away from her and twisted to show her his back. A fine tracing of silvery scars ran over the whole length of it, marring the perfection of his skin.

Tara stroked her finger over the scars with a trembling hand. “What happened?”

“My family connections stopped them from permanently maiming me, but they felt they had a duty to beat the devil out of me. At the time I believed I deserved it.”

Tara blinked away a tear. It slipped out and rolled down her cheek.

Christian picked it up on his fingertip. “Don’t cry for me,” he said. “It was a long time ago, and in a way, the imprisonment is what kept me alive. Had I been free, I would have gone searching for death and no doubt found it.”

Tara couldn’t bear the thought of him alone in the darkness with only his guilt to keep him company. “How did you get out?”

“I didn’t. Well, the man I was never left that cell. After three years, the church sentenced me to death. I was to be burned at the stake as an emissary of Satan. I remember thinking I liked the irony of it. The night before I was to die, I had a visitor. He said he could free me, give me a new life, immortality if I wanted it. I answered that I didn’t want a new life and immortality at that point seemed a burden rather than a prize, but he told me I would be fighting demons. He belonged to a group that protected the Earth, and I could be part of that. I could hunt down the killers of my family, and all I needed to relinquish was my mortal life and my soul. At that point, I wasn’t even sure I had a soul worth saving. So I agreed, and received the vampire’s kiss.”

“So the one who approached you was from the Order?”

He nodded. “He was the head of the Order of the Shadow Accords.”

“Did you manage to get the demon that killed your family?”

“We’ve had a couple of run-ins. I’ve beaten him once or twice, but you can’t destroy one of the seven forever, at least not here on earth. You can kill the body but they just re-manifest in the Abyss.”

“You must really hate demons.”

He cast her a look she didn’t quite understand. “I did. For a long time, I hunted them and destroyed them when I could, but I found that all hatred runs out in the end. So after the last wars, I left the Order.”

“But you’re back there now.”

“I wouldn’t be, but it seems that Asmodai is back, and he’s after me.”

She frowned. “You personally?”

“He’s picking off agents close to me.”

“Why should he do that?”

Christian shrugged. “I was in charge of the Order during the last wars when he was banished back to the Abyss. It’s unusual for a demon to bear a grudge—unlike the fae—but for some reason, it’s gotten personal for him. It’s always been personal to me.”

“What were they like, your wife and daughters?”

“It’s so long ago that I can hardly recall their faces. Things were different back then. I liked and respected Elizabeth but love was not a part of our marriage. It was arranged, as was the way at the time. My daughters were different, I loved them, but they were young, I barely saw them.”

…

Her eyes filled with compassion for a five-hundred-year-old wound that had healed long ago. But as Christian watched, her expression changed. A grim determination settled on her face, and he knew what was coming.

“So,” Tara said, “are you going to tell me what you saw? What you tasted?”

He could see the anxiety in her eyes, and he didn’t know how to tell her. She wanted so much to have a normal life, and he was about to put an end to her hopes forever. He opened his mouth to speak, and his cell phone rang.

Christian put her gently from him and swung around to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled the phone from his pants pocket and flicked it open. It was Piers.

“We have a meeting with the fae.”

“When?” Christian asked.

“Tomorrow, midnight.”

“How melodramatic. You found them?”

“I didn’t need to in the end. They came to us. Apparently they have something they want us to do.”

“Any idea what?”

“No, but it’s connected to you somehow. They’re insisting you’re present at the meeting.”

“Insisting? Since when have the fae had the right to demand anything of the Order?”

“Actually, I didn’t argue very hard. I thought it might be a good idea if you’re present.”

“Why?”

“Me and the fae don’t exactly hit it off. It might be a good idea to have you there as a buffer.”

Christian sighed, but he realized Piers was right. Diplomacy had never been Piers’s strong point and with the demons up to something, it was probably best not to rile the fae any more than necessary. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

He broke the connection. “We have to leave,” he said to Tara.

“We’re going back to London?”

“Yes, I have a meeting tomorrow night.” He pulled on his clothes as he spoke but was aware that Tara watched him through narrowed eyes.

“So, are we going to talk about what’s going on here?”

“I think it might be better if we wait until we’re back in town. Give me a little time to think it over. I don’t want to tell you something now, get you all riled up, and just have to take it all back later.”

He knew from her fixed expression that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Chapter Fifteen

Christian reached out and ran a hand through her hair.

Tara knew he meant it to be soothing. Instead, the caress made her scalp prickle. She gritted her teeth. He was lying. He knew something, and he wasn’t telling her.

All her life her aunt had told her, “listen to me,” “I know best,” and Tara had listened, believing she’d had her best interests at heart. Look how well that had turned out.

Crap! That was how it had turned out.

Her aunt had died—or did whatever it was that reanimated corpses did—leaving Tara alone, without a clue. Why couldn’t she have told her before it was too late instead of leaving her to blunder on in total ignorance.

Now, here was someone else expecting that just because she cared about him, she would quite happily do whatever he said and not ask any awkward questions.

Not going to happen.

He waited for her answer, but obviously so confident that she would go along with anything he asked.

She had run the gamut of emotions tonight. She’d been worried, wildly excited, scared. Now the first flicker of a deep-rooted anger rippled through her. It felt good. It had been part of her life for so long, simmering under the surface. She’d tried to suppress it, but it had grown, feeding on all the things that stood in her way. Her breathing slowed until she took long deep breaths, and with each intake of air, her anger intensified. She opened her eyes and smiled. Yeah, she was pissed—well and truly pissed. He didn’t want to get her riled? Well, it was too damn late!

“I’m not going anywhere.” Surprise flickered across his face, and a wave of savage satisfaction ran through her. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you know.”

“We’re going back to London. Now.”

“You might be going back to London, but until you tell me what’s going on, I’m staying here. And unless you want to force me, you’re going to have to live with that.”

For a moment, he studied her as though he seriously considered the force thing. He eyed the distance between them, but Tara stood her ground. Finally, he relaxed and nodded.

“Okay, get dressed. I’ll make you a coffee, and see you in the kitchen.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.

As soon as he agreed with her demand, Tara wished she could retract it. She stared at the closed door, wanting to call him back.

She dressed slowly, repacked her bag, and carried it down to the kitchen. She put it by the back door, and took a seat opposite Christian. He pushed a mug across to her. Picking it up, she held it close to her nose and breathed in the aromatic scent of the coffee. She took a sip, it was scalding hot, and she put the mug back down.

“Is it so bad you can’t tell me?” she asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “What is it you want to know?”

“The spells around the house and the talisman, what are they hiding?”

“They’re hiding you.”

It wasn’t the answer she had been expecting, though maybe she should have been. The spells around the house might have had some other purpose, but the talisman could have only ever have been for her.

“Why, what’s so special about me? I’m just ordinary. Aren’t I?”

His eyes wandered down over her. “No, there’s nothing ordinary about you.”

A shiver ran through her. “I’d really like to believe you meant that in a good way. But you don’t, do you?”

Shoving his chair back from the table, he rose to his feet. He thrust his hands in his pockets, cocked his head to one side, and considered her.

“Neither good, nor bad. We are what we are. I’ve had a long time to accept this, and still sometimes, I wonder if I should exist at all. But perhaps that’s something you still have to learn.”

“Of course that might be easier if I knew what it is I’m supposed to be accepting. What am I?”

“When I said I wasn’t entirely sure, I was telling the truth.”

She gritted her teeth. “Then tell me what you think.”

“You have demon blood.”

For a brief moment, she presumed she’d misheard him. Her gaze shot to his face. He appeared deadly serious, and she took a deep breath. She could cope with this. Couldn’t she?

“Explain exactly what you mean by ‘have demon blood.’”

“You’re part demon.”

“Which part? Forget that question.” She picked up her coffee and drank it slowly. Her mind flashed back to those things that had attacked her in the alley that night. The red skin and yellow inhuman eyes. “You mean I’m part one of those things that attacked me.”

“Perhaps, but there are lots of different demons.”

She scrutinized her hand still holding the mug of coffee. Her flesh was pale, creamy, not red. “I can’t be part of one of those. I don’t look anything like them.”

“Not all demons are the same. Those were lesser demons. Some—the more powerful ones—can almost pass for human.”

“You hate demons. They killed your family.” Her eyes stung and her throat clogged. She’d told herself she could cope with anything and now it seemed like she’d been lying to herself. She blinked away a tear, but another spilled over her lashes.

Christian sank into the chair beside her. He swiped the pad of his thumb over her cheek, wiping away the moisture. He uncurled her fingers from the empty cup and put it on the table, but kept hold of her hand, stroking across her palm. “I don’t hate you.”

How could he not? Demons had murdered his family, were even now murdering his friends. More tears spilled over and this time she didn’t try to stop them.

“Sorry, I made you tell me this and now I’m being all pathetic.” She rubbed her hand across her eyes. “I’m all right now, honest. I don’t know what I was expecting, but not that. I don’t want to be a demon.”

He tugged her toward him, picked her up, and sat her on his lap. She turned her head into his chest, her hand clinging to the soft, slippery silk of his shirt. Leaning back in the chair, he let her cry. She wasn’t used to crying—she hadn’t cried after Aunt Kathy’s death. Now she let herself go.

He stroked her hair. “You’re not a demon. You just have some demon blood. I’m not even sure how much. Maybe it’s just a tiny little drop.”

She sat up and wiped her face. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better, aren’t you?” He nodded and she almost smiled. “So how much of a demon am I?”

“I’d say half.”

“So was my mother a demon?”

“I don’t think so. From what we were told at the bar, it sounds unlikely. There are female demons, but I’ve never heard one described as beautiful before.”

A little ray of hope glimmered in her brain. “So I’m at least half human?”

He remained silent, and she twisted round so she could see into his face. “Just how human am I? If I’m half-demon and not half-human what else can I be?”

“I’m not sure, but at a guess, I’d say you have fae blood.”

“Fae as in fairy?”

He nodded and put his face close to the curve of her neck. “You smell sweet and you taste even sweeter. I’ve never drunk fae blood, but I’ve smelled them before, and you smell of fae. ”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Forget the fae bit for a moment, but I’m part demon. I bet I taste disgusting.”

“Actually, vampires love demon blood.”

“They do?”

“We find it intoxicating.” He licked her neck. “We can’t get enough—it’s like a drug to us. Yours is even better, bitter mixed with sweet. You’re unique.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to be unique. I want to be normal.” She slid off his lap and sank back onto her own chair. She needed a clear head. “I don’t understand how I can be what you say yet feel like a human. What makes a demon a demon, or a fae a fae?” She frowned. “I’m too small to be a demon.”

Her talisman was still on the table where she had placed it earlier. Now she reached across and picked it up, dangling it from her finger. She lifted the chain over her head and settled the heart against her chest. A sense of containment washed over her and for a moment, she had to fight the urge to remove it again.

“I don’t look like a demon. I don’t feel like a demon. What’s to stop me forgetting all this and just getting on with my life?”

“You don’t think it’s going to be that simple, do you?”

“I don’t see why not. If I hadn’t decided to investigate in the first place, I wouldn’t know any of this. What if I’d never come to you? For that matter, even if I’d gone to another private investigator, I’d probably never have found all this out.”

“So, if you’d never met me, you would still have the chance at that nice, normal life you want so much.” For the first time, she heard a thread of anger in his voice. “Come on, Tara, accept it, that was never going to happen.”

“If I keep the talisman on, I can stay hidden, get on with my life.”

He cast her an exasperated glare. “There’s more going on here.”

“There is?”

“Do you really believe it was coincidence that you turned up at my office? You needed a private investigator, and you end up picking the one agency in the country with ties to the supernatural community. I don’t think so.”

“Coincidences happen.”

“Why do you think your mother went to so much trouble to hide you? Magic like this doesn’t come cheap and chances are she paid for it with her life.”

Tara’s mind whirled in circles, searching for a way out. “If my mother did go to that trouble, and if she did die for it, perhaps I need to honor that and stay hidden.”

“It’s too late for that. There were already people hunting for you here.”

“We don’t know they were looking for me.”

“You took off the talisman and a day later strangers appear here asking questions. Do you think the two things are unrelated? And do you think they’ve stopped searching?”

“Yes, but I did take it off. They came, they couldn’t find me, and it’s been months. If I keep it on, maybe they’ll never find me.”

“What happened to breaking all the rules?”

She ignored the comment. “Or I could stay here. You said yourself the house is safe.”

“So, now you plan to shut yourself up in the one place you’ve spent your life trying to escape from.”

Her anger flared again. “I don’t want to be a monster.”

His eyes went blank, his mouth twisted into a snarl, giving the brief flash of fang. “You mean, a monster like me? So you don’t like monsters? You seemed to like me well enough when I was inside you. Are you regretting that?”

Heat flushed her skin at the reminder of what they had done together. Her chest tightened. “I don’t regret it.” She reached out a hand to him. “I don’t know what to do. All I understand is that this changes everything.”

“Actually,” Christian said, “it changes nothing. You have always been what you are. The only difference is now you know.” He picked up her case. “We need to leave.”

…

Half an hour into the journey, Christian finally managed to unclench his fingers from their grip on the steering wheel. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension, opened his mouth, then closed it again as he realized he had no clue what to say. His original anger had faded to something less easy to identify.

He’d thought he knew how she would react to the news that she wasn’t entirely human. He’d thought she would be upset, but he hadn’t thought she would try to pretend the whole thing didn’t exist, including him.

He realized something else—since he’d found out she wasn’t human, he’d started to believe there could be a future for them together.

He could never have a long-term relationship with a human. They became puppets, slaves as he took away their free will. Some, like Graham, accepted this and believed the advantages outweighed what they lost, but he would never want that with Tara. He would have left her before it came to that.

Tonight, she proved that he could not control her mind. If she stayed with him, it would be because she wanted to, not because she couldn’t leave him.

Unfortunately, it looked as though she didn’t want to stay with him. He was a “monster,” and a constant reminder that she was a monster as well. She’d no doubt prefer to pretend he didn’t exist along with the rest of the truths that didn’t fit with her neat little ideas of a normal life.

His hands tightened on the wheel again. He decided he was angry after all. Angry and hurt. And underneath that, he wanted her again, desired her blood and her body. As they got nearer their destination, he realized he didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to leave her.

But he wasn’t being fair. The revelation must have been an incredible shock and Tara needed time to think it through.

He would give her that time, but she also needed to be aware that this was far from over. He would leave her tonight with the same ache in her body he felt. He would make her remember how good it had been and trust she would come to him of her own free will.

She wasn’t immune to him. She stared out of the window, but he could feel her sidelong glances every few miles.

He’d wait. But if she didn’t come to him, he’d go and get her. He wasn’t letting her go. She’d been warned, and now she was his.

…

They were silent on the way back to London. She was aware of Christian beside her, angry with her, radiating a freezing iciness that sliced at her heart.

She’d hurt him, and hadn’t considered that possible. She hadn’t thought about what would happen between them after they made love. A relationship with a vampire hardly fit into her idea for the future. Had she imagined she could sleep with Christian and just walk away, get on with her life?

She could still feel the slight ache in her body where he had filled her so completely, the slight ache in her throat where he’d drank from her. Without thinking, she touched the scar at her neck. Then jumped as Christian spoke.

“It should heal within twenty-four hours. You won’t even know I was there.”

She glanced across at him, but he’d already turned his attention back to the road. His expression was closed, his hands grasped tight on the wheel. She stared out of the side window. They had left the motorway and were entering the city. She would be home soon. Then what?

She’d told him she needed time alone to think this through. Now, at the thought of him leaving, a flash of pain ripped through her. But he couldn’t stay; in less than an hour the sun would rise, and Christian needed to be back in his basement away from the light of day.

For a moment she had the urge to tell him she’d changed her mind. Beg him to take her with him. She bit down on her lower lip to stop the words coming out. She needed time alone—this close to Christian she couldn’t think.

The car pulled up in front of her apartment building. Christian got out without a word, and fetched her case from the trunk. Tara followed him out. Standing by the car, she breathed in the night air, crisp and dry after the dampness of Yorkshire.

“I’ll see you to the door,” Christian said. “There’s something I need to say before I leave you.”

She nodded and followed as he led the way. Suddenly cold, she huddled into her jacket and dug her hands into her pockets. Christian appeared unaffected by the temperature.

She let them into the building, up the stairs, and they both came to a halt in front of her door. He put down the case and turned to her.

“I’m leaving you here because you’re right. You need to come to terms with what we discovered tonight.”

In the back of her mind she’d harboured the secret hope that he would insist on taking her with him. That he wouldn’t be able to leave her behind. She berated herself for being so stupid.

“And you need to come to terms with what we did together tonight.”

A wave of heat washed over her. She fumbled for the right key. She couldn’t find it and rested her forehead against the cool wood of the door. A hand touched her shoulder, and Christian turned her toward him.

“Don’t think this is the end,” he said. “I’m expecting you to come to the right decision. You need to accept what you are.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but he put a finger to her lips. “I want you to be clear why I’m letting you go when everything screams that I should keep you close. You need time alone, and I believe you’ll be safe as long as you wear the talisman. Don’t take it off.”

Tara’s hand went to the chain at her throat. “That’s not all, is it?”

“I don’t want you anywhere near Piers. You’re still unmarked. He’ll see you as a threat.”

She shivered. “And do what?”

“He’ll do nothing. I won’t allow it, but it will be easier if I keep the two of you apart. However, I don’t like you here alone. I’m going to send some of my people over to watch over this place.”

“Vampires?”

“No not vampires. They’ll need to watch in the daytime as well. Demons prefer to hunt at night, but they can move around in the light of day.”

“Anything else?”

“Just one thing.” His voice was no longer expressionless, but dark and low; it caressed her sensitive ears, sending tremors down her spine.

“What?” she whispered.

“Something to help you come to the right decision.” He clasped her hands, slipped them inside his coat, and pressed them against his chest.

Beneath her palms, she felt the hardness of muscle and bone, and she curled her fingers into him.

He whispered in her ear, “Did you like what we did tonight? Did you like having me deep inside you?” One hand released hers and trailed over the small wound at her throat. At the touch of his fingers, that rhythmic tugging tightened the muscles of her belly.

“Here,” he whispered, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the small mark. His hand slipped between them, pushing between her thighs to cup her sex. “And here.”

Unable to prevent the instinctive movement, Tara pressed herself against his palm. She clutched the soft silk of his shirt and whimpered as his clever fingers moved against her, tormented her.

He stepped back. For a moment, she clung to him, and then her hands fell to her sides. He studied her, his gaze heavy with desire. “Let me know when you’d ready to finish this.”

Turning away, he walked back down the stairs and out of the front door. Tara ran to the window and stood, fists clenched, as he got in the car and drove away. She watched until the car disappeared into the night and she knew for certain that he wasn’t coming back.

She shook as she let herself into the apartment. The place was silent. There was no sign of Smokey although she opened all the doors calling to him. In the kitchen she found food set out, but no cat.

Smokey was probably out hunting on the heath, but she wished he was there. She could have done with his comforting warmth. Instead she curled up alone on her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest and trying not to think of Christian.

But when she finally slept, his image still filled her mind.

Chapter Sixteen

“Have I mentioned the fact that I hate the fucking fae?” Piers asked as they exited the elevator onto the open rooftop.

Christian ignored the comment. All his senses were alert, but the roof appeared deserted, and nothing moved in the shadows. He glanced at Piers. He’d been preoccupied with his own thoughts, but now, for the first time he noticed that Piers looked pissed.

“I mean,” Piers continued, “with a demon you know where you are, what to expect—”

“Them trying to kill you?”

“Yeah, but at least they’re up front about it and you get a good fight. Hell, demons are fun. The fae on the other hand don’t know what fun is, and they certainly don’t know how to have a good fight. They’re more likely to wait until they can stab you in the back or bore you to death with all that purity of the blood shit. And that magic stuff, what’s with that?” He shook his head in disgust. “Man, I hate the magic.”

Christian had to agree. The fae were tricky. The one point in their favor was that they kept to themselves. That was the thing about thinking you were better than everyone else—you didn’t want to mix. In his years running the Order, he’d never had much contact with them.

“Have you ever met the Walker before?” he asked.

Piers nodded. “Oh yeah, I’ve had the pleasure, more than a few times, and boy was that fun. What about you?

“Once. At the end of the last wars. They’d been trying to recover something the demons had stolen from them. They wanted our help.”

Piers grinned. “I bet it hurt them to ask for that. Did we give it to them?”

“We never found whatever it was.” Christian shrugged. “They weren’t happy, but there wasn’t a lot they could do about it.”

“What did you think of the Walker?”

“Very focused. Ruthless. I was glad when they went back where they belong.”

“So you don’t like them any more than I do. Though I have to admit they are good for one thing.” Piers’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Have you ever tasted fae blood?”

“It’s against the Accords,” Christian said.

“This was before the Accords were signed.”

“You’re that old?”

Piers nodded. “And it was wild times back then. Pretty much a free for all.”

“And the fae blood?”

“The sweetest thing you have ever tasted.” He licked his lips and grinned. “You can understand why a demon will break the Accords to get some of that.”

Christian stepped out of the shadows and searched the open area in front of them. The night was clear, and up here, high above the city streets, it was quiet. Far below, the constant hum of the city continued as normal.

“Perhaps I should tell you,” Piers said, “the Walker and me, we have some history.”

Christian swung around to face him “You do?”

“Hmm.

“Is it going to be a problem?”

“Probably.”

“And you only thought to mention this now?”

“Hey,” Piers said, “the fae approached the Order for this meeting not the other way round. So they can take what they’re given or fuck off back to fairyland where they belong.”

Christian rubbed a hand across his temple. He wanted to get this meeting over with and get back to Tara; he was worried about her. No, it was more than worried. He needed to see her. It was less than twenty-four hours since they’d parted and it was already too long. He shouldn’t have left her at the apartment; he should have kept her close where he could protect her.

He stopped short at the thought. Turned it over in his mind. It felt right, and a wave of excitement rippled through him. He’d never had a woman of his own. Not since his mortal life before he was turned. For a moment, he felt a flicker of doubt. He’d been unable to save Emily or their daughters. Could he do any better now? He had to—Tara was his.

“Christian. We’ve got company.” Piers gestured across the rooftop to where a faint figure was taking form. It glowed with a pale luminescent that faded, leaving the Walker standing before them. He could almost pass for human: a tall human, wand-slim, with silver-gilt hair down to his shoulders and a long slender face with high cheekbones and a sharp blade of a nose. His expression screamed arrogance, which changed to disgust as he took in the two figures. His eyes blazed hatred at Piers.

The air filled with a sweet subtle scent that caressed Christian’s nostrils and made his fangs ache to feed. The fae stopped a few feet from where they stood. Ignoring Piers, he bowed formally to Christian. Christian returned the gesture and heard Piers snort in obvious amusement.

“I am approaching the Order to report a breach of the Accords,” the Walker said.

“Unfortunately, I am no longer with the Order. You need to speak to my colleague here. I believe you already know each other.” He gestured to Piers and a slow hiss came from the fae.

“Hi, Walker,” Piers said, waggling his fingers. “Long time, no see.”

“Blood taker,” The Walker replied. “I would do much not to deal with you.”

Piers shrugged. “Don’t then. Come on,” he said to Christian. “Looks like this meeting is over.”

The Walker turned back to Christian. “Do you know what this man was? A hunter of our people. He stole our blood.”

“And what were you, Walker?” Piers asked. “Back in the good old days?”

“I was a protector of my people.”

“You were an assassin.”

“Assassins are paid. I was never paid for killing your kind. I did it for pleasure.”

“Ditto,” Piers said.

Christian’s muscles tightened as he watched the two circle each other. Piers opened his coat and placed his hand on the pistol at his thigh. The Walker flung back his cloak and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

“Nice outfit,” Piers said, “It’s good to see you’re making a real effort to blend in here.”

Christian sighed. “Piers, could we get to the point here?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who called this meeting.”

“No, but as head of the Order you have a duty to listen to emissaries from either side. Hear what he has to say.”

“Yeah, a duty, right.” Piers frowned. “You know it was a lot more fun in the old days. We could have just drained him dry.”

“I doubt that very much,” the Walker replied. “I could take you both.”

Piers stepped forward, showing fully elongated fangs. “You want to try?”

“Fuck this,” Christian muttered. “Both of you, get a grip.”

The tension stretched out, straining, humming in the air, until Christian was sure it would snap. Easing his hand beneath his coat, his fingers gripped the knife hilt at his waist. He was unsure if they could take the Walker, but it looked like they were going to find out, and a slow roil of excitement tightened in his gut.

Piers stepped back. “One day, Walker. One day, I would very much like to try, but perhaps not today. Now, tell me what you want.”

For a moment, the Walker’s tall figure remained rigid, then the tension drained from him and Christian released his grip on the knife.

“I seek the Order’s help,” The Walker said.

Piers laughed. “So you thought you’d try a little charm, did you? Well my friend, you suck at charm. So tell me how can we help the mighty fae?”

“During the last war the demons stole something from us.”

Piers raised an eyebrow. “And you want us to get it back?”

The Walker shook his head. “You promised your help in recovering what the demons stole. We made a deal, we would depart to our lands in peace in exchange for you returning the item to us. You banished the demons, but what they stole was never recovered. You failed.”

Piers raked a hand through his hair. “Are you going to get to the point?”

The Walker pursed his lips. “We are giving you a chance to redeem yourselves, to make good on your promise.”

Piers rolled his eyes. “Did I mention, I hate the fucking fae?”

Christian decided it was time to take control and get this over with. He would trust Piers to watch his back in a fight any time, but he should have remembered that diplomacy had never been his strong point. “Walker, tell us what the fae require.”

The Walker nodded. “There is one we seek. One who has the ability to enter both the Abyss and the Faelands.”

“Is this a demon or a fae? I’ve never heard of someone who can cross both the boundaries.”

“It shouldn’t be possible. This being is an abomination and needs to be destroyed. We are asking for your help in this matter.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“Not yet, but we are hunting them and they will be found. Must be found before the demons discover them, and use them to infiltrate our lands.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Christian said. “It would break the Accords and cause another war.”

“Your faith in the demons is quite amusing,” the Walker replied. “Are you aware that they are targeting you personally?”

Christian’s eyes narrowed. “You know this? How?”

“We have our contacts. Have you not lost agents? You must have noticed even with an imbecile in charge.”

Piers lunged toward him and Christian stopped him with an arm across his chest. “Stop it. Can’t you see he’s trying to wind you up?”

Piers took a deep breath and relaxed. “You can let me go now, I’m cool.”

Christian dropped his arm and turned to the Walker. “Let the Order know when you have any information, we’ll see that it’s done.”

“You pledge the word of the Order on this.”

“We do.”

The Walker nodded. “Thank you. You will hear from us soon.”

He walked away, his figure fading until only a faint drift of mist remained, and soon that, too, was gone.

Christian stared at the empty rooftop. “Well, that went well. I’m so glad you decided to shelve your personal prejudices and behave in a professional manner.”

“Fucking asshole. I told you, I can’t stand the fae. Except to eat of course, then I like them a lot.”

Christian wasn’t interested in the fae right now. Or at least not pure fae. He had a flashback to the taste of Tara’s blood, the unique blend. Bitter and sweet. Demon and Fae. He glanced across to where the Walker had vanished. What did the fae hunt? A being who could travel to both the Abyss and the Faelands. He wasn’t sure there was a connection, but the unease twisted in his gut.

“You staying here all night?” Piers asked.

Christian shook his head. He needed to increase Tara’s protection and get someone looking into this abomination of the fae’s. “I’m out of here.”

Chapter Seventeen

Smokey strolled in through the open door and leapt onto the sofa. Tara was worried about him—he’d been back for brief visits since she’d returned from Yorkshire, but he appeared unsettled. He’d stay for an hour or so, as if reassuring himself that she was fine, and then he’d disappear again.

He’d never taken to London. In fact, he would probably jump at the chance to return to Yorkshire, if that was what she decided to do.

She tried to imagine going back to her old life and incarcerating herself in that big gray house on the moors. She knew, in her heart, that it wasn’t an option. Not now that she had sampled life, mixed with people, and had grown to be part of something.

Besides, it would be a life without Christian, and she was beginning to fear that wasn’t an option either. It had been four days, and she wanted him with a desperation she hadn’t known existed. She could still feel him in her mind, fainter now, at times almost absent, but he was always there, forcing her to remember.

He’d told her she needed to accept what she was, and she was trying, she really was.

“I am a demon,” she said to herself.

Smokey leapt up onto her lap and rasped his rough pink tongue over her hand in sympathy. She couldn’t believe it. Each morning she woke and rushed to the mirror, checking for signs of change, some indication she was something other than human. She’d searched her face and could see nothing even bordering on demonic.

She tried again. “I am a demon, and I’m in love with a vampire.”

Smokey hissed and jumped from her lap.

“You’re right. It’s not good, but this isn’t about being good. It’s about being honest.”

Smokey cast her a disgusted look and stalked out of the room. She watched him go and frowned. He hadn’t been right since she got back from Yorkshire. She wanted to ask Chloe how he had been while she was away, but Chloe hadn’t been home.

She must know Tara was back, because she hadn’t been around to feed Smokey, but Tara hadn’t seen a sign of her. She’d gone to her apartment, phoned her cell phone—nothing. Maybe someone had called her away on a family emergency, but Tara was sure she would have left a note. She flicked open her cell phone and tried the number again. It rang but no one picked up.

She was getting a bad feeling about this, and convincing herself it was simply the demon thing turning her paranoid didn’t make her discomfort go away.

There had to be a reasonable explanation for Chloe’s absence. She punched Jamie’s number, but he didn’t answer either, and she tossed the phone down in disgust. Chloe had never spoken of her family, so there was no one else Tara could contact.

Five minutes later, her cell phone rang. It was Jamie.

“I’m coming right over,” he said and disconnected before she could answer. Tara stared at her phone for a minute then put it down.

“I am a demon,” she said.

Jamie arrived within minutes. Tara let him in, feeling a wave of relief she now had someone to share her concerns with—though Jamie was obviously already worried enough on his own. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his mouth was held in a tight line.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Chloe’s missing.”

Shock reverberated through her to hear it spoken aloud.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, and Tara swallowed down the fear that rose in her throat.

“Come through to the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll make us some coffee. You look like you need it.” She put on the coffee maker and turned to face him. He’d slumped on the chair by the table, his head in his hands.

“Jamie, what is it? What’s happened?”

His eyes were bleak, and panic clawed at her insides.

“I think someone’s taken her,” Jamie said.

“Why should anyone take her?”

He ran a trembling hand through his already ruffled hair. “We were supposed to see each other the night you came back and she never showed up. I went to her apartment, and there was nobody there. I came around here and nothing. I haven’t been able to reach her on her cell.”

“Me neither, but I thought maybe she’d gone to visit her family or something.”

“She wouldn’t, at least not without telling me. We’d become quite close.”

“I know, she told me.” Tara made the coffee and put a mug down in front of him.

“I’ve searched for her everywhere. I checked her college—she hasn’t been there. I even managed to track down her mother. She hasn’t heard from Chloe in over a month. I don’t think they’re close, but Chloe definitely wasn’t there.”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation. We’ve just got to think it through.”

Jamie shook his head, his expression desolate. “I don’t think so. I think someone has taken her, and it’s all my fault.”

“How can it be your fault?”

“I—” He stopped, bit his lip. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter, but I still think she’s in some sort of trouble.”

“Should we go to the police?”

“What will they do?” Jamie asked scornfully. “They’ll just tell us she’s over twenty-one and probably off partying somewhere.”

“And you don’t think she could be?”

“No!”

She laid her hand on his arm. The muscles were locked tight under her fingers. “I know she’s not out partying. I was starting to worry myself. So if we can’t go to the police, what can we do?”

“I think you should go and see Christian Roth.”

“What?”

“He’s an investigator, isn’t he?”

She’d forgotten that, but of course he was, and he had a whole company to call on. They could look for Chloe.

A wave of excitement washed over at the thought of contacting Christian, and she realized that she’d been subconsciously searching for an excuse to see him again.

Guilt followed closely on the excitement—that she should get what she wanted because Chloe was missing.

“Well?” Jamie asked, and she could hear the thread of impatience in his voice.

She nodded. “I’ll do it.”

He relaxed, and a slight smile flashed across his face. “Thank you.” He picked up his coffee and drank it quickly. After putting the mug down, he stood, crossed to the window, and stared down at the street. “It’s almost sunset.”

Tara glanced at him sharply. Why should he have mentioned that? But he didn’t add anything further, just came back and sat down again.

She picked up her phone but paused before pressing the number. “Do you want to come with me?” she asked.

“No. I’m going to look a few more places, talk to more people.”

She spoke to someone on reception at CR International. It wasn’t Graham, but they appeared to recognize her name, and told her to come in that evening. Christian would see her. She put the phone down. “I’ll see him tonight.”

“Good. I’ll take you over there safely before I go off.”

“I don’t need an escort.”

“Yes, you do. Chloe’s missing, and I’m not letting you loose on the streets of London.”

Tara could have told him she didn’t need an escort because she already had one. Christian had done as he’d promised, and there was at least one person watching her at all times, more than one for the last day. They made no attempt to hide from her, and in fact acknowledged her presence if she left the apartment, then trailed her at a discreet distance.

The thought of the guards made her think of something else. Could Chloe’s disappearance be tied to what was going on in Tara’s life? It made no sense. At least she desperately hoped it made no sense. She couldn’t bear it if she was the cause of harm to her friend.

The sun was setting as they came out of the tube station, turning the sky red and tangerine. As they hurried along the embankment, Tara was aware of Christian’s man trailing them, but Jamie seemed oblivious, his mind obviously focused on Chloe. He was clearly rattled and that worried Tara more than anything. He’d always seemed so laid back and relaxed.

At the glass doors, he kissed her cheek. He appeared so forlorn that she hugged him. “It will be all right. Christian will help us, and together we’ll find her.”

For a moment, his hands tightened around her then he stepped away and nodded.

Tara hesitated before the door, a ripple of apprehension running through her. She’d spent so much time thinking about her feelings for Christian but hadn’t considered what Christian’s feelings about her might be. He’d said he wanted her to come to him, but he’d also been angry with her. How did he feel about her now? How would he react to her asking for his help?

The sky darkened to purple as the sun set behind the tall buildings. Deep in her mind, she sensed another presence. Christian was awake.

Chapter Eighteen

Graham grinned as she approached the reception desk.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll get some peace now. Christian’s been a nightmare for the last few days.”

“He has?”

“Yeah, on the phone every five minutes to the guys watching you. Must have driven them crazy.”

She suddenly felt amazingly happy. “He was?”

He nodded. “I’ll call up and let him know you’re here. He’s in the office.”

Christian didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her. Seated behind his desk, fingers steepled, face expressionless, his eyes never left her as she walked across the huge expanse of floor. Her nerves tightened with every step, and the excitement building inside her since she’d spoken to Graham oozed away.

He was beautiful. She had tried not to think too much about him, because she wouldn’t be able to stay away if she did. Now she couldn’t stop staring.

He seemed to have lost the business suits and with them, any sign of the businessman she’d thought him to be. He looked lean and mean—a hunter, dark and dangerous, and every cell in her body yearned toward him.

It took a physical effort to come to a halt in front of the desk when all she wanted to do was crawl straight over it and into his lap. For a moment, she seriously considered it, then she glanced into his face; it was cold, stern, and remote.

Maybe Graham had it wrong and Christian just saw her as some sort of responsibility. Or he’d thought the whole thing through and decided he did hate her after all. Because she was a demon. Horror flashed through her as she searched his expression.

“Graham said you needed help.” Christian spoke into the silence between them, and she jumped.

“Sorry?”

“You have a problem you believe I can help you with.”

“I do?” She shook her head to get her brain working but couldn’t shift it from the idea of Christian hating her. “Do you hate me?” The question popped out before she could stop it.

He frowned. “What?”

“You’ve thought about it haven’t you? About me, I mean, and you’ve decided that I’m some sort of evil demon monster, and you hate me.”

“Tara,” he said, “what are you talking about?”

“You and me. You told me to come to you, but now I have, and you’re so cold, and it must be because you’ve realized I’m a monster, like the monsters that killed your family.” She blinked, her eyes stinging. “I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

He knocked back his chair and rose to his feet. “Stay where you are.”

Tara had been about to turn tail and run but, at his words, she stopped. Her eyes ate him up, her fingers itched with the need to reach out and touch him.

He walked around the desk. As always, the grace of his movements filled her with awe. He stopped in front of her and her eyes searched his face. His expression was no longer blank, but wary.

He reached for her, his hands gliding across her shoulders, and pulled her to him.

Tara stood on tiptoes and raised her face for his kiss, and his lips came down on hers with a savage desperation.

She lost herself in his kiss. Gave up her mind to him, but she needed more. Her hands slid to his hips, up over his lean belly and rib cage. They came to rest against his chest, and the muscles contracted under her touch. She dug her nails into the softness of his shirt, and he went still above her. For a moment, he held her against him, then his hands dropped from her shoulders, and he took a step back.

“Did that feel like I hate you?” His voice held a ragged edge. She licked her lips to get the last taste of him and shook her head.

“No, it’s just Graham said—then you seemed so cold and you have every reason to hate me.”

“I have no reason to hate you.”

“Maybe.”

“I was perhaps a little disappointed that you’d only come to me because you have a problem. You do have a problem, don’t you, Tara?”

“Oh, God! It’s Chloe. Christian, you have to help us. She’s—”

“Tara, slow down and sit down.” Instead of leading her to the chair by the desk, he took her hand and led her to the black leather sofa. He pushed her gently down. “There,” he said, taking the seat next to her. “Tell me.”

Tara took a deep breath, tried to sort out the facts. “You remember my friend Chloe? You met her that night at my apartment.”

“Of course.”

“Well, she’s disappeared. She hasn’t been home, and she’s not answering her cell phone. Nothing.”

“When did you last see her?”

“That night when we left for Yorkshire.”

He frowned. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“Yes, Jamie. He was supposed to see her the night we came back, but she didn’t turn up. He’s been everywhere he can think of, spoken to anybody who might know or have seen her, and it’s as if she’s vanished.”

Christian leaned back on the sofa, his head resting on the cushions, and stared into space.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that it’s unlikely your friend’s disappearance is anything to do with the other things going on in your life right now. But I don’t like coincidences and the timing is…suspicious.” He pulled out his phone and punched in a number. “Piers?”

Tara listened while he explained what had happened and finished with, “Can you find out if there was anything going on around there four nights ago?”

He put the phone down and turned to her. “He’ll get right back to me. We’ll wait, see if he comes up with anything, then decide our next move.”

“Thank you.”

His long legs stretched out in front of him. Without thought, Tara laid her palm on his thigh. The muscle tensed beneath her fingers, and his hand came down and rested on hers.

“I’d hoped you would come to me because you couldn’t stay away.” He picked up her hand and rubbed his fingers along the sensitive skin of her palm. “Each night I’ve awoken and fought the urge to come to you. Claim you. Force you to accept what you are and what we could have.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers, stroked his velvet tongue along each one until tremors ran through her body. “Each night I stayed away by telling myself you needed time.” He sucked one finger deep into his mouth, and Tara moaned with desire. He bit down with his teeth and heat flashed through her. She sat immobile, melting as he placed her hand back on his thigh, pressing it down with his palm.

“I wanted to come to you,” she said. “In fact, I never wanted you to go in the first place.”

“I believe you want me, but I also think that you’re far from happy about that. You’d still prefer me to be a nice, normal person.” There was a definite sneer in his voice when he spoke the word “normal.” “You still can’t accept what I am.”

“Yes. No.” She frowned. “Maybe. I have accepted what you are. It’s me I have the problem with. But I’m trying.” Flickers of anger stirred within her. “Is it so difficult to understand? Having demon blood has taken away everything I thought I wanted. I have to come to terms with that, but I’m working on it, okay?”

“How are you working on it?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Every day, I stand in front of the mirror and chant, ‘I am a demon,’ fifty times. I am a demon,” she added for good measure. “There you see, I’ve been practicing, and now I can say it without hysterics.”

“Very impressive.

“Well,” she said. “If you liked that one, how about this—‘my lover is a vampire.’”

She watched him as she spoke the words. Flames leapt in his eyes and he reached for her, pulling her onto his lap and burrowing his head in her neck. His mouth was at her throat, fangs scraping across her flesh. He didn’t bite.

“Am I your lover?” he murmured against her skin.

Her body tightened in anticipation, and she realized she wanted him to bite her, wanted to feel him inside her. Deep inside.

“I hope so,” she replied. She wriggled around until her knees rested on either side of his hips and her breasts brushed against his broad chest. Raising her head, she offered her throat to his hungry gaze.

He pressed his finger over her pulse point, and the blood throbbed in her veins.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I taste you one more time, and I’ll not let you go.”

For a moment, she hesitated—was this what she really wanted? Staring into that lean predatory face so close to hers she saw the hunger clear in his silver eyes, and knew she was past the point of having a choice. “That sounds good to me,” she murmured and kissed him.

He kissed her back, his lips moving down the line of her jaw. One large hand slipped around the back of her neck, tipping her head to give him access to her throat. He pulled her closer and she went willingly, trusting him implicitly. Her breasts tightened in anticipation, and a pulse throbbed between her thighs. “Please, Christian.”

He kissed her skin softly. His mouth opened, he swiped his tongue over her, steadied her with his hand on her head, and his fangs sank into her throat.

This time she had no urge to fight him. Eyes closed, she gave herself over to the rhythmic tugging that pulled at places deep within her body.

As she relaxed against him, his hands settled on the curve of her bottom. His fingers stroked through the denim of her jeans, then moved to her hips and pulled her down harder into his lap. The hard length of his erection pressed against her core, and she rocked on him, reveling in the sensations that washed through her.

After long minutes, Christian stopped drinking. He licked at her throat, and then sat back, pulling her with him. She snuggled into his body and felt him relax beneath her.

They lay entwined, until the purr of the phone jolted her upright.

“Piers.”

Christian listened. After a minute, he replaced the phone. “Piers has heard nothing.”

“That’s good news isn’t it?”

“Probably.” He sighed. “I’d love to carry you downstairs, take you to bed, and make love to you all night long, but I think we should go make a visit to your place to see if we can find out anything about your friend.”

Tara sat up. “You think something bad has happened?”

“I don’t know, but it seems odd that she should disappear at that particular time.”

A wave of foreboding welled up inside her, and she forced herself to ask, “You think it’s something to do with me, don’t you? This is my fault.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. We know someone is hunting you, but if they know where you live, why not take you? Why turn up when you’re not around and take your friend?” He stroked her hair. “Maybe she left for a while, forgot to mention it.”

Tara bit her lip. She was starting to feel very bad about this. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“No, not really.”

“So, what do we do?”

“I’ll see if I can’t pick up any trace of anything unusual at your place. If we do, maybe we can borrow a couple of Piers’s hellhounds. Try and track her.”

“Hellhounds?”

“They’re the best creature for tracking. The Order keeps a pack, but hopefully we won’t need them.”

As Tara scrambled off his lap, he made no attempt to hold her. She sank in the corner of the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest and worrying her lower lip. She tried to give herself the courage to ask the question that had been haunting her since her return from Yorkshire.

“Why did my mother go to so much trouble to hide me? Who wants to find me? And why? What do they want me for?”

“I don’t know. I think our best lead will be finding the warlock who made your talisman. He may be able to identify your mother.”

“Your old girlfriend was looking into it wasn’t she? Have you heard anything?”

He shook his head. “I’ll get Piers to sort it out. Chase up Ella. Now, let’s go see if we can find your friend.”

“Okay, but maybe I’ll give Jamie a call first. Make sure he hasn’t found anything new.”

Jamie didn’t answer so she put the phone back in her bag.

“You can try again later. Come on.”

Five minutes later, she sat beside Christian in the black four-wheel drive in the underground garage. He reached forward to turn on the ignition when his cell phone rang.

He flipped it open. “Piers?”

He listened for a moment, a frown forming on his face.

“I’m just leaving,” he said. “I’ll wait ten minutes—give your guys time to get here. Tell them to make sure nothing follows us, and let me know how it goes.” He disconnected and spoke to Tara. “They’re picking up demon activity again, lots of it.”

“Where?”

“Right here.”

A shudder ran through her as she remembered the last time. “Are they coming after you?” He was silent for a moment, and Tara started to feel distinctly nervous. “What is it? What are you thinking?”

He appeared to come to a decision. “Actually, I think they may be coming after you.”

“What?”

“We know there have been demons watching this place, but they’ve been discreet, never staying long enough to get picked up and only one at a time, like they didn’t want to be noticed. The only times they’ve appeared in numbers is when you’re here.”

A ripple of unease ran through her. She’d tried to tell herself that as long as she wore the talisman she would be safe, hidden. That the people hunting for her wouldn’t find her. Unfortunately, it seemed like they already had.

“How would they have found me?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe you were picked up by one of the demons watching this place.”

“How would they recognize me?”

“Perhaps the people in Yorkshire weren’t quite as silent on the subject as they made out. If they were offered enough money, one of them might have talked.”

“I just wish I knew why they wanted me.”

Christian put his hand on her arm. “Whatever the reason, I won’t let them get you.”

She believed he would do his best to protect her, but he couldn’t be there all the time. What kind of existence could she have always looking over her shoulder wondering when they might catch up? And then what?

She tried to keep the fear from spilling into her eyes, but Christian must have seen, because he pulled her to him and held her tight against the hard strength of his body. “We’ll find out and we’ll stop it. Whatever it takes.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Do we have to worry about these demons?” Tara asked as they drove out of the building.

“Piers will have people out there by now. He’s kept agents close since we found out that they’re targeting me. They’ll stop any demons from coming after us.” He put a hand on her thigh, squeezed. “I told you I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t want you to have to take care of me. I’m never going to be normal—I’ve accepted that, but it doesn’t mean I’ve resigned myself to hiding for the rest of my life.” Something occurred to her. “Just how long will my life be? Presuming, that is, that I don’t come to a messy end in the next five minutes.”

“Have a little faith,” he murmured.

“You said demons don’t die. Will I?”

“I think it’s unlikely.”

“So, I’m what, like some sort of immortal being?”

“Probably.”

She frowned. “How will I know?”

“You won’t die.”

“Right,” she snapped. “So I’ll just wait around and see, shall I?”

She looked out of the side window. The tinted glass made her feel a little better, knowing nothing could see her, but there appeared nothing strange going on. No gunfire, no screams, and soon they were away from the building and driving through the evening traffic toward Hampstead.

She pulled her mobile out of her bag and tried Jamie again. There was still no answer.

Tara couldn’t seem to rid herself of the feeling of dread as they pulled up in front of her apartment building. She didn’t know what would be better—for Christian to find something, or for there to be no trace of anything bad. Where would they go next if they found no trace of Chloe here?

“Can we go look at your friend’s apartment first?” Christian asked as she let them into the building.

“I don’t have keys,” she said.

“It’s not a problem.”

Tara led the way to Chloe’s apartment. She rang the bell in case Chloe had returned but wasn’t surprised when there was no answer. Christian examined the lock for a moment. He put his hand against it and pressed. It took no apparent effort, and the lock broke with a sharp crack. He pushed and the door swung open.

Chloe’s bag lay on a small table in the hall. Tara picked it up with trembling fingers. Chloe would never go anywhere without it. She peered inside. Everything was there, Chloe’s purse, her cell phone. Tara put the bag back while Christian opened all the doors that led from the hallway, peered in the rooms.

After a few minutes, he returned. “There’s no sign of anything here. Let’s try your place.”

As he pulled the door closed behind them, Tara pointed to the shattered lock.

“Should we leave it like this?” she asked.

Christian shot her a surprised glance, and considering all that was going on, a broken lock did seem a little low down on the priority list. “I’ll send someone over to fix it,” he said.

Tara led them upstairs and unlocked the door to her apartment.

“Why don’t you go pack a bag,” Christian said, “while I take a look around.”

“Why do I need to pack a bag?”

He turned to her, and she saw the grim resolution in his face. “You are not staying here.”

“Where am I supposed to stay?”

“With me. Now go pack a bag. This is not negotiable.”

“I can’t go. I have to look after Smokey.”

“Take the damn cat with you, whatever, but you are not staying here.”

Tara thought about arguing for all of about ten seconds. Then the fight oozed out of her, and she realized how afraid she’d been at the thought of coming back here, staying alone. The certainty had been growing in her since she’d seen Chloe’s bag in her apartment. Something had taken Chloe while she’d been here feeding Smokey.

Her mind flashed back to those things that had attacked her in the alley. Had something similar taken Chloe? Piers’s words echoed in her head, They’ll play with you and then eat you.

Chloe had been gone for four days. If the demons had taken her, maybe Tara should be hoping her friend was already dead.

A wave of nausea washed over her. Running for the bathroom, she slammed the door, fell to her knees, and threw up in the toilet. Her stomach was almost empty, but she wretched and wretched until nothing remained.

After flushing, she stood shakily and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Nothing had changed; she looked the same as always. She poured a glass of water and drank it, then brushed her teeth.

Anything to put off going outside and facing Christian.

She was terrified of what he’d discover about her friend. Her skin was clammy, her knees weak and she sank down onto the edge of the bath. Her head ached and she pressed her fingers to her eyes to relieve the pressure.

Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe the demons would use Chloe as a hostage and wouldn’t actually hurt her. Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet.

Christian lounged against the doorway into the kitchen. He straightened as he saw her emerge and gestured into the kitchen. She went through and found he had made her coffee. Sinking into a chair, she cupped the hot mug in her hands.

“Tell me,” she said.

“You haven’t taken off the talisman here?”

She shook her head.

“Then I’m pretty sure demons have her. I can sense their presence, faint, but it’s here.”

A shaft of pain stabbed her. She bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak until she was under control.

“Why would they take her?”

“Maybe they came for you and found her instead. She may still be alive, Tara. If they’ve taken her to get to you, they might not harm her too much.”

“So they might be willing to do a swap. Me for her?”

Christian’s face closed up. “That is not an option.”

“I think that’s for me to decide.”

“We’ll find her, and if she’s still alive we’ll get her back. I’ll call Piers and see if we can get the trackers on to this right away.”

Tara needed to do something; she couldn’t face sitting around thinking about what Chloe might be going through—she wouldn’t allow Christian to shut her somewhere safe while he hunted.

Christian was speaking softly on the phone. He glanced at her, then turned away and lowered his voice. Tara tried to tell herself that it wasn’t more bad news, but couldn’t rid herself of the dread lodged in her middle.

She sipped her drink to get rid of the bad taste in her mouth, but the coffee made her sick, and she put it down. Her bag needed to be packed and she had to find Smokey. There’d been no sign of him since they’d arrived, and she couldn’t bear to leave him here alone.

Christian made no move to stop her as she left the kitchen. Smokey was nowhere to be found, and in the end, Tara gave up and went into the bedroom. She remembered the last time she’d packed this same bag. Chloe had been next to her, joking and full of life, and finally the tears spilled over. Tara sank onto the bed and sobbed. When she stopped, she found Christian regarding her from the open doorway. He had his blank face on, and the fear inside her spiraled out of control.

“We have to go to the Order.”

“I haven’t finished packing.”

“Leave it. We’ll sort it out later.”

“And Smokey’s not here. I have to find him.”

“I promise we’ll come back for the cat, but we need to get over there now. They’ve found Chloe.”

“I don’t understand. Who’s found her?”

“The Order. I don’t have all the details. We’ll find out once we get there, but the description fits Chloe. And we need to get over there fast.”

Chapter Twenty

This would be bad, and Christian didn’t know to make it any easier.

He would have preferred to drop Tara at his place, where she would be safe, but he wasn’t convinced she would stay put. And Piers had been blunt; if they wanted to talk to the girl, they had better get there fast.

He cast a sideways glance at his passenger. Tara appeared so small huddled in the seat, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face pale. He wanted to hold her, tell her it would all be all right, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

He sighed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” He came around and opened the door for her, and she climbed out. At least she’d stopped shivering.

He led her toward the elevators and frowned as he noticed Piers in the shadows by the doors, one shoulder resting against the wall, his arms crossed. He appeared relaxed, but Christian could sense his tension. His eyes were fixed on Tara, and he did not look happy.

“What the fuck’s she doing here?” he asked.

“Just leave it, Piers,” Christian growled. “Where’s the girl?”

“You’re too late,” he said. “She died ten minutes ago.”

Christian put his arm around Tara as she sagged against him. “Thanks Piers,” he muttered.

Piers raised an eyebrow. “You brought her here. I did warn you. If she can’t take it, you should have left her at home. Where she belongs.”

Tara tugged at his arm. “Is he talking about Chloe?” Christian could hear the edge of panic in her voice. She was close to losing it. “Tell me. Is it Chloe?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well let’s go and find out, shall we?” Piers said.

Christian held her in the crook of his arm as the elevator descended deep below the building. She seemed to have gone somewhere within herself.

“Why did you bring the girl here?” he asked Piers softly. “You don’t usually bother with humans.”

“This one was a little different.”

Christian frowned. He hated it when Piers went all cryptic. “In what way?”

“Well, for one thing, she’s got Christian Roth written all over her. Literally. I thought you’d want to see. Besides, she was still alive. I thought she might be able to tell us something.” He pursed his lips, studied Christian for a moment. “You know this is shaping up into some sort of vendetta, and you’re the target. Just what was this girl to you?”

“If she’s who I think she is, then nothing. She’s Tara’s neighbor, I only ever set eyes on her once. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Like just about everything going on around here.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Piers led them out and down the corridor to the medical center. He stopped in front of a door.

Christian turned to Tara. “Wait here. Let me check if it is Chloe first. If it isn’t, there’s no reason for you to see this.”

Tara shook her head. It was what he’d expected and he resigned himself to coping with the inevitable fallout. He’d seen demon kills before, and this wouldn’t be pretty. And if they’d killed the girl to get at him for some reason, they would have made sure it would make an impression.

Piers glanced between the two of them. “Christian, this is not a good idea.”

“I’m going in,” Tara said. She sounded determined and her small hand slipped into Christian’s and gripped it tight.

Piers shrugged. “Okay, but if you throw up, you clean it up.”

He pushed open the door. Christian followed him through and the scent of fresh blood hit him straight away. Fresh blood and charred flesh. He squeezed Tara’s hand.

They were in a small room, bare but for two beds and some medical equipment that had been pushed out of the way.

On one of the beds lay the naked and mutilated body of a young woman. He heard a sound beside him and reached out just in time to prevent Tara from collapsing to the floor in a dead faint. He picked her up in his arms, held her tight. Thankfully, she was unconscious. Crossing the room, he laid her on the empty bed, and she curled in on herself, moaning softly. He stroked her face, but she was still out, and he turned back to the body.

He stood over the bed and stared down at the corpse. Chloe was clearly recognizable; her face had hardly been touched, just her lips bitten through.

She’d been tortured, probably raped, though it was hard to tell because the damage was so bad. “Christian Roth” was branded into her flesh, not once but on every available piece of skin. She’d also been partially devoured, chunks of flesh bitten out, leaving open wounds. Her wrists and ankles were scarred by red raw bracelets.

“She was alive when you found her?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Did she say anything?”

“Couldn’t really.” Piers gripped Chloe’s jaw and opened her mouth. Her tongue was missing. “Bitten off, by the looks of it.” He let her go and stepped back. “So, who hates you enough to send you this little present?”

“Probably any number of people, but why her? She’s nothing to me. Why go to all this bother for someone I hardly know? All the others were close to me; this one makes no sense.”

“Unless she wasn’t the one they were after.”

Christian hadn’t wanted to think about that. Now he forced himself. They had taken Chloe from Tara’s apartment. He was becoming more and more certain it had been Tara they’d come for.

He’d thought this was somehow linked to what they had discovered in Yorkshire. But what if it had nothing to do with who Tara was, except that she was close to Christian.

He had a vision of Tara lying across that bed, her body mutilated and burned, and a wave of fury surged through him so strong that Piers took a step back.

If someone had wanted to hurt him, they would have succeeded beyond measure. He cast another glance at Chloe and gave silent thanks that she had died in Tara’s place.

“What are you thinking?” Piers asked.

“That they got the wrong woman.” He nodded at the body on the bed. “She was at Tara’s place while we were away. They came for Tara and took Chloe by mistake. I doubt they even realized it. But it still doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’ve only known Tara for a short while. Why would anyone connect her to me or even think I cared enough for it to matter?”

“And does she matter?” Piers gestured to the unconscious girl on the other bed.

“Oh, yes,” Christian said softly. “But the question is who would know that? I will find out, and they will be very, very sorry.”

A small moan came from Tara. Christian dragged a folded sheet at the end of the bed to cover Chloe’s body. He crossed the room, sank down to the bed beside Tara, and stroked a finger down her face.

“I’ll leave you to deal with her,” Piers said. “I hate hysterical women. Oh, and Ella has the information you need, if you want to see her before you leave.”

He opened the door, but paused in the doorway. “By the way, did you mark her?”

Christian shook his head.

“Are you going to tell me why?”

“No.”

Piers opened his mouth to argue.

“Just leave it, Piers. I’ll vouch for her.”

Piers nodded once and closed the door behind him.

…

Tara didn’t want to wake up. Something terrible waited for her on the other side of consciousness, and she clung to the darkness.

But whether she liked it or not she became aware of someone seated beside her. It was Christian, and his fingers stroked her hair. It felt good and she pushed against his hand. Anything to delay the moment.

The air in the room hung heavy with the scent of blood and something else, like cooked meat. Icy cold washed over her and she huddled into the bed. Suddenly, she knew what that foul stench was—Chloe, or what was left of her. Beautiful Chloe, reduced to charred meat.

A roaring filled her head, and threatened to erupt in a scream of denial. Chloe was dead and before she died, she had suffered days of unthinkable torment. And it should have been her. It should have been Tara lying there.

She wanted to cry, but she was way past tears. She wanted to crawl into Christian’s lap, hide herself in his hard embrace, but nothing could ever comfort her for this. She would have to live with it forever. The pain would eventually fade, and she would be able to live again, but Chloe’s death would always be part of her, and would change her forever.

She would find out who did this and make them pay.

She opened her eyes and stared straight into Christian’s. Usually he was so careful to hide what he felt, but now he allowed his outrage to show, and beneath the outrage, she recognized fear. He was afraid for her. That’s what caring for people did.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Tara shook her head. She wasn’t sure she would ever be okay again. Easing his hand away, she sat up and forced herself to look at Chloe. Someone had covered the body with a white sheet.

She pushed herself off the bed. Her legs trembled, but she steadied herself and stumbled across to Chloe.

She stood over her for a minute then drew back the sheet. Chloe’s face was almost unmarked; her eyes closed as if she were sleeping. Tara forced herself to lower the sheet further. Christian moved up behind her but she ignored him. She needed to do this.

She touched one of the wounds on Chloe’s breasts, tracing a finger over the charred writing—Christian Roth. She turned and buried her face in his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and held on tight as if he could keep her safe in this terrible new world she found herself in. “This was my fault,” she said. “She would be alive if she hadn’t been my friend. It’s because of what I am, isn’t it? It’s somehow tied to what you told me in Yorkshire.”

“Actually, I don’t think it’s anything to do with what you are, and it’s not your fault. It’s mine. Someone is coming after me, killing the people I care about. I think they came for you because I care about you, and Chloe was taken by mistake.”

“Who would even know about me? Why would they think my death would cause you pain?”

“Perhaps because it’s true.”

The words filtered through the fog of pain clouding her mind, warming her frozen emotions.

Christian frowned. “The question is, who would have passed on that information to my enemies?” He stared down into her eyes, his own cold and predatory. “I will find out and they will pay for this. Come on, let’s get out of this place.”

Tara cast one last look at the body on the bed. “What will happen to her?”

Christian shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. This,” he gestured at the body, “isn’t your friend. She’s gone.”

“Gone where? I never used to believe in heaven and hell. Aunt Kathy called all religions fairy stories, but I believe in hell now. So is there also a heaven? Do people have souls? What happens after they die?”

“People have souls.”

“Yes,” she said, “I remember now, you told me you gave yours up when you became a vampire.”

“And there’s a heaven, though I’ve never been. It’s rumored that the higher demons came from there. Fallen angels banished from God’s sight.”

“I can’t believe that. Nothing that was once good could have done this.”

“It’s not that simple. This was an act of true evil, but not all demons would do this, and many would speak against it. All races have their share of psychopaths and killers. Humans are no different. You want a job done and they’re there for the hiring. My guess is the people that took Chloe were no more than hired hands.”

“Hired by whom?”

“We’ll find out, but until we do you stay by my side.”

She could do nothing more for Chloe here and she let Christian lead her out of the room.

Piers waited for them outside the door, his face expressionless.

“Where’s Ella?” Christian asked.

“There’s a problem.”

“She doesn’t have the information?”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is? Stop being cryptic, Piers, I’m not in the mood.”

“I told her you were here to see her. She seemed surprised. Especially when I mentioned Tara was with you. And not nice surprised either. I didn’t think too much about it, but she was stopped a few minutes ago trying to leave the building.”

Christian appeared calm but beneath she sensed a raw, savage fury.

“How come they stopped her?” he asked.

“They wouldn’t have normally, but I’ve upped to emergency status. From now on, no one leaves or enters the building without my authorization.”

Tara put her hand on Christian’s arm and he glanced down at her. “What’s happening?” she asked softly.

“I think we may have found our traitor.”

“Ella?”

He nodded. Tara thought back to her meeting with the witch, that last glimpse of her as they left the building and the malicious hatred on the other woman’s face. That someone she hardly knew would hate her so much sent a ripple of shock through her. The shock was followed by a wave of rage so strong she almost staggered under the force.

“Where is she?” she snarled, and Piers glanced at her, amazement on his face. He raised an eyebrow at Christian, who shrugged.

“I’ve got her in the holding cells. She’s ranting that she hasn’t done anything, and that she didn’t know about the lockdown.”

“Maybe she needs to believe that’s the only reason she’s being held. I need the information she has first. Let me talk to her.”

“I’m going with you,” Tara said. “This is about me, and Chloe was my friend. I promise I’ll be good, stay quiet.”

She held her breath, waiting for his reply. After a moment, he nodded. “Okay.”

Piers led them into a lower area where the walls were bare concrete with fluorescent strip lighting. He stopped in front of a door and asked the guard, “Has she been quiet?”

“No, she’s been screaming to let her out. But there’s not much she can do about it—these cells are warded.”

Piers unlocked the door and Tara followed Christian into the room. Piers closed the cell door behind them and leaned against it.

They were in a rectangular room, empty but for a table and two chairs. Ella stood in the corner of the room. She was dressed in tight black leather pants and a black T-shirt and her skin appeared white against the darkness. Her eyes fixed on Christian briefly, then flicked to her, and Tara saw again that same malevolent hatred. But mixed with the hatred was shock. It was obvious Ella was surprised to see her.

Tara knew the witch was guilty—responsible for Chloe’s death.

Hatred welled up inside her. Her vision narrowed so all she saw was the other woman. She took a step forward, but Christian halted her with a warning hand on her arm.

It took a force of will to stop. Blood thundered in her veins and her breath came in quick, sharp pants. She calmed and stepped back to stand beside Piers, who took her hand in his and pulled her against his side. He stroked the skin of her palm with his thumb, which calmed her. Christian sank onto one of the wooden chairs. “Sit,” he ordered Ella.

She hesitated for a moment then sat in the second chair.

“So,” Christian said, his voice devoid of emotion, “do you have the information I asked for?”

Ella frowned as though it wasn’t the question she had been expecting. “The information?”

“The name of the warlock who made Tara’s talisman.”

Her face cleared, and she nodded. “I think so.”

“Think so?” Now his voice sounded deadly.

“I have it. I just can’t think straight in here.” Her eyes darted back to Piers. “Why am I in here? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Don’t worry,” Christian said and now his voice was soothing. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. You didn’t know about the lockdown. You won’t be here for long.”

Ella relaxed and it occurred to Tara that Christian was using his vampire powers on the other woman. It obviously occurred to Ella as well because she jerked herself upright and panic entered her eyes.

“The warlock, Ella, give me a name.”

She fought the compulsion hard. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. When she opened them, except for the nervous twisting of her hands on the tabletop, she appeared back in control. “You’ll let me go if I tell you?”

“You know that’s not up to me, but if you’ve done nothing wrong there’s no reason for Piers to keep you here.”

She seemed to come to a decision. “Jonas Callaghan,” she said. “The warlock who made the talisman was Jonas Callaghan.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded, the movement jerky. “We have a file on him. He lives in London. There, I’ve told you. Now can I go back to work?”

Christian sat back in his chair. The mask dropped from his face, taking with it all signs of civilization.

“Hey,” Piers muttered, and Tara realized she’d gripped his hand tight, her nails digging into his flesh. She dropped his hand, and he shook it. “You know you have quite a grip for a human.”

“Now,” Christian said, “perhaps we can get to the other matter.”

“What other matter?” Ella sounded shaken.

“The matter of betrayal.”

She looked around wildly. “I haven’t betrayed anyone.”

“I don’t believe you. Why were you running?”

“I wasn’t running. I just had something I needed to do. I forgot about the lockdown.”

Christian slammed his fist onto the wooded table. “Tell me,” he growled.

Ella licked her lips. “If I tell everything, will you let me go?”

“No. But I will make you an oath. We have just left the body of a young woman. She’d been tortured, raped, and mutilated. That woman’s last few days will seem like a party compared to yours if you don’t talk.”

“And what happens if I do talk?”

He shrugged. “You’re not my responsibility. Piers must decide.”

Tara frowned. Would they allow the witch to go free after what she had done? She made to step forward, but Piers shook his head. Tara remained where she was but vowed that the witch would die for Chloe if Tara had to do the killing herself. The thought surprised her. She’d always hated violence. Now the need for this woman’s death was like a living thing.

“Talk.”

Ella stood up. She wrapped her arms around her middle and paced the room, coming to a halt in front of the table.

“They approached me six months ago. All they wanted was names, names of people close to you. I didn’t know what they wanted them for.”

“Did you care?”

Hatred flashed across her face. “No, I didn’t care. They paid me well.”

“So it wasn’t only Tara. You’re responsible for Gabriel and Stefan’s deaths as well. Who else was on your list?”

“Your little red-headed boyfriend.”

“Graham?”

Christian pulled out his cell phone; he flicked it open and pressed in a number. “Graham, don’t leave the building until I get back.” As he closed his phone, Ella watched him through narrowed eyes.

“So at the time they approached you, you knew nothing of Tara?” Christian asked.

Ella shook her head. “I went to them with that one. I saw the way you watched her that night. I told them if they really wanted to hurt you, she was the one.”

“Why?” Tara asked.

Ella glanced at her and shrugged. “Why not?”

“Who were they, Ella? Who did you sell this information to?”

“I told you that night at the bar. If you’d been listening.”

“Asmodai?”

She nodded. “He hates you. He’ll not stop this until everyone you care about is taken from you.”

“Why?”

“The demons I spoke to weren’t very forthcoming, but from what they did say, I gather you’d cost him something he wanted very badly. Something he lost when you banished him to the Abyss after the last wars.”

“I remember he asked for a meeting. I ignored his request, but what could he have lost?”

“How should I know? That’s all I know.” She looked warily at Christian. He stared back.

Piers stepped up beside him and put a hand on Christian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you and gotten rid of her years ago.” He stepped back. “Tara?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the one most harmed by this. Her life is yours to take.”

She didn’t see the knife held loosely in his hand until he held it out to her. For a moment, she stared at the gleaming silver, wicked and razor sharp. She imagined running that blade into Ella, thrusting it through flesh and bone, feeling the life leave her. Then she shook her head. “Just do it.”

Ella’s gaze darted around the room, frantically hunting for a way out. She halted in front of Christian. “Christian, remember what we once had.”

He rose to his feet and turned away. Ella stared after him. She didn’t seem to notice Piers come up beside her until he put a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped. She tried to turn but he held her effortlessly in place. Tara watched in fascination as his other hand fisted in the long dark hair. He jerked her head to the side, baring the long line of her throat. Ella fought, her hands scrabbling for release, then the fight oozed out of her, her arms fell to her sides and she stood docile. Her eyes caught Tara’s. She held her gaze and for a second they flashed the old hatred.

Piers lunged. This was no gentle feeding. His fangs tore open the flesh of her neck, sank deep into the vein until the blood pulsed from the open wound, and he swallowed convulsively. He raised his eyes and there was nothing human in them.

Tara took a step toward Christian. He must have felt her regard because he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her tight against his side.

She saw the instant the life left Ella. A moment later, Piers released her and she crumpled to the floor. He stared at Tara then wiped his hand across his mouth. Licked his lips.

Tara looked from him to the body on the floor. She’d expected to feel some sort of satisfaction, but she felt numb. Nothing would bring Chloe back.

“Can we go home?” she asked.

Chapter Twenty-One

In the car, Tara gave in and released the tight hold on her feelings. A wave of icy cold washed over her, and she shivered. She hugged her arms around her but nothing seemed to warm her—she was cold from the inside. Behind her closed eyes, all she could see was Chloe’s tortured body.

It was impossible to believe that she had spent the last four days worried about losing her chance at a stupid normal life, while somewhere Chloe had been through hell. Chloe had been alive and conscious when the Order found her. What had she suffered in those last four days of her life?

She must have made a small sound because Christian rested a hand on her leg, squeezing lightly, and Tara found she was crying. She put her fists to her eyes but she couldn’t seem to stop. She choked on tears.

She didn’t notice when the car stopped. Only when Christian unfastened her seatbelt and dragged her into his lap did she realize they no longer moved. Tara curled into him, her fingers clinging to his shirt.

After a few minutes, he got out of the car still holding her. He didn’t release her until he lowered her onto the bed in his apartment below CR International.

His image blurred through the tears. He tugged off her boots, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her in the folds of the bedspread.

She felt frozen to the core. Tremors shivered through her, and she couldn’t seem to stop them. Christian stroked her hair, and after a few minutes, he picked up the telephone beside the bed.

She sensed rather than saw Graham enter the room. He came to stand beside the bed.

“Is there anything I can do?” Graham asked.

“Go run a bath, red hot. We need to warm her up. Then make us some coffee.”

“No problem.”

Christian stroked her again. “Tara, come on sweetheart, sit up. We need to get you warm.”

Tara didn’t want to move but she finally struggled into a sitting position. She didn’t want to think either, and she followed automatically as Christian led her into the bathroom. At any other time, she would have marveled at the place. It was a sybarite’s dream in marble and gold, but it barely registered. Steam filled the air, heavy with the scent of herbs and spices.

She allowed Christian to remove her clothes. He swung her into the enormous bath and she sank down until the hot water covered her to her chin.

“Try and relax,” he said.

He turned to go but Tara grabbed his hand. “Don’t leave me.”

He stared down at her for a moment before stripping off his own clothes. He stepped into the bath behind her, and sat so she could lie in the V of his thighs. The water cooled and he added more hot. Tara washed herself as though she could scrub the smell of death from her skin.

When the water cooled again, Christian lifted her from the bath, wrapped her in a huge, soft towel, and carried her back to the bed. After drying them both, he slipped under the covers with her, and held her until her trembling stopped, and she fell into a light sleep of exhaustion.

Tara woke to utter darkness. Christian still held her tightly against him, and she struggled to free herself from his embrace. She flicked on the small lamp beside the bed. It was already midday.

Suddenly she remembered that Jamie was still searching for Chloe. Oh, God, how could she tell him? What did she tell him?

There was a phone on the table by the bed. She picked it up and stared at it. Then punched in the numbers.

She almost hoped he wouldn’t pick up, but he did after the first ring as though he was waiting.

“Tara?”

“Jamie.” She paused unable to go on.

“Tara? What is it?”

She swallowed, forcing back the tears that threatened to overflow. She was done with crying. “We found Chloe. She’s dead, Jamie.” Jamie was silent but she could hear his ragged breathing. “Jamie?”

“Are you still with Christian Roth?”

“Yes.”

“Stay there.” The line went dead.

She put the phone back. Christian’s eyes were open. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded. “Not quite there yet, but I think you’re safe from anymore tears.”

“I don’t mind. Cry if it helps.”

“But it doesn’t, does it? Nothing will bring her back or take away her last days. I have to learn to live with that, and I will, but Christian—”

“Yes?”

“Tell me that we will find the people who did this, and we will make them pay.”

He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I promise.”

…

The day seemed endless. Tara hadn’t been able to sleep any more. She’d gotten up, leaving Christian to do whatever it was that vampires did during the day.

She was pretending to read when he finally emerged from the bedroom that evening. He’d pulled on a pair of black pants but was otherwise naked. His chest was pale, like marble, perfectly sculpted.

“I missed you,” he said.

She went to him, slid her arms around his waist, and laid her head on his bare chest. He kissed her, a slow, drugging kiss. Then raised his head and stared down into her eyes. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m going to be fine.”

“Good. Are you up to seeing this warlock?”

“Try leaving me here.”

He smiled. “I haven’t set up a meeting, I wanted to take him by surprise, and I’ve had men watching his place all day. They just called in. He’s there.” He kissed her again, nuzzled her throat, his tongue stroking the sensitive spot where her shoulder met the slender column of her neck. “We can get this over with and then I’m going to bring you back here and make slow love to you for the rest of the night.”

His voice was low and husky and started a fire burning, low in her belly. For a moment, he held her close, and then released her. “We have to go.”

Less than as hour later, they stood outside a rundown pub in the east end of London. A sign above the door said “The Pointed Hat.” This was about as far from the bright lights of the west end as it was possible to get, and Tara scrutinized the building dubiously.

“I thought this was a really successful warlock. He can’t be that successful if this is where he hangs out.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, which is something you need to remember when dealing with warlocks,” Christian said. “Most warlocks and witches aren’t attracted by money, but by power. Jonas Callaghan has owned this place for years. It’s known as a safe house, neutral ground, and it’s a well-known hangout for all sorts of things. It can be an interesting place on a Saturday night.”

A surge of hatred washed through her. “Demons?”

He nodded. “Sometimes. Though Callaghan won’t serve them alcohol. Try and stay close and don’t accept any drinks.”

She followed him into the bar. The inside didn’t look any smarter than the outside. The lighting was dim, the walls dark, and a pall of smoke hung in the air. Silence descended on the room as they entered, and all faces turned to them as they stood just inside the door. After a minute, everyone looked away, and the low hum of conversation filled the room.

Christian led her through the tables, and she heard his name whispered as they passed—Christian Roth. He stopped in front of the wooden bar that ran the length of the room. Tara studied the man behind it, but he appeared quite normal. The other patrons appeared human to her as well, but if they knew Christian, they must have contact with the supernatural world. Were any of them demons?

“We’re here to see Jonas,” Christian said to the bartender.

“Jonas isn’t here. Now, what can I get you to drink?”

“Nothing. Tell him Christian Roth is here.”

“I know who you are, and I told you, he’s not here.”

Christian moved faster than she could see. His hand gripped the man’s throat, pulled him halfway across the bar, and the room went quiet behind them. Christian snarled, the tip of one white fang clearly visible. “Tell him I’m here.”

“There’s no need for that,” a voice said behind them. Tara swung round. An old man stood there, slightly stooped, with short gray hair. “Let him go, Christian, he was only trying to protect his old father.”

Christian released his hold on the other man. “As if you needed protection.”

The old man raised an eyebrow. “If the Order is hunting you then everyone needs protection.” He glanced toward the door. “I noticed your men outside.”

“I no longer belong to the Order.”

“Don’t be naïve, Christian, it doesn’t suit you. Once in the Order, you can never leave. I take it you’re not here to offer me a job then. I hear there’s a vacancy for one of my profession.”

“News travels fast. You don’t sound particularly bothered.”

He shrugged. “Ella was an old student of mine. She was always a treacherous bitch. I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. So if it’s not to offer me a job, why are you here?”

“Can we talk in private?”

“We?” The old man glanced from Christian to Tara. “Are you going to introduce me?”

“This is Tara Collins. I believe you knew her mother.”

“I did?” He studied Tara closely. After a minute, his eyes widened. “Well,” he said, “I believe I did. Would the two of you like to follow me?”

He led them through a door in the back and into a small sitting room. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the locket Tara wore round her neck.

She nodded. Jonas picked it up and turned it in his gnarled fingers. “You know,” he said to Christian, “I don’t like to boast, but this is good work. Out there in the bar, I would have sworn your little friend was human.”

“Isn’t she?”

Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Well I’m guessing not, at least if she was the one intended for the spell.” He dropped the locket. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what you want. I presume this isn’t a social call.”

He crossed the room to a small table, picked up a decanter. “A drink?” He glanced at Tara and smiled. “Not perhaps for you, that wouldn’t be a good idea, but Christian?”

Christian nodded. Jonas poured them both a glass and took a seat opposite. Tara was almost bursting with questions, but Christian sent her a warning look, and she held tight.

“So you admit that you made the spell Tara is wearing?” Christian said.

“I take it there’s not a lot of point denying it. Did Ella give you my name? As I said, she always was a treacherous bitch.”

“Can you tell us who you made the spell for?”

“You know I can’t divulge details about my clients. I’d soon get no business at all if it got out I talked to the Order.”

Christian took a sip of his drink. “Perhaps I made a mistake in framing it as a question.”

They stared at each other for long minutes. In the end, Tara couldn’t take it anymore. She jumped to her feet.

“Please Mr. Callaghan. I want to know about my mother.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Tara nodded. “I need to know who I am. I need to know why my mother went to so much trouble to hide me, and from what. Because someone is looking for me now, and how can I hide when I don’t know who or what is coming after me?” She took a deep breath. “Besides, I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m finished with hiding.”

He searched her face, and Tara held her breath while he came to his decision. Christian would use whatever methods he needed to get the information, but she couldn’t stand by and watch him torture an old man. She took a step closer and put her hand on his arm. “Please, tell me what I need to know.”

“Tara,” Christian said warningly. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that you are dealing with a sweet old man. Ella used glamour for her own ends, as does Jonas. It serves his purpose to appear as he is. Ask him how your mother paid for his services.”

Jonas flicked him a cold glance. “She paid in fae blood.”

“And plenty of it, I would guess.”

“You would guess rightly.” He shrugged. “I never said I was a charity, and my work does not come cheap.”

Tara dropped her hand and stepped back. “Tell me.”

“I take it she’s dead, so I suppose client confidentiality doesn’t apply.”

Tara had known her mother was in all likelihood dead, but still a wave of sadness washed over her at his words. “You know she’s dead?”

“She was dying when she left here. She had enough strength left to see you into the world, and that was only through grim determination. She had nothing more.”

“What did she come to you for?” Christian asked.

“Two things. A ward for a property to hide those inside and a spell that would make her child appear human. The spell cost her dearly. She needed it to last.” He studied Tara as if searching for something. “It would have been easier if the baby had some human blood, but you have none.”

Shock flashed through her. “None?”

“There’s not a single drop of human blood in your body. I thought you knew. Your mother was pureblood fae. Your father, from the nature of the spell, some sort of demon. I presume she was a casualty of the war. Your mother would have been better off to go back to her people, but the fae would have destroyed you. They don’t like mixing their blood.” He took a sip of his drink. “They would consider you an abomination and hunt you down. Hence the spell. It’s ironic that she gave her life saving you from her own people. Demons are much less fussy about these things.”

Tara sank back down into the chair behind her. So she wasn’t even a little bit human. That fact would have been a bitter blow only days ago, now it didn’t seem to matter much after all that had happened.

“Do you know her name?”

Jonas shook his head. “She never told me, and I never asked.”

“What about my father, did she tell you anything about him?”

He shook his head. “Apart from the fact that he was a demon, which I needed for the spell, she told me nothing. It’s not in the nature of our deals to share unnecessary knowledge.”

Tara tried to assimilate the information. Were they any further forward in finding out who she was and whom she was hiding from?

“So you believe she hid me from her own people, the fae.”

“I would think so.”

Christian had told her the demons were coming after her. That they congregated whenever she went near CR International. But this man said it wasn’t demons but the fae she needed to fear. Her head was about to explode and she rubbed at her temples.

Finally, she took a deep breath. “What was she like? My mother I mean?”

Jonas looked surprised at the question. “She was sweet,” he said. “And very, very sad.”

They left the bar not long afterward.

“So, what do we do next?” she asked Christian as they stepped out onto the street.

“I think we need to approach the fae, but I go alone for that one. I’m not letting you anywhere near them.”

Tara shivered. “I’d thought of the fae as the good guys and demons as the bad. Now I find it’s the good guys who want me dead. Or maybe they both do. Then again, I suppose I am one of the bad guys. At least half.” She tried a smile, but it was a pathetic attempt. “Maybe they cancel each other out, and I’m just sort of average.”

Christian took hold of her hand. “There is nothing average about you, you’re unique, and I’ve told you, it’s not so simple to say the fae are good and demons are bad. Ask Piers—he’d take a demon over a fae any day.”

“You’re not making me feel any better here.”

“We’ll sort it all out, I promise. Now, let’s go home.”

“Can we go to my place first? I’m worried about Smokey. I don’t think he’ll let your people near him, and I don’t want to leave him there on his own.”

“Okay, then home.”

The apartment was in darkness when they arrived. Which was as expected. Tara let them in and switched on the light. She was about to enter when Christian put a hand on her arm.

“There’s someone here,” he whispered.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tara stopped in her tracks. She hated the fear that ripped through her but couldn’t deny it. An image of Chloe’s abused body flashed across her mind, and she gripped Christian’s arm.

“Is it demons?”

He shook his head, but reached inside his coat and drew his pistol. He held it loosely in his hand and pushed Tara behind him.

“Wait here,” he said.

“Not likely.” She wouldn’t stay anywhere alone. She was sticking close by Christian.

“Okay, just don’t cling to my gun arm.”

She dropped her hand but kept close as he entered the apartment. He pushed open the door to the kitchen but nothing moved. Backing out, he entered the living room, flicked on the light, and Tara gasped.

“Jamie!”

Jamie was on the sofa, unconscious, his left side drenched in crimson. Blood soaked the fabric beneath him, and as Christian sniffed the air, a strange expression flickered across his face.

“Is that your friend?” he asked.

Tara nodded. Pushing past Christian, she sank to her knees beside Jamie. His eyes were closed, his face pale. She touched his cheek. It felt warm beneath her fingertips, and she released her breath—at least he was alive.

Christian came to stand behind her.

“Is he going to be all right?” she asked.

“I should think so. Why don’t you go look for your cat, and let me see to him?”

“Please don’t let him die.”

Christian picked up one of Jamie’s limp hands and ran his thumb over the pulse point.

“He’s not dying. He’s lost a lot of blood, but that’s not why he’s unconscious.” He lifted the hair back from Jamie’s forehead. A large purple bruise marred the skin. “Go on. I’ll get him bandaged up, and we’ll take him with us. I don’t want to stay around here too long.”

He ripped Jamie’s T-shirt down one side. What appeared to be claw marks ran across his left shoulder and chest. The bleeding had stopped but the wounds still seeped. Tara watched as Christian probed the wounds, then she scrambled to her feet. Her legs trembled, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t begin to imagine what she would have done if Jamie had been dead.

“You will save him, won’t you, Christian?”

“He’ll be fine, but you could get me a clean towel or something to use as a bandage.”

In the bathroom, she grabbed a couple of towels from the cupboard and hurried back.

“Here, I don’t have any antiseptic or anything—I never need it.”

Christian took the towels from her. “No problem, but I want to stop the bleeding before we move him. We can sort it out once we get to CR.”

She gave Jamie one last lingering look. “Good. I’ll go find Smokey.”

At the door, she glanced back in time to see Christian raise his bloody fingers to his mouth and lick them clean. His eyes narrowed on Jamie and a small smile curved his lips. Tara opened her mouth to question him, then clamped it shut and turned away.

She searched the house but she could find no trace of her cat. Maybe he was hiding from Jamie or Christian. Standing at the kitchen window, she peered down onto the heath but it was too dark to see anything. She opened the window and called. Nothing answered, and after a few minutes, she gave up. She got some fresh food from the freezer and set it on a dish to defrost. Christian came in as while she filled the water bowl.

“He’s not here,” she said.

“Don’t worry, we can come back another time. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Cats have a way of looking after themselves.”

She followed him into the living room. “You go first,” he said. “I doubt we’ll meet any neighbors at this time, but just in case.”

“Do you want something to wrap him in, so you don’t get blood all over you?”

His lips twitched. “I’m hardly likely to be bothered by a little blood.” He looked at Jamie. “On second thought, it will save the car. Go get a blanket.”

Tara got one from the bedroom and watched Christian wrap Jamie carefully. Jamie groaned and a wave of relief washed over her at the sign of life. He wasn’t small, but Christian picked him up easily and held him against his chest. “Lead the way.”

It was quiet on the way to the car. Tara scrambled into the back and Christian handed Jamie in after her so he lay across the seat, his head cradled in her lap.

Halfway back to CR, his eyes opened. “Tara?”

She stroked the hair back from his forehead. “Hi,” she said softly.

He blinked up at her, his eyes dazed. “Where am I?”

Christian snorted from the front seat. “Very original line.”

Jamie tried to sit up, but Tara pushed him back down. “You’re in a car. We’re taking you to Christian’s place. We found you at the apartment, Jamie—what happened?”

“Chloe’s dead,” he said.

“I know.”

“I wanted to…” He trailed off. “I wanted to kill them all, but there were too many and in the end I ran away.”

Tara frowned. “Who did you want to kill?”

“Demons.”

“You know about demons?”

Jamie buried his head in her stomach, and she could feel him shaking. She ran her hands through his hair, trying to make sense of what he’d told her.

After a few minutes silence, he rolled his head around to face her. “I wanted to warn you, to tell you everything. I went back to your apartment, but I must have blacked out before I could phone.”

“We found you there, unconscious.”

“Why did they have to take Chloe? She was nothing to do with all this.”

“It was a mistake, a horrible mistake. It should have been me. It’s my fault, but Jamie, please don’t do anything stupid. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you as well.”

His eyes were haunted. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I should have done something sooner.”

“What could you have done?”

“It doesn’t matter now, she’s dead, and it’s too late to make any difference.”

He turned his face away, and Tara stared out of the window watching as the streets flashed by.

None of this made any sense. She’d met Jamie on her first day in London when she’d felt lost and alone. Homesick for Yorkshire—something totally unexpected. Jamie had bumped into her outside the apartment building. They’d started talking, and she’d felt an immediate connection. Had it been a set up? But why? Who was he?

The car stopped. They were back in the underground garage at CR International. Christian glanced at her through the mirror, and she tried a weak smile.

He climbed out and opened the back door.

“Jamie.” Tara touched him gently on the shoulder then looked up as Christian hovered in the doorway. “I think he’s unconscious again.”

Christian reached in and picked him up. Jamie groaned but settled back in the other man’s arms. His eyes remained closed all the way up to the thirteenth floor.

Christian carried him into the office and lowered him to the back leather sofa. Jamie was still very pale, his eyes closed, his damaged arm held tight against his side.

Tara sat beside him, took his uninjured hand in hers, and squeezed. Jamie opened his eyes; they were filled with pain.

“Can you do anything to help him?” she asked Christian. “Please, he’s lost so much blood.”

Christian studied the other man, a slight frown on his face. “Oh, I think you’ll find he’s quite capable of healing himself.”

“What do you mean?”

Jamie stared at Christian with something close to horror stamped on his features. “Are you going to tell her?”

“Don’t you think it’s about time?” Christian said.

Jamie struggled into a sitting position, wincing at the pain. “Look, I didn’t want to deceive her, but I didn’t have a choice at first. I promised Kathryn. Later, after Kathryn went, we moved here and—” He shrugged. “She wanted a normal life, and for a while I thought maybe it would be okay. How could I tell her and spoil everything?”

Tara heard the words but they didn’t make any sense.

“Everything started to go wrong—demons popping up all over the place, and her wanting to break all the rules. I knew I couldn’t cope on my own, and I couldn’t tell her the truth about what I really was.”

“So you sent her to me?”

Jamie nodded. “I recognized your name. I couldn’t believe it. Christian Roth, a private investigator, but you had a reputation for being fair, and she was going to need somebody on her side.”

“Okay,” Tara said. “Is one of you going to tell me what’s going on?”

She looked from one man to the other, and Jamie nodded. A moment later, he disappeared, and in his place sat a large gray cat.

Tara blinked. Christian raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She turned back to the cat. “Smokey?”

The cat strolled across the leather toward her. It rubbed its soft head against her hand. Tara reacted instinctively, as she had so many thousands of times before, and scratched behind his ears. He purred loudly then rolled onto his back, paws in the air. She rubbed his silky tummy, an activity that had so often given her comfort. She tried not to think, did her best to keep her mind blank until a slow, trickling growl sounded behind her.

She turned to see Christian standing over them. He was staring at the exact spot where her hand met the gray fur, and he didn’t look happy.

“That’s enough,” he snarled.

It took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t talking to her but to the cat. Smokey rolled onto his feet, blinked his yellow eyes, and sauntered to the far end of the sofa. A moment later, Jamie returned.

She stared at him, her eyes moving over his body. Reaching up, he unwrapped the towel from his shoulder. The wound was still visible, but the healing process had started and the bleeding stopped. His expression was apologetic, and he shrugged.

“You’re a cat?”

He nodded.

“My cat?”

“I would have told you.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “You slept next to me. You watched me in the shower.”

Christian growled again behind her, and Jamie threw up his hands defensively. “Hey, I was a cat. It did absolutely nothing for me.”

Tara stood up, her legs trembling slightly. Her cat was actually a man. Or was it the other way round? Was Jamie actually a cat? All this time, and she’d had absolutely no idea. Well, you wouldn’t, would you?

Moving away, she stared out the window at the dark city below. Were there no real, honest to goodness human beings in the world? Maybe the whole notion of normality was a complete impossibility. Maybe normality didn’t exist.

When she turned back to them, Christian had moved away from the sofa. He was half-sitting, half-leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. Jamie was still seated; he kept casting quick glances at the vampire.

Tara crossed back and stood looking down at him. “So what are you exactly?”

“I’m a shapeshifter.”

“What does that mean? You can shift into anything?”

“No, not anything.”

“Have you always been a shapeshifter?”

He nodded.

She remembered the man in the pub telling her that her mother had a cat. A big gray cat. “You knew my mother, didn’t you?”

He nodded again. All the time, the answers to all her questions had been there, right at her side. Tara sank down onto the sofa. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you why, at first I promised, and then you wanted so much to be normal.”

“You must have known that wasn’t going to happen.”

“It might have, if you hadn’t been so keen on breaking the rules. I did try to stop you.” He frowned. “I promised your mother I’d be your friend. She thought you’d be so alone, and she wanted you to have some chance at a normal existence.”

“So you’ve been watching out for me since I got to London?”

He nodded.

“That night you’d been fighting. Was that protecting me?”

“A demon. Luckily only one.”

“And later, in the bar—” She looked at him suspiciously. “Did you put something in my drink?”

“I drugged your wine.”

Christian chuckled. “You know,” he said. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

“How can you feel sorry for him? He drugged me.”

“‘What was I supposed to do?” Jamie asked. “Let you go on a drunken demon rampage through London? Have you ever seen a demon on an alcohol high?”

“Funny enough—no!”

“I have,” Christian said. “He did the right thing.”

“No he didn’t.” Tara almost shouted the words. “He should have told me. Explained.”

“Perhaps, but it’s too late now. Get over it.”

Jamie reached out a hand and touched her lightly. “I’m sorry. I did what I thought was best.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Christian said. “Shifters don’t think too well for themselves, and they don’t do conflict.”

Jamie shot him a look of dislike. “We’re not usually given much of a chance.”

“What do you mean?” Tara asked.

“Shifters are usually tied to one of the other supernatural races, demons or fae.”

“Or vampires,” Jamie said, and Tara could hear a faint thread of bitterness in his voice.

She looked at Christian. “Like when you mark a human, like what you wanted to do to me?”

He nodded. “Something like that. Except it tends to be hereditary with shifters, they belong from birth.”

They were silent for a moment. “Can you tell me about my mother?” she asked Jamie.

“Anything.”

“What was she like?

“Her name was Lillian. She was a fae princess, but different from most of the fae. She was sweet and good.”

“And Aunt Kathy. Do you know how they came to meet? What happened?”

“Your mother met Kathryn not long before you were born. Kathryn took her in when she was alone. They became good friends. When Kathryn was killed in a car accident your mother had her brought back.”

“The perfect guardian,” Christian said softly. “It might not have been much of a life, but it was surely better than the alternative. Or at least seemed better at the time. I wonder if she came to regret the decision.”

“No, she didn’t. She loved Tara.”

“I know that,” Tara said. “So you were with my mother before. Do you know what happened to her? Who my father was?”

Jamie flicked a glance at Christian then back to her. “No. She never spoke of him. Ever.”

Christian came to stand over him. “But you knew he was a demon, right?”

Jamie nodded. “I was there at the birth. It was pretty obvious Tara wasn’t human. Then there were the rules—the alcohol one was a dead giveaway.”

“What exactly does alcohol do to demons?” Tara asked.

“It lowers their inhibitions,” Christian said. “It brings their inner demon to the surface. They’re quite good at being…well good if they want to, but give a demon a drink, and you can guarantee pure carnage.”

Sometime soon, Tara would sit down and have a long chat with Jamie. But right now, she had other things to consider. She was half-demon and half-fae, but the truth was she had no clue what that meant.

She still felt normal, but maybe she’d never felt normal in the first place. What did it feel like to be a demon? Both men watched her closely. Jamie obviously worried, Christian looked—she searched his face. At first glance, he appeared expressionless, but closer inspection showed his eyes gleamed—he looked hungry. Her heart sped, the blood pumped in her veins until it throbbed just below the surface of her skin. She remembered the feel of him piercing her body and liquid heat pooled between her thighs.

Christian breathed in deeply as though sensing her arousal. His eyes broke contact, dropped to her throat, and she raised her head slightly, tempting him. His gaze fell lower, lingered on the tips of her breasts, hard and tight under her T-shirt, and down to the junction of her thighs. His lips were slightly parted, and he stroked his tongue over the tip of one sharp white fang. She squirmed on the seat.

Jamie cleared his throat and the sound broke the spell.

“I think I need to be somewhere else,” Jamie muttered.

Tara felt out of control, as though she had no say in her body’s responses. It knew what it wanted and wouldn’t be denied.

Jamie edged away.

“No,” she said.

“No?” Christian repeated and his voice was low, smoky, seductive. She swayed toward him but pulled herself up short.

“No. Chloe is dead, and I want to find her killers. I want to know what I am. Why everyone wants to kill me. What have I ever done to them?”

She thought he was about to argue, but the tension left his body, and he relaxed. “You’ve done nothing, but the fae probably want to kill you because you’re of mixed blood. They guard their blood jealously, and it gives you the power to enter both their world and the world of the demons.”

“Like I’d want to.” She considered what he’d said. “So why do the demons want me?”

“Probably for that very reason—you have the power to enter the Faelands.” Christian sighed. “It goes back a long time, before the Accords, when both fae and demons moved freely on the earth. They’ve always been enemies. At that time, there were constant wars and they were in danger of destroying the earth and all mankind, so the Shadow Accords were signed. It allocated lands on either side of the earth to each race and ensured that neither could enter each other’s territories. The Order was set up here to ensure that the two races abided by the Accords.”

“And do they?”

“On the whole, they stay put. Demons make the occasional foray onto the earth and the fae keep to themselves. As long as they don’t cause trouble and are discreet, we do nothing. Every so often things get out of hand and trigger a war. The last was just before you were born. Probably how you were born, as there would have been numbers of demons and fae around. They were all sent back, and the portals closed, but they always find new ways through.”

“So are demons bad and fae good?”

“Demons are,” Christian thought for a moment, “impulsive, elemental, they act first and think later. They can be very strong, and they love to fight. They also love the fae women and were notorious for taking them before the Accords.”

“So one of them took my mother.”

He shrugged. “I presume so. The fae would take the women back, but they considered any offspring to be abominations. They were given the right to destroy them as part of the Accords.”

“So the Order wants me dead as well.”

“I promise you, no one will touch you. You’re mine, and I keep mine safe.”

“So what about the fae, what are they like?”

“Proud, beautiful and they can do magic.”

“What sort of magic?”

“All kinds. It’s thought witches and warlocks have fae blood, though the fae would deny it.”

“So if the fae have magic, why did my mother need to go to the warlock?”

“She probably didn’t have enough strength left. Like any race, some are more powerful than others, and their powers differ. Some can see the future, some the present, and some can keep things hidden. It’s a sort of glamour; it hides what a thing truly is and makes it seem to be something else, but to do that for all these years takes a lot of power.”

“Your mother was a necromancer,” Jamie said. “She could bring life to the dead.”

“That explains Aunt Kathy. But I have none of these powers. I’m not super strong, and I can’t do magic.”

“My guess is the talisman suppressed the qualities it was designed to hide,” Christian said. “Given time your true self would emerge.”

“Only I’m not going to be given time.” Anger and frustration built inside her. Why couldn’t they leave her alone to get on with her life? She slammed her fist down on the table beside her. “It’s not fair!”

Jamie jumped.

Christian just raised an eyebrow. “Since when has life been fair?”

“My best friend is dead. The things that did it are out there, maybe waiting to get me and do the same as they did to Chloe.” Jamie flinched, but she carried on. “What am I supposed to do, sit around twiddling my thumbs, waiting for someone to come along and finish me off? Well I’m fed up with doing nothing.”

Now Christian looked amused and that shot her temper ten degrees higher. Jamie inched away and moved around the back of the sofa, putting it between them.

“Did I mention demons have tempers?” Christian said.

Tara got to her feet and crossed the room to stand in front of him. She only came up to his shoulder. Whoever heard of a miniature demon? She poked him in the chest. “I want to do something.”

Christian sighed. “We are doing something. I’ve put out the word for whoever is after me. That will lead us to the people who took your friend. I’ll find them, and I’ll kill them. Then I’ll sort something out with the fae.”

Tara shook her head. “You’re not getting it. I don’t want you to sort everything out. I want to do this myself. Chloe was my friend. I don’t want to wait around for you to make everything right. This is my life.”

“You’re no match for any of the things coming after you. Trust me.” He combed his fingers through her hair. A sensation of calmness washed over her, but she didn’t want to be calm. What could she do?

Searching the room, her gaze caught on a small table by the window, with a decanter and glasses. Christian’s eyes followed her every movement as she marched up to the table, picked up the decanter, and pulled out the stopper. Raising it to her nose, she breathed in deeply, and the sharp tang of alcohol filled her nostrils. She poured an inch of amber liquid into the bottom of one of the glasses.

“Tara?”

“Yes?”

Christian no longer looked amused. Across the room, Jamie gripped the back of the sofa, his knuckles white.

“What are you doing?” Christian asked.

She smiled and raised the glass. “Releasing my inner demon.”

Part Three

Redefining Normal

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tara stared at Christian over the rim of the glass, and something flickered in his eyes.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said.

“No, Tara,” Jamie muttered. “It’s a very, very bad idea.”

Instead of worrying her, the tremor in Jamie’s voice filled her with a wild sense of exhilaration.

She was fed up with being safe.

She’d tried her hardest to be normal, but maybe it was time to accept that she wasn’t cut out for normality after all.

She put the glass to her lips and swallowed. The liquid burned her throat like fire.

“Jamie,” Christian said, “get out of here, and tell Graham to lock down the office.”

The words seemed to come from a long way off.

She expected to see horror on Christian’s face. Instead, his eyes were hot and hungry and filled with a deep excitement. She took a slow step toward him.

“Now, Jamie!” he snarled, never taking his eyes from her.

She was vaguely aware of Jamie scuttling across the room, and the door slamming behind him, but took no notice. Her whole consciousness filled with the vampire and with the inferno in her belly. She needed to do something. Anything. She just didn’t know what. Rip something up. Rend something into bloody little pieces.

The need spread through her body, setting her on fire, the flames licking at her breasts, between her legs, and she threw back her head and screamed. It released some of the pressure and for a moment, she came back to herself.

There was a noise behind her, and she whirled. Steel shutters slid down over the windows.

“You can’t get out,” Christian said softly. “Don’t bother trying.”

She glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Neither can you.”

“Ah, but I don’t want to. I have everything I want right in here.” He sauntered toward her, circling, sniffing the air. Halting less than a foot from where she stood, he started to unbutton his shirt. He gave up halfway down, ripped it open, and dragged it off his shoulders, throwing it to the floor. “Sex and food.”

He smiled, baring his teeth. His fangs were fully elongated, and the flames roared back to life. She stared at his naked chest, the skin so pale, almost luminous, pulled tight over all that muscle. Then down to where his pants hung low on his lean hips. She couldn’t take her eyes off his flat belly, ridged with muscle, bisected by a line of black silky hair. Something shifted inside her, and she licked her lips. Christian laughed softly, and her eyes darted to his face.

“Come on, Tara, do you think you can take me? Do you want to try?”

He was goading her. He was insane.

“Come on, honey,” he murmured. “You don’t really want to fight me. You want to fuck me.”

As soon as he said the words, she knew it was true. She wanted him, hard and fierce with none of the gentleness he had shown her the last time. She wanted to unleash the monster she knew was somewhere close beneath his surface, just as her own inner monster strained to be free.

She leapt for him. He stood his ground, and she slammed into his body, hard. It should have hurt, some sane part of her mind told her to stop, but she needed this. It seemed like a lifetime of frustration was pent up inside her, and the feel of his naked skin beneath her hands drove her wild. She clung to his shoulders, her nails digging deep into his satin skin, as her legs circled his waist.

They crashed to the floor, rolling as he tore her hands from his shoulders. He turned her with one fluid move so she lay on her belly, her face pressed into the roughness of the carpet, the long, hard length of him pinning her against the floor. She bucked and writhed beneath him, fighting to get free. His breath brushed over the back of her neck, his teeth grazed her skin, settling at the point where her shoulder met the column of her throat. For a minute, he nuzzled her there, then he bit down sharply. His teeth penetrated her skin, and she went still, her breath coming in short sharp pants.

Taking advantage of her momentary stillness, he raised his body, nudged her thighs apart with his hips, and pushed himself against her core. She thrust back against him to get some relief for the fire raging through her. He was fully erect, and she could feel him pressing into her through the layers of clothing that separated them.

“What, you don’t want to fight anymore?” He whispered the words against her skin, and the need to move roared through her once again. She flung herself backwards, taking him by surprise. He rolled off her, and she scrambled to her feet. He followed her up, straightening to his full height, towering over her. Real panic penetrated the thick fog of her brain. He took a step toward her. She breathed in the hot musky scent of him, feral and wild, and the panic washed away on a tidal wave of red-hot desire.

He backed her up until the cool concrete of the wall pressed against her. Another step and he pinned her between the wall and the rock hardness of his body. She writhed against him, and he pushed forward with his hips, his erection thrusting against the soft flesh of her belly.

He stared into her eyes. His were glowing, filled with a ravenous hunger. She needed him inside her any way she could get him, and she raised her head to bare her throat.

He chuckled, and her fury roared to life again. Twisting violently against him, she raked her claws down his back and lunged, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. The blood spurted hot into her mouth, and she swallowed. For a moment, he stilled, then his hands were in her hair, his fist tightening, wrenching her head back so she stared up into his face. She licked the blood from her lips as he bent his head and kissed her savagely, forcing her mouth open. His tongue pushed into her, but it wasn’t enough and she thrust her own into his and tasted her blood as her tongue raked over the razor sharp fangs. He sucked on it greedily, and a whimper of pain and pleasure trickled from her throat.

He backed away and she slid down the wall. Slipping his hands between them, he gripped the neck of her T-shirt and ripped it down the middle. Then his hands were on her bare breasts, his palms stroking, his fingers tugging at her nipples until she was almost mindless with desire.

Sliding his hands behind her, he cupped her bottom and lifted her against the hard length of him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, rubbing her core against his erection, until the hot, wet heat of her arousal soaked through the constricting layers of clothing between them.

He carried her to the huge desk, placing her down almost gently. His hands went to her waist, unsnapped her jeans, slid the zipper down. She kicked off her shoes, lifted her hips from the desk, and he tugged her pants down her legs and tossed them on the floor.

He paused, stroking a thumb over her lower lip. “Are you in there?” he asked.

She nodded. The fire of the alcohol burned in her blood but she was back in her head.

“Good.”

He stepped back, peeled off his own pants and stood before her naked, his long hard shaft vertical against his belly. He was so beautiful her breath caught in her throat. She reached out and he came to her. Her fingers trailed through the black, silky hair of his belly, then wrapped around the length of him. His skin was soft and smooth over a steel hard core. She squeezed him hard; his head fell back, and he groaned.

“Give me your throat.”

Tara tilted her head and closed her eyes as his fangs sank into the vein. The blood pulsated through her body, throbbing between her legs. His hand moved between her thighs and she moaned. He played with her as he fed, slipping long fingers into the swollen wetness at her core, withdrawing and gliding damp fingertips over her sex, rubbing over the tight little bud that threatened to explode with pleasure. She writhed against him, pushing against his hand, but he held her still with ease. Finally, he licked her neck and drew back.

His hand left her sex and he cupped her breasts and pushed her down so her back rested against the smooth, cool steel of the desk. He played with her nipples, which sent sparks shooting through her body. His hands gripped her knees and parted her thighs so she lay open to him. Lowering his head, he swiped his tongue across her sex and she jerked beneath him. He came up over her and filled her with one lunge of his hips.

“Is this what you want, little demon?”

She bucked under him, but he remained still until she thought she would explode with frustration.

Finally, he slowly withdrew then pushed hard into her, grinding his hips, and she threw back her head and screamed as her orgasm ripped through her.

“More?” he murmured in her ear.

Without waiting for an answer, he drove into her, each thrust sending her higher, and all she could do was hold on tight. Wrapping her legs around his waist, her hands gripped tight to his shoulders and she gave herself up to the savagery of his lovemaking. He cupped her bottom and his movements became even wilder until he slammed into her mercilessly.

She balanced at a strange point between pleasure and pain when his movements slowed. He gathered her in his arms, holding her tight and rocking her against his body as his cock slid into her then withdrew, only to return.

He went still and she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his expression fierce and gentle.

“Mine,” he whispered against her lips. He thrust once more and spilled them both over the edge.

…

For a moment, Christian thought Tara had passed out. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes fluttering against her creamy cheek. Her mouth was slightly parted and he could see her pink tongue and the whiteness of her small teeth. He carried her to the sofa and laid her on the soft leather.

She opened her eyes as he came down beside her. They were filled with wonder.

“I love you,” she said.

His mind ceased to function. Her hand came up to stroke his cheek, her touch so soft. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

“I don’t want you to worry that I’ll make a nuisance of myself,” she said. “I won’t, but I wanted you to know. If anything happens to either of us, I’d hate it if I hadn’t told you.”

“Nothing will happen,” he growled. “I won’t let anything happen.”

“It’s strange, but after Aunt Kathy died, I sort of swore I would never love anyone again, but it’s not that easy.”

She loved him.

He didn’t think that anyone in his whole long existence had ever really loved him. He’d been fond of his wife, but the marriage had been arranged, and love hadn’t come into it. Since he’d been changed, he’d had brief affairs but he’d never allowed them to be more than that. In the end, the humans he fed from and slept with were left without choice, puppets to his every command. How could love grow there?

Tara loved him. She wasn’t human. He couldn’t overcome Tara’s mind. He could never control her actions. If she came to him, it was of her own free will.

Love came at a price, as Tara already knew. His mind flashed back to her friend, Chloe. Saw again her tortured body and imagined Tara in her place. Pain ripped through him. He must have flinched because her eyes flashed to his face.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” He vowed that he would keep her safe, protect her from those that meant her harm, whatever the cost. “Nothing,” he said again. He grinned. “You love me?”

She nodded.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her so she sprawled across his body. She wriggled and his cock stiffened between them. She rubbed her sweet little hips against him until he was rock hard, his balls aching for release. His hands on her ass, he positioned her until his cock slid inside her hot, slippery opening. He sighed as she settled on him. Accommodating to his size, she started to move, and he gave himself up to the pleasure.

Chapter Twenty-Four

She’d told him she loved him.

It was the first thought that entered Tara’s mind as she woke to the bright light of day. She was in a bed but had no memory of how she’d got there. Christian must have brought her after the last time they made love.

He wasn’t with her, but how could he be with the sunlight pouring through the open blinds. She was in the penthouse, and far below her Christian would be sleeping away the day. She concentrated and felt the faint hum of his presence in her mind.

She’d told him she loved him.

She couldn’t get it out of her head, and while he hadn’t said he loved her in return, he had shown it with his every action. He had made love to her so sweetly and with such intensity, it had made her cry.

At the back of her mind welled a deep, residual sorrow for Chloe. It would probably always be with her, but a sense of excitement for the future now overlaid her grief. A future with Christian.

So he was a vampire, but she was half-demon and half-fae. They would never have a normal life, but so what? They would have a life. Christian had promised he would keep her safe, and she trusted him.

Still, she wasn’t going to sit back and let him do everything alone. He would keep her safe but she planned to do the same for him.

Rolling over, she encountered something soft and warm. It was Smokey, and Tara pulled his body against her as she had so many mornings of her life. He purred and her fingers smoothed the soft fur of his head.

Beneath the sheet, she was naked, and it flashed through her mind just what Smokey was. Or rather who he was. She shrugged—he’d seen her naked so many times, it hardly mattered. Sitting up, she tugged the sheet over her breasts and pulled Smokey on to her lap. He stared into her face, his eyes unblinking.

“You and I are going to have a chat very soon,” she said. “I’ll give you some leeway, because I know you’re grieving for Chloe, but prepare yourself. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

She hugged him to her until he meowed, and she let him go. He jumped off her lap but settled on the bed and licked his paws.

There was a tap at the door and it opened, revealing Graham standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a pair of black silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. They hung low on his narrow hips. Tara gave him a brief glance then looked away.

“I thought I heard voices,” he said.

“I was talking to my cat.”

“The elusive Smokey, turned up at last. When did he show?”

“Last night,” she said, not wanting to get into a discussion on the subject.

“I’m glad, I know you were worried. Do you want a coffee?”

Tara nodded. She made to get out of bed but remembered her lack of clothing.

“Don’t get up,” Graham said. “Christian told me to look after you. He said you’d had a rough night. So wait right there.” He paused at the door. “I’ve got to ask, but what was with the whole lock down thing last night?”

She shrugged. “We were practicing safe sex.”

“Right, don’t tell me then.”

Graham returned shortly with two steaming mugs of coffee. Tucked under his arm was the matching top to his pajama bottoms. He put the drinks on the table by the bed and handed Tara the top.

“I sense you’d be happier covered up, though you don’t have to worry about me. You’re not my type. Now, that nice friend of yours—Jamie wasn’t it—he disappeared last night before we had the chance to get to know one another, but if you want to set us up, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’ll do that.” Tara struggled into the top under cover of the sheet while Smokey squinted up at her through narrowed, yellow eyes.

“Anyway,” Graham said, “Christian wouldn’t let me stay here with you if he thought I’d make you uncomfortable.”

“Just what are you doing here? I thought you had your own place.”

“I do, but Christian doesn’t think it’s safe at the moment, so I’ll stay here till he gives me the all clear.”

He picked up one of the coffees and handed it to Tara, then sat on the bed next to her, long legs stretched out, and picked up his own.

The coffee was still too hot, but Tara breathed in the wonderful, aromatic scent.

“I only saw Christian briefly,” Graham said. “It was nearly dawn when he brought you up here. Did you find out anything useful?”

Tara took a sip of her coffee. “I’m not human.”

It felt good to say it aloud. To know that there were people in this new world that she could talk to.

Graham put down his drink and studied her. “So what are you?”

“Half-demon.”

He didn’t seem shocked. “And the other half?”

“Fae.”

“Wow, I’ve never heard of that before. So are you expecting to turn red and grow horns anytime soon?”

“Do demons have horns?”

“Not always, but some of the fae do.”

“I think I would have grown them by now, if I was going to.” She took another sip of coffee and frowned. “I hope I would have anyway.”

“You know, they’re not all bad—demons I mean. In case you’re worried that you’re half-monster or something.”

“Actually, I’m worried that I’m all monster, but I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

“Christian will look after you.”

A flicker of irritation pricked her. “I don’t want to be looked after. I want to be able to look after myself. In fact, you can help me with that.”

“I can?”

He sounded so worried that Tara had to bite back a smile. “Yes. I want a gun.”

“You do?” He raised one eyebrow. “Christian told me to get you anything you wanted, but I’m not sure he had a gun in mind.”

“Can you get me one?”

“Probably, there’s an arsenal in the basement. Most of the security guards are armed.”

“Good, and I’ll need someone to show me how to use it.”

“Well, don’t look at me, sweetheart. I’m definitely not your man.”

“But do you know of someone?”

“Again—probably. I’ll have a word with Carl Hanson. He’s the head of security here.”

“Does he know what Christian is?”

Graham nodded.

“Is that safe?” Tara asked.

“Well, Carl’s not exactly” —he paused as if unsure of the right word to use— “normal.”

“What is he?”

“He’s a werewolf. Most of the security guys here are.”

“Right. A werewolf. Great.” She glanced at Smokey, still sitting beside her, listening to the conversation. “Are they the same as shifters?”

“No, they’re different. Shifters are born that way, or at least I think so. Weres are born human and turned. A bit like vamps, I suppose.”

“I should have guessed there’d be werewolves somewhere,” she said almost to herself. “You know, I think I might just pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep. Try to pretend all this isn’t happening. That I have my nice, normal life, that I’m not in love with a vampire, and I’m not about to have shooting lessons with a werewolf.”

Graham grinned. “You can have a normal life—all you have to do is redefine normal.” He frowned. “Hey, did you just say you were in love with Christian?”

Heat washed over her, warming her skin. She nodded.

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

“Am!” He laughed and patted her arm. “I’m glad. I know Christian likes you.”

“You really think so?”

“Oh yeah, big time.” He swung his legs off the bed and took her empty coffee cup. “I’m going to make some breakfast then get you a gun. God help us all.”

Tara stood in reception as the people came and went. The place was buzzing, and she stared, trying to work out what they were, wondering were any of them human. In the end, she had to ask.

“Is anybody that works here human?”

Graham looked hurt. “Hey, I’m human.”

“Well anybody else then?”

“Actually, nearly everyone is human, and only a few of them know anything about the vampire stuff—just some of the security guards. It’s not hard to keep separate.” He glanced down at the cat at her feet. “Does he go everywhere with you?”

Tara picked up Smokey. “Not normally, but he’s feeling a little insecure right now.”

“There’s Carl, come on.”

Tara studied her first werewolf. Or maybe not her first. She’d seen other security guards, and Graham had said most were wolves. Carl was a stranger though, and she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as she crossed the room toward him.

He was tall, with short dark hair and an upright posture. He wasn’t in uniform like most of the guards, but faded jeans and a khaki T-shirt. His wary green eyes met hers, and he held out a hand. Tara put Smokey on the floor and grasped it. As his palm slid against hers, a frisson of sensation ran through her. He felt it as well, and something feral moved behind his eyes.

“Carl, this is Tara.” Graham made the introductions.

“Tara,” Carl said, nodding. He brought her hand to his face and breathed in deeply. “Hmm, I can see why Christian likes you.”

“Well, I hope it’s for more than what I smell like,” she snapped, tugging her hand away.

He let her go and grinned. “I’m sure it is. Now, I hear you want a gun. What’s it for?”

Wasn’t that obvious?

“To shoot things with.”

“What sort of things—big things, little things?”

“Demons,” she said. “I want to shoot demons. And maybe fae.” She thought for a moment. “Make that, probably fae. Does it make a difference?”

“Anything else? Vampires? Werewolves?”

“You never know,” she said. “Ask me again in half an hour.”

He grinned again. “Come on, let’s go down and get you kitted out.”

Five minutes later, Tara stood in front of the gun racks and stared at all the weapons. “Wow, what a lot of guns.”

She ran her fingers over a few and came to a halt at one particular large impressive pistol. “I really like the look of this one.”

Carl ignored the comment and moved along the rack, finally selecting a small pistol. He turned it over in his hands before handing it to Tara.

She took it from him and looked at it dubiously. “It’s not very big.”

“Has no one ever told you that size isn’t everything?” Carl said.

Graham snorted behind her, and Tara scowled. “That’s great coming from someone who’s six-foot-three,” she grumbled.

“It’s a Sig Pro 9mm,” he said. “And I can give you bullets for that thing that will blow a demon into tiny little pieces.”

“Really?”

“Of course, you need to be able to hit something first.”

She held the gun out as she had seen people do on the TV, holding it at arm’s length and sighting down the barrel. “How hard can it be?”

“Let’s go see. The shooting range is right next door, unless you want us to go out and find you a demon.”

“The range will do for now.”

Tara followed him into a long room almost bare of furniture.

Carl took the gun from her. “You need to insert the magazine, like so. Then to load the chamber you pull back the slide, like this” —he demonstrated— “and release it. Easy. Here you go.”

He removed the magazine and bullet and handed the gun and ammunition to Tara. She slotted the magazine, chambered the bullet, and grinned. Carl grasped her wrist, and pressed her hand downward so the gun was aimed for the floor. “Which leads us to the most important rule of all. Never aim your gun at anything you aren’t willing to kill.”

“Oh.”

“Take out the bullets. We’ll have a go without them first.”

He stood right behind her. “Now,” he murmured into her ear, “grip your pistol firm in both hands, but keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.” His hands rested on her shoulders, he was so close she could feel the heat of his body through their clothes, and a prickle of awareness ran through her.

“Your feet should be shoulder width apart,” Carl slipped a leg between hers and nudged them apart. “Stretch out your arms, and lean slightly forward, but stay balanced. Now take a deep breath, exhale halfway, hold it, and squeeze the trigger.”

She squeezed, the pistol made a slight clicking noise.

“Okay, let’s try it with bullets. Load up.”

She took the magazine from him and reloaded while he pressed a button. Halfway down the room, a target swung into position. Carl stepped back from her this time, and she took up the stance he had shown her, arms outstretched, feet apart. She closed one eye, sighted down the line of the pistol, took a deep breath, and squeezed. Her whole body jumped at the explosion of noise, and her finger seemed stuck to the trigger. She kept squeezing but at least she was facing the right way.

After what seemed like an age, she felt hands on her shoulders. “Relax, Tara, let go of the trigger.”

Somehow, she managed to relax her finger. Her eyes were screwed tight shut and her arms trembled. She dropped them slowly to her sides, and opened her eyes.

“Did I hit anything?” she asked.

“Probably, but certainly not the target.”

“Oh.” Perhaps this was harder than she’d anticipated. Graham was standing in the corner, grinning. He held Smokey, the cat’s head hidden in the crook of his elbow. She scowled at the pair of them.

“Okay,” Carl said. “Let’s go again and Tara—”

“Yes?”

“Try not to panic, this time.”

The second time wasn’t much better, but at least she kept her eyes open through the whole thing and saw the bullets miss the target.

She stared at the pistol in disgust. “I think it might be broken.”

Carl took the gun from her hand, spun round, and shot a bullet into the center of the target without even aiming.

“Show-off,” she muttered as he handed her the gun back.

After half an hour, Tara hit somewhere on the target every time. She was moderately pleased and didn’t feel quite so helpless. Her hand ached, and she handed the gun over with a sigh of relief. Carl emptied the bullets, slotted it into a holster, and gave it back.

He took her hand and massaged the fingers.

“My advice is, lull them into a false sense of security—”

“How?” Tara interrupted.

Carl eyes drifted over her. “I don’t think that’s going to be the problem. Just let them get right up close, and then blow them to bits.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve been kind.”

His eyes were half-closed, a small smile playing across his lips. “Honey, I am never kind.” He took her hand, brought it to his face as he had earlier and breathed in. “If you need any more lessons, guns, knives, hand to hand” —he stroked his thumb over her palm as he spoke, and Tara shivered as sensation shot through her— “just let me know.”

“What was it with you and the werewolf?” Graham said as they got into the elevator. “All that hand holding shit.”

Tara rubbed her hand down her thigh; it still tingled where Carl had touched it. “I was just saying thank you.”

“Well, don’t say thank you where Christian can see.” He looked at her for a moment. “Carl probably just wants to wind him up.”

“Is that wise?”

“Hey we’re talking about a werewolf here. I’m not sure ‘wise’ comes into their decision-making process. He likes Christian, respects him, otherwise he wouldn’t work here, but there’s still friction between the two of them.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, vamps can control weres, because they start out as human, and I guess the weres don’t like that. But Carl’s pretty high up in the werewolf hierarchy, and I doubt even Christian could compel him to do something he didn’t want to do.”

“So why does he work for him?”

“It’s a good job, pays well, and he gets to play with guns.”

…

Tara felt the moment Christian awoke, like a light flicking on in her brain.

Minutes later, he strode into the penthouse. He hadn’t bothered to dress, just pulled on a pair of jeans, and she stared at him, unable to look away. Then she jumped to her feet, her book clattering to the floor, and ran to him.

He didn’t speak, just gathered her in his arms and kissed her. She melted against him, her fingers digging into the bare satin skin of his back. After a few minutes, he raised his head.

“You smell of werewolf,” he growled.

“I had a shooting lesson with Carl.”

His eyes narrowed. “How did it go?”

“I wasn’t very good.”

“And did he behave himself?”

Heat spread across her cheeks. “Of course.”

Christian smiled. “There’s no of course about it. Tell him, if he touches you again, I’ll rip his throat out.”

“I’m not going to tell him that. He was actually very kind.”

A look of complete disbelief flashed across his features. “He’s a werewolf. They don’t do ‘kind.’ Now come here.”

Tara went into his arms and he kissed her again. After long minutes, he put her from him and stepped back.

“I have to go out. Piers arranged another meeting with the Walker. I’m going to find out what I can about your mother.”

“I want to come.”

He shook his head. “You’re not going to go anywhere near the fae, especially not the Walker. He’s an assassin and he wants you dead. Look, this is our best bet to find out what happened. I’m also hoping we can come to some sort of arrangement with the fae—get them off your back for good. You’d be free.”

“Well, free of the fae, just the demons to cope with.” She forced a smile. “What it is to be popular.”

She didn’t want him to go—it was impossible to shake the worry that nagged her as he got ready to leave. She followed him into the bedroom and perched on the edge of the bed as he pulled clothes from the drawer and finished dressing.

When he was done, he came and sat beside her, picked up her hand, and kissed her fingers. “If you ever need someone and I’m not around, go to Carl. He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t want to go to Carl, and why won’t you be around?”

“It’s unlikely, but just in case. I shouldn’t be too long. Wait for me here.”

He kissed her lips then stood and left the room.

Tara stared after him, biting her lip, and fighting the urge to call him back. For some reason, it felt like he was saying goodbye.

Chapter Twenty-Five

A fierce desire to turn around almost stopped Christian in his tracks. His fists clenched at his side as he fought the need to go back to her, make love to her one last time.

All through the long day without her, he’d gone over and over the facts, searching for a way to keep Tara safe. He’d failed his wife and daughters. He could not fail Tara.

Asmodai was after him, and while the demon hid in the Abyss sending a limitless supply of minions to perform his filthy work, there was little Christian could do to stop him. Images of Chloe’s mutilated body haunted his mind. He couldn’t let that happen to Tara. He had to find a way to stop Asmodai.

Then there were the fae. As things stood, they would hunt down and kill Tara on sight. Christian had come up with a deal to offer the Walker. If the fae agreed, there was a high chance Christian would never see her again. He could find no way around that, but Tara would have a chance at that normal life she craved. A normal life without him.

He went straight to the weapons room and kitted out, pulled a long, black leather trench coat over it all, and went up to meet Piers, who was already waiting in reception.

“Hmm,” Piers said, as Christian approached, “you smell of your little human. Have you marked her yet?”

“No.”

Graham sat behind the desk. But Christian didn’t speak to him. If things went badly tonight then in all likelihood Graham would die. The mark would ensure that. What was there to say to him?

He led Piers out into the night. Only when they reached the brightly lit street did he turn to the other man.

“So,” he asked, “did you organize it?”

Piers nodded. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“It’s about Tara.”

“Your human? What’s she got to do with the Walker?”

“Well the problem is, she’s not actually human.”

Piers raised an eyebrow. “She’s not?”

“No. That’s what the talisman does. It contains a spell which hides her true nature.”

“And that is?”

“She’s half-fae.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Christian shook his head. “Her mother was fae.”

“And her father?”

“Demon.”

Shock flared in Piers’s eyes, quickly replaced by disgust. “Great, just fucking great,” he muttered. “You know what this means, don’t you? She’s the one they’re hunting for. She’s the abomination.”

“Don’t call her that,” Christian growled.

“Okay, but you admit it—she is the one they’re looking for?”

“Yes. They must have sensed her months ago when she took off the talisman the first time. They’ve been searching for her ever since.”

“And couldn’t find her because she’d put it back on. Which is why they came to us.” Piers ran a hand through his hair. “You swore an oath to destroy her.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Look, if you can’t do it, I will. I’ll make sure it’s painless. She won’t even know it’s going to happen.”

Christian stopped, swung round, and placed a fist in the center of Piers’s chest. “If you lay one fucking finger on her, I’ll rip you apart.”

“You could try,” he said. “It might even be fun. We’ve never really known which one of us would come out on top in a fight. You want to go for it?”

They stared at each other for long minutes, unaware of the stream of humanity that parted around them. Finally, Christian dropped his hand. “No.”

Piers rubbed at his chest. “I won’t touch her.”

“Good.”

“But you’d better have a bloody good plan or this has all the potential to plunge us back into the dark ages. You remember the dark ages don’t you, Christian? Chaos and mayhem.”

“I thought you liked chaos.”

“That was before I got respectable.”

Christian almost smiled at the idea. Almost, but not quite. The problem was, he did remember. He remembered it well, and even for Tara he couldn’t justify plunging the world back into that. He had to find a way to neutralize the fae without tipping them over the edge into war. He suddenly became aware that they were on a busy street. People gave them a wide berth, but still they were drawing attention.

“Let’s get moving. I’ll tell you on the way. Where are we meeting?”

“At a bar, around the corner from here. I thought it might be better to be somewhere public.”

“The Walker was okay with that?”

Piers shrugged. “He agreed. So what’s this plan of yours?”

Christian spoke as they walked.

“You think she’ll agree?” Piers asked when Christian fell silent.

“It’s what she’s always wanted, and I can give it to her.”

“You won’t be able to see her again. You’ll have to cut yourself off completely.”

“I don’t know how else to convince the fae. Do you?”

“I’m not even convinced this will convince the fae, but it’s worth a try. And if that doesn’t work I vote for killing him.”

“The Walker?”

Piers nodded. “At least it will give you more time with her and me a great deal of pleasure.”

“And bring the whole fae nation down on us.”

“Might be worth it. I’ve always hated that guy.” He grinned. “I know. I’m a man with responsibilities now. I can’t go around killing people just because I don’t like them, but maybe we could make the odd exception.” He came to a halt. “Right, we’re here. Last chance to back out.”

Christian shook his head and followed Piers into the bar. The room was almost empty and a heavy silence hung in the air.

“He’s over there,” Piers said, nodding in the direction of the back of the room.

The Walker sat in the shadows, facing the door, and his eyes glowed in the dim light.

“I need a drink,” Piers said. “Christian?”

Christian shook his head and waited, impatient, while. Piers ordered a beer. The Walker rose to his feet as they approached. Christian studied him, searching for similarities, and once you knew to look, they were there to see. The Walker had Tara’s green eyes, her fine bones, even the blond hair was the exact color and texture. How could he have missed that Tara was fae?

“I hope this meeting is to tell me you have solved my problem and the abomination is dead.”

Piers took a sip of his beer. “Not quite.”

The Walker’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth formed into a thin line. “Then why am I here?”

“Sit down,” Christian said. “Both of you.”

Kicking a chair out from the table, Christian sat and looked pointedly at Piers. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Piers sank into the chair next to him. Finally, the Walker took his seat. “I sense you want something from me?”

Christian nodded. “I want you to release me from the vow I made.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can,” Piers said.

The Walker cast him a look of intense dislike. “Okay, I won’t do that.”

“I think you will,” Christian said.

“I expect such treachery from this one.” The Walker nodded at Piers, who grinned and flashed his fangs. “But you are held to be a man of honor, a man who carries out his oaths.”

“There are some things that even I would consider more important that my honor.”

“And those things are?”

Christian remained silent.

“Love,” Piers said.

“Love?”

Piers shrugged. “He’s in love with your abomination.”

Christian stared at him, a growl trickling from his throat.

“Hey,” Piers said. “I’m trying to appeal to his better nature.”

The Walker watched them, a frown on his face as though he didn’t quite know what to make of the whole thing. “My better nature?” he mused. “Do I have one?”

Piers shrugged. “Well, I have to admit it was a long shot, but—”

“Shut up, Piers,” Christian snarled. He turned to the Walker. “I wasn’t aware of the facts back then.”

The Walker raised one arched eyebrow. “And you are now?”

“Most of them. I’m hoping you can clear up the last few things.”

“I’m interested in this love thing.” He studied Christian. “I wasn’t aware that vampires were capable of love.”

“It’s irrelevant.”

“I don’t think so. Tell me about her. I presume it is a ‘her.’”

Christian searched the fae’s face. This was not a direction he would have chosen to go without Piers’s intervention, but perhaps it would help. Or hinder. It was too late to stop now.

“We were told she looks like her mother,” he said. “And she has your eyes.”

“What?”

“Her eyes, they’re green like yours, and her hair is blond, almost silver.”

“And she looks like her mother?”

Christian nodded.

The Walker rose to his feet, his body rigid, his fists clenched at his side. Piers glanced at Christian in query, and Christian shrugged. The Walker turned back to them. His eyes filled with a deep sorrow. “Her mother was my brother’s child.”

It was Christian’s turn to be stunned. “What?”

“My people do not produce many children, and Lillian was the last.”

“What happened to her?”

“The demons took her. She was much loved by our people. She was a beautiful child and grew into a beautiful young woman. All who saw her wanted her.”

“How?” Piers asked. “She should have been safe in the Faelands.”

“Lillian was fascinated by earth and humans. She was always crossing over. The last war was on, my brother tried to keep her at home, but she slipped away and must have been seen by demons. They love to take beautiful things and destroy them.”

“That’s when you came to us?”

He nodded. “My brother was frantic, but it was too late. When the war was over and the demons banished, we thought we might find her. We hoped she would return home to us, but she’d disappeared, and we believed her already dead.”

“Instead, she was pregnant and running from you because she knew you would kill her unborn child. Would you really have killed an innocent baby?”

The Walker didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“And people believe demons to be evil.” Piers shook his head.

“We cannot allow demons access to the Faelands. It is why the child had to be killed, why she must die now.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“She’s part demon and can enter the Faelands. They will use her against us.”

“She’s also part fae, doesn’t that matter?”

“It can’t matter. We have to protect ourselves.”

“They can’t use her if they don’t have her,” Christian said. “If I can guarantee they will never know of her existence will you back off? Let her live.”

The Walker appeared thoughtful. “How could you do this?”

“Have you been able to find her?”

“No. We felt the presence once, months ago, and again ten days past. We sensed its dual nature and we’ve been hunting since, but found nothing.”

“She’s not an ‘it.’” Christian growled.

The Walker shrugged. “It never occurred to me that this could be a child of Lillian’s. We thought it a human with traces of fae and demon blood. But a half-demon, half-fae, she could go anywhere—enter the Abyss, the Faelands. The Accords would not hold her.”

“She has no wish to enter the Faelands or the Abyss. She’s grown up believing she’s human, and all she wants is a normal life.”

“Are the demons aware of her existence?”

“Only to the extent you are. They sensed her, but she’s hidden to them now.”

“How is she hidden?”

“She wears a talisman. It hides her true nature.” He paused. “Her mother had it made. She paid for it with her blood and her life. Would you have that sacrifice made for nothing?”

The Walker pursed his lips. “She’s part demon, there will come a time when she will cause trouble.”

“Not if she never knows what she is, who she is. What if we arrange it so she truly believes she’s human? If she remembers nothing of the worlds of fae and demons?”

“You mean more magic?”

Christian nodded.

“Would she agree to this?”

“It doesn’t matter. It would be done.”

“The demons could still find her, use her.”

“Not if she continues to wear the talisman. We can increase the compulsion in the spell. She won’t ever take it off.”

“Let me think this through.”

He walked away from them, and Christian watched him go.

“Do you realize Tara is his niece?” Piers asked, and Christian nodded. “If he says no, what are we going to do?”

“Kill him.”

Piers laughed softly. “Let’s hope then.”

The Walker came back. He sat down “You do this,” he said to Christian, “and you lose her forever. She must forget you along with all the rest.”

“I know.”

He frowned. “Is this real love? The willingness to let something go.”

“I’m giving her what she wants.”

“Does she love you, this daughter of Lillian?”

Christian thought back to Tara lying beneath him, giving herself so freely, her soft words of love echoing in his ears. He forced them from his mind. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If she’s a true child of Lillian’s, she won’t thank you for this.”

“She won’t know. I’m giving her the chance of a normal life.”

“You have your deal, Christian Roth. The child of Lillian will not die at the hands of the fae, but she will forget all. But if she ever removes the talisman, the deal is off, and I will kill her myself.”

A rush of mingled emotions ran through Christian. Relief that Tara would be safe, but also a deep, dark vein of regret that she would be lost to him forever. “I’ll see that it’s done.”

The Walker rose, nodded at Christian, ignored Piers, and left.

“Damn,” Piers said, staring at the door as it closed behind the Walker. “He agreed. I can’t believe it. My chance to kill the bastard gone.”

“I’m sure there’ll be another.” Christian ran a hand through his hair, the energy leaking out of him. He was halfway there. The fae had been the tricky part. It was always uncertain which way they would go.

“So what now?” Piers asked.

Now was the easy part. Like Piers said, there was nothing tricky about a demon. He was going to face Asmodai. He was going to fight, and in all likelihood, he was going to die.

Because they would meet in the Abyss.

While on Earth, they could meet on equal terms, and there was a chance he could beat the demon, in the Abyss, the demon’s power would be almost limitless. But if Asmodai agreed to his deal, at least Tara would be safe.

The thought of his probable death drove his desperation to see her one last time, to hold her again.

“I need to see Tara, tell her the fae are off her back.”

“Can’t you phone?”

“No.” He rose to his feet. “Afterward, we need to see Jonas Callaghan, make sure he’s okay with doing the spell.”

“He’ll want something in return.”

“Then we’ll just have to give it to him.”

…

A deep sense of foreboding nagged Tara. She wanted Christian here, where she could see him, touch him. There was a connection between them, growing stronger, which translated into anxiety when he wasn’t with her.

She tried reading a book, switched on the TV, switched it off again.

Finally, she fastened the holster to her belt, pulled a jacket on to hide the gun, and took the elevator down to the shooting range. She practiced until the bullets hit the target each time, sometimes even close to the center. Then she tried a couple of rapid draws, like she’d seen in the movies, and missed totally.

Glancing at her watch, she realized an hour had passed. He should be back soon. She pulled her jacket on and headed back up to reception. As the elevator opened, Christian walked through the sliding glass doors with Piers. He came straight over to her before she could step out of the elevator.

“Come on,” he said, stepping in beside her. “We need to talk.”

As he pressed the down button, Tara slipped her hand into his and peered up at his face. His expression was closed.

“Did it go okay?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, but at that moment, the elevator stopped, and he pulled her into his apartment, slamming the door behind them. She could sense his urgency and frowned.

“What is it, Christian. Did it go wrong? Are the fae coming after me?”

“The fae have agreed to leave you alone. I’ll tell you the details later. I have to go back out with Piers because we’ve one more thing to do so you’ll be safe. But before I go I need to—”

He picked her up and carried her through to the bedroom, laid her on the bed, and stripped off his clothes before coming down beside her.

He undressed her slowly, kissing her skin as it was bared to him. He made love to her. Slow, intense, erotic love, as though he wanted to imprint himself on her body for always. As she drew close to her orgasm, he burrowed his face in her throat, sinking his fangs deep into her. He drank as his hips thrust leisurely into her, grinding relentlessly against her, until she came in a flood of pleasure so powerful that for a moment she blacked out.

As she came to, Christian’s arms were wrapped around her, and he was kissing her neck, licking the wound, healing her. When he realized her eyes were open, he gathered her tighter and kissed her lips. “That was sublime,” he said.

She snuggled closer, but after a few minutes, he sat up and pulled her with him.

He removed her arms from around him and stood. She watched as he pulled on his clothes. A part of her wanted to call him back, but another part needed him to go, to get her situation settled so they could be together without the constant worry that someone or something was coming after her.

He dressed in silence, then crossed the room, pausing for a moment in the doorway. As he looked back at her, foreboding swept through her once more, settling low in her belly. She swung her legs onto the floor to go after him.

“I love you,” he said, and she went still at his words. “I might not have mentioned it yesterday, but I wanted you to know. I’ve never loved before. I’m new to this. I just hope I get it right.”

Then he was gone.

…

Christian kept his mind blank as he rode the elevator up to reception.

Piers leaned against the wall, looking pissed. Graham was behind the desk studiously ignoring him.

“Are we ready to go?” Christian asked.

Piers raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been ready for the last half hour. Just hanging round here, while you shag your girlfriend.”

“Leave it, Piers.”

“I’ll get the car.” He pulled out his cell phone.

As they left the building, a black SUV pulled up beside them. They got in the back and the car merged into the traffic. It stopped ten minutes later outside The Pointed Hat. Christian climbed out, followed by Piers. All around, the street was quiet, nothing moved.

The bar was empty of customers. The barman glanced up as they entered, a scowl forming on his face. Christian ignored him and took a seat at one of the tables.

“I could do with that drink now—Scotch.”

Piers brought back a bottle and two glasses. He sat and poured them both a drink. “So, what now?”

The door to the back room opened and Jonas Callaghan entered. He crossed to them and sat in the chair opposite. “Did the fae agree?” he asked Christian.

“He did.”

“I’m impressed.”

Christian smiled. “Piers appealed to his better nature.”

“He has one?” Jonas sounded impressed.

“Perhaps,” Christian said. “So are you ready?”

“I’m ready. All I need is for your friend here to agree my terms.”

“I haven’t mentioned them yet.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Well, perhaps now would be a good time.”

Christian turned to Piers. “Jonas has agreed to do the spell on Tara, but he requires something in return.”

“I’m guessing that something affects me. As long as he’s not after my blood, I’ll consider it.”

“No, your friend here has agreed to contribute that part of the bargain. What I require from you is a job with the Order. I believe you have a vacancy.”

“A job doing what?”

Jonas shrugged. “Whatever the Order requires.”

“I don’t want to appear suspicious here, but why would you want a job with us?”

“You have access to resources I could never get alone. There are certain things I am working on that could benefit us both.”

Piers turned to Christian. “Can you vouch for him?”

“I wouldn’t have considered the deal otherwise. You need a witch or warlock on the staff to replace Ella. It’s unrealistic to think you’d get one without their own agenda, but I don’t believe any agenda of Jonas’ will harm the Order.”

“Unlike Ella,” Piers added caustically. “Okay, I have no objections. How do we do this?”

“You do it tonight,” Christian said.

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I won’t be there, but I have a letter for her. She won’t be a problem. She’ll do what she has to.”

“And where will you be while all this is going on?” Piers asked.

“I’m going to meet with Asmodai.”

“Why?”

“Tara’s friend was killed on his orders because of me. They were trying to get to me like they did with Gabe and Stefan. Tara won’t be safe until whatever is between us is resolved.”

“He won’t meet with you.”

“He’ll have no choice. I’m going after him. I’m going to the Abyss.”

Piers stared at him. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Perhaps.” Christian swallowed the rest of his drink and poured another. “But it finishes tonight. I’m going to offer him combat. I defeat him, or I die. Either way Tara will be safe.”

“You really are in love, aren’t you?” Piers shook his head in disgust. “You’ll die for this. You can’t fight a demon in the Abyss. Certainly not one of the seven.”

“I can try.”

“You know I can’t come with you,” Piers said. “It would be a declaration of war.”

“I don’t want you to come with me.” Christian finished the drink and put down the glass. “I want you to wait until you hear from me, but if I don’t get back by an hour before dawn, take Jonas and go to my place. Do the spell.” He took an envelope from his pocket. “Give this to Tara. It explains everything.”

Piers nodded.

Christian rose to his feet. He clasped hands with Piers briefly, then vanished.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Christian loved her.

She should be radiantly happy. Instead, Tara couldn’t rid her mind of the fear that something was terribly wrong.

Finally, she got up, pulled on her clothes, clipped the gun holster onto her belt, and went up to reception.

It was quiet, just Graham sitting behind the counter, and next to him, Smokey. They both watched her as she crossed the floor.

“I’m going crazy,” she said.

“He’ll be back soon,” Graham replied.

“Don’t try and sooth me. I don’t want to be soothed, and I have a gun.”

“Yeah, but you can’t hit anything, so I think we’re safe.”

“Ha, ha.”

She looked at her watch again. Another ten minutes had passed.

“Why don’t you go through the back and make us all a coffee?” Graham said.

“You’re trying to sooth me again.”

“Yes, but I would like a coffee.”

Tara shrugged. “Okay.” She turned to Smokey. “Do you want one?”

“Your cat drinks coffee?”

Tara glanced between the two of them. “I thought you two were getting pretty matey.” She came round the back of the counter and stroked her hand along Smokey’s back. “Why don’t you think about telling him your secret, while I’m making the coffee?”

Smokey jumped off the counter and followed her through into the small kitchen behind the reception area, weaving between her legs. Tara put the coffee on and leaned down to stroke him. “You can tell him, you know. He likes you.”

“Meow.”

“Yes, well. I suppose that’s up to you, but I want to talk to you anyway, so you can’t stay like that forever.”

She puttered around putting milk in the cups. She was pouring the coffee when something snapped in her head and she cried out. The coffee jug fell to the floor and smashed, hot liquid splashing up over her legs. Tara collapsed to her knees as Graham burst in through the door.

“Tara!” He came down beside her. “What is it?”

“He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“I can’t feel him. He was there in my head, and now he’s gone.”

Graham reached out to help her up, but stopped abruptly as Jamie appeared out of nowhere.

“What the fuck!”

“Shapeshifter,” Jamie said and went down on his knees beside Tara.

“You’re the cat?”

Jamie nodded. He pulled Tara against him. “Come on, Tara. It’s probably nothing.”

“No.” Panic clawed at her insides. “Christian’s not there, it’s like he’s vanished. He’s dead, I know he is.”

“Tara, he can’t be dead,” Graham said.

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’m still alive. I know Christian’s explained about the vampire marks. Christian dies and I die. And do I look dead?”

She shook her head, trying to drag herself back from the edge of despair. Glancing around her, she realized she was sitting in a puddle of cooling coffee and broken glass.

Graham reached out a hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. “Come on, sit down. I’ll make more coffee, and we’ll try and work out what’s happened.”

Tara didn’t argue as he pushed her down into the chair. She remembered what Christian had told her about the marks. She bit her lip to stop the trembling. “Okay.”

Jamie cleaned up the floor while Graham made the coffee.

“We can try his cell phone,” Graham said, handing her a mug.

Tara watched as he phoned. Jamie stood behind her his hands on her shoulders. She knew there would be no answer.

“I’ll try Piers. Christian left with him. Maybe they’re still together.” Graham punched another number. “Piers? It’s Graham. Is Christian still with you?”

Tara strained to hear the reply, but couldn’t.

“Okay, well thanks.”

As Graham started to put the phone down, Tara ran forward and snatched the receiver from him. “Piers, it’s Tara.”

“Tara, how lovely to hear from you, but I don’t know where Christian is.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Tara, I’m not his keeper. I’m sure he’ll be back to see you when he’s ready.” He hung up on her.

She stared at the receiver for a moment then threw it down and glared at it through narrowed eyes. “He knows where Christian is.”

“He says he doesn’t.”

“He’s lying.”

Graham raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything further.

“I’m going over there,” she said.

“Over where?”

“To the Order.”

“You can’t. Christian said not to leave the building without him.”

“Christian’s not here, is he?”

“There might be demons out there.”

“Well we’ll just have to stay away from them. We can drive over there, and it should be safe enough. It will have to be, because I’m not waiting here, doing nothing when Christian might be in trouble.”

Graham sighed, but nodded. “I’ll see if Carl’s still around. He can drive us over, but they might not let us in.”

“I’m going as well,” Jamie said from behind her.

Graham frowned. “You’re a cat?”

“Get over it.”

Carl was leaning against the side of a big black SUV when she came out of the elevator. “I hear we’re going visiting.”

“Do you know where the Order is?”

He seemed surprised at the question. “I worked there when Christian was in charge.”

“Good.”

“Got your gun?”

She pulled her jacket aside to show the holstered pistol, and he smiled. “Let’s go.”

Jamie and Graham were already sitting in the back when Tara climbed into the front seat next to Carl.

“I phoned Piers,” Graham said. “I told him we were on our way. He didn’t sound too pleased.”

“Is that supposed to bother me?” she asked.

Carl laughed softly from beside her, and she glanced at him. “What’s funny?”

“Well, most people I know would be a bothered if Piers Lamont wasn’t too pleased with them.”

“People with any sense, that is,” Jamie muttered from the back.

“Well, he should have told me what I wanted to know on the phone then.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Carl murmured and started the car.

Tara tried to decide how to get Piers to talk to her. There was still the blank space in her mind where Christian should be. What did it mean? Was he unconscious somewhere? She held onto the thought that he couldn’t be dead, which made her peek behind her at Graham.

“Still alive,” he said, and waggled his fingers as if he knew what she was thinking.

The entrance into the Order’s underground garage opened as Carl drove up. They were expected and at least allowed into the building. Carl parked the car.

“Looks like we have a welcoming committee,” he said.

Two men walked toward them across the concrete floor. Both dressed in the uniform of security guards. Both big and dangerous. “Are they vampires?” she asked.

Carl nodded. “Come on, let’s go.”

They all got out and stood as the two guards approached.

Carl shook hands with the two men and held a quiet conversation. “Piers will see you,” he said to Tara.

A wave of relief washed over her. She’d overcome the first obstacle. She followed Carl and the two vampires to the elevator, Jamie and Graham at her back. Tara’s nerves tightened as they sank lower and lower beneath the building. When the doors slid open, Piers was waiting for them.

He did not look happy. But when did he?

In fact, he radiated menace, his arms crossed over his broad, black-clad chest, his mouth a thin, tight line, his eyes narrowed. He must have just returned to the building because he still wore the long, black leather coat.

Tara refused to be intimidated and lifted her chin.

Piers’s gaze shifted from one member of their group to the next, settling on Carl. “Carl.” He nodded at the werewolf. “You shouldn’t have brought them here.”

Carl shrugged. “They would have come without me anyway.”

“That might have been better for you.” Piers turned to glare at Tara. “Well, if it isn’t the little abomination.” His eyes ran over her small figure. “All the way back here, I’ve wondered how something so small could cause so much trouble.”

Tara ignored the comment. “Where’s Christian?”

“Not here.” He sighed. “I planned on paying you a visit later. You could have waited.”

“How was I to know that? Besides, I need to know now.”

“No, you don’t need to know. You want to know. I told Christian I would take care of you, which is the only reason you’re here.”

Why should Christian have asked Piers to take care of her?

“I do not need anyone to take care of me,” she ground out. She didn’t want to be taken care of, but if anyone was going to do it, she wanted it to be Christian.

Piers raised an eyebrow. “Baby, you’re right at the number one spot on the fae’s most wanted dead list. On top of that, there’s a whole shitload of demons ready to make your life a living hell just to get at Christian. Personally, I’d let them have you.” He paused, his eyes wandering over her, lingering on her throat. “Or maybe I’d just finish you off myself—because I’ve got a feeling you’re a whole load of trouble.”

Tara shivered, recalling the moment Piers had killed Ella. Saw again that sensual mouth ripping out her throat. That same mouth smiling at her now as if he noted her reaction and it pleased him. It wasn’t a nice smile.

“But as I said, I promised Christian I would look after you, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten through the doors. So come with me, keep your mouth shut, and I might tell you what’s going to happen.” His eyes took in the rest of the group. “But you can leave your bodyguards here.” He headed off down the corridor.

“No.” Carl spoke from behind her. Tara glanced at him thankfully; she didn’t want to go anywhere alone with the vampire.

“No?” Piers asked softly.

“We stay together,” Jamie said.

Piers whirled to face him. “Ah, the shifter. I’ve never met a shifter yet who would stand his ground when the going got tough.” He took a step toward Jamie. “Can you?”

Jamie looked a little green, but he stood his ground and nodded. Tara slipped her hand into his and squeezed gently.

Piers regarded them for long minutes. Finally, he lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

They followed him down the corridor. He stopped at a door, opened it, and beckoned for them to enter. He was still watching her as she stepped past, his eyes puzzled as though she hadn’t acted as he expected.

They were in some sort of unused office. Blank white walls, a bare desk, and a few chairs. Tara’s legs trembled, and she sank into one of the chairs.

Piers took off his coat and dropped it onto the desk. Underneath, he wore black leather pants and a black shirt, over which was strapped a double shoulder holster with a pistol at each side.

“So,” he said, “what do you want to know?”

Tara thought for a moment. “I’ve been able to feel Christian in my head since we—”

“Fucked?” Piers supplied. “Shared bodily fluids?”

Tara scowled at him. “Anyway, I can feel him, and then all of a sudden he was gone.” She waved a hand at Graham. “We know he can’t be dead, but I need to know where he’s gone. Is he hurt? Unconscious.”

“No, to all those things. Well at least he wasn’t when I last saw him. Of course, that could have changed by now. He’s in the Abyss.”

“The what?”

“The Abyss. Realm of darkness, home of the demons and all that sort of thing. It’s also another dimension. You can’t feel Christian because he’s not in this world anymore.”

“Why’s he gone to the Abyss?”

“You.”

“What have I got to do with it?”

“Christian’s got this idea that as long as there is someone targeting him, you’re not safe. He saw what they did to your little friend, and he can’t face the thought of the same thing happening to you. So much so, that he’s willing to die for it. He’s on a suicide mission.” His eyes were bitter. “And it’s all for you. Does that make you feel good?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, believe me.”

“Why did you let him go?”

“Because it was what he wanted. A fool in love.”

“Couldn’t you have gone with him? Can’t you go after him now?”

“Well you see, there’s a little problem with that. The demons have made this thing with Christian personal. He’s within his rights to face them. I’m not. The Order goes to the Abyss, and they’ll take it as a declaration of war.”

“Then we have to get him out of there.”

“No we don’t. Christian was very clear on what he wanted, and I’m afraid that you mounting some pointless rescue mission was not on the list.”

“So what is it that Christian wants?” she asked.

“He wants you to be happy. He’s gone to a lot of bother, probably sacrificed his life, to give you the one thing he knows you want.”

“And that is?”

“A normal life.”

She stared at Piers in amazement.

“I’m half-demon, half-fae. I was brought up by a dead woman. Just how’s that going to translate into normal?”

“It’s been arranged.”

“Well unarrange it. I don’t want normal. I want Christian.”

“Unfortunately, sweetheart, we can’t always have what we want.”

Panic rose up from some place deep inside Tara. She remembered the way Christian had made love to her earlier, so sweetly, as though it could be the last time. The look he’d given her as he walked out the door. “What has he done?”

“He’s made a deal with the fae that will keep you alive.”

“What sort of deal?”

“You’re to forget everything. Cut off all ties with our world.”

“I don’t want to forget.”

“You won’t have any choice, and it won’t be so bad. After all, you won’t even know what you’re missing.”

“I won’t let you do it. Christian will be back, I know he will.”

“He doesn’t expect to come back.” Piers’s voice was harsh and Tara realized he was more upset by this whole thing than she had thought. After all, Christian was his friend.

“And think,” Piers said. “What sort of life could you ever have if the fae are always after you?”

Tara opened her mouth to say she didn’t care when there was a tap on the door. It swung open. Jonas Callaghan stood there, and Tara realized what they meant to do. They were going to cast some sort of spell on her to make her forget Christian. She jumped to her feet, putting the chair between her and the warlock. She glanced around the room. Graham looked sick, Jamie alarmed, only Carl seemed unaffected. She sidled to stand beside him.

“If he comes anywhere near me, shoot him,” Tara said. “In fact, if he does anything at all, shoot him.”

Jonas smiled at her. “Don’t be so melodramatic, my dear. I only have your best interests at heart.”

“Jonas is our newest employee,” Piers said. “I see you’ve already met.”

“Keep him away from me.”

Piers sighed. “I knew you were going to be trouble. Here read this. Perhaps Christian will be able to persuade you.”

He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. Tara stared at it, could hardly make her fingers work enough to open it. She tried to focus on the handwriting.

Tara,

Do what Piers says. It’s for the best. We will not meet again.

Christian.

As love letters went, it was sorely lacking. She crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. How dare he make decisions about her life? How dare he presume that he knew what was best for her?

“So,” Piers said. “Are we on?” He glanced round the room, his eyes settling on Jamie, then back to Tara. “You’re going to have to say goodbye to your shifter friend.”

Jamie moved a step closer to her.

“What?” Tara asked blankly.

“No ties with our world, remember.”

Tara shook her head; Piers actually believed she’d let them go through with this.

“Perhaps I’ll keep him myself,” Piers continued. “Shifter blood is always a pleasant change. And you might as well say goodbye to your red-haired friend. If Christian doesn’t come back, he’s finished as well.” Graham looked even sicker.

“At least,” Piers said, “we’ll have proof that Christian is well and truly dead.”

“I thought he was your friend,” Tara said.

“He is my friend, and I’ll abide by his wishes.”

“Well, I won’t just sit here and wait for proof that he’s dead.”

Jonas moved into the room and the door swung shut behind him. Tara watched him warily.

“It doesn’t matter, Tara,” Jonas said. “Even if Christian defeats Asmodai, he has agreed that he will no longer be a part of your life. Let us do the spell as he wanted.”

No way.

She wouldn’t let it happen, would fight against it with everything she had. But glancing from the Warlock to the vampire, she knew her wishes wouldn’t be enough. They were going to steal her very memories from her. She would rather die than let them take her time with Christian away from her.

“Tara.” She turned at the sound of Jamie’s voice. His eyes were wide and panic flashed across his face.

“What is it, Jamie?”

“Asmodai?”

“That’s the demon who’s been going after Christian. His people took Chloe.”

Jamie looked sick, and a wave of alarm washed over her. She didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. She wasn’t capable of any more shocks tonight, and she had a feeling, from the look on Jamie’s face, that this was going to be a whopper.

“Asmodai is your father.”

She swayed. Carl’s arms came around her, holding her steady, and she leaned against him as shock thundered through her.

“What?”

The question came from Piers. He stared at her, but she couldn’t define the expression on his face.

“Oh, this is so good,” Jonas murmured.

Tara pushed at Carl until he released her. She licked her lips.

“Say that again,” she ordered Jamie.

“Asmodai is your father.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded.

“You said you didn’t know who my father was.”

“I lied. I promised your mother I wouldn’t tell, and besides, I didn’t know Asmodai had a vendetta against Christian. I would never have sent you to Christian if I’d known that. Oh God.” He put his head in his hands. “It all makes sense. That’s why he hates Christian.”

“Well, I’m glad it all makes sense to you,” Piers drawled. “But it makes absolutely none at all to me. Why does he hate Christian?”

“Christian was head of the Order. He defeated Asmodai, banished him back to the Abyss. Lillian was fae—she couldn’t follow him. She was left stranded on earth, pregnant and alone. He would never forgive Christian for that and would blame him for Lillian’s death.”

“I thought he kidnapped my mother. I thought she hated him.”

“The fae would like everyone to believe that, but they loved each other. Why else would she have gone to such trouble to keep you?”

Tara tried to get her head around the idea that her mother and father had been in love and not bitter enemies. That her own father had been responsible for Chloe’s death and even at this very moment, he might be killing Christian. And Christian hated Asmodai. What could he ever feel for the daughter of the monster who had killed his family?

“Where do you come into this?” Piers asked Jamie.

“I belonged to Asmodai. He gave me to Lillian as a gift.”

“So, just what sort of shifter are you?”

“I’m a cat and…” Jamie paused.

“And…” Piers prompted.

Jamie shifted uncomfortably. “A hellhound.”

Piers hooted. “Half-demon, half-fae, brought up by a dead woman and now you have a pet hellhound. No, I wouldn’t describe you as normal.”

“What’s a hellhound?” she asked.

Piers grinned. “Do you want to show her?”

Jamie disappeared. In his place was a huge dog-like creature. Graham choked behind her, but she ignored him and examined the creature. His head was level with Tara’s as she gazed at him in awe. His fur was reddish brown, with a black ridge along his back, his body lean, with powerful forelegs ending in vicious inch-long claws. He had pointed ears, yellow eyes, and the longest, sharpest teeth she had ever seen. He stared back at her and something shifted in his eyes. Tara reminded herself that this was Jamie. Her friend. She stroked the fur on his head. It was soft, and he pressed against her hand.

A moment later, Jamie was back.

“Well, that was fun,” Piers said. “But it doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything,” Tara said.

Piers frowned. “How do you see that?”

Tara tried to get her thoughts straight. “We were thinking the demons wanted me to get back at Christian. But what if Asmodai wants to find me because I’m his daughter, and he loved my mother?”

“So what?”

“Maybe he would listen to me. Maybe he would agree to leave Christian alone if I asked him to.”

“How do you expect to ask him? You’ll never find Christian without me, and I can’t enter the Abyss. And I sure as hell can’t see Asmodai coming here.”

“I can.”

Piers ran a hand through his hair. “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this?”

“I’m going to take off the talisman. The demons will sense me the way they did when I took it off before.”

“Great idea!” Piers said, and Tara could hear the sarcasm in his voice. “Do you know who else will sense you?”

“The fae?” she asked.

“Right first time, and this would make them very unhappy. One of their conditions for not killing you was that the talisman never comes off. That way the demons never know of your existence.”

“We’ll just have to deal with the fae.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

Tara stood and confronted Piers. “This is a chance to save Christian, and I’m doing it. So get used to the idea.”

Piers curled his lip. “You do realize I could just kill you all and go home to bed.”

“You could, but you’re not going to.”

He was quiet for an age. Tara waited for him to speak.

“Shit,” Piers said. “What the hell? I always wanted a go at the Walker anyway.”

Tara didn’t dare hope this would work, but it was a chance.

“We can’t do this in here,” Piers said. “There’s so much magic built into the place that I’m not sure they’d read you.”

“Where then?”

“The roof.”

At the last minute, Tara reached down, picked up Christian’s note, and smoothed the paper. She was about to prove Christian wrong—they would meet again.

Even if it killed her.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

This meeting had been a long time coming. Too long, perhaps.

It was dark in the Abyss. Christian breathed in the cool crisp air, sharp in his lungs but clean and fresh. He liked it here. He always had. Overhead, the sky was full of stars and a half moon hung low against the horizon, casting its dim light over a landscape of mountains and deep rugged gorges.

He knew where to find Asmodai, but he’d manifested a good way from the fortress. He needed to acclimatize to the thinner air. It was slightly warmer than London, and he shrugged out of his coat and left it crumpled on the ground. He had no need to hide his weapons and the coat would slow him down, hamper him in a fight. He thought about leaving the guns as well; bullets would be no use. In the end, he decided to keep them on the slim chance he made it out alive. He also kept the sword down his back and the knife at his thigh.

He saw no one, but was aware he was being watched, and when he reached the fortress, the gate was already raised.

He was expected.

He’d tried not to think of Tara. Now he allowed himself one last image of her. Sprawled on the black silk sheets, her eyes smiling as she told him she loved him. He could imagine how furious she’d be, but he trusted Piers to handle it. She would be safe, and eventually she would be happy. He pushed her from his mind and stepped into his enemy’s stronghold.

The entrance to the fortress was a narrow tunnel, utter darkness that gave way into a courtyard. It was light here; flaming torches formed flickering shadows that danced across the stone walls.

A figure stepped out of a doorway. It approached, bowed low.

“Christian Roth,” it said. “My Lord Asmodai awaits you.”

He followed the hooded figure into the building, along a stone corridor and into a great hall. A huge fire burned at one end, and seated on a wooden chair was the demon prince. Two hellhounds flanked his seat. They raised their heads and growled, their hackles rising as Christian approached.

Asmodai stroked the hounds until they quieted, then rose to his feet. Standing almost seven feet tall, with black, feathered wings furled at his back, he bore little resemblance to the minor demons who served him, those inhuman creatures who filled the nightmares of man. He was lean and handsome with pale skin and dark impassive eyes.

Christian came to a standstill a few feet away. For long minutes, the two men stared at each other. Christian had hated this being for so long, but now, standing before him, he was unsure of what he felt.

There was no fear, but rather a feeling of inevitability, as though his life or rather his death had been leading up to this. He couldn’t destroy Asmodai, but he could weaken him so he’d be stuck in the Abyss for a long time to come.

On the other hand, Asmodai could destroy him and probably would, but if he agreed to Christian’s terms then Tara would be safe.

“So,” Asmodai said, “what do you want here, Christian Roth?”

“I want you to finish this.”

“This?”

“You’ve been killing innocents when it’s me you want dead. It’s a coward’s way.”

Asmodai shrugged. “I didn’t ask for details, just that they go after the ones you love.” His dark gaze ran over Christian, and the first signs of emotion showed in his eyes. Black hatred, deeper than the Abyss itself. The wings at his back unfurled, framing him in darkness. “Oh, yes, I want you dead, but first, I want you to understand what it feels like to have those you love ripped from you.”

“You showed me that many years ago.”

A frown flickered across the demon’s face. “I did?”

Disbelief swept over Christian. He’d always held Asmodai accountable for the death of his wife and children, and now it appeared the demon wasn’t even aware of it. “You probably don’t recall all the humans you slaughter.”

“Actually, I very rarely slaughter humans, myself. I have no taste for the sport. At least the fae or even vampires show a little spirit.” He studied Christian carefully. “I killed someone close to you?”

“You killed my wife and daughters.”

“Humans?”

Christian nodded.

Asmodai paced the room, deep in thought. When he returned, he was frowning. “When you insisted on my banishment after the last wars, was that in revenge for what I did to your family?”

“No, you were banished because you broke the Accords. You started a war.”

“I asked for time.”

“I chose not to give it.”

“Because I murdered your wife?”

Christian forced himself to acknowledge the truth. “Perhaps.”

“I understand revenge,” Asmodai murmured. He sank back onto his chair, rested his chin on his fingers, regarding Christian through heavy-lidded eyes. “Are you aware why I have ordered the death of those close to you?”

“No.”

“Do you wish to know before you die?”

“All I require is that it ends here. That you won’t pursue those close to me after this night. Fight me now, and whatever the outcome you leave my people alone.”

“Fight you?” Asmodai seemed amused at the notion. “You know there’s no way you can defeat me here.”

“I can try,” Christian snarled.

Asmodai smiled. “Are you aware of the closeness of bravery and stupidity?” He studied Christian, and his eyes narrowed. “I see it. There is one you love. One you seek to protect. You have no choice in this.”

Asmodai stood again and paced the room, then came to a halt in front of Christian. “Very well. I take into account the ones I have already taken from you and will consider the books balanced with your death.”

Christian released his breath. Tara was safe. He’d never thought much about dying, or whatever it was vampires did when their time was over. Would he be reunited with his soul, or was this end of everything? For a long time now, he’d thought he could go out with no regrets. Now, he realized that he wanted to live. He wanted to spend an eternity with Tara, but that would never happen.

A rush of hatred almost swamped him, followed by a wave of unexpected excitement. He was going to go out fighting. The bastard would pay for Gabe and Stefan. For Tara’s friend.

He drew the long sword from his back. The blade glittered in the flickering light from the fire.

Asmodai smiled. He strolled to the wall where a huge sword hung. He pulled it down and dragged the blade from the scabbard. It glowed crimson as he held it up two handed in front of his face.

Something moved in the corner of the room as demons slipped into the hall. They hung close to the walls, their eyes gleaming in the dim light. He turned back to concentrate on Asmodai, saw the moment he made his move and swung the huge sword around to bear on Christian.

Christian raised his blade to counter. As the swords clashed, he staggered under the force of the blow. Pain ripped down his arm. He ignored it, gritted his teeth, and attacked.

…

Nobody appeared willing to make the first move. Tara caught Piers’s eye, he grinned and raised an eyebrow. It was obviously up to her.

She realized the warlock was still with them. “You don’t need to be part of this, Jonas.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replied. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of the way.”

“And don’t you dare do that spell while I’m not looking.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Graham was still green, as though he was about to throw up at any moment, and Jamie didn’t look much better. She crossed over to them. “You two, stay down here.” She wanted them safe.

“No way,” Jamie said. “I’m coming with you. I can shift and fight if I need to.”

“I don’t want you dying because of me.”

“Do you know how many demons I’ve fought since you moved us to London? You don’t want to know. I’m not giving up now and letting the fae have you.”

“And I’m not sitting around waiting to spontaneously combust or whatever it is happens to me if Christian dies. I can’t shift into anything, but I can shoot a gun,” Graham said.

“Okay.” She gave Jamie a hug. Then turned and embraced Graham.

“I’m coming as well,” Carl said. “Do I get a hug?”

“When we get back,” she said.

“Let’s go get more guns,” Piers said.

They followed him down the corridor and into the gun armory.

“I’ve got one,” she said as Piers gave her what looked like a sub machine gun. She passed it on to Graham who peered at it dubiously, but slung it over his shoulder. Jamie shook his head. “I’m going to shift remember? Paws don’t work too well with triggers.”

Piers handed her a jacket. “It’s Kevlar. Bullet proof.” He handed one to Graham as well.

Tara looked at it doubtfully. “Are they going to shoot us?”

“Who knows, but Graham has a gun, and he doesn’t know how to use it, so it’s probably best to be prepared. Put it on.” He turned to the werewolf. “Carl, you want one?”

“Nah, unless they’ve got silver, which is unlikely, I’m okay. A jacket will slow me down too much, and I might want to shift.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Piers came over to Tara as she struggled with the jacket. He brushed her hands away and tightened the buckles. She shrugged her shoulders to get comfortable, but it was heavy, constricting.

“I can’t move,” she said.

“Of course you can move.” He yanked the last buckle even tighter. “But you don’t need to move. You need to stay out of the way when the fae come.”

“Do you think they will come?”

“No doubt about it and I promised Christian I would keep you safe. So no stupid heroics.” He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. He took her by surprise, his tongue gliding between her lips to taste her, drawing back before she had a chance to object.

“Mmm, delicious,” he said, against her mouth. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you. Thought I’d better do it now, just in case.”

Presumably, just in case, everything went wrong, and they all died up there.

Piers slung a sub-machine gun over each shoulder and headed out of the door. Tara took a deep breath and followed.

They rode the elevator to the roof. Tara stood between Carl and Piers, the top of her head somewhere close to their shoulders. The air between them thrummed with excitement. Like they were going to some sort of party. A small smile played around Piers’s lips—he was looking forward to this.

Suddenly she was overwhelmed. Standing between the werewolf and the vampire, she felt small, insignificant, and immensely vulnerable. She was supposed to be half-demon and at that moment, would have given anything to feel a little more demon-like.

“I want a drink,” she murmured to herself.

She fiddled with the necklace at her throat. It had always been part of her. Now she planned to take it off, and this time it wasn’t going back on.

The time to hide what she was had passed.

From now on, people could take her as she was and if they didn’t like it they could—her thoughts ground to a halt. The fact was, not many people did seem to like her, except Christian, and he might very well be gone forever. She forced herself to finish the thought—they could kill her.

“So, who is this guy who wants to kill me? This Walker?”

Piers glanced down at her in surprise. “He’s your uncle. Well great-uncle I suppose. His brother is your grandfather.”

“And he wants to kill me?”

“He will do as soon as you take that talisman off, but don’t take it personally. He wants to kill a lot of people. Me for one.”

Tara glanced at him, and he grinned.

“Why does he want to kill you?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m just popular, I guess. Here we are.”

The elevator door opened and Tara stared out into the dark night. The sky was clear, the air cold. She stepped out after Piers. They stood on top of the tallest building in the area. All around them lay the sprawl of London, the Thames winding its way through the heart of the city, the London Eye glowing red across the water, but up here, it was as if they were alone, cut off from the rest of the world.

Everyone watched her. It was time. She remembered removing the talisman with Christian, how he had distracted her with his kisses. Tears stung her eyes, but thoughts of Christian also filled her with urgency. Even now, he could be fighting with Asmodai. Fighting with her father. Would her father sense her, and would it be enough to stop him, or maybe at least divert him? Would he come for her? According to Jamie, he had loved her mother. Would he feel something for her because of that?

Enough to give her back Christian, the man she loved.

She put her hand to her throat, lifted the necklace, and slipped it over her head. She opened up the locket and took the strand of hair from under the clip. It was the only part of her mother that remained, and she didn’t want it destroyed. Then she dropped the locket to the ground at Piers’s feet.

“Finish it,” she said.

He glanced at her in surprise. “I can see it now. How amazing—you’re a demon and the fae is there as well.” He looked from her to the talisman at his feet. “Are you sure you want to do this? Once you do, there’s no going back. What you are will be out in the open.”

She nodded. “I’m sure. Destroy it.”

Piers raised his foot and ground his heel on the crystal. She heard the crunch as the thing disintegrated. “Is that enough?” she asked Jonas. “Is the spell broken?”

“It’s more than enough.”

“So what happens now?”

“Now we wait and see who finds you first.”

…

Falling back under the storm of savage blows, Christian accepted it was only a matter of time. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, blinding him, and he wiped it clear with the back of his hand. The attack was relentless now, soon it would be over, but something inside him refused to give in. He rallied, cursing and slashing with his blade, standing his ground.

Asmodai threw back his head and laughed.

“You’ve been a good opponent, but you can’t beat me.”

“Fuck off,” Christian snarled and raised his blade.

Asmodai came for him. The crimson sword beat him down until he stood exhausted, breathing hard. Asmodai raised his sword for what Christian knew would be the final blow. He held it high above his head but at the last moment, he stumbled and fell to his knees in front of Christian.

Christian stepped back. He raised his own sword and was about to bring it slamming down when something stopped him.

Triumph gleamed in the demon’s eyes.

“My daughter is alive,” he said, and his voice rang with wonder. “She has destroyed the spell. She is no longer hidden from me.”

Christian frowned. He was getting a bad feeling about this. He watched warily as Asmodai rose to his feet.

“Put down your sword, Christian Roth. I have no time to kill you now. My daughter might need me.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yes. Mine and Lillian’s.”

Christian’s sword clattered to the floor. He stared at Asmodai, rank horror churning in his belly. Shock washed over him, threatening to drown him in a tidal wave of disbelief. He searched Asmodai’s face, hunting for any small hint of similarity, but there was nothing of Tara in him. “It’s not possible.”

Regarding him curiously, Asmodai put down his sword. “What, exactly, do you find impossible?”

Christian laughed, but the sound was void of humor, harsh in his ears. Why had it never occurred to him? Then again, why should it? He was in love with the daughter of his worst enemy. The daughter of the demon who was about to finish him off.

“Shit,” he said. How would Tara feel? Her own father had, if not murdered her best friend, at least arranged and condoned that murder. And now her father would be responsible for killing the man she loved. He laughed again and Asmodai’s eyes narrowed.

“Speak,” he growled. “Or I will kill you.”

“And will you tell your daughter that you killed me? At the same time you tell her you ordered the death of her best friend? It would have been her, you know. It was only by error that she wasn’t taken. Your own daughter raped, mutilated, and killed at your command.”

“What do you know of my daughter?”

Christian smiled. “She looks like her mother.”

“What?”

“She’s beautiful, and she has nothing of you in her.”

Asmodai’s dark eyes glittered. “Tell me what you know of her.”

“I love her. I came here tonight to save her life.”

“What is her name?”

“Tara,” Christian said and grabbed his blade. Asmodai tensed, but made no move when Christian sheathed the sword. “Kill me if you like. If not, I’m going to see if I can get to your daughter before the fae kill her.”

“The fae know of her?”

“The Walker is already close by. He’ll have sensed her at the same time you did and he will kill her.”

“You know this for sure? She is his niece.”

“I spoke with him tonight. We made a deal. Part of that deal is that Tara never takes off the talisman, never reveals what she is.”

“So why has she removed the spell?”

“My guess is she’s found out what I’m doing and this is her way of calling me back.” Christian’s frown deepened as something occurred to him. “Or maybe, she’s found out about you, that you’re her father, and she’s calling out to you. Maybe she thinks she can appeal to your better nature.”

“Why would she wish to do that?” He searched Christian’s face. “Let me ask you one question, Christian Roth. You claim to love my daughter. Does she love you?”

“Oh, yes.” Christian smiled. “She’s going to be really pissed that you killed me.”

Asmodai pursed his lips. “Well, perhaps I should wait until I know her a little better, and perhaps, until she knows you a little better, by then I’m sure my killing you will be far more understandable.”

“No doubt. So what now?”

“I’m coming with you. I need your help to exit the Abyss.”

“One of the reasons I came here tonight is to prevent a full-scale war breaking out.”

“There will be no war. I will find my daughter, prevent her death, and bring her back where she will be safe from the fae.”

“You plan to bring her back here?”

“Of course. She’s my daughter.”

“She was brought up believing herself to be human.”

“Thanks to you, I know nothing of her.” He sounded bitter. For the first time Christian saw things from the demon’s point of view. To be dragged from the woman you love and to be able to do nothing to save her.

“Did you know Lillian was carrying a child?”

Asmodai nodded. “She was excited. When I knew we would be separated, I wanted her to return to her people, but she refused. She said they would take her back but only at the price of our child. It was a price she was unwilling to pay. I thought they had both perished. Once the portals opened again, I sent whoever could go to search for them, but I found no trace. Until a few months ago when I sensed her.”

“She took off the talisman, a spell her mother had made for her, that hid her true nature.”

“Lillian is dead?”

Christian nodded. “She died giving birth, all her strength was gone.”

“I felt it. I knew she was dead. So will you assist me, open the portal so I may enter your world?”

Christian nodded. “If you swear to return here afterward.”

“I swear.” Asmodai picked up his sword. “Now, let’s go.”

…

Tara kicked the shards of broken crystal littering the ground at her feet then glanced back up at the faces surrounding her. They were all examining her as though she were some sort of peculiar laboratory specimen. She scowled.

“It’s quite amazing. So obvious really, it seems like we should have been able to see it all along.” Carl studied her face closely. “You don’t look any different, but you are different.”

“What?” she snapped. “Never seen a half-demon, half-fae before?”

“Demon-fae, they used to call them,” Piers spoke softly.

Tara’s eyes widened. There was actually a name for what she was. Perhaps she wasn’t such a freak after all. “There are others like me?”

“There were, long ago. It was inevitable—demons have always had a hankering for fae women.” His eyes drifted down over her body. “Not that I blame them.” He licked his lips and leered.

“If they’re immortal, are they still around?” She could hear the eagerness in her own voice.

Piers shook his head. “Not anymore. The fae hunted them down and slaughtered them as part of the Accords. They claimed that as long as the demon-fae existed, the Faelands would never be safe from attack. The fae have always hated to mix their blood.”

A shiver ran down her spine. “I’m beginning to dislike the fae.”

“Join the club.”

They fell silent. Up here, high above the streets, all was quiet. Far below, she could hear the faint hum of traffic. She rubbed her hands up her arms. Her body was rigid with tension and a tight knot of nausea burned in her belly. She wanted something to happen. Anything was better than this waiting. Though most of all, she wanted Christian to magically appear, and everything to be all right.

She raised her head. There was a change in the air.

Piers stepped closer. “Do you feel it?”

She nodded. “What is it?”

“Our first visitors, and I’m guessing it’s not your dad.”

“Don’t call him that. He’ll never be anything to me.”

Piers pointed. “Over there.”

At first, Tara saw nothing different. Then the air thickened until it was a tangible thing, like smoke and mist. She stared as the figures formed within the mist.

Tara’s hand dropped to the gun at her waist, she fingered the grip. “Can’t we just shoot them now?”

Carl laughed softly behind her. “I think I might have mentioned it before, but you’re a bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?”

Tara glowered at the “little.” “You’re not the one they’re here to kill. I don’t see anyone referring to you as an abomination.”

“Not and living. And no, unfortunately, we can’t shoot them yet. Bullets would go right through.”

The figures solidified.

“Now, we can shoot them,” Piers said. “Though it’s hardly a permanent solution—kill them here and they just re-manifest in the Faelands. I think we’ll see what they have to say first.”

“Is one of them the Walker?” Tara asked.

“The tall one in the middle. He has a bit of the look of you, don’t you think?”

Tara studied the man. This was her uncle, and he was one of the most beautiful beings she had ever seen. Tall and willowy, pale blond hair pulled back from his face to show high cheekbones and slanted grass green eyes. Her eyes.

He was dressed in tight black pants, long leather boots, and a loose white shirt. A long sword hung buckled from his waist. At each side stood another armed man.

All three were expressionless.

“Stay here,” Piers said and stepped forward. “Walker.”

The Walker’s eyes locked with Tara’s. They widened as he took in her appearance, and she saw recognition flare in his face. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out, or draw her gun and shoot him, but she let the hatred show clear in her eyes. She wasn’t going to cower, or beg for her life. This was the man ultimately responsible for her mother’s death. If it hadn’t been for him, and beings like him, her mother would have gone home and been safe and cared for. How different would Tara’s life have been?

“If looks could kill,” Carl whispered in her ear.

Tara forced her gaze away. “I don’t like him,” she said.

“I think the feeling is mutual.”

“Yes but the difference is I’ve got a good reason to hate him, whereas he’s just a narrow-minded, bigoted bastard.”

He laughed softly. “Shh,” he said. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

“Where is Christian Roth?” The Walker asked.

Piers looked around the rooftop with exaggerated care. “Not here.”

“It’s only hours since he gave his oath and it is already broken.”

“He had a little demon problem to sort out, and your niece refused to cooperate with the plan. I guess being a pain in the ass must run in the family.”

“My niece?” His gaze ran over Tara, coming to rest on her face. “It’s curious, but obviously fae blood is stronger than that of demons. She could pass as fae.”

“No, thanks,” Tara muttered.

His brows drew together in a frown, and his eyes narrowed. The Walker turned back to Piers. “Hand the abomination over to us and we will forget this. You and your people can go.”

“Thanks,” Piers said dryly. “But they’re not ‘my people,’ and I’m curious. What do you plan to do with ‘the abomination’?” He glanced at Tara as he spoke and winked.

“Destroy her, of course.” He gave Piers a considering look. “Unless you prefer to kill her yourself. Her blood should be…” He studied Tara for a moment. “Interesting. I remember you had a fondness for the demon-fae.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Walker, you know that?”

His eyes cold, the Walker stared back. “So you refuse to give her to us?”

“Yup.”

“You have a duty as head of the Order, to follow the Accords.”

Piers shrugged. “I was bored with the job anyway.”

“Is she worth risking another war for?”

“Probably not, but I promised Christian I would keep her safe and I’m going to do that. If it means killing you three and hiding the bodies, well…” He shrugged. “I can live with that.”

The Walker smiled. “You really don’t think it will be that easy, do you?”

The air thickened behind them, white haze forming. Dense patches of mist formed all around them, and groups of fae materialized from the mist. Hundreds of them drew their swords in unison.

“Oh, shit,” Carl said. He raised the gun onto his hip. “Better hope your dad comes soon.”

“Don’t call him that,” Tara snarled, but her heart pounded as her gaze darted around her small group. Her hand slipped to the pistol at her waist, her fingers tightening on the grip to stop their trembling.

Panic clawed at her—she had led them into this. They were all likely to die, and it was her fault. A hand clasped hers. It was Jamie, her friend all her life, and she might just as well be murdering him. She squeezed his fingers. He pulled away. A moment later, he vanished, and the hellhound stood in his place.

She wished she could tell him to run, save himself, but knew he wouldn’t go.

“Looks like we’re on,” Piers muttered, stepping back and pushing her behind him. “Stay there, don’t—” He broke off as one of the fae leapt toward them. The roar of gunfire filled the night, and the fae collapsed to the ground. Tara stared in horror, but the body faded into mist and was gone.

The whole seething mass of bodies shifted toward them as one. The fae moved faster than she could follow, their blades gleaming in the dim light, only to be mown down by gunfire. But, however many crashed to the ground, more replaced the ones who vanished into the fog.

Everything slowed, until Tara could see the fierce expressions on their hauntingly beautiful faces as they lunged, the bullets as they cut through the bodies. The noise faded until she was cocooned at the center of a world gone to chaos. Legs braced, Piers and Carl stood in front of her, their guns spraying a continuous burst.

Tara crouched behind them, her pistol out, but couldn’t find a target. To her right, Jamie leapt for an incoming fae, knocking the sword from his hand and sending them both sprawling to the ground. He clamped the fae’s throat between his wicked jaws and shook his head, so the blood sprayed, hitting her in the face, warm and wet. On her other side, Graham stood with his eyes closed, gun held in his outstretched hand. One of the fae leapt toward him. Tara squeezed her trigger, and he went down.

Still more came.

They couldn’t win, and despair threatened to swamp her.

Christian wasn’t going to make it, and if he did, it would be too late. The fae kept coming, their swords drawn. She searched the sea of faces and found the Walker standing off to the side, watching through narrowed eyes.

And she knew what she had to do.

She straightened and took a step forward.

“Stop.” She spoke quietly, but Piers swung in her direction, his lips curled back, his expression savage.

The Walker’s gaze locked with hers and some unspoken agreement passed between them. He raised his hand…and everything stopped.

Piers swung to face her, his eyes accusing.

She swallowed. “I’m sorry. But I have to stop this. I never expected you all to die for me. I thought—”

What had she thought? That Christian would come along and save her? That her uncle would realize he didn’t want to murder her after all? That her father—well, what could she hope for from her father? Absolutely nothing.

She looked around at her friends. Carl bled from a wound in his arm; Jamie stood, head hanging down, his muzzle smeared with crimson. The others were untouched, but that wouldn’t last. She’d already lost Christian. She couldn’t lose more.

“It doesn’t matter what I thought, but it’s over.” She put a hand on Piers’s arm. “Stop this. I’ll go with him.” She heard a low growl from the hellhound. “Jamie, I can’t die knowing that I’ve caused your deaths as well.”

He whimpered, and Carl put a hand on the huge head. “I’ll look after him.”

“He’ll kill you,” Piers said.

Tara’s gaze took in the fae surrounding their small group. “Can you honestly say there’s any chance that I’ll live, anyway?”

Piers followed her gaze. “Maybe not, but it’s better to go down fighting.”

“Keep your fighting for when it can do some good. Tonight, save my friends instead.”

Fury raged across his face. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t agree, but then he nodded, once. “We’ll stay with you. Don’t worry, they’ll let us go once—”

“Once I’m dead,” she finished for him. “If Christian comes back, tell him… It doesn’t matter, he knows.”

She stepped past Piers and stood in front of the Walker. “So Uncle, how do we do this?”

He held out a long, slender hand. Tara took it and he drew her close, turning her so she faced her friends once more. She closed her eyes, as she couldn’t bear to see the pain in their faces. A fist grasped her hair and dragged her head back. She tried to think of Christian, tried to be brave, but she didn’t want to die and the tears spilled down her cheeks. She heard the rasp of a blade as it was drawn from its scabbard.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“You can find her?” Christian stood in the courtyard of the fortress, Asmodai beside him, and all around them milled a hoard of lesser demons.

Asmodai nodded. “She has my blood.”

Christian drew his gun and gripped it in his right hand as he held his left out to Asmodai. “Hold on to my arm. I’m going to open the portal. Concentrate on where we need to be, and get us as close as you can.”

The Abyss faded as the portal opened. The temperature dropped as they left the Abyss behind and rematerialized in London. He recognized where they were–the rooftop of the Order’s building. His heart stopped once he made sense of the scene in front of him. Asmodai had indeed brought them close to Tara.

He swung up his gun and placed the barrel at the base of the Walker’s skull.

“That knife moves and I blow your head off,” Christian growled.

The Walker tensed, but his arm remained motionless and the knife in his hand rested against Tara’s throat. The Walker held her immobile, one hand clamped in her hair. Her head was pulled back, baring the long line of her throat, and her blood pulsed in the veins beneath the blade. Her eyes were closed, but her lids fluttered open as he spoke. She tried to turn to him but the knife cut into the tender flesh of her neck, leaving a crimson line. She gave a slight intake of breath then stilled.

Christian inhaled the scent of her blood, and his hand tightened on the trigger. He’d never wanted anything in his entire life more that he wanted to blow the Walker away, but Tara stood too close and might be hurt.

“Lower the knife,” he snarled.

“Christian Roth, oath breaker,” The Walker said. “I see you have returned from Hell and brought a new friend with you.”

“Lower the knife.” When the Walker didn’t move, he pressed the gun harder against him. “If you kill her now, Walker, I will shoot you down, then I will search the Faelands and kill everyone who has ever meant anything to you.”

“They will not allow you to do this.”

“You think I need their permission?” Christian held his breath. For a moment it seemed like the Walker would not comply, then he lowered the knife. “Let her go.”

The hand holding Tara fell away, and she turned to him. He saw the tracks of tears on her pale cheeks. Her enormous eyes locked on him as though she couldn’t believe what she saw.

Asmodai stood at his side, his gaze fixed on his daughter. Christian handed him the gun. “Keep the Walker covered.”

Christian ran his finger over the small cut at her throat. He opened his arms, and she fell into them, trembling as he held her tight. He trembled too; he couldn’t believe how close he had come to losing her. A minute later and he would have arrived to find her butchered. His grip on her tightened.

Christian’s eyes narrowed on Piers. “What part of the plan didn’t you understand?”

Piers grinned. “If you shack up with a demon, don’t expect her to toe the line. She didn’t like your plan.”

His eyes searched out the others, Graham, looking pale, and Carl standing with his hand on the head of a huge hellhound he guessed to be Jamie. His eyes widened when he saw Jonas Callaghan behind the small group.

The fae, their swords drawn, surrounded them. Piers nodded his readiness to fight; they had guns, but the fae outnumbered them.

The air shimmered and a stream of lesser demons swarmed through the open portal, taking up positions around them.

The Walker remained impassive as he returned Christian’s stare. “We will have a reckoning for this, you and I.”

“Perhaps, but not tonight.”

“According to the Accords, she is ours.”

Christian sighed, every bone ached, and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, but they were still alive, and Asmodai was off his back. The demon continued to stare hungrily at the girl in his arms, but he wasn’t getting her. She was Christian’s now. Only the small problem of the fae remained.

Tara couldn’t spend her life looking over her shoulder, expecting attack. He looked the Walker in the eyes, eyes so similar to Tara’s.

“You can’t have her,” he said softly, “She’s mine. We reach an agreement or we fight now.”

Piers strode over to stand next to him. “I vote we fight now. Let’s just kill them.”

Christian raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“What sort of agreement could we reach with a man who broke his oath only hours after making it?” The Walker asked.

“What sort of agreement would you want?”

“We need assurances that she will never enter Faelands.”

“That’s not a problem.”

Piers snorted. “I doubt she’s going to want to visit with her Uncle Walker anytime soon.”

The Walker ignored him. “I cannot take your word for this.”

“So what do you want?” Christian asked.

“You have proved untrustworthy, but the girl has honor. She offered herself tonight so her friends might live. We need a hostage to her good behavior. If she provides that and gives us a blood oath, we will consider it binding.”

…

Tara clung to Christian’s solid body. She burrowed her head against his hard chest and breathed in the scent of him. Warm, musky, he smelt of sweat, blood, and his own wild, masculine flavor.

She had been so sure she was about to die. She could still feel the hand gripping her hair, the icy coldness of the blade at her throat, and tremors ran through her body.

As though from a distance, she heard her name. She looked around, her eyes widening. All about them stood not only the fae, but figures from her nightmares. Some appeared human, others bore little resemblance to anything she had ever before seen, including creatures like Jamie—hellhounds. Their eyes glowed with hunger as they paced among the throng.

Her gaze was drawn to the tall figure standing next to Christian. Knowing who he must be, she looked away. She couldn’t cope right now.

“Are we going to fight?” she asked Christian, pleased that her voice sounded firm. She loosened her grip on him and tested her legs. They’d stopped trembling and she thought they would hold her up. Probably.

“Maybe, maybe not. It depends on you.”

She wasn’t up to making any more decisions tonight. Fighting would be easier than thinking, but who were they going to fight?

The fae? The demons? Everyone? Perhaps the fae and the demons would fight each other and their little group could slip away in the ensuing chaos.

“What does he want?” Her eyes skittered over the tall fae, the Walker and the knife he still clutched in his hand.

“If you give them a blood oath and swear you will never enter the Faelands, they’ll leave.”

She frowned. “It seems a little too easy.”

“Apparently you’ve impressed him.”

“He didn’t act like he was impressed. He acted like he wanted to kill me.” She thought for a minute. “What does a blood oath involve?”

“Blood, obviously,” Piers said.

“How much blood?”

“You’ll live.”

“Well that’s a novel idea, but what exactly do I have to do?”

“You swear on your blood, but they also want a hostage.”

How could she give them a hostage?

The Walker eyed up their small group. His eyes settled on the hellhound who growled softly. The Walker smiled.

“The shifter will come with us. She cares for him. He’ll stand for her good behavior.”

A flare of anger shot through her. “You’re not taking Jamie.”

The Walker shrugged. “Then the deal is off.”

“I guess we’re going to fight, after all.” Piers sounded positively cheerful. Tara cast him a dark look. She slipped her hand into Christian’s and held on. A hollow pit nestled where her stomach should be. If they fought, some of them would die, but she wouldn’t hand over Jamie.

She took a deep breath. “Yes, we fight.”

The night charged with tension. Demons shifted restlessly, eager to begin, and the fae raised their swords. Christian’s hand tightened in hers and he drew her closer into the protection of his body.

The hellhound vanished, and Jamie stood in its place. He blinked, shook off Carl’s restraining hand, and stepped toward her.

“I’ll go with the fae,” he said.

Tara frowned. “You can’t.”

“Why not? It’s not as though they’re planning on doing anything unpleasant to me. At least, I presume they’re not.”

“He’ll be well treated,” The Walker said.

“You don’t need me anymore,” Jamie said. “And Chloe’s gone. It will be good to get away, see something new. I’ve heard the Faelands are very beautiful.”

Tara bit back her tears, but she couldn’t argue with him. She stalked toward her uncle and pushed her finger into his chest.

“Swear to me that you’ll be good to him?”

A flicker of amusement crossed across his features. “It will be part of the oath. As long as you do not enter the Faelands, he will be safe and unharmed.”

“You won’t keep him locked up or anything?”

“No, he’ll be free.”

She returned to Jamie and hugged him. “You’re sure?”

He nodded.

“I’ll never see you again,” she said.

“Never is a long time. Who knows what will happen in the future?”

She tried to hold on to that thought. “Can I see Smokey one last time?”

He smiled and vanished. She scooped up the huge gray cat, burrowing her nose in his soft fur, and listening to the deep, rumbling purr. She squeezed him hard to her, then let him go. He leapt to the ground and padded over to stand beside the Walker.

Tara bit her lip. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Come here.”

She eyed her uncle warily but took a step closer. He raised the knife. “Hold out your hand.”

Christian came to stand behind her and his warmth and strength flowed into her. She raised her hand and held it palm up, managing not to flinch as the razor-sharp blade sliced through her tender skin. Blood welled from the wound. The Walker raised his own hand and cut his palm. He held it out to Tara, and she took it so their blood mingled. A weird sensation ran through her from the point of contact. Her eyes rose to his face. A strange expression crossed his face.

“Promise, on your blood and the blood of your friend that you will never attempt to enter the Faelands.”

“I promise,” Tara said. The fae made to pull away but she held on. A flash of surprise crossed his features. “Now, you promise that you’ll keep Jamie safe. Keep him happy.”

The Walker glanced down at the cat at his feet. “I promise to try.”

Tara nodded and released his hand.

Christian took Tara’s hand in his, raised it to his lips, and ran his tongue along the cut. Immediately, the sharp pain subsided and she felt the healing begin. He kissed her palm and kept hold of her hand. “Go,” he said to the Walker. “If you ever try and touch her again, I’ll kill you.”

The Walker shrugged. “No hard feelings.”

“Piss off.”

The fog gathered around the fae, swirling swathes of white. They merged with the mist, their edges blurring. Smokey blinked at her one last time and vanished.

“He was my friend for so long, now he’s gone.”

“Despite what you’ve seen of them, the fae aren’t complete monsters, and the Faelands are beautiful.”

“Are there any mice? Smokey likes to hunt mice.”

“I’m sure they can magic him some.”

Piers snorted behind them. “Yeah, of course they can, and I’m sure they will. Because underneath it all, admittedly a long way underneath, the Walker’s a really great guy.”

“Shut up, Piers.”

Piers raised his hands. “Okay, maybe they will make him something to chase. Who knows?” He gestured around the rooftop. “Now, how are we going to persuade the rest of these guys to head home?”

The roof swarmed with demons. They kept their distance but circled like hungry sharks, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. Christian turned to the tall figure at his side. “Get rid of them.”

Asmodai flicked his hand and the demons vanished. Only he remained.

Tara studied him. This was her father. He could pass for human except for his height and the wings. His body was long and lean, his face held a harsh masculine beauty, hawk-like with sharp cheekbones and a large nose. His mouth was full and sensual, his dark hair glinted with hints of ruby, and his eyes gleamed golden. Tara could see nothing of herself in him, and she was glad. He was responsible for Chloe’s death; she would never forgive him for that.

He stood impassive under her regard. When she didn’t speak, he took a step toward her. She made to move back, but Christian blocked her retreat.

“You look like your mother,” Asmodai said.

“So I’ve been told.”

He reached out and cupped her cheek. She flinched, and then froze.

“Do not fear me,” he said. “I wouldn’t harm you. You are my blood.”

“I don’t fear you,” Tara said. “I hate you.”

He studied her as she had studied him, head tilted on one side as though considering the best way to approach her. “You hold me responsible for the death of your friend.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know her, and I didn’t know she was your friend.”

A wave of fury washed over her. “You think that makes it okay? Why was she killed?”

He shrugged. “She was a means to an end. I wanted to hurt Christian Roth the way he hurt me. We believe in an eye for an eye, and he took your mother from me. I wanted him to know how that felt before I killed him.”

“It doesn’t justify murder.”

A frown creased his face. “You behave like a human.”

She glared at him. “I thought I was a human.”

A look of distaste crossed his face. “Hopefully that abnormality will pass, but then what will you be, I wonder. The demon-fae were always unpredictable.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. She might have accepted she wasn’t human, but unpredictable sounded like it could throw up some nasty surprises. She glanced at Christian.

“Don’t ask me,” he said, “I’ve never met one. They were all killed before I was born.”

“I’ve met them,” Piers said. “And yeah, unpredictable just about covers it.” He grinned. “I liked them.”

“Well, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.” She turned back to Asmodai. “Why are you still here?”

“I came here to offer you a home with me. A place at my side.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I want only one thing from you.”

“And that is?”

“Leave Christian alone.”

His glance flashed from her to Christian. “Don’t worry about your vampire lover. We’ve already reached an understanding. He’s safe from me.” He looked back to her. “Do you know where the vampires came from?” She shook her head. “Well perhaps one day I will tell you, but I think a vampire is a fitting mate for one such as you. Now, I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Tara said. “Did you love my mother?”

For a brief moment, his face softened. “Oh, yes.”

“Did she love you?”

“She gave up her people to be with me. She gave up everything and she would have followed me to the Abyss had she been able. She gave up her life for my child. Yes, she loved me.” He reached around his neck and pulled out a ring on a chain. “This was hers. She would have wanted you to have it.”

Tara took the chain. The ring was a simple white-gold band, studded with glittering stones. She draped it over her neck so it rested where the talisman had lain for so many years.

“One day,” Asmodai said, “you might want to know more about her. When that time comes, you are welcome in my home. Your vampire knows the way. No doubt, he will escort you and make sure you get safely back.”

He leaned across, kissed her briefly on the forehead, and was gone.

Her Father. Chloe’s killer. Christian’s worse enemy.

All that remained of the demons was the faint tang of sulfur hanging in the air. A breeze blew across the rooftop and even that scent disappeared. Rain started to fall and she shivered.

“Do you hate me?” she asked Christian softly.

Surprise flashed across his face. “Why should I hate you?”

“Because of who I am. What I am.”

He pulled her to him, wrapping his strong arms around her, warming her. “No, I don’t hate you.”

Graham walked across the rooftop. “Thank you,” he said to Tara.

“For what?”

“For saving my life. If Christian had died tonight, so would I.”

“Christian wasn’t going to die.”

“Asmodai would have beaten me.” Christian said. “If you hadn’t destroyed the talisman, he would have killed me.”

Tara trembled. Christian must have felt it because he lifted her in his arms and cradled her to his chest. She nestled against him. “Don’t ever, ever, do anything like this again,” she whispered.

He bent his head and kissed her. His lips were cool against hers, but his tongue was scalding hot as it slipped into her mouth and feasted on her. It was long minutes before he raised his head. “You asked me if I hated you.”

She stilled.

“I’ve lived for over five hundred years. In that time I’ve often questioned what I am, wondered whether I was evil. I am a vampire. I have no soul. I should have died many, many years ago, but tonight, for the first time I accepted what I was. For the first time, I have no regrets about the decision I made so long ago. I also had no regrets about giving up my life if it meant that you could have yours.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin. “All I’m trying to say is I could never hate you, whatever you are. I love you.”

Tears pricked her eyes as he spoke the words.

“I love you, too,” she said.

He smiled and kissed the tears from her cheeks. “I accept what I am now, and I want you to do the same. Don’t hate yourself for what you are. I suspect you’re going to change—the talisman suppressed what you are and that’s gone now.”

“Do you think I might sprout wings or grow a little taller?”

“I don’t know, but don’t be afraid to look inside yourself. I’ve come to believe there is no such thing as pure evil or pure good, and maybe no such thing as a normal life.”

Tara forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I’d already decided—I’m going to be a normal demon-fae.”

“Good. Now I think we should go home and celebrate.” She flashed a quick glance at his face. His eyes were hot and hungry. “There’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge at my place.”

“Champagne? Is that wise?” But fire sizzled through her veins as she remembered the last time she had drunk alcohol with Christian.

“Probably not. But who cares?” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “I reckon it’s an important part of accepting your inner demon. Anyway, Graham can lock us in—let us out in a year or so.”

“I’m not sure a year will be long enough.”

“Ten then, or a hundred…we have forever.”

He was right. No doubt, there would be repercussions for tonight but for now, she could relax, spend some time discovering who and what she was. Suddenly she was impatient to start. She looked around her; they were alone. It was raining harder now and everyone else had disappeared.

“Come on,” she said. “Take me home.”

Did you love Christian? Check out the rest of Nina Croft’s The Order series!

Acknowledgments

To Liz Pelletier at Entangled publishing for her fabulous covers, her wonderful editing, and her limitless enthusiasm. And to the ladies at Passionate Critters for reading my stories and letting me know what they really think. And finally to my gorgeous husband, Rob, for not getting too fed up when I spend most of my life playing in made up worlds.

About the Author

Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of 9-5 work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain. Nina’s writing mixes romance with elements of the paranormal and science fiction.

www.ninacroft.com

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Discover Nina Croft’s The Order series...

Bittersweet Magic

Roz has been indebted to the demon Asmodai for five hundred years. But after completing one last task for him—obtaining a key that had been hidden in a church centuries ago--she’ll be free. Piers, the Head of the Order and an ancient vampire, is intrigued by the woman who comes to him for help. He’ll find out who she is and what she really wants when he gets inside her head. But Piers has no idea that Roz is immune to his mind-control…or that he is simply a pawn in her dangerous mission for freedom.

Bittersweet Darkness

Introducing Nina Croft’s Blood Hunter novels…

Break Out

Two-thousand-year-old Ricardo Sanchez, vampire and rogue pilot of the space cruiser, El Cazador, can’t resist two things: gorgeous women and impossible jobs. When beautiful Skylar Rossaria approaches him to break a prisoner out of the Collective’s maximum security prison on Trakis One, Rico jumps at the chance. Being hunted by the Collective has never been so dangerous–or so fun!

Deadly Pursuit

Death Defying

Other books by Nina Croft

The Descartes Legacy

Losing Control

Out of Control

Operation Saving Daniel

Blackmailed by the Italian Billionaire

Kenric St. James is out for revenge. Over 300 years ago, an ancient female vampire turned him against his will and killed the woman he loved. He’s spent more than a century building an Enclave of warrior vampires who have sworn to defend humanity against his evil sire and her minions. But when Kenric finds a woman he finally burns to claim as his own again, Kenric knows loving her means giving his sire another target.

Emily Ross just wanted a fresh start. She’s a survivor, coming off the tail end of an abusive relationship, and craves time alone to learn who she is and to save the home that holds her heart. The last thing she needed was a controlling, alpha male calling all the shots.

Meeting Kenric might just have changed her mind, though. He is wrong for her in all the right ways. But in order to keep her heart from breaking, he first has to keep the hordes of evil vamps from stealing her very breath.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Jessica Lee. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Erin Molta

Cover design by Kim Killion

ISBN 978-1-62266-098-8

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition June 2013

To the Alpha Male who rocks my world at home, this is for you, sweetheart. Your love and support, no matter how crazy of an idea I have, mean everything to me. I love you—Always.

Dear Readers

Thank you for your interest in the Enclave series. I’ve also been an avid reader of paranormal romance for at least the last ten years. Hey, what’s not to love about alpha males with fangs? Yeah…I admit it. I was the girl who cheered for Dracula to escape with his queen. He was so darn sexy!

Hot vampires with a strong moral center despite their tortured past—this is what drew me to the warriors of the Enclave. A group of bad boy vampires who, no matter how the sins of their past haunt them, can’t walk away from those who need them. Especially the women who’ve captured their hearts and touched their souls. These are the heroes and heroines whose stories had to be told. And I hope you fall in love with them as much as I did.

Much love,

Jessica Lee

Chapter One

“Whoever you are, you’d best have a damn good reason to continue breathing,” Kenric rumbled.

It took balls for someone to enter his secured, private quarters within the compound while he slept. A part of him respected the bravado, but he despised games.

The cold edge of serrated steel trailed down his midsection. “Now, Kenric St. James, is that any way to speak to your sire?” An unmistakable female voice whispered at his ear.

He lunged.

Kenric’s momentum propelled them both across the shielded darkness of his bedroom. Her head smacked the wall with a satisfying crack followed by the thud of the blade against the hardwood floor.

With his hand constricting her throat, Kenric hissed through descended fangs, “Death is all that awaits you here, Marguerite.” The thundering beat of his heart filled his ears. “I will see you pay for murdering Annice. And I’ll have revenge for every other life you’ve destroyed.”

A wicked smile curled her lips before she laughed. Ready to purge three centuries of vengeance from his gut, he tightened his grip.

His hand collapsed around dead air. “Son of a bitch!”

Seconds later, a force slammed into his chest, propelling him across the room. His back struck the mattress. A naked, grinning Marguerite appeared, straddling his hips. Her hand slid between their bare bodies.

Kenric snatched her wrist. “That will never happen again.” Tossing her off him, he leaped to his feet.

“Maybe this would be more to your liking?” Marguerite’s form shimmered. Her black-as-sin hair morphed into long blonde ringlets. Her body transformed. Layers of white satin and lace soon covered her nakedness.

His gaze followed the familiar white dress down to her small slippers, then up again, following her soft curves and slight bosom. A sorrow-filled lump, the size of his heart, formed in his throat. His breath hitched. The gown was exactly like the one Annice had been wearing the day he’d proposed—more than three hundred years ago.

Large blue eyes, almost too large for her face, met his gaze. He grabbed the nearest bedpost, steadying his legs. Kenric stepped forward before his mind even registered he’d moved. But reality slammed into his brain and he yanked on the brake.

How could Marguerite be this evil? What the hell was he thinking? Marguerite Devonshire didn’t give a shit. She didn’t care if she ripped open old wounds and flooded them with salt. She only cared if the action suited her own needs.

Annice was dead. And the woman wearing the masquerade had murdered her.

“How are you doing this, Marguerite?” he growled. “And what the hell do you want? You’re too narcissistic for a death wish, and I damn well don’t need a reminder of what a sadistic bitch you are.”

“Ouch, darling.” Marguerite clucked her tongue and wagged one thin finger back and forth. “Now that’s not nice. I’m here because I’ve missed you.” She rose and sauntered forward, a disturbing blend of Annice’s body with Marguerite’s voice. She lifted her hand as if to rest it on his chest. Kenric backpedaled before she could make contact. Her eyelids narrowed as she dropped her arm to her side. Yeah. It was Annice’s face, but malice leaked through her pores like venom, a stinging reminder that she was all Marguerite.

“I wanted to surprise you. Do you like your dream so far?” She caressed the curves of her borrowed image.

A fucking dream. She was inside his head and screwing with his mind. Marguerite had already taken his life and blackened his soul, but no way in hell was she going to crawl around inside his brain and infect the only part of him left that was human: his memories.

With a smug grin, she added, “I had to do something to get the master of the Enclave’s attention. We’ve been out of touch for far too long. What has it been, three hundred years now?”

If she wanted chitchat, she had the wrong enemy. He shot her a look that said, get to the damn point.

“Don’t look so grumpy, love. I wanted to remind you of how perfect we are for each other. Annice would have never been happy with you.”

“Don’t even go there. You defile her name,” he spat. “You didn’t know a damn thing about her.”

“Oh, I’m sure the pitiful human female would have wanted children, and as you know, that’s not possible. You would have made her miserable. Not to mention the bloodlust that would have plagued you each time you fucked her.”

She giggled. “Her sweet little heart would have never fared well with that healthy…” Her gaze dipped low, then back to his face,“…appetite of yours.” She released a long sigh before continuing. “We belong together, Kenric, and you need to accept that fact.”

“The only fact that needs to be accepted here is that when I find you—” his voice dipped into a snarl,“—and I will find you—you’re going to wish you’d never tasted my blood. Because I’m going to make sure Annice’s death is paid for with yours.” He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction to her declarations about Annice—it would only encourage her. Even if she was right. Not about the children. The bloodlust. Unlike human men, he’d been gifted or cursed, depending on how you looked at it, with the benefit of never having to worry about disease or pregnancy when he fucked. The burden he carried was much worse. Sex and bloodlust went hand in hand. He never wanted to submit any female to the cravings he’d experienced during his time as Marguerite’s slave.

Marguerite scowled and whirled. “You always were a self-righteous, holier-than-thou son of a bitch. I see a few centuries without me have done nothing to improve your personality.”

His jaw ached under the pressure of his clenched teeth. She stood there, with her head held high and spine straight, as if she were the victim.

“We can see each other a little more often, now that I’ve mastered my new skill. You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Marguerite tilted her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. She reached out, intending once more to touch him. Kenric whipped his arm forward, knocking the vile appendage away. He couldn’t stomach the thought.

“Is there any point to this?”

“Tell me, my dear. I’m dying to know…” Her eyes blazed with fury, but her lips wore a smile of seduction. She stepped closer, her words hot against his skin. “Do you enjoy seeing your precious Annice again?”

A roar erupted, and his rage unleashed. With the power of a thought, Kenric launched Marguerite into the air and against the far wall. With his mind, he held her up with her feet dangling. Every instinct rebelled at causing pain to the image of innocence reflecting back at him. It isn’t her. It isn’t her. The mantra looped in his head as he stalked closer.

“This is my mind, Marguerite. It would serve you well to remember that the next time you think to play in my head.”

Her stunned expression shifted to a sneer, exposing her fangs. “You think you have the upper hand, love? You always were a little cocky.” Her gaze dropped to his groin. She licked her lips and tongued a fang.

Kenric hit her with another blast of energy, choking off her humor. The force pressed her body and head tighter against the wall. He couldn’t resist having his moment. She couldn’t die here in this delusion of her creation. But he didn’t give a damn. It was too sweet not to try to kill the coldhearted bitch.

“Fine, Kenric. You win. This round,” she conceded, lifting her shaking hands in surrender.

He sucked in a deep breath before releasing it along with his hold. Her body glided down until her feet met the hardwood floor.

“I can feel how much stronger you are Kenric, even as you sleep. Think about it. A master vampire, one with the potency that you possess, blended with the strength of my six centuries, plus the power I’ve procured—we would be a force unlike any vampire or mortal has ever seen. Nothing and no one could ever touch us.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but she’d grown even more insane. She spoke of power as if it were a lover, her eyes wild with lust. “What have you done, Marguerite?” Christ, what had she tapped into? “What is this procurement? Is that how you’re doing this?”

“So many questions.” She shook her head. “Join me, and in due time, all shall be revealed.” Marguerite planted another beckoning smile on her face.

“My answer still hasn’t changed, Marguerite. Never! Never again will I submit and give my mind and soul to you.”

She stepped forward, squared her shoulders, and pinned him with a glare. “You’re a fool, St. James. You’ll regret those words.”

“So be it.”

Her eyes shifted from blue to green. Her face, body, and clothing reversed to their original state. Her hips rocked back and forth in invitation.

She was pure sex.

But it was difficult to be aroused when his every instinct would rather rip her apart than fuck her.

“This isn’t over,” she simply stated. A red ring swirled around her green irises, giving away just how pissed she really was. Good.

He seized her chin, enjoying her sharp intake of air from his sudden grasp.

“For you, Marguerite, it soon will be.”

She pulled herself free and raked him with a hungry glare. Their gazes held once more in challenge before she erupted in laughter. Her image faded to mist.

Kenric gasped, lunging upright in bed. What remained of his bed linens lay tangled at the foot of his mattress. A fine sheen of sweat covered his body, chilling him to the core. The room was still, except for the sound of his rapid breaths. He scanned the darkness of his bedroom.

He was alone.

The shower door swung wide, striking the side of the glass block encasement, rattling its hinges. Even though it had been an illusion, it had felt good washing the touch of that evil bitch off his skin. Kenric stepped out onto his rippled bath mat and grabbed a towel from the bar.

The moment he dropped down on the edge of his bed, the house phone beeped. He groaned. It had to be Guerin. With the edges of the sun barely dipping below the horizon, the only person ringing this soon would be him, since he’d covered operations last night. Reaching over, Kenric pressed the speaker button.

“Yeah. What is it?”

“Damn, man. Good fucking evening to you, too,” Guerin said, laughing. “Who pissed on your sheets?”

Kenric let silence hang on the line and breathed deep before he took any more of his anger out on his second-in-command. “Marguerite was here.”

“Shit! How? There’s no fucking way she should’ve been able to get through without detection. We’re sealed tighter than damn Fort Knox. Do you want me to run a diagnostic on the sensors?”

“No, that’s not necessary. There’s nothing wrong with your sensors.” Kenric ran his hands through his damp hair, pushing the unruly waves over his head, and leaned against the headboard. The antique wood frame creaked from his weight. “She was here, but not in the physical sense.”

“Not in the physical sense. What do you mean? Like a ghost? What, is she dead? Could we get that lucky?”

“Shit, do you think I’d sound so pissed off if that were the case? No, in fact she’s gotten stronger, and apparently, when I’m asleep, she’s fucking found a way into my head. She’s discovered a new talent, and now she can crawl inside my mind and pay me a visit.”

Guerin whistled, long and low. “Damn, she’s one sick bitch. Any idea how she’s gained this new strength? If she’s here messing with you, she must not have found a new male to get her hooks into.”

“No. To quote you, ‘I didn’t get that lucky.’”

“We’re going to find her. It will happen, my man. But you’ve got to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“A ringside seat when you run her through. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you. And you’ve got it.”

Guerin started detailing the previous night’s watch. Kenric picked at the loose fiber in his towel, the other male’s voice a distant hum in his ear. In the shower, he’d replayed every word Marguerite had uttered. There had to be a clue. She did nothing without an agenda. Marguerite was too arrogant not to have given him a hint so he’d figure out what she’d accomplished. “Blended with the strength of my six centuries, plus the power I’ve procured.” Could it be that simple? “I want you to ask Elle to research something for me,” Kenric cut Guerin off.

“Oh, okay. Spill.”

“I need her to find out everything she can on vampire lore from around the fifteenth and sixteenth century.”

“All right,” Geurin drawled. “Any particular thing she’s searching for?”

“Marguerite chose her words carefully when she mentioned her new power. She brought up the fact that she’s six-hundred years old and that she’d procured her new strength . . .”

Kenric flexed the fingers of his other hand, curling and uncurling his fist. “See if she can find any mention of ancient vampire myths pertaining to relics, or artifacts of power from that time period.”

“Good idea. I’ll get her on it.”

“Anyway.” Kenric shook his head, as if the act could erase the memory and her voice from his mind. Yeah. If only it were that easy to change his reality. Like the one where he woke every night to a dawn that consisted of shadows and moonbeams instead of UV and blue skies. If he had that kind of Etch-A-Sketch ability, he would have shaken it. “You were saying something about last night? What went down?”

“Another body’s been found. A human female. Like the rest, raped and drained dry for the euphoric high by another DE-addicted vamp. That’s three now in the past four nights.”

“Too damn many.” Kenric closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. A headache hammered at the back of his eyeballs. “Where was she found?”

“The Docks. Arran found her on a side street, slumped behind a Dumpster. We took care of the remains.”

“Marguerite’s getting inside my head must be connected to the surge in the number of Death Euphoria-addicted vamps. She’s turning innocent humans then watching them kill and fry their brains. No doubt they’re her calling card to get my attention. And her presence felt too real to have been carried off telepathically from a long distance. She must be tired of playing hide-and-seek and now wants a game of tag.”

Unbidden, Kenric’s fingernails lengthened and curved into claws that dug into his palm. He needed to shift. The ability to shape-shift was the best part of being a vampire. If such a thing as a good part even existed. “Good” and “vampire” didn’t quite belong in the same sentence. God, he needed to run, run until he exhausted some of his anger, before he exploded.

“Guerin, inform Arran I’ll be on patrol tonight. Those murdering bastards are mine. Their cravings aren’t going to give them a rest, and they won’t be smart enough to find a new area for their prey. They’ll be hunting tonight… And so will I.”

Chapter Two

Midnight in Elizabeth Bay, South Carolina. Prime feeding time for the bloodsuckers he hunted. Despite the weight of his steel-toed boots, Kenric moved like a ghost on the cobblestoned streets. The music from a nearby pub vibrated against his chest and rang in his ears. He grimaced as a heavy-metal guitar solo ricocheted off the brick walls of the alley.

His black leather trench coat billowed behind him as the cold wind coming in off the bay funneled between the buildings, carrying with it the fish-laced, briny smell of the Atlantic. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t also mixed in with the stench of rotten garbage and stale tobacco.

In a few hours, the bars along The Docks would close, emptying their drunken patrons. Most would stumble off to their vehicles, and if lucky in their state, would arrive home safely. A few wouldn’t be ready for the party to be over, and they would linger, joining others who loitered after midnight on the dark corners. It was a vampire-feeding wonderland of drunks, prostitutes, the homeless, and drug addicts—a bountiful mix of easy prey.

There was only one problem: a vampire who couldn’t control their urges and continued to feed until they killed their prey became addicted to Death Euphoria. From what he understood, DE was the exhilarating high received by the vampire at the moment their human prey died. DE-addicted vampires, or DEADs, were a menace to the human population, and had become an eternal pestilence for his Enclave.

Only one other thing competed with Death Euphoria for its addictive nature: the blood of an ancient or master vampire, the very thing that gave Marguerite control over her minions without the nasty side effect of turning their brain to mush like DE. He’d witnessed the effects of her ancient blood firsthand during the years he’d spent as her prisoner, watching as she used a vampire’s craving for it as a tool to ensure his devotion. The vampire would become addicted to her and would do anything for Marguerite as long as he got another trip to her vein.

Voices neared the mouth of the alley. Stepping into the shadows, Kenric stilled, allowing the darkness to envelop him. Moments later, a young couple turned into the narrow corridor. They weaved into the alleyway, drunk and oblivious to his presence. Not that they would have noticed him, though, unless it was his wish.

The man wrapped his arm around the woman’s waist, pulling her to him before whispering in her ear. She giggled and then kissed him, as if he held her next breath. Kenric rubbed a leather-gloved hand across his jaw. How many years had it been since he’d held and kissed a woman like that? Like he didn’t know that he had slept alone for more than three centuries.

His world held no place for a woman. He had the Enclave to motivate him each evening, and vengeance against Marguerite to warm his bed each day.

It was enough.

It had to be.

The couple meandered around the corner at the end of the building. He should have been able to hear their footsteps fade, but the music’s constant beat drowned out the subtle sounds.

Another gust of wind raced around the building. The chilled fingers of autumn worked their way along the exposed edges of his neckline. With a shiver, Kenric pulled his collar higher. The pungent scent of roses and musk from the woman’s perfume continued to ride the night’s breeze. He rubbed the back of a gloved hand across his nose and turned to leave. But a trace of a scent, hidden within the strong notes of the fragrance, sparked recognition. Anticipation kicked his heart rate into fast forward.

The heels of his boots pounded against the stone street. Rounding the corner with preternatural speed, he found two DEADs holding the young couple by their throats, their eyes and mouths wide with terror.

“You picked the wrong place to hunt for your prey tonight, boys.”

Both bloodsuckers’ heads jerked at the sound of his voice and they spewed a chorus of angry hisses.

Kenric slid his daggers free and twirled them around his leather-wrapped fingers. Assuming a defensive crouch, he studied them, waiting for their next move.

The vampires had an all-too-familiar look. Their faces glistened from copious amounts of smeared drool. It dripped from their chins and extended fangs. Dilated pupils swallowed up any visible whites of their eyes, turning them into something straight out of a B movie with alien vampires. Death Euphoria addiction consumed them.

He parted his lips to avoid breathing through his nose. Their bodies and clothes reeked of excrement and sweat. A classic symptom of DE addiction, it drove all but the need for the next kill from their mind, including the desire to bathe.

Kenric’s gaze met the DEADs’. He dove into their minds, enthralling them, keeping the vampires’ attention on him. “This is my city, and pissing me off will only get you killed,” Kenric said. “Now, let them go.”

Their hands opened. The humans dropped, coughing and wheezing with each breath. As soon as they hit the ground, Kenric released his control on the DEADs and thrust a hefty dose of mental influence into the couple’s brains, erasing the memory of the attack and ordering them from the area.

“Fuck you!” Spittle sprayed from between one of the DEAD’s overextended fangs. The nasty shit hit the street inches from the toe of Kenric’s boot. If their brains had been firing on all cylinders, they’d have phased their asses away from him by now. But no. The bastards were like zombies with fangs—single-minded focus. Too juiced up to think past their bloodlust. They’d rather stand there and insult him, begging for a fight.

“Now, that’s just damn rude.”

With a flick of his wrist, he released a dagger. It flipped hilt over blade before sinking deep into the neck of the addict. Deep enough to hurt like hell but not far enough to end his sorry life. Yet.

The vampire shrieked in pain. His hands clawed at the dagger. Grabbing the hilt, he yanked the blade from his throat with a strangled cry. A gush of blood erupted from the open, sizzling wound. The river of red streamed down his neck and merged with the grime on the front of his Got Milk? T-shirt.

“You’re dead, Enclave.” The words, mixed with blood, gurgled from the damaged vampire’s mouth.

“Promises, promises…” Kenric twirled his remaining dagger.

The vampires moved apart, circling him like vultures over road kill. Finally, they surged.

Kenric leaped, somersaulting in the air. He landed on the balls of his feet behind them. The two ground to a halt, nearly butting heads. He grabbed the forehead of the one on his right and ended his life with a swift slice of his silver-plated blade, leaving the murderer’s head to dangle like an abused doll.

Ah, sweet karma.

He palmed the hilt of his dagger, enjoying the feel of its perfect balance as he rotated on his heels. The second creature reversed his step and spun, making for a quick exit. With a burst of speed, Kenric passed him, planting himself in the vamp’s path. The DEAD slammed into Kenric’s chest. Kenric lifted his dagger, preparing to give the rabid animal an undeserved merciful death.

But pain ripped through Kenric’s right side, halting the intended path of his blade.

“What the fuck!” He whirled and found another vampire had dropped in on the action. Another stab of pain shot through the right side of his neck. The vampire to his back had got in a lucky slice. Kenric’s vision went red. He pivoted and threw a kick to the center of the vampire’s gut. The DEAD crumbled to his knees, sucking hard for air.

Hot blood trailed down Kenric’s side. Air sawed in and out of his lungs. His head pounded. Fury drove the blood in his veins.

Reaching out with his mind, he harnessed the power of the wind. A trick he wasn’t sure every master vampire could pull off, but one he’d honed over the last century. His long coat whipped at his legs. Loose trash and sand formed a chaotic cyclone, disorienting the vampires around him. It gave him the distraction he needed.

Kenric closed his eyes. Power glowed in his mind like a white-hot orb. He coiled it tighter and tighter, compressing it, holding it as it grew. The heat of it burned inside his core for release. He shook from the increasing mental load, but he had to make sure it was enough. He would only get one shot.

Sweat ran down his face. He squeezed his eyes tighter, needing one more second…

Got it.

An invisible wave of energy exploded from his mind and body. It barreled into the newcomer and sent him flying into a brick wall. The loud crack of a shattered skull echoed off the stone streets. A limp and crumpled mound of vampire arms and legs slithered down the wall. He wasn’t dead yet, but he was at least out of the game.

Two down, one to go.

He spun, grabbing the other DEAD’s arm, and twisted. The vampire howled in pain as the bones in his wrist snapped. The addict’s knife clinked and bounced onto the sidewalk.

With the heel of his other hand, Kenric rammed the DEAD’s forehead. The blow sent the vampire reeling back onto the concrete. Shoving his boot into the DEAD vampire’s face and neck, he held him in place. The bloodsucker hissed, and his lower body squirmed in a desperate attempt to escape.

Blood soaked his shirt and clung like a warm second skin to Kenric’s right side. Damn, he was losing blood too fast. Leaning over the flailing addict, he met the crazed eyes of the creature. “Like I said, pissing me off will get you killed.” He plunged the blade of his silver-plated dagger deep into the vampire’s heart.

Kenric yanked the dagger out and wiped the blood from his blade across the vampire’s stained shirt. Smoke rose from the wound, and within seconds, the body reeked of sulfur and death, a stomach-churning aroma that smelled like a sour and rotting landfill. Loud pops and crackles sprang from the smoldering flesh. With a whoosh, the body swelled to twice its size and the sound of ripping seams punctuated the macabre event. Seconds later came the hissing release of implosion and decompression. Thanks to the nasty reaction of a vampire’s blood to silver, Kenric didn’t have to risk the hours it would take for the bodies and clothing to decompose to ash.

One stab directly into each of the two remaining DEADs’ hearts, and the decomposition process was well under way. No evidence would remain of the battle for humans to find. Their blood would smoke with the rest of their bodies, leaving nothing behind. However, his own blood was making a fucking mess everywhere. He’d have to call Guerin to arrange for cleanup ASAP.

“Dammit!” He steadied himself against the wall before picking up the last scattered blade. His head spun on a perpetual carnival ride.

He edged along the wall with one hand for balance. The denim around his right leg, saturated with blood, clung with each step. The car was still four blocks away. Even as a master, there was no way in hell he’d have enough strength to phase back to the compound.

The wounds to his throat and side throbbed like a mother. The DEADs weren’t organized enough to have their hands on silver-plated daggers. Good thing, because those open holes would be sending up smoke signals.

His vision clouded.

Sweat ran rivulets down the sides of his face and dripped into his eyes. The salt burned, obscuring his vision even more. Kenric leaned against the wall for support. His chest heaved. Focus. Slow your breathing. He reached inside his coat for his cell. Going to need… Pickup…

“Bloody hell!” Everything went black.

Chapter Three

“Come on… Move! It’s the pedal on the right!” Emily glared through her windshield at the car with an out-of-state license plate crawling into the intersection. She twitched in her seat, her foot itching for the gas pedal. “God, I can walk faster.”

Her path cleared, and she floored the accelerator of her Corolla. It sputtered, then lurched forward, building speed. She sighed in relief, amazed that something hadn’t ruptured in the decade-old engine.

Track number five lit the LCD display on her CD player. Her favorite song, “Crashed” by Daughtry, filled the interior and lifted her spirits. Dialing up the volume with one hand, Emily thumped her fingers on the steering wheel with the other and hummed the melody, trying to settle her nerves.

She’d volunteered to pull the extra eight-hour shift tonight but hadn’t counted on the weekend traffic clogging the main road into downtown Elizabeth Bay at this time of night. She was late, and she hated being late.

With a deep breath, Emily took the next turn, heading into the area known as The Docks. It was a seedy part of town, and she wasn’t thrilled at the thought of maneuvering through there in the middle of the night. But if she kept her doors locked and kept moving, she’d be safe and shave ten minutes off her trip.

She’d been through there twice before, and each time the area had made her nervous. This trip didn’t feel any less intimidating. The shortcut consisted of several turns through narrow cobblestone streets lined with bars, strip clubs, and streetwalkers.

With a death grip on the steering wheel, Emily made her third turn. This one onto Anchor, another one of the bumpy streets. Her Corolla rumbled and bounced on the uneven pavement, making her bones feel much older than their twenty-eight years.

A fine mist covered the windshield, creating murky, shadowy images. Emily tapped the wipers to clear the haze. To her right, the dark form of a man lay slumped on the sidewalk, his upper torso tilted in an awkward position, facedown. Probably drunk out of his skull. She shrugged but found herself slowing the car for a better look.

Emily clicked on her high beams. The wide berth of white light flooded the narrow corridor. An unmistakable trail of dark crimson ran from beneath him. She hit the brakes.

Stopping on one of these streets late at night was not the smartest move, but her internal need to help the man overrode her instinct for self-preservation. No way could she drive off and leave someone alone in the street to bleed to death. She quickly dialed 911 on her cell before grabbing her first-aid kit from her dash and exiting the vehicle.

The car’s high beams cast a veil of white light around the man and her. God, there was so much blood. She placed two fingers on the side of his neck and checked for a pulse. His skin chilled her fingertips, but there was a faint thump. Shallow breathing warmed the palm she’d placed near his nose and mouth.

He was alive.

Her heart raced, each beat like a bass drum in her ears. Hello, adrenaline rush.

She ran to her trunk and pulled out an old wool blanket. Granted, she’d never expected to use it to cover a stranger who lay bleeding to death on the sidewalk, but hey, kudos for being prepared for anything.

First priority, she had to find the source of all the blood. After pulling on a pair of latex gloves from her emergency kit, she eased him onto his back, allowing gravity to aid her with his dead weight.

Bandage scissors made easy work of slicing up the center of his black shirt. An expanse of hard muscle brushed her knuckles as she worked. With his shirt pulled back as far as his leather coat would allow, Emily started her assessment at the top of his head, working her fingers along his scalp.

All clear.

A blast of cold wind stole her breath, reminding her of the urgent situation.

“Come on, Mister. You need to hang on for me.”

Moving south, she found an open neck wound, but judging by the slow rate of seepage, no artery appeared to be nicked. It couldn’t be the source of the large amount of blood. There had to be another injury.

Running her hands down his flank, her fingers slid into a deep, penetrating wound. “Found you.”

Emily ripped open a stack of gauze sponges and one by one packed them into the wound. Afterward, she covered his torso with the blanket. Satisfied she’d done all she could, Emily shuffled on her knees to recheck his pulse and respirations. With her cheek to his face, she felt for his breath on her skin and for his heartbeat with her fingertips. Warm puffs of air passed through his lips. Thank God. His pulse, though still weak, continued to beat.

The wail of distant sirens echoed through the narrow street.

“Not long now,” she said, stroking damp raven curls off his forehead, her own breathing returning to a more natural pace. Emily traced the outline of his face down to the coarse whiskers of his chin. The fine hairs on her arms stood on end as she brushed the stiff hairs with the pads of her fingers. She shivered, blaming the cold mist.

Her thumb found the full curve of his bottom lip. Curious for the feel of the skin there, she brushed his lip with her finger. She gasped. Cool, and so very soft. Her teeth caught her own lower lip.

A blaring siren yanked Emily from her fascination. Her gaze fell back to where her fingers lingered on his lips and chin.

“What the hell am I doing?” she mumbled, snatching her hand away. God, had it been so long since she’d been with a man that she now resorted to touching one who was unconscious? Maybe her ex was right. She was the one in need of therapy.

The siren quieted and the emergency vehicle pulled to a stop behind her car. Two paramedics rushed from the vehicle, leaving the red and white lights to flash the dark street in dizzying strobe. Emily backed off, making way for the rescue workers to do their job.

They worked fast, assessing him while throwing questions she couldn’t answer at her since she knew nothing at all about him.

With IV fluids now pouring into him and a defibrillator on hand, he had a chance. Relief swept through her on a wave of post-adrenaline rush trembles. She rubbed her arms in hopes of easing the shakes.

She breathed a long sigh of relief as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance.

“I’ll follow you to the ER. I’m on duty tonight in trauma,” she said.

One of the paramedics climbed into the cab behind the wheel. A silly grin lit his face as he glanced her way. “Well, looks like you got a jump start on your shift.”

…

Someone was trying to pickax their way out of his skull.

The metallic smell of dried blood weighed heavy in the air. A wave of hunger coursed through him, tightening Kenric’s stomach into an agonizing spasm. His veins burned, demanding to be fed. A thick fog clouded his mind. Where the hell was he, and what the hell had happened?

Muffled voices chattered in the distance.

The lethargy throughout his body had sealed his eyelids. Pushing through the haze muddling his brain, he assessed his surroundings. Along with blood, there was an acrid scent of antiseptic. Above his head, the repetitive sound of a mechanical heartbeat pinged.

Shit!

How the hell did he end up in a hospital?

Through the insistent pounding within his skull, the memory of his battle with the DEADs returned. He’d been about to call Guerin when he’d blacked out. Where the hell was his phone? He had to get out of here. The itch beneath his skin, like a fucking sundial, warned him that time was running out.

The heart monitor over his head lurched into a rapid succession of beats.

Get a grip, Kenric.

He couldn’t risk drawing any unwanted attention. With a fierce hold on the gurney’s rail for strength, he focused on his heart rate, slowing it to a steady pace.

Now, to find his damn phone. He searched along his left side, feeling for the lining of his coat. A cool draft floated in under the thin sheet. Where the hell is my coat…and the rest of my damn clothes?

Approaching footsteps and a trio of voices grabbed his attention. Taking a deep breath, he stilled his movements.

“You guys go ahead and get out of here. Can you give me a rain check on breakfast? I want to check in on our John Doe one more time before I leave.”

“Come on, Emily. You’ve been at Memorial a year already, and you keep turning me down every time I try to get you to meet someone. Jake is really interested. I know you two would hit it off if you’d give it a chance.”

“I promise I will. Soon. Just not this morning. Not yet.”

“Fine,” a female said with a sigh.

The sharp sound of metal rings sliding over a rod near his head indicated one of them had entered his area.

…

Emily closed the privacy curtain of the trauma treatment room. The unidentified patient she’d found earlier at The Docks lay unconscious on the hospital gurney. Bloodstained bandages covered his flank and neck.

Once the paramedics had gotten him here, the ER had been able to stabilize him with a few universal-donor transfusions. He remained in need of additional units to bring his hemoglobin into an acceptable range, though. Unfortunately, the lab was taking longer than usual to type and cross-match him. They’d found some kind of anomaly present in his blood work. There was even talk that he possibly had some form of leukemia on top of everything else, due to the extreme elevation in his white-blood-cell count.

She followed the rise and fall of his chest and couldn’t help but admire the sheer will this man had to survive. And she couldn’t ignore the fact that even though he lay there covered in bandages, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

His hospital gown stretched the breadth of his shoulders, while the arm openings strained to contain his biceps. The bed sheets covered the contours of his torso, but she remembered his washboard abs.

Wavy hair, a black so deep it shone under the fluorescents, was a little longer in front than back. It fell over his forehead, almost covering his eyes. The dark waves framed a regally defined face. But it wasn’t perfect. In fact, a pale, thin scar ran along his right cheekbone, ending about an inch above his lip. To others, the scar may have damaged his looks. To her, it added character that accentuated his masculine features. The man was captivating, to say the least.

Her tongue traced her upper lip, and her body tingled.

Stop it, Emily! You’re a professional nurse who shouldn’t be ogling a patient. Just take his vital signs and get out of here.

Lifting his arm to check his blood pressure, she noticed the tattoo that wrapped around part of his right bicep. Unable to resist, she traced the outline of the connecting loops. It formed a figure eight lying on its side.

Infinity.

The symbol intersected with a dagger that pierced the center of the joining circles. Red drops of what looked to be blood dripped from the blade.

“What were you doing out there tonight?” she whispered. He was one very intriguing mystery.

Kenric lay perfectly still as the female approached him. Until he knew whom and what he was dealing with, he didn’t want to give away that he was conscious. She paused at his bedside for a moment before lifting his right arm and placing a cool device under his bicep. She must be a nurse. He savored the warmth of her hands on his skin as her fingertips glided over his bicep. The nurse traced the symbol of the Enclave, and his flesh tingled.

Suddenly her touch disappeared as a cuff tightened around his arm. Her hair teased his chest, sending chills skating across his body. He drew in a long, deep inhale. The scent from her hair and skin filled his nostrils and burrowed deep inside his mind. Her fragrance reminded him of wildflowers after a spring rain. Warm, sweet, and spicy. And did nothing to quell the storm of hunger or soothe the growing need that accompanied his appetite at this state. Both threatened to unravel the edge of his control.

He clenched the fingers of his opposite hand, struggling to maintain his patience. His fist ached from keeping such a tight hold on his control. Another deep breath filled him, sparking every neuron in his brain. She was intoxicating.

Good God. The blood that remained within him surged into his groin. Get a grip, man, before you do something you’ll regret.

He struggled to hold the vampire in check.

As if starved for her scent, he inhaled again and stifled a groan. His fangs lengthened. The drive to feed twisted in his gut.

Time had run out.

Harnessing the strength that his hunger provided, Kenric opened his eyes and reached for the woman. She swung her head around with a startled yelp. A wave of dark auburn hair fell over her shoulder.

Breathtaking.

Long, dark eyelashes framed hazel eyes specked with a hint of blue, green, and brown at the center. Her heart-shaped face held a small, upturned nose and rose-colored lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. Kenric dragged his gaze away from her mouth. He needed to concentrate on holding her attention, not linger on the fantasy his mind and groin wanted to study in greater detail.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I’m fine. Are you…okay?” Her gaze met his, giving him the opening he needed. Kenric slipped inside her mind to give her the mental nudge she’d need to accept his verbal commands.

“Don’t be afraid. I need you very calm and very quiet. You are safe. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His voice resonated, maintaining his hold. “What’s your name, Wildflower?”

“Emily… Emily Ross.”

“Emily, I need your help to get out of here. I want you to disconnect me from these monitors and tubes without bringing attention to us.”

She didn’t move. Instead, her mind pushed back, attempting to block his control.

“Now, Emily.” He pushed in return, harder this time. His body trembled from the effort to maintain his presence in her mind and the rhythmic beat of his heart, so that the heart rate monitor kept its orderly beat. Red hair suited this female. The color matched her spirit.

As if in slow motion, her body rebelling, Emily did as he’d instructed. Her compliance took every ounce of telepathic influence and skill left at his disposal.

Once completed, she returned to his side.

He caressed the right side of her face, the warmth of her skin a heated embrace on his cool palm. With the gentle persuasion of his hand, Kenric brought her gaze back to connect with his.

“Lean closer to me, Emily.”

Her eyelids narrowed, confusion written in her expression, but she lowered her head. Kenric pulled her in, positioning her neck near his lips, and brushed a stray curl away from her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against her skin. “If there was another way, I would take it. You see, you have something I’m in desperate need of.” He didn’t know why he felt the sudden, overwhelming desire to explain. He had to feed. And he would make sure she didn’t remember when he’d finished. But something inside him needed her to understand and to not be afraid. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I promise. I will be as gentle as possible.”

He savored another whiff of her sweet scent before tasting the area above her pounding pulse. She shivered, wringing a groan from his throat. He could wait no longer.

His fangs pierced her supple flesh. Tightening his hold, he held her immobile, not wanting to tear her skin. A moment later, Emily’s body relaxed. He loosened his grip and gently caressed her arms, soothing her as he drank.

Her blood spilled into his mouth, a flood of hot and sweet. It filled his starved body in a tidal wave of sensation and pooled in his groin. He’d never tasted anything as luscious as the woman in his arms. And he wanted more.

Kenric reached farther around her body and lifted her onto the gurney with him. He wanted—no, needed—the feel of her whole body next to his. Her hip pressed against him. His eyes rolled in exquisite pain.

Finally, he reluctantly withdrew his fangs, licking the remaining spicy droplets of blood from the small twin holes on her neck. Pressing his tongue to the wound, he held pressure on the area for a few seconds to ensure clotting had taken hold.

“Thank you, Emily,” he whispered into her ear, easing his arms from around her. She slumped.

“Shit!” He hadn’t stopped in time. What the hell was wrong with him? A frantic shuffle ensued as he worked to slide out from beneath her and onto his side. Holding his breath, he checked for a pulse.

There was a strong beat.

Air rushed from his chest with relief. She’d passed out.

Good man, Kenric. This is really the way to get out of here unnoticed. He punched the pillow beneath them and silently groaned when he’d much rather have shoved his fist through a wall.

Now, not only do they have a slashed-up John Doe who will go missing, but also an unconscious nurse with bite marks on her neck.

Nice inconspicuous exit, asshole.

Kenric gripped the side rail of the gurney, pulling himself to a standing position while lowering Emily onto her back. His legs trembled under his weight, and he struggled to gain his balance. It would take a few moments to feel the full restorative effects of her blood.

Studying the auburn-haired woman in blue scrubs, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt more alive than he had in the moments before he had fed. A physical response to do more than replenish his veins was normal, but not like that. Not to the point where he lost focus. He needed to get the hell out here, fast. Wipe her memories and be gone. He could take care of the mess he’d made after the fact.

With the back of her head in his palm, he closed his eyes, searching for the memories he needed to capture from her mind.

He lowered her head back to the mattress, then whirled, giving an exasperated swipe to his hair.

What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re not a damn fledgling.

He couldn’t concentrate. Every time he found the memory he sought, it faded, slipping from his mind. It wasn’t like he didn’t perform this little trick at least once a week when he fed. What was it about her that had him so rattled?

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Back at the gurney, he held her head in his hand, searching once again for focus. This had to be done.

His mind rebelled. With a grimace, he lowered her head and threw his hands up in surrender. He couldn’t do it. She didn’t deserve to wake up alone, confused and sick, lying on an empty gurney. She didn’t deserve to be confronted for an answer about what the hell had happened to John Doe. And maybe, he didn’t want her to forget him.

Where did that come from?

He shook his head and huffed. He didn’t need the complication of being responsible for a woman.

But cleaning up all traces of the John Doe from the hospital, with help from the inside…

He stared at his dilemma sleeping on the gurney. If he trusted this woman to help him, he would place the entire Enclave at risk. Kenric ran an impatient hand through his hair. But he couldn’t, and, in truth, did not want to, leave her here like this.

“Guess there’s only one way to handle this situation.” He brushed an auburn lock of hair from Emily’s cheek. “Wildflower, you’ll be coming with me.”

In a hospital bag on the counter in his room, he found his clothes and coat. He reached in and pulled out his shirt and jeans. Sliced pieces of denim and cotton dangled from his hands. The hospital gown he had on was going to cover more of his body than the scissored mess the ER staff had made of his clothes. His phone was still in the coat pocket, though, and luckily in one piece. He pressed speed dial one for Guerin, who answered on the first ring.

“Kenric, where the hell are you, man? We’ve been trying to reach you all night. Arran’s been out searching for you for hours.”

“I’ll explain when I see you. I don’t have a lot of time. I need you to send a car to… Hang on.” Kenric eased closer to Emily. Picking up the ID badge lying on her chest, he continued, “Elizabeth Bay Memorial.”

“Elizabeth Bay Memorial! Shit, how the hell did you end up there?”

“Like I said, I don’t have time for the details.” Kenric’s pulse thumped in his temples. “Just get me a car. Pull up outside the ER, ring my phone once you’re in position, and I’ll phase into the back.”

“Give me about ten minutes. We found your Mercedes where you parked it. Michael’s also out searching and should be near you. I’ll get him to grab your car and haul ass over there. In the meantime, make yourself scarce.”

Kenric snapped the cell phone closed, leaving it on vibrate to wait for the signal. Times like these, he was never more grateful to have Michael on his staff. Having a human around to venture out during daylight hours when the vampires were trapped indoors was an invaluable service.

Damn good thing they’d left his car where he’d parked it. It wouldn’t take but a few minutes to get here, and with the extra tint on the windows, it would keep his ass from going crispy.

Kenric pulled back the edge of the blue-checked material surrounding his bed and scanned the area. A few distant conversations along with the clatter of equipment moved in the opposite direction. Good, the area’s clear for now. Hopefully, it would stay that way for the next few minutes. He rubbed the stubble along his chin and sighed. With any luck, the staff would believe Emily had already left, her shift over.

Emily moaned and shifted on the gurney. Releasing the curtain, Kenric returned to her side. She was a little pale, but her pulse beat steady under his fingertips.

“Damn.” He couldn’t believe he’d been so reckless. His father had trained him for discipline and self-control since before he could walk. In his childhood home, those traits had either come to you naturally or you had learned them under the whip.

He never lost control when feeding.

The phone buzzed in his palm. The car was here. He dropped the cell into the hospital bag he held in his hand, then reached down and lifted Emily. She was a full and curvy woman, soft in all the right places, and fit perfectly in his arms. He loved the way she felt.

She whimpered and snuggled closer. Closing his eyes, Kenric fought the distraction of her body in order to focus on bringing the image of the car’s interior into his mind. It would take most of the energy reserves Emily’s blood had restored to phase them both the short distance.

He didn’t have a choice.

It was the only option to get out of the hospital unnoticed. A passed-out nurse in his arms, and his ass flapping in the breeze while he waltzed out the front door, would not make for a subtle departure.

Slowing his heart rate, Kenric sharpened the image of the car’s backseat in his mind. His body tingled. A brief falling sensation and momentary disorientation confirmed the phase. Less than a second later, he opened his eyes. They’d made it into the back of his Mercedes.

“Glad to see you’re safe, sir,” Michael said, turning around to toss a thick black blanket to his newly arrived passenger. Nodding his head of sandy blond waves at the woman in Kenric’s arm, a slight smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “I see we’ll be having a guest at the compound.”

“That’s correct. And we’ll also be keeping this between us for now. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. However you want it.” Michael faced forward.

“When we arrive at the compound, park the car near my private entrance.”

“Understood, sir.”

It would buy him some time. Keep her scent under wraps until he could explain—to her and to his warriors.

His skin stung even from the subdued morning light coming in through the tinted windows. Covering his face and body with the supplied blanket, and Emily as well, he eased back into the soft leather seat with Emily resting against his chest.

The car bumped and dipped, leaving the hospital parking lot. Michael revved the engine, accelerating them into the flow of traffic.

Kenric’s mind raced with the upcoming task at hand: How could he convince Emily to help him erase his presence from the hospital? Not to mention, how to tell her why he needed it erased in the first place?

He was a vampire. Not just any vampire, but one who had already helped himself. He squirmed in his seat. Damn, how was she not going to be scared out of her mind? It would be scary enough for her to learn vampires were not a myth. Top that little bit of information off with the fact that she’d already been snacked on. Not good. Not good at all.

Inside the blanket, Emily’s sleeping face lay pressed against his chest. He pulled her in tighter. He relished the stark contrast between the rough wool scraping at his arms and the softness of the woman contained within.

Draped in darkness, he could not escape thinking of her. Unable to resist it, he drew another intoxicating breath. He hoped working with Emily didn’t take too long, because when he inhaled her scent and embraced her like this… Kenric closed his eyes. He didn’t have the luxury of a distraction. Besides, any needs or desires he had for her weren’t worth her dying.

Chapter Four

A hazy glow crept beneath Emily’s weary eyelids. Lying on her right side, she peeked through her lashes, trying her best to make out the shapes and colors of an unfamiliar room. A lamp beside her illuminated her fuzzy environment. She blinked to clear her vision.

Where am I?

Did I get drunk last night?

She couldn’t believe she would have gone out and gotten this wasted. Wait—no. She’d worked last night. Lifting the sheet covering her, she peered down at the now-wrinkled blue scrubs.

Emily performed a quick mental once-over of her body. She didn’t feel like she’d been assaulted. Her head ached, and God, was she tired. If she didn’t know better, she would swear she’d pulled a forty-eight-hour shift instead of an eight. Pressing her elbow into the mattress, she pushed up. The room spun, and the walls swayed with whirling, little white spots.

“Whoa, girl. Okay, well, that’s not good,” she mumbled on her way back down to the mattress.

With the option of pulling herself upright shelved, she tried to keep a tight-fisted hold on her growing anxiety. She looked around the bedroom. Rich browns and deep burgundies gave the large room warmth. A heavy mahogany chest of drawers with brass pulls sat across from her, resting on a dark-stained hardwood floor.

The bed appeared not only big enough for her but also one heck of a sleepover. Emily rolled onto her back. Massive, ornately carved posts stood at each corner. Her hands glided across dark and glossy burgundy sheets. Wow, silk. They had to be the most expensive available. Really? Who was she kidding? Like she would even know how cheap silk felt? But these sure were nice.

The door to her right opened. Emily closed her eyes. Whoever it was, she decided she would rather figure out their agenda before they knew she was awake.

The sound of bare feet padded around the foot of the bed. She opened her eyelids enough for a peek. A man with wavy, jet-black hair, wearing only a white towel hung low on his hips, stood with his back to her.

He didn’t appear the least bit familiar. It wasn’t like she needed two hands to count the number of men’s bedrooms she’d been in, and there was no way she would have forgotten that body, even from the back.

His damp bronze skin glistened in the dim light of the room as he rummaged through a dresser drawer. Shadows formed in the valleys between the muscles flexing across his back. Tension and anxiety wound in her gut, making it difficult to remain still.

Who is he?

She glanced over to the lamp on the bedside table. The slender shape of the base would make a good handhold for a weapon. Movement in her peripheral vision captured her attention and had her gaze darting back to the man in front of her.

Without warning, the towel dropped from his hips.

“Oh, God!” Emily clamped a hand over her mouth. He must have not heard her, because he proceeded to bend over, his bare ass right in front of her. Oh. My. God. The finest-looking piece of male anatomy swayed against the inside of his thigh. She swallowed hard at the dry cotton lining the back of her throat and tried unsuccessfully to pull her gaze away.

He straightened and pulled on a pair of faded, snug-fitting blue jeans, up and over the tightest set of buns she’d ever seen.

He turned and lifted his hands out to his sides, displaying empty palms. “Please, don’t be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you.” Mr. Commando edged closer to her side of the bed. She had no idea what he had in mind, but she had no plans to hang around long enough to find out.

She bolted.

Her legs scrambled to propel her while her upper body weaved and wobbled to the other side of the bed. “Damn, damn, damn.” Her feet hit the floor seconds before her legs melted. Strong arms grabbed her just before she hit the floor, face-first.

“We need to get some fluids into you.” He scooped her up, holding her tight. Not like a mental patient who’d tried to escape, but rather like a fragile doll that had almost broken. The fight knocked out of her for the moment, Emily gave in and rested her head against his bare shoulder. The scent of warm sandalwood mixed with pine teased her nostrils. Damn, he smells good.

“No one’s going to hurt you.” He laid her back against the pillow.

The words sounded nice and all, but she wasn’t taking them to heart until she had some answers. Like, now. “Who are you?” Emily grasped the sheet beside her and dropped it back to the bed for emphasis. “And what am I doing here?”

“To answer your first question, I’m Kenric St. James. And second, you weren’t well, and I brought you here until you feel better.” From the bedside table, he picked up a full glass. “Here, you need to drink. It’ll help.”

She recoiled. He did not think she was going to drink that? She had no idea who he even was. He could be some ax murderer, for all she knew.

“It’s not poison, only water. Look.” He tipped the glass to his lips and took a sip. His gaze never left hers as he swallowed. Emily followed the path the liquid took as it made its way down his throat and beyond. Her gaze landed on the light spray of dark hairs covering his chest. A wave of heat rolled from the tips of her toes to the top of her head in a hot rush. She’d never been what the other girls used to call “boy crazy.” Had never sat and watched the way a man walked or talked. No man had ever appealed to her in that way. But this man. Whew! Her nipples tightened beneath her scrub top, sending a jolt of awareness between her legs. This man made drinking water a sexual act.

“See, just water,” he said, handing the glass to her.

Emily crossed her arms, so he couldn’t see how her body reacted to him. How embarrassing. She stared at the water, and then back at the stranger who called himself Kenric St. James. He hadn’t tried to hurt her—yet, and her throat did feel like a dry lake bed. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she took his offer but immediately inched over in the bed. His presence…overwhelmed.

The cool liquid bathed her parched throat. She finished it off in three large swallows.

“Would you like another?” He raised his chin toward her empty glass. “You should drink as much as you can.”

She nodded.

Kenric plucked the glass from her hand. The smell of the forest and the heady musk of testosterone radiated off him. Very nice. Some of the anxiety eased from her tense muscles only to gather in other places she did not want to think about.

He poured her a refill from the container on the bedside table. Still wet from a shower, his damp hair fell forward in soft ebony waves across his forehead. As he passed her the drink, his ink-black eyelashes lifted, and his gaze met hers. The color of his eyes knocked her off-kilter: azure. The same color she imagined tropical waters would appear as they rolled onto a white sandy beach on some faraway shore. Their fingers touched, and the glass wobbled in her hand. She jerked and glanced away, steadying the glass with her other hand.

He hovered at her bedside, following her every move. The way he watched her from under those lashes felt almost…possessive. I’m not going to freak out. I’m not going to freak out. Breathe. In and out. She inhaled through her nose and out her mouth. A parting gift from her ex left her paranoid of any man getting ideas of ownership. She had to keep a clear head. He was just making sure she was okay. At least that was what she was going to tell herself. All the way to the door.

She kept her sights trained on the tiny air bubbles in her glass and away from Mr. St. James. What’s wrong with me? I don’t know this man. Yet here I am, sitting on a stranger’s bed, getting all hot and bothered, instead of getting my butt up and out of here.

“Look, I really appreciate you helping me. Really, I do. But I need to go home now. You can fill me in on what happened and how I got here on my way home. I’m sure everyone is worried sick about me,” she added, glancing back up at the hard edge of his jaw. Her rational mind screamed, Run, idiot.

He reached for the water pitcher again. She couldn’t help but follow the flexing line of muscles in his arms. Her gaze trailed along his smooth bronze skin and the cut outline of his forearm up to his defined bicep. An intricate black tattoo halfway encircled the muscle there. She reached out to touch the design. Her fingertips brushed the warmth of his skin. A sudden sense of déjà vu surrounded her, sending a shiver racing down her spine.

Emily couldn’t take her eyes off the tattoo. Her stomach tightened, as if something unpleasant had joined with the ink. She’d seen this before, touched this same tattoo. Images shuttered past, frame by frame, as if she was viewing an old movie reel.

She had stood at the bedside of an injured male patient in the ER. Her fingertips had brushed the black and red pattern wrapping his bicep. The interconnecting loops had formed the infinity symbol, while a dagger, dripping blood, had penetrated its center.

The patient had woken up and gripped her arm. She’d jumped from the unexpected touch and beautiful vivid blue eyes had met hers.

Her gaze left the arm of the man beside her now and shifted to his face. Same tattoo, same beautiful blue irises, and the same scar that had graced the face of her handsome John Doe.

This isn’t possible.

The patient on that gurney had had life-threatening stab wounds. She glanced to the right of Kenric’s neck and saw a raised jagged pink scar. With her lungs tight and her heart in her throat, she scanned his bare chest and side.

Same story.

Impossible.

No one healed that fast.

“Who are you?” Shit, that sounded weak and shaky. Emily wanted to cringe but refrained. She hated to let anyone know she was afraid, especially a man.

“Kenric St. James, remember?”

“I know that’s what you said, but you look just like my patient from the ER last night. A John Doe. A man I found stabbed and near death down at The Docks. But that’s not possible, right?”

No answer.

Air sawed in and out of her chest, and with each passing moment, she inched farther across the bed and away from the man.

More memories from the previous night unreeled.

He’d asked her name, and then she’d been like a puppet on a string. She had detached the John Doe from his heart monitor and IV. Her mind had rebelled, but her arms and legs had worked against her. She had had to help him. He needed to leave. The words cycled on repeat in her head.

Next, she had sat on the gurney beside him. Per his command, she’d leaned closer. Her heart raced as the memories continued to unfold. What had he done? He had gripped her upper arms, urging her even closer, until his whiskers scraped her cheek. His words had whispered in her ear. He was sorry. He wasn’t going to hurt her. The warmth of his breath had heated and caressed her skin.

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted and stood on end, ushering the last missing piece of the puzzle into place. Chills ran down her back, causing her to shiver.

“Oh my God!” Emily launched herself to the other side of the bed. Water sloshed in her wake from the forgotten glass, now overturned and pooling on the sheets. Sitting up on her knees with her hand at her throat, she gawked at Kenric St. James from the other side of the bed. Her fingertips brushed over two raised and tender bumps on the side of her neck.

“What did you do to me?”

He sat there, unmoving, watching her with those piercing blue eyes.

“Answer me!”

Kenric watched as Emily’s hazel eyes ignited in frustration. Her reaction to what he’d done played out exactly how he’d imagined it would. He’d run this scenario a dozen times or more in his mind before she had woken up. The problem was, he wasn’t any closer to knowing what to say to her at this moment than he’d been hours ago.

He’d fed on her. How does one downplay that reality? Somehow, when all was said and done, he hoped she wouldn’t hate him. She could hate the vampire. He could live with that. But for some reason, it mattered that she didn’t hate the man behind the monster.

Kenric backed away from the bed. He raised his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “Emily, please, I realize this sounds absurd after what you remember, and I know it must seem like these are the only words I know, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What did you do to me? I remember you at my neck. You… It felt like… You bit me! Why would I sit there and let you do that? Why on earth would you do that?”

Emily slid from the bed, trying to get as far away from him as the room allowed. Holding on to the curtains for balance, she stood before a wall of covered windows. With her eyes clenched shut, she gave herself a hard pinch.

“Ouch!” She opened her eyes and grimaced when their eyes met. He couldn’t resent her disappointment in his continued presence.

“You’re not dreaming,” he softly responded. She straightened, stood a little taller. A woman with dignity. Pride. He respected that, and her bravery in the face of what must feel like a nightmare. Most women would be sobbing by now and begging for mercy. This fiery redhead just got pissed. And damn if she didn’t heat his blood with all that fire.

“There’s a lot I need to explain. Do you think we can talk? Can you just sit for a moment? You’ll have your space. I’ll sit over there.” He indicated the overstuffed leather furniture in the sitting area on the other side of his bedroom. She glanced in the direction he pointed, then quickly back to him. Her guarded stance and the small clenched fist she held at her side said it all: she thought he was crazy. No doubt a part of him was, for what he was about to ask her. He had a whole lot of shit to dig out from underneath, and he had to make it smell sweet if he wanted any chance in hell of gaining her trust.

“Let me explain what happened last tonight,” he said. “I give you my word. I will never touch you again without your consent.”

Chapter Five

Marguerite breathed deep and pressed the combination sequence into the small square of buttons on the jeweled box sitting on her dresser. The lock released with a click. She opened the lid, and then pulled the deep drawer out. Inside lay a velvet sleeve covering an object the size of a large orange. Marguerite lifted it from its resting spot and slid it into her palm. She stared down at her newly procured source of power, her lips curling in a satisfied grin. This would ensure her success with Kenric.

The crimson glass vessel, formed in the size and weight of a human heart, warmed her flesh as if it still contained the live, beating essence of its former owner, Goran Madunic, not the thick sludge drained from the vampire’s heart more than six-hundred-years ago. She held it up to the lamp beside her. The light shimmered off the colored glass and highlighted the dark shadow of the level remaining in the relic. Not much left—a blunt reminder of the ticking clock that hovered over her plans.

The door to Marguerite’s chamber opened.

“Mistress, please excuse the interruption, but I thought you would want to…” The male’s words stopped short as Marguerite jerked her head in his direction. Swinging her arm out with her palm upright, she hurled a merciless blast of energy at her intruder. It slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and into the wall behind him. A gasp of air left his lungs as he crashed into the wall and slid dazed onto the floor.

“You fool!” she shrieked. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you lie for such ignorance. The next time you will be dead, and I shall find a new leader for my colony.”

They annoyed her at times, but she found it necessary to keep a few loyal vampires—minions—around whose minds were still intact, addicted to her and not DE. They served her sexually and were happy to handle whatever else she needed them to do, for just another sip at her vein. But that didn’t make them irreplaceable.

Shaking her head, Marguerite thrust the orb back into the security of her lockbox and brought her attention back to the current matter at hand: the vamp who lay sweating on her floor.

“Forgive me, Mistress.” Enrique pulled himself up off the hardwood and onto his knees. He crawled over in front of Marguerite. “I bring news of Kenric.”

“What have you learned?” He remained bowed before her, his straight brown hair partially covering his face. Marguerite savored the way the candlelight glowed on the chocolate color of his naked torso, his sides flaring with each rapid breath.

“Kenric was on patrol last night. Alone, he attacked and killed three of your DEAD recruits, Mistress.”

“Excellent,” Marguerite replied. She could care less whether the insane bastards lived or died. All of her recruits were dispensable. What mattered most was if they’d served her purpose. And they had. “With my visit and the increase in addicts he’s hunting now—Kenric knows I’m here.” She stood, allowed her robe to fall from her shoulders and drape over her chair, leaving her naked as she moved to her bed. She stretched out across her mattress and sighed. “I do love to agitate him. He could never tolerate killing feeble humans.” Rolling onto her side, she asked, “Who told you about Kenric?”

Enrique shuffled around on his knees in the direction of her voice.

“One of your addicts, present during part of the battle, gave a description of the Enclave warrior who had attacked them. It matched your Kenric St. James, Mistress.”

“This vampire was not killed with the others?”

“No, Mistress. It appears he ran as the others were attacked. He went back when the fighting was over and found nothing but ashes.”

“He ran?” She lunged upright onto her knees and yanked Enrique to her by the back of his neck, digging her nails into his flesh. “Does he still live?” she hissed, her face inches from his.

“Yes, Mistress. I’ve questioned him but kept him alive for you. I thought you may have further need of him.”

“I have no use for cowards. Kill him.” She jerked her palm away, and Enrique stumbled back.

He turned to leave. “Where are you going? You haven’t been dismissed, Enrique. You have a job to finish here first.” Marguerite lowered herself onto her bed. With the crook of her finger, she beckoned her minion leader forth. He obeyed, crawling onto the bed and between her legs.

Twenty minutes later, Marguerite rose from her bed and glided back to her gilded Louis XIV vanity, leaving her trembling minion on the bed. She lifted her robe off the chair and slipped it on, enjoying how the cool, ivory-colored silk hardened her nipples and brought chills to her overheated flesh. The matching gilded chair, covered in her favorite ruby red velvet, sat before her mirrored dresser. She perched on the seat and selected her heavy gold hairbrush.

Her complexion glowed, thanks to the hearty meal she’d just partaken in. She brushed her hair in long, sweeping strokes and stared at the image of the sweat-drenched body of her painfully unfinished lover. Enrique moaned but lay very still. He knew better than to budge until she had dismissed him. His raging hard-on was the only thing brazen enough to move on his taut, muscled body. The wet shaft glistened and pulsed in the lamplight, as if begging its owner for relief.

She loved the power. Such a rush. After having endured seventeen years under her father’s brutal hand, even though it was centuries ago, she always made sure she got what she wanted.

Always.

Never again would she allow a man to rule her, treat her as if she were less than the mud caked on their boot heels.

Her childhood years had been spent watching her so-called father shower his daughters with attention and fancy gifts. The rest of his hours had been spent taking out his anger, resentment, and disappointment on Marguerite. But her half-sisters hadn’t held a candle to the body and beauty she had possessed. And she’d learned to use it. Marguerite’s looks had never failed to get her what she needed from men. Her allure had even succeeded in capturing the eye of a young male vampire who, after becoming so enamored with her, shared his gift.

A gift she had been more than willing to receive.

The sound of Enrique’s labored breaths filled the room. She glanced over at his trembling body. She’d almost drained him dry—just for the hell of it—before allowing him to take a small sample of her. But it only took a small amount of her ancient blood to have him soaring. She smirked in the mirror, her pulse visibly pounding at her neck at the thought. Marguerite closed her eyes, relishing in the surge of power she’d sampled from the heart-shaped orb only moments before her minion had barged into her chambers.

The small sip Enrique had stolen from her body in bed, before she’d returned the favor, would burn like a raging fire in his veins, making it near-impossible for him to maintain control. A slave to his lust.

To her.

There had been only one vampire whose mind and body she couldn’t control: Kenric. That would soon change with the new source of power she’d found in Goran’s blood.

God, how she wanted Kenric back. Beside her. Joined. An indestructible unit. Exactly how it had been destined.

“You can leave now, Enrique,” she said offhandedly. “I’m done with you. Take care of the matter we discussed. I will not tolerate cowards in my ranks.”

Enrique slid off the bed onto wobbly knees. He quickly braced himself with the nearby bedpost while struggling to fit back into his black leather pants.

“Oh, and Enrique?” He stopped and turned. “Remember, there will be no release until you’ve earned my forgiveness. I don’t care who you fuck. It won’t matter. That aching dick is punishment for your earlier interruption.”

His face gave a visible flinch. She smirked at his obvious discomfort before adding, “Don’t look so worried, dear. It will go down…eventually, when my blood is finished with you. Or when you’ve convinced me you’re truly remorseful.”

Marguerite turned to face the mirror again, giving him her back as her dismissal. The door softly clicked as it closed behind him. Picking up her brush, she continued with her hair.

“It won’t be long now, Kenric,” she said to her reflection. “Your time away is almost over.”

Chapter Six

Emily studied Kenric’s expression for any sign of a hidden agenda.

He was good.

Really good.

Not a twitch.

She should run. Get the hell out of here before he could do whatever the hell he’d done to her again. But her curiosity and fatigue won the fight, and she found herself edging around the bed toward the sitting area. God grant me the nine lives of a cat, because my curiosity could get me killed.

Sinking into one of the large chairs, Emily wrapped herself in the sense of security the huge, soft leather arms provided.

Seconds later, Kenric was at her side.

“Take this,” he said as he neared. She glanced up. He held a navy blanket out to her. “If you’re cold.”

“Thank you.” Emily grasped his offering and draped the soft material across her before pulling a handful up to her neck. Crazy. Good-looking. And nice, too. What was she to do with that combo? Run. Get as far away from the toxic combination as possible. That was what she should do. She’d already done crazy more times than she’d like to admit, and had vowed to make Elizabeth Bay her fresh start. Without some guy messing up her life. She could almost hear the warning bells ringing away inside her head. So what was she doing plopped in the middle of this mad man’s den? She sighed. Listen to his story, Emily. Smile, then get out of here and forget this guy ever existed. He may have gorgeous eyes and a six-pack any woman would give their best pair of shoes to scratch. But he was a big heaping mess of trouble. She could smell it.

He paced before her. He reminded her of a lion crossing his den. Something she might have called a bit egotistical and a turn-off with any other man, but it was different with him. She found his profound confidence…provocative.

He pulled on a snug-fitting black T-shirt before taking a seat. She couldn’t help but notice how the sleeves strained around his upper arms. He massaged his neck with the palm of his large hand as he leaned back against the cushion. His T-shirt rode up, revealing his rippled abs. Her pulse quickened. She licked her lips and swallowed, trying to bring some moisture back to her throat. Why did he have to look so damn edible?

Finding a new position, Kenric released a long sigh, as if he couldn’t get comfortable. Emily glanced at his expression and caught him rubbing his hand across his face. He looked about as nervous as she felt.

“What I’m about to tell you will probably be hard to believe. There’s no easing into it. All I can do is just come out and say it.” He leaned forward on the loveseat and placed his elbows on his knees. “What you’ve seen tonight, the speed at which my injuries have healed and what happened to you in the ER, is because”—he cleared his throat—“is because, I’m a vampire.”

“A vampire?” Emily pushed herself from her seat, making sure to hold on to the corner of her blanket with one hand. Her legs wobbled. Grabbing the arm of the chair, she leaned against it and regained her balance.

“Come on,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He nodded. “It’s true.”

“So, what you’re trying to shovel my way is that you bit me, drank my blood, and that’s the reason why I don’t remember coming here?”

He nodded again.

“And the reason why your injuries have healed within hours, of what would normally have taken weeks of recovery time, is because you’re a vampire?”

Another nod.

“Come on,” she scoffed. “You can do better than that. Vampires are a myth, a scary bedtime story for children.”

“We’re real, Emily.”

His demeanor was calm. His face a rock. He acted as if he really wanted her to believe what he was saying.

“Okay,” Emily began. “Here are my two theories on the crazy story you just threw at me. Maybe you’re covering up for some new genetic research that the government doesn’t want us to know about. Or, maybe the biting thing is just because you’re a pervert. Either of these I might have believed. They’re better than the vampire story.”

“Then why do you feel so tired?” He lifted one dark slash of a brow. “And why don’t you remember coming home with me? Why did you help me at the hospital?” He leaned back on the love seat and propped one leg over the other. “Your memories are there. Did it not seem odd to you how you were drawn to help me, and why you did the things you did?”

“You drugged me.” She shrugged. “Somehow, you drugged me.”

“I was sliced open and flat on my back in a hospital gown. How would I have drugged you?”

His blue gaze turned smoky, his intensity enveloping. Her skin tingled. Not out of fear. No, she didn’t sense intimidation. More like sensuality, radiating like a beacon, and she was a ship sailing into port.

Emily pushed away from the arm of the chair, tossed the blanket onto the seat, and turned her back to escape his lure. She ran her fingers through her bed-head, shaking off the need to allow him to draw her into his madness. And his seduction. She’d been down that route before, caving in to a man’s charms and going against her better judgment. Never again.

She didn’t know what kind of bullshit he was trying to shove down her throat, but she wasn’t buying the whole vampire thing. As much as she hated to admit it, though, she didn’t have a logical explanation for anything that had happened last night.

It felt good to be upright, she realized, stretching her legs. The longer she stood, the steadier she became, and she needed to feel better. Fast.

Since he obviously wasn’t going to tell her the whole truth, he was going to tell her what he planned to do with her. She set her teeth and turned back around, ready to dig in and get some answers.

“I’m going to cut to the chase here. Answer me this: whether you’re a vampire or not, why did you bring me here?” She waved around the room. “You planning on finishing me off in private?” Her voice rose when he straightened in his seat, both eyebrows shooting up. “Am I right? Don’t play games.”

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his expression turning severe as he met her stare dead-on. She sucked in a startled breath and took a step back from his abrupt mood change. His eyes glowed with what appeared to be fire swirling around his pupils. Okay, now that…that does not look human.

“I will never feed on you again, or hurt you, Wildflower.” His deep voice rolled into an accent she hadn’t noticed before, catching her off guard. She clutched her abdomen. What was it with him calling her Wildflower? She was not a delicate little flower to be plucked or rescued. But whatever. She had no intention of hanging around long enough to be offended by what he called her.

“I am…truly sorry about what happened at the hospital,” he added. “I was thrown into a situation that left me with no recourse but to take what I needed to survive and get out of there as quickly as possible. I do not kill humans for their sustenance.”

She needed to sit down.

This could not be happening.

Emily lowered herself back onto the thick seat and tucked her legs underneath her. The man before her may be a freak of nature, or some kind of alien, but she sensed he meant it when he said he wouldn’t hurt her again.

Her heart rate descended from the ceiling with the revelation that she wasn’t about to be the next face on a missing-person flyer. Except…who would post one? Or for that matter, who’d really miss her? She’d been lying when she’d said earlier that a lot of people would be worried about her if she didn’t come home. The truth was, the only people who would miss her would be her coworkers when she didn’t show up for work tomorrow night. God, wasn’t she pathetic? She mentally kicked herself out of her own pity party.

“Okay, well.” She nodded. “That’s good to hear. And since you said you didn’t bring me here to finish the job, I’d like to go home now.” She rose, but Kenric got to his feet at the same time and reached out, halting her progress.

“You can’t go yet.”

“Why not?” She jerked her arm away from his hold. “I’m feeling better. So I’m ready to leave.” Emily hit him with her best glare. “Or am I your prisoner?”

“You think you’re better, but you’re not. And no, you’re not my prisoner.” He headed over to the phone sitting on the nightstand. Kenric picked up the receiver but looked back over his shoulder before dialing. “I need to get you something to eat first.”

Emily moved around to the back of the chair and observed him at the phone. If she could get a few minutes alone, maybe she could call someone for a ride. Except she didn’t know where she was.

“That isn’t necessary.” She dug her nails into the padding of the chair’s back. “Really, it’s not.”

He put a hand up, silencing her protest. “Michael, I need a breakfast tray prepared for our guest.” He hesitated a moment, listening. “Just prepare a sample of several different items. I’m sure she’ll find something that pleases her. I’ll be down to pick it up. No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll pick it up. Inform Guerin I’ll be down momentarily.”

What is he thinking? I don’t care how sexy he is or what crazy things his hint of a British accent makes me want to do to him. I’m so not staying around here waiting for breakfast. Her gaze stroked Kenric’s profile, her mind straying to places and parts she shouldn’t be traveling. You should be more worried about how you’re getting your ass out of here, Emily Ross, rather than how firm those big biceps would feel under your hand. And how soft his hair looks, and what those dark waves would feel like when you run your fingers through them. The man just bit you, and good Lord, he told you he drank your blood! He’s insane! You’re not that easy or foolish, girl.

“I can’t let you leave without protein for strength and something in your system to at least bring your blood sugar back up. Besides, there’s more I need to talk to you about.” He moved toward his dresser. “Would you like to take a shower?”

The oh-so-handsome and thoughtful lunatic pulled out a pair of his sweats and a T-shirt from the drawer and handed them to her. She took them automatically, but her clothes were staying on.

“Like I said, I’m really not planning on staying here that long,” she said, looking down at the offering.

“Take a shower. It’ll make you feel better.”

The pleading sound of his voice pulled her gaze back to his. It sounded as if he genuinely cared. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard a man sound as if he cared about what happened to her, or how she felt.

“By the time you’re finished,” he continued, “breakfast will be here.”

She considered her options, looked at the bathroom door, then back to Kenric.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bother you. You have my word. You can lock the bathroom door.” He moved closer, his bright blue eyes a striking contrast under the dense layer of raven eyelashes. “No one will hurt you here.”

He sounded so believable and sincere. And a shower did sound heavenly. On that thought, she moved with hesitant feet toward the bathroom. In the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder at the handsome, crazy man/vampire/whatever. He held his jaw tense, his body taut, but he didn’t make a move. She closed the door and dropped her forehead against it with a sigh. She believed him. Down deep, at the level where a woman responded to a man. But inside her head, where the mental scars from too many bad relationships had left deep grooves, she wasn’t so trusting.

Emily turned the lock. Click.

…

Laughter rolled out from behind the swinging door to the kitchen. There was no mistaking the baritone voice resonating from the other room. Guerin, his second-in-command.

Whatever had him so cranked up, more than likely, was at Michael’s expense. Guerin lived to give him a hard time. Michael could hold his own, though, and when necessary, he, too, could give as good as he got. Kenric highly suspected Michael enjoyed the bantering even more than Guerin.

Their laughter came to an abrupt halt as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Hey, man! Glad to see you’re no worse for wear.” Guerin sat his mug down and left his seat at the island, greeting him with a slap on the back.

Kenric murmured his thanks before heading over to the kitchen table and grabbing the seat at its head. Guerin joined him, sitting in the chair to his right.

“You are no worse for wear, right?”

Kenric saw Guerin’s eyebrows draw down in concern as he eyed the thick, jagged scar on the side of his neck.

“Yeah, man. No worse for wear,” Kenric answered with a dismissive wave of his hand, never meeting Guerin’s eyes. “I’m healing fine.” He palmed the still-sensitive raised flesh. Mentally…that was yet to be decided. He’d know more about how he was doing once he got past the situation he’d left showering in his bathroom, and the mess he’d left behind at Memorial. This type of screw-up wasn’t like him. Bringing a female into his quarters, even with the best of intentions, wasn’t like him. He couldn’t afford this kind of distraction. And Emily Ross was most certainly a distraction. Kenric inhaled a deep breath and tried to pick up the thread of the current conversation. Work—that’s exactly what he needed.

Heavy boots sounded in the hallway, moving in a steady procession toward the kitchen. Arran and Markus entered seconds later, one behind the other.

The temperature in the room took a nosedive at their entrance.

They crossed the expanse of the kitchen in full patrol gear, daggers strapped on their legs.

Markus was the last one to sit at the table. As always, his long, straight black hair was bound at his neck by a leather strap. Kenric shook his head. The vampire always kept everything perfectly in its place, including his hair and his well-groomed goatee.

Neither of the two spoke as they took their seats for the evening’s briefing before patrol. Nothing unusual. Social graces didn’t sit at the top of their list of priorities.

An unspoken understanding existed among the group. Both possessed an aura that screamed: keep your distance. They seemed to prefer it that way. Regardless, when it came to trusting someone to watch your back, they didn’t come any more loyal than Arran and Markus. That’s why they were Enclave.

“If you two run into trouble and need any backup, Logan will be covering operations tonight along with Elle,” Kenric said.

Arran and Markus lifted their chins in an affirmative reply. Arran’s eyes never left his cup while he poured a dose of dark, French-roasted brew. Straight up, no cream or sugar. He two-fisted his cup, drinking with his eyes closed. His blond hair hung loose at his shoulders, shadowing his face. Arran had been the last to join his Enclave, but with a blade, the vampire could already hold his own against any of his other warriors. In fact, he was probably the best.

“Are you going to fill us in on what the hell happened last night?” Guerin stared at him, then swung his gaze wide to include the other warriors at the table.

“That’s why I’m here,” Kenric said, but instead of heading straight into the immediate, uncomfortable details involving the female upstairs, he turned his attention to another important matter. “How much longer until the breakfast tray is ready, Michael?”

“Give me another fifteen minutes.”

“Excellent.”

“A breakfast tray?” Guerin turned in his chair, glancing over at Michael, who had pulled out a silver bed tray and was stacking it with assorted pastries and a full carafe of orange juice.

Guerin returned his attention back to the table. “You know how I love me some food, but you…” he aimed an index finger at Kenric’s chest, “You never eat. What the hell’s going on?” He pinned Kenric with an unspoken don’t-shit-me look.

“I’ll be getting to that later. Right now, and more importantly, we need to discuss what went down last night, and who I feel it’s all tied to.”

Kenric recounted the previous night’s events to his team, starting with his dream visit from Marguerite. He left out the details that involved his murdered fiancée. His warriors didn’t need to know that. Only Guerin knew the full details regarding his past. With his team, Kenric was neither inclined nor felt a real need to reveal the privities of his former life. They understood Marguerite had been his sire, and that she had a destructive history. And that she relished the power of being a vampire and the superiority it gave her over humans—especially men who had the misfortune to fall in her path.

That alone made her dangerous.

That was all they needed to know.

After he gave details about Marguerite, he moved on to the attack by the three DEADs.

“We’ve got more of a problem than just one DE addict on our hands.” He sighed. “Marguerite is apparently creating her own personal circus of bloodsuckers. I feel that last night’s incident was a taste of what is to come. In my dream, she made sure I was aware of some new power source she’s acquired. Guerin has Elle working on a theory to find out what we may be dealing with. That’s why, from this point on, all patrols are to be carried out with a partner. No solo flights.” The stronger Marguerite became, the more destruction she brought to the human and vampire realm.

He motioned to his second. “Guerin, I need you to make the necessary adjustments to the schedule.” Guerin nodded. Kenric turned his attention back to the table of warriors. “We may not be able to cover as much territory, but I’d rather lose ground than lose one of you to a multiple-DEAD attack. Not saying any of you couldn’t handle the fight. You’re exceptional, or you wouldn’t be here. You warriors at this table are all that’s protecting our existence here . . . and the human population. But it isn’t worth the risk.”

Kenric pushed his chair back. He needed to move. His skin felt too tight over his bones, as if he needed to stretch. He strode over to the kitchen island. Once there, he leaned his back against it.

The cool edge of the tiled countertop brushed the backs of his arms. A nice distraction from the low-level burn that had been ignited at the ER. The etiology behind the feeling he wasn’t prepared for, nor had the time, to sit back and analyze. Kenric crossed his legs at the ankles, showing his team a more relaxed posture than he felt. The rest of his report would not sit well with his Enclave.

“Now, about the food.” Kenric glanced around the table. He definitely had everyone’s attention. “It’s for… I have a…a guest. Her name is Emily Ross.”

The last swallow of coffee made its way down Arran’s throat in one large gulp, choking him. Bloody hell, the looks on their faces alone were worth having her here. Had he become so predictable? Yes, he hadn’t had a lover in three centuries. But he didn’t realize he’d covered it so poorly.

“You have a guest?” Guerin, of course, was the first to find his tongue. “You were in the hospital last night. When did you bring someone here? You never approve of any outsider in the compound without prior notification—and she’s human,” he said, acknowledging the tray loaded down with food. “Why would you, master of our Enclave, take this kind of risk?”

Kenric uncrossed his ankles and squared his shoulders. “There were extenuating circumstances. I would not have taken the risk of bringing a human here unannounced without a very good reason. I haven’t survived all these years without a semblance of intelligence.”

Guerin returned Kenric’s hard glare. Kenric knew his friend and advisor had a legitimate beef about the risk he’d taken with security. But if he had to do it all over again, he would make the same decision. As his second-in-command, Guerin deserved a heads-up on all decisions that could affect the Enclave. Nevertheless, something, and everything, about Emily brought out his protective instincts. He’d be damned if anyone, best friend or not, questioned him.

This time, Markus broke the silence, his deep voice breaking the tension. “So what happened last night that earned us the privilege of a houseguest?”

Kenric swung his focus to the warrior who watched him with cold gray eyes from the opposite end of the table.

“I lost a lot of blood during the battle, and by the time I came around, I was in the ER in the grips of bloodlust. A nurse came in to check on my status, and I had to take the opportunity to feed.”

Kenric let out a deep breath as he dropped back into his seat. He would rather spend a week on the battlefield, fighting and bleeding till the brink of exhaustion and death, than tell his team of his lack of self-discipline with the woman.

The faces of the warriors around him remained stoic. They waited in silence.

“She collapsed.” Eyebrows lifted around the table. Dammit, he had always been the embodiment of self-control.

“I didn’t kill her, for God’s sake.” Kenric’s deep voice echoed across the expanse of stainless steel and tile. His voice was a bit harsher than he’d intended, but he needed to make sure they were clear as to what went down.

“There were already going to be too many questions regarding the John Doe who disappeared from the hospital. I couldn’t leave an unconscious nurse behind with bite marks on her neck. Besides…,” Kenric leaned back in his chair and surveyed the expressions of his team before finishing. “I thought she would be beneficial in cleaning up the situation with the hospital.”

Guerin placed his elbows on the table. “So, this nurse, how’s she handling the news that she was bitten by a vampire, and that those fangs belonged to you?” One long index finger pointed in Kenric’s direction. “Or have you yet to broach that subject?”

“I’ve told her. She doesn’t believe me. Thinks I’m crazy, or that I’m covering up some kind of military conspiracy experiment. I guess that’s easier to believe than the existence of vampires.” Kenric fought back the urge to smile as he recalled her stubborn defiance. He leaned forward and swiped a hand through his hair. “Don’t get me wrong, she was frightened when she remembered what happened last night, but she’s shown real courage. Quite impressive, actually.”

Guerin nodded, a slow grin spreading across his face, showing his teeth minus the fangs.

Kenric narrowed his eyes on Guerin. “What?”

“Umm…nothing. I just haven’t seen you ever talk about a woman so…fondly before. Kenric glared at Guerin. The silence screamed, shut the hell up.

“So…what’s your plan?” Guerin said, ignoring Kenric’s glare. “How would you like us to handle this?”

“Arran, Markus, you two can head out when you’re ready.” Their chairs scraped across the tiled floor as they left their seats. “Watch your backs.”

“Always,” Arran said, closing the door behind them.

“As for your question.” Kenric returned his attention to Guerin. “It’s business as usual. Hopefully, things will go well with Emily this evening, and I’ll bring her down to work with Elle. I think she’ll accept the truth and be willing to help. If not, there’s always the alternative.” His mind rebelled the moment the words left his lips. He hoped to hell he didn’t have to go that route.

“Emily.”

Hearing her name drop from Guerin’s lips snagged his attention.

“Her name. It’s nice,” Guerin said. “Is she as pretty as her name?”

Everything that made Kenric a master vampire roared to life. He stifled a growl. His jaw tightened with the effort to subdue his instinct to leap over the table and grab the other vampire’s throat. How dare he even consider her attractiveness?

Kenric took a deep breath and then cleared this throat. Tame your beast, St. James. She’s not yours, and she’s not going to be.

“Yeah, I suppose.” He rolled his shoulders. It did little to unknot the ball of tension riding him like a boulder—no, make that Mt. Everest—between his shoulder blades.

“You suppose…?” Guerin threw his words back with a laugh. “What does that mean? Is she pretty, or isn’t she?”

Kenric squirmed for a second in his seat and then abruptly left the table, not wanting to answer or deal with all the questions he knew Guerin was on the brink of firing.

“Michael, everything ready?” After a good-to-go nod from his aide, Kenric grabbed the tray off the counter and headed out. The heat of what had to be two sets of wide-eyed stares burned into his back.

“Whoa, captain. You’re not giving me any more intel on Emily than that?”

Kenric stopped.

“You’re gonna leave me hanging?” Guerin added, his tone conveying his delight in Kenric’s discomfort.

He turned around and gave Guerin his best dry and speculative stare before answering. “Looks like it.”

Kenric backed out of the kitchen and heaved a sigh of relief on the other side of the door. He didn’t want to think about how beautiful Emily was, much less chat about it with Mr. Charisma in there.

Over the years, he had known some vampires and humans who had claimed to have found their soul mates. This was supposedly more intense for vampires due to the transfer of blood and the chemical reactions that occurred with a compatible female on a cellular level. Due to a vampire’s unique physiology for utilizing and absorbing every element that comprised blood, it wasn’t too alien of a concept to believe a perfect mate could exist for a male or female vampire in every way. For a master, it was thought to be an even more profound experience due to the heightened psychic abilities of the male. A master and his mate bonded mentally and physically. The unusual reaction he’d had to Emily flickered through his mind, but Kenric shook his head. That couldn’t be what was happening here. He refused for that to be the case. The tight clench on his molars had his jaw aching. Christ, not now that Marguerite is back. As long as he kept his hands and other body parts to himself, it would not go any further than a mild attraction to a female who had served her purpose and then returned to her world. End of story.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

On the compound’s third floor, which housed his private quarters, Kenric placed the key in the lock and gave it a quick turn. With an answering click of the pins, he opened the door with one hand while balancing the tray with the other. A blur of movement caught his eye. He ducked as his favorite crystal water goblet whizzed by his head. It struck the door frame to his left. The sharp sound of breaking glass echoed off the hardwood floor. Kenric grabbed for the orange juice carafe heading for the floor.

“What the hell?”

Chapter Seven

“You son of a bitch! I’m not your prisoner, huh? You lied to me. And to think, I thought you were delusional as hell with all the vampire nonsense but I was actually starting to believe you,” Emily said with a near-hysterical laugh. “I almost believed you when you said you weren’t planning to hurt me or keep me against my will. God, I’m such an idiot!” She flung her arms in the air.

He stood there, staring at her as if she was the one who was crazy. Oh, she’d show him crazy.

She darted for the nightstand. Emily hefted the pitcher off the table, spun, and hurled it straight at Kenric’s head.

Again, he ducked.

The pitcher crashed into the wall, spraying fragments and shards of crystal across the floor.

Damn! Missed again. God, could he be more infuriating?

She’d lost it.

Emily liked her calm exterior. It served her well, professionally and personally. But she had totally lost touch with her brain. This was pure, raw emotion. And so out of character for her. She abhorred violence, having lived through enough of it growing up and enduring too much of it in her last relationship.

Something inside her had snapped when she had come out of the shower, had found the bedroom door locked, and had realized she was trapped inside. All the painful memories she’d buried of her childhood and the years she’d spent with Jeff had exploded in her mind. Every bit of the fear and panic she’d experienced when her dad had locked her in the closet had swamped her. The heart-pounding rage when Jeff had sealed her in their bedroom as some form of idiotic punishment had flooded her veins.

As Dylan Thomas so penned, she would not go quietly into that good night. Hell, no. She would rage, and God help the man who tried to control or hurt her again.

With a low-pitched, frustrated scream, Emily sprinted toward the open bedroom door. Her foot crossed the threshold but a pair of strong arms grabbed her. They encircled her waist and lifted her feet from the floor.

“Let me go!” Emily beat the heels of her sneakers into Kenric’s shins. It didn’t have the desired effect. Like a tank with armored plating, he held her high.

Her back hit the mattress, knocking the air from her lungs. She sucked in a renewed mouthful of air as Kenric’s body covered hers. His large hands pinning her wrists to the bed.

“Emily, please…whatever I’ve done…” She didn’t want to hear his worthless excuses. He couldn’t possibly understand. She tossed her head from side to side in a useless attempt to escape his words. Her struggles only succeeded in causing him to press his chest and hips firmer into hers. “I’m sorry. For whatever pain I’ve caused you. I’m so sorry, Wildflower.” His dark and stormy voice rumbled over her like thunder mixed with lightning, quieting her. She lifted her lashes and found his full lips inches from her mouth. Their gazes locked. Was he going to kiss her? Oh shit. Did she want him to? She didn’t know what scared her more, him kissing her, or her for considering it.

God, what was happening?

She cleared her throat and went with the best haute-bitch voice she could muster. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re not going to kill me, so you’ve decided to molest me now?” She pushed at his chest. “Bastard! Get off of me.”

He lifted his hips and rolled to his side. “I was only trying to stop you, so I could explain.”

She scrambled from the bed and spun. “That wasn’t the only thing on your mind.”

“I…I’m sorry.” He groaned. “I don’t know where that came from.” He forced the fingers of one hand through his hair. “Damn. I swear my vocabulary does go beyond a litany of apologies.” Kenric dropped his face into his palms and took a deep breath. His voice sounded strained, as if he were exhausted from the effort. “This is not at all how I’d planned to approach our discussion. And no, you’re not a prisoner here.”

“Really, is that so?” She crossed her arms under her breasts. “The locked door. That was for my own good, then?”

He lifted his smoky gaze back to hers. “Yes, it was,” he said, his deep and rusty tone of voice returning. “My home has secure areas within and around the property. I cannot have visitors wandering around unescorted. I had hoped to arrive with your breakfast before you finished your shower.” His gaze left hers and then scanned the devastation that was his bedroom. “Looks like I was a little late.”

She’d taken her frustrations out on his bed and lamps.

“I don’t do well locked in anywhere.” She ran her fingers through her hair, avoiding his eyes. He didn’t need to know the details as to why, and she didn’t care to remain another second explaining. Emily started for the door. “My car, I assume, is still at the hospital’s garage?”

“We need to talk first.”

“Any more talking or discussions can take place in the car.” She threw him a glare over her shoulder. Kenric still sat on the bed. “I want to go home. Now.”

He didn’t move.

She whipped back around, her emotional roller-coaster ride about to derail. “What do you want from me?”

“I need your help—and that requires you to believe what I’ve told you about myself.”

“That you’re a vampire?” She grasped her lower lip between her teeth.

“Yes. That I am a vampire.”

“Why is it so important to you that I believe this before I go home? What can I possibly do for you?”

The moment the question left her lips, she swore an almost animalistic hunger flashed in his eyes. Emily took a step back, but slammed on the brakes. No way was she going to allow him to see that he rattled her. She’d never seen a man look at her with such need. Her hand kneaded the edge of the T-shirt—his—that she was wearing. Her palm was sweaty. She looked away, trying to find a distraction. If not, she’d have to admit to herself that a small part of her wanted to escape, not because she was deathly afraid of him, but because if she stayed any longer, maybe she wouldn’t think he was so bad. He was fascinating in a crazy, psychotic kind of way. What did that say about her? That the freakier the guy was, the more interested she became?

Surveying the room, she took in all the fine items that furnished it. “From the look of things, you’re very well off, Kenric. I’m sure your money can buy you all the help you need.”

“No, it can’t,” he sighed. “If only it were that easy. Money cannot buy trust and loyalty.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kenric get off the bed. Her eyes followed his impressive build as he straightened to full height.

“It’ll buy silence for a period, but eventually, it’ll come back as a knife between your shoulder blades.”

The distant look on his face said he spoke from personal experience. He passed by her to close the door, then turned and motioned with his hand to the leather couch. “Please, sit down.”

She could feel it, the vacuum-like pull sucking her into this man’s dilemma. Even worse, in her heart, she realized that she was going to help him. God, how she wished she could turn off her need to rescue others. Like the time she’d rescued the limping puppy from the side of the road on her way home from work. Her mind rolled back to that rainy night. The little guy had been so wet and dirty, shaking with fear. His curled, wiry hair had been all knotted with mud. Jeff, her ex, had been livid when she’d come in the door with him. But she hadn’t cared. Emily would have taken whatever abuse he’d wanted to dole out on her if it meant giving that dog another chance. To give anyone the second chance they deserved, as she’d done for Jennie, one of the nurses she’d worked with last year. Jennie had showed up for her shift, smelling of alcohol and hung over from the night before—in no condition to work. Something like that should never happen. Not when a nurse is responsible for the safety of others. Jennie was young and possessed so much potential, but a bad breakup with her boyfriend had skewed her judgment that morning. Emily had sent her home, agreed to pull her shift, and to keep the incident to herself as long as Jennie promised to pull herself together.

Whether it was a stray, a coworker, or a man who believed he was a vampire, it seemed she couldn’t fight her basic instinct to help someone in need. Emily sat down and Kenric sat beside her. He faced her with a somber expression.

“When I was in the ER, I imagine blood tests were performed on me. Am I right?”

She nodded. “Of course. You were close to death when they brought you in. You were given several units of blood right away, and then labs were drawn to type your blood for additional transfusions.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“From what I remember, they were running into some problems with matching your blood type,” she said. “The blood bank ran the specimen a few times but ended up asking us to redraw your blood.” He watched her, as if hanging on her every word, making her nervous. She rubbed her damp palms across her thighs before continuing.

“They thought it might have been contaminated, since they couldn’t isolate your type, and because there were multiple antigens present on your red blood cells.” Kenric’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t say a word. “The emergency physician thought you had some form of leukemia, due to the elevation in your white blood cell count. He ordered a consult with a specialist.”

Kenric tossed his head back against the couch cushion. “Shit!”

She jumped. “This is the problem you’ve been referring to? The fact that the hospital has your blood, and that the results were brought to more than one doctor’s attention?” What am I supposed to do about that?

“They couldn’t type my blood because I’m no longer human.” He rubbed both hands across his face and then turned to face her. “I cannot allow this information to go public. If it does, it would spell disaster for my kind.”

“You’re nuts.” She shook her head. “You really expect me to believe the reason they couldn’t type your blood is because you’re not human? That you’re some kind of…undead…creature-of-the-night? Kenric, I’m looking at a human male. I’ve…felt you. And you felt pretty human to me.” Heat flashed into her cheeks, as well as a vivid recollection of exactly how incredibly human he looked and felt.

A sexy little grin curled his lips. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Small electric tingles trailed wherever his skin touched hers. She closed her eyes.

“What can I do to convince you, Emily?” he whispered. “Tell me what it would take for you to believe that what I’m telling you is the truth. You’ve already experienced me feeding. What else do you need?”

She shivered. His words were like pure seduction. The memory of his teeth at her neck should freak her out, but instead her nipples stiffened into hard peaks and a tingle arrowed straight to her core.

Emily opened her eyes and rose from the couch. She darted to the foot of the bed. Distance. Yes, she needed distance. He was way too dangerous. Too much raw sexuality poured from him for her sanity to survive.

“Okay, I’ll play along.” She turned and faced him. “Since you’re insistent that I believe this.”

“Finally.”

“I guess for me to really comprehend all this, I’ll need you to give me a brief education on vampires. We can call it Vampire 101. Like, what does a vampire do, other than drink blood?” She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “For starters, I see you don’t sleep in a coffin.” Her hand patted and then rubbed along the carved, dark wood of the footboard.

“That’s correct—pure myth.” He raised one arm and rested it along the top of the couch. “What else do you want to know?”

“What about sunlight? Is it true you can only come out at night, or you’re toast?”

“That one is true, even more so for a younger vampire. Although if I’ve shape-shifted, I can tolerate the sun’s rays for a short duration.”

“Shape-shifted? Are you saying that myth is true, that you can turn into a bat?” She gave him a skeptical stare.

“For me, not a bat. But yes, most vampires can assume at least one other form, usually a wolf. Over the years, I’ve gained the ability to become several alternate shapes.”

“Prove it.” She lifted her eyebrows and couldn’t help the smug smile she knew curled her lips. “You wanted to know what it would take for me to truly believe you are a vampire. Show me.”

He got up from the couch. A slow and deliberate rise. Her heart stuttered as he moved closer. He leaned in, his breath a gentle caress to her ear.

“Is that really what you want to see, Wildflower?”

She nodded, her throat suddenly too dry for words.

“Think you can handle it?”

She tilted her head back and met his eyes. His gaze held a hint of a challenge. Bam! He hit her weak spot. She could never refuse a challenge.

“I said, prove it.”

Kenric stepped back a few inches and grasped the tail of his T-shirt. Up and over his head, he pulled it off before dropping it on the coffee table behind him.

“What are you doing?” Her voice sounded a little panicky, but she couldn’t help it. She hadn’t anticipated a striptease.

“What you asked me to do. If I’m going to change shape, I need to take my clothes off. Or didn’t you think about that when you asked? We can talk about showing you proof another way, if you can’t handle me naked.”

His eyes challenged her again. Ooh, he is so irritating! She wanted to stomp her foot, but she wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction. Instead, she cocked an eyebrow. Hell if she was backing down now.

“Oh, I can handle it,” she said, proud of the confidence ringing in her voice. “I am a nurse, remember.”

A slow grin spread across his face as he went for his zipper.

So pleased with his damn self.

There wasn’t much she hadn’t already seen in her three years as a nurse, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen most of him anyway while he had been her patient. Not to mention earlier, when he’d been wearing only a towel. So why would this be any different?

“I thought I would share my wolf with you,” he said. “It’s my favorite alternate form. But I want you to remember one thing after I’ve changed.” His playful expression suddenly grew serious. His eyes narrowed. “I would never harm you. Don’t be afraid.”

She swallowed back the lump in her throat that had grown out of nowhere. No one had ever made her feel so off balance. He made her want to run for safety, yet at the same time, he tugged on just the right strings to make her want to stay and save him.

“Emily. Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes.” She ran trembling fingers through her hair and straightened her shoulders. “I won’t.”

He seemed satisfied with her answer and proceeded to push his jeans to the floor and kick them to the side.

Oh. My. God. Her heart did that flip-flop thing in her chest. Oh yeah, this was very different. She’d thought the earlier rear view had been sweet. But Lord, the front view—it ought to be a crime. Emily tried maintaining a clinical expression while staring at close to six and a half feet of a naked and fully aroused man. Instead of a wolf’s form, he should go for a stallion. He certainly had the parts. His erection dipped, in what looked like mocking approval of her continued inspection. She licked her lips, stifled a groan, and dragged her gaze away from the incredible piece of endowment standing at attention between his legs. She needed to try to look at his face.

“Well,” she said. “Go ahead, or do you need me to say abracadabra or something?”

He tossed his head back and laughed. The jovial shift in his mood was no doubt a direct response to her squirming in her pants… Or her panties.

“All right.” She waved her hands. “You’ve had your fun. Stop laughing. Now, let’s see a wolf.”

He scrubbed his hand across his mouth as if wiping his chuckle away and then winked before closing his eyes. No, he did not just wink at her. She bet he’d charmed the pants off numerous women with his sexy little wink and charm. Well, he would be getting a quick reality check if he thought she would be dropping her panties.

Her stomach clenched in anxious anticipation as a shimmer raced over his body from his head to his feet. It could have been her imagination, it happened so fast. Then his entire body collapsed before her eyes. She shrieked and leaped up on the bed.

A large black and silver wolf stood in Kenric’s exact spot.

“Oh, my God! You weren’t freaking kidding!”

Kenric padded over to the edge of the bed where Emily sat trembling. His front paws went up on the mattress, and he nudged her leg with his nose.

“I can’t believe it.” She turned to face him with a look of wonder and awe in her eyes. “You…did it. You turned into a wolf.” Her hand shook as she reached for him. Tilting his head to the side, he met her palm and nuzzled it. Emily sighed as she ran her fingers through his dense fur.

With her immediate fright dissipated, he climbed the rest of the way onto the bed and lay down beside her.

“Wow,” she whispered, lifting his muzzle. “Interesting…Your eyes look the same as they do when you’re human. They’re that same beautiful azure color. I’ve never seen a wolf up close before, but as wolves go, I would have to say you do make a handsome one.” She threaded her fingers through his fur and scratched behind his ears.

He could have lain there all night and let her stroke his fur. It seemed as if she was more comfortable touching and talking to the wolf than the human. However, fantasy playtime had to cease. He needed her assistance.

His human shape unfolded within Kenric’s mind, ushering his form back to its original state. He stretched his legs and lifted his head to Emily. She jumped and shrieked again.

“Why don’t you warn a person before you do that?”

“Sorry, I can’t talk when I’m a wolf. You know, with the muzzle and no human vocal cords.” He grinned.

“Ha-ha, you’re so funny. You can put some clothes on now, too.” She pointed to his bare chest and waved her finger at the rest of him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kenric rolled from the bed and grabbed his jeans from the floor. The heat of her gaze warmed him as he sauntered over to the coffee table to grab his T-shirt. It felt nice having all her interest focused on him. Regrettably, he could not allow himself to become involved—with any woman. His life consisted of nothing but violence and death, especially with Marguerite around again. That situation, though, he intended on handling personally. Very soon.

“Any more questions?” Kenric slipped his jeans back on. “Or other demonstrations needed? I take it by your reaction to my wolf form that you now believe I am a vampire?”

He pulled his shirt over his head and found Emily standing before him.

“One last thing,” she said. Her soft request skated over his skin and lifted the hairs on his arms. Whatever she wanted, it was hers. He clenched both fists.

“Yes?”

“Show me your fangs.”

“What? Why? The wolf wasn’t convincing enough?”

“I don’t know why I want to see them.” She shrugged. “I just do. Somehow, I think it’ll make it all the more real for me.”

“If that’s what you need, let’s do it.” He brushed past her and sat in the chair. “Come here, Wildflower.” He patted the coffee table in front of him. “Sit here, facing me.”

“Okay.” She eased closer and placed herself on the table between his knees. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something else that’s been bugging me. The nickname, Wildflower. Why do you insist on calling me that? Believe me, I’m no delicate flower.”

Kenric held her gaze for a brief moment, then reached out as if to touch her hair but instead curled his fingers away. “Of that, I’m sure.” A hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips. “The answer to why is another lesson in your Vampire 101. We have an enhanced sense of smell,” he said. “May I hold your hand?” Emily chewed her lip, as if assessing the danger in the contact. “You just watched me turn into a wolf, and I didn’t eat you. How lethal can it be to hold my hand?”

With an exasperated huff, she slipped her fingers into his palm.

He brought the inside of her hand up to his lips and nose. From under his lashes, he studied her beautiful hazel eyes. He closed his eyes and inhaled, bringing the sweetness of her underlying fragrance deep into his lungs. His lips brushed the inside of her wrist. Gooseflesh lifted on her skin before she jerked her arm back.

He opened his eyes. “It’s how you smell to me. Like a field of wildflowers blooming right after a spring rain. Very sweet and fresh.”

“Oh,” she said, tucking a stray auburn curl behind her ear. She glanced away and rubbed her palms across the cotton of the sweatpants. “I was just wondering.” Her casual shrug and the tone of her voice said bored, but the flush of color in her cheeks and the sound of her increased heart rate said quite the opposite.

She had the same effect on his pulse, driving the blood south and creating an uncomfortable fit in his jeans. He needed to get her home before he did something else he would regret.

“You still want to see my fangs?”

“Yes. I do.”

He closed his eyes, centering his focus on his recessed fangs and the need for them to lengthen. They would naturally extend on their own during periods of hunger, anger, or sex. But without the emotional or physical stimulus, it took a conscious effort to will them into place. His gums tingled in response, and the fullness in his mouth signaled their arrival.

“I’ll ask you again.” The words held the slightest lisp as he spoke. He opened his eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want to see?”

“I’m sure,” she said. Her throat worked on a visible swallow of apprehension.

He leaned forward, hesitantly opening his mouth wide enough for her to see. His upper lip peeled back, sliding against the warm length of his fully exposed fangs.

A sharp intake of air rasped from Emily. Her eyes widened, and the wild thump of her heart drummed in his ears.

Damn! Why the hell had he agreed to this? He started to put an end to the demonstration, but she lifted her hand.

“May I touch one of them?”

Shit! He clamped his mouth shut and jerked his head back. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” She yanked back her hand.

“You’ve felt them enough, I should think.” What was she thinking, wanting to touch the damn things? Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d stuck them in her neck?

“I didn’t realize I had crossed a boundary.” She rubbed her palms against her thighs. “I was caught up in the moment.”

“I’ve agreed to all your demonstrations. After last night in the ER, I wouldn’t have thought this one necessary.” He jumped up, leaving her at the coffee table. He needed something to do. She still hadn’t eaten, so he busied himself with salvaging the remains of the breakfast tray.

“I see. You’re right, of course. It isn’t necessary for you to remind me of our close encounter. I have the holes in my neck to do that.”

Kenric straightened his shoulders. The decorative handles of the tray dug into his palms. Touché. He glanced at Emily. Her fingertips stroked the marks on her throat. His mark.

Hands off, vampire. That can never happen again.

For her sake.

For her very life. He had to keep his hands off.

“Yes, you do.” He swung his gaze back to the food and returned to laying out her breakfast on one end of the coffee table.

He’d been a vampire for more than three hundred years and had quit apologizing for who he was long before the last two centuries. Coming to terms, or so he’d thought, with his existence. It hadn’t been his choice to live the rest of eternity as a predator, but he couldn’t change that fact. He’d never embraced the life of a vampire, but he had learned to live with it.

He didn’t kill for his needs.

In fact, he did his best to protect humanity from the part of his race that couldn’t control their impulses. So why did he want to claw his insides out for having fed from Emily? No. It wasn’t because he’d taken her blood. What grated his insides was how poorly he’d controlled the instincts of the beast. He’d scared the hell out of her.

It made him sick.

And mad as hell.

“Okay. School’s out,” he said. “Let’s get some food into you.”

Her stomach growled as he uncovered the plate containing a large ham and cheese omelet and hash browns.

“Wow.” She laughed, pressing her hand over her stomach. “There’s no point in pretending I’m not hungry. That looks delicious.” She slid off the coffee table and onto the sofa to dig in.

“I’m glad to see you have an appetite. Eat as much as you can, and when you’re done, I want to talk to you about your help with removing the evidence of my visit to the ER.”

She stopped chewing, and both eyebrows shot up.

“You don’t have to worry about getting into any trouble or losing your job. No one will ever know. I need your expertise and knowledge of the lab reports and Elizabeth Bay Memorial’s computer systems.”

She went back to work on her meal. Nevertheless, her expression didn’t give a hint as to what she thought of his agenda.

“If you are okay with all this, I want to take you downstairs to meet some of the members of the Enclave. I would like you to share with them what you remember about the tests performed on me. With your skill, and their expertise, we should be able to fix this.”

“The Enclave?” Emily mumbled around her breakfast, one cheek bulging from the forkful of omelet she’d placed in her mouth. Then she swallowed. “What or who are they?”

Chapter Eight

On patrol at The Docks, Arran and Markus weaved through the never-ending onslaught of humans after their next score, drink, or fuck.

Saturday nights usually packed the streets, making Arran jumpy as shit. The rush of a good fight? Hell, yes—he thrived on it. But crowds—shit. He hated them. He rolled his shoulders and glanced at Markus. The grimace on his partner’s face told the same horror story: weekends were hell.

Especially tonight.

The warm temperature, unusual for this late in November, had people out in droves. In turn, a multitude of humans brought out the DEADs. Sometimes you had to look for the positive. He would get to kill an addict or two.

He indicated with a tilt of his head for Markus to turn into the alley on his right. It was only eleven, and experience told him the crowds wouldn’t let up for another hour or two.

“Damn, I had to get off that street,” Arran said, rounding the corner.

Markus grunted in agreement.

The humid air swamped his nostrils with the greasy smell of fried seafood and stale beer. That, he expected for the area, but not the other metallic scent triggering his vampire senses.

Arran glanced in his partner’s direction.

Markus gave a slight nod. “Blood.”

Both knew each other’s next move from years spent together as part of the Enclave. Without a ripple in their wake, they shifted from civilians out for a walk to predators on the hunt.

Farther into the darkened corridor they moved without a sound, a convenient trick for vampires. That way, the prey never hears the predator until it’s too late.

A few feet in, both came to a halt.

Markus lifted his chin and motioned with a subtle nod toward the back. Muffled and wet growling noises emanated from the end of the alley. Arran tilted his head and glanced at the rooftop of the building beside him, then back to Markus with a grin. His partner raised an eyebrow, a slow smile forming. It seemed the idea of going topside for an aerial approach pleased him as well. The roof would provide an excellent vantage point, since it ran parallel to the street perpendicular to the alley.

A small wrought-iron balcony extended from the second-story window, making the leap effortless. Arran followed Markus’s silent approach to the rooftop. More than likely, they could have made the leap to the third story, but no need to risk a misstep when there were straightforward footholds for each level.

They made it in mere seconds and then moved quickly across the black-tarred surface. As they neared the edge, the noises grew louder and more vicious, as if a pack of wolves snapped and growled, fighting each other over their latest kill.

At the edge of the roof, both warriors crouched and peered over the side. The wind rode the wall of the four-story dwelling, driving straight up and into their face and nostrils. The scent alone told the gruesome story of what had already played out beneath them. The air reeked of semen and blood.

Four DEADs fought over the leftovers of one mangled woman, a macabre scene of clawing and biting. A half-naked, blonde female lay slumped against the building’s brick exterior. She’d been repeatedly raped and bitten. A fucking nightmare of an end for the human female who’d had the misfortune to walk down this alley. Vampires in the violent throes of DE bloodlust had lain in wait for her arrival.

Arran gave Markus a brief glance and a nod: time to make like a bat and fly. In unison, both stood and took one step, dropping directly behind the creatures. No sweat. No broken bones. He loved the badass superhero part of being a vampire.

The warriors’ boots struck the pavement. The frenzied vampires jerked their heads from their meal, then hissed and leaped to their feet.

“Get the fuck out of here, Enclave!” One of the crazed addicts pointed a long and dirty finger toward Arran and Markus. His lips peeled back, exposing his two long fangs in a contorted look of rage.

“Make me.” Arran emitted a low rumble from his chest for added effect.

The warriors pulled their daggers in one smooth move.

The DEADs attacked. But they were unarmed, unless one counted their long-ass fangs and razor-sharp claws.

Two lunged into the air at him, one from each side. Their wide eyes glowed with the insanity of DE. The others dove in his partner’s direction. Markus cursed before tossing out a sadistic laugh as he fought off the DE duo.

All at once, Arran’s crazies slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs. He dropped and rolled, elbowing one bloodsucker in the face. The other took an unlucky swan dive onto his dagger, taking the full measure of the blade into its chest. The DEAD howled as Arran pushed him over and pulled his dagger free. Smoke billowed off the dying carcass.

The other addict shook off the blow to his face and sailed at him again. Arran raised his arm in time to block the impact. The crazed vampire hit but didn’t deflect. Instead, he bit down and ground his fangs and teeth deep into Arran’s arm. The DEAD writhed and growled, attempting to rip flesh from bone.

“Son of a bitch! You’re about to piss me off.”

Reaching down with his free arm, Arran sheathed his dagger. Inside his boot, he had a nice fix for a rabid vampire. The crazed bloodsucker slobbered and growled on his arm while his teeth made mincemeat of Arran’s flesh. Arran wrapped his hand around a custom, nine-inch curved blade.

One second, a blood-crazed vampire gnawed at his arm—the next, a headless torso dropped to the street.

Problem solved.

“Sick bastard,” he mumbled.

The vampire’s head hung on Arran’s arm as he worked at freeing the embedded teeth. After a few seconds of rocking the jaw, the head finally gave way and dropped with a thud onto the asphalt.

Arran quickly tore off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around his bleeding arm. He had a job to finish, and he’d heal soon enough. Blocking the burning pain from his mind, he decomped the remains. The silver, as usual, worked its magic, turning the remains to ash, though the detached head would decompose rather fast even without the silver.

Arran looked around. Where the hell had Markus gone? The surrounding area had grown quiet, except for the usual sounds of traffic. The last thing he remembered seeing was Markus taking off after one of the filthy bastards.

After half an hour of going through every nearby side street searching for his partner, he’d come up with a couple of ash piles but no sign of his fellow warrior. Back in the area where their battle had begun, Arran grabbed his cell and punched speed dial two for Markus. After six rings, it flipped to voice mail.

“Shit!” He snapped his cell shut. What the fuck?

Kneeling beside the DEADs’ latest victim, Arran did his best to drape her lower body with what was left of her leather miniskirt. Unfortunately, nothing could help the young female. A bloodied cross, attached to a broken gold chain, dropped from her torn sequined shirt as he covered her mangled torso. Pity that the sentimental trinket couldn’t save her. Picking it up, Arran noted an inscription carved into its back. Using his thumb, he wiped enough of the blood away to read the writing. To Heather, I love you. Mom.

“I’m sorry, Heather,” Arran whispered. “So sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”

He was going to have to call for cleanup and then continue his search for Markus on two wheels.

Flipping open his cell, he hit speed dial for Ted at Memorial Gardens Crematorium. After a couple of rings, Ted answered with his typical chipper tone. Strange, considering what he did for a living.

“Good evening, Enclave. What can I do for you this fine night?”

A sharp pain targeted the crease right between Arran’s eyes at Mr. Sunshine’s cheerful greeting.

“We have a situation that needs cleanup. Second alleyway off of Seventh Street, in the rear.”

“Second alley off Seventh Street, in the rear. Got it. The usual?”

Arran sighed. Such a fucking waste of life. He hated how the families of these victims never received closure. But there was no other way. Evidence like this could not be left behind for the police.

“The usual. Nothing remains.” Arran closed his phone. Ted was a pro at what he handled for them. As a vampire himself, he had added incentive to be thorough.

Arran made his way back to where they’d parked their motorcycles. Markus’s red ride hadn’t moved.

He swung a leather-clad leg up and over and straddled his black Ducati. Slipping on his matching helmet, he cranked the machine. He gave the engine a couple of hard revs before burning out. The crowd had thinned, allowing him to cover more ground with greater speed on his bike.

…

Emily waited behind Kenric as he punched a code into a digital keypad before placing his hand on a blue screen. A high-pitched beep sounded before a massive steel door, like something from the next century, opened and slid into the wall on a whisper of air.

Enclave central command.

Seemed very high tech and James Bond. He even had the accent and looks to complete the picture.

Her head swam not just from their three-story elevator ride down, but also with all the information she’d learned upstairs. Kenric had filled her in on things she thought could only exist on the big screen: vampires, Death Euphoria, DEADs—oh my. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, she definitely felt like she “wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”

He’d brought her downstairs, intending for her to meet some of his Enclave—a volunteer group of vampires that had slowly grown over the last century to a team of six, he’d informed her, after he and his second-in-command had first partnered to control the DEADs that had been preying on the human population in the city.

Kenric called his team Warriors. The term conjured up images in her head of giant men with armor and swords. One gorgeous six and a half foot vampire pushing her buttons was enough, though. If they were all like him, she didn’t know if her nervous system could withstand it.

She followed Kenric into an enormous underground complex. No interior walls blocked the view from one end to the other. It appeared to run the entire length of the house. Emily soaked up the view and tried to keep up with Kenric at the same time. An entertainment section with a big flat-screen TV, a stereo, and a couple of pinball machines filled one end. A glass conference table took up the center—six black leather executive chairs surrounded it.

Seated together at the end, opposite all the fun and games, were two men and one woman. The men flanked the brown-haired woman, who was busy tapping away at a keyboard on a multilevel desk. The brunette’s gaze tracked her work on two wall-mounted computer monitors. All eyes turned their way as they approached.

The female of the group must have sensed her unease right away and gave Emily a warm, encouraging smile.

“Guerin, Logan, Gabrielle, I would like you to meet Emily Ross,” Kenric said, pointing out each member of the team with one hand as he placed his other palm at her lower back.

“Hi, Emily. Nice to meet you,” Gabrielle said, the first to break the ice as she held out her hand for a polite shake. “You can call me Elle,” she added with another warm smile.

Logan, standing maybe an inch taller than Kenric, moved forward next. His deep brown hair shone with natural gold highlights. He’d gathered it at his nape into a ponytail, which hung to his waist. Even with his hair bound, she couldn’t miss the sprinkles of gold.

“Very nice to meet you,” he said with a slight brogue. His rough hand, almost double the size of hers, swallowed her palm as he shook her hand.

“Scottish, I take it?” Emily’s gaze met his emerald green irises.

“Guilty as charged, lass,” he answered with a smile that would have singed the hairs right off a girl’s arm. Man, he was impressive.

Well, almost as impressive as the man who stood beside her. She dropped Logan’s hand and gave Kenric a sideways glance.

The man Kenric introduced as Guerin stepped up next, looking very Mediterranean with his dark olive complexion and wavy mahogany hair. He nudged Logan out of his way.

“Ciao, bella,” he breathed with a seductive smile on his lips. What a charmer. Too bad he didn’t do a thing for her.

He gently took her hand, all the while holding her gaze with his deep brown bedroom eyes. He lowered his head and placed a kiss to the back of her hand.

As Guerin’s lips touched her hand, she felt, more than heard, a vibrating growl come from behind her. Guerin’s head popped back up at that exact moment, his gaze darting to Kenric. Emily glanced over her shoulder. Kenric was sneering, his glare aimed straight for Guerin’s throat.

Guerin’s hand released hers. The vibrations ceased as quickly as they’d started. “Nice to meet you, Emily,” he added with a slight smile.

How bizarre was that? She slipped her hands into the pockets of her borrowed sweats. Kenric’s palm pressed a little more firmly into the small of her back, making small circles against her skin through the fabric. She smiled, enjoying the comforting warm presence as she met the room of vampire warriors. Instinctively, Emily leaned into the protective weight of his hand.

“Let’s get down to why we’re here, shall we?” Kenric broke the tension hanging in the air. Pulling up an extra chair, he placed it beside Elle and motioned for Emily to take a seat.

“Emily,” he said, then dropped a hand onto Gabrielle’s shoulder. “Elle is our resident computer guru.” Emily’s gaze fixated at the point where Kenric’s hand rested. The deep sound of his voice continued to fill the room, but she didn’t have the power to pry her gaze away from where his hand touched the other woman’s body.

Why is it necessary for him to touch her the whole time he’s standing there? Maybe she’s his lover? Emily’s stomach churned at the thought of Kenric naked and lying next to Elle. She clenched her teeth and gripped the arms of her chair. It took everything she had not to jump up and snatch his hand off her.

I’ve lost my mind. That has to be it. Emily shook her head. Where were these lunatic thoughts coming from? Besides, he was way too overbearing for her taste. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was to fight her way out of another possessive, dominating relationship.

“Emily… Emily? Did you hear anything I said?” Kenric’s voice rang through, shaking her out of her daydream.

“Yes, I’m hearing you.” She nodded her head. “You were saying something about me talking to Elle about the hospital computers.”

His eyes narrowed into a pay-attention glare. She must have lost a part of the conversation. Emily brushed her hair back and lifted her chin. She stared back at him with a silent, I’m listening—see?

He cocked a brow, and a corner of his lips curled into a smile. With a shake of his head, he went back to work.

“Elle, this is what I need done,” he said. “Use whatever information Emily can provide about Memorial to help you get into that system. I need you to do whatever it takes to scrub those records on John Doe. Discreetly, of course. We don’t need any more attention brought to us than my visit has already generated.”

“Consider it done,” Gabrielle said with a nod.

“Emily, see if you can recall the name of the doctor who was consulted on my case. We’ll need to pay him a visit.”

“Okay, but if I can’t remember, once Elle cracks into the system, I can pull your records and get his name for you. If you don’t mind my asking, though, what will you do once you find him? You said the Enclave doesn’t kill humans. They already know about your blood. It’s not only in their files. So, how do you plan to handle this?” She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “Give them amnesia or something?”

“That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“You can do that? Really? Actually tap into someone’s mind and take their memories? Oh my God… No wonder you’ve been able to stay undetected for so long. If you’re exposed, you simply make us forget we ever knew you. How…very convenient for you,” she added with a pissed-off glare at Kenric.

The idea that he could do that to her, and probably would, made her madder than hell. What had she done? She had been minding her own business, doing her job, and yet somehow, she’d managed to get involved with a man who had the ability to control her life on a level she couldn’t even imagine.

“You must understand… I don’t take pleasure in manipulating another person’s mind. It’s what I have to do, if we’re to survive.” Kenric paused, as if searching for the right words, then glanced over to Guerin and Logan and back to her. Both warriors had grown tense, but they remained silent while keeping their eyes on her and her reaction to Kenric.

“I explained before we came downstairs that every one of us here has taken an oath to give our lives, if necessary, to protect humanity from those of our kind who’ve succumbed to Death Euphoria. However, we do have to feed. As you have experienced.” Kenric’s voice lowered, and his eyes darted from hers for a split second, as if uncomfortable discussing their encounter in front of the others.

“And when we do,” he continued, “we use what powers we have to erase the memory of our presence. If we didn’t, with the frequency that we need to feed, we would be discovered and exterminated.”

Nausea bloomed in her stomach at the word exterminated. It sounded so horrific, but history clearly demonstrated the expected human reaction would be fear, followed by a cry for genocide. Hadn’t fear and ignorance always driven humans to perform horrendous acts of cruelty? What little remained of the Native American population was a prime example of a civilized nation’s response to something they didn’t completely understand.

“We also use what we term compulsion, or psychic influence, to help the humans experience as little pain as possible while we feed. The process doesn’t have to be painful or cruel.” He eased closer. His gaze almost a physical touch.

He studied her as if trying to ascertain how well she’d digested his latest revelation. “Please, come with me.” He reached out and clasped her arm, moving her toward the other side of the room. “Give us a moment,” Kenric ordered without looking back at his team.

“Where are we going?” She slapped at his hold on her arm, her feet doing their best to keep up with him.

“I’m finishing our conversation.”

“We could have finished where we were.” He slammed to a halt as quickly as they’d begun. “I’m not some dog on a leash you can just up and decide when it’s my time to heel,” she bit out through clenched teeth.

Kenric placed her back against the wall and blocked the others’ view. Reaching down, he took her hand in his. With his other, he lifted her chin with his fingertips, bringing them face-to-face. Or as close as her five-feet-four to his six-feet-six would allow. “No. You’re most certainly not a dog.”

He stepped closer, warming her with the heat of his body. She squirmed under his overwhelming presence. Their hips almost touched. A flash of disappointment washed over her, dousing a bit of her anger. Not that she was ready to let him know that.

“I need to explain something to you. And I didn’t want to do it with an audience.” This time, the sound of his words grew deeper, smoother. “If a vampire wishes, when he feeds, the process can be quite…pleasurable for the human.” He squeezed her hand gently and gave her the most erotic smile. It carried from his lips all the way to his eyes. The passion reflected there sent shivers of lightning racing down her spine.

It dawned on her that she’d stopped breathing. Her breath hitched, and she used the interruption to drop her gaze. Kenric stepped back, as if he’d suddenly remembered they weren’t alone. She rubbed the palms of her hands against her arms at the chill that had gripped her the moment he’d moved away.

“Sometimes it’s not pretty or pleasant, but it’s what we have to do to survive. Nevertheless, it’s who I am. It’s who we are.” He indicated with the tilt of his head to the group waiting patiently behind him. “Is this something you can live with?”

He asked the question with an expression devoid of emotion. Those dazzling blue irises bore into her soul as he waited for her response. No evidence of begging or pleading ever entered his gaze. Clearly, the decision was hers and hers alone.

She stood on the precipice of a monumental decision, the ramifications of which could change her life forever.

Even with what had transpired last night, deep inside, she’d already become more attracted to him than she’d like to admit. But it was there. No sense denying it.

He hadn’t really hurt her. In fact, he’d taken good care of her. Scared her? In the beginning, hell yeah. But not now. She didn’t fear him physically. Emotionally—she hadn’t quite decided.

Emily had to go with her gut. It told her this man lived as noble a life as possible with the cards he’d been dealt. Nobody had the right to judge him.

She could live with it. He did. But they would have to talk about his amnesia magic trick. No way was he going to mess with her mind.

That would never be a part of the deal.

Chapter Nine

Marguerite stared at the image she’d removed from the hidden bottom of her drawer. Gently, she traced the outline with the pads of her finger. “One day you’ll understand.” She nodded. “Once I make things right, you’ll be happy and see why I had to do the things that I did. Everyone will.” Her fangs lengthened and she snarled. “And they’ll bow, trembling before us.”

She breathed deep, regaining her composure before slipping the photo back into its protective sleeve and tucking it away. With a shove, Marguerite closed the compartment tight and tapped her high-heeled foot on the wooden floorboard, growing more impatient for Enrique’s return with each passing second. She lunged from the seat at her dresser, flew to the door of her master suite, and flung it wide open with a bang.

“What’s taking so long?” she shouted, startling her servants in the hall. Marguerite marched down the corridor, into the den, and over to her chaise longue. She parted the translucent gold panels of fabric and lay back on the crushed velvet of the seat. The sheer material of her emerald gown clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination.

Everything had been going exactly as planned since her arrival three months ago to South Carolina. She had never liked trusting a male with anything of importance. The chance for failure and disappointment was too high for her liking. But the risk was too great to take care of it herself. This time.

Enrique had better not screw up.

If he wanted to live.

Annoyed with her wait, she needed entertainment. A distraction. Marguerite motioned for the tall, blond, muscle-bound minion who stood against the wall. The vampire came forward and knelt before her. He pulled his shirt over his head and bared his chest, then dropped his head back, exposing the full length of his neck. A gift of his throat.

She wasn’t hungry. But waiting was so tedious, and the minion did look delectable. It had been a while since she had last tasted him. Marguerite pulled him closer and, without pretense, stabbed her fangs into his throat. He flinched, then let out a groan as she took her fill. As expected of her lovers, his hands roamed her body and pinched her hardened nipples. Lower still, he searched between the slit in her gown to her mound below. He found her core, and she thrust her pelvis into his palm.

His fingers worked through her slickened folds and into her heat as she continued to suckle at his neck. He thrust in time to each hard draw at his neck, driving deeper into her clenching depths, bringing her to a swift climax. Her orgasm gripped her, forcing her to release him. She rode the spasms until the waves of pleasure lulled her to a satisfied bliss.

“Very nice.” Marguerite licked at the trail of blood seeping from his wounds. “You’re in luck tonight. I’m in a giving mood.”

The minion jerked his head up. His eyes glowed with excitement. The tips of his already descended fangs glistened from underneath his upper lip. Marguerite lifted her arm and handed her wrist to the slave for his reward. The moment he reached for her, she drew back her offer and grabbed his head. She wrenched his face to meet her glare.

“You will stop when you’re instructed, or I will kill you,” she said then thrust her wrist back in his face.

He clutched her arm with both hands and quickly brought her offering to his mouth. His fangs sank into her flesh, but she didn’t flinch, her flesh and veins accustomed to centuries of this practice. He drank in large, greedy mouthfuls.

Marguerite dropped her head to the chaise’s arm and her mind flashed back more than three hundred years to a time when another young vampire had once hungrily fed from her vein. Kenric.

She vividly remembered the feel of his lips as they pulled at her flesh. The way his wavy ebony hair would brush against her skin. Her clitoris throbbed once again. She crossed her legs and clenched her thighs. The ache wasn’t for the vampire at her side but for the one who would not kneel. The one who would not willingly come to her bed or to her vein.

“Enough!”

The minion dropped her wrist with an agonized groan, then tore at the zipper of his pants. Marguerite grinned as his erection sprang free from its constraints. He reared his head back, and with a guttural cry, gave in to his release.

A prolonged squeak echoed through the large room, distracting her from the moans of her minion. Aged hinges complained under the weight of the double doors to her receiving parlor, announcing someone’s arrival. She’d taken up residence within an old colonial house shortly after her arrival to the area. The home, located in an isolated area southwest of Elizabeth Bay, provided exactly what she needed to continue in her endeavors. The sprawling mansion proved large enough to hold the number of servants she required, while the layout of the grounds provided security for her growing army of vampires. With only one road accessing the property and the immediate perimeter cleared around the house, no one approached undetected.

Marguerite slid from her chaise, delighted to see Enrique had not returned empty-handed.

“Mistress, I present to you what you’ve requested.” Enrique bowed before her and tossed a barely conscious male at her feet.

The offering collapsed to the floor before struggling to push to his knees, unable to stand. Glazed eyes looked up as she glided forward. The man’s face held bruises and lacerations, no doubt from the hard battle with her DE-addicted vampires. He weaved, even on his knees, under the influence of the ketamine-filled darts Enrique had acquired.

Marguerite grabbed the swaying male by his long black hair and yanked his head back. His blank gray eyes stared at her with large, dilated pupils.

“You are a handsome one,” she said with a smile, stroking the short black goatee at his chin. “I shall enjoy you immensely.”

She laughed, then reached for the neck of his sweater and ripped the soft material from his body. He fell forward as the material gave way, his palms slapping the wooden floor from the weight of his impact. His bare back glared with the exact prize she’d hoped to find. An infinity symbol with a bloodied dagger piercing its center covered his left shoulder blade.

Marguerite smiled and bent forward. “Welcome to my home, Enclave Warrior,” she whispered into his ear.

…

“So, what’s the verdict, Wildflower? Can you live with what you know about who I am?” Layers of conflicting emotions flickered across Emily’s face as Kenric waited for her decision. She’d been pissed at his assertive tactics to maneuver her to a more private area. He wasn’t pleased about that. But he had had to get her alone. The woman had a way of turning him inside out and chipping away at the hard edge of his control. The look in her eyes had killed him. In that moment of his confession, everything had registered for her—he saw it in her eyes and in the accusing look she gave him.

She’d understood how far-reaching his powers as a vampire extended.

Even though what she’d experienced in the ER had not been consensual, he’d wanted her to know feeding could also be a very intimate experience. It didn’t have to be an act of violence. He didn’t take pleasure in abusing his power. He did what he had to, for survival.

Not sadistic pleasure.

He would run himself through before he ever became like Marguerite.

Kenric ground his back teeth, waiting for her answer. An even-bigger question loomed in the back of his mind. The one he kept trying his damnedest to avoid.

Was he prepared for what he needed to do if her answer was no?

He’d held her in his arms, imprinted her scent and taste. Could he remove her memories, walk away, and never look back? Only twenty-four hours had passed, and it annoyed the hell out of him that he didn’t like the idea of having to let her go. But there would be no other choice, if she said no.

After what felt like an eternity had passed, she parted her lips and spoke, “Yes, I think I can live with it.”

“Good.” Kenric dropped her hand and turned, hiding his sigh of relief, his stomach unwinding from its knotted state.

“Whoa, wait one minute there.” She grabbed his arm. He pivoted back around. “I said I could live with it, but that didn’t mean everything was settled, just like that.” Emily snapped her fingers. “We still need to talk about what this means.”

“What else is there to discuss?” Kenric’s voice dropped an octave as he leaned against the wall, his hand resting beside her head.

“Hey! Are we still planning to put our heads together over here and get this situation handled?” Guerin called out from the other side of the room.

Kenric glared over his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s the plan. Why? You got somewhere to be, Romeo?”

“No, nowhere to be, my man.” Guerin shook his head. “Just itching to get started, that’s all.”

“We can talk more later,” Kenric said, returning to Emily, his voice barely above a whisper. “I needed to confirm once more that you were on board with all this.” He brushed his knuckles along the delicate surface of her cheek. So very smooth. Her eyelids shuttered under his caress. Kenric yanked his thoughts and hand back from the road they were headed down. He needed to handle his present situation.

“It’s either black or white with me,” he said. “Either you can handle this, or you can’t. I’ve already said this upstairs, but I have to be sure you completely understand. I’ll be entrusting you not only with my own existence but with my entire Enclave’s.” He reached to brush her cheek once more but fisted his hand instead and dropped his arm to his side. “You’ve said you can handle this. Please be very sure, Wildflower. If you give me your word, it will be all I ever need to hear.”

Emily chewed her lower lip and searched his face, and her heart, one more time before she answered. “You have my word,” she breathed.

Kenric leaned in as if to kiss her but, at the last second, froze. Instead of the feel of his lips, two fingertips trailed down her cheek, then dropped. She gasped. Damn him. He continued to hover above her lips, his breathing harsh. At least he was breathing. The air felt locked inside her chest, waiting for his next move.

And then it came.

He closed the distance, but a second before his lips touched hers, he diverted his path, brushing the rough texture of his five o’clock shadow along her cheek. The warmth of his breath at her ear heated her core.

“Good. Because I wasn’t ready to let you go.” He turned without another word and headed back to his team. Her knees wobbled as she returned to the group and took her seat. Emily tried to ignore the stares that burned into the side of her head as the team waited to hear from their leader.

Kenric moved to stand beside her. This time, he placed his hand on her shoulder before he spoke. She pinched her lips tight, hiding the satisfied smile.

“We will proceed as planned,” he said. “Emily will be assisting us in whatever way she can. To put everyone’s mind at ease, she is fully aware of what might happen if others find out what she’s learned today. I’ve placed my trust in her. As you know, that is not something I do lightly, since she’ll be aiding not only me but the entire Enclave. Emily is now considered under my protection. Therefore, she is under the protection of the Enclave. Understood?”

The weight of his words crashed on her shoulders. He trusted her completely. She would have never guessed how heavy it felt to carry the load of someone’s faith in you. It was damn hefty.

Emily held her breath as two of the team’s warriors approached her.

“It will be my honor.” Logan knelt before her, taking her hand in his. He lifted her hand, placing it near his lips. Was he going to kiss her? She braced herself.

Only he inhaled instead.

The air slid from her lungs. It didn’t feel intimate, like when Kenric had done something similar upstairs. That had made her heart skip a beat. This was more like a simple handshake. All very formal and ceremonial.

Next, Guerin came and proceeded in the same manner. “It will be my honor as well.” Placing her hand close to his face, he breathed deep.

Emily glanced up at Kenric, about to ask about all the smelling, but he beat her to it.

“Each warrior has taken your scent, because you are now under their protection. They have imprinted you in their minds. Should the need ever arise, if you’re near, they will find you.

“Impressive,” she mumbled, staring at the back of her hand.

“Two of the Enclave’s warriors are still on patrol. When they return, both will take the same vow to keep you safe. You are important to me, therefore, you are important to them.”

Over the next few hours, Emily worked with Elle reviewing the records she’d been able to crack within the hospital’s system. Instead of deleting the files which showed anomalous results, they entered bogus, normalized ones. Too many of the staff involved in Kenric’s case would remember the John Doe admitted on the thirteenth of November. For the record to disappear entirely would raise even more suspicion on top of his vanishing act.

Alongside her and Elle, Kenric examined every detail. Emily couldn’t help noticing the camaraderie that existed between Elle and Kenric. She wondered how long they’d known each other and how exactly Elle had come to be part of the Enclave. Had there ever been more to their relationship? God, she wanted to groan from the green and ugly monster stirring her insides each time Kenric glanced at Gabrielle. But nothing about their interaction suggested more than a common bond. She shouldn’t feel anything at all about a man she’d only met yesterday. When this was over, she had to make an appointment with her ob-gyn. Maybe her estrogen levels were out of whack.

“How about tomorrow night?”

“What?” Emily dropped her pen and glanced up in Kenric’s direction. “What about tomorrow night?”

“If you’re working tomorrow night, I’ll meet you there. Together, we can make sure all my blood samples do a disappearing act.”

“Yeah, sure. Tomorrow night sounds good.”

“Perfect,” he said. “With all of the samples gone, they won’t be able to reconfirm or deny the changes in the results. Good job, ladies.” Kenric lowered his gaze to Emily. She cleared her throat and quickly turned her attention back to her notes, trying to hide her smile. He didn’t need any more encouragement.

With the complete names of the consulting specialist and emergency physician obtained from John Doe’s record, Logan and Guerin volunteered to pay them a visit and alter a few select memories. Elle deleted the request for the consult, since the blood work no longer indicated a problem. Everything from files to thoughts needed to match.

At last, Kenric spoke the words she’d waited for all evening. “Let’s get you home.” He turned back to Elle. “I’d like to discuss the other matter with you that Guerin asked you to work on when I get back.”

Elle nodded. “Okay. I have some stuff bookmarked for you to check out.” Kenric gave an affirmative lift of his chin, then returned his attention to Emily.

Emily gathered her work clothes, and Kenric escorted her to the garage.

He opened the door of a shiny black convertible sports car. It sat between a BMW and what looked like a Bentley.

“Is this a Lamborghini?” Emily swung a glance over her shoulder at Kenric before her rear came into contact with the most buttery-soft leather she’d ever sat on.

Kenric climbed into the driver’s seat and cranked the sleek speed machine. “Yes, it is.”

“What is it that you do, anyway, other than kill really bad vampires and drive very fast cars?”

“Let’s just say it doesn’t hurt to be in possession of a great deal of very old money. And a damn good stockbroker.”

“Ah, I see.” Emily stroked the rich feel of the leather bracing her thighs. Her butt was in cushioned heaven.

“Actually, this is a Murciélago LP 640 Roadster, to be exact.”

“Ooh la la. Sounds like it was built for speed,” she said.

He chuckled, and the black roadster rumbled forward like a predator on a leash, begging for release.

“Murciélago is Spanish for bat,” he said.

Emily glanced his way. A devilish grin sat on his lips.

“Oh, you would have a car named bat, vampire.” She laughed, and it felt good.

“Buckle up, Wildflower.” Kenric shifted and punched the accelerator, laying her back against the seat with the force of the acceleration.

Hot damn.

“You like that, don’t you?” Kenric’s azure eyes sparkled in the moonlight that beamed in through the open top.

She just smiled in answer to his question, allowing her head to plop against the headrest. Closing her eyes for a moment, she enjoyed the feel of the wind in her hair.

Relaxed, Emily lifted her lashes and rolled her head to the left. The breeze smoothed Kenric’s raven hair away from his face, accentuating the sharp and sophisticated lines.

He was beautiful, the scar on his right cheek the only imperfection she could find. Truly, it wasn’t a flaw at all. It reminded her of how much man lay beneath. Emily rubbed her palm over her breastbone as if she could calm the sudden jump in her pulse. Her hand dropped to her stomach, trying to calm the nervous flutters. She wished she could blame it on the intensity of the ride, but she knew they came from the man sitting next to her at the wheel.

As they neared Elizabeth Bay, she picked a star and made a silent wish toward the heavens for the drive to last a little longer. Because for right now, she liked how safe, happy, and free he made her feel.

But all too soon, it was over.

Kenric pulled into the hospital’s parking garage, and Emily directed him to the fourth level, where she’d parked her car the previous night. He pulled up into the vacant space beside her vehicle and cut the engine. She grabbed her things and made her exit.

Emily tossed her clothes into her car and performed a quick check that her wallet and cell phone were still in her glove box. She straightened and smoothed her shirt with sweaty palms. Could anything feel more awkward? This hadn’t been a date. It had been more like a kidnapping. But her captor hadn’t been human, and she’d somehow allowed herself to be pulled into his world and was about to help him commit a crime. She felt like she’d been strapped to a monster of a roller coaster, mad as hell for permitting herself to climb on board, but loving every minute of the ride.

“Do you want me to call you tomorrow evening so that we can coordinate when and where to meet? I’ll give you my number, and I would like yours as well…after I follow you home and make sure you’re safe,” he said.

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary.” Emily shook her head. She didn’t need this guy to know where she lived.

“I think it is. You’re under my protection now.” Kenric got out of his car, sauntered over, and, with a molten look, lifted a lock of her hair from her shoulder and gently pushed it back.

How could something as simple as a touch to her hair send electricity running through her insides? She opened her mouth again to say it wasn’t necessary, but ended up groaning in frustration instead. The firm set of his jaw declared he would see her home. What little she already knew of him told her he did what he wanted, permission or not.

“Fine. You win. This time.” Emily dropped into the seat of her very used Corolla, then glanced over her shoulder. “But don’t get used to it.”

One corner of his mouth lifted as if he found her humorous. “Warning noted,” he said.

“I live on Magnolia Island.” She closed her door, the action a little harder than necessary but still pretty darn satisfying. Rolling down her window, Emily looked up and met his gaze. “Try to keep up if you can.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Ten

Two hours later, and Arran had yet to find any sign of Markus. He rolled his Ducati to a stop, snatched his helmet off, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Damn, voice mail again.” He clenched and unclenched his fist, waiting for the beep. “Markus, where the hell are you, man?” he growled out, wishing he had an addict’s head to pound his fist into and exorcise some of his frustration. “Call me when you get this, you bastard, and let me know you’re alive. If you don’t, I’m going to kill your ass and feed you to those fucking bloodsuckers.” With that said, he punched End Call on a snarl.

Only a few more hours remained before he would have to go in. “Fuck!”

He punched speed dial for the compound. Maybe they’d heard from Markus. If not, Kenric and Guerin needed to know he’d gone missing.

“Arran?” Gabrielle answered on the second ring, her voice urgent but soft and warm. “Are you okay?”

His pulse surged. She probably thought he must be close to death. He never called in.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He tried to sound calm and indifferent. A difficult feat, considering what had gone down with his partner tonight and the beautiful woman on the other end of the line that kept him tied in knots. “Markus and I took on a few DEADs. We got separated. Has he checked in within the last few hours?”

“No, he hasn’t.” Her words were hesitant. Probably from shock. He’d probably spoken more to her in the last minute than in the previous five years she’d lived on the estate.

“Inform Guerin and Kenric that Markus has gone missing, and I’ll be out searching until sunrise. Notify me immediately if you hear anything from him.”

“Will do.”

“Good.”

“Arran?”

“Yeah.”

“Be safe,” she whispered.

Arran closed the phone and rolled his shoulders. He didn’t need attachments. She especially didn’t need to attach herself to him. One big mistake he wouldn’t allow her to make. After what Gabrielle had been through, he definitely was not what she needed.

He cranked his bike and yanked his helmet into place. Twisting the throttle, he burned out, leaving a boiling cloud of white smoke in his wake. He hoped like hell that if he didn’t locate Markus before dawn, his partner found cover from the rising sun—before it found him.

…

Emily shoved the key into the deadbolt for her unit. The heavy fall of boots on the wooden steps behind her told her that Kenric was right on her heels. She wondered what he thought of her meager accommodations. Her gaze wandered to the complex’s faded brown paneling. It had seen better days. The constant salty spray coming off the ocean played havoc on any dwelling. Everything in the area appeared much older than its actual years. Her mom’s thirty-year-old condominium complex looked closer to sixty. Mom had loved it here, and Emily loved the memories—the ones before her dad had lost his battle with the bottle.

“Come on in—if you must,” she said, flipping the light switch to the right of the door.

Emily strode through the living area toward her bedroom, talking as she went. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to change my clothes. I won’t be long.” She glanced back and pointed in the direction of the small galley kitchen. “There should be something to drink in the fridge. Oh.” She halted and then turned. “That’s if you drink anything other than—well—you know.” She shrugged, knowing her smile had to look uncomfortable.

“I can drink other things on occasion. If I wish. But I don’t necessarily get thirsty.”

He’d parked himself inside the closed front door, leaning against it in that casual, I-have-no-idea-how-sexy-I-look kind of way. The leather jacket he’d slipped on before they’d left and all that midnight wavy hair added to his bad-boy aura.

“Okay. Well, if you would like something tonight, there should be sweet tea and soda in there.” She backpedaled a couple of steps, then spun and headed down the hall.

Entering her room, she noticed the red light from the answering machine was blinking. She strode over to the table and groaned, knowing the callers were probably the people she despised most in the world. Bill collectors, or Jeff, her ex-fiancé. The thought of either made her want to hurl. Both hounded her constantly for money. She braced herself and pressed Play.

Yup, collectors. Including one call from the bank holding the lien on the condo. If they didn’t have her payment soon, she risked foreclosure. Why she had allowed Jeff Monroe to convince her to borrow so much money, she’d never understand. She took a deep breath and released it, blowing the bangs out of her eyes.

The next three messages mimicked the first. Payment due immediately. Then she came to Jeff’s. Of course he’d called. Why the hell would he even think of giving her more than a seventy-two-hour break from his bullshit? His deep voice, scratchy from years of smoking, filled the bedroom. “You owe me. Pay up, bitch, or I’ll make sure you wish you did.” The call ended. It was always the same threat.

What had she ever seen in him? She’d been too young and too desperate for attention. So eager to jump into the arms of the first man who acted as if he wanted to take care of her. Never again. She slammed her finger down on the delete button.

Emily changed into a pair of her own cotton sweats and a matching T-shirt. She brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair. Kenric had already seen her without makeup, so no sense in going there. Turning off the bathroom light, she grabbed the door frame and took a deep, calming breath.

He wasn’t in the living room when she returned. Ice clinked against glass in the kitchen. Maybe tonight, he had a taste for something…cold.

“Thirsty tonight?” Emily nodded at the drink in his hand. He stood in the open door of her avocado green refrigerator, pouring a glass of sweet tea.

“No. Actually, I made it for you. You still need to drink a lot of fluids.”

“Thanks. By the way, here’s my cell number.” Emily held out a slip of paper. She’d jotted it down before leaving the bedroom. Kenric silently moved toward her over the black-and-white tiles.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” He stopped in his tracks.

“Move like that?” She pointed to his boots. “Without a sound. It’s spooky. It’s like you’re not really here. I’m looking at you walking toward me, but I can’t hear you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing it.” Suddenly, the sound of his boots returned. The hard soles thumped the floor as he took the final two steps to hand her the tea.

“Thanks for the tea. That was very thoughtful,” she said, reaching for the glass. Her fingers brushed his. He didn’t let go. She glanced up, and for a moment, she found herself captured by his gaze. Long dark eyelashes overshadowed striking blue eyes. A faint smile lifted his lips. She hoped her T-shirt and bra were thick enough to hide the effect he had on her nervous system.

“It was my pleasure,” he said and handed her the glass before he took the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket.

“So, what didn’t you realize you were doing?” Emily crossed her arms over her chest and headed into the living room.

“I imagine I do it without thinking anymore.” Kenric’s deep voice followed her. “We’re able to silence our movements. It’s essential when we need to feed, and when we hunt the ones who enjoy killing. We have the ability to levitate and move without striking the surface. In effect, we glide.”

“Incredible,” Emily said as she took a seat on her overstuffed, brown-and-white-checkered couch. “I can see where that would come in handy.” The ice cubes twirled in her tea while she fidgeted with the glass. She glanced up and smiled. “I have to say, though, it’s still spooky.”

He laughed, then added a warm smile. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall beside the sofa.

“You are so refreshing.”

Man, he curled her toes with the sultry sound of his voice. “Gabrielle seemed nice,” she said, covering up her reaction. Real smooth transition there, girl. You’re not obvious at all.

“Yes, she is.”

She cleared her throat and stared at the ice in her drink. “I noticed she didn’t make the same pledge as Logan and Guerin. She is part of the Enclave, right?”

“Elle is human. She works with us, but she’s not an Enclave warrior. She’s been with us and under my protection for five years now and is an invaluable part of our team.”

“She’s human? I didn’t realize. She’s under your protection, too—like me.” Wonder how many beautiful women he thought needed his private security services?

“Are you two close?” She chanced a glance from under her lashes. He stared back at her, a slight grin lifting his lips.

“What? Why are you grinning at me like that?” She had to resist the urge to kick him in the shin and knock that smile right off his mug.

“Are you jealous, Wildflower?” He moved away from the wall and came closer. With the tips of his fingers, he lifted her chin. “She’s family. Like a sister whom I care a great deal for. But that’s all there is. And in case it’s the next question coming, you are the only woman whom I’ve placed under my protection outside of the Enclave.”

Emily pulled her chin free. “Well, it’s nice to hear that you care so much about each other. And just so that we’re clear here…,” She hesitated a second to make sure she had his complete attention, “…I’m not jealous, and like I’ve said before, I’m not yours or anyone else’s wildflower.”

She leaned forward to set her tea on the coffee table—and missed. The glass hit the floor and shattered. Tea and shards of glass flew in all directions across the pale hardwood floor.

“Oh, my God!” Emily jumped to her feet and bolted into the kitchen. After snatching a towel from the counter, she hurried back to the wet mess, forgetting she was barefoot.

“Ouch!” Damn.

“Be careful.” Kenric grabbed hold of her while she hobbled on one foot. “Here, let me help,” he said, tugging at the dish towel.

“I’ve got it.” She yanked the rag free and dropped to the floor, mopping at the sticky mess. “If I’m capable of creating this mess, I think I can clean it up.” God, she was so embarrassed.

“Damn.” Emily jerked her hand from the soaked towel. She peered at the center of her palm.

“Let me see.” Kenric knelt down beside her and wrapped his hand around her wrist.

“I’m the nurse here. I’m all right.” Emily tried to pull free from his grasp.

“Let me help you. You’re shaking—it’s okay.” He held her hand steady.

How did he do it? Make everything better with his gentle words and the touch of his hand? She quit her struggles and allowed him to help. She peered over his shoulder as he worked the glass free from her palm. He ran the pad of his finger across the surface. A small drop of blood formed in the center of her hand. Before she could react, he lowered his head.

His lips touched the sensitive center. She gasped. The warmth of his tongue brushed across the wound. She nearly came unglued. Christ, how could something so simple feel so erotic? From under his lashes, his blue eyes met hers. Without words, his gaze alone told her he enjoyed her taste.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, lowering her hand. He reached for her foot.

She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound emerged.

He pulled the shard free, and then his warm lips met the sole of her foot. A whimper came out of nowhere. That had to be her. His tongue moved to her ankle, and a moan filled the room. Oh yeah, that was her.

No. no. no. Too much, too fast. What was she thinking? Emily jumped up. She grabbed the towel and limped toward the kitchen. “Uh…I’ll be right back.”

…

Kenric couldn’t fight back the growl that rolled from his own throat. She’d tasted like sin, and he’d lost his soul to her flavor. He’d healed her foot, and now he wanted more. Much more. The sound of her pleasure-filled moan, and her passionate gaze, had blasted the lock off his control. Thank God she’d jerked away when she had. He couldn’t have borne another minute without touching more of her.

Emily stepped back into the room, another glass of tea in her hand. Kenric moved to one end of the couch and took a seat. Without a word, she eased down onto the opposite side. He didn’t have to be a vampire with supernatural senses to detect the thick wall of tension growing between them.

“Listen…,” Emily cleared her throat. She glanced in his direction then stared off at some invisible spot on the far wall. “I think I should make it clear that I’m not ready or looking for a man, of any kind, in my life.” She traced the edge of her glass, then turned and this time met his gaze. “I agreed to help you get what you need from the hospital, and I’ll keep my word. But after that…”

“That’s all I ask…” Kenric inhaled deeply. “Nothing more.”

“Good.” She nodded, then took a sip of her beverage.

“Good.”

She leaned forward and placed her glass on the table. “I’m glad we agree.”

“We do.”

“You’re so not my type anyway.”

“I’m not your type…?” The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “Because of what I am?”

“Could you blame me if it was? The first time we met, you bit me.” She shifted in her seat and met him head-on. “But that’s not the whole issue. You’re a bit of a control freak. Good Lord, you even have your own Enclave.” Emily shook her head. “Vampire or not, you would drive me crazy wanting to control my life. Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt, memories, and bruises from the trip. Not going back.”

Another growl exploded up from his chest, but he choked it back. He’d overwhelmed her enough.

Bruises?

“Who hurt you?” His gums tingled from the threat of his fangs. It was all he could do to keep them in check. Hold it together, vampire.

Emily stood. “Bad word choice.” She dismissed his question with the wave of her hand and moved toward the kitchen, giving him her back. “No one hurt me. I don’t know why I said that.”

He didn’t plan what happened next. Instinct claimed his brain and his limbs, and before he could think better of the action, he was in front of her. She gasped and stopped in her tracks.

“You’re lying.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know that.” She lifted her chin, her jaw tight.

“There. Right there.” Kenric lifted his hand, and with one finger, traced the delicate outline of her chin. “I can see the tension.” He dropped his arm. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t appreciate being called a liar, and my past is none of your business.” The green flecks in her irises sparkled.

“I didn’t say you were a liar, only that you’re lying now. I don’t like the idea that someone hurt you.”

“This is what I’m talking about.” Her hands went to her hips, and her voice lowered to a near rumble. “I tell you nothing happened, but you won’t let it go.” She shoved at his chest. “You can just kiss my—”

Kenric claimed her mouth, breathing in her gasp. The thought of someone else touching her, hurting her, made him scream inside. He wanted to protect her. Mark her.

She moaned and gripped his biceps. Not pushing him away, but holding on for more. She opened her lips, and the sweetness of her desire flowed from her lips and tongue. Emily was fire and ice. A blistering mixture that burned him to his core.

But he’d die before he’d allow her to be hurt again, or worse, hauled into a war that wasn’t hers. A war that could cause her much more than pain.

It could kill her.

That was the very reason why he hadn’t taken a lover in centuries, and his aversion to the heightened lust for blood associated with sex. All gifts from his years spent as Marguerite’s slave.

So who was the bigger monster here? The bastard who’d bruised her? Made her fear another relationship? Or the selfish male who would risk her life to have her in his? He groaned. Torn between his rational mind and his desires. But there really was no choice.

This could go no further. The night would end exactly as it should.

With him leaving.

His cell phone chimed.

Perfect timing.

Kenric reached deep inside and tore himself away. Emily stumbled back but quickly gained her balance. After putting some distance between them, he pressed the answer key. “Kenric.”

“There’s a problem,” Elle’s soft voice replied. “It’s Markus. Arran called and said they’d had a run-in with a few DEADs. He’s missing.”

“How long?” His grip bore down on the phone. The hard plastic case popped under the pressure.

“He didn’t say. Just said to tell you and Guerin he’ll be out searching until dawn.”

“I’m on my way back. Have Guerin contact Arran and find out where he’s searched so far. The night is almost gone, and we need to make efficient use of what’s left.”

He jabbed End Call as Emily came up behind him. He didn’t need to see her to know she was there. Her warmth slid over his body, wrapping him like a hot blanket on a cold night. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. The sweet floral scent that was uniquely Emily rode the air, laced with the hint of her lingering arousal. Her very presence heated his blood and calmed his soul. Opening his eyes, he glanced over his shoulder.

“What’s happened?” She crossed her arms under her breasts.

“I’m sorry. I have to leave,” he said, reaching for the keys in his pocket. “One of my warriors is missing. I’ll call you tomorrow evening as planned.”

Kenric paused long enough to place his card on the table near the front door. “If you need me, my number is right here.”

Mid-step over the threshold, he stopped and turned, knowing she stood inches behind him. “Goodnight, Wildflower.”

Chapter Eleven

Making tracks down the hallway toward the kitchen, Kenric kept pace behind Arran.

Dawn had arrived.

The UV light forced the warriors to find shelter inside. And to leave one of their own behind. Frustration rolled off the team, swirling and surrounding them like a dense fog. The air pulsed with its intensity.

Arran’s fist slammed into the kitchen’s swinging door, knocking it open and into the opposite wall with a loud bang. Sitting at the center island, Michael jumped, sloshing coffee down the front of his shirt. He cursed and frantically grabbed for a towel.

With a click and a hum, the electronic darkening system went to work on the bank of windows in the kitchen and throughout the compound.

Guerin and Logan strode into the room, abusing the wood of the door with equal venom.

“I’ll take to the sky again at dusk,” Kenric said, the consolation directed at Arran, who stood with his hands braced on the back of a kitchen chair, his back in a defeated hunch and his blond head hanging. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he white-knuckled the wood. Kenric swung his gaze to Guerin before adding, “Getting an earlier start in my raven form, I’ll have a better chance at finding a clue. Hopefully, the storm won’t damage whatever trail might be left behind.” As if on cue, thunder rumbled on the other side of the shutters.

“True,” Guerin said, running his fingers through his rain-slicked hair, then turned his head toward Arran. “Arran…”

With a roar, Arran hurled the chair into the wall, silencing whatever Guerin had started to say. It broke apart, multiple pieces flying in every direction. The sound of splintering wood reverberated off the tiled floors and steel appliances.

The last piece struck the floor, leaving nothing but pained silence.

All eyes fixed on the vampire wrestling with his rage. He paced the floor, sucking air into his lungs as if it were fuel for his anger.

Minutes passed, though it seemed more like an hour, before Arran regained enough control for speech.

“I fucking hate being trapped!” His fist hammered a single blow onto the top of the island.

“We all do. But we don’t take it out on the damn furniture,” Logan said disdainfully from across the room.

“Fuck you!” Arran spun on his heels. He lunged toward Logan with fangs bared.

Kenric stepped between them.

Arran’s fierce glare met his, giving Kenric all the opening he needed. He dived in, grabbed Arran’s mind, and seized control.

“For the record, I don’t give a shit about the chair,” Kenric said with a firm grip inside Arran’s head. “But I do give a shit about my warriors tearing each other apart.” He released his mental hold.

Arran staggered. His eyes narrowed on Kenric for a moment before he recessed his fangs. Kenric rotated on his heels and faced Logan, making sure he, too, got the signal to back down.

“We’re all just a little on edge, Kenric. Sorry, man.” Logan glanced in Arran’s direction. “We’re cool. Right, Arran?”

“Ice.” Arran wheeled, giving Logan his back.

The frigid display confirmed Kenric’s suspicion. Something more churned beneath the surface between these two. Their actions spoke of two males who had an ax to grind—or a grudge to settle. When Arran had joined the Enclave ten years ago, Kenric had asked them whether they’d known each other during their early years spent in the Highlands. Both had denied it.

Getting a wolf to heel was easier than trying to get Arran to talk about his past. And all Kenric could pry out of Logan was that he’d met Arran about a century ago up north when they were both part of another colony of vampires. Logan had summarized his opinion of Arran with one simple statement: he hadn’t liked the bastard back then, and he was on the fence now.

Arran was loyal, though. Kenric had sensed that the moment he’d met him. Or he’d have never brought him on board. He couldn’t figure out what the hell had gone down between them. Neither would talk. But both men, Kenric knew, would give their lives for the Enclave.

Dropping into a chair, Kenric threaded his fingers through his hair. This was not going to work. He’d have to keep those two from killing each other long enough to figure out how to resolve the situation. He needed all his warriors fighting for the same team.

Not with each other.

“At sundown, we’ll pick up where we left off,” Kenric said. “And every sundown after that until we find Markus. It’s frustrating as hell. But we’ve done all that we can do for now.” He understood that each minute that passed without a word or a sign from Markus ate away at their hope like acid.

Markus was his responsibility.

He would search for the rest of time until he found something—anything—that could tell him what had happened to his warrior.

“Get out of here and get your asses some rest.” Kenric dismissed them with a wave. “And try not to kill each other in the meantime.” His gaze purposefully flicked between the Highlanders.

Before the last word left Kenric’s mouth, Arran was already out of the room. Logan and Guerin dispersed, grumbling something about hating this fucking shit.

“Anything I can get for you?” Michael stopped at the table with a broom and garbage bag in hand.

“No.” Kenric shook his head. “Thanks.”

“No sign of Markus?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“What do you think happened?”

Kenric glanced at Michael. Lines of worry etched his face.

“I don’t know. But you can be damn sure I won’t rest until I find out.”

…

Ten minutes later, Kenric fell naked onto his mattress and pulled a sheet over himself, exhausted from the events of the last two nights. A loud clap of thunder rumbled behind the closed shutters, while driving wind and rain pelted the windowpanes.

Hunger unfurled its claws in his gut. His fangs dropped into place. He hissed and pushed the demand to feed into submission and his fangs back into his jaw.

He should have fed while out, but he didn’t desire the anonymous taste of a stranger to ease the burn inside.

Emily’s flavor haunted him.

Unconsciously, he’d dismissed the opportunities for blood. Tonight he would have to feed, whether he wanted to or not.

His body stirred, remembering their evening together, the flavor of her kiss on his tongue. Reaching under the sheet, he wrapped his hand around his cock. He moaned, stroking himself with the memory of her scent, the taste of her skin.

Shit. He couldn’t remember being so turned on by a woman—ever. Riding the arch of his erection with his fingers, he stroked the sensitive underside of his cock’s head. A clap of thunder rattled the walls of his bedroom. He closed his eyes and lifted his hips, slowly pumping into the air. The raging storm outside matched the fierceness of his need for release.

Hunger burned like a twisting, raging fire, wrenching him back from the edge.

Kenric opened his eyes to a darkened cell, flat on his back with his wrists shackled to a wall behind his head. He shifted his legs, only to find he couldn’t move them more than an inch or two. Large cuffs held his ankles down at opposite sides of his cot.

He roared.

“Fuck!” His fangs caused the word to come out with a lisp.

His arms trembled from the time spent suspended over his head, combined with the agony in his gut for blood. He’d wither and die before he’d ever drink her blood. The putrid, hot residue of her on his tongue lingered from the last time she’d forced it down his throat.

He’d awakened in the midst of ferocious hunger, clawing at the stone behind his head. She’d slashed open her wrist and used her powers, forcing him to accept it as she jammed it into his mouth. Her psychic influence had combined with his body’s own demand for blood, and he’d swallowed.

That had been at least five days ago.

If he were older and stronger, he could try to phase the fuck out of this place. He had seen it done before. Marguerite had used that trick when she’d snatched him from the battlefield about three years ago. But she kept him starved, kept him weak, and he was as trapped now as he’d been when he was human.

She’d left him alone again to slowly build the hunger in hopes this time would be different. Marguerite wanted him hungry enough not only to feed but also to mate.

The bitch was insane.

Marguerite had apparently grown bored of him as her personal human blood supply. The night of his turning, she’d declared that his impressive mental endurance would make him the perfect vampire. A master. Stronger, more powerful mentally and physically than other males.

Hers.

She wanted him to take her as his mate.

After his transition, she’d explained that mating required the male to submit to the female. Blood, body, and soul. Once completed, the mated female would have access to her mate’s thoughts and emotions, and she would share his power.

Kenric had had no idea what he would be capable of in his new form, but he did understand that if the queen bitch wanted him this badly, no way in fucking hell would he ever let it happen.

“Sounds like someone missed me.” Marguerite’s voice echoed off the stone walls from the other side of the cell. The rattle of a key and the groan of the iron cell door announced another round.

“I heard your roar, darling. Are you hungry?” She trailed one long fingernail up the length of his leg and then a lazy scratch along his abdomen and chest.

She placed the lone finger into her mouth and sucked. Her eyes lingered on him through half-shuttered lids. For a moment, she appeared to savor his flavor. Then suddenly, she bit down.

Blood oozed from her mouth. A deep crimson trail flowed over her lips, down her chin, and dripped onto his chest. The ravenous beast within him writhed in agony.

Drop after drop of the hot red beads coalesced and pooled between the ridges of his abdomen. Shackled and stretched out on his back like a sacrificial offering, all he could do was grip the chains above his head in an effort to control his body’s response. His arms burned and ached under the tension. Sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes.

He’d chew his own fucking arm off before he’d beg to be fed or take her vein.

She eased the finger from her bloodied mouth. A spasm coiled in his stomach. Above his navel, Marguerite dipped into the puddle of red. She swirled two fingertips in the thickening pool. Mesmerized, his gaze followed as she lifted her hand and brought his stare to her face.

Her compulsion seized him.

In horror, he could only watch as her blood-coated fingers slid between his lips. His heart raced, jackhammering in his chest. The taste of her blood exploded across his tongue.

No! He didn’t want this. Why didn’t she just kill him?

She bit her wrist and forced it to his mouth. A wave of fresh blood spilled down his throat, choking him. He swallowed, even as his mind rebelled. His body quaked from the effects of her blood scorching his veins. His contortions rattled the chains above his head and at his feet.

Marguerite yanked her wrist from his mouth and released him from her mind. He sucked in a breath and spat. The mixture of saliva and blood landed on the lace bodice of her gown. She hissed as her hand flew from her side and landed against his cheek. The sound of the skin-on-skin contact rang off the cell walls.

“You are an ungrateful bastard, Kenric St. James. Do you know how many kill for a taste of me?”

It wasn’t a slip of the tongue. They did kill for her. Her minions battled before her to be the next male to share her bed and drink from her vein.

Slowly, he rolled his head up and faced her. He licked his lip, removing the flavor of his blood from where his fang had nicked him. Bile welled in his throat from the lust-filled, satisfied smile on Marguerite’s face.

He didn’t need to look. He knew his body betrayed him from the effects of her blood.

“Marguerite, it will never happen. You can leave me in here for an eternity to starve and rot. It won’t change a damn thing. I will never become so deranged that your blood—and you fucking me—will ever make me want to be your mate.”

Undeterred, she crawled onto his cot and straddled his thighs.

Kenric wrenched on his chains, attempting to pull himself from her, but there was nowhere to run. Her hand reached for his erection. Disgust assailed him for what seemed like the millionth time. He squeezed his eyes tight and braced for the shudder of revulsion that always came from her touch.

“Kenric, if only you’d relax and enjoy what I’m offering you, it would be so easy and so much pleasure for both of us. We’re perfect for each other. All you have to do is give yourself to me and let me walk you through the mating. All the hunger and pain would simply…” Her hand flitted in the air, “…go away.”

Like a serpent, her voice licked incessantly inside his head.

A vision of a beautiful, auburn-haired woman with hazel eyes came out of nowhere and flashed before his mind. He knew her…

This woman warmed and calmed his body. The scent of wildflowers invaded his nostrils, jarring him back to the present. Marguerite was in his fucking head again.

He flung open his eyelids.

Rage erased the lust-filled gaze on Marguerite’s face. She’d glimpsed Emily in his thoughts.

“Who is she?” she roared and levitated from his body, hovering above him.

Her hair and gown whirled in an illusion of wind.

“None of your damn business.” He growled, and the shackles binding him dropped from his wrists and ankles. He blasted from his cot into the air, snagging Marguerite’s shoulders. With one hand securely around her neck and another on her arm, he slammed her back against the bars of the cell. His hand slid from her throat to her face. His finger dug into her flesh as he held her gaze. A low growl continued to resonate from his chest.

“You never learn, do you, Marguerite? Whether we’re in reality or your demented version of a dream, I still don’t want you. It doesn’t matter how many centuries pass. I didn’t submit to you then, and I won’t submit to you now.”

“You must need a reminder of Annice’s fate.” Marguerite’s eyes burned with fury. “I will find out who she is. Of that, you can be assured.”

“Get the fuck out of my mind!” Kenric bellowed, squeezing hard at the flesh under his hands.

Kenric bolted naked from his bed. His chest heaved as he wiped the sweat from his face, then ran a hand through his damp hair.

“You’ll never have Emily, Marguerite. Of that, you can well be assured.”

Damn the sun. He wanted to haul his ass back over there and check on Emily—to see her face again.

He picked up his cell and the small piece of paper she’d given him.

“Hello?” The voice that answered sounded weak and sleepy.

“Emily, it’s Kenric. Did I wake you?”

“Oh. No, you didn’t wake me. I was just getting up from a nap before work. What are you doing awake? I thought vampires slept during the day.”

“They do. I happened to wake up early today.” Silence hung for a few seconds between them while he searched for a good reason for his call. The fact that she now had a more than six-hundred-year-old vampire bitch gunning for her wouldn’t be the best conversation opener. Finally, he went with, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good. A little nervous about our joint endeavor tonight.”

“You have nothing to worry about. No one will remember seeing you there, or me for that matter. I’ll call you later and let you know when I’ve arrived.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then.”

“Emily… It’ll be nice to see you again.” He wanted to groan with how sappy he sounded. His heart swelled behind his sternum to an almost painful fullness. Dammit. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything, and he barely knew what to do with the resurgence. For so long, the only “feelings” Kenric had been concerned with he could label on one hand. And anger and bitterness had headed the top of the list. But he never expected this. This overwhelming desire to grab on to Emily and never let her go. Christ, for the first time in more years than he cared to remember, he craved something else—someone else—more than his need for vengeance. And it was unsettling.

Silence permeated the line for a few telling seconds. “Emily, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. It’ll be nice to see you again, too.” He could hear the smile in her voice. How could he have allowed this to happen? Emily was the personification of compassion, beauty, honor, and…light. Things that didn’t belong in his world. Things he had no right to want, because he would only bring her the darkness. Yet for some reason he couldn’t stop his tumble down the slippery slope into her life. He’d never believed in the whole “soul mate” theory before. But whether he was ready to admit it to himself or not, Emily made him feel—made him yearn again. And it was good. Too good.

“Until then,” he said and ended the call.

No way in hell would history repeat itself. He would die before Marguerite could touch Emily.

Chapter Twelve

Stretching over to her nightstand, Emily tapped the end button and dropped her cell back onto the wood.

She kicked back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her conversation with Kenric ran through her mind, playing havoc with her stomach.

“It would be nice to see you again,” he’d said. On her way to the shower, she giggled like a teenage girl. Then warning bells rang in her mind, and her toes hung off the edge of a crumbling cliff. Her smile disappeared.

Don’t do it, Emily Ross!

Emily had to put the brakes on. She could not fall for this man.

Man?

He wasn’t even human. Girl, you really know how to pick ‘em.

She reached in and turned on the shower. Kenric was…more everything than any other man she’d ever dated, and it scared the hell out of her. If she had any common sense, she would run like hell. God only knew why she hadn’t already started sprinting . . .

With her hair washed, Emily worked up a lather inside her washcloth. Memories of last night replayed in her mind. The way Kenric had made her feel… Her pulse raced. When he’d touched her palm… Her heart stuttered. Kissed her… Emily’s head swam, making her grasp the tile for support. He’d smelled so good, like pine and cinnamon spice. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to cool herself down. This wasn’t good. From the very moment they’d met, the guy had triggered every reactive cell in her body. Was it purely physical? Yes. At least a part of it was. But if her response to him was only sexual in nature, she could turn it off. That was the problem, she realized. Her reaction to Kenric was based on more than his good looks and their chemistry. It was the man underneath the alpha exterior that had gotten under her skin. His heart. The way he cared about others—his team and the human race. His mission, and…the way he needed her. Turning into the shower spray, she cranked up the cold water, allowing it to rain over her face and breasts.

She shivered, chilled from the cold water—or maybe from the fear that a part of her might need him just a little, too.

What would she do about Kenric St. James?

An hour later, Emily hurried into the ER, running her fingers through her hair to unlock the still-damp curls. She couldn’t blame the traffic, and no way would she tell anyone about her fantasies of a certain dark and sexy vampire and how they’d kept her from leaving the house on time.

“Emily!” Shawna’s voice called out from the front desk of the nurse’s station. “You’ve got a phone call.”

“Sorry I’m so late,” Emily said, reaching the desk and breathing hard after her trot from the parking deck.

Her friend waved the phone’s receiver in her hand. “I’ve got Jeff on hold. This has to be the third time he’s called in the past fifteen minutes, girl.” Shawna rolled her eyes and shook her head. As she did so, a few of her blonde locks escaped her braid to sway around the petite features of her face. “You really need to get a restraining order.”

“Been there, done that. Doesn’t faze him.”

Shawna moved from her chair and passed the phone over to Emily.

“I’m just worried about you, hon. From what you’ve told me, the man’s a nutcase. If you ever need a place to stay or just hide out for a while, you know where I live.”

Since the first day Emily had arrived at Memorial, she and Shawna had hit it off. Shawna always had her back, covering for her whenever she was late or offering her help whenever things were tight. One day, Emily hoped to be able to return the favor.

“That means a lot, Shawna. It really does. Thank you.” Emily settled into the vacated chair.

“You know you’re like my little sister. And I mean it. Anytime, okay?” Her hand brushed Emily’s shoulder.

Emily nodded. “I know you do.”

Shawna turned and headed toward triage.

With the phone at her ear, Emily sighed, then pressed the Hold button.

“Leave me alone, Jeff. You can’t keep calling me here, or I’m going to lose my job. And if I don’t have any income, you’ll be left without a reason to harass me.” She kept her voice low but firm. Enough to get her point across without drawing attention.

“Damn, you’re bitchy tonight. Sounds like you need a good fuck to calm you down. You sure you’re not missing me just a little bit?”

She gripped the edge of the desk. Deep breath. She needed this job. The temporary satisfaction of cursing him out would only succeed in making things worse in the end.

“Bitter much, Jeff?”

“I’m bitter about my damn money.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she spat. “I put myself through school. You didn’t cough up one red cent.”

“You lived in my house, and I fed your ass for four years. If it weren’t for me, you would’ve been out on the street. It’s time I was compensated.”

“It’s not about that at all, and you know it.” She cupped her hand around her chin and the receiver. “I’m not giving you any more money to pay off your gambling debts.”

“I’m warning you, bitch, if I don’t see some green within the next twenty-four hours, I’m coming to find you.”

With a click, the line went dead.

Emily hung up the phone. Suddenly chilled, she rubbed her upper arms vigorously for a couple of seconds, then she reached in the pocket of her scrub top. She pulled out a hair clip, brushed her fingers through her hair, and pinned her curls into a ponytail. If only she could pull the rest of her life together so easily.

It was blackmail—pure and simple.

She knew better than to give in. Jeff would never stop if she gave him money. But God, it would be so easy if she had a way to give him enough so he’d disappear.

“Hey, girl.” Shawna came up beside her and plopped down in one of the black task chairs. “Are you okay? You look pale. Was Jeff threatening you again?”

“Really?” Emily placed her palms on her cheeks. “I feel okay.” She managed to get the words out in a steady voice that even surprised her to hear. “It’s probably just that time of the month. You know how it gets. I’m a little anemic.” She cringed at the bald-faced lie that had come out of her mouth. Well, not all of it was a lie. She was a little low on red blood cells. “I’ll go get some juice and I’ll be fine.”

Emily left her chair for the break room with Shawna following on her heels. She waved her ID badge over the door’s security sensor, and the lock gave a soft click. Pushing open the door, she fanned her hand in front of her nose. The enclosed small space of their employee refuge reeked of old tuna sandwiches and overheated Lean Cuisines. She skirted between the tired and tattered navy blue couch and the round white dinette table with its vented plastic chairs, making her way to the refrigerator.

“He was just going on as usual about money. What’s new?” Emily grabbed an individual Minute Maid off the fridge shelf and twisted the cap off.

“You know what you need?”

Emily lifted her eyebrows, giving her a nonverbal “what’s that?” look, while taking a long swallow of the cold juice.

“You need some fun in your life—a little excitement. A tall, dark, and handsome man to whisk you away to his mansion and take your mind off your troubles. You need a man who knows how to treat a woman right.”

Emily choked. Orange juice sprayed from her lips and all over the front of her top.

“Oh, my God! Are you all right?” Shawna snatched some paper towels from beside the sink and handed them to her. “I didn’t think my idea sounded that crazy.”

“It is crazy,” Emily said between coughs. “Besides, how many tall, dark, and handsome men with mansions have you seen around here?” She hated lying to her best friend. Though, technically, it wasn’t a lie. He was a vampire, not a man. Either way, she could never tell Shawna what had happened to her or what she’d learned.

“Good point.” Shawna laughed. “I’d have already tried to snag one for myself.”

“Believe me, the last thing I need is a man to whisk me off my feet and take control of my life.” Emily tossed the rest of her OJ in the trash and headed back to work.

…

Pulling on a pair of black leather gloves, Kenric made his way down the stairs from his private level, a dagger strapped to each thigh.

The day had passed like an eternity. With Marguerite knowing about Emily and thus threatening her, he needed to find Markus as soon as possible. Then he needed to get Emily into safekeeping.

And no place would be safer than here—with him.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted into the hallway as he made his way toward the kitchen.

Kenric opened the door and flinched. He slammed his eyes shut from the sudden burst of harsh fluorescents. Opening his eyes a crack, he spotted Michael at the island working on his next experimental concoction.

“Is all this really necessary?” he growled before pulling out a pair of dark shades.

“If I plan on being able to see while I cook, it is.” Michael glanced up briefly from his project. “Your eyes will adjust.”

Kenric leaned over the island, resting his weight on one large hand. “Some days, I question why I ever saved your sarcastic ass.”

“Because of my winning personality, and because I’m a damn good cook.” Michael lifted his head and grinned.

Michael would have a home here for the rest of his life, and he knew it. He’d become like the son Kenric would never have. It was Marguerite who had coldly informed him, after he’d been turned, that he had nothing left to offer any human woman. A fact that she’d gloated over again just a couple of nights ago. Sadly, he’d seen no births in all his years to contradict her statement.

“A damn good cook—you wish.” Kenric pushed back from the island.

“You just resent the fact that my pot roast makes you salivate even though you haven’t needed to eat in centuries.”

“You have a point there.” Kenric smiled. “That it does.” He turned on his heels and headed toward the somber group at the table.

Guerin sat at one end with Arran, Elle in the middle, while Logan propped himself at the opposite end. Kenric grabbed the closest chair and eased into the seat across from Arran.

“I’ve some things for you to look at,” Elle said and handed him several sheets of paper. “I got a few hits on the subject, but the one that grabbed my attention the most, I placed on top.” She tapped the sheet. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”

In bold, the title read, Legend of the Vampire, Goran Madunic. The article said that Goran was one of the earliest recorded vampires. He’d been a brutal man, bloodthirsty. The legend went on to say that he’d killed hundreds of men and women in Croatia during his rampages. He had had an army of fellow creatures—loyal servants who hunted and fought with him. At the time of Madunic’s demise, the myth stated that according to his wishes, his minions were to remove the heart from his headless body and drain the organ of its contents, sealing the blood inside a glass vessel. His army supposedly hid this essence, awaiting the next master vampire. The successor would then drink from the relic, merging the former leader’s power and consciousness with his own. Goran had believed that his power was so great that he could live on through the next master who consumed his blood.

Kenric eased back in his chair and dragged a weary palm across his face. “If this is what she’s unearthed…,” He glanced around the table, meeting his fellow warrior’s grim faces. “We’ve got a big problem on our hands.”

“Elle showed me what she printed out,” Guerin said before lifting his mug for a gulp. “You think that vessel would still be around after all Croatia has been through?”

“It fits the clues Marguerite dropped. The time period, and the new surge in her power.” Kenric leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “And if we’re right, and she’s drinking this shit…” He shook his head. “The ancient vampire DNA will be concentrated—off the charts, and Goran was correct about one thing: his essence will affect the vampire who absorbs him. His consciousness is long gone, but the potent genetic material left behind will prey on her mind.”

“How do you propose we find out what she has?”

He cocked his head in Guerin’s direction. “I ask her. She’ll be back, to screw with my mind, and if I’m right, Marguerite won’t be able to resist admitting it was Madunic’s blood she’s found.” Kenric looked over to Arran and Elle. “Even if we stop Marguerite, we have to find that vessel. It’s too much of a threat to allow it to fall into the hands of a power-hungry vampire like her.” He swung his gaze back to Guerin. “It must be destroyed.”

Kenric dragged his hands through his hair, his mind drifting back to the early years of his turning and the implications if the insane female had found that vessel.

During the three years he’d spent with Marguerite, she had already eradicated the last drop of empathy she may have once had for the human race—and that was three centuries ago. Now… Now God only knew what lurked in the dark void where her soul used to reside. Yes, he’d wondered more than once, while watching her torture then drain the life from her victims, if there had ever been a time when Marguerite Devonshire had cared about someone other than herself. For most, to have lost their grip and fallen so far over the edge meant at some point they had possessed something to hold onto. Some small nugget of sanity. But the look of pleasure she wore when inflicting pain made him question if her ability to feel compassion had ever existed. If it had, she’d made sure to excise it from her heart. And if she was consuming the blood of Goran…

Michael passed behind them, opening the interior shutters for the night, when the door to the kitchen swung wide.

The entire table jumped to their feet, transfixed on the figure in the doorway.

“Son of a bitch!” Arran voiced the exact words that had crossed Kenric’s mind.

“Miss me?” Markus stood before them in the kitchen, his clothes dirty and torn, his lip bloodied, but very much…alive.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Arran rounded the table.

“I got back as fast as I could. I couldn’t call you, man.” He pulled out what was left of his cell and held it up to Arran. “One of the filthy bloodsuckers crushed it when it fell out of my pocket. That, and I’ve been holed up in a damn warehouse for I don’t know how many hours, waiting for the sun to go down. No phones.”

Markus trudged over to the table and slumped into a chair, his straight black hair falling across his face. After sweeping it back, he scrubbed an open palm over his shadow of a beard.

“Shit. What happened?” Kenric shook his head, relief spreading through his limbs. The SOB was alive.

Arran moved back to the other side of the table as the rest of the team took their seats, everyone eager to hear what had happened.

“After I finished off the motherfucker who broke my phone, I went after another one I’d seen running toward The Docks.” Markus tilted back in his chair. “Once I got down there, I caught sight of him slipping behind one of the warehouses. He saw me and took off. You know how that area is around the shipyards—it’s like a fucking maze. Bloodsucker knew the place way too well. He maneuvered it like it was his playground.”

He turned his gaze in Kenric’s direction, his gray eyes shadowed with intensity. “There had to be a lair somewhere nearby. I wasn’t going to lose him.” His focus returned to the rest of his team.

“I followed him into one of the warehouses. Shipping containers filled the place from one end to the other, stacked almost to the damn ceiling. After, I don’t know…” He shrugged, “…twenty minutes or so, I spotted him again. I ran after him before he leaped off one of the crates to a window and got out.” He slammed the table with his fist.

“Damn. I was so fucking pissed. I jumped up onto a section of crates to follow him. The next thing I knew, I was under a mountain of the damn things and it was dawn.”

“Shit. No wonder we couldn’t find you,” Arran muttered.

“The only thing I could do was wait out the sun in one of those fucking crates.”

“Glad you’re alive, and that you made it back,” Kenric said. Then with a nod, “Now, go get cleaned up. You reek.” The team chuckled, and Markus displayed a rare grin. The relief around the table was palpable.

Kenric rose, following Arran and Markus from the kitchen.

“Arran,” he called. Both warriors paused in the hallway and reeled about. “I’m going to need you at Elizabeth Bay Memorial tonight in case there’s trouble.”

“What’s going down?”

“I’ll be meeting the woman you both heard about yesterday to take care of the lab evidence I left behind.”

Arran nodded. “You got it.”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk to everyone yet, but I have reason to believe the woman, Emily, may be in danger.”

“What do you mean?” Markus stepped in closer. “What makes you think she’s in danger?”

“Marguerite made a threat against her life. Last night, I announced placing Emily under the Enclave’s protection. Under my protection. Marguerite will not touch her.” Kenric hit both men with a glare. “Is that clear?”

“Understood,” Arran said, nodding his head in affirmation along with Markus. “We have your back.”

Kenric whipped around and headed out for a drive to clear his head before his meeting with Emily.

“By the way…” He stopped and glanced over his shoulder at the two silent warriors behind him. “I’ll discuss it with the rest of the team later, but I’ll be bringing her back to the compound. For her safety.”

“Of course,” both replied in unison.

Chapter Thirteen

Emily jumped at the sudden tap on her shoulder, breaking her hypnotic gaze on the computer screen.

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

“What?” Emily reeled around in her task chair, faced Shawna, and gave her tired eyes a rub with both hands. “No. I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little distracted.” In reality, she grew crazier with each passing minute, waiting for Kenric’s call.

“It’s okay. I know that sorry ex of yours keeps you on edge.” Shawna eased into the chair beside her. “Hey, and what about your John Doe from the other night disappearing like that? That was so weird. Security didn’t have a trace of him at any of the exits on video. It was like he just poofed out of here.” She dramatized the Houdini action with her hands.

Absently rubbing her midsection, Emily whirled back around to the computer. This was so much harder than she’d thought. Her head pounded, and her stomach ached. If he would just call… The firm reassurance of his voice would help steady her nerves.

“Oh, about what I was saying earlier,” Shawna went on, oblivious to Emily’s abdominal distress. “It’s twelve thirty, and I need to start those antibiotics on bed A. I’ve already tried twice to get a line in him. Would you mind seeing if you can start one for me?”

Pushing back from the computer station, Emily plastered a smile on her face before accepting the IV supplies from her friend’s hand. “Sure. I need to occupy my mind with something else.”

They’d almost made it to bed A when Emily’s phone buzzed against her thigh. With her heart a pounding lump in her throat, she pulled her cell free. The caller ID displayed Private.

It had to be him.

“Shawna, I’m sorry, but I have to take this call.” Emily glanced left, then right, searching for a replacement who could help Shawna out. “Would you mind getting Sylvia? She’s right over there.” Emily pointed to the dark-haired nurse in pink scrubs. “She’s new, but I’ve heard she’s excellent with IVs.” She gave Shawna her best reassuring smile. “I just have to take this call. Please cover for me for a few minutes. I owe you one.” Before Shawna could reply, she tumbled the supplies back into her hands, spun on her heels, and headed away from the ER, down the back corridor.

A quick glance up and down the hall assured her she was alone. Good, she had a few seconds of privacy.

She hit the talk button.

“Hello,” she whispered.

“Hi. It’s me. Are you ready?”

She bit back a groan. Why did his voice have to be so damn sexy? “Um… Yeah.” She switched hands, wiping the dampness from her other palm onto her pants leg. “I’ve got someone covering, but not for long. What do you need me to do?” Emily’s footsteps echoed off the walls in the empty hallway, the hollow sound chipping away at her already frayed nerves.

“I need you by the lab,” he instructed.

She slowed to a stop and closed her eyes, steadying herself for what was to come.

“Be sure you’re alone,” Kenric added. “Let me know when you’re there, and I’ll be in.”

“How will you know where I am—where the lab is?” She could hear the nervous edge in her own voice no matter how hard she tried to control her jitters. “Have you somehow placed a GPS on my rear?” Emily opened her eyes and started moving again. She wasn’t far from where they were to meet.

“Think of it as vampire GPS.”

“Oh. I take it that’s another lesson in your abilities you haven’t filled me in on yet?” She rounded the corner and stopped a few feet from the laboratory’s doorway. “Okay, I’m here,” she whispered and leaned her hip against the cool surface of the wall.

“Good.”

A few seconds passed without another sound. “Kenric…?” Had he hung up? A hand landed on her shoulder.

“I’m right here.”

Emily fumbled the phone, but managed to catch it before it fell. She whipped around and shoved at Kenric’s arm. “Good Lord. Don’t do that.” She gave her shoulders a shake and stuffed her cell in her pocket. “Damn, it’s unsettling.”

“Sorry I startled you.” Kenric brushed his palm down her arm, creating a rippling warmth in its wake.

Reflex begged her to lean in and absorb the sensation, but this wasn’t the time or the place. As if there could ever be such a thing as the right moment with a vampire. She stepped back, placing a little more distance between them.

“You okay?” He curled his fingers away, and his gaze shifted to the hospital corridor, surveying for any unexpected company. “Any fallout from my disappearance?”

“I’m fine, and no fallout. Apparently, no one’s connected me with your vanishing act.” She followed his lead and watched the hallway. “But you certainly are the talk of the nurses’ station with how you disappeared without a blip on the security cameras.” She poked him in the arm with her finger. “You gonna tell me how you located me like that?”

He dropped his gaze back to hers and rubbed his arm. “Hey, watch it with that finger, Wildflower. You could hurt someone.”

She snorted. “Come on. How did you zero in on me?”

Kenric lifted her chin with two fingers, locking their gazes. Emily stared back at him, refusing to be the one to blink first. He grinned as if he enjoyed their little contest. Then he spoke.

“Because a part of you remains in me.” He closed the distance, then the sudden realization struck of what he’d meant by those words. Her blood. That was what he meant, and it still flowed in his veins. Her breath hitched at the thought. Kenric froze and stepped back, rubbing a hand across his mouth and chin. “We need to finish what we came here to do,” he stated.

Emily watched as a complete transformation rolled across his face and body. The vivid blue eyes that had greeted her seconds ago turned to ice. The ease of his posture hardened. This was the master vampire of the Enclave. Powerful. Frightening.

Sexy as hell.

“Take me to the lab,” he said.

Take me to your bed, her body screamed.

“You’ll go in, find the sample, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Emily nodded. The lab entrance loomed a few feet away.

The lack of cameras and offices made their previous location ideal for Kenric’s arrival. This area would prove more difficult to maneuver.

Adam worked the night shift in serology. He’d been hounding her for a date ever since she had started working at Elizabeth Bay, making him more likely to hand her the samples without a lot of questions.

Poking her head around the corner, she gave a relieved sigh. Thank God.

Adam was alone.

Glancing back, she held up her hand, signaling for Kenric to hold back.

“Hey, Adam.” Emily leaned against the doorway to the lab. Adam’s red head popped up from his superfluity of tubes and vials on the stainless-steel counter.

“Hey back at you, beautiful. What brings you to these parts?” He gave her a big toothy grin.

A low growl emitted from beside her. She waved her arm at Kenric behind the door, hoping he got the message to keep it down.

“I was wondering if you could help me with something.” She eased farther in and up to the counter.

“Sure. What you got?” Adam pushed back from the counter and made his way over to her. He dropped his gloves in the trash and shoved his safety glasses to the top of his head. Stopping in front of her, he leaned against the table.

“Would you mind checking to see how many samples you have of that John Doe’s blood we had in from two nights ago? Dr. Castle is in tonight on a consult and asked if I would check on it.” She brushed her fingers through a few of her loose curls and tilted her head. “Even though the patient went AMA, he’s still interested in additional testing for study purposes. I know I could have called, but I needed a break.” Emily flashed him her sweetest Southern smile.

Bull’s-eye.

His grin went off the charts. He crossed the room to his computer and pulled out the keyboard. “Do you have the medical record number?” He glanced over his shoulder.

She pulled out the sticky she’d jotted the information on from her pocket, and called out the numbers.

“We should have two samples in storage,” Adam said before moving over to open the large refrigerated storage unit. He pulled out a wire shelf and, after a couple of seconds, lifted two serum-filled vials. “Yup, here they are.”

Before Emily could open her mouth to reply, something blurred across the room. She wasn’t sure she had actually seen anything until Adam’s body went limp, collapsing into Kenric’s arms.

“Is he okay?” Emily darted around the counter and crouched beside Adam’s body, checking for a pulse.

“He’ll be fine. I only stunned him with a psychic wave. It momentarily interrupts the conscious mind. It’ll give me just enough time to grab these…” He placed the two vials into his pockets, “…and get out of here.”

He knelt beside Adam, his shoulder and thigh brushing against hers. The pine and spice scent of him drifted to her nostrils, heightening her awareness of his presence. She wanted to lean over and rub herself against him, purring like a cat in heat.

He glanced her way. “I need you to go and keep a look out. I have to plant new memories for the last few minutes.”

“Oh, okay.” Emily got to her feet, dusting off her pants as she hurried to the door. Checking the hallway for traffic first, she stepped into the empty corridor. The night shift, most of the time, left the halls sparse. Thank God.

She kept an eye on Kenric through the door, not wanting to miss what he did to Adam. His hand slid once across Adam’s forehead and eyes. The tech’s eyelids flickered. Slowly, he sat upright and rose to his feet. Kenric placed his palm to the back of Adam’s head and held his gaze. Kenric’s lips moved, but the words were too soft for her to hear.

It only took a few seconds for Kenric to complete whatever he’d said before Adam moved away from his hold, returning to his workstation. He slid his goggles into place and his hands into a pair of clean gloves. Adam returned to his work, as if a strange man in black leather didn’t fill up the room.

Like nothing had happened.

Emily shifted back and forth on her feet. She’d heard them talk about abilities at the compound. Heck, she’d even experienced his powers of compulsion firsthand. But to watch it unfold before her eyes made her stomach rebel. Dear God, what was she doing with this man—vampire? Why didn’t she listen to her instincts, instead of her heart?

Kenric strode around the corner and touched her arm, leading them at a brisk pace back to where he’d first arrived. Emily increased her pace and slid from his hold. She couldn’t help it. At the moment, she didn’t want to enjoy the feel of his touch. What he could do with those hands disturbed her.

Kenric dropped his arm to his side in resignation. He may not have had a woman in his life for centuries, but he understood exactly what her body language said: Don’t touch me.

What the hell happened? He’d felt her gaze as he’d worked with Adam. Had what she’d witnessed affected her this way? God, he would never hurt her. She had to know that.

The waves of her ponytail bounced with each sway of her hips. He wanted to reach out, smooth the loose curls at the back of her neck, and tell her everything would be fine. That in fact, he’d die before he’d let anyone harm her.

At the end of the hall, Emily stopped and whirled, facing him with her back against the wall. She lifted her chin, but her gaze touched everything except him.

“So, what all did you do to him back there?”

He placed a palm on the cool wall beside her head, leaning in before answering in a quiet voice. “I did a sort of…reset…on his memory. Took him back to before you were ever there. He won’t remember anything about our visit tonight. You won’t have anything to worry about.”

A shiver raced over her.

“It had to be done, Wildflower.”

“I realize that,” she snapped.

“Then why are you so angry? You won’t even look at me.”

Her gaze locked with his. Defiant hazel eyes held him in a silent pissing contest. No woman, including Annice, would have ever challenged him in such a way. So why in the hell did he have a raging hard-on right now?

“There.” She arched one delicate red brow. “I’m looking at you.”

“Well.” He lowered his face and deepened his voice. “I don’t know if I would call that looking. More like throwing daggers.”

She shoved at his chest and maneuvered around him. “I’ve got to get back to work. What else do you need from me?”

Everything.

This had not gone as planned. Somehow, he had to get this feisty woman back to the compound for her own safety. He could tell this wouldn’t be an easy task.

“I need to get into security and make sure our images are erased from our stop at the lab. You head there first to minimize the number of times the cameras capture me. Make sure the coast is clear, give me a call, and I’ll phase to your location just like before.”

“Fine.” Emily left without looking back.

Kenric groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn, she was a frustrating woman. She made him want to fuck her until he couldn’t move and, at the same time, spank her ass. Well, that wasn’t such a bad idea. He leaned against the same warmed section of wall Emily had vacated, a grin begging to be formed on his lips.

The second half of the mission went off without a hitch. He got into security, removed the recordings from the lab monitors, and replaced them with blank DVDs. The guard wouldn’t remember anything, and with nothing to rouse their suspicions, no one would have any reason to notice a few hours of recording were missing. If they did, it would appear like the recordings had not started until later in the night.

With the hospital handled, he could focus on getting the redhead next to him to safety and putting an end to Marguerite’s hold on his life.

He’d lay it all out there for her, exactly what she had to do. She would come to the compound in the morning and stay until he felt it was safe for her to return to her life. With the mood she was in, it would be best if he didn’t leave it up to discussion.

“Since we’re finished, I’ve got to get back to work before they fire me.” Emily spun and started to leave, but Kenric grabbed her arm.

“Wait a minute. Before you go, I have to talk to you about something.” He loosened his grip on her forearm. “I have reason to believe your life may be in danger.”

Emily turned, her hazel eyes wide.

“What did you just say?” She stepped forward. “I thought this was it. Wasn’t it you who said, ‘help me with this and there won’t be anything to worry about?’”

“It has nothing to do with tonight. But I can’t get into it here. That’s why, before I arrived, I arranged for my driver to be here in the morning when you get off work. You’ll be returning to the compound until I can be assured you’re safe.”

A flash of red raced to her cheeks, and her eyes widened even more. “I will be returning to the compound.” Both hands went to her hips. “You decided?”

She narrowed her eyes and closed in on him with that dangerous forefinger raised, and dug it into his chest. “Listen up, Dracula, I don’t need you coming into my life and telling me what you’ve decided without a second thought about what I want. You can just take your driver and your decisions and shove them where the sun don’t shine.” She stabbed her finger into his chest with each word for emphasis. “Oh, excuse me. I guess that euphemism is lost on you, Mr. Vampire.”

Well…shit. Guess the direct, don’t-leave-it-up-to-discussion approach was a bad idea. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with here. You need to listen to me. My compound is the only place where I know you will be safe.”

Her body shook as if she didn’t know whether to slap him or run.

“I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. I’ve fought for too long and way too hard for my freedom. I’m not moving in with you and letting you control my life. No way.”

She whipped around and practically ran down the hall.

“Emily!” he called to her in her mind, using his powers of projection. “Don’t go like this.”

She came to a halt a few feet away, grabbing her head with both hands.

Glancing back, she braced one hand against the wall. “Leave me alone, Kenric,” she cried out. “I’m not going with you.” Tears glistened in her eyes before she shook her head and hurried down the hall—and away from him.

…

Emily slumped into a task chair at the nurses’ station. Her chest hurt. It was as if someone had wrapped a vise grip around her heart, attempting to squeeze the very life out of her. How in the world did she let it get this far?

For sure, the man was crazy. Who the hell did he think he was, telling her he’d decided where she would live? She’d had her fill of dominating men, and she didn’t need Kenric St. James joining her list of bad mistakes.

“Emily, where have you been?” Shawna’s voice yanked her back to the present.

“I’m sorry. That phone call was an emergency. I didn’t mean for it take so long.” Emily grabbed her lime green stethoscope she’d left on the desk earlier and rose, meeting her friend coming into the station.

“I’m just glad you’re back. We have a trauma coming in five. An MVA. I need you to help prepare the trauma room.”

“Sure. I’m on it.” Thank God for the diversion. A trauma would keep her busy the rest of the night and her mind off one dark and sexy, overbearing man. She had to get him out of her head, because he could not be a permanent fixture in her life.

Emily grabbed an armload of supplies and started prepping the room. At the counter, she pulled the essential lab materials together for all the blood work she anticipated they’d need.

She moved a box of four-by-four gauzes to the side, placing the various vacuum collection tubes in a metal holder, when she spotted a vial of blood lying on its side against the wall. Picking it up, she read the name and date scribbled in her own handwriting: John Doe ER 11/13/13.

Holy crap!

How in the world had this gotten overlooked? It must have rolled to the back of the counter and gotten covered up during all the chaos the other night. Reflex had her aiming the vial straight for the biohazard container on the wall, but she stopped before letting it drop. An ugly thought loomed in her mind. She palmed the cool tube in her hand.

She could never do that.

Could she?

The moment he’d opened his eyes, Kenric had taken what he needed from her without a second thought. In a flash, he’d barged into her life, commanded her, and then confined her. Now he wanted to do it all over again. Take control of her every move. So what if she took from him a little of what she needed? She could hold the reins for once. Emily glanced down at the simple sleek vial. So much power contained within a benign tube of blood.

The nasty taste of bile surged to the back of her throat. Never in her life had she deliberately betrayed another soul. The thought sickened her. So many of her problems would vanish if she could find the right buyer for the evidence this would provide. She’d vowed not to reveal their secret. Her gut twisted. This would be playing dirty. She paced the room.

But how many times did she have to be the victim before she learned to seize an opportunity that presented itself, for herself? The lien on her home paid. Jeff out of her life. Peace of mind from the debt bloodhounds. . .

She groaned, slipping the tube into her scrub pocket. The blood was near forty-eight hours old, but with the preservative present in the tube, it was still viable.

They spoke of extermination if their existence became public. Yet Kenric and the Enclave had plenty of money at their disposal. With enough of the right people hired and in place, the Enclave surely had enough power to make it all go away at some point.

Emily chewed her bottom lip. With his money, he’d be okay.

He would never forgive her. But he’d survive.

The question was, would she ever forgive herself?

Chapter Fourteen

Gearing down his motorcycle, Markus rolled to a stop in front of the weatherworn, aged Victorian mansion. With the kickstand in place, he slung his leg over his bike and dismounted.

He rubbed a palm against his midsection. His gut ached. With each step toward the front door, the misery eating away at his insides became more urgent.

The pain. This place. It drew him like a tether to a ball.

Markus lifted the rusted metal door hammer and rapped twice. The porch groaned under the weight of his shifting feet. He glanced back down the isolated, dirt driveway. It was all familiar somehow.

But when? And why the hell had he been here before?

The massive door with its peeling paint opened, creaking loudly. Candlelight glowed from within. A large, dark-skinned man dressed in only a pair of black leathers filled the door frame.

“Welcome, warrior,” he beckoned in a thick Spanish accent. “Our mistress has been waiting for your return and report.” He backed away from the opening and, with a swing of his head, indicated Marcus should enter.

He took a step and a stabbing pain, much worse than before, tore through his abdomen. Markus let out a loud hiss and doubled over. “What the fuck!” he managed to mutter when the pain decided to give him some air, but not before he broke out in a cold sweat.

A hard and icy hand grabbed his arm and dragged him over the threshold. “Our mistress has just what you need.”

The need to quench the fire in his gut dueled with his turbulent impulse to get the hell out. But still, he followed the stranger, his feet moving like leaden weights beneath him.

The musky odor of mothballs and decay assaulted his senses, but even through the murkiness that was his brain, he knew the other scent riding the air all too well. The stranger before him was a vampire, and from the smell of things, he wasn’t the only one.

Why did I come here?

“You know why,” a voice in his head murmured.

“No. No, I don’t,” he mumbled. Bile scorched a path inside his chest. He swallowed, forcing the acid back into his stomach.

The large, leather-clad vampire came to a halt before a set of heavy wooden double doors. They protested as he pushed them open. Markus squinted from the onslaught of the hundreds of candles that set the cavernous room ablaze.

Compelled to see and understand what drove him to this place, he forced his gaze to lift.

A woman with long, flowing black hair lay draped across a red chaise elevated on a dais. She turned her head as he entered the room, inserted a slim finger into a red vessel, then lifted it out and licked the dark thick coating from her flesh. He didn’t miss the satisfied gleam as she sealed the container and passed the item to a male at her side, before rising. Marguerite? He’d never actually seen her face, only Kenric’s recount of her description. But what other female held this much power?

She called to him. Not with her voice, but within his head.

The slide of her voice inside his mind—his chest seized. He gasped for air.

“Breathe, my warrior. Come.” She reached out and summoned him with her hand.

Air filled his lungs once again. Not sure why, but he responded and crossed the great room. At the base of her dais, he dropped to his knees.

Not because he wanted to. He had no choice.

His hands fell to the floor, and his gaze followed. Beads of sweat riddled his forearms, making his palms slick against the smooth planked floor.

The air stirred as she neared. An erotic scent of musk, sex, and blood filled his nostrils. It shot straight to his groin, filling his cock to a painful rigidity. He growled, neurons firing in remembrance.

“Marguerite.” He tilted his head back and bared his fangs.

“Yes, warrior. Welcome home.”

His gaze homed in on her wrist and the crimson drops falling from the open wound. Another slice of agony twisted his insides. He hissed a curse, dropping his head.

“When do you plan on sharing? Or is my suffering your entertainment for tonight, Marguerite?” A sudden wrench at his hair yanked his head back.

“That’s mistress to you, minion,” she spat. “And I’d be careful with that mouth of yours if you plan to taste me ever again.” She released his head with a jerk.

“Yes, mistress,” Markus forced out.

She stepped before him and lowered her wrist to his mouth. Grasping her forearm with both hands, he brought it to his lips. He slipped his tongue out and licked once at the puncture. He glanced up from under his eyelids. Her pupils grew large, leaving only a thin ring of green surrounding the black.

Fuck. His cock jerked. Yeah…fuck.

Markus groaned and sank his fangs in.

She cried out. Hungrily, he drank the hot, thick, intoxicating liquid. It soothed the knives in his gut and electrified his veins. Yes! God, how had he ever survived without her taste?

Without warning, she pulled his head back and tugged her arm free.

“No!” he bellowed. “Not yet.” He fell forward. His heart galloped in his chest, muscles spasming in his arms and legs, begging for action.

So alive.

How and why did Kenric ever resist her? To hell with protecting the human race. Every fiber of his being wanted to fuck her.

“Pick yourself up, minion.”

Her voice, a command to his limbs, jerked him to his knees.

“There will be more where that came from. But first, you must give me your report.”

Green and ruby silks shimmered around her as she draped herself on her chaise. Her gaze, the color of a lush tropical forest, held him transfixed.

“Now, minion, were you convincing at your homecoming?” She gave him a smug grin.

“Yes, mistress. No one questioned the story of my disappearance.”

“Excellent.” Marguerite leaned forward with an excited gleam in her expression. “Tell me what you have learned about Kenric’s new woman.”

“Her name is Emily. She works as a nurse at Elizabeth Bay Memorial, where Kenric ended up a few nights ago after being injured. Arran and Kenric are meeting with her tonight. She’s helping him dispose of the evidence that remains of his ER visit.”

Marguerite leaped to her feet and waved a silencing hand. “Enough of that babbling garbage. I want to know if he cares for her. Is he protective?”

Markus tilted his head and met her glare. Rings of red swirled like fire around her green irises. A startling effect.

“Yes, mistress. He placed her under his personal protection and the Enclave’s.”

A shriek ricocheted off the hollow chamber walls. Marguerite whirled, pulling at her hair. She descended the steps in a blur of color.

Markus jumped to his feet and backed away, but not fast enough. Her hand gripped his throat, bringing his retreat to a suffocating end.

“You will kill her for me, slave.”

Markus shuddered, the pressure in his skull climbing to a screaming peak. How the hell was he supposed to do something so heinous and traitorous? The force of her compulsion, combined with the unrelenting hand at his throat, pushed him near the brink of implosion. Shit, shit, shit.

“Kenric’s destiny was sealed the night I made him. He is mine.” Her grip loosened. “This temporary fascination of his will not ruin my plans.”

Markus stumbled back. He drew in a coughing, ragged breath. The crawling warmth of blood returned to his face and head along with the incessant push of her will inside his mind.

“You will see this done for me.”

“Yes, mistress,” Markus croaked out. “Consider it done.” And he knew without a doubt he would. For her. A nagging itch inside his chest said acting on her order to kill the female should bother him. Betraying Kenric—the Enclave—shouldn’t it prove harder to bear? Markus searched inside, reluctantly seeking what had once been his blemished and serrated moral compass. But instead of finding a treacherous knife carving out his gut, a block of ice sat in its place. Hard, cold, and unmoving. Perfect.

A moment in Marguerite’s darkness was all it had taken to freeze his soul, and like a vortex of evil, she’d sucked him into her frigid hell. The potent elixir of her blood and sex, mixed with the intensity of her resolve, had reanimated the monster he’d fought so hard to keep buried in his past. It seemed no matter how many years or miles one placed between themselves and their sins, somehow they find you.

Kharma truly was a bitch.

A slow, satisfied smile that promised great rewards bloomed on her face. His cock twitched, painfully filling the confines of his jeans.

Oh, yes. But he would enjoy his reward.

Chapter Fifteen

“Oh God, make it shut up!” Emily lifted her head up from the pillow, groping on her nightstand for the cell phone that wouldn’t stop its incessant ringing. “Hello.” She didn’t attempt to hide her less-than-enthusiastic tone.

“Emily? I was about to come over there. I’ve been calling for almost an hour. Are you okay?”

“Shawna?” She rubbed her eyes and tried to bring the clock into focus. Five in the evening. Good. The sleeping pill she’d taken had done its trick. She’d slept nine hours straight without any dreams about Kenric.

“Yeah, it’s me. I was worried about you. After your break last night, you barely spoke to anyone, and you left without a word. Did I do something to make you angry?”

“No. No, it has nothing to do with you.”

“It was that phone call, wasn’t it? You said there was an emergency. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. You know what they say, this too shall pass,” Emily said, massaging her chest where a dull ache throbbed beneath her breastbone.

“It’s a man, isn’t it? Only one thing would have a woman like this: a man.”

“No. God, no. It’s not a man.” Emily bit her lip and slung her legs over the side of the bed. It really wasn’t. She wasn’t lying. He certainly had all the right body parts. However, technically, he wasn’t a human male.

“I think someone doth protest too much.”

She could almost see Shawna’s ear-to-ear grin and her eyebrows dancing on her forehead in excitement.

“Let it go, Shawna. There’s no man.”

“All right, all right. Call me when you’re ready to talk. And when you’re ready for me to meet him. Can’t wait. Bye, now.”

“Shawna… Arghh!” That woman defined tenacious.

After brushing her teeth and a quick shower, she felt more awake. The hot water had done nothing for the dull pain in her chest, though. It had started right after her blowup at Kenric and hadn’t left her alone since, except for the few hours she’d managed to sleep. Damn…she missed him. It had been less than twenty-four hours, but the sting of his absence went soul-deep. And as much as it chapped her rear to acknowledge the fact, she’d liked having him around. His presence filled a room even in the silence. Although that attribute could be overwhelming at times, Emily had quickly grown to take comfort in its intensity. He drew her like oxygen to a flame. But it was that same heat, the inferno brewing just beneath the surface, that scared the hell out of her, because she didn’t want to get burned.

Dressed in her favorite blue jeans and a loose T-shirt, she headed toward the kitchen, when a sudden pounding on the front door froze her in her tracks. She ran to her bedroom, grabbed the baseball bat she kept beside her bed, and crept in the direction of the living room.

Kenric’s premonition of danger looped like a scratched record in her head. Her pulse thumped wildly in her ears.

Another pound on the door vibrated through her. She swallowed hard and raised the bat to her shoulder. Tightening her grip, she stopped five feet from the door and yelled, “Who is it?”

“It’s Kenric.” His deep voice rumbled from the other side.

Dropping the bat at her side, she mumbled a curse before turning the dead bolt and yanking the door open. “What the hell are you pounding for? I live in a condo, not the White House. A simple knock would’ve been fine.”

“Just making sure you answered the door. We have to talk.” Kenric stood with both gloved hands bracing the door frame. The collar of his leather jacket stood straight up around his neckline and black sunglasses covered his eyes. The sun had barely sunk below the horizon, leaving bright pink and red fingers of color streaking the sky and glowing across her doorstep. He rubbed the dark shadow of stubble on his chin. “You gonna let me in, or do I get to simmer on your front porch?”

She swung the door wide, not concealing the annoyance on her face. He eased across her threshold, all hard muscles in blue jeans and leather.

“You’ve got five minutes.” Emily pivoted in his direction as Kenric slipped his sunglasses into his pocket. White rings, matching the outline of his shades, circled his eyes, revealing a red flush to the remainder of his face.

“Dear Lord! Are you burned?” She rushed forward and placed a palm to his cheek. He flinched from her touch. “Your face is on fire. You weren’t kidding when you said you were simmering on my porch. Just how early did you come out?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “What matters is that I need you to understand how serious I am when I say you’re in danger. The only place where I know you’ll be safe is with me.”

“We’ve already had this discussion.” She brushed past him, heading to the kitchen, but Kenric was on her heels. Emily spun back around. He reached out and pulled her to him. She gasped. More from his sudden overwhelming presence than surprise.

“Wildflower, please.” Kenric released her and captured her cheeks between his palms. “Talk to me. Why do you keep running from me?”

She pushed against his chest. His scent and touch clouded her mind. “I’m not running.”

“What do you call it, then, when you keep moving in the opposite direction from the person who’s trying to protect you?”

“I call it taking of care myself. By myself.” A shiver worked its way over her upper arms. The compassionate look on his face proved too much to look at. She wheeled around, desperate to focus on something else. Anything else but him. Her ficus needed watering. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.

“I respect that, but you need to understand you’re not dealing with a normal human situation here. There is a certain vampire…”

He grew silent. She glanced over her shoulder. The dark expression on his face quickened her pulse. She turned and took a step toward him, compelled to offer comfort, but stopped. He didn’t need her help. She needed to let him go.

He cleared his throat and started again. “She is a very ancient vampire. One who is determined to destroy anyone I care for. And right now, her focus is you.” He moved closer. The warmth of his presence enveloped her.

“She. You said she.” Emily backpedaled until she bumped into the solid wall of the den.

“Yes.” He nodded. “My creator. Three hundred years ago, a vampire named Marguerite Devonshire took my life and turned me against my will.”

“You never wanted this?”

A flash of red ignited and swirled in his eyes. He lowered his lashes, as if he didn’t want her to see the rage, but she knew it seethed there.

“No.” His voiced deepened, becoming something close to a growl of an answer. “I never wanted this. Nevertheless, it is what I am.” He lifted his lids, the blue of his eyes once again as clear as a summer’s sky. His roughened fingertips slid the length of her cheek and jaw before tipping her chin. “She’s found me and is more powerful than ever. Marguerite has gained the ability to visit me in my dreams.” He groaned, tossed his head back as if in pain, then slowly rocked his head forward, capturing her gaze. “She’s seen you. Inside my head, she’s seen your face. Knows you’re important to me.” He bared his teeth, chewing out the next few words. “She will kill you if she gets the chance.”

He made it impossible to maintain her convictions when he got this close. The room tilted on its axis. Her head spun.

She would not do this: succumb to the desire to let him rescue her.

Not with a man this powerful and dominating. He’d lock her in a cage. And she couldn’t handle that.

Maybe, if she went far enough away, got the heck out of town, his presence wouldn’t affect her so, and all this—these feelings—would diminish. She slipped from his grasp, but he caught her hand. “Let me go!”

“What are you doing?” He tried to pull her back into his embrace. “Did you not hear anything I just said?”

“I have to leave.” Emily tugged at his grip. “If I get away from you, she’ll leave me alone. You won’t have to worry about protecting me.” She clutched his bicep and met his gaze, searching for an inkling of understanding. “Please, just let me—You have to let me go.” Her voice cracked.

His expression shifted from shock to anger. He tugged her to him and proceeded to back her up against the wall. Emily squeezed her eyes shut. If she didn’t look at him, maybe she could stay strong. But damn, with her eyes closed, his cinnamon and pine scent, along with the hard feel of his body, drove her to the edge of the cliff known as restraint.

“Look at me,” he growled.

She didn’t want to see.

“Look. At. Me.”

Her eyelids fluttered open. A passion-filled gaze crashed into hers, sending a wave of weakness to her legs.

“You want to leave? Is that really what you want?”

She parted her lips, forced a weak “yes,” and dropped her gaze.

“Really?”

“Yes. Damn you!” She pushed and squirmed without success against the unmovable mountain holding her. “What exactly do you drink, blood laced with cement?”

“Why?”

“Why, what?” she snapped.

“Why do want away from me so badly?”

“Because I have to.”

“Not good enough. Why?”

Why wouldn’t he just shut up and leave her alone?

“Will you just let it go? Please!” She shimmied against him again. He didn’t budge. Her sensitized nipples hardened against the hard, leather-clad wall of his chest.

“Not until you give me a good-enough answer.”

Emily sucked in two panic-filled gulps of air and blurted out the words that refused to stay buried. “Because I want you too damn much, and it scares the shit out of me!”

His body stilled. Silence filled the room, except for the ragged breaths leaving her lungs. The hardened ridge pressed against her hips told her he wanted her, too.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, yet the tingling heat lifting the hairs on her arms let her know his gaze hadn’t moved. His warm palms rode up into her hair as he tilted her face to his. Her breath hitched. So much pain and desire.

“Wildflower.” His hand drifted to her chin where his thumb traced her lower lip. “Believe me when I say, I would die before I brought you harm.” He closed the distance between their lips but stopped a breath away, as if asking permission.

She licked her lips and pulled the lower one in, holding it with her teeth. She didn’t know what else to do with him so close. She would not kiss him. That would be a terrible mistake.

Wouldn’t it?

Her jaw trembled under the tension. Hell, make that her whole body. Unable to resist, she buried her hands in the silkiness of his dark waves. She moaned. Damn. He had to be the dark angel of temptation, because she didn’t want to live another second, another breath, without tasting him.

Grasping two handfuls of hair, she pulled him in to her starved mouth. The heat of his kiss shot straight to her core, warming and swelling her with desire. She lapped at the sweetened spice of his mouth. The short overnight growth of his beard scraped at her face. Every sensation against her flesh heightened her awareness. Her need for him.

A growl vibrated from the back of his throat. Their tongues thrust in rhythm to the rocking of their hips. Getting him inside her possessed her. This man took her to a place where she didn’t recognize herself anymore.

Emily cried out and broke away from him. “What the hell am I doing? I can’t do this.”

She ran the short distance to her bedroom. Tears swelled and threatened to spill. Blindly, she grabbed her travel bag from under the bed and tossed it onto the mattress. She pulled random shirts and pants from her closet and tossed them into her weathered blue carry-all. Out of the corner of her eye, a dark outline filled her doorway.

Kenric watched as Emily jammed her clothes into her satchel. “You’re running again.” She shot him a drop-dead look but continued to pack without breaking her stride. “I know you believe me when I say I would never harm you. I can feel it. So what is it? Why are you jumping like a scared rabbit?”

Her hands stilled. She turned from the bed, her cheeks a rosy pink, her auburn curls a chaotic mass around her face.

She’d never looked more beautiful. Her gaze met his, swimming in a pool of unshed tears. A sharp pain tore through his chest. He gripped the door frame to keep from closing the distance between them, pulling her into his arms, and not letting go.

“You. Okay? You wanted to know so damn bad. Well, it’s you.”

He tightened his hold on the wood, her words stinging like a strike across his face.

“You overwhelm me. Everything about you. Your power. The things you can do to a human being.” Emily’s head dropped, and she absently worked to fold a shirt.

His didn’t think his heart would withstand another moment of seeing her in so much pain. Pain that he had caused.

“It’s the way I feel when I’m around you. It’s like I’m not in control of myself.” Her head popped up, and her expression held a grimace. “I hate it. I hate not being in control. I’ve been hurt too many times when I’ve let someone in like that.”

Enough. He couldn’t stand there and watch the anger and frustration rack her body. Crossing the room in three strides, he gripped her shoulders and turned her to him. His hands roamed up into her hair and around to her cheeks. Her pain hadn’t begun when he’d entered her life. Someone else had hurt this beautiful woman. And they would pay.

“Who hurt you like this?”

“Let it go.” The tears crested and fell one by one like hot rain onto his fingertips. Her body shook under his palms. “Let me go. It would be better for both of us. Without me here, she would have no reason to hurt me or you.”

“It wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?” Emily tossed her head and sniffled. “Why would she look for me if I was out of your life?”

“It wouldn’t work, because I would have to stop caring about you.” He stroked her hair and traced her full bottom lip with his index finger. “And that is something I don’t believe I’ll be able to do.”

Her sudden inhale breezed across his fingertip and had his cock pulsing. But taking her pain away took priority.

“Kenric, you’re tearing my heart in two and making it hard to walk away.” Another tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

“Then don’t go,” he whispered. “I tell you what. If you’ll stay, I’ll back off on trying to get you to come with me. Give you some room to think.” Relief washed over her in a visible wave, releasing the tension in her body. “But…” She sniffed and straightened her back.

“Of course there’s a condition. Here it comes…”

Kenric lifted the corner of his mouth at the thick dose of sarcasm. Here was the Emily he knew.

“I stay here.”

“What?” Emily backed up two steps, bumping against the bed frame.

“You won’t come with me, then I have to stay here. On the couch, of course.” He glanced toward the room door.

“Oh my God.” She shook her head. “You make me dizzy, Kenric St. James.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you would.” Emily pivoted, facing the mound of clothes half in and half out her suitcase. “Fine,” she said, sighing. “But stay out of my way.”

…

Emily didn’t think one evening could crawl by any slower. But Kenric had kept his word and had stayed out of her way. Completely nonintrusive like he’d promised. That was half the problem. He’d stayed quiet, sitting in a chair in the corner of her living room, watching her. He didn’t eat. Didn’t drink. And it was driving her bonkers. Every so often he’d case the place, looking for anything out of the ordinary, and then check in with the Enclave. It was like having a giant watchdog caged in the room, waiting for the perfect opportunity to bite something. Or somebody.

She rolled over and tried to sleep for what felt like the hundredth time. Knowing he was on the other side of the door, not sleeping, uncomfortable, protecting her, felt so wrong. But he did normally sleep during the day, so that didn’t make her a complete bitch. Emily flopped to her back, eyes wide. She should have never taken that sleeping pill when she’d come home from work.

Kicking off the covers, she slung her legs over the side of the bed. If he was going to stay all day, he might as well have the guest room and not the couch.

Emily headed across the hall to the other bedroom and went to the windows. She pulled the blinds and loosened the heavy drapes for added UV protection. The bed had clean sheets already, so in preparation for morning, she turned back the comforter and fluffed the pillows.

“Everything okay?”

“Just getting your room ready,” she said and turned toward Kenric.

“My room?” One dark brow lifted.

“If you’re going to spend the night, you might as well have something more comfortable and safe at sunrise.” She jutted a thumb at the covered windows. “I thought the confined room would keep the sun out better.”

“Thank you.” He nodded. “With everything I’ve put you through, that was very thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome.” She cleared her throat and darted under the arm he’d placed up on the door jam. “I’m… I’m going back to bed. Make yourself at home.” Emily slipped through her bedroom door, not waiting for a reply. She leaned her back against the wood. He kept her so mixed up. One minute he was the dominating lethal creature of the night that every instinct cried out for her to leave alone, then the next he was a gentle tortured soul that screamed for her to hold him and take away his pain. She blew out a puff of air, lifting the fall of hair from her brow. Too much to figure out in one night. Her temples throbbed. She rubbed the spot beside her right eye and made her way back to bed. Emily plopped onto the mattress and eased under her covers. Maybe answers to her dilemma would rise with the sun while he was out of sight. Good luck with out of mind.

…

“Get out!” A loud bang followed the shout, yanking Emily awake and from her bed. Her heart rate jackhammered. Soft light peeked through her blinds, littering just enough daylight across her floor to keep her from breaking her neck as she scrambled for her bedroom door. Oh God, was the vampire bitch in her house?

Emily flung her door wide and searched the shadows of the hall and room beyond. Nothing.

“Nooo…”

The sound came from the other side of the guest room door: Kenric. Gently she placed her palm to the door and breathed deep.

“Kenric,” she called out. Emily pressed in close, listening. A low growl rumbled through the wood. A lump formed in her throat. What was going on in there?

“Get off me.” His words came out as if strangled from his throat. Oh shit, he’s in trouble.

Emily fisted the doorknob, twisted, and pushed inside. The sight that greeted her sent her veins into a deep freeze. Kenric lay nude, except for a pair of black boxer-briefs, his arms over his head, fists gripping the headboard. His comforter had been kicked to the floor, and the bedside lamp had crashed to the floor beside the mound of cotton.

Dear God. Every vein along his forearms and his neck was distended. His jaw clenched as if he were in agony.

“Kenric!” Emily darted to his bedside. Sweat covered his body in a fine sheen. No response. He flung his head from side to side. “God, Kenric,” she called out. “Wake up!”

A loud groan tore from his throat, and his body arched, but it was as if his wrists and ankles were chained to the bed. His spine collapsed to the mattress and his head flung back. Emily kneeled on the bed, leaned in, and with a trembling hand, reached out and brushed the hair from his eyes.

“Kenric?” She touched his cheek. So cold. “Can you hear me?” He didn’t move. “Kenric!” Louder this time. Still nothing. He didn’t budge. That’s when it dawned on her: nothing moved. He wasn’t breathing. “Oh, God! Oh, God!”

Emily grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. “Kenric! It’s Emily. Open your eyes!” His eyelids sprang open.

“Oh, thank God…”

His lips curled back over long fangs with a hiss, and she jumped.

“Fuck with me all you want, Marguerite,” he said, his voice hoarse while staring into the emptiness of the room. “Kill me over and over, if you wish. But you can’t have her, even if your gut is filled with Goran’s blood.”

What the hell? Her? Is he talking about me? Emily glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She dropped her gaze back to Kenric. He’d mentioned Marguerite had found a way to get inside his head, but this was unlike any dream or sleepwalking episode she’d ever witnessed.

“I knew you’d never deny its possession.” Kenric sneered, then flinched, his head darting from side to side. “I’d rather starve, he spat.

What was she doing to him? “Kenric!” Emily cried again. She had to get him awake. Had to get him away from her. The look on his face. The strain in his body. Marguerite was torturing him, and the sight of it was like a knife through Emily’s heart. She bent over and clasped his cheeks, forcing his face in her direction. “Kenric, it’s Emily.” His eyes were glazed, pupils dilated, staring at some point beyond her. “You have to hear me. Come back to me.” Her voice choked. “She’s not here. Marguerite is in your head.” Emily gritted her teeth then cried out, “Let him go!” She had no idea if the woman could even hear her, but she had to try.

She shuffled closer, placing them face to face. “Kenric!” His fangs were extended, touching his bottom lip. The sight of the sharp points should have freaked her out, but at that point, all she could see was the man. A man in pain. The man who had placed her life before his own.

“Emily?” he mumbled, and his brow wrinkled.

Her heart raced. “Yes, yes. It’s me.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Look at me. Focus on me.”

“Get out of here!” He shook his head as if trying to break her hold and back away.

“Kenric,” Emily said, her tone dropping to an, I’m-a-woman-who-won’t-be-moved level. “Focus on me. Get her out of your head.”

His eyelids slammed shut, then he blinked, and his gaze bore into hers. Seeing her for the first time. “I said get out of here,” he growled. “I can’t…I can’t promise you I’m in control.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Leave me.” His attention shifted to something in the distance. “Need you,” he began, the words fighting for birth from his throat. “Need you safe.”

“Oh, hell no!” Like she could live with herself if she walked out that door. The very thought had her gasping for air. His head slipped from her grasp, and his eyelids fluttered. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. The bed jerked and his body stiffened. “Kenric?” Emily lunged forward, nearly on top of him. “Kenric,” she shouted and grabbed his head, rocking his face forward. “Don’t you die on me,” she uttered, her voice fierce. “You put me in the middle of this, and I need you to stay with me. You hear me?” she asked, her lips next to his. “Come back to me.”

Emily pressed her mouth against his, willing him back to reality. To her. There was a lot about Kenric that scared the hell out of her, but she realized suddenly that the thought of him not being in her life frightened her even more.

At first there was no response. Only her lips moving across his. She choked on a sob, then poured herself back into action. He jerked, and then his palms were on her upper arms, air filling his lungs. Kenric pushed her back.

“What are you doing?” His eyes narrowed, the pupils no longer human, obscuring almost all the white. “You have to get away from me.”

Emily shook her head. “I’m not leaving you like this. She’s trying to kill you.” She reached out and gripped his face. “Because of me,” she whispered.

“You don’t understand…,” he began, his voice hoarse, as if he’d emerged from a long desert journey.

“I understand you need me. That’s all I need to know.”

…

Kenric closed his eyes, and a shudder wracked his body. Her words slicing into the last hold he had on his restraint. He lifted his eyelids, meeting her gaze. “Are you sure, Wildflower? Please be sure, because I don’t know…. If we go any further—I can’t promise I can—”

Emily clamped her mouth onto his, swallowing whatever else he was about to say. His brain short-circuited and he groaned, meeting her passion, devouring all that she had to give. Every cell in his body cried out for her.

More of her.

To have her.

His head soared under the influence.

He reached up, sank his hands into her hair, and held on. The effect—Emily—grounded him. The feel of her in his palms reminded him this was his Wildflower. He would not be the monster who only took like the last time he held her. She deserved so much more. He dug deep, clamoring for purchase on some small shred of control.

Kenric released her, leaned back, and lifted the hem of her T-shirt. He pulled it over her head, revealing full breasts that gently rocked with each inhale.

“Sweet, sweet Wildflower. You are so beautiful.” Reverently, he lowered his head and placed a kiss to the top of each areola, then moved lower. The sight of her creamy flesh and dark red nipples had his mouth watering. With his tongue, he gave one lazy circle to a rosy bud before drawing it in and ravishing the sensitive tip. The taste of her skin was a sweet indulgence to his senses. A startled gasp and then a pleasure-filled moan urged him on. He longed to suckle the other, but first, he had to see—and touch—the rest of her.

He tugged at her sweats and panties, and she lifted, helping him to yank them free before tossing them to the floor.

Emily brushed her fingertips across his chest. His chest heaved, and he trembled as she explored. Her touch excited every nerve under his skin, and he couldn’t hold back the groan. It was as if his flesh had never been awake until her touch. He watched as she followed the narrow width of his chest hair until it disappeared beneath his waistband. His cock jerked, straining, with her only inches away.

“Show me,” she breathed, and he nearly came unglued. Kenric clenched a fist, released, then moved her gently to the side and shoved his underwear down. The heat of her gaze had every hair on his body lifting in acute awareness.

His erection sprang free and up onto his lower abdomen as he pulled Emily close. He palmed the hard length, stroking his throbbing shaft once, then twice, enjoying the way her eyes followed his hand, as if they were envious.

“I want to taste every inch of you.” Kenric released his cock and scooped her into his arms, rolling them until he’d maneuvered her onto her stomach. As badly as he wanted his shaft inside her, he had to get his mouth on her. Her breath left her lungs with the sudden shift in position. He straddled her calves. “I’m dying to know if you taste as good as you smell.” A soft whimper left her with each lick and kiss he placed behind her knees and to the back of her thighs.

So soft, sweet, and salty. Heaven.

Lifting her hips, he placed her knees underneath her to gain better access to the prize before him.

“Kenric…?” Her voice quivered as she glanced over her shoulder.

“You’re okay, love. I want you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Grab the headboard.”

“Why?”

He slid one finger through her swollen folds, stopping at the engorged bundle of nerves at the tip of her sex. She arched her back and gasped.

“Grab the headboard and hold on. Don’t let go.”

She glanced over her shoulder then reached for the spindles.

“That’s it. Hold on. Let me show you how good it can be to let someone else be in control.” With his knee, he spread her legs wider, then he twisted and lowered onto his back, placing himself beneath her thighs. Holding her steady with his palms at her hips, he made one long pass with his tongue, tasting her from end to end. Emily cried out and struggled against his grip.

“Oh. My. God.”

Another pass and a flick of his tongue drew a whimper from her.

So damn good.

“You taste delicious. I could do this all night.” He circled her clit and sucked the swollen flesh above it. He nipped and soothed his way along her folds until he found the source of her juices and dove in. Her hips bucked, but he held her in place, pressing her down tighter against his lips, stroking her more deeply with his tongue.

“Please.” She rocked the headboard. “Please, I need more.”

“Shhh… Let me pleasure you.” A quivering sigh left her as he slid two fingers deep. He worked them, stretching her before adding a third.

“Oh…God,” she groaned. “I can’t take much more.” Her hips thrust against his palm, straining to have more of him. “I want you. Okay? Please, take me.” The words, edged with desperation, tumbled from her.

Kenric stroked once more across her clit. Her sudden loss of air silenced any further complaints. He placed her swollen clitoris between his lips and pulled on the sensitive nub with gentle sucks. His spread fingers worked inside her core, filling her. Within seconds, Emily screamed his name. He held on and rocked with her until her tremors settled to gentle waves.

Gently he lifted her hips, slid from beneath her, and maneuvered back onto his knees. Reaching forward, he removed her hands from the spindles and pulled her to him until her back rested against his chest. Her breasts overflowed his hands as he whispered in her ear, “You are so damn sexy. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

She shook her head. “No. Tell me.”

“Let me show you.” He took her hand, brought it around between them, and wrapped it around his rock-hard cock. The instant her warm palm surrounded him, she left him starved for air. “I want you so much, it hurts.”

Emily squeezed him gently, and his head roared with need, with hunger. He wanted in her—now, in every way possible, hard, fast, and unyielding. “Never have I craved a woman as much as I do you.”

She shivered and released his shaft. Her buttocks pressed against his erection, and she brushed her back against his chest.

He trailed kisses around her ear and down the length of her neck. The salty sweetness of her skin coated his tongue. He licked her fluttering pulse. His gut was on fire, burning for her. “Will you let me have you, Wildflower?”

“Yes.” The soft word left her on a tremulous sob.

“Everything?” Gently he pressed the tips of his fangs against her throat. He had to make sure once more that she wanted this. Wanted all of him. He wouldn’t be able to stop once he got inside her.

“God, yes!”

Kenric urged her hips up with his hands, leaning her slightly forward, and then inch by splendid inch, lowered her back down onto him.

Fuck! So wet. Her tight, hot sheath surrounded the head of his cock, barreling him to the edge of release. And the cusp of restraint.

He tried to go slow, knowing he was a large man, but she pushed down and impaled herself.

“Oh, God!” she cried out.

He started to withdraw, but her short-lived exclamation quickly turned to a moan. She reached over her head and buried her fingers in his hair. Holding on tight, she squirmed on his lap and ground him deeper.

Damn. She turned him inside out. With his arms around her waist, he held her in place, even though she protested the sudden restriction. “Slow down, love. I want this to last.”

He rocked against her, slowly at first, then with a building tempo. “So tight. You’re fucking killing me.”

Her moans and cries of pleasure enhanced the exquisite milking strokes of her walls along his cock. No way in hell would he last.

He loosened and removed the hold she had on his hair and kissed her shoulder. “Turn around. I want to see you while I love you.”

She lifted, turned, and lowered herself onto the bed, spreading her legs in invitation. Never had he seen a more magnificent sight.

He moved between her thighs. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

A shy smile played on her lips. “You’re quite handsome yourself, vampire.”

With his shaft in hand, he stroked between her folds and, in one swift move, buried himself inside. The moment his sac bumped her bottom, they both released a moan. So damn complete.

She dug into his hips with her fingers and wrapped her legs around his buttocks. He clutched her hands, slid them down his legs, and across her thighs to her juncture. “Touch yourself for me. Show me what makes you come undone.”

Her eyelids closed, then slowly she slipped two fingers into her curls. Emily mewled and made gentle circles across her clitoris.

“Yes. Beautiful.” He continued to rock deep inside her.

“More, Kenric. God, I want you so much.”

He plunged deeper. Faster. Over and over. He had to feel her, skin to skin. Reaching forward, he pulled her from the bed and into his arms.

Sweat ran down his temples. Her inner muscles clenched around him. He scraped his fangs over her pulse. Chills lifted against his lips, and she shuddered in his arms.

He was right there.

Kenric sank his fangs deep. Her blood, so sweet and heady, flooded his mouth, spinning the world away and suspending time. Emily screamed and arched against his hold. His cock erupted—there were no other words for it—jetting its release in a never-ending wave of pleasure. One he was sure his heart, and the wall he’d built around it, would never survive.

Chapter Sixteen

“That was…”

Emily pulled her face out of the pillow she’d collapsed into and blew the hair out of her mouth. “Yeah.” She couldn’t form anything more coherent. Maybe she’d fried some of her brain cells with that last orgasm.

Wow. Sex with Kenric St. James ought to come with a warning label.

She glanced at the naked man lying partially on top of her. They had been in each other’s arms the entire day. She should have been starving by this point in the evening, since the only time she’d gotten out of bed was to relieve herself. But the last few hours with Kenric had flown by, and he’d filled her—satisfied her—in so many more ways than a meal ever could. Who needed food?

“Sorry. Hope I wasn’t crushing you.” He rolled onto his side, sliding the rest of the way out of her.

The sudden loss of contact made her want to pull him right back. “No. You were fine. More than fine.” She flashed him a smile.

A grin spread across his face, and his blue eyes lit with mischief. Her heart skipped a beat. God, he was beautiful when he did that.

“Come here.” He tugged at her arm. “I want to feel you against me.”

He pulled her on top of him. Her breasts pressed against his firm chest. His roughened hands stroked her hair, then trailed up and down her arms. Mmm, so nice.

Lowering her head against him, she closed her eyes and listened to the rapid beat of his heart. He sounded and felt so human, all hard male beneath her.

Normal.

So unlike what they’d just shared. Not your typical sex. It had been out of this world. Leaving her to wonder if she’d ever want ordinary again. Speaking of normal sex… Oh, no. Emily shot up in bed. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“What?”

Emily swung her head around to look at Kenric. He stared at her, confusion written on his face.

“I can’t believe we did that without either one of us thinking about a condom.” She dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “What kind of health care professional am I?”

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Wildflower.”

Emily lifted her head from her palms at his soothing words. She glanced back over her shoulder. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I can’t give you anything.”

“Oh…because you’re a…”

“Right.” He nodded. “Seems that when you’re transformed, you’re… sterilized in the process.” She must have appeared shocked, because what looked like a weak attempt at a smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “Hey, but on the upside, immortality makes you clean.”

Emily turned and leaned over, resting her head on his chest. “Well, I guess that’s something of a perk.” She tried to make light of the conversation as she wrapped her arms around his chest in a gentle hug. Thank goodness he didn’t carry any diseases she needed to worry about, but the way he’d said the word “sterilized” made her heart ache for him.

“I hate to bring up more uncomfortable memories.” She lifted her head and brought her hands together, propping her chin on top of them. This was probably the best opening she was going to get to find out why this woman wanted her dead. “But can you tell me a little more about this—your creator, I think you called her—and why she feels like she has to kill me?”

He shifted beneath her. “How about you go first and tell me who hurt you so much that you would run from the person who wants to keep you safe?”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I asked you first. Besides, I think I should know something about the person who wants me dead.”

A resolute sigh left him as he slid his hand down her back and squeezed her against him.

“From what she has told me, Marguerite is somewhere around six hundred years old. An ancient. She has always been incredibly strong for a female vampire, but she is obsessed with power. The greater her source, the more capable she is in manipulating and controlling not only humans with her mind and blood, but other vampires as well.

His heart pounded beneath her palms. She lowered her head back down and wrapped her arms around him, hoping her calm presence would help him tell her his story.

“I was thirty-two when I met Marguerite three hundred years ago.” He chuckled, but she had a feeling it wasn’t because of fond memories. “Well, if you could call it a meeting. I was on the battlefield, fighting back home in England with my regiment. I’d taken a blade to my flank and gone down. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a cold, dark cell chained to a wall like an animal.”

Emily jerked her head up, enraged on Kenric’s behalf. “Dear God.”

“For three years, she kept me as her personal meal and… And any other needs she had.” His gaze diverted from hers.

Three years? She shuddered, and her gut twisted into a painful knot. That monster had kept him as her slave for sex and blood. How could he have mentally survived that kind of hell?

A part of her didn’t want to hear anymore. She couldn’t bear the mental images his words conjured. Didn’t want them burned into her brain cells. This proud warrior, broken and tortured, as no man ever should be—dehumanized. Emily’s stomach soured. She couldn’t even imagine the level of humiliation he’d suffered.

Suddenly, he clutched her face, startling her. The blue of his eyes darkened like the sea battling a raging storm.

“I didn’t want her.” He shook his head. “I never did. She had ways of getting into my head and making my body do things. You have to believe me. I never wanted her.”

The desperation in his voice broke her heart. Dear God, the abuse he must have suffered. Her jaw clenched, and her temples throbbed. She wanted to scream—cry out until her throat burned from the overwhelming sense of helplessness. She didn’t know how to take his pain away. Dammit. She was a nurse, trained to ease suffering. Yet she was at a loss to how to make this all better. What she wouldn’t give to possess the magic to turn back the hands of time, dive into the pit of hell where he’d been chained, and kill the bitch that did this to him. She brushed her palm across the back of his hand, wishing like hell she could somehow act as a wick and absorb some of the hurt.

“Yes, I believe you. Of course I do. It was rape.” Emily leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand that kind of abuse.” Maybe not the molestation, but the mental and physical abuse she could certainly comprehend. He hadn’t asked for it, and none of it was his fault. He’d been a victim.

And he’d survived.

Marguerite may have destroyed his human DNA, but unwittingly what she’d unleashed back into the night was an even stronger version of the man than before. Emily’s admiration of him soared to a new level. She had respected him prior to the revelation about his past, but now…. He’d risen out of Marguerite’s clutches and turned his tragedy into a crusade to protect the innocent. In her eyes, Kenric was nothing less than a hero. Yet Emily knew if she tried to tell him the two were connected, he’d deny it. He would see it only as his duty—the right thing to do.

His hands softened on her face before he claimed her with a kiss of his own. Tenderly, he traced her lips. She opened up and invited him inside. Their tongues slid back and forth, stroking each other in a sensual dance.

With a sigh, Emily broke their kiss and brushed his coarse shadow of a beard with her chin before delving for more answers. “She made you a vampire against your will?”

Kenric nodded in silence before explaining to her how Marguerite had sensed his untapped psychic abilities while he was human. He’d always possessed a very strong second sense, an ability to see things before they happened, which he’d never told anyone.

The stronger the mind, the more powerful the vampire. In fact, he could become a Master, and Marguerite had always wanted to mate a Master. She’d become obsessed with creating a perfect male for herself. One who could control the elements, who had the potential for superior psychic influence and an ability to shift into multiple forms.

Emily rolled off him and pulled up the sheet from the foot of the bed to cover herself before sitting up. He repositioned and turned onto his side to face her. She reached out and brushed a wave of dark curls away from his brow. His jaw was rigid, but his gaze warmed her when he turned his cheek into her hand.

He lifted his head from her palm. “A vampire has the ability to mate for life at a soul level. What she wanted out of the deal was a share of my power. Marguerite is an anomaly among female vampires. She’s very strong. Most females are pretty weak. Even with age, they are unable to become Masters themselves. If they mate, a female can tap into her partner’s power through a psychic link.”

“Ah. I see where you’re going with this. If Marguerite got her claws into you, she would become even more powerful. More powerful than any master vampire alone.”

“Exactly.” He narrowed his eyes. “And I can’t allow that.”

“This woman—and I use the term loosely—has threatened everyone you care about all these years because you spurned her?”

“Yes.” He lightly traced the side of her face.

“How bad has it gotten, Kenric?” She didn’t want to know, but she had to. The depth of sorrow in his gaze choked her.

“I was engaged once,” he mumbled.

“Oh.” The bottom of her heart gave way. She took a deep breath, trying to push past the weight in her chest. “You’ve been in love before? I guess that’s a stupid question. With as long as you’ve lived, I’m sure you’ve loved many women in your time.” She was rambling, but if she kept talking, it didn’t hurt as much.

Nothing to it.

She could do this.

“No. I haven’t.” He lowered his gaze. “Not since Annice have I allowed myself to get close to any woman. That was three centuries ago.”

“What?” She placed a palm on his chest, and he lifted his lashes. “You haven’t had a relationship in three centuries? You’ve been alone all this time?” she whispered. How in the world did anyone survive that kind of loneliness? “That must have been an incredible love you two shared.”

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Her hand fell away.

Oh God, how could she compete with the memory of a woman that had endured hundreds of years?

“Annice was…” His face wore a distant, lost expression. “…a sweet, docile woman, who would’ve done anything for me.”

A hard lump formed in Emily’s throat. She didn’t want to hear any more and opened her mouth to change the subject.

“But she didn’t have half the fire you possess.” He rolled his head to the side and burned her with the passion in his eyes.

The moisture in her mouth disappeared under the heat. She licked her lips with her too-dry tongue and asked, “What happened to her? Did Marguerite have something to do with it?”

“You could say that.” He stared again at the popcorn ceiling of her bedroom and started to laugh but stopped, looking more pissed than amused. The tips of his fangs captured the light that shone through the open bedroom door and glinted under his lip. “It finally occurred to me one night that the best way to handle Marguerite was to play her game. Stop resisting. I convinced her that I was starting to fall for her, my distaste for her waning.” Emily ran her fingertips over the back of his hand, tracing the raised scars that marred the skin.

“Marguerite started giving me small amounts of freedom and more frequent feedings as her trust in me began to build. I used those few weeks to gain strength, to learn how to use my new powers. And then one night, after she was finished with me, and I’d had my fill of her blood, I manipulated that surge of power and phased back home.” His gaze darted to Emily. “She never saw it coming. Marguerite was so caught up in the fantasy that I would be hers, she never thought I would leave.”

He looked away once more. Obviously, there was more to the story. “I had to see Annice one more time. I wanted to ask forgiveness for having disappeared from her life for three years. We had been engaged before I had left for the battle.” His Adam’s apple dipped before he continued. “Marguerite had warned me that if I did not give myself to her, I would have no one. She would not share.” His hand fisted in the sheet. “Foolishly, I thought if I could only glimpse Annice one last time, talk to her for a few seconds just to make sure she was okay, I would be able to move on. Let her be in peace.”

“Marguerite followed you.” She sensed what must have happened next. Marguerite had murdered Annice. He was remembering another woman, yet his pain tore her up inside. She should be jealous, but all she wanted to do was hold him.

“I saw Annice in the gardens of her home that night. She was alone. I thought it the perfect moment, so I stepped from behind the trees, and she ran. Right into my arms. She’d thought I’d died.”

“Before I could explain, Marguerite phased in, ripped her from my hold, and slashed her throat.”

Emily flinched and grabbed her rebelling midsection.

“It happened so fast. I was still a young vampire and hadn’t sensed her presence. Annice died because of my ignorance.”

The frustration and pain in his voice was almost unbearable. She wanted to say…something. Anything to ease the hurt. Yet she sat there, barely keeping down the contents of her stomach.

“My vision went red, and I attacked Marguerite, ripping and clawing at her with everything I had. I remember standing over her bloodied body, feeling not a shred of remorse, but before I could make my final blow, she disappeared from beneath me.” He shook his head. “I would have thought it impossible, considering the damage I’d done.

“Marguerite went deep into hiding. She knew if I found her, I would do everything in my power to see her dead.” For a moment, an eerie red glow appeared in his eyes, then faded.

“My God, what you’ve been through. How you must hate her.” For what that bitch did to him, she deserved to die.

“I searched relentlessly in Europe, for a century, until I got a lead that she may have gone to America. I caught the next ship heading west. Not easy for a vampire, but I survived.” He rolled back onto his side and faced her. Lifting his arm, he allowed his fingertips to follow the curves of her arms as he spoke. His hardened expression softened, as if the feel of her skin soothed him. “That’s how I came to be in South Carolina. I didn’t find any evidence of her here, but I decided to stay and try to start a new life for myself. That’s when I formed the Enclave.” He threaded his fingers into her hair, his gaze one of confident determination—and affection. “I knew there was a possibility that one day she would come for me again. But this time, I would be ready.”

They stared at each other in silence, both digesting the weight of the reality between them.

“So, now she’s here and she still wants you.”

“And now, thanks to her new source of power and skill, she knows there’s a woman I care about, because you’re in my head.”

Heat rose to Emily’s cheeks. “Any idea how she’s gained this new power?”

He told her of the info they’d learned about a vessel containing the essence of an ancient Croatian vampire, Madunic, and its implications before adding, “When you came in before, she was in my head. She confirmed it. She’s dosing herself with it to achieve whatever little feat she desires at the moment. Like what you witnessed—she wanted to prove that she had the strength to hold me and recreate the hunger I’d endured centuries ago when she had turned me.”

Kenric’s eyelids drifted closed, then he moved his arm down and encircled her waist, pulling her to him. He rolled her onto her back and in one move braced himself above her and opened his eyes.

“Emily, you know the truth. I can’t let another woman I care about die because of me. Two women have already given their lives: my mother and Annice.”

“Your mother?” Emily choked out the words through the emotion riding high in her chest.

“She died trying to protect me from my father’s abuse, and Annice died because I didn’t have the strength to stay away.” He dipped his head and placed a kiss to her forehead, then each cheek. “Come home with me tonight. Let me protect you. I can’t lose you, too.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. He brushed them away one by one. She laced her fingers through his raven hair and pulled him to her lips.

She wanted to kiss the hurt away. Kiss away the years of loneliness he’d carried in his heart.

“Marguerite may have taken away the sun from my life,” he said. “But I won’t allow her to have my light, too.” Kenric cupped her cheeks. “I won’t let her hurt you, Wildflower. You have my word.”

A knot swelled at the back of her throat, blocking her ability to speak.

“I-I want you to know, you’re the only person on this planet I’ve ever told the details of what happened back then.” He closed his eyes and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Not even Guerin knows the extent of her crimes. Some I can’t even bring myself to remember during my waking hours. The images plague me enough in my dreams that I don’t really need to.”

Emily brushed her fingertips along his jawline, the coarse feel of his whiskers tickling the sensitive pads. “You can tell me anything. I could never judge you for what you feel after the things she put you through. Nor would I ever betray your confidence.”

“I want to make her pay,” he growled. “With everything in me, I want to bring her down—destroy her for all that she’s taken from me and all the others she’s hurt in her path of destruction.”

Air sawed in and out of Kenric’s lungs, as if the admission had nearly exhausted him.

“I’m not proud of the fact I’ve allowed my need for vengeance against her to consume so much of my life. In fact, it pisses me off that even during her physical absence she’s still been inside me, a never-ending source of fuel for my anger.”

“Dear God, Kenric, if anyone ever had a reason to carry a grudge, it’s you.” Emily tugged his chin back up, bringing his shadowed gaze back to hers. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. That’s all on Marguerite.”

He cupped her breasts and rolled her nipples between his fingers, pulling a moan from her throat, then his mouth was on hers. The kiss hard and deep, as if she tasted of his salvation. And in her heart, Emily would give anything to be that for him—be whatever he needed.

A knock sounded at her front door.

“Ignore it,” he grumbled against her lips.

Another rap against the wood reverberated through the condo, this one harder.

“Damn,” he muttered and tumbled away from her onto his back.

Chapter Seventeen

Grabbing a robe from her closet, Emily hurried down the hall. “Who is it?” she called a few feet from the door.

“It’s Jeff.” A deep, grumpy voice sounded from the other side.

She skidded to a halt. Her heart flipped in her chest and landed in her stomach. Dear God, what was he doing here?

“What do you want?” God, she needed him here like she needed a toothache.

“Open the damn door, unless you want a scene on your front porch. I told you I would be here, woman.”

A snarl behind her had her wincing. Kenric framed the entrance to the living room, his jeans hanging loose at his hips. The blacks of his pupils filled his eyes, and one hand hung curled into a fist at his side.

“It’s my ex-fiancé.” She tried to give a half smile.

“Your ex?” Two small words, but when he said them, they held such power.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you about him yet,” she whispered. “I’ll handle this.” She motioned to the door with her index finger.

“Emily. You’ve got two seconds to let me in, or the whole neighborhood will know I’m here.

No mistaking the rumble that emitted from the other side of the room.

“Stop that.” She shot Kenric an irritated look. “And get rid of the scary vampire look.” She waved a finger in the direction of his dilated eyes. “I’ve got this under control. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with in the past.”

With a flip of the dead bolt, she opened the door. Jeff barged in, almost knocking her over, and then pulled up short. Kenric had made it across the room before the jerk had taken three steps.

“Well, I see you’ve been busy.” Jeff scowled. “It didn’t take you long to find someone to warm your bed.” His gaze flicked from her to Kenric.

“I think I’ve heard enough of your bullshit and your insults.” Kenric moved in, his face inches from Jeff’s. “Apologize. Now. If you want to leave here on your own two legs.” Each word eased from his lips, his voice dead calm.

Jeff stumbled back and bumped the wall. She thought for a second maybe he’d gained some common sense, but hell no. He curled his lips and straightened his shoulders. “Just who the hell do you…?”

Good Lord. Emily broke in on the testosterone display. “God, you’re such an ass, Jeff.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side. “Let’s settle this once and for all, and then you can get the hell out of my house.” She glanced back and mouthed, I’m sorry. One minute, please.

Kenric wrestled with his raging need to kill the asshole following Emily into her bedroom. Thank God, she’d left the door open. He might have torn the damn thing off with his bare hands if she’d closed it.

She hadn’t mentioned the asshole before, but he knew someone in her past had hurt her. Not hard to guess who the responsible party was after meeting good old Jeff. What an absolute prick.

Their voices rose and carried to the front of the house. Even without his superb hearing, their words were clear.

He braced himself against the wall.

Ten minutes.

That was it.

He would give Ms. Independence a few moments to handle this, and then he would take care of him.

“I don’t have anything to give you,” Emily yelled. “I’ve already maxed out the equity line on my home to cover the previous debts I created because of you.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His fingers dug into the plaster behind his legs.

Stay. Stay. She wants you to stay the fuck out of this.

“Bitch, you owe me. I know you’ve got something left you’re holding on to. Your mama left you everything when she died.”

“She barely had anything, and you know that. Dad’s drinking took everything except this place. And I’ll be damned if I lose it because of you.”

Emily’s voice broke, and Kenric’s heart turned inside out. He had no idea she’d held on to her life by an unraveling thread. She’d stolen his ability to think straight. This wasn’t him, standing on the outside and allowing his woman to be treated like shit by some asshole jerk-off.

“Get out of my things!” Her voice rang out, followed by a crash of something onto the floor.

The bastard was dead.

Kenric bolted. Her jewelry case lay shattered on the floor, her few trinkets scattered around her feet. Jeff groped on his knees after some of the items.

“I said get your hands off my stuff!” Emily beat at his back with her fists.

Jeff glanced up, his brown hair covering one side of his face, but it didn’t hide the sneer he aimed in Emily’s direction.

That cinched his fate.

Kenric took two steps and swung. Jeff howled as his nose exploded under the impact of Kenric’s fist, spraying blood across his face and down his shirt.

“Oh, my God!” The distressed sound of Emily’s voice only heightened his need to get the bastard away from her. Permanently.

He wouldn’t kill him. No matter how much joy it would bring to watch the asshole take his last breath. But…there were other ways.

Satisfied with at least some display of blood and pain on Jeff’s behalf, Kenric gripped him by his nape and dragged him down the hall. “I guess you didn’t have enough brains to heed my warning.”

Jeff yelped and clawed at the hand holding him.

“Kenric!” Emily cried out, following close behind. “Stop! What are you doing?’

Her frantic swats at his arms didn’t matter. Old Jeff needed to learn a lesson. He hauled the vermin up and slammed him into the wall. The air left Jeff’s lungs on a wheeze. Kenric dug his fingers into the asshole’s chin and forced their gazes to meet. He reached in, wrapped his mind around Jeff’s slimy excuse for a brain, and forced the other man’s neurons into submission and readiness for his verbal command.

“You will never again set foot on Emily’s property. Never will you call her or let her name fall from your lips again. For the rest of your life, Emily Ross does not exist to you. Do you understand me?”

Jeff blinked with a glassy brown stare and nodded.

“Good.” Kenric released him and stepped back. “Now get the hell out of here.”

Jeff immediately headed toward the front door and left without looking back.

The door closed with a soft click, and Kenric wheeled around, satisfied he’d taken care of that piece of shit. The look on Emily’s face stopped him cold. She stood with her hands on her hips, sporting an expression that said she wanted a piece of his ass, but not in a pleasant way.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She covered her face with her palms and groaned. “I can’t believe what I just witnessed.”

“I took care of the bastard.” Another wave of satisfaction rushed through him. “He won’t be coming back to bother you.”

“I told you I could handle it,” she spat. “I don’t need some overgrown vampire fighting my battles for me and zapping people with all kinds of mind mojo.”

“Emily…” He couldn’t believe what she was saying. All he did was protect her. What the hell was wrong with that? “I think I did a pretty damn good job of controlling myself. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him for how he spoke to you.”

She shrieked. “That’s it,” she said, sweeping her palm out before her. “That’s what I’m talking about. This is exactly why this will never work between us. I can’t live like that.”

“Like what?” He crossed the distance between them and brushed his palms down her arms, then withdrew. “I care about you. You can’t live with someone who wants to take care of you and protect you?”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “I know you thought you were saving me from him, but I didn’t ask you to. I can’t live with someone who wants to control and dominate everyone around him.” She slowly shook her head. “I would never survive.” Her eyes shimmered with tears.

A knife to his gut couldn’t hurt as much as the words that fell from her lips.

“Emily…” He reached for her face. “I would never…”

She flinched from his touch and pulled free, heading in the direction of her room. “Go, Kenric. Please, just go. I need some time to think. Without you here.”

“I’m not leaving like this. Not with you believing…”

“Go home!” She glanced over her shoulder. “Go home,” she whispered this time. “You have a job to do, and so do I. I need to get ready for work.” She turned, walked into her bedroom, and closed the door.

On them.

…

With the press of a button, her umbrella sprang open with a snap. Emily pulled her jacket tighter around her neck. The cold wind clawed to get in. Lifting her umbrella against the rain before her, she made a slippery dash to her car. No garages here.

The rain pelted the car’s roof as she tossed her purse inside and dropped into the driver’s seat. She slid the key into the ignition and groaned. Remind me why I have to go to work again? Oh yeah, because if I don’t, I’ll lose what little I do have. And I need the work to take my mind off the vampire who wants to take me home and keep me as a pet.

Pulling away from the corner, she spotted a dark figure in leather standing near a streetlight. She couldn’t see his face, but it had to be Kenric. The man was huge. She’d thought he’d long since gone home. Guess he decided to play guard dog and didn’t mind getting soaked.

Five minutes later, her cell phone buzzed. She reached inside her purse, slipped it free, and glanced at the display. Private number. Kenric.

Hell, no. She didn’t have the energy right now. Dragging her purse over, Emily dropped the cell back in and noticed the slender dark vial lying on top of her wallet. Green flipped to red at the next traffic light, and she came to a stop. She lifted the blood sample and rolled it in her palm, studying the garnet fluid sitting within the glass. Strange how the vial felt heavier in her hand than its actual weight.

Where had her head been when she had taken this?

A car horn blew, and she jumped. The light had turned green while she sat in a daze. She pressed the accelerator and made a right turn in the direction of Bean City. God, she desperately needed some caffeine.

She glanced at the tube of blood once more before returning it to her purse. Memories of their night together tugged at her mind. She didn’t want to let them in. They made her heart ache. She shook her head, warding them off, but they breached her defenses.

He’d treated her with such tenderness, as if she’d meant the world to him. Every touch and caress had both eased and exhilarated her, as though he knew exactly what she needed. And then he had given it to her.

Afterward, he had revealed some of the most private parts of his life. He’d trusted her with his very existence.

She knew what she had to do.

Destroy the vial.

No matter how pissed off he’d made her, she would not betray him. She would not be responsible for inflicting more pain than he’d already suffered.

She hit the turn signal and pulled off the road into the vacant parking lot that sat between the closed Hallmark store and her favorite all-night coffee shop. A large vanilla latte and a glazed doughnut sounded like heaven to her growling stomach.

Ten minutes later, she finally had some caffeine to go, despite the fact that the barista behind the counter had refused to remove the ear buds from his ears the entire time he took her order. Thank God, since it was already eleven thirty. Maybe she’d be lucky and only be about twenty minutes late for her shift tonight.

With a steaming coffee in one hand and a warm doughnut in a bag in the other, Emily shoved at the exit door. She could barely wait to get behind the wheel, break off a piece of that sticky decadence, and chase it with a gulp of sweetened caffeine depravity. Oh, yeah, this is gonna be good.

The door swung wide and a cold blast of wind hit her, sending a curl of steam up through the vented lid of her cup. Holding it steady, she made a sprint toward the end of the sidewalk, heading for her car. She’d left her umbrella on the floorboard, knowing she would have both hands full on the short jaunt back.

With one eye on her cup and the other on the car, she didn’t notice the large man coming around the corner. Her shoulder bumped into his chest, knocking her bag onto the wet sidewalk.

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Luckily, she’d only lost a few drops of her coffee, and none of it on her or the guy she’d run into.

“Here you go, ma’am.” The dark-haired man picked up her wet sack and handed it to her. He smiled, but none of it reached his gray eyes, which bore into hers with a cold stare.

“Thank you.” She clutched the dripping paper bag and took a simultaneous step back. She shivered, but not from the cold rain.

Edging around him, she took off in the direction of her car. Lord, that man gave her the creeps.

Finally, she reached her car. With her foot only halfway inside the sedan, a large hand came out of nowhere and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her back around. She stumbled back, wedged between the car and the door. Her arm banged against the window, knocking her cup out of her hand and throwing scalding espresso onto her leg.

She cried out at the same time a hand came down hard against her temple and jaw. Stars twinkled behind her lids. The lights danced before her eyes. How pretty. She would have liked to stay there, but the throbbing pain in her face brought her back to frightening reality.

A massive palm against her mouth threatened to smother her, stifling any attempt at a scream. She thrashed against him as her vision cleared. Oh, God. He’s going to kill me. She expected to see the creepy guy from the corner, but the thing pressed up against her was a hell of a lot scarier.

Solid black eyes, fangs that dripped with drool, and the smell… This had to be what Kenric and his Enclave hunted: a DEAD.

Her gaze darted over his shoulder. The dark, rain-slicked streets were empty, too late for most people to be out on a night like this.

Except for—oh, hell, he wasn’t alone.

Another one of his blood-lusting friends stood behind him. He grinned and ran his tongue over his thick and shiny lips.

The DEAD holding her leaned in, squeezing her farther into the crevice formed by the door and car. His breath heated her cheek and singed her nostrils.

Her stomach roiled. She jammed her eyelids closed.

This could not be happening.

He sniffed her neck and along her jaw. Her legs trembled and threatened to fail.

“Enclave whore,” he grumbled in her ear. Cold fingers crawled under her jacket and groped her breast. “Do you know what we do with whores like you?” With the weight of his hand across her mouth, all she could do was stare into those freakish black eyes. “Do you?” he shouted.

Emily shook her head.

“We eat them for dinner.” He twisted her breast.

She screamed into his palm. The pain jolted her stunned brain, and she slammed her knee into his groin. The vampire cursed and doubled over, clutching his wounded genitals. She dived into her car. Dumping the contents of her purse out onto the passenger seat, Emily scrambled, looking for her keys. She couldn’t think. “Where the hell are my keys?”

Sharp nails clawed at her through the open door. He’d recovered faster than she’d expected. Shit!

She clambered toward the other side of the car. The vampire snagged her foot, and her wet fingers made a sloppy attempt at the door handle. Emily kicked at the arm and head that was yanking her out of the car. Her arm hooked the umbrella sticking up from the floor. She palmed it and placed it against her body, holding it, waiting for the bloodsucker to pull her out.

Her lower body hung from the car. She twisted and lunged forward onto her feet with the sharp point of the umbrella extended straight for the vampire’s chest. Boxed in by the car door and the protruding rod in her hand, the DEAD had nowhere to go but hell.

The crunch of cartilage vibrated through the handle as it made its way past his ribs to his heart. She cringed. A loud, rasping puff of air released from the vampire’s mouth before he crumbled like a rag doll.

A hysterical giggle bubbled up and out of her throat. Her focus riveted on the curved handle sticking out of the dead male’s chest. Good thing she always favored the large umbrellas that looked more like lightning rods than the miniature purse models.

A new set of hard hands dug into her upper arms and jerked her off her feet. She shrieked.

The other DEAD.

In shock, she’d blanked about the second vampire. Why hadn’t she run instead of standing there, freaked out over a dead one?

The DEAD slammed her onto the wet pavement. Air punched from her lungs in a painful rush. The blow to the back of her head brought the pretty white lights back to dancing behind her eyelids.

Before she had time to recover her sight, the weight of his body covered hers. He tore at the turtleneck underneath her uniform. The loud popping of the stitches counted down the seconds left on her life.

Fangs stabbed into her throat. The pain forced the air into reverse, leaving a vacuum inside her chest. She tried to scream, but panic sealed her airway.

She beat at his back, pounded at his shoulders. Gradually, her attempts to battle him turned into clumsy, weak slaps.

The twinkling lights were back again. But this time, her eyes were wide open.

The bright lights didn’t stay long. Their sparkle grew dim, like batteries losing strength.

Hypovolemia. Rapid blood loss.

She was dying.

Kenric, I’m so sorry. Please, don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.

Across the street, the glow from the backlight of a cell phone illuminated the night. The man punched the numbers on his keypad and waited for an answer. A click on the other end of the line connected him, and a voice answered with one word.

“Report.”

“Tell our mistress, it’s done.” Markus didn’t wait for a reply. The DEADs were still at work on her body, but at this point, she didn’t have a chance in hell of surviving. He closed the phone and slipped it back into his leather jacket.

Turning his back on the macabre scene across the street, he sauntered to where he’d parked his motorcycle a block away. Straddled on his red ride, he reached for his helmet. Marguerite would be…

A stabbing pain sliced through his right eye. He ground the heel of his hand against the source of his agony, as if to hold the contents of his head inside.

What the fuck was going on? The headaches had to be associated with his fall at the warehouse. They’d plagued him ever since, and they were a bitch.

Markus scanned the area around him. What the hell was he doing out here? Fuck! He remembered leaving the Enclave for a ride, needing to relax a bit. But then… Nothing. His mind was blank. Markus grabbed his phone from his pocket and glanced at the time display. Three hours? What the fuck had he been doing for the last three hours?

The pain inside his head receded to a tolerable dull throb, replaced by a gnawing hunger in his gut. And something else. A stomach-churning emotion he wasn’t overly familiar with but recognized its unsettling symptom: fear. The idea that he wasn’t completely in control did not sit well.

But he wasn’t about to reveal any of this to Kenric or Arran until he knew exactly what he was dealing with. If Kenric thought he wasn’t fit for duty, he’d pull him off the streets. Markus couldn’t risk that. He needed the hunt. Needed a reason to get up every night, and the battles that followed to keep him feeling…something at all.

His gut clenched once more, reminding him it had been too long since he’d last fed. Markus punched in his partner’s number on his cell. He could use the distraction.

“Hey, man.” Markus raised his voice over the sound of eighties rock in the background. Sounded like Def Leppard. Something about “love me like a bomb” began before Arran turned the volume down. “You free for some drinks, and maybe a sip on the side?”

“Yeah, I could use some chill time. Where do you want to meet?”

“How about Tail Spin? Nothing like some sweet ass to go with the bite.”

“I see you’re suffering no lasting aftereffects from that fall on your other head.”

Markus laughed. “Bastard. No, that brain’s working just fine. Meet me in twenty.”

With his phone back in his pocket, Markus slid his helmet in place and cranked his ride. His back tire skidded on the wet street as he burned out.

He rolled to a stop at the traffic light and glanced at the street sign. Twenty-first and Ocean. What had brought him out to this section of town? He shrugged and flipped his turn signal. These headaches had him doing some fucked-up shit.

Chapter Eighteen

Kenric battled for control. The storm brewing inside him demanded to be unleashed. Every cell in his body clamored to go back, grab her, and haul her ass home with him. She wouldn’t even answer her damn cell. He’d never met a more frustrating woman in his life.

Shower jets sprayed steaming-hot water onto his back while he lathered his chest with mechanical swipes of his palm. The bar of soap, fisted in his hand, surrendered under the pressure of his grip. Deep grooves caved the soap in on one side, creating four perfect replicas of his fingers.

This fucking sucked.

He had to stay put. The defiant, independent streak in Emily would rip his balls off if he showed up right now. He sighed. One step at a time. At least she would be working tonight. Marguerite wouldn’t touch her with so many people around. Tomorrow night would be a different story. One that ended with her in his home and in his arms.

He swiped what was left of the soap off the floor and jammed it back onto the dish before shutting off the water. Reaching for the shower door, he staggered back under an unseen force that slammed into his chest and knocked him into the tiled wall.

The weight against his ribs held his air hostage. He grasped for the rail mounted on the wall beside him. He held on, sliding his hand down the slick, cool metal until his knees bumped the wet stone floor.

Dark edges crept over the corners of his vision before the pressure on his chest relented enough for a ragged breath. In its place, a wave of misery flooded his heart. He hoisted himself up and stumbled out into the fogged bathroom.

He grabbed the marble sink for balance, his knuckles blanching under the death grip. Emily.

Something was horribly wrong.

Yanking his blue jeans from the counter, he jerked them on along with a black sweater over his head. They stuck to his wet skin, but he didn’t give a fuck. Each moment wasted sent a stabbing pain through his soul. Only one thing could make him want to claw his heart out. His brain couldn’t go there.

It wouldn’t go there.

He put his boots on, strapped his silver-plated dagger in place, holstered a nine millimeter pistol at his side, and phased, reaching for Emily’s essence. With the distance that separated them, he could only target her general direction.

A dark street.

Vacant.

After the second attempt, her presence itched inside his veins. The next phase would bring him to her.

The image of a narrow parking lot came into focus. His world shifted under his feet. Emily lay on a glistening carpet of blood on the wet street with a DEAD at her throat.

The chain he had so carefully coiled and maintained around the monster inside him snapped.

His head flew back as an agonized war cry rent the night.

With claws and fangs extended, he leaped into the air. He landed with a solid thump near the vampire’s crouched form. The DEAD’s head drew back, and it hissed. Kenric’s hands were at the sides of the vampire’s face before the animal could flinch. With a single jerk, the DEAD’s neck cracked.

He dug into the flesh of the vampire with his claws. A guttural cry, more animal than human, tore from Kenric’s throat, and he launched the filth into the brick wall. The body dropped onto a Dumpster lid with a dull plop and rolled onto the pavement in a heap.

Kenric pulled his dagger and made his way over to the twisted corpse. A swift kick into the shoulder of the bastard flipped him onto his back. He palmed the hilt of his blade. The wet, silver-plating glinted in the streetlight a split second before he drove it into the DEAD’s chest. A split-second later, he yanked the blade back out and spun on his heels, the rotting carcass forgotten.

Swirling, red-stained puddles of rain circled his boots as he sheathed his blade and crouched beside Emily’s body. Uncertain of where to touch, where to begin, he hovered over her with shaking hands. So pale. His chest heaved, sucking for air. From exertion—agony—or both? His head and heart were so fucked, he didn’t know. Kenric fell to his knees and reached for her cheek. The chilled surface of her skin had his stomach heaving. He swallowed back the bile.

“Dammit. Fuck.” The words groaned from his soul. It wasn’t enough. Nothing he said helped him take the pain away. He collapsed onto his rear, cradling her head within his lap. Grasping the tail of his shirt, he ripped a long section and pressed it to the gaping tear at her neck.

“Oh, God! Please, no.” The pain in his chest surpassed any wound he’d ever received in battle. His eyes burned. Moisture clouded his vision.

“Emily!” he called to her, wiping at the water pooled within the corners of her eyes. “Can you hear me? Open your eyes.” What the hell was he going to do? Dear God, she’d lost so much blood. Her heartbeat was but a weak thump to his ears. No hospital could save her now.

Goddamn you, Marguerite! He bellowed inside his head, when what he wanted was to scream until his lungs burned for air. But he couldn’t risk drawing the attention. He groaned and curled over her body, both fists thumping his forehead.

He should have never let her go. Fool!

“Emily.” Kenric tried again with a light tap to her cheek.

No response.

He reached into her mind. “Emily. Hear me. It’s Kenric.” A chaos of voices and flashes of her memories surrounded him. “Focus on my voice. I’m here for you.”

A whisper of a reply called to him. “Kenric?”

“Come back to me, Wildflower. Please, open your eyes.”

The flutter of her eyelids kick-started his heart. A weak groan escaped her throat.

“Shhh… Don’t speak, love. I’ve got you.”

Her lashes, sprinkled with drops of water, drifted back down.

“Emily! Emily, stay with me!” he commanded with another soft tap to her wet cheeks.

Her eyelids slowly opened.

“You have to focus and listen to me. You’ve lost too much blood.” His voice failed him, choking on the damning words, you’re dying. “There’s nothing I can do.” He paused, swallowing the hard knot of pain back down into his gut. “There’s nothing I can do as a man,” he amended. “But there is another way.”

He shifted on the wet pavement, needing to see her eyes, to know for sure she understood exactly what he offered.

“I can turn you. Make you like me—a vampire. Do you want that?” He couldn’t believe the words spilling from his mouth. Never in his existence would he ever have thought to turn someone into the very thing he’d despised for centuries. But the idea of Emily no longer in his life trumped all his previous convictions. Having her here, with him, mattered more than all the other bullshit in his head.

She blinked. Beads of cold rain mixed with her tears and tumbled down her cheeks.

Bitten three times, she had enough of the antigen present in her system for the conversion, but he had to let it be her choice. Even if the thought of losing her felt like barbed wire shredding through his insides, he would never force her into this kind of life.

She hadn’t answered.

He brushed the blood-streaked auburn curls away from her face before repeating the question. “Do you want me to turn you? You have to answer me now, baby.”

He ran his hand over his rain-drenched face. “You’re dying,” he whispered, unsure how he got those last words out past the constriction in his throat.

A slight dip of Emily’s chin indicated her answer. More tears fell from beneath her lashes. Her lips parted on a weak cough. He leaned in.

“I…trust you.” She swallowed. The massacred flesh of her neck barely withstood the movement. Waiting for her next words to leave her lips nearly destroyed him. “Do…it.”

Kenric’s gut discovered a new definition for agony. She trusted him. He’d never sired another, but he’d be damned if inexperience would stop him from trying to save her.

Already drained of most of her life’s blood, he needed to only take her a step further, then feed her his own blood.

And pray.

Pray that she would survive the change. The next forty-eight hours would be hell on earth for both of them.

The last thing he wanted was to move Emily in her current condition, but if he was going to do this, he had to pull her farther into the shadows so that he could cloak them. Not that there should be much pedestrian traffic at this time of night and with the rain, but another vehicle pulling into the parking lot wasn’t out of the question.

He cradled her body tightly and, using every ounce of speed he possessed, moved them to the opposite side of her car, away from the street and into the shadowed edge of the building. Gently he repositioned Emily in his lap, then lifted his arms, gathering the shadows into the palms of his hands, and pulled them around their bodies. No one would notice them now.

He lowered his lips over the wound at her neck. “Hold on,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m not letting you slip away so easily.” He found her weak pulse and drained the remaining essence of her life.

Jerking his head free from her with an anguished groan, he jammed his fangs into his wrist.

Her head lay limp in his palm as he pressed his vein to her mouth. The crimson stream trickled down her chin. His arm shook next to her lips. He willed his heart rate to a steady rhythm. He had to stay calm. For Emily to survive, he had to get a grip.

Reaching back into her mind, he called for her in the darkness. Wrapping a compulsion within the words, he willed her to swallow.

“Come on. Drink for me.” He pressed his wrist tighter to her lips. “Hold on.” Her cheeks filled, and her throat bobbed. A cough racked her body as the warm flow gargled in the back of her throat.

“Swallow,” he commanded. “Come on, you can do this.” Another cough. Another swallow. “That’s it.” Her lips sealed around the wound on his wrist and pulled. “Take from me, Wildflower. Take from me and live.”

A burning ache spread up his arm from where she fed. He hissed as his cock hardened. An erotic high flashed through his veins. With every pull at his wrist, he soared. He shifted her in his lap. Damn, she didn’t deserve this. Not his begrudged arousal, nor the change to her destiny.

After what seemed like forever in the empty parking lot, he slipped his finger between her lips and removed the source of her nourishment. She groaned. He eased back into her mind, familiar with the pathway now, and soothed her. “There will be more to come, love.”

He hadn’t properly fed in days, and the amount he’d taken from Emily earlier wouldn’t sustain them both. With her life in his hands, he had to stay strong enough to get them both back to the compound—alive.

Lifting her carefully in his arms, he stood and phased.

The walls of the manor came into view, and Kenric’s legs buckled. He went down hard on his knees, cradling Emily to his chest. The world around him shifted like those crazy funhouse mirrors he’d once seen at a fair.

Bloody hell. He’d given more than he realized.

Exterior lights from the house flooded the grounds. The sensors had detected his presence. Blinded, he threw his hands up to cover his eyes right before the anxiety-laced voices of Michael and Elle surrounded him.

“Sir, let me help. Let me take her into the house.” Michael attempted to peel Emily from his clutches.

His gums tingled, and his fangs lowered. An ominous rumble surged from Kenric’s throat. “Mine.”

Michael flinched and jerked his hand away.

“I have her. Just get us inside and to my floor.”

Buffeted by the two, Kenric weaved his way to his quarters. He barked orders to Elle for bandages and a hot bath for Emily before turning to Michael and ordering him to get Guerin on the phone.

Elle stood at his side and helped lower Emily into the large soaker tub. The room continued to tilt with his every exertion. He glanced in Elle’s direction.

“DEAD attack?” Elle didn’t look up as she asked the unnecessary question. She knew the unmistakable evidence in front of her.

“Yes.”

“Good thing you got to her when you did.” She looked over at him this time.

“I didn’t.”

Her hands stilled for an almost indiscernible second, before she dropped her gaze and continued working with Emily’s clothes. Kenric went ahead and answered the question he knew burned in her head. “I had to turn her.”

Elle nodded and then muttered an “oh.” The Enclave’s only human female resident had been down a similar path, and Kenric hated having to ask her to care for another female in the aftermath of a DEAD attack. Luckily for Elle, the damage had not been so great that she had to be transformed to survive. But the trauma had left behind scars only the people who knew her best could see.

A few silent seconds passed between them before Elle spoke. “Make your call, Kenric. I’ve got her. I’ll finish getting her clothes off, and the water will warm her.” She pushed at his shoulder. Her concerned expression told his head she understood and would take good care of her, but his feet didn’t want to obey. They had somehow attached themselves to his heart.

He didn’t want to leave her in the hands of another, but things had to be dealt with at the scene.

“Yell for me if she starts to wake, or if you need anything.” He backed away in what felt like slow motion.

“You know I will.”

She peeled the bloodied and ragged piece of cloth from Emily’s neck. He clenched his fist, but Elle didn’t flinch. He had to give her credit: Elle was as tough as they came. He thanked God for Elle’s help and her compassion. She moved to the shredded remains of Emily’s blouse, and Kenric spun on his heels. Passing through the doorway, his fist connected with the sheetrock, leaving a lasting impression of his rage.

Michael met him in the sitting room with a cell phone in his hand.

“I’ve got Guerin on the line,” he said, handing over the smart phone, then turned to show himself out.

Kenric gripped the slim case, pacing the confines of the room while he filled Guerin in on the details.

“Motherfucking bitch,” Guerin growled back into his ear at the news.

Kenric’s voice dipped into a grave tone. “I had to turn her.”

“She’s okay with that? That’s what she wanted?”

“Of course, it’s what she wanted,” Kenric blasted into the receiver. His free hand ran through his damp hair while his feet continued to tread the room. “You think I would have done that to her without consent?”

“No, man. Don’t get me wrong. I just know Emily is… She’s special to you. And I don’t know what I would have done in the same situation.”

Kenric stopped and leaned back against the wall, pressing the heel of his hand to the incessant throb at his temple. The back of his head bumped the wall with a hollow thud.

“Let’s just say this is a night I wouldn’t want to live through again.” Kenric swallowed hard, forcing the knot in his throat back down his esophagus. “About the scene. I need you or Logan to get over to Ocean Ave. Emily’s car is in a parking lot there, a blue Corolla. Looked like it’s next to a coffee shop. I need that scene scrubbed clean. Bring the car back to the compound when you’re done and make sure you have Emily’s personal items.”

“Consider it done.”

Elle’s voice called out for him from the bathroom.

“I need to take care of something. Ring me when you have everything completed.” Kenric hung up, already in motion back to Emily.

He stepped into the doorway, and Elle looked up from the side of the tub. “I could use some help getting her dressed and into bed.”

Kenric stood spellbound, his gaze fixed on the beautiful, pale woman lying naked in his tub. His heart kicked in his chest. Thank God this was what she’d wanted. His meager existence would have shattered in that parking lot tonight if he’d had to watch her die in his arms.

“Hey, Kenric,” Elle repeated, louder this time, grabbing his attention.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Chapter Nineteen

The hot richness of the female’s blood flowed over his tongue and warmed his veins. Markus pumped twice more into the fishnet-and-leather-clad prostitute bent over the seat of his Ducati. Releasing his fangs from her neck, he reared his head back and groaned.

Sated for now, Markus slid from her and stuffed a Ben Franklin into her cleavage. He tucked himself back inside his pants before easing her around to face him. Dirty blonde curls hid her eyes. He brushed the tresses from her face, tucking them behind each ear. Her unfocused, glassy blue gaze searched his face. His hold on her mind distorted her ability to focus. A tipsy little grin curled the corners of her mouth. He chuckled. Her brain was on the vampire joyride of its life.

Markus leaned in and tended to the wound with his tongue, making sure the bleeding stopped prior to setting her on her way. With the small amount he’d taken, she would feel no ill effects. The bite would heal within twenty-four hours, leaving no sign of him. Until then, he planted a memory of a middle-aged customer with a kinky obsession, encouraging her to cover the mark.

His cell phone buzzed.

The hooker slid past him, shimmying her skirt into place. Her full rear jiggled with each rock of her hips as she swayed in her black stilettos.

Markus couldn’t resist. He slapped her behind as he pulled out his cell. She squeaked and whirled back around.

“Watch it. That’ll cost ya extra.” She winked, giving her gum a smack.

Markus growled but pulled back on any further exchanges. He’d already set memories in place.

“Yeah?” he belted into the phone, half listening to whoever the hell was on the other end. The sway of the ass moving away commandeered his gaze.

“I need you both back at the compound.” It was Guerin.

Arran stepped out of Tail Spin’s back door, passing hot stuff on her way back in.

Markus dragged his attention back to the conversation. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a DEAD attack on Kenric’s friend Emily. He sent me to clean up the scene. I need you both back on premises. Kenric has Emily at the compound, and we need you there for security.”

“She’s alive?”

“Yeah.” Guerin hesitated before adding, “He turned her.”

Markus snapped his phone shut at the same moment a sharp pain pierced his brain, staggering him.

“What the hell’s wrong?” Arran’s voice penetrated the thick mental soup of anguish inside his skull but sounded a mile away. Markus pressed the heel of his hands into his temples and braced himself against the seat of his bike. His head was seriously jacked up.

The intensity eased to a pulsing ache.

He lifted his eyelids and forced a smirk. “I’m good, just a damn headache that’s been giving me hell off and on ever since I took that fall.”

“Well, you look like shit.”

“Yeah? Well, kiss my ass.” Markus threw up his middle finger for good measure.

“Sorry, think that’s been taken care of already. Besides, you’re not my type.” Arran swung his leg wide to capture his ride between his thighs. “Was that Kenric on the phone? I heard you ask if she’s alive. Who’s been hurt? Is it Gabrielle?”

Arran tried to pull some kind of worried-comrade bullshit, but Markus had known him too long. Elle was a hell of a lot more than a fellow comrade to him.

“No. Kenric’s female, Emily. DEAD attack. We need to head back.”

…

Not since he was newly turned had Kenric fed on this level, this fast. His head rushed from the overload. Striding into his room, he pulled his leather jacket off and rolled his shoulders, feeling hot and overstretched in his skin.

He found Elle at Emily’s bedside, bathing her forehead with a washcloth. Beads of sweat covered Emily’s face. She moaned and gripped the blanket covering her.

Easing down onto the other side of the bed, he lifted Emily’s hand, wrapping his own around it. She shivered with fever, her hand a heated torch in his palm. The vampire antigens were in full attack mode, re-creating her. She thrashed and cried out, her spine arching from the bed. Her body needed more of what he provided.

“Gabrielle, thank you for taking care of her.” Kenric glanced in her direction. She lifted her gaze from Emily, concern and worry wrinkling her forehead and lingering in her eyes. “I need you to leave us alone now.”

“Are you sure?” Her voice was shaky, hesitant.

He nodded.

“By the way, I bandaged what looked like a burn on her thigh. I’m sure once she completes the transformation, it’ll heal completely. Do you want me to come back in a little while and check on you both?”

She wanted to help, but there wasn’t anything she could do now. He had what Emily needed, and he would be here to ride it through with her.

“No. I’ll call down if we need anything.” He removed the washcloth from Emily’s forehead, wiping the droplets of perspiration that rolled from her temple. “Inform the others not to disturb us. It may be a day or two before you hear from me. In the meantime, I will need you to contact Emily’s employer at Elizabeth Bay Memorial. Tell them she’s been injured and may be out indefinitely, and that she’ll contact them personally as soon as she’s able.”

“I’ll take care of it. But before I go, Guerin asked me to make sure you got this.”

He lifted his head.

She held out a handbag in his direction. “It’s Emily’s.” She glanced down at the item in her hand. “Guerin had to collect the things from her purse off the seat of the car and the floorboard.” Elle skirted the bed and handed it to him. “There’s something in there he felt you would want to see.”

He stood, took the purse, and pulled it open. Lying on top of her wallet was a dark vial of what looked like blood. He lifted it from her purse and peered at the label. John Doe ER 11/10/11.

His gaze fell to the shivering woman in his bed. The center of his chest twisted into a painful constriction. The undeniable implications behind her having the vial bombarded him. Not Emily. Kenric couldn’t go there—didn’t want to go there.

No, no, no…

Betrayal.

Yet the word with its ugly connotation slithered through the recesses of his brain. A spasm seized his gut as if the world had just sucker-punched him in the midsection. Kenric didn’t want to believe it. Their history—the way she’d touched him, cared for him, and him for her—demanded he give her the benefit of the doubt. But since when in his life had anything ever ended with a happily ever after?

Damn, he sounded like a cynical son of a bitch.

But why else would she have kept his blood? The last time they’d been together things had not ended well. Yet he’d never thought of Emily as a vengeful person. Besides, she would have had to have retrieved the sample before that night.

“Kenric…?” Elle’s voice collided with his reeling head.

Without a glance in her direction, he ordered Elle from the room. “Leave us.”

He dropped onto the side of the bed and stared at the evidence in his hand. What had she planned to do with this? How could she…?

He wanted answers.

Only Emily held them locked inside, and they would not be forthcoming for many hours. Until then he had no choice but to believe there had to be another reason beside the obvious one hammering around inside his head. The turning was in motion, and there would be no stopping it. He’d started it, and he would see her through.

Kenric shed the remainder of his clothes and slid into bed beside her. Emily moaned, tossed a slender arm over him, and sighed. His warm body had to feel wonderful next to hers. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Maybe he was a damn fool, but no matter what her intentions were, he couldn’t decelerate the changes occurring inside her. He cared for her, a hell of lot more than he wanted to wrap his head around, and until he could hear her side of the story, he’d give her the benefit of doubt.

“I’ve got you, Wildflower. I’m not going to leave you.”

“No. Daddy, please. Don’t leave me,” she mumbled. “It’s dark in here. I promise I’ll be good. Daddy! Daddy!”

Her head rolled back and forth against him. Tears streamed down her face while she pounded on his chest.

“Shhh—It’s okay. Emily, it’s okay.” What kind of hell tortured her dreams? He realized, at that moment, how little he knew about her past. He stroked her hair, attempting to soothe her. “I’m not leaving you.”

Her tears slowed, and she snuggled against his chest. Somehow, his comfort must have gotten through. He shifted, pulling them both higher up on the bed and into a partial sitting position. She needed another feeding.

This time, Emily took to his wrist with little coaxing. Her lips sealed around the wound and nursed hungrily at the flow. A spark of desire leaped through his vein and burst into a raging flame, threatening to consume his control. Air staggered from his lungs. He gripped the blanket with one hand and stuffed it between his body and Emily’s.

This was going to be the longest forty-eight hours of his life.

Feeding and sex.

Each one intensified the need for the other. A large part of the reason he’d kept his sexual desires caged for so long. He never wanted to succumb to what he’d witnessed in Marguerite’s dungeons. He never wanted to become someone who was maddened by sexual bloodlust. As a master, losing control would make him a danger to everyone around him.

After a few more pulls that distorted the line between pleasure and pain, he removed her from his vein. She appeared at peace for the moment and settled down at his side. Her body glowed, satisfied with its feeding.

Moments later, her breathing returned to a more natural rhythm, and her temperature dropped from its fiery state. It wouldn’t last long, though. A temporary reprieve for what was yet to come.

With her sleeping peacefully, he had time for a quick shower. His body reeked of sweat and blood, and he couldn’t shake the throbbing reminder between his legs. He needed some relief. The second he slid from the bed, she moaned and rolled into his warm spot.

He brushed a damp lock from her cheek. “What made you take that vial and hide it from me?” There had to be a damn good reason. Please, let there have been a damn good reason. Otherwise… He didn’t want to consider the alternative. The thought of her betrayal threatened to shatter him.

Leaning over, he placed a kiss to her tousled mass of curls. His shaft flexed toward her with a mind of its own. Yeah, he needed that shower.

Ten minutes under some cool water did help. He smelled a lot better and had gained some semblance of relief. Well, at least his erection had gone down. For now.

Rubbing his hand across the rough stubble of his chin, he thought about a shave, but the moment he reached for his razor, Emily’s scream pierced the room. He barreled into the bedroom.

“I’m on fire!” Her gaze found his, and her look of panic ripped him apart. “Kenric, what’s happening to me? Dear God, I’m burning up inside.” She clutched her stomach and doubled over. “Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick.”

He dashed for the nearest trash can.

Chapter Twenty

Kicked back with his boots propped up on the conference table, Markus tossed his dagger into the air. The silver blade flipped end over end as Guerin and Logan strode through the sliding steel door of central command.

The chill on Guerin’s arrival said he’d shelved his easygoing nature for the night. In its place, he wore the lethal aura of a pissed-off three-hundred-year-old vampire. Dressed in dark leather, Guerin matched his killer attitude; even his eyes glowed red. An unnatural sight beneath the sheen of brown hair turned black from the rain.

He took his seat at the head of the table in Kenric’s absence.

The focus of Guerin’s sinister eyes tracked Arran as he pushed away from his computer and joined them. “I’m sure Markus has filled you in on what happened tonight to Emily Ross.”

“Yeah, I heard. That’s fucked up.” Arran switched his gaze from Guerin to Logan, who’d decided to prop himself against the smooth cement wall. Neither warrior twitched under the heat of each other’s glare. Markus stayed out of range, glad he hadn’t been the one to put the stink in Arran and Logan’s shit.

“What I didn’t get into over the phone was that Kenric believes it was a deliberate hit since there was a recent threat made on her life.”

“Son of a bitch!” Logan bit out.

Markus dropped his boots to the floor with a thud. Damn. Only yesterday had Kenric mentioned her to them.

“Kenric suspected she might be in danger from Marguerite.” Arran pulled up a task chair. He spun it around before straddling the seat and leaning over the back. “He filled me and Markus in when he asked for backup at the hospital.”

Guerin worked his gloves from his hands. “What I can’t understand is how in the hell they located her so fast in order to pull off an ambush on her way to work?”

“Where was she when she got hit?” Markus palmed the hilt of his dagger. Uneasiness slid through his limbs. Why was his gut crawling because of a woman he didn’t know?

“That’s another reason we believe it was a deliberate hit. The DEADs were completely off their usual hunting grounds. They ambushed her about three hours ago near Magnolia Island. Right outside a coffee shop on Ocean Ave.”

The dagger hit the concrete floor with a clatter. The street sign of 21st and Ocean glared in Markus’s head.

“Hey, watch it with that blade,” Arran snarled beside him. “You take out my foot, and I’m going to show you how a Highlander deals out payback.”

“Fuck you.” Markus scooped up his dagger from the floor. Three hours ago. That’s when he’d been there. Blood pounded at his eardrums. Why hadn’t he sensed that DEAD hit? Images of an auburn-haired woman clutching a bag and running in the rain toward her car flashed across his mind’s eye.

The pain that tortured his skull seized his chest, going slice and dice on his heart and lungs. He had to get out of here.

Now.

Or suffocate.

He jumped to his feet. His chair whirled and slid back, slamming into the pool table. All heads swiveled his way.

“I gotta go.” Markus forced the three words out of his throat and made for the door.

As he rounded the table, Guerin lunged to his feet. “Where the hell are you going? We need you here tonight. Logan and I still have patrol.”

Air. He needed air. Needed away from here. He rubbed his temples and kept moving. His damn head hurt. Pain. The fucking pain wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Markus!” Guerin’s bellow echoed across the expanse of the room.

Markus willed himself to stop.

“Where you’re going is more important than your duty here?” His commander’s question trickled into his brain and battled with the mixed-up shit swirling in his mind. Markus pivoted slowly on his heels. Guerin’s dark eyes narrowed on him, waiting for his answer.

And he gave him one.

“Yes. It is.”

Markus lowered his torso over the fuel tank and throttled down hard on the grip of his bike. The wind fought to tear him from his ride. The speedometer read one hundred ten miles per hour. Rain sprayed his visor, blurring the road at his wheel. Oncoming headlights formed starbursts of colored lights on his wet face shield.

He didn’t give a flying fuck.

Better off dead.

They’d all be better off if he’d eat some serious-ass pavement and fry with the sunrise.

He was a traitor.

During the last hour since his realization that the auburn-haired girl was Emily, the seal on his duality of memories had cracked open. The images spilled into his conscious mind like some cancerous sludge regurgitated from hell. He remembered. Remembered it all.

Such a sick SOB.

He’d followed Kenric to Emily’s at sundown, completely covered in leather and a black-out helmet to combat the lingering rays of the sun. He’d waited all evening for them to part.

Trailing Emily hadn’t been hard in her aged sedan. She’d been an easy target, alone late at night in an empty parking lot. One phone call was all it had taken to have the pair of DEADs lying in wait for her.

He’d done some vile things. Images from his time spent at Marguerite’s lair flickered across his mind’s eye.

Sick, depraved things.

Flashes of him in various stages of sex and bloodlust gripped him. Multiple bodies, male and female, writhed against him on a floor littered with white furs.

They had stroked, licked, sucked, and fucked. Him and everyone around him.

Markus shook his head, trying to knock the degrading images from his mind. His rear tire slipped on the wet road, but he countered the effect with little effort, bringing it back under control.

Wind and rain beat at the sleeves of his coat and ran down his back, finding their way under his shirt. Spider veins of ice formed at the edges of his field of vision, but he didn’t feel the cold. Strange.

He really should be cold.

Maybe it was because the last shred of what held him to his humanity had severed. Broken by the vampire his leader knew all too well: Marguerite.

What she’d left behind he didn’t recognize. Markus worked his throat, trying hard to swallow the acidic taste of self-disgust threatening to choke him.

A horn blared, jerking his attention back to the road. Throwing his body to the right, he willed his bike around and away from the blinding, fragmented prisms of color.

Somehow, he avoided the head-on collision. The pissed-off sound of the horn blasted into his ear as it passed him. Breathing hard, he geared down and popped his visor.

Too late.

He leaned hard into the sharp turn of the road, but his rear tire lost its traction. The bike spun out from beneath him.

The force of the crash sent him flying. Time slowed to a crawl, and the world went mute.

Suddenly, the ground sped forward and slammed into him with a lung-exploding force.

Sound returned at a full-volume blast.

He tumbled down the embankment. Tree limbs and loose gravel chewed at the leather covering his arms and legs, ripping it apart and peeling back his exposed skin. A blow to his back brought his momentum to a halt. He lay on his side, sucking hard to feed the rush of adrenaline. The stench of burned rubber and gasoline filled the air and stung his nostrils.

Markus lifted his eyelids and groaned at the unnatural arrangement of his right leg. Dammit! He was still alive and conscious. This had to be somebody’s idea of a sick fucking joke. Not one damn branch had pierced his heart or removed his head, taking him out of his messed-up life. Throwing his head back, he raged into the blackness.

Inch by inch he dug his fingers into the soil and pulled himself along on his stomach. Every breath felt like muscle gliding over shards of glass. Damn! He must have blown every rib on his left side.

Getting into a sitting position was a maneuver born in Hades. The metallic taste of blood flowed into his mouth as he brought his leg forward. The bottom half of his calf dangled at a grotesque angle. A jagged piece of bone protruded through what remained of the leg of his jeans.

With the last vestige of strength left in his body, he reached for his wolf form. Fuck his clothes. No way in hell did he have the strength or desire to undress in his messed-up state.

The crack of bones shifting into place, along with the sound of tearing fabric and popping threads, echoed through the trees. Markus howled from the morphing of wounded flesh and bone. A necessary marathon of endurance. With the shift came a swifter tide of healing.

Black fur sprouted from his pores and spread across his extremities. He rocked up and onto four solid legs, whirled about, and leaped deeper into the unfamiliar woods, leaving the shredded remains of his life behind.

In his head, he ran into the night with no general direction or purpose.

Deep inside his gut, a different story unfurled. It knew exactly where his paws took him.

Mud caked all four limbs when he exited the dense cover of trees onto the shoulder of a dark paved road. God only knew how long he’d run. His sides sawed in and out. He snorted and twitched his ears as clouds of vapor curled from both nostrils.

Fur receded from his muzzle, and his limbs elongated. Uncurling his spine, he braced his stature on two legs. He rolled his newly re-formed shoulders and sucked in a deep, pain-free breath.

The road sign to his left read HWY 505 SOUTH, below it, mile marker twenty-five. A single mile from Marguerite’s lair. What the fuck? Who are you kidding, asshole? You knew where you were heading the moment you walked out on the Enclave. He whipped around, one foot back into the underbrush, and phased.

His feet settled on the hard-packed dirt of an empty driveway as a dingy white Victorian porch came into view. Taking the steps two at a time, he headed straight for the front door.

He didn’t knock.

Enrique could kiss his ass.

With his mind clear for the first time in days, he had to face her. Face the reality of what he’d become.

Markus sauntered naked into the candlelit foyer and straight for her receiving room. She might kill him for his arrogance—hell, he wished she would—but he seriously doubted she’d dare.

He held the key to what she wanted most.

He heard several sharp intakes of breath the moment he threw open the double doors. Before he could blink, Enrique appeared before him and wrapped his hand around his throat.

“I don’t believe you’ve been announced, minion.” Enrique sneered with a shiny white display of fangs. “An ill-conceived move like this could have the unfortunate effect of death.”

Markus pulled back his lip to unveil his own set of sharp teeth. “Something tells me, minion, that you won’t risk pissing off the mistress by killing her new play toy.”

Enrique’s face twisted, and his eyes lit with seething anger. Enough rage, Markus knew, to be a formidable threat. Instead, Enrique shoved him into the room.

“Well, if it isn’t my handsome Enclave warrior come to pay me a visit.” On her chaise, Marguerite rose from the lap of one of her half-naked male slaves. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Markus planted his feet at the base of her platform.

Enrique’s fingers dug into his neck. “Kneel before your mistress.”

“I’d rather stand.” Markus cocked him a sideways glance.

Pressure landed on his shoulders, driving him to his knees. He swallowed back a grunt as his hands saved his face from eating the floor.

“I’d rather you kneel.” The threat contained in Marguerite’s words was unmistakable.

Guess he’d fucking kneel. He eased his head up and rolled back onto his knees. In his periphery, Marguerite’s commander stood to his left, his arms crossed over his chest, weapons galore strapped to his body.

“Much better, slave.”

He’d pick his battles.

“Did you come for your reward, minion? My commander tells me your mission was a successful one with Kenric’s newest, or shall I say former, bedmate.”

Marguerite glided down the steps before him. Her silver gown parted at her thighs with each step, offering him glimpses of her bare pussy. Hot blood engorged his cock. Oh, she knew how to play the fucking game well. Pun definitely intended.

A rumble vibrated in his chest.

By sheer will alone, he pulled his gaze away from the show. Her lips curled into a slow smile. She could see his arousal, and he smelled hers.

Her feet touched the wood floor, and she lifted her hand to her neck. Without hesitation, she dragged one hooked claw across her flesh. A swell of blood rose along the open trail.

A ribbon of red flowed down her pale white skin and disappeared into her cleavage.

The rich and heady scent of her blood short-circuited his brain. He groaned, his gut a wretched coil of hunger, of need.

“Come, Markus. Come to me, and let me show you how delicious it can be when you make me happy.”

Her words crawled inside his head and seeped into his veins. His cock jerked as the pressure within his balls shot to an aching overload and the whore took him to the brink of release. He coiled his fists at his side.

It wasn’t enough.

Dear God, he was so lost.

He lunged and grabbed the blade sheathed at Enrique’s thigh. With both hands wrapped around the hilt, he drove the serrated end straight for his own heart.

“No!” Her single word filled the cavernous space.

Every muscle locked. Fuck! The blade ceased in its path, the biting edge of the tip burned in his flesh. Yet he lived. The bitch wouldn’t let him die.

Deep inside, the remaining piece of his soul that belonged to the Enclave cried out. Forgive me, my fellow warriors.

She’d won. He’d failed to take his life. There would be no going back.

He couldn’t resist her. Drinking from her black well had fed the stain on his soul—renewed its vigor.

She owned him.

And God help him, but he wanted her.

And in a way, it was a release. He didn’t have to fight any more. The choice had been made, and he wasn’t the one who had made it. He’d been spawned from the seed of evil, born and bred to become a killer. Even though he’d tried with the Enclave, for the last few decades, to become something more, as a bit of redemption for the crimes he’d committed while human, a part of him knew this was inevitable. Sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Marguerite wrenched the knife from his chest. The jagged metal ripped at his flesh as she twisted the blade free. Cold sweat erupted from his pores.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”

He tumbled forward from the sudden loss of her mental hold. “It was better to take my life than reveal my failure to you, mistress. There is nothing to be rewarded for.”

Enrique grabbed his hair, jolting the back of his head. Markus hissed from the stab of pain at his scalp.

A chill swept his body, telling him Marguerite had come closer even before her face loomed over his. With another jerk, Enrique released him. His head dropped forward, wet strands of his hair clinging to his cheeks. He glued his stare to the floor. Waiting. Wanting.

Icy fingers gripped his chin, bringing him to his feet. “What do you mean, minion, that there is nothing to be rewarded for?” Marguerite’s fangs lengthened, the tips glistening below her upper lip.

“Kenric’s whore lives.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Every muscle in Emily’s body screamed for mercy. She curled into a fetal position. The horrific pains were back, growing more intense in her abdomen and spreading like burning tendrils down her arms and legs.

The only thing that stayed her stomach and calmed the flames was Kenric’s blood. Dear God, she hated to admit it, but she craved the taste of him.

The bed dipped behind her.

“It’s time.” Kenric’s deep voice rolled over her as his hand smoothed her hair. She moaned. Even the movement of her hair felt like needles piercing her skull.

After helping her to sit up, he presented his wrist. She winced at the condition of his flesh, mangled from the numerous bites he’d inflicted on himself. The frequency of her need for him left him little time to heal.

“How long can you keep this up? This has to be hell for you.” She stared at the crimson stream dripping onto the towel beneath his arm. Hunger twisted in her stomach.

“As long as I need to,” he whispered near her ear.

Bringing his wrist to her mouth, she eased her tongue out and licked the trail of blood back to its source. He hissed and drew her closer to his warmth, her back to his side.

She froze. “Am I hurting you?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“But I am hurting you.” She pushed his arm away. “There has to be another way. I can’t stand the thought of you in pain for me.”

“No, there is no other way. And you’re misunderstanding me.” He encircled her with his arm, bringing his wrist back to her lips. She couldn’t resist. Gently, she placed her lips to his addictive offering. “It’s not the type of pain like you’re experiencing. To feed another, the act is very…sensual.”

“Oh.” She released the seal around his vein, suddenly aware of the hard ridge pressed into her back. “This happens every time?”

His stubble brushed her ear with his nod.

“Oh, Kenric, I’m so sorry. In so many ways, this has been torture for you.” She owed him a debt she couldn’t begin to repay. Their last time together… She’d been a royal bitch. And what had he turned around and done? He had saved her life.

“Feed, love.” He rocked his open wrist at her lips, stopping her protest. “Let’s get you through this night. Dawn is approaching, and I need you further along in the process before we sleep.”

The taste of his blood filled her mouth. Thick, rich, and oh so good. She whimpered from the flavor and the feel of its magic working on her insides. Each swallow rained cool water on a raging inferno.

A muffled grunt came from behind her, and Kenric stiffened.

She lifted her chin. “Kenric, please. It wouldn’t bother me if you need to… You know.”

“That’s not necessary. Focus on you.”

“Come on, you’re not fooling me. You could shatter a brick with your…uh…the tension in your body. I might not be up to joining you, but it would make me happy to know you were enjoying this.” She lowered her head and gave his vein a long, deep pull.

His breathing quickened, and seconds later, his arm left her waist. The sound of a zipper and shifting clothes sent her pulse escalating. Yes. That’s what she wanted.

Within moments, he jerked in time with each sip to his vein. The fact that her feeding brought him to such a fevered state gave her a thrill. She swept her tongue out, enjoying the addition of the salty taste of his flesh mixed with the savory spice of his blood. His breath heated her neck, and the pace of his movements intensified.

His body suddenly grew rigid, and a deep groan shuddered from him. She smiled against his wrist. Both of them satisfied.

That was her last thought before her world faded to black.

A cool cloth brushed her face, waking her to his brilliant blue eyes, hooded by the longest raven lashes she’d ever seen. Beautiful, but the lines around them worried her.

“You need to rest,” she whispered. “How long have I been out?”

“It’s a little over an hour after sundown, and I did rest. You slept much longer this time, but you’ve started to perspire again.” He wiped her brow. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be. You’ve been so good to me.” She reached out and followed the hard line of his jaw with her fingertips. “Lie with me. Please.”

“Sure.” He smiled. “But let me take care of this first.” He dropped the cloth into the bowl on the bedside table, then reached for something from the floor. “I went by your place and collected a few things I thought you might want.” Kenric sat the duffle bag beside her on the mattress, gathered the bowl, and headed toward the bathroom.

Emily studied the large brown canvas satchel, her mind wondering what sort of items he would have thought to pack for a woman. She grinned. For a badass vampire, he could be such a considerate man. Emily pushed up against the headboard, then reached for the zipper and opened the bag. And her world shrank, narrowed down until the only thing remaining in focus was the framed photo sitting on top of her clothes.

How had he known she needed this?

Emily stared down at the frozen black and white moment in time of her mother, father, and an eight-year-old Emily Ross. The pictured captured one of her favorite memories: a sunny day she’d spent on the beach with her parents—before the alcohol had claimed her father and her family. She missed them, especially her mother. God, how she would love to talk to her one more time. But what would she say? “Hey, Mom. Guess what? I met a man who stopped my heart in more ways than one.” She couldn’t help but quirk a smile. For the first time, Emily was grateful they were already gone. This way she wouldn’t have to try and create excuses as to why she’d stopped aging, or worse, had to disappear from their life all together.

The clank of glass against tile drew her attention to the man in the other room. Kenric stood over the sink, rinsing the bowl. She couldn’t believe he’d thought to fill a satchel of memories from her human years and bring them to her. How could she have ever believed being with Kenric would have been a prison sentence? When she was with him, he filled in all the hollow places inside without crowding her spirit.

Emily turned her gaze back to the photo in her clutches, and it suddenly dawned on her—she hadn’t truly lost anything by becoming a vampire. Instead, she’d gained so much more. She’d been holding on to the past with such a fierce grip that she couldn’t reach out and grab hold of her future.

Kenric slid into bed beside her, propping his elbow onto the pillow and his head on his hand. “Did I do okay? You approve of my choices?”

And that future now lay beside her. She would always have the beautiful memories. Moving forward and letting go didn’t mean she would be empty. She would be free. And with room for centuries more of living with the man who had captured her heart and changed her life in so many ways.

“Yes.” She nodded and smiled. “It’s perfect.” Emily stuffed the frame back inside and moved the satchel gently back to the floor. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for saving my life.” She turned and brushed the back of his hand laying between them. Gratitude, anxiety mixed with excitement, and, yes, a little fear coursed through her veins. The rawness of her emotions kept her eyes downcast. “We haven’t really had much time to talk since my turning began.” It was time to face the next step and find out what she could expect in her new life. Emily swallowed hard, summoning her courage to hear the answers to her next question. “What kind of changes will happen to me other than the obvious: inability to tolerate sunlight, a thirst for blood? Will I be able to change into a wolf like you?”

That would be kind of cool.

Kenric smoothed his free hand down her arm. “Soon you’ll be stronger than you were before, faster.”

She liked the sound of that, being able to kick ass if the need arose.

“But as an unbonded female vampire, you’ll be weaker than most male vampires. As far as shifting into a wolf, yes, but that takes time. Most vampires can’t shift until they’re at least half a century into their turn. You should be able to phase a short distance pretty soon after your change is complete. But a vampire needs to be at full strength to do so.”

“Okay.” Emily released a long exhale and gave her head a slight shake. “So much to digest. It’s all kind of surreal right now.” She placed her palm next to his heart. He’d given so much of himself for her. After the brutal way Kenric had been forced into his life as a vampire, what he’d done for her, even if it had saved her life, could not have been easy.

“When I found you so near death, it almost destroyed me. Waiting for you to choose…”

She glanced up under her lashes. Storm clouds hovered in his gaze.

“I barely refrained from making the choice for you.”

“Are you happy I said yes?” She had to ask. Even if she didn’t like his answer, Emily had to know if he regretted having been forced into that situation.

A flash of lightning lit the blue in his eyes, and his palm cupped her cheek. “I’ve never offered another person what I gave to you. Through all the centuries, I never wanted to release the choke hold on my resentment long enough. Not for a second. Until you.” He leaned forward and placed the gentlest kiss to her forehead, yet it held the power to command her heart. Kenric made her want to forget. Forget all the reasons why she’d feared his strength. His passion.

The moment he’d offered her his world, she’d grabbed hold. The thought of not living to feel his embrace again, and causing him more pain by her death, had outweighed any of her reservations.

Her mind strayed to the night in the hospital when she’d discovered the stray vial of blood. How could she have ever thought to betray him? She needed to tell him. No secrets. He deserved that much.

“Kenric…” She cleared the tightness in her throat.

He leaned back to look at her but continued to hold her cheek.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Her gaze darted from his eyes to the wall behind him and the framed art of waves breaking the shore on some imagined, sunny beach. If only her heart held the peace depicted there.

What if he hated her for what she was about to confess?

Don’t tell him. He doesn’t have to ever know. The little demon whispered away in her ear, and she oh-so-wanted to follow his lead. But she knew better. Secrets like that had a way of rearing their ugly heads and devastating lives when least expected.

Dragging her gaze back to his, she started again. “You deserve to know about what happened the night you left the hospital after I helped you in the lab.”

His eyes narrowed on hers, and his palm dropped from her cheek. He pushed into a sitting position. “What do you mean?”

She tipped her head back to catch a glimpse of his face. His body grew tense, as if he sensed the news wouldn’t be pleasant. The queasiness that was the perpetual state of her stomach ramped up another notch.

“You know, when you left, I was pretty ticked off about the way you informed me I would be moving in with you. I’m sure you can tell by now, I don’t do well with commands.”

He grunted. “I kind of got that idea.”

After a deep breath, she told him everything. About finding the vial of blood in the trauma room, and what she’d done with it.

“I kept it.”

His bare feet dropped to the floor, then suddenly, he was up and across the room. His open palms slapped the wall, causing her to flinch.

He stood with his back to her, his rigid body braced against the hard surface. “Why did you keep it, Emily?” His words sounded tortured, uttered like torn bits of his insides.

She grabbed the headboard, pulled herself up, and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. How did she explain it without losing him forever?

He whirled around. A second later, he was beside her, dropping her purse on the side of the bed. Slowly, she tilted her head and met his glare. Her throat tightened, until she was sure she’d choke from the cold look in his eyes. He’d already known.

“I’ll ask again. Why did you keep it, Emily?”

“Fear? Bad judgment? Anger? Probably all. None of them a good reason, and all of it a sorry excuse for hurting you.” She searched his face for some sign. One that said he might not hate her. What she found cut with a sharper edge than hate. Disappointment.

“I’ve been chewing on the revelation I found in your purse over the last twenty-four hours.” He whipped around and grabbed the corner post at the footboard, holding on to it like a lifeline. “I couldn’t wrap my mind around a good reason why you had my blood and never told me.” He pivoted. The grimace on his face stabbed straight into her soul.

“When I made the choice that night, for a split second, your blood seemed like the answer that would keep me from drowning with the sinking ship called my life.”

“You didn’t need the damn blood for that!” He punched the wall. “All you had to do was come to me. I would have never let you go under.”

“I couldn’t ask you for money,” she cried out. Sweat dripped into her eyes, forcing her to rub at the stinging corners. “Right then, I was pissed at you for wanting to control my life… Do you really think I would have wanted to be indebted to you for money?” She lowered her head in shame. “It made me sick even thinking of using you to save my own ass, but at that moment, I was out of options. Jeff wouldn’t leave me alone, and I love my home.” Risking a glance in his direction, she lifted her chin. Maybe it was her imagination, but his expression seemed a little softer. “I didn’t want to risk losing it.”

His palms went to his face. He gave it a quick scrub and moved back to the bed. The headboard creaked as he dropped onto the mattress’s edge and eased her purse to the floor. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there with both arms resting on his thighs.

“If it makes any difference, the night of the attack, I…” She swallowed hard. God, she was so nauseated. “I had already made the decision to destroy the blood when I got to work. Even though you had made me mad as hell that night with Jeff, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt you like that.”

He lifted his arms from his legs and smoothed his palms over his pants.

“You mean too much to me, Kenric. I don’t want to be the person who brings you more pain.” She clenched her teeth against the growing knot of her own pain and nausea. Gulping for air, she added, “And if there was a way possible, I would sell my soul to go back in time and erase this mistake.” A slicing lance of pain curled her over, but she clamped her mouth over a sob. Chills raced over her body. “Kenric! When will this end?” She shook from the wave of cold marching across her skin.

Edging over into the bed, he rubbed her back. “Soon. I know it hurts, but you’re almost there. After this feeding, I’m going to need to leave for a little while. I have to feed again.”

A growl rumbled from her throat. Her eyes flew open, startled from the sound. Her heart raced, but the speed of the beats didn’t come from pain alone. The very idea of him at another woman’s throat sent a violent streak of jealousy coursing through her.

A tingling sensation zinged her upper gums, then quickly turned into an ache. Her skin itched, creating a frantic need to move.

Lunging into a sitting position, she flung the covers from her.

“Something’s happening.” Panic shot like lightning down her spine. “What’s going on?” She clawed at her skin.

“Tell me. What are you feeling?”

“I itch all over, and my gums ache.”

A tearing sensation exploded in her gums. She screamed and dropped her head into her hands.

That’s when she felt them.

Placing her tongue to the front of her mouth, she found two sharp points sitting beneath her upper lip. She reached with trembling fingers to explore. The tip of a right fang poked her finger. “Shit!” A bright red drop bubbled to the surface.

She lifted her head. Her focus zoomed to the vein at Kenric’s neck. Each beat lifted the skin there. Fascinating. Every rush of the beautiful, dark fluid moving through his body played like an erotic melody to her ears.

She wanted him.

Wanted to sink her fangs and drink until his hot blood filled every inch of her. And then she wanted to do it again. And again.

“Oh. Dear. God.” Every inch of her pulsed with need.

He reached for her. “You’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe. Your transformation is complete. That’s all.”

She scrambled from his touch. “You don’t understand. I want you. More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life,” she growled. “I want…to sink my teeth in you.”

“I know, sweetheart. And you can have me.”

“Oh, no… No.” Emily shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t know if I can control this…this need.” She hugged her chest and rocked, wanting to curl as far away and as close to the man who wanted to give himself to her.

“Yes, you can.” His tone oozed confidence. And complete trust in her.

“You sound so sure.” She scoffed. “How do you know, when I don’t know myself?”

In the sexiest move she’d ever beheld, his gaze boring into hers, he reached behind his neck, grabbed a fistful of his sweater, and jerked it over his head. His muscles shifted and flexed across the expanse of his chest. She licked her lips and tried to find enough saliva to swallow. The impulsive need to climb up his rippled abs had her gripping the sheets.

“What are you doing? You’re insane. Get away from me!” He’d lost his mind. She might kill him.

His hands gripped her upper arms and dragged her against him.

“Please, Kenric,” she groaned against the fine hairs of his chest brushing her cheeks. “It’s too much.” She shook her head and whimpered. “Don’t you understand? I don’t know if I can stop.” The unique scent of cinnamon mixed with pine drove her mad. “It can’t be you. I don’t want to hurt you again.” Her abdominal muscles cramped. She wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. “You have to get out!” She wrenched at his hold.

“Don’t you understand?” His voice was hoarse against her hair. “It will always be me.”

Large hands clasped the sides of her face. She lifted her lashes as he tilted her head. A warm trail of tears rolled down her face.

“I won’t let you go too far,” he said. “But I don’t believe I’ll have to do anything. You’re much stronger than you realize.”

She couldn’t find her voice. Even after her confession… He still trusted her. Wanted her.

He rotated and leaned against the headboard, bringing her down on top of him. “Come here,” he said, sliding her closer to the pulse at his throat. With one hand at her nape and the other placed possessively at her right hip, he breathed into her ear, “I’m dying to feel your bite. Take from me.”

The beating of his heart called her. Irresistible. She licked once at his skin and choked on a moan. He shivered beneath her. Please, God, don’t let me hurt him.

She opened her mouth and struck.

His blood filled her mouth, but the man who held her filled her heart to overflowing. She snaked her arms around his neck and her palms into his hair. The thick, silky locks slid through her fingers while her lips and tongue pulled his delicious essence into her. Nothing in her life had ever felt so right.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kenric slipped back into the house through his private entrance. Leaving Emily, though he’d craved more, had been difficult. He’d ached to have her beneath him, his cock buried deep inside. But she’d fallen into a deep sleep after her feeding, and he’d neglected his own nourishment for too long. He’d also had to check in with his Enclave. Two nights had come and gone, but as he’d expected, Guerin had everything under control, and he was glad to hear Emily had survived her transformation and all was well.

Nearing the bed, his heart swelled. A pink tinge colored her cheeks. Her reddish brown locks lay spread across her pillow in a sea of curls that he hungered to sink his fingers into. Taking care of her, feeding her—nothing had ever felt so right.

Before their earlier talk, he’d questioned his sanity. As leader of the Enclave, he couldn’t fathom how the woman whom every cell in his body said was his soul mate could so easily stab him in the back. Though she’d confessed, her fleeting thought to betray him had hurt like hell. But the hopelessness that had driven her actions had shattered his defenses. How could he not forgive her? She owned too much of his heart, and the thought of not having her in his life… His fist clenched. He’d rather walk into the dawn.

At least between them everything was resolved, and they could move forward, because he still had a psychotic vampire bitch on the loose who wanted the beautiful woman in his bed dead. Unfortunately, that was only one part of her agenda. He was sure she wanted more.

When he found that sadistic whore, he would rip her apart bit by bit. Anticipation juiced his veins. Oh, there were many, many ways he wanted to dole out his vengeance. Ripping her apart was just the beginning.

With his clothes shed, he eased under the covers. Emily’s body matched his perfectly. He wrapped his arms around her. She’d brought an almost forgotten emotion back into his life: happiness. A feeling that had been absent for what had seemed like an eternity. And he never wanted to let her go.

She stirred. He loosened his hold, allowing her to roll over. The sleepy smile she gave him had his pulse racing and his mind and body wanting to grab her and never look back. Never reflect again on the mistakes he’d made in the past and his failure to save the lives of the two women who had loved him.

He could not let Emily down again. There would be no more second chances. He had to keep her safe, until he’d personally handled the extermination of Marguerite.

“Hello, there.” Her voice had that husky, just-woke-up sound. It fueled an already kindled fire.

The curls that graced her pillow tumbled in chaotic ringlets around her face. Too enticing. Kenric worked his fingers into a handful of her soft locks and smiled.

“I see you’re most definitely up.” With a mischievous grin on her face, she brushed her thigh against his erection.

“Why don’t you come a little closer and see for yourself.”

Her lips glided over his in a seductive, playful dance of desire. She parted for a breath, and he dived in to capture a taste.

A moan escaped her throat. He didn’t need any more encouragement. Almost seventy-two hours without her touch had proved to be too many. He dropped to her shoulder, then lower, to the gorgeous, dark nipples poking through the material of her nightshirt. He pulled at the neckline until he exposed one sweet nub. Perfection. Under the attention of his tongue, the tip pebbled, and she gasped, arching under his palm.

He wanted to imprint her taste and texture into every molecule of his senses. She was alive. Here, breathing and responding with every touch he showered over her.

What an excellent idea.

With one last kiss to the glistening bud, he rolled away.

The frustrated cry of a disappointed woman came from behind him.

He rotated and offered her his hand. “Come with me,” he said with a grin.

Her eyes narrowed with a speculative look, but she took hold of his palm anyway. “What are you up to?”

Drawing her against his chest, he spun and backed her into the bathroom. At the shower door, he jerked on the handle and opened it.

Understanding lit her face. If she only knew all the wicked things he’d love to do with her. With one deft move, he grasped the hem of her nightshirt and lifted it up and away from her delectable body. No more secrets between them. No more clothes. The passion in her eyes mesmerized him. He swooped her into his arms. Where she belonged.

A startled rush of air tickled his ear before she wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her head under his chin.

Gently, he lowered her feet onto the tiled shower floor and closed the door shut behind them.

“Wait right here,” he said.

“No.” She grabbed his arm. “Please.”

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling weak?”

“No. I feel fine. I…” She lifted her chin. “After what I did, I need to know if we’re still okay.”

Fear.

It swirled in her beautiful hazel eyes. A sight he never wanted to see there again. One he planned to erase tonight, and if he had his way, for eternity.

He slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her nipples brushed against his skin, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. “You want to know how I feel about last night. About your confession?”

Her nod brushed her hair against his chest.

He arched his pelvis and traced the curve of her spine with his fingertips. The head of his erection bumped her abdomen, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. “I understand what drove you to do what you did.” He smoothed his palm across her hair and curled his lips in a half smile. “I don’t want you to ever feel afraid or helpless again. I’ll always be there for you. And that’s not ever going to change.”

The tension in her body eased under his hands. “So we’re okay?”

“Yes.” He nodded. Kenric pulled her in, enjoying the warmth of her body and the feel of her heart beating next to his flesh. “We’re more than okay.”

“You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say those words. I can’t imagine, after everything we’ve been through together, having to live the rest of my days without you.”

Kenric flinched. The idea of something coming between them or someone taking her away seared through him like the hot edge of a blade, leaving him raw and exposed. He drew her closer, tighter. “Never going to happen,” he growled.

A few moments later, Kenric stepped away and quirked an eyebrow. “Now, let’s get back to my plan.” With a quick adjustment to the dials, he found the right temperature and set the showerheads at the proper angle. He grinned as he picked up a large sponge before turning back to Emily.

Twirling the irregular-shaped ball of yellow around on his fingers, he cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully.

“As a nurse, aren’t you supposed to be licensed in the use of one of these?” He glanced her way and back to the item rotating in his hand. “There seem to be a few spots I just can’t quite reach. Think you can help a guy out?”

Her throat worked, and he could sense her attempt to hold back a laugh.

“Yes, I’m fully licensed.” She plucked the sponge from his hand with a playful smile. “In fact, I believe I excelled in that area. But you, my darling, appear to be completely healthy.” Her devilish gaze dropped between his legs to where his cock stood at full mast.

“You’ve got one thing right.” His voice deepened. With an arm, he pulled her in close, making sure she felt every rock-hard inch of him. “Very healthy.”

She nuzzled against him. God, he loved the way she felt against his skin. Soft. Warm. And so…right.

“Like you said, though,” she said, glancing up with a grin before slinking her body down his chest and dropping to her knees. His heart rate leaped into a gallop, and his cock bobbed, the tip brushing her upturned cheek. Her twinkling eyes never left his. “I’m the nurse here, so let me be the judge of that.”

Her warm fingers gripped the base of his shaft as her mouth closed over the head. Blood left his brain in a dizzying rush. At the first pull of her sweet lips, his fangs exploded into his mouth. He gripped the shower walls at his sides with a hiss.

Slowly, she engulfed the near length of him. Then she pushed his control to the breaking point when she dropped her head back and took even more. The head of his cock bumped the smooth, slick surface at the back of her throat. Bloody hell! Never before…

His hands dropped to her head, and he buried his fingers in the damp curls of her auburn hair.

“Emily…,” he rasped. He would never get enough of her.

She cupped one hand to his sac and the other around the base of his shaft. His head fell back with a moan. Her hot tongue bathed the underside of his cock while working its way up the rigid length. His head fell forward on the special attention she paid to the sensitive rim. The hands he’d entwined in her hair trembled with restraint. Her lips, hands, and tongue drove him insane. The way she watched him as if in ecstasy—the hottest fucking thing he’d ever witnessed.

The tip of her tongue lapped at the leaking bead of precum before drawing it in for a long suck.

“Shit! God, sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

She paused long enough to give him a lazy, sexy smile.

“You like?” She applied a gentle squeeze to his shaft and balls. He cursed and fisted the back of her head.

“What do you think?” he growled.

“I think I’m not finished with my assessment yet.” And damn if she didn’t thoroughly assess every curved inch of him.

Back and forth she worked, battering at his self-control. His hips rocked of their own accord, driving his cock into her mouth. So damn good.

The sight of her surrounding him, swallowing him… He had to stop before it was too late. When he came, he wanted to be pumping deep inside her. He wanted to hear her scream his name.

“Stop, sweetheart.” His voice came out hoarse. “I need you to stop.” It took every ounce of strength he had to extract himself from the haven of her mouth.

“I wasn’t done yet.” She scowled, then curled her lip into a smile.

“But I have to get inside you. Now.” He drew her back up his body and into a desperate kiss, silencing the start of a proud giggle over a job well done. He nipped and sucked at her full lower lip, reveling in her little mewls with each tweak of his fang. “You’re destroying me with that wicked mouth of yours,” he muttered against her lips.

Emily loved the way he kissed and gasped for air as he broke away. She needed him. Needed him on a level she hadn’t known existed before he came into her life. It terrified her to crave another so much that every fiber of her being cried out for him. Yet she couldn’t run anymore. To never touch him again, or feel his touch, would be an agony she knew she would never survive.

His large and callused palms guided her to the bench on the other side of the shower. “Kneel here.”

She did as he requested and climbed onto the heated tiles. “Do you know how beautiful you are to me, Wildflower?” he whispered and caressed her bottom. The rough texture of his hands sent shivers over her skin. Her nipples puckered, yearning for his touch. She reached behind her head and dug her fingers into his hair. He encircled her waist, then slid his palms up her belly to cup her achy breasts. “You bring me to my knees. No woman has ever stirred me the way you do.”

The way he touched her, his words, made her feel…cherished.

He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, then gave them a slight tug. Her back arched, and her head dropped onto his chest with a moan. The hot ridge of his erection pressed between her cheeks and worked back and forth on the slickened path of her arousal. The erotic sensations at her breasts, coupled with the torture of his hard shaft at her rear, had her begging for more.

“Now. God, Kenric, I want you inside me now.”

His hand left her breast and followed the curve of her raised derriere. Large fingers slid between her cheeks and folds before dipping a shallow inch into her pussy. She cried out.

He hissed against her neck. “So wet for me. Do you know what a fucking turn-on that is, sweetheart?”

She loved that he seemed to lose his hold on his control, and how his voice and language turned primal. “Only for you.”

Soft kisses, laced with a growl, trailed down her throat and shoulder. His hand slid up her arm and drew her fingers from his hair. Before her, he gently pressed them against the wall with a command. “Don’t move.”

The thrill of his control, and only his control, accelerated her desire, heightening her awareness of every touch.

Of him.

Tears welled in her eyes from her escalating need and unfettered emotions, blurring her vision of the tile before her. The muscles in her thighs trembled.

God, how had she ever denied her attraction—her visceral need for this man?

At last, the broad head of his erection pressed against her opening—where her body throbbed with emptiness. She gasped, riding on the wave of pleasure.

“I’ve got what you need.” He bathed the tip of his cock in her wetness. “Remember that.”

How did he think she could ever forget? Her body would forever crave his. From the first moment he’d touched her, she had belonged to him.

“I’ll always have what you need.” His deep voice stroked her, making her center ache from its void. “Right here.” He surged forward, burying every inch of his hard cock deep inside her.

She cried out, and a spasm worked over her body as he slammed into her pussy, stretched her, and filled her to the brink of rapture. Rapid intakes of air burned a path through her chest. “Kenric… Oh, God. Yes.”

“You were made for me,” he groaned.

She wanted to move, but his arms held her tight to his chest.

He rocked into her, slowly at first, then with glorious, hard pumps of his cock. The large, smooth head of his erection bumped her womb with each thrust and stoked fevered nerve endings higher, giving her exactly what she needed. Her nails dug at the tile wall as her orgasm broke.

She screamed, riding the waves that shook her with ecstasy. He gripped her hips, thrusting inside her with delicious friction, extending her mind-altering bliss.

The sharp sting of fangs at her neck had her crying out his name as another orgasm shattered on the heels of the last. A deep groan vibrated against her throat, and the warmth of his ejaculation saturated her deep inside.

For a brief moment, the weight of his body covered hers before he slid from her and onto the bench. He pulled her over with him and onto his lap. His lips claimed hers before she could utter a sound, but she didn’t care. She could kiss him for the rest of her days and never tire of his taste. Her fingers mindlessly wandered up into his dark and wet waves. She loved his hair, loved the way the silky texture caressed her skin.

She moved to his jaw, lightly spreading her kisses along his shadow of a beard. “There’s something I want to tell you,” she breathlessly uttered. The words were busting to get out. She couldn’t go another night without letting him know how she felt.

He stared down at her expectantly. “What is it?”

“When I thought I was dying the other night, when that animal was at my throat…” His arms tensed. She brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “There were many things I thought would have flashed in my mind at the moment of my death.” She threaded her fingers through his damp hair. “But the only thing I saw was you.” She turned to touch her lips to his. “I only saw you,” she repeated and lost herself in his kiss.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The smell of blood, sex, and death clung to the air. Kenric’s eyes were closed, but he didn’t have to see to know precisely where she’d placed him. He tugged his lids apart. The dark gray walls of his former slave cell met his retinas.

“Marguerite, this is getting old,” he said in his most bored tone.

The shackles holding Kenric imprisoned on the cot dropped from his wrists and ankles and clattered against the stone wall. He rolled to his feet and strode across the dirt floor. His fingers gripped the rusted iron of the bars that once had held him. A pair of cold palms slithered up his back. Fangs dropped into his mouth, and he unleashed a sharp hiss of warning.

“Unlike with Annice, you got lucky—this time, Kenric.”

“There won’t be a next time.” He roared and spun, driving Marguerite’s body into the opposite wall with his mind.

Her back crashed into the rock. A shower of loose dirt littered the floor and air around her.

“Tsk-tsk-tsk. My, aren’t we touchy about the female.” She emerged from the cloud of dust. “You must be fucking her.” Her green eyes darkened to a pitch black, and her hips swayed as she sauntered closer. “Bet she doesn’t make you come as hard as I do. Does she, darling?”

He curled his lips into a purposeful, lazy smile. “You have no idea,” he said, closing the distance between them, his chest a whisper from hers. Her eyes widened. “When I come for her, she leaves my lungs burning, starved for air, and I shout her name from my soul.” The tips of her fangs dropped into sight. “My cock may have come for you, but your name never left my lips.”

Her head reared back, red lips stretched in a hideous contortion of rage as a shriek tore from her throat.

She lunged.

Kenric pivoted, and Marguerite whirled, her long hair fanning around her like a black cape.

“What exactly do you want, Marguerite? You have Goran’s blood. What do you plan to do with it?”

“There are things you don’t know.” She shook her head. “You turn down my offering of a place at my side so quickly, like swatting a fly.” She batted her hand and stepped forward. “It’s more than power that I’ve come for.” Her green eyes shone in the darkness. “But you won’t give me the opportunity to show you what’s in store for our future. Trust me. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed with the outcome. Together, our union would make everything right.” Marguerite’s lashes lowered as if she savored the vision in her mind.

Trust her? Goran’s essence had infected her, taking her deep inside a version of reality that she alone understood. She was insane.

“And if you won’t come to me willingly…” Her expression morphed into a sneer. “I will make it happen.” She sprang into the air, aiming straight for him.

“I’m done, Marguerite.” He spread his arms wide. “Game over.”

His eyelids sprang open. The warmth and darkness of his bedroom enveloped him as an echo of an outraged scream rang in his mind. Damn, that felt good. Rolling onto his side, he pulled Emily’s soft body close, spooning her backside. He needed to make sure if Marguerite ever came close, Emily stood a fighting chance. That meant one thing: Emily needed to be his in every way. She had to become his mate. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and his cocked twitched. Damn, he liked that idea.

She mumbled in her sleep and squirmed in his arms. Holding her tighter, he smoothed her hair. Her murmurs grew in intensity, the beat of her heart a rapid pounding drum in her chest.

“Get off of me! No!” She broke into a sob and thrashed against his hold. “I said no! Stop, please.”

“Emily! Wake up, love. It’s me.” She rolled, facing him. He grabbed her forearms, blocking the fists going for his face and chest.

“Stop! I won’t let you do this,” she snarled through her fangs.

“Emily!” He gave her a shake, hard enough to get her attention but not enough to hurt. Her lashes lifted. For a few moments, wide hazel eyes gazed unseeingly into his before recognition took hold.

“Kenric,” she whispered. She threw herself into his arms, rocking him back. His heart ached with each shudder running through her. In silence, he held her. He had a feeling what she needed most were his arms, not his words.

After a while, her tremors stilled. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what happened.” She shrugged. “Bad dream, I guess.”

He lifted her chin, the lingering shadow of pain impossible to miss.

“It’s more than a bad dream, and we both know it. When are you going to let me in so that I can take that pain from you?”

A rush of moisture filled her eyes, but she blinked it away. She shifted from his hold and leaned against the headboard, her face a stoic shield.

“I haven’t asked you any more questions. I wanted to give you time to come to me, when you were ready. During your turning, you cried out about your father, and now this.” He slid next to her and caressed her cheek with his palm. “I know you’re hurting. Talk to me, love.”

She dragged her face from his touch and tucked her chin. “It’s embarrassing,” she mumbled. “I’m a grown woman, letting the scars from my childhood and the actions of another still affect me.”

“Emily…” With the palm of his hand, he cupped her chin. “Look at me.” She clutched his hand with her own and allowed him to bring her face to his. “I’m the epitome of that statement. I have allowed the past to define me for three centuries.”

She reached out, turned, and sank into his arms. Fine with him. No place in the world he’d rather be than wrapped around her.

A deep sigh released from her chest. “After my ninth birthday, not a day went by that my father wasn’t drunk, and when he was…anything would set him off.” He held her a little tighter. “Something as simple as not moving fast enough when he called or not cleaning my plate at dinner. I never knew what I would get. His fist, his belt…or his favorite punishment, the closet.” Chills lifted under his palms, and she shivered. Lightly, he brushed her arms, warming her and hoping to encourage her to let go of the horrible memories.

“I used to pray for the belt. At least it would have been over faster.” She grew quiet and still in his embrace. Then a soft voice whispered, “I hate the dark. My dad would lock me away when he said I was bad. Our coat closet didn’t have a light. I would lie there with my face as close as I could get to the narrow slit of light under the door.”

Both his hands curled into tight fists. Son of a bitch. His gut rebelled at the image of her, a sweet little girl, abused in such a way. A damn good thing her father was already dead. Daddy wouldn’t have wanted to experience the punishment he had in mind for him.

He placed a kiss to the top of her head. She cleared her throat and rubbed the back of his fist. “I never knew when he’d get around to coming back. Sometimes he would pass out, forgetting I was in there. Mom was too scared of what he’d do to her if she let me out before he gave permission. She let him control her every move and virtually her every breath.” Her voice grew bolder. “I promised myself I’d never allow any man to treat me or my chil…” She stilled, the rest of her words left hanging in midair. “I’m never going to have children, am I?” The sad plea in her voice wrapped around his heart and squeezed.

Kenric closed his eyes and breathed deep. Would she hate him now? “No, Wildflower,” he whispered. “Just like we talked about, as far as I know, male or female, the result is the same: sterility.”

Her curls brushed his chest as she nodded. “Well, I won’t lie and say it’s not disappointing. But sometimes you may not see why you’re led down a certain path in life. You just have to hold on in the dark and have a little faith that you’ll end up exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

“You’re amazing.” He gave her a light squeeze. “You know that? Amazing.”

She laughed. “Well, you may think so now, but you haven’t heard the rest of the brilliant decisions I’ve made in my past.”

“Like what?”

“Like the time I went and got myself engaged to someone even worse than dear old dad. I’d promised myself not to let myself be treated like my father had done to me and my mother. But not only would my fiancé lock me in our room when he wanted to punish me, but afterward, in the bedroom, he’d remind me exactly who was in charge. Those are the dreams I can’t seem to shake.”

“This is the bastard you didn’t want me to kill?” The words rumbled from his chest. “My God, if I had known the extent…”

She uncurled herself from his arms, and her soft hands wrapped around his neck. “I hurt you before—when you were only trying to protect me, and I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve been through hell in your life, and I’m sure my actions, from the moment we met, didn’t make things any easier on you.”

Emily arched one delicate brow with an unsaid, you think? “When you showed up, I was desperate to reinvent myself. To regain control of my life. When Jeff knocked on the door that night, I needed to feel like I could hold my own against him. To prove to myself that he didn’t intimidate me anymore.”

“I never want you to feel like a prisoner with me.”

“You make me feel cherished and, at the same time, amazingly free to be myself. I realize I would never be in prison with you.” She rose to her knees, punching the air from his chest and grabbing the reins to his heart with the smoldering heat in her gaze. “Just the opposite. With you… Because of you, I’m empowered. And I’m not running anymore. I love you, Kenric St. James.”

Emily knew she’d laid it all on the line. Like a giant bull’s-eye, she’d stuck her heart out there, and it was open season. But the way he touched her, held her, and wanted to know everything about her, said he cared.

“You have no idea what a miracle you are to me, do you?” Both of his hands burrowed into her hair. “You’ve brought happiness into my life again. I’d built a wall around my heart so high, I didn’t believe it would be possible for anyone to scale it.” His lips brushed her forehead, and the slight touch flipped her heart over. He drew back and gave her a smile that brought a hitch to her throat. “But you did.” His thumb stroked her bottom lip, sending a tingle of desire down her spine and a rush of arousal between her legs. “You not only scaled it, but you brought the son of a bitch crashing down.”

He laughed, and it played like beautiful music to her ears. The tune carried notes of pure, unabashed joy, and it filled her heart to near-bursting.

“Stay there. I have something I want to give you.” He left the bed before she could reply.

He sauntered naked across the room, each step powerful and sure, the rippling flex and extension of his muscles declaring him a warrior. The man made her blood overheat.

Moments later, he stood at the bedside holding a black leather pouch. He held it out. She opened her hand, and he dropped it into her waiting palm. “What is this?” She held the lightweight package up and studied it.

“Open it and see.”

She pulled at the ties and spread the material open. Inside laid a coiled bundle of leather straps lined with a silver band on one side. “Uh… Thanks?” She glanced up, and one corner of her mouth rose in a smile.

He grinned but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he climbed into bed and stretched out like a big cat waiting for a scratch to its tummy. And damn if she wasn’t itching to oblige, but first, she had to figure out what the items in her hand were intended for.

“Kenric, what is this all about?”

“Come here,” he said in a deep and sexy-as-hell voice. A voice that he had to know damn well would have her doing anything he asked.

As if she were feather-light, he grasped her, placing her astride his hips. His thick shaft nestled in the groove of her bare bottom, chasing her breath away. The storm returned to his eyes, the one named desire. And it consumed her. She rode the waves cresting there, and he took her out to sea. No lighthouse to find her way home, but she wasn’t afraid. She wanted to stay there—with him—forever.

“Since the first moment I met you, I knew you were something very special. But because of the danger and the darkness that surrounds me, I didn’t want to acknowledge the reality of what I’d found.” He brushed her cheek. “You’re my soul mate, Wildflower. And I know that with every fiber of my being. You were meant for me.”

It was as if he were reading the script etched on her heart. She believed it as well. He was meant to be in her life. “You’re my rock, my anchor, Kenric St. James,” Emily said, her voice cracking. She placed her palm over his breastbone, and he gripped her fingers.

“For a master vampire, the discovery of a mate that’s a perfect match, body and soul, is a powerful and rare experience. But I didn’t want to believe it had happened. Because caring for any woman has proven in the past to be a death sentence to the one who chose to be a part of my life. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, too.” The tender look on his face tied her up in knots. She sat the gift bag on the washboard of muscles before her, then slid her palms down the sides of his arms and into his hands.

Suddenly, a smile curved lips so delectable, she had to resist the urge to lean forward and steal a taste. “But look at you, sitting there, having defied death.” His hands left hers and followed the curve of her arms down to the tops of her thighs. “My Wildflower, you’re so strong—beautiful—and the other half of my soul. I love you.”

She chewed her lip to keep from sobbing once more in front of him. Shit. The man made her snivel like an idiot. “Kenric…” He stole her words, her mind. Placing her hands to his abs, she leaned forward and tasted his lips before claiming his mouth.

He kissed her like a man starved. Famished for the love he’d denied himself for years. She returned his hunger, wanting to be the woman who gave him everything his heart had been missing.

Without warning, he took his lips from hers. “There’s something I want to offer you,” he whispered breathlessly.

“I don’t need anything else. I have all that I need right here.” She placed a finger to his lips.

“Please, I want to do this, but I want you to think before you answer, because it cannot be undone.”

“What are you saying?”

“Remember when I spoke of vampires having the ability to mate? Blend with another at the level of their very soul?”

“Yes.”

“That is what I want with you. To share the rest of my days as a part of you, Wildflower.”

She rocked back. Her hands shot straight to her face and covered her mouth. Speechless. With a shake of her head, she rattled a few coherent syllables together. “There are no words …”

“Think about this clearly. I have. And I have no doubts that we were meant to be together.” His gaze dropped to the leather pouch still sitting between them. “Those straps that I gave you, if you decide you want this, are for you to bind me with. I must submit to you.”

“Kenric, you’re joking.” She shook her head. “I have to tie you down?”

He took her hand in his. “Yes, we would become a part of one another, and at the end of the blending, you would share in my strength. That is why the male submits. I know this probably feels like we’re moving fast.”

A chuckle bubbled up from Emily’s gut. “Everything about us has moved at lightning speed. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“With Marguerite’s power escalating, we don’t have the luxury of a long courtship. As the other half of my soul, and for as long as we live, neither I nor any male will ever control or dominate you again. Not that any would dare touch you, if they wished to continue living.”

She smiled, having seen the proof of that statement with Jeff. The man before her was incredible. He understood her fears and offered her the power to conquer them. To free herself. Never to be at the mercy of another man again. Bound to a fortress of power, yet at the same time, she would maintain the strength of her independence. Her head spun. “Kenric, what you’re offering me is staggering. That you’re willing to give yourself to me in this way touches me so deeply.” She squeezed his hands. “You said a blending. How is this done?”

“It would require you to drain me. My soul would leave my body at that moment and enter yours, blending with your essence. Afterward, you would need to compel me to feed from your vein, and, as I revive, my soul would return to me as a blended version of us both. You will sense me as never before and gain the ability to communicate with me telepathically.”

“But I have to kill you. Is that what you’re saying?” She jerked her head back and forth and snatched her hands free from his. A horrific panic gripped her, and she wrapped her arms under her breasts. “What if something goes wrong and I can’t bring you back?” Submission of his body, that in itself moved her, but he wanted to give all of himself—his power, his soul, his life—to her, and he trusted her to return it to him.

“It won’t. To actually kill me, you would have to remove my head or put a dagger through my heart. In this situation, I would neither be dead or alive. But that’s not going to happen.”

She scoffed. Mr. Always So Confident. For some crazy reason his explanation did not make her feel any better.

“Nothing will go wrong,” he repeated. “Because I know this was meant to be.” His hands encircled her arms. “The most important thing here is…” Roughened palms loosened her hold and stroked her forearms. “Is this what you want? Marguerite is still a threat, and she will be enraged when she learns of this. I promise you, I will protect you with my life and all that is in my power. It sickens me to know that my world puts you in danger, but I can’t exist any longer without you. In here.” His fist struck his sternum.

Ever since she’d found him lying injured and unconscious, her body and soul had yearned for him. Her life had changed forever that night. His words rang true in her heart and mind. Destiny had brought her to this moment in time.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Are you absolutely sure?” His fingertips glided across her cheek. “There’s no way to reverse this once it’s done. No divorce like in the human world. We will be married on a plane so deep, death will not even part us.”

She took his hand in hers and laced their fingers. “Look at me.” She leaned in a little closer, her voice hoarse. “I would choose to die tomorrow, having shared my life with you—having been loved by you, rather than be gifted an eternity without you.” She sealed her pledge with a greedy kiss, yearning for the future he offered.

The leather pouch tumbled to the bed, reminding her of what they must do first. She removed her lips from his and scooped it up from the mattress. “I take it I need to secure you with these.” She lifted the small bag, indicating the bindings inside. He nodded before reaching behind his head, stretching his arms wide to grasp the headboard.

“Be sure you wear the gloves that are inside,” he said, lifting his chin to indicate the bag in her hand. “Dump the contents out first and find them. The silver on the underside of the straps will burn you, if you’re not careful. They were made specifically to contain a vampire.”

Her hands trembled, making it difficult to slide her fingers into the black leather gloves. With the gloves in place, she shifted off his body. The hardwood floor chilled her bare feet as she made her way to the headboard and the large wrists waiting for her there.

“When you bind me, be sure you place the silver to my wrist.” His darkened gaze flicked to hers.

“You want me to put this so it will burn you?” She took a step back from the bed. Oh my God. She couldn’t stand the thought of intentionally hurting him.

“This is about complete submission. I want this, Wildflower. I want to give myself only to you.” The tone in his voice clenched her core. He was hers.

Emily cinched the strap tight around his flesh. Within seconds, a tendril of white smoke curled from where the silver met his skin. The stench of burning flesh stung her nostrils, shooting the taste of bile to the back of her throat. Her gaze darted to his face. He hadn’t flinched. How could he stand the pain?

“Kenric, please… This has got to be excruciating.” She gripped the top of the headboard to keep herself from ripping the silver off him.

He tilted his head in her direction. “It’s not too bad. Don’t worry.” A slight shrug lifted his shoulders. “It’s going to be worth every minute, because when this is over, I’ll have you forever.”

“God… If I didn’t love you so much, I’d have you committed.” Even through the agony she knew coursed down his arms, he graced her with a smile that beckoned her to take him. She ran her fingers through her hair and sucked in a calming breath.

With his wrists secured, she tugged the leather gloves from her hands one finger at a time, enjoying the way he watched each movement, raking her body with his smoldering stare.

Her fingertips grazed the top of the silk sheet as she circled the four-poster bed. The air left her chest in shallow bursts. He was magnificent. Nude and fiercely aroused, the warrior lying bound to the massive bed met her perusal with equal intensity. She loved how he made her feel. Desired before all others. Powerful. In control, yet out of her mind at the same time. It had all happened so fast, and she could barely remember the trip. But she’d take it again in a heartbeat if it would bring her here. To this very moment.

Like a predator with her prey, she climbed onto the mattress beside him. She traced the rapid rise and fall of his chest lightly with her fingertips, following his ripples down the center of his abdomen. She mapped the hard lines, ending with the length of his straining erection. As she reached the tip, his back lifted from the bed, and a bead of moisture appeared in the slit. She smoothed the liquid over the flushed head and circled the ridge, wringing a hiss of approval from the back of his throat. She adored the way he responded to her touch.

“I love you.” His velvet voice caressed her, drawing her gaze to his. “I’m yours, now and forever. Take me for your pleasure, my love. My flesh, my soul, and my blood, they’re yours. Draw me into your body. Blend your essence with mine, and spend the remainder of eternity with me.”

Never in her wildest dreams had she dreamed that she would find someone who loved her so completely. She believed that someone found their one true love, a hero, only in fairy tales or romance novels. Somehow, by some divine intervention or destined fate, she’d found one, and he’d just offered her his life.

Emily straddled his hips, relishing the feel of his hard cock parting her swollen folds. This was it. Once they fell together over the precipice there would be no turning back. Two would become one. She wrapped her fingers around the hot shaft, smooth silk over hard steel, holding herself completely still. Her breath trapped in her lungs. Kenric moaned with anticipation, the head of his cock waiting at her entrance.

And she’d never wanted anything more in her entire life.

With one firm press of her hips, she claimed him. Her head fell back, and the room winked out for a split second. A deep groan, her own and his, returned her to her senses. No one had ever filled her the way he did. It wasn’t penetration with Kenric. Rather, it was a joining of two bodies.

Her fangs burst from her gums, coaxed by the lust for her mate. In slow, precise glides, she slid over his cock, every nerve on fire, and eased forward, seeking the pulse she craved. His head fell to the side. Her tongue flicked at his throbbing vein, her own heartbeat pounding away at her skull.

“Kenric,” she whispered. “Please tell me if you have any doubts before I can’t turn back.”

“I want you,” he growled. “Do it. Take me.”

Thank God. She struck. Hot blood spilled into her mouth, and she drank with greedy swallows. His back arched, followed by the driving thrusts of his hips. She matched each upward lunge with her own downward stroke. Each swift meeting buried his cock deeper, stroking the sensitized nerve endings until the dam on her orgasm broke.

A muffled scream wrenched from her throat.

Spasms of sheer ecstasy centered where his hard cock speared her core. Her muscles clenched, trying to capture and hold on to the rapture.

Beneath her, Kenric moaned her name, and the headboard protested. It creaked under the abuse of the warrior tied to it. With a loud bang of wood against plaster, he stiffened, and a guttural shout of pleasure filled the room. She swung her head from his neck. The straps remained intact, but the headboard lay broken and sagging against the wall.

Her gaze fell to his open vein. A trickle, instead of a stream, flowed from the wound. This was it. God, what if she lost him?

“Don’t stop.” His command came, as if he sensed her conflicted emotions. She gripped the pillow beneath his head. “Finish it,” he said on a ragged breath. “Drink, Emily.”

She returned, pulling at the wound, encouraging it to continue to give. His body grew cool and still beneath her. A wave of panic and dizziness inundated her. Don’t leave me, Kenric. Please don’t leave me.

A tidal wave of intoxicating blood raced through her system. The potent essence of her mate had created her, but she wasn’t accustomed to so much at once. Her heart sputtered, and her limbs trembled. Chills ran down her spine, and a shiver skated across her skin.

Suddenly, the cold subsided on the heels of a firestorm, building inside her. “Emily.” Her gaze swung to Kenric’s lips. “Emily.” His voice, except his mouth never moved. She’d heard him in her head.

“It’s you.” She closed her eyes and spoke inside her mind. “I can feel you. Your warmth consumes me.” Her palms roamed her body, pursuing the trail of his soul. It danced under her skin in a kaleidoscope of heat, then flame. Behind her eyelids, colors whirled in dazzling reds, yellows, and blues.

“Bring me back. It’s time. I must return, before it’s too late.” The urgency in his words yanked her back to the present and into action. Bringing her wrist to her fangs, she bit.

With the flow of blood at his mouth, she prayed and worked the stream into the small part between his lips. A trickle of red seeped from the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t swallow.

“Kenric! Damn you. Drink, you hardheaded vampire!” She choked back a sob. Wrapping what he’d taught her about compulsion into her voice, she threw her words at him. “I swear, I’m going to kick your ass if you don’t swallow and come back to me.”

His eyelids flew open. Wild, dilated pupils searched her face with a glassy stare. He gulped, then released a strangled cough from the overflow in his mouth. His chest rose on a long, deep breath. The warm feel of it at her wrist melted her. If she’d been standing, she knew her legs would have failed her.

Fangs pierced the flesh at her wrist. She cried out from the sharp dig of his teeth. Ravenous hunger drove him to sink deeper. With her free hand, she wiped at the fine layer of sweat popping at her brow.

The hairs on her arms and her nape stood on end. A hot, tingling sensation leaked through her pores as a portion of her, merged with Kenric’s returning soul, left her body. She would have thought to feel empty, but the remaining essence of her mate left her complete.

Her heart skipped in her chest as his eyelashes lifted. The summer blue of his eyes cleared. Her warrior had returned.

His fevered pace at her vein slowed, replaced by the warmth of his tongue. He applied pressure at the wound they had both formed before pulling away. The growing light in his expression told her that he felt a new acute awareness of her.

She dropped onto the bed beside him and grabbed her gloves to release the restraints she’d almost forgotten were in place.

As soon as his arms slid free, he pushed into a sitting position. With trembling fingers, she climbed the planes of his abdomen and chest. She’d never fully realized the extraordinary power that lay restrained within the vampire she now called her mate. Her mind hummed with it.

His hand met hers, his fingers brushing her skin, before he brought it to his lips. The link they shared flooded her senses.

“You feel incredible in here.” He tapped the place above his heart with their joined hands. “I honestly don’t know how I’ve walked this world without you for so long.”

She squeezed his hand, her mind spinning, overwhelmed with the depth of his emotions. “My love, you’ll never again journey alone.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Arran shifted in his seat for the third time, trying his best to appear disinterested in the chestnut-haired beauty helping Michael clean the kitchen. He should find something else to focus on before someone noticed, but the sway of her hips and the curve of her back captivated his imagination. All the things he envisioned doing against those rounded curves tortured him. The endless places he wanted to bend her sweet ass over, or spread her naked on, or…

Shit. He needed to get a grip.

None of those fantasies would ever make it out of his head. Gabrielle was too precious. Too innocent. If she knew him, really knew him, the look in her eyes would turn to hate, instead of the adoration she touched him with now that made his heart turn inside out.

Arran pushed to his feet, sliding the chair back with a scrape along the hardwood floor. Across the table, Logan shot him an irritated glare. The heat of Gabrielle’s gaze tracked him out of the room. No one dared to ask about his abrupt departure. Excellent. The aura he wore did its trick.

Halfway up the stairs, his cell vibrated. He slid it from his jeans pocket and glanced at the blue-lit display. Markus. About damn time. “Nice of you to check in, bastard,” Arran said with a blast of sarcasm.

“Kiss my ass.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Arran flung his bedroom door closed and plopped down on the edge of his bed.

“I had to go. It was…personal. Something I couldn’t put off any longer.”

“So damn urgent, it had you walking out on the Enclave during a crisis? Kenric’s going to have your head.”

“Yeah, he probably will.” Markus grew silent on the line for a few seconds before asking, “Who’s all around tonight?”

“Guerin and Logan just came in from patrol. We’re all here.”

“So Guerin still has you on security detail for Kenric and his woman? I take it she survived.”

“Kenric gave Guerin an update earlier tonight. Looks like Emily’s going to make it. What’s up with you and the twenty questions, man? Why don’t you come in and see for yourself?” Markus didn’t sound right. Arran didn’t know what the hell was going on, but his partner hadn’t been the same since his freak accident.

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon. I have some loose ends to tie up first.”

“Markus…” The line went dead.

…

The sliding door to the Enclave central command hissed open before Arran could enter the password. Guerin exited, still dressed in patrol gear. A couple of hours remained before sunup, but he and Logan had called it for the night because of Markus’s stunt. With Kenric occupied with Emily’s transition, Guerin wanted a team on base at all times.

“Hey, man. I was looking for you,” Arran said as the steel door slid shut behind Guerin. “Markus contacted me, said he’d be in soon.”

Guerin brushed past him with an aggravated huff. “I want some food. So, if you see him before we do…” He pulled up short, long enough to glance over his shoulder, his dark eyes edged with frustration. “Tell him to find me the moment his ass crosses this threshold.”

“I’ll let him know.”

With a grunt, Guerin resumed his trek for the kitchen, and Arran trailed him up the staircase. As their boots struck the first floor, a perimeter-breach alarm blared throughout the compound. Gabrielle and Logan bolted from the kitchen door a few feet down the hall, heading for the security office. Shock resonated throughout the compound, a palpable wave off each warrior. For years, the Enclave’s residence had remained a secured location, miles away from any DEAD activity. Though they were prepared for any assault, a direct attack on their headquarters blindsided them.

The locker for weapons on the main floor stood outside security. Arran slammed to a halt beside it, while Guerin headed straight to security to join Gabrielle and Logan. Arran entered the password and yanked the door open as a distinct shadow fell across his arm. Without looking back, he tossed several blades to Kenric and loaded himself down with as many as he could carry. When the last weapon passed to his leader, Arran banged the door shut and spun. Kenric appeared to have dressed in a hurry, since the only thing covering him were faded blue jeans and a row of bite marks on his neck. Damn. He jerked his gaze way. No time for jealousy over those telling marks. Arran bit down, clenching his jaw hard onto his resolve, and fell in behind Kenric.

“Report.” Kenric targeted Guerin inside security.

Guerin glanced over his shoulder. “We’ve got six intruders at various locations around the perimeter about two hundred fifty yards out.”

“They’re low-level heat signatures. Vampires,” Gabrielle said, her focus riveted to the computer monitor.

“I agree,” Guerin replied from his position opposite Kenric’s at Gabrielle’s shoulder. “Dammit and motherfucker!” Guerin’s fist collided with the oak desk. “More just appeared less than twenty-five feet from the compound walls. I count five. They’re moving in phase leaps across the grounds, never in the same location for more than a few seconds.”

Gabrielle jumped to her feet, grabbing earpieces for each warrior. For a brief moment, her gaze held Arran’s as she placed one of the wireless devices into his hand. “I’ll keep you updated as their locations change.” Her voice carried to everyone, but when her hand slid from his, the look in her eyes sent a clear message for him alone. Be careful. He coiled his fist around the piece and tightened the hold on his heart. She needed to stop wasting her prayers and wishes on him.

He’d been dead long before she had even been born.

Arran wrapped the receiver around his ear and headed down the hall with his team. “Where’s Emily?” The question came in loud and clear over the device.

“Armed and secured in my quarters.” Kenric’s voice. “Where I told her to stay put.”

“You really expect her to follow your orders?” The underlying humor in Guerin’s tone was hard to miss. No verbal response came, but up ahead, Arran caught the kiss-my-ass glare Kenric threw Guerin.

They reached the end of the corridor as the sound of breaking glass echoed through the house. Michael rounded the corner and pointed to the blade Arran carried. “You got an extra one of those?”

Arran pulled the spare from the small of his back and handed it over, hilt first. “Keep close.”

“You can count on it.” Michael gripped the hilt and rotated it until the blade lay flush against his wrist.

“We’ve got six in the house now,” Gabrielle’s soft voice whispered in Arran’s ear. “One heading upstairs. Two at the entrance to operations. The others are heading straight for you.”

Kenric pivoted. His gaze tapped Arran, then Logan. “You two take the bastards down here. Guerin and I have the others.” No sooner had he given the orders when the commander and his second phased.

The house went dark, and a cry filled the dark void. One down. The emergency lights clicked, flooding the house in a soft yellow glow layered with shadows. Vampires attacking vampires, and the intruders took the time to kill the lights. A waste of fucking time. Except for two humans, everyone in the battle possessed superior night vision. Apparently the DEADs had a flair for drama. The Enclave had a flair for killing the stupid fucks, and no loss of light would lessen their advantage.

Adrenaline flooded Arran’s system, contracting his heart into a rapid battering of the walls inside his chest. For some, the hormone made them less effective, nervous, and edgy. For Arran, he soaked it up like a junkie, becoming more alive, alert, and ready for anything.

Logan panned right, and Arran took the left, spreading out across the main level. A slight breeze followed by the stench of decay invaded Arran’s nostrils seconds before a DEAD materialized in his path. The bloodsucker lunged with his blade drawn.

Arran tucked and rolled, dodging the initial attack. He regained his feet, whirled, and slashed the rear of the DEAD’s neck. Blood flashed from the wound, and the vampire’s head lolled forward, severed from his spine.

A curse rung out from Logan’s mouth, and Arran glanced across the open expanse of the living area. A DEAD intruder battled the warrior. A long slice to Logan’s arm smoked like a pan of damn fried bacon. How the hell did these DEADs get their hands on silver-plated daggers?

Marguerite.

She must have armed them with the Enclave’s own weapon of choice.

The bigger fucking question of the night was, what traitorous asshole ratted out their location? His feet rooted to the floor. The earlier phone conversation with Markus replayed in his mind. No. He shook his head at the nagging suspicion making him ill. Markus wouldn’t…?

“Three more. I detect three more intruders on the first floor.” Gabrielle’s alarmed voice filled his ear.

…

Markus watched from his vantage point five hundred yards outside the compounds’ sensors. Like clockwork, the lights had gone out, sending the house onto emergency power. Why the hell not? Make them all scurry like rats. Kenric had to be out of his fucking mind right about now. Never would he believe one of his own had betrayed his perfect order. It had been so easy, just like Marguerite had predicted.

He chuckled, riding high on his mistress’s blood. His body ached, not yet completely healed from the punishment of her whip, claws, and fangs.

When his mission was over, he would savor his reward. He stroked the hard length of his cock in anticipation. Marguerite would make all the pain and deception worth it. Relinquishing the Enclave’s fucked-up hold on his mind had been difficult, at first. They’d been the only taste of honor he’d ever known. Then Marguerite had opened his eyes to what truly lay in the darkness, and it was more than he had ever imagined. She was powerful and beautifully exotic. And she was delicious.

The dimly lit sitting room came into focus as Markus phased to the third floor of headquarters. With the house under full attack, he knew Kenric would leave Emily in the one place he believed to be most secure: his private wing. Only Enclave warriors would have visual knowledge of Kenric’s living quarters, thus the ability to phase into the location. Surely, his fuck-toy was safe, locked away inside the master’s den. What foolish arrogance on his former commander’s part.

No one was ever truly safe.

Dressed in a man’s white T-shirt and oversize sweats, the woman paced the floor, working the hilt of a blade inside her fist. A muttering of various curses rolled from her lips. Left behind and fucking pissed, she didn’t sense his presence behind her.

Markus glided forward, sticking to the shadows, his body a transparent veil of a human form. He palmed the dart gun loaded with Ketamine buried inside his pocket. Two feet from him, she came to an abrupt stop. Her head dropped into her hands with an exasperated sigh.

Perfect.

Aiming straight for her exposed neck, Markus fired.

Bull’s-eye.

She whirled, yanking the dart out of her neck. Her wide eyes scanned the object and the surrounding room, but she would find nothing but dark corners. Within seconds, her knees buckled, and her unconscious body wilted.

Breaking free of the shadows, Markus kneeled and scooped Emily from the floor. The sensors would detect the extra presence in her quarters, but he’d be long gone. And Kenric, too late. He grinned and phased them both on a trip to his mistress’s arms.

…

Something was wrong. A sudden emptiness—a void—welled inside Kenric’s chest. He reached for his mate with his mind, but there was nothing on the other end, only stillness. Across their connection, he called to her, but she didn’t answer.

“Emily!” he cried out and bounded up the stairs. Why wouldn’t she answer?

Like a madman, he burst through the security door to his residence. Empty. His soul couldn’t find the essence that matched his. He didn’t need to search, though he did, tearing through every room. Agony constricted his heart to the point that the blood in his veins felt like sludge, too thick and heavy to circulate.

Please, God, don’t take her from me. Not when only a few hours ago, because of her, he’d learned to breathe again. And that air smelled like wildflowers.

From the floor near the baseboard, a glint of light bouncing off metal caught his eye. He dropped to one knee. He found her blade, and something else lying beside it.

Boots pounded the stairs outside his room. Kenric straightened as his warriors filled the room, his gaze transfixed on the black and silver dart between his fingertips. His fangs ached to rip into the throat of the one who had dared touch his mate.

The room shook from his rage. Lifting his gaze to his team, he pronounced, “Marguerite dies tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“When do you think she’ll come around?”

“I don’t know. Mistress said to let her know when she shows any signs of waking,” a thickly accented voice answered. “That new slave didn’t go under like this. No matter if she’s fucking a master, she’s still female—still weak. The same dose that just dazed him kicked her little vampire ass.”

Emily cracked an eyelid to get a look at the assholes discussing her. She didn’t risk further movement. The blurry image of bars crashed into her brain and sent her pulse racing.

A cell.

They’d locked her in a cell. She bit her cheek to keep from screaming. The metallic taste of blood leaked across her tongue.

Every muscle knotted in rebellion as she fought the surge of her fight-or-flight reflex kicking into high gear. The ache in her bones and the grit in her mouth confirmed they’d left her lying on a dirt floor. The dank, earthen smell filled her nose with each rapid breath she failed to control.

“Well, look who’s waking up and come to join in on our fun? Open those eyes, Red. I know you’re hearing every word.”

Shit, they must have noticed the changes in her heart rate and respiration. She dragged her eyelids open. No use pretending anymore. Two young men leaned against the bars. To her surprise, they were quite handsome and wore finely tailored white silk shirts and black slacks. Both grinned through the iron bars as if she were the prize catch of the day. Okay, so not a good analogy. She might very well be dinner.

After a few ungraceful attempts to stand on her legs, she finally made her way over to the bars.

“Inform Mistress Marguerite that her…guest is awake,” the man with what sounded like a Spanish accent and long chocolate brown hair instructed the blond to his left. Without hesitation, the blond raced away.

“Sleep well?” The Spaniard swung his dark gaze back to her, jamming his hand through the bars and into her hair.

Emily hissed and jerked back, stumbling into the damp wall. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself,” she spat.

“Admirable.” His lips curled into a smile, displaying two long fangs. “But that feisty attitude will do you no good here. You belong to our mistress now. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of the show while she puts an end to another one of her precious Kenric’s whores.”

“Enrique, I suggest you watch your tongue if you wish to keep it. I’ll decide if I want an audience.” A serpent-like hiss of a feminine voice filled the dirt and stone space. “I would hate for you to lose a body part with which you are so talented.”

Every hair on Emily’s body stood on end. An exotic beauty, wearing sheer green silk held together by black netting down its center, glided into view. The gauzy fabric and strategically placed fishnet did little to cover her breasts or hide the top of a nether region Emily had no desire to see. Enrique tucked in his chin and inched away from the bars.

Guided by self-preservation, Emily backed into the corner of the small cell. The raven-haired woman with jade green eyes radiated pure evil. “Marguerite Devonshire, I presume?” At least she could be proud that she sounded steadier than she felt.

“That is correct, dear. And you are Emily Ross, Kenric’s newest and most fleeting interest.”

“Kenric will kill you for this.” Emily pushed away from the wall, striding a few steps forward. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. And she sure as hell would not let this bitch see her beg.

Marguerite’s head tilted back with a laugh born in hell. “Oh, dear, I sure hope he’ll try. Don’t you realize that is exactly why you’re here? Kenric needs a reminder of the place he is destined to take at my side. So you be a good girl and let your latest fuck find you. And when he does, I’m going to enjoy making him watch while I kill you.”

Insane laughter followed the monster as she exited Emily’s prison. Her Spanish guard turned to follow his mistress, pausing long enough to purse his lips in an exaggerated kiss between the bars. Her stomach heaved.

Emily stumbled backward until she found the wall, and her false sense of bravado gave out. From her spot on the floor, she reached for Kenric in her mind, praying that by some chance she might find him there. If only they’d had more time, she would have learned how to tap into her mate. Instead of becoming a pawn in Marguerite’s sick game.

…

The stranglehold of the sun had never driven Kenric as close to the point of madness as it had today. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to lash out at his warriors earlier and possibly kill one of them for keeping him from his mate. But they’d been right. Emily had been taken less than an hour before sunrise. Not enough time remained to find her.

Sunlight continued to paint the sky outside. He felt it in the way his skin prickled and itched. But he wouldn’t last another minute banging around like a damn pinball within the confines of his residence. Dressed in black leather and with every inch of his body armed, Kenric hit the stairs.

Time to bring his mate home and put an end to Marguerite once and for all.

Outside the entrance to central command, Kenric punched in his access code and placed his right hand on the identification screen. A blue beam of light scanned his palm, and the heavy steel door slid open. The door sealed with a brush of air behind him as he entered the expanse of the room. His boots ground to a halt. Swallowing hard, he worked his throat while his brain attempted to churn out some intellect befitting for what waited for him.

The entire Enclave—except for Markus, which he found odd—had assembled. Damn impressive. With the exception of Guerin, his warriors were young, under two hundred years old. An early rise would have proven quite a feat.

Guerin came forward and met him.

“Don’t look so surprised. We pledged to protect her as our own, even before she became your mate. And your Enclave would gladly give their lives to bring her home to you.” Kenric gripped Guerin’s forearm with a firm shake that needed no words.

Gathered around the conference table, the team plotted their strategy. Kenric stood with both arms braced on the back of his chair. “I want all of you to know how much I respect and appreciate your commitment. Not just to the Enclave, but to Emily and me as well. You’ve demonstrated that tonight, with the strength it took for you to be here at this hour. I won’t forget.” Kenric studied his knuckles as they gripped the black leather of his chair. “Marguerite took Emily for one reason. It’s her way of saying, you want her? Come and get her. She doesn’t realize Emily is my mate, but she would have assumed I’d taken her blood, knowing how easy that would make it to track her.” Heads rotated, and brows lifted around the table at the clear implication. “Yeah, it’s a trap. Not only does she want Emily dead, she wants me there to witness it.” A muttering of curses drifted from his team.

“Marguerite alone is an incredible adversary, but as you’ve seen, she has a colony of loyal minions and DEADs at her disposal. This may very well be a suicide mission.” Kenric met each fierce gaze of his warriors. He would never force any of them into a battle they didn’t wish to take on as their own. Emily was his life. His world. And if he had to go alone… Nothing could stop him from finding her and bringing her home. Alive.

“If you’re waiting to see if any of us want out”—Logan grabbed his attention—“I can assure you, my oath to the Enclave had no strings attached. From what I’ve witnessed, taking Marguerite out will be a great service to the world.” Logan kicked back in his chair and cracked his knuckles.

Around the table, the crew added their parallel sentiments and their desires to remove Marguerite’s head and smoke some DEADs.

“Very well.” Kenric nodded. “Let’s bring my mate home and make sure Marguerite and her minions never see another sunset.”

While the team readied their comm links and gear, Kenric met with his second-in-command. “Guerin, have the team ready. Once I’m as close as I can get to Emily without detection, I’ll contact you with my coordinates. I’ll take to the air for a recon of the surroundings and inform you of what resistance to expect once I shift back.”

“Don’t go in there alone, Kenric. You know that’s what she’s hoping you’ll do.”

He wouldn’t promise a damn thing. Instead, he turned and headed to the door.

“Dammit, Kenric. You fucking wait for us before you go in,” Guerin shouted to his back.

“Just be there.” Kenric closed the door and phased.

…

At the end of his first phase, Kenric rematerialized from his atomic state onto the rooftop of an aluminum and steel warehouse building. He sat back on his haunches, searching once more for a sense of his mate’s presence in order to head in her direction.

“Kenric, can you hear me?”

The soft echo of Emily’s voice in his head rocked him. He hadn’t been deluding himself. She was alive. Grabbing the edge of the roof, he braced himself before responding.

“Kenric, please… Can you hear me?”

“Yes. Emily… I hear you.” A relieved sigh filled his mind.

“Thank God. Marguerite—”

“Yes, I know. And I’m on my way. I will get you out of there.” If only it were as simple as a touch of their minds. He’d be by her side in an instant.

“No!” Her voice rose into a terrified pitch, slicing a new hole in his heart. “That’s exactly why I’ve been trying to contact you. Marguerite knows you will come for me. Oh, God, Kenric. She plans to… She wants you here when she kills me.”

His nails lengthened into claws, puncturing the metal of the roof. They dug into the structure as he tightened the lid on the rage that threatened to rob him of his better judgment. Keep it together. Nothing short of thinking with his head, not his heart, would do if he hoped to save Emily. Marguerite wanted him enraged enough to lose his mind.

“It’s not going to happen. Marguerite remembers the young master vampire who escaped from her three hundred years ago. Through her dream visits, she’s aware I’ve grown stronger, but she has yet to meet me in the flesh. You will not die. But she will,” he assured Emily.

“Please be careful. I love you so much.”

“Wildflower… I love you, too. We have to focus on getting you out. Can you tell me anything about who took you and where you are?”

“Not much. Someone shot me with a dart containing some sort of drug. It knocked me out, and I woke up here, in an underground cell.”

Her omission of the details on how she was actually holding up told him all he needed to know. Locked away like some kind of animal. He of all people knew what that felt like. His skin crawled from the memory. But Emily… Putting her behind bars was hell-on-earth.

“I’ll chew my tongue in two, Kenric, before I give that bitch the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.”

He couldn’t help but smile. There was the fire of the woman he had fallen in love with. “Do you know how much it turns me on when you talk like that?”

“Turns you on…? Nice try, buddy, but all the dirty talk in the world can’t make me forget the evil on the other side of these bars. Hold on…They’re back.”

“What do they want?”

“They’ve come for me. Marguerite wants me brought to her. She wants me ready for you. Whatever that means.”

“Stay strong, and know that I’m coming for you. You will be in my arms tonight.”

Silence followed his last statement. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about what they were doing to her, or he’d lose it.

After his fourth phase he arrived at the end of a dirt road. Taking cover in oaks laden with Spanish moss, he surveyed the outline of an old Victorian house. Very Marguerite. Of course she would love something so nostalgic.

A tap to the back of his earpiece activated his comm link, and Guerin responded in less than a second. Kenric provided the needed GPS location for them to take action.

ETA, thirty minutes.

In the form of a raven, Kenric took flight. Spreading his wings, he sought and found the air currents that took him high above the trees. He circled the house and noted several guards strategically placed around the main dwelling and the entrance to the property. It would be a fight for his warriors to gain entrance, but they were the best. Before landing, he risked a closer look in the windows of the house, hoping for a glimpse of Emily.

Through the large first-floor window at the back of the house, he spotted her. He seated his talons on the paint-chipped exterior ledge for a better look. Marguerite had made sure she wouldn’t be missed. She’d stripped Emily naked, and Emily lay with her arms and legs cuffed on a parallel rack. From what he could tell from his angle at the window, her body appeared to be intact. No doubt, Marguerite was awaiting his arrival before damaging her flesh. Much more painful for both him and Emily that way.

He took to the sky again and, seconds later, landed without a sound near his clothes. In human form, he activated his link and informed his team of the geography of the property and the position and number of guards.

Re-dressed and rearmed, Kenric blended into the shadows and headed for the house. His mate lay strapped to a torture device. Not even Hell could keep him from her.

…

Marguerite leered over Emily’s naked body. Her lip curled in disgust, showing off the tip of one fang. “What he sees in you, I’ll never know. I can smell him all over you.” The long fingers of one hand gripped Emily’s cheeks, the tips of Marguerite’s nails digging into her flesh, forcing her to stare into Marguerite’s insane eyes. Emily didn’t know what hurt worse: the searing pain of the silver cuffs that pinned her to the wood or the sharp fingernails making a new hole in her face. “I can understand why you wanted him. He can fuck like a beast, can he not?” Marguerite sneered. “And I bet you loved the taste of his cum filling your throat. So sweet, wasn’t it?”

Emily pursed her lips and spat. She couldn’t have asked for a better shot. The ball of saliva landed with a splat near Marguerite’s right eye.

“How do you like that? You insane bitch!”

The hand that had held Emily’s face reared back and scalded her left cheek with an ear-ringing slap. The warm taste of blood seeped into her mouth. Emily blinked, trying to clear her vision.

A cool finger traced her bleeding lip. “Don’t make me kill you, whore, before our lover arrives.” Marguerite licked the smear of blood from her fingertip. As if in slow motion, she paled, then tilted her head and met Emily’s stare. This time, the jade green of Marguerite’s eyes disappeared, replaced by the eerie glow of red.

Oh shit.

“You didn’t…” Marguerite screamed. “I can taste him in your blood. You filthy fucking whore! How dare you mate him!” Emily flinched and jammed her eyelids tightly shut, waiting for the worst to come. The high-pitched squeal pierced her skull and went on and on until she knew her eardrums bled.

The sound finally faded, until the only sounds were her rapid pants for air. She risked a peek from under her lids. Marguerite stood a few steps away. Two of her fingers were dipped inside a crimson vessel the size of a fist. It had to be Goran’s blood, the ancient relic that Kenric had mentioned. Marguerite pulled her digits from the relic, her flesh coated in the thick dark matter, brought them to her mouth, and shoved them between her lips.

Oh God!

Marguerite’s expression morphed, drunk on the ancient’s essence. Before Emily could form a scream of her own, fangs sank into her throat with brutal precision. The DEAD attack had been nothing compared to the agony tearing into her neck. Marguerite chewed into her, making sure Emily felt every piece of her life rip into bits and drain away.

No! Think. She couldn’t allow the pain and Marguerite to win.

A familiar warm vibration in her soul alerted her to Kenric’s approach, helping to jolt her memory. As his mate, she should possess the ability to draw on his strength. Not knowing what to do, or how it worked, she was desperate enough to try anything. Anything to get this crazy bitch off her. Emily pictured a field of energy, buzzing with life, separating Marguerite from her. Marguerite flew from her vein with a furious wail.

Yes! It worked. A swirling pale blue haze covered Emily in a blanket of protective energy.

“He was to be my mate!” Marguerite whirled with her arms spread wide, crazed. “Both of you will pay. Kenric will hurt as he’s never hurt before. Such betrayal,” she wheezed. The once-exotic beauty had transformed into a wild, evil beast intent on pure destruction.

With fingertips more animal than human, Marguerite clawed at Emily’s energy barrier. “You’re not fit. I made him! He was to be the glue that would bring us together.”

What the hell is she raving about?

“You don’t deserve the gift of such a powerful vampire as he.”

“Deserving or not,” Emily said. “He’s mine.”

Kenric materialized in the center of the large room the moment Emily’s declaration fell from her lips. At that instant, he loved her even more than he had thought possible.

“Truer words have never been spoken,” he said. Marguerite’s head swiveled in his direction. The image of his mate, beneath a power shield of her own making—as she tapped into his power and protected herself from the talons of an enraged Marguerite—would remain forever burned into his mind.

Marguerite knew. He’d taken a mate, and it would never be her. In her delusional world, the news had to be a bitch.

Immediately, her guards formed a circle with him at its center. The tips of their swords aimed at his back and chest. Their points pricked at his skin, but with his mind, he maintained control over the advance of their weapons. For the moment, he allowed them their show of force. Why waste energy on the wrong enemy? He needed his full strength for Marguerite.

They wouldn’t kill him, anyway. Not without Marguerite’s command. And the last thing she wanted was him dead. Well, at least not by another’s hand. No, if he was to die, she would want that honor for herself.

Marguerite straightened to her full height and approached the top step of the elevated platform that held her and Emily. “You realize you’ve ruined everything,” she said to Kenric, running her fingers through her wild hair. “Together we could have ruled the world. Now… Now you’ve mated with this.” She gestured wildly at Emily, who still lay bound behind her.

Her red eyes blazed with fury as she glided down toward him. The guards parted. He’d waited for this moment for centuries. The blood in his veins surged in anticipation. Patience. His assault would need perfect timing.

She stopped less than a foot away. “Leave us.” Her guards’ heads turned to one another in confusion. “I said leave us!” she roared. “This is between me and the master of the Enclave.”

The door clanked shut as the last vampire exited, sending an echo across the room.

“I loved you.”

“Dear God. Your tongue defiles the very meaning of the words.”

“I loved you, Kenric.” Her head slowly shook from side to side. “I did. No other did I covet as much as you. The others beg incessantly for my attention. Freely, I offered it to you.” Her face twisted. “Yet you have spat on me at every turn. I gave you the gift of becoming a master vampire and tossed it into your lap. And this is how you repay me?” Her voice rose into a hysterical frenzy. “All I asked was for you to share it with me.”

“You don’t love me. You love the power, Marguerite. You took what was not yours to take.” His palms gripped the hilts of the daggers at his thighs. “You expect love and gratitude from one you chained and fed upon like an animal. And then you stole my life. You went too far, Marguerite. It ends tonight.”

Like cannon fire, explosive discharges of energy from both of them resounded throughout the room. The sound waves bounced around inside his head like a mallet against his brain before his back slammed into a solid wall. Kenric shook off the haze from the impact. He steadied himself at the same time he spotted Marguerite across the room, picking herself up from the floor.

“Kenric! Emily’s voice slipped into his mind. “Get me off this thing so I can help you kick her ass.”

“She’s my fight, Wildflower. Believe me, she won’t be winning this battle.” He launched into the air less than a second later, rolling into a somersault and landing behind his target. With his blade in his right hand, he struck. Marguerite ducked, but not before he grazed the back of her neck.

She whirled, throwing out another blast of energy that knocked him sideways. Kenric hit the floor but continued to roll until he was back on his feet. This time, he hit her with a blast and spun on his heels in her direction.

Caught off guard by his sudden recovery, Marguerite didn’t have time to dodge his counterattack. Her feet left the floor under the brute force of the wave of energy. She flew backward, slamming into the lead glass window that covered half of one wall. The window shattered.

Marguerite’s body lay unmoving on the shards of glass. Silence fell over the room.

“Kenric?” Emily’s voice, like music from heaven, rang in his ears.

He took the steps by three, making it to her before he could breathe a reply.

Silver cuffs held Emily’s wrists and ankles. His chest throbbed at the sight. “One last step,” Kenric said. “And then yes, it’s over, and we’re going home.” He wanted the validation of seeing Marguerite personally turned to dust.

“Thank God,” she said.

With his blade, Kenric popped the locks and eased his mate into a sitting position. Blisters circled her wrists from the prolonged contact with the metal. She winced with each movement, and her pain echoed through his soul like it was his own. Based on the sounds of battle coming from outside the chamber doors, his team had arrived.

He ushered Emily to the edge of the platform, but they both skidded to a halt before the top step. Marguerite stood in the center of the room, glaring like a demon waiting for her next kill. She reached up, and with the flick of her wrist, a broad sword left the wall and flew into her waiting palm.

In an equal move, Kenric lifted his hand, pulling the second sword from its mount on the wall and into his palm. A strangled cry of war rent from his lungs as he sailed into the air. Marguerite raised her sword and deflected his strike above her head.

His boot struck the floor behind her. She whirled and lunged straight for his gut. He pivoted, but the blade sliced into his side. The hot flash of pain shot through to his spine. But he didn’t have time to assess the damage. Marguerite had drawn blood and was coming back for more.

They parried blow for blow, back and forth. The strike of steel on steel ricocheted off the plank floors. Years of buried anger, rage, and pain drove him.

Faster.

Harder.

He pushed Marguerite back. She dodged another swipe at her head, then leaped into the air, whirled, and came down behind him. Hyped up on Goran’s blood, the move was too fast for him to counter.

Her sword appeared at his neck. “I could so easily take your head, darling.” She pulled in, bringing the serrated tip to his throat. The sting of the blade said she’d nicked the flesh. “Why do you push me to such lengths? Was she worth it?”

“Marguerite!” The sound of Emily’s voice had them both whipping their heads to the elevated platform. Emily stood on the top step, a dark red vessel in her hand. She thrust a finger into the opening on top, then jabbed whatever she’d gathered on the tip into her mouth.

Christ! Had she found Goran’s blood?

Kenric’s heart surged to the back of his throat.

“Emily…what are you doing?”

“You bitch!” Marguerite hissed behind his head. “You cannot have them both.”

The hazel gaze that mesmerized him now glowed with a fire that he’d never seen. She lifted the fist-sized vessel up in her palm, holding it out before her. “I don’t want them both.” Emily shook her head. “Just one.” As if the world had suddenly slowed to half-speed, Kenric watched as Emily flipped her hand over, dropping the relic to the floor below. The jar slammed into the wood with a shattering crash that bounced off the walls, dueling with the cry that rang out behind him.

Marguerite dropped her sword from his neck, but lunged for his mate. Emily took to the air, her auburn waves billowing. She slammed into Marguerite, ducking her head inches from Marguerite’s broadsword. The sight trapped the air in his lungs. Marguerite lost her momentum and crashed to the ground along with Emily.

“Join me,” Kenric instructed in Emily’s head.

Kenric darted for her and grabbed his mate’s hand, pulling her back onto her feet.

Picture the wind in your mind. Emily glanced his way and gave a quick nod.

Now wrap it around Marguerite.

Together with his sword arm outstretched, the wind kicked up, rushing through the broken window with gale force. Dirt and loose debris funneled around Marguerite, the force lifting her several inches off the floor.

She whirled, a roar thundering up from her lungs as her long hair whipped across her face. Kenric squeezed Emily’s hand, and they dropped the now dazed vampire back to the floor. Somehow Marguerite managed to stagger, but regained her balance and she hoisted her sword once again. Seeing an opening, Kenric dropped his mate’s hand, swung his sword in an upward arc, connecting with her weapon and knocking it from her hand. His blow tumbled Marguerite to the floor as her sword flipped blade over hilt into the air, landing with a hard clank several feet away.

Both hands gripped the hilt of his sword, and with a cathartic roar, he lifted it overhead, preparing to erase the blight that had infested his life and the planet. In midswing, Kenric locked his muscles. He’d barely missed cleaving one of his warriors in half. Markus had materialized before him, blocking the intended path of his blade.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kenric shouted. His biceps trembled from his sudden restraint and the weight of the sword. “I almost killed you. Get the fuck out of the way!” Markus’s stoic face looked as if he’d recently stepped out of one hell of a battle. Two black eyes, and one side of his face was chewed with deep claw marks, giving every indication of a torture all his own.

“I won’t let you kill her, Kenric.” Marguerite eased up and against Markus, snaking her arms around him.

“What the fuck are you saying?” Kenric’s mind reeled. The image of the two before him…together… No!

“She’s mine.” Markus clutched the hands that stroked his chest.

Marguerite cocked her head to the side and lifted one curved black brow in Kenric’s direction. “You’ve lost more here than you’ll ever know, darling.”

Markus and Marguerite vanished.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Homecomings weren’t supposed to be bittersweet.

Emily was thrilled to be alive and have the love of her life at her side. Kenric had survived his encounter with Marguerite, but more importantly, he had severed the woman’s hold on him, and the possibility of Goran’s blood ever falling into another’s hands had been eliminated. The war still raged, yes, but a monumental battle had been won.

But there had been a price to pay.

The Enclave had lost a warrior: Markus.

The same man, she’d remembered after seeing his face, who had bumped into her outside the coffee shop the night of her first attack.

The same man, evidence revealed to the devastation of all the warriors, who’d orchestrated her attack and kidnapping.

He’d been working for Marguerite.

The entire ride home, Kenric had held her in his arms as she’d dealt with the aftermath of the ancient’s blood in her system. He’d soothed her with his presence, told her how much what she’d done had meant to him. But what he hadn’t spoken of, the pain of Markus’ betrayal, she wished she could take away. She held the key to incredible powers, thanks to him, though none were the antidote for that kind of hurt.

To make matters worse, upon their arrival, Arran had announced that he, too, would be leaving. He felt responsible for not picking up on the change in Markus. The Enclave wasn’t the right place for him, he’d said. He wanted out. Kenric had done his best to change the warrior’s mind, insisting Markus had fooled everyone. Not just Arran.

None of his arguments had made a difference.

One woman saved. Two warriors lost.

In the privacy of their bedroom, Emily wrapped her arms tighter around her mate, finding comfort in the warmth of his body pressed against hers. The steady rhythm of his heart beat in her ear.

“We’ll need to relocate.” Kenric’s rich voice brushed her skin. Emily lifted her head and rested her chin on the backs of her hands. “We can’t risk everyone’s safety since Markus has switched sides.”

“Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“South Carolina has been my home for two centuries, so I would prefer for us to remain in the state,” he said, then planted a kiss to her forehead. “Besides, after Marguerite’s recruiting efforts, a large number of DEADs will need to be mopped up around this area. I’ll have Michael contact a real estate broker and begin a search for available acreage.” He slid the backs of his knuckles down her sides, then placed his arms around her, hugging her tight. “We’re down two warriors, and finding vampires who are willing to make the kind of commitment it takes to become Enclave is difficult, to say the least. But I, Guerin, and Logan will get the job done. It’s who we are.”

“And it’s who I am, too,” she said. “You’ve got me. Always.”

His hands dropped low on her back, caressing the skin there. “And we’re going to be fine, Wildflower.”

“I know we will.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “In fact, I’ve got to call work and let them know when I’m coming back. I don’t want to quit my job. Maybe I’ll just cut back to part time. You never know when being on staff there could be beneficial to us. Looks like I’ll be on permanent night shifts.” Emily turned her smile into her best devilish grin.”

“That’s very true. Look how it worked out for you and me.” His hands darted lower and gave her ass a squeeze, making her yelp.

“You are so bad.”

“And don’t you forget it.” His voice dipped into that lazy growl that got her juices flowing, but first, she had to get something off her mind.

“Kenric?”

“Hmm?”

“Marguerite’s last words—they keep buzzing in my head. What do you think she meant when she said, ‘You’ve lost more here than you’ll ever know?’”

“I’m sure she truly believes me not mating with her is one of the biggest mistakes of my existence. And that I will have lost an incredible opportunity or something to command a colony of minions.” He kissed the top of her head. “Christ, who knows what her mind saw for us? But nothing could be further from the truth.” His hands left her back, blazing a path along her curves until his fingers brushed the sides of her breast. “I’m exactly where I belong.”

His gaze darkened, and without warning, he rolled her on her back. “You are everything to me. When we blended, you were so afraid that something would go wrong and I wouldn’t come back. But the truth is, that night, you’re the one who gave me life. For the first time in centuries, I truly wanted to live.”

His lips singed hers. She opened her mind and allowed the provocative sensations of their bond to wash over her.

She didn’t know how she had ever made love without this euphoric rush.

Kenric’s thoughts filled her mind, guiding her to the sensitive areas of his body that drove him mad. Likewise, his movements followed every desire she relayed. Her mate knew exactly how she liked her nipples sucked. He engulfed the entire areola with his mouth, bringing the bud into an instant hard crest, and with the roughness of his tongue, he stroked the sensitized point.

Within minutes, he had her writhing. Aching.

“Fill me now, Kenric. I want you inside me, a part of me again.”

He lifted her legs, placing her calves over his shoulders. The head of his cock brushed her pussy, wringing a pleasure-filled gasp from her throat. She gripped his biceps, digging in her nails as the exquisite burn of penetration stretched her.

“God, yes!” she cried out.

“You feel so damn good,” he groaned. “I love you.”

Slowly and thoroughly he made love to her. Bringing her to climax again and again, until she thought she’d die from the pleasure.

Emily collapsed onto her pillow, and Kenric plopped down beside her. She’d never walk again. Maybe never move again, period. Her mate’s fingers played in the curls of her hair. She grinned, knowing she’d never been happier in her life.

“I have something for you.” He rolled to his side of the bed and reached for the nightstand.

“Kenric, you’ve already given me more than I ever dreamed possible.” The man was unbelievable. She had nothing to offer him but her love. Yet he kept giving.

An envelope sat in his hand when he turned. “Here, I want you to have this.” He stretched his arm out and placed it on her chest.

Emily slid her fingers around the edges and picked it up. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

She gave him a puzzled look. What in the world had he done?

“Can’t a mate surprise his woman?”

“Your woman…” She giggled. “You are a total caveman.”

“And you love it,” he said in that beautiful, deep timbre of his that turned her liquid. Suddenly, he leaned forward and nipped her breast.

“Ouch!” She popped the top of his head with her hand.

He rolled back, melting her heart with the warmth of his smile. “Open the envelope, woman.”

“Fine.” She laughed and sat up before tearing open the seal. A single piece of folded paper lay inside. She pulled it free and unfolded the document. Impossible.

Tears welled and distorted the words before her, but she’d seen enough to know what she held in her hands. Her heart fluttered.

The deed to her condominium.

“Kenric St. James…” Emily lifted her head long enough to glimpse his face. He beamed. “How did you know? And when did you do this?”

“I overheard your…conversation with Jeff about what you’d had to do because of that bastard. I could tell how much that place meant to you.” He brushed her wet cheeks with his fingertips. “You deserve to own it free and clear, and I wanted to make sure it happened. So I made a few phone calls. This came today.” He leaned in and gently kissed her. His lashes tickled as he mapped her face with his soft lips. “I take it you’re happy,” he whispered at her jaw.

She nodded. Her emotions spilled free, unhampered by the fear of rejection or retribution from the master vampire who could so easily control her every move. Kenric sucked in a hard breath. His gaze sought hers, eyes darkened from the overload of both their deepest desires.

Through their bond, she shared everything. It was wonderful. Miraculous. She’d found freedom in allowing herself to become bound.

“Thank you for my gifts. Your forgiveness. There are no words needed, I can feel it in my heart.” She gently placed a palm against the coarse shadow of his beard. “You continue to amaze and surprise me at every turn, and I couldn’t love you more. This deed…” She glanced at the paper, then back at Kenric. “It really does mean a great deal to me. But you, my love…” She slipped her hand behind his neck, stroking her fingers through the short hairs at his nape. “Wherever you are, that is my home. No matter what city or town, you and the Enclave are my sanctuary.”

Did you love Kenric? Check out the rest of the Enclave series by Jessica Lee!

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been possible without the support and friendship of some very special people in my life:

The ladies of We Are The Women Writers: Lanna, Julie, Mur, and Naima. You rock!

The Carolina Romance Writers: I’m so proud to be a part of such a wonderful group of authors. Your encouragement and advice have meant the world to me.

Lanna Lejeune: Your wonderful insight and never-ending patience, during many a late-night phone call, have truly been a blessing. You are an angel.

Annette Hill: Everyone should be so lucky to have a friend like you. Thank you so much for your support and encouragement. I know you’ve always got my back.

About the Author

Almost every author’s bio states they’ve been writing since they learned to read. It’s what they’ve always wanted to do. Well, my journey wasn’t so straight and narrow. I’ve been a nurse for more than twenty years and hold a bachelor’s degree in Science with a major in Biology. So, as you can see, my career path had originally gone in the opposite direction. I didn’t discover my passion for the craft until after I’d had my son and decided to work part-time.

I’ve always loved to read but had never read a paranormal romance. Then one night at work on break, I began reading Karen Marie Moning’s Spell of the Highlander. I couldn’t believe what I had been missing and I immediately fell in love with the genre.

I wanted to write like that. I wanted to create worlds that others could find the same excitement in, as I did, when I read my first sensual, paranormal romance.

And I hope that is what I’ve accomplished in my work. Please dive in, hold on tight, and enjoy the adventure. Just be careful in the dark; you might find more than you expected waiting for you there. *wink*

…

Jessica Lee lives in the southeastern USA with her husband and son. She loves writing, and can’t wait for that quiet time each day when her son is in school and she can get lost in another place and world with the fantastical, sexy creatures in her head.

She’s a member of Romance Writers of America, FF&P, and Carolina Romance Writers.

www.jessicaleenovels.com

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Read the Novels of the Enclave by Jessica Lee

Undying Embrace

Arran MacLain is a vampire on a suicide mission, driven to kill his former partner who betrayed him and the Enclave they served. But two things stand in his way: Gabrielle Stevens, the human female who holds his heart, and the past that won’t let him go. When Gabrielle’s hunt for her missing sister brings her face to face with Arran, their missions combine and thrust them into the heart of evil. Will their passion be enough to overcome the pain from their past, or will their dark desires destroy them both?

Undying Desire

He gave up his soul for a second chance to love her…

Two and a half centuries ago, Calisto Terana lost everything when a zealous priest murdered the woman he loved. Now, desperate for another chance to love her, he wants redemption for the mistake that cost her life.

She’s haunted by dreams of her own death…

After catching her fiance with another woman, Kate Bradley returns to San Diego to clear her head. The last thing she needs is romance, but after meeting Calisto she’s drawn to him in ways she doesn’t understand.

They’ve waited in the shadows for centuries…

Calisto has no doubt Kate is the reincarnation of his lost love, but the Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo has a new watcher with dark ambitions of his own. As old enemies re-emerge and a new threat arises, the betrayal that enslaved Calisto to the night might destroy the only woman he’s ever loved again.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Lisa Kessler. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Kerri-Leigh Grady

Cover design by Heather Howland
eBook ISBN 978-1-937044-12-1

Print ISBN 978-1-937044-13-8

Manufactured in the United States of America

First edition August 2011

To Ken and Ally,
who read Night Walker in all its
incarnations and never lost hope
in the book or me…

Dear Reader

The story behind Night Walker reads like something out of a paranormal novel, but I assure you it’s true!

For years I wrote every night for fun, but I never even considered writing a novel. But that all changed the night I visited a palm reader in New Orleans.

I wandered into a shop in the French Quarter and met an amazing woman who shocked me with her accuracy. Sitting across from her, I watched her study the lines of my hand. Even with my wedding ring hidden in my pocket and the kids back at the hotel she told me I had two children: an older daughter and a younger son. That got my attention.

She jotted down notes on a 3” x 5” card about my personality traits and signs to be aware of, and then started to walk me out. When I got to the door, I turned to thank her and she said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you a writer?”

“Not really.” My brow furrowed and I finally nodded with a shrug. “I write every night, but it’s just for fun.”

She smiled and I swear her eyes sparkled. “You’re going to be a famous writer one day.”

I walked back to the hotel in a daze, clueless about how I would ever write a book or get published, but she’d planted the seed that night. For the rest of our stay in New Orleans, I kept thinking about what I would write.

At the time I loved reading vampire books, but I was tiring of the typical European trope. I’d always heard you should write what you know, so I thought about San Diego. The oldest building in San Diego is the Mission De Alcala, founded by priests from Spain in the 1700’s.

The more I thought about it, the idea grew to include the Kumeyaay Tribe and the Mayans, and by the time we were in the New Orleans airport to fly home, I wrote the original plotline for Night Walker on cocktail napkins. (I didn’t own a laptop back then! LOL)

I wrote the first version of the book in about five months. It consumed me. Since then I’ve written four more installments in the Night series world and completed the series.

The Night series is full of tortured heroes, immortal blood drinkers, passion, and danger. I hope you’ll enjoy the journey… Thanks for reading!

- Lisa Kessler

Prologue

Kate couldn’t remember the drive home or walking from her car to her front door. Her mind kept replaying Tom’s surprised face, the way he jerked his hands free of the woman’s tight sweater, and the flushed cheeks of his grad student. Her knuckles ached from clenching her fists, struggling to control her emotions. Blood smeared across the palm of her hand where her fingernail broke the skin.

She could still hear his footsteps echoing behind her in the desolate parking lot and the pleading in his voice. “Please, can’t we talk about this?” His desperation made her nauseous.

What could he possibly explain?

After three tries, she finally managed to calm her trembling hands and unlock her apartment door. Forcing a deep breath into her lungs, she steeled herself for what awaited. The eight-by-ten engagement photo smiled at her from the side table. Her knees threatened to buckle under the weight of betrayal.

Leaning against the door, she struggled to understand. Their wedding was less than a month away. All their plans, their dreams, tossed away for a pair of most-likely-fake double Ds.

How could she have been so blind? She almost married him.

For the third time since she’d sped away from the university, her cell phone buzzed. She powered it off and tossed it aside. The bastard could call all night, send flowers, beg on his knees, but nothing would change the fact that she’d never walk down the aisle in the designer gown that he insisted she buy. She’d never move into the new condo they’d had their eye on. And she would never trust him again.

It was over.

She wiped her nose and glared at the photo on the table. Shouldn’t she be jealous? Did she even care if he’d slept with this woman? Was she devastated because she would miss Tom, or because her life wasn’t turning out the way she thought it should?

Puzzled, she pushed away from the door and turned the frame facedown on the table. Her gaze locked onto her parents’ photo. Nearly two years had slipped by since the accident. She’d worked so hard to distance herself from the pain of their loss that she’d avoided dealing with the remainder of their estate. She still hadn’t sold their house.

Instead, she’d pushed her relationship with Tom forward, avoiding her emotions by planning a wedding to a man she wasn’t certain she loved.

Gripping the frame, she tilted the photo to cut the glare from the overhead light. Her mother’s warm smile brought a swell of heartache—real heartache, not this shock of betrayal and sudden change that Tom had delivered.

“I wish you were here, Mom.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “You probably would’ve seen right through his sexy, crooked smile.”

She waited, half-expecting to hear her mother’s voice telling her she deserved better.

Because she did.

“I think it’s time for me to go back home. I’m through hiding, Mom.”

Once she returned the photo to the table, the tightness in her chest loosened its grip. This wasn’t the end of the world. In fact, it was a chance at a new beginning.

She’d call her school in the morning and let them know she needed a leave of absence. Then she’d get in touch with the caterers and the perky wedding planner.

She could be on the road by the afternoon. She lifted her chin a notch and dropped her engagement photo in the trashcan. Tomorrow, she would take control of her life and her future, and this time she wouldn’t rush into anything.

Chapter One

When they parked at the Mission de Alcala, Kate stared up at the bells. Although she grew up in San Diego, she’d never played tourist and visited this famous landmark, which she admitted now was a shame. The white arched bell tower of the first Spanish mission in the New World stretched toward the heavens, oblivious to the changing landscape around it. For a moment, she felt like she’d been transported back in time.

Edie hefted her camera bag over her shoulder. “Hurry up! We don’t want to end up standing for the service.”

“I’m coming.” Kate ran up the uneven tile steps after her friends.

When they entered the white adobe sanctuary, her breath caught in her throat. The natural pine ceiling arched high above them, voices echoed in the cavernous space, and soft chords from the pipe organ at the rear of the hall floated down. The music washed over the congregation, filling the church with its somber peace.

Her mother would have loved this place.

Lori grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her across the sanctuary to a pew by the opposite door. Candlelight filled the chamber with a warm glow, and soon the only sounds were the soft chants from the priests. Images of Christ’s crucifixion lined the walls, and the quiet hymns from the choir added to the poignancy of the Mass. Bittersweet sorrow swelled in her heart. This would be her second holiday season without her parents, and her first without Tom. The Mass felt like a solemn reminder she was alone in the world.

The room blurred behind a wave of tears.

“I need some air. I’ll be right outside,” Kate whispered to Edie.

Edie gave her an are you all right look, and Kate managed to smile and nod before slipping out the door. As the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her, she stepped into a lush courtyard with centuries-old adobe crosses rising through thick ferns that threatened to swallow them. More candles flickered around the garden. Shadows moved across the surrounding walls, mingling with the darkness that gathered in the corners and alcoves.

The cool night air filled her lungs, calming the storm brewing inside her. Seeing the families and couples in the sanctuary stirred up heartache. She had erected protective walls around the spaces her parents and her ex-fiancé used to fill, but now they crumbled. Kate took another deep breath and stared at the pale moon. She could almost hear her mother’s voice telling her to stay strong. Keep moving forward.

Just as she’d promised herself she’d do.

Clearing her throat, Kate focused on her surroundings and followed a worn tile path to a weathered sign. The courtyard, and the crosses within it, honored the Native American neophytes who worked at the mission in its early years. Kate scanned the garden again, finding even more of the half-hidden handmade crosses peering at her from a thicket of ferns. Most of them now leaned to the side, weathered from years of exposure to the sun and rain.

The once-strong angles of the markers now drooped as though they wept.

She followed the path deeper into the garden and found another cross nearly engulfed by the foliage and flowers that grew around it. Though the path here was unkempt and the aging monument covered in moss, a simple floral wreath adorned the neck of the cross.

How many Native Americans died at the mission in its early years? She wondered if anyone really knew. She learned about the missions in elementary school, but her teachers never discussed the relationship between the missionaries and the local tribes. Was neophyte a fancy word for slave? She didn’t know, but whatever their role might have been, it was encouraging to see the indigenous people who had lived at the mission had not been forgotten.

When the service concluded, the murmur of soft conversation broke through her solitude. Mass was over already? Kate frowned. How long had she been outside?

Car engines started and brakes squeaked, the headlights drowning out the candlelit shadows. Beyond the black wrought iron gates, small groups of people departed together until finally the floodlights over the parking lot blinked off. She would have worried about Lori and Edie’s absence, but she knew they had plans with their digital cameras after the mass.

According to her friends, Dia de los Muertos was the perfect night for ghost hunting. Lori and Edie always enjoyed ghost stories when they were kids, and their fondness grew until they considered themselves amateur paranormal investigators. What better place to find them than in the oldest building in San Diego on the one night a year reserved for the dead?

Kate didn’t share their zeal for spirits, but she had no problem waiting for them to have their fun. She was happy to have a few minutes to herself anyway.

The candlelight glimmered around her, the flickering flames left to burn out sometime before morning. The warm glow made for eerie light, casting long shadows of the weeping crosses over the garden. It was exquisite and melancholy in the same moment.

She caught a sudden chill. The longer she lingered, the more her sadness mutated into unease.

The back of her neck prickled. Kate crossed her arms and walked toward the sanctuary doors. She suddenly felt exposed and alone. Before she reached the doors, Lori and Edie came up the path at the other end of the courtyard, snapping pictures as they walked, until Lori disappeared from view.

When Edie saw Kate approach, she grinned. “Oh, you should see some of the great shots we got tonight. We had lots of orbs in a couple of pictures of the bell tower. There might be even more when we can look at them on a larger screen.”

“You’ll have to show me once you get them on the computer.” Kate glanced around the courtyard. “Where’d Lori go?”

Edie turned around. “She was right behind... ”

“Edie... Kate.” Lori’s voice, a loud and insistent whisper, emanated from the shadows.

Kate flinched when she heard her name. She had no idea why she was so jumpy tonight. They tracked down Lori and found her kneeling by one of the crosses. She beckoned them closer.

Edie rushed over with an eager grin, camera at the ready. “Wow. Look at this.” She squatted beside Lori.

The cross was smaller than most of the others, weather-beaten and canted. There was a single letter in the center, a T, and a single candle burned beside a bundle of large white blossoms.

“Who do you think left those?” Lori whispered.

Kate shrugged. None of the other crosses had fresh offerings. “Probably the priests, right?”

“I don’t know.” Lori glanced at the other crosses. “Maybe this person’s relatives still visit every year.”

“Can you imagine?” Edie whispered. “Being remembered like that? I hope someone’s still bringing me flowers after I’ve been dead a couple hundred years.”

Kate thought about correcting them, telling them these crosses were memorials to the Native Americans. But she didn’t. Something about the cross held her rapt. The conversation around her faded away as Kate moved in closer to the fragrant blossoms.

She’d never seen flowers like these with huge, beautiful blooms of white, silky petals and a center like pure sunshine. And the scent. It was the primrose-like perfume that made her reach out to touch them, entranced by their spell.

Had she seen these flowers before?

“Kate? Are you okay?”

Kate looked up at Lori, her brow furrowed and mouth pinched in concern. “I’m fine,” she said, yanking her hand away from the flowers. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

“We’re almost done. We need a couple more pictures around the front by the steps,” Edie said.

“All right.” Kate straightened, still unable to pull her attention away from the cross and its bouquet. “I’ll wait for you here, okay?”

Lori continued to frown, but Edie said, “No problem. We’ll be right back.”

Kate watched them wander off before kneeling closer to the cross. Unable to stop herself, she traced her finger along the T in the center.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat. Kate jerked her hand away and shot to her feet. When she turned around she found a tall, dark-haired man staring at her.

Her cheeks flushed with heat. She hoped he hadn’t witnessed her touching the relic. She waited for some kind of admonishment, but he didn’t say anything.

Not with words.

Something in his dark eyes captured her. His gaze wandered over her face like a tender caress, and strangely, instead of screaming for Lori and Edie, she caught herself imagining his touch on her skin.

“I hope I did not frighten you,” he said.

His deep voice resonated through the empty courtyard, and the intimate tone weakened her knees. The hint of a Spanish accent didn’t hurt, either. Nervous laughter escaped her before she could contain it.

Her face warmed all over again. “Just a little startled. I didn’t see anyone else out here.”

He stepped closer without encroaching on her personal space, his eyes locked with hers from beneath thick lashes. “Forgive me.”

She swallowed hard and prayed she wasn’t blushing. “No problem.” She looked away before she embarrassed herself even further, focusing on the cross. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

“Si.” He nodded slowly. “Yes, it is.” His barely there smile made her think he wasn’t referring to the flowers or the cross. “I am Calisto. Calisto Terana.”

Expectation hung as heavy as the scent of eucalyptus, as if he waited to hear something more than just her name.

“I’m Kate.” Instead of offering to shake his hand, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The honor is mine, Kate... ” His accent colored the vowel in her name. It had never sounded more beautiful. She reminded herself to breathe.

When he hesitated for a moment waiting for her to speak, she realized she hadn’t shared her last name as he had. She flipped through a rapid pro and con mental checklist, and decided it couldn’t hurt. Maybe they would meet again.

“Bradley,” she said.

A sexy smile curved at the corners of his lips. “I hope this will not be our last meeting.”

She glanced around the shadowed courtyard, feeling vulnerable, and almost gave in to her first instinct—to run. But she remembered her promise to herself. Be strong. Take action. She lifted her chin and said, “I guess you never know.”

With a smile that said he had every intention of seeing her again, he tipped his head. “Buenos noches, Kate Bradley.”

Her heart raced and her palms sweated when she realized he meant to leave. No man made her palms sweat. Ever.

His gaze held hers for a moment, full of unspoken promises she didn’t understand. Without another word, he walked away.

Kate willed him to turn toward her one last time. It would be easy to get addicted to the way his gaze caressed her, entrancing her with his full attention. She wet her lips and shook her head slowly, struggling to break the spell.

A strange man had flirted with her in a dark courtyard. Hello! Huge danger signal for a woman alone.

But she never felt threatened. As if she’d met him before.

“Who was that?” Lori tucked her camera inside her bag.

“He said his name was Calisto Terana.”

“He looked sexy from where I stood. Yum!” Edie grinned.

Lori nudged her with her elbow. “Looks can be deceiving. Why was he loitering after Mass and hitting on Kate?”

There went Lori, being overprotective, like Kate was her younger sister instead of a peer. Kate rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t hitting on me. He was a complete gentleman.” She paused, glancing in the direction he’d gone. “Old fashioned.”

Lori hooked her camera bag over her shoulder. “You didn’t give him your number, did you? Old fashioned or not, you don’t know anything about this guy.”

“Yes, Mom! I’ve been a single adult just as long as you have, remember?”

Lori hooked her arm through Kate’s. “I still worry about you. You’ve been through a lot lately. I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.”

Kate relaxed, though she still chafed at being treated like a child. “Believe me, I don’t want that either.”

Part of her was shocked she even considered looking at another man. A couple of weeks ago she wanted to wipe all the bastards off the face of the earth, and then tonight a gorgeous guy with an accent and a healthy dose of manners suddenly had her heart racing. Go figure.

They started toward the car. Kate peeked over her shoulder, wondering where Calisto had gone. No doubt it was for the best that he walked away when he did.

But secretly she wished he had asked for her number.

Edie unlocked the car. “What kind of name is Calisto anyway? It doesn’t sound Mexican.”

“Maybe Spanish?” Lori said.

Kate replayed the way he said her name. “He did have an accent. Not quite Mexican though. Maybe he is from Spain.”

“Oh, I love accents.” Edie pretended to shiver. “Why don’t I ever meet handsome foreign men in dark courtyards?”

“Get in the car already.” Lori smiled.

Their banter continued as Lori pulled out of the mission’s parking lot toward Old Town, but Kate wasn’t listening anymore. At the other end of the lot she saw him standing in the moonlight.

Calisto.

He stared right into her eyes. Even at this distance, the heat of his gaze flushed her skin, and her breath caught in her throat.

What if she never saw him again? A knot of panic tightened in her stomach.

He watched them roll down the driveway, bowing his head before turning to walk back into the shadows. Kate sighed and finally faced forward, chastising herself for acting like a love-struck teenager. The last thing she needed right now was a relationship. She’d just been burned so badly that she took a leave of absence from her teaching job and left the state of Nevada.

How could she stomach even looking at another man?

She stared out the window and smiled in spite of herself. Calisto didn’t seem like any other man she’d ever met. Against her better judgment, she caught herself hoping they would meet again.

…

1775

She was dead.

Part of him still could not, or would not, believe it. Even now as he covered her body with dirt, he imagined this was a foul dream. Still clothed in his missionary robes, Father Gregorio Salvador prayed he would awaken to the sound of her laughter, or see her dark eyes sparkle with shared humor again. Tala had the most beautiful dark brown eyes with a tiny hazel crescent at the bottom of her right iris.

She used to smile at him every time he told her she had the moon in her eyes.

His jaw clenched. He would have his vengeance.

As he laid the bundle of large, white Romneya flowers over her grave, his tears fell onto the freshly turned soil covering her body, like raindrops darkening the sandy dirt. The sight brought him to his knees.

He knelt at her grave, silently begging the God he once served for answers. Was it wrong to love her? Was God so unforgiving of their sin that He sought to take her life and damn his soul? They had hurt no one. He had broken his covenant with God, yet she was forced to pay his penance with her life? Why punish her?

But he already knew. What greater punishment could he suffer than to go on living without her? He was certain no deeper pain existed.

Surely God knew he had been no more than a naive boy when he took his vows in Spain.

He buried Tala at the edge of the cliff where they met in secret during the warm summer evenings to watch the sun set over the water and color the sky. He hoped her soul would find peace there. Taking the rosary beads from his neck, he laid them over the flowers covering her final resting place. He would never touch another rosary. God had forsaken him, punished him for loving her, and he wouldn’t serve Him any longer.

Kissing his fingertips and touching the flowers, he whispered, “My love forever.”

He tugged at his collar, and then stripped off his robe. Clothed only in his black wool pants and sandals, Father Salvador walked into the darkness of the hills. He couldn’t bear to look back.

…

Calisto watched her until the car faded away into the night. The Old One’s promise had finally come true. With his heightened vision, he had seen the lighter crescent of color in the lower corner of her iris. He recognized her in an instant. She had the moon in her eyes.

Tala, his love, lived again.

Her features were familiar, but not exactly as she had once been. Her skin was lighter now and the angle of her jaw softer, but her long black hair and her eyes had not changed. Hearing her voice, seeing her smile, brought back memories of a life they once shared.

The sound of her laughter was like a burst of sunlight in his endless night.

But Kate Bradley wasn’t Tala. She had no memory of him. It was a bittersweet moment to see her face again, yet be unable to touch her. Although she didn’t seem to fear him as a stranger, she also didn’t recognize him as a lover.

He knew nothing about her life now.

The desire to touch her had overwhelmed him. He yearned to taste her lips and hold her in his arms. There would be time for that later, he promised himself.

It would have been simple to reach for her thoughts and learn her secrets, to become exactly the man she desired, but he denied himself the intrusion. He vowed not to use his preternatural power to entrance her or to listen to her private thoughts. He’d given up his mortality, his soul, for this moment, this second chance, and if she fell in love with him again, he needed to know it was real. No other person had ever touched his life like she had. Though she was no longer Tala, surely a piece of the soul he once loved lived inside of her.

Calisto walked into the shadows, wondering if she still sang with a voice that rivaled the angels. Would she dance with him in the waves of the Pacific as they had centuries before?

He was anxious to find out. How long had it been since he’d been eager for anything? A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Kate Bradley.

He would see her again. Soon.

Clearing his thoughts, Calisto opened himself to his animal spirit, allowing the raven to take shape in his mind. Gradually, the air around him sparked with energy as his body shifted and changed from a tall, dark-haired man into a large, jet-black raven. Fully changed, he shook his body and stretched out his wings before launching himself into the air. Silently, he soared with the wind and winged his way through the night sky.

Chapter Two

Blood marred the stone wall of his modest dorm room. His knuckles stung each time his fist slammed into the rough rock. Pain cloaked the bitterness and rage that festered inside him.

The monsignor had passed him over. Denied his chance at his destiny.

Again.

It would be Brother Cardina who would fly across the Atlantic Ocean to San Diego. Brother Cardina would watch over the Night Walker and witness immortality with his own eyes.

Grinding his teeth together, he struck the wall once more, imagining it was Brother Cardina’s pious face, but he held back, careful not to hit too hard. Bruised and bloodied flesh could go unnoticed within the ancient walls of the Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo, but broken bones would not help his cause.

Pain burned up his arm, calming him. He stepped back and basked in the ache.

Brother Cardina was no match for an immortal blood drinker.

He moved closer to the wall, drinking in the earthy scent of his blood. He would get his chance. Staring at the fresh crimson stain, he stuck out his tongue and allowed himself a long, slow lick. He closed his eyes and smiled, resting his cheek against the wall. For now, he would be patient.

Clenching his raw fists, he opened his eyes and stared at his pencil sketches of ravens. His chance would come.

Soon.

…

“Go with God,” Calisto whispered as he tossed the lifeless body into the ocean far from the shore. Although he had forsaken religion centuries before, his victims might still find a merciful afterlife in spite of their many sins. He hoped, for their sakes, they would.

The Pacific waves lapped at the Southern California beach. The ocean was a perfect disposal for his meals. The sea drank them into itself, and the bloodless corpses sank to the depths of the ocean, food for the marine life. In the cold waters, it took weeks for the bodies, or what remained of the bodies, to float to the surface. If they did wash ashore, the decomposition made it virtually impossible to determine the exact cause of death.

Not that it mattered. If pathologists did discover the true cause of death, he doubted they would link the deaths to someone with no boat and no records of accessing one. And how would they explain bloodless victims with no discernable wound?

No one spoke of Night Walkers anymore except as merely folk tales.

Blood drinkers in Europe had called themselves vampires years before Calisto ever heard the word, but they knew nothing of what it meant to be a true Night Walker. He despised the glamour that went with the ridiculous name they adopted. He found very little romance in death, even less in immortality.

As the years passed his strength and power grew, making him less of a man and more of a monster. He’d slowly changed into a hunter stalking his prey. He fed on the refuse of humanity, killers, drug lords, and child abusers, then gave his victims’ bodies to the sea.

Vampires were for movie screens and romance novels. And he would never think of himself as one of them. He was a Night Walker. But it didn’t matter what he called himself in this modern world. No one believed in his kind, regardless of the label they used.

He wouldn’t believe it himself if he weren’t already living in endless night.

But tonight his existence changed forever. After over 200 years of waiting, he saw Tala smile again, heard her laughter. He felt more human than he had in centuries. Though newfound hope lightened his spirit, he had to remain patient and proceed with care and caution.

He needed to get to know her again, and for her to know him.

But what if she didn’t fall in love with him this time?

He stopped walking to look at the moonlight shimmering on the waves. Could fate be so cruel to show him her face again, to let him know she lived once more, only to have her push him away? As many times as he had dreamed of this day, it never occurred to him she might not want him.

His jaw tightened. She smiled at him tonight. She’d seen him watching her as she drove away. Something inside of her remembered him. He felt it.

Or was he blinded by hope?

Calisto continued down the sand until he reached his home. He wanted to see her again. Surely after waiting lifetimes for her to return, he had been patient enough. He didn’t want to endure one more night without her.

Music blared, interrupting his thoughts. Through the windows of his home, charity patrons mingled and laughed. He’d hoped the benefit party would be over before he got back. He was in no mood to entertain a room full of wealthy mortals. Not tonight.

Tonight he wanted to relive the moment Tala smiled at him. He had forgotten the way the moon sparkled in her dark eyes, and the way her full lips curved in a welcoming smile. If only he could have touched her.

With a determined sigh, he closed his eyes and focused his thoughts. As he approached his front door, he straightened his clothes. Certain no traces of his victim’s blood stained him, he pulled open the door.

“Calisto! What a wonderful surprise.” Betty took his newly warmed hand as he entered. “I was afraid you might not make it. The party has been a huge success. Come, I’ll introduce you around.”

“No. Forgive me, Bettina.” He raised her hand to press a kiss to the back of her fingers. She enjoyed hearing her full name with his Spanish accent. Flattery came easily for an immortal with the power to persuade and years of practice. Although he regretted toying with her, tonight it was a necessary evil. “I do not mean to be rude, but I am too weary from my business trip to entertain guests. Please continue to make use of my home, but I must retire to my room and rest.”

“Oh, I understand completely,” she said with an almost giddy smile. “I’ll start wrapping up the party down here. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I never do.” He went upstairs to his room, and closed the door behind him.

Within a half hour Betty’s heels clicked against the Spanish tile foyer floor, echoing through the empty house. She had cleared the guests, proving again the wisdom of his decision to elevate her to Director of Foundation Arts. Not only was she intelligent, loyal and hardworking, but her infatuation with him also made it easier to hide his true nature from her. She rarely questioned him, and for an immortal to live among mortals, it was imperative they take him at his word.

However false it might be.

“Calisto?” Betty knocked on the door.

He already knew what she would say. Her thoughts were an open book to him, but he thought it best to keep up appearances. “Come in, Bettina.”

His dark hair hung loosely around his face, freed from the band he used to keep it tied back. He sat on the edge of his king-sized bed as she opened the door. Betty was the only person to ever see him in such a casual state.

She tried to hold back a smile. “The house is all yours again. Everyone’s gone.”

“Thank you. I wish I had been a better host for you tonight.”

She smiled and shrugged a bare shoulder. “No problem. Everyone was thrilled to be inside your home. We raised close to one hundred thousand dollars tonight.”

“You did a wonderful job.”

Her expression said she hoped for more from him, but he couldn’t focus on small talk.

Leaving flowers at the mission in memory of Tala usually left him feeling despondent, but tonight had been the opposite. Tonight, he wrestled against hope instead of bitterness. Fate finally offered him a second chance at love and happiness.

“Well, I guess I’ll go then,” she said. “I’ll be in the office in the morning.”

“I will be out of town again, but perhaps we can set a meeting for Tuesday night? You can update me on anything needing my attention.”

She pursed her lips for one brief second and then assumed her usual professional expression. When he hired Betty, he explained she would probably not work with him often. Even so, he knew she didn’t expect his frequent trips, but she kept her opinions to herself. Working for an influential philanthropist, she expected some eccentricities. He paid her well, and it wasn’t her place to inquire of his whereabouts. Every once in a while, he mentioned details about trips abroad to his homeland in Spain, and she seemed satisfied with his explanation.

“Tuesday night is fine,” she said. “How about six o’clock? We could meet somewhere for dinner.”

“Perfect. Just leave a note to let me know where I am to meet you.” He loathed computers and e-mail.

“I will.”

He stood and worked at the buttons on his shirt. “Good night, Bettina, and thank you.”

Her all-business nod indicated she realized he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. “Goodnight. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

And then she was gone.

He waited until he heard the front door close and the lock turn before leaving his bedroom. He had trained her well.

When the soft purr of her car’s engine faded into the distance, Calisto went downstairs and sat down at his grand piano. Playing was one of the few activities of late that helped ease the loneliness plaguing him. The music surrounded him in a calming embrace, like a child wrapped in his mother’s arms.

Over the years, he had become a virtuoso, a product of having centuries to practice. In that time, he had memorized countless masterpieces by Chopin, Mozart, and Beethoven, but right now Rachmaninoff’s “Vocalise” poured from his soul, through his fingertips, making the grand piano ring with emotion.

The music spoke words he couldn’t recite, and he played with fervor and accuracy only an immortal being could achieve. Tonight the piano sang, not with the bitter ache of emptiness but with hope and the promise of love. Passion built in the melody, and in his mind he saw her eyes shining as he bent to kiss her lips. He closed his eyes as he played, envisioning her body pressed against his, her warm skin enticing him to hold her tighter.

At the final cadence, his hands remained frozen over the keys, suspending the final chord as it echoed through his empty house. When silence crept around him, Calisto rose from the keyboard and made his way to the secret chamber buried deep within the cliff of his beachfront home.

He would find her again. Tomorrow night he would search for Kate Bradley. For the first time in decades, he was anxious for another night.

As the dawning sun warmed the earth above him, he settled into the cold depths below. Closing his eyes, his ancient heart quieted and his lungs let out a final breath.

…

1775

Blood trickled down her arms and legs, but she couldn’t stop to nurse her wounds. Not now.

She ran, breaking through the bushes as they tore at her flesh, never slowing her pace. Thorns stabbed her bare feet, and the pungent smell of sagebrush filled her lungs as she forced herself to move faster.

Deafening wind tugged at her buckskin dress and pushed her back, but she continued to run. Her life depended on it.

Scrambling through the brush and over the rocks, she ignored the pain as the rough terrain ripped at the bloody soles of her feet. With a glance over her shoulder, she saw him closing in, his face veiled in shadows.

She ran faster, her lungs aching with pain. Her heart raced as erratically as the rabbits that darted in front of her. Blood from her split lip burned the back of her throat.

How much longer could she stay ahead of him?

“Tala,” he yelled, his voice loud enough to startle her. He had drawn closer. “Hay en ninguna parte funcionar.”

She didn’t agree. Escape was still an option. If she reached the boulders, her pursuer would have to abandon his horse or risk the animal losing its footing. If the Spanish guard were on foot she would have the advantage. He didn’t know the terrain as well as she did.

The pendant around her neck thumped against her chest with every stride. Her arms and legs felt weighted with stones as sweat rolled down her face and stung her eyes. Clinging to hope, she pushed herself, pounding her aching heels into the rough dirt and pumping her arms faster.

Until her foot tangled in an exposed root.

She hit the ground hard, knocking the air from her lungs. Gasping, she scrambled on her belly, her fingernails scratching into the dry granite soil as she tried to drag herself away.

The thump of his boots on the dirt spurred her on.

She had to get away.

Before she could struggle to her feet, he grabbed her ankle. She kicked his wrist with her free foot, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

When he flipped her over, she screamed until he covered her mouth with a dirty, calloused hand. Tala stared at him in shock. She recognized the guard from the Mission de Alcala, but the lustful hunger in his eyes was new and turned her stomach.

She slid her bloodied fingers over her slightly rounded abdomen and murmured a soft apology to her unborn child.

He pressed a knife to her throat and tore at her dress with frenzied, rough hands. She struggled to break free, but his weight pinned her to the ground. When she scraped her broken nails across his cheek, he grasped her wrists with one hand and held her prone. And then he violated her.

She closed her eyes, praying for the spirits of her Kumeyaay ancestors to guide her soul.

…

Kate screamed, waking herself from the dream. Her nightshirt stuck to her sweat-drenched body. Coming to San Diego brought back the nightmare that had haunted her since childhood. She shuddered, pushing her hair back from her face. She thought by now it wouldn’t terrify her so much, but the dream felt real, the scent of sagebrush, the ache in her feet, the panic.

Too real.

Shaking off the dream, she got up and did her best to get a jump on the last few items on her to-do list. Since the renters moved out, she had the perfect opportunity to get her parents’ home ready to sell. But instead of making calls to carpet cleaners and painters, she surfed the web on her laptop, searching for Calisto Terana in San Diego.

The search engine’s hourglass turned over and over like it used a hamster running in a wheel as its only power source.

“Oh come on.” She clicked the refresh button again. Maybe he wasn’t from San Diego. He might’ve been a tourist visiting from Europe or something.

Finally the screen shifted, and she stared at the page in shock.

All of the search results showed a Calisto Terana, philanthropist and founder of Foundation Arts, the same charity her mother had supported. The same charity slated to inherit her mother’s piano. Kate glanced at the baby grand sitting in the corner and sighed. She’d tried to take care of everything last year. As the only child, no one else stood beside her to help with the loss, the loneliness, and the demands. In the end, it was too much too soon.

Losing both parents at once, without warning, left her bereft and barely functioning. Lori and Edie helped her box up most of their things and put them into storage, but Kate fell apart at the thought of selling the house. She didn’t make arrangements to donate her mother’s piano and sheet music, or many of the things her mother requested in the will.

In the end, she left the house furnished, rented it out, and left Point Loma for her new life in Reno. She’d deal with the rest of the estate later when her emotions weren’t so raw, she’d told herself.

It was definitely time to finish up her parents’ trust.

She set the laptop on the table, deciding to walk off some of her excess energy. It was a small world. What were the chances the founder of her mother’s favorite charity would be at the Mission de Alcala at the same time as her? What were the chances he’d be at the Mission at all?

And what were the chances he’d be gorgeous?

She sighed, remembering the way he approached her with the confidence and stealth of a jungle cat. He’d worn khaki slacks and a sage button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up loosely, exposing his muscular forearms.

It seemed plain to her that he was successful and professional, but there was something more she couldn’t put her finger on.

She reached up behind her neck, rubbing at a tight muscle. If she closed her eyes, she could still see him staring at her with dark, brooding eyes that warmed when his lips hinted at a smile. His broad shoulders and narrow waist made his athletic build impossible to ignore.

He had a European air about him, and even discounting his accent, Calisto didn’t strike her as a San Diegan. He wore his dark hair just past his shoulders, but rather than allowing it to hang in his face like a La Jolla surfer, he tied it back. And despite his olive skin, he didn’t seem particularly tanned.

The way he looked at her still haunted her thoughts and sent a shiver down her spine. Somehow Calisto had made her feel like a priceless treasure without ever saying a word. He hadn’t even touched her. And when he said her name...

She shook her head. Snap out of it.

In the den, she sat down at her father’s empty desk. She pulled her mother’s worn address book from her backpack and dug through it for the Foundation Arts phone number. Her mother wanted this, she told herself. She was fulfilling her mother’s wishes, not concocting a ploy to run into Calisto again.

Not much of one anyway.

What would be the harm if she happened to see him again? He was sexy eye candy. It wasn’t like she was going to marry him.

Now she sounded like a moonstruck fifth-grader. Great.

Kate rolled her eyes at her excuses and flipped pages in search of the number for Foundation Arts.

Her mother supported the arts around San Diego for most of her life. Kate hadn’t been shocked to discover she left her baby grand piano and collection of rare sheet music to her favorite charity. On some level, it did hurt a little that her mother didn’t leave it to her. She was by no means a virtuoso, but she knew how to play, and a piano would have been handy for her job as a choir director. She could’ve used it to plan the music for her classes and student choirs.

It didn’t surprise her, though.

Her mother lived to support the foundation, to support “The Arts.” As if Kate’s work was less than art. Her mother had her own set of goals for Kate’s future. You have miles of potential, she’d tell her. She really wanted her daughter to be a performer of some kind. Although Kate aced her vocal performance juries in college, teaching was her true passion.

The disappointment was plain in her mother’s eyes the day Kate turned down an offer for graduate school to study voice. Instead she entered the teaching credential program. She’d found her calling. She wouldn’t live her mother’s dream, but she wished her mom could’ve seen her work.

If she had been able to witness the joy on the teens’ faces when they sang together on stage for the first time, maybe then she might have realized Kate hadn’t settled. She might have understood Kate was an artist, and better yet, her work ensured an ongoing love of music in the next generation of art lovers.

If only.

Finding the number, she went to the phone and made the call.

“Foundation Arts, this is Betty.”

“Hi, I’m Kate Bradley. My mother left her piano to the Foundation—”

“Oh Kate, I’m sorry for your loss,” Betty said. “Martha was a wonderful woman. We all miss her. She spoke highly of you.”

Kate was more than a little surprised. “She did?”

“Of course,” Betty said, a smile coming through in her voice. “You’re a choir director in Nevada, right?”

Kate’s surprise morphed into shock. “Yes. I teach middle school chorus.”

“I’m sure it takes a lot of patience.”

“Yes, it does.” Kate collected her thoughts. “Um, the reason I called though… My mother left her baby grand piano and her sheet music collection to your foundation. I just wanted to find out who to call about the piano moving.”

“I can handle all of it for you. I’ll need your signature on a few documents, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

Kate raised a brow. “You’ll handle finding piano movers?”

“Sure thing.”

“Great. How soon can we get this going?” Kate asked.

“Well...” Kate heard pages flipping on Betty’s end of the call. “I have a meeting at six o’clock tomorrow night. I can be a little early. How about five-thirty at The Fish Market? It’s the one near Seaport Village, on the bay.”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.” Kate placed the phone back on the receiver with a little smile. Maybe her mother respected her work more than she ever realized. Too bad it was too late to tell her how much it meant to her.

…

1775

Gregorio lived with the tribe for nearly three months before they took him to the Old One. He still mourned Tala’s death, unable to move past the pain and emptiness weighing down his soul. He drank very little and ate only when someone reminded him.

The pain of her loss became his only reality. Shadows and loss colored every part of his world.

Every time he saw the Romneya bloom in the valleys, he ached with memories of Tala, of the way she wore them in her hair and how they perfumed her skin. The sight of the ocean waves where they learned each other’s customs now tore him apart.

As the weeks passed, he found some solace in the tribal beliefs and eventually became involved in spiritual discussions with the Shaman about death, spirits of the dead, and the belief they might one day live again.

The night of the full moon, after the tribal ceremonies ended and embers were all that remained of their community fire, the Shaman told him stories of the Old One. The white-haired man lived on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. They believed he could delve into the minds and hearts of men. If the Old One found Gregorio worthy, he would bestow on him a new title, and Gregorio would become a member of the tribe.

The Shaman honored him with his invitation to meet the wise old man and make Gregorio a part of their tribe. But it did little to raise his spirits. A new name, a new life, it didn’t matter. Tala would not be part of it, and his soul would still be empty.

Each night when he slept, he saw her, held her, tasted her lips, and drank in the sound of her laughter, and each morning when he woke, his loss felt raw.

He began to hate the sun.

Chapter Three

Calisto’s eyes fluttered, and he knew the sun had set. His chest rose and fell, breathing even though his body no longer needed the oxygen. His heart beat in a slow rhythm once more.

After a hot shower, he dressed in jeans and a black, button-down shirt, checking his reflection before heading upstairs to his office. Kate’s face haunted him, making it difficult to focus. Sitting behind his large oak desk, Calisto thumbed through the mail Betty left for him, paying more attention to the voices he heard in the night than the envelopes that bore his name.

The name he used in this lifetime.

He hadn’t used his real name in centuries. Every few decades, when it became apparent he was not aging, he would drop from sight, usually staging some sort of horrific death that made identifying his body impossible. No one suspected the charred remains weren’t his. But with the advancements in crime forensics, his next demise would probably be at sea without a body to recover.

After a few months away, he would re-establish himself with his new identity, purchase a new home, and begin again. But this time could be different.

He had remained in San Diego anticipating Tala’s eventual return. Now that he had found her again, they could move away together. He had been Calisto Terana for nearly twenty years now, and he would probably be able to keep this identity even longer if they moved to a new city. If things remained quiet.

But it was not always quiet. Over the centuries there were people who sought to prove he was not what he seemed. The Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo, the Brotherhood of Holy Fire, still confronted him from time to time. The monks were part of a rogue sect of the Roman Catholic Church, living in the same monastery where he had trained lifetimes ago.

For decades they attempted to end his immortal existence. Righteous fanatical fire burned in their eyes when they confronted him, seeking to kill what they considered an abomination before God. He still bore a scar from one of their encounters. His right forearm had an indentation where one of the monks sliced off a chunk of his flesh. As a Night Walker, he healed rapidly, but flesh torn from his body would not regenerate.

The scar was the closest the Fraternidad had ever come to wounding him. During the last century, their physical attacks were rare, but they still watched him. He sensed their presence at times, heard their thoughts and prayers. While most of the monks kept their distance, unsure how to kill him, every few years an especially righteous warrior would show himself and force an inevitable battle.

There were times Calisto welcomed the challenge. Anything to break the monotony of an unchanging existence.

He straightened in his chair, holding a single parchment envelope. His name and address were written in a scratched script only achieved through use of a quill, and a single red wax signet sealed the contents inside.

A signet he had not seen in over 200 years.

He ran his fingers over the entwined flames of the ancient seal, his brow furrowed. He hesitated to open it and sat back in his black leather chair, quietly spinning his own signet ring around his finger with his thumb. He fought to make sense of the envelope he now held in his hands.

The envelope had no postmark. It must have been hand-delivered. But seeing the signet told him enough about the sender. Fraternidad del Fuego Santo.

He knew where the letter came from even if he wasn’t sure from whom.

With a sigh of frustration, he broke the seal and carefully removed the letter inside. It read simply:

We know where you sleep.

Calisto crumbled the letter with a scowl. He slammed his fist on his desk, and then shot from his chair.

They had no right to judge him. In fact, he still held them responsible for helping to create him. And they dared come to his home and threaten him. Did they have any idea of his power? It didn’t matter. He would put a stop to this.

The monk came to his home while he slept. This messenger had gone too far. It would end now.

Calisto raked his fingers back through his thick hair, snagged his black leather jacket free from the coat hook, and stormed into the night.

Tala lived again, and he would not let the church come between them. Not this time.

…

Kate had spent the entire day shopping for something appropriate to wear to her meeting with Betty. She told herself that was the reason anyway. It wasn’t because she secretly hoped Calisto Terana might show up, too. No, it wasn’t that she wanted to see him again. Not at all.

Ok, maybe just a little.

It was dark by the time she got back to her parents’ house. She dropped her Macy’s bags and collapsed onto her dad’s overstuffed easy chair. She looked down the hall at the office. She should at least check her e-mail. But exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders. Instead, she reclined the chair and let her eyes drift closed. She just needed a little rest.

Her breathing deepened, and gradually the landscape took shape. Her body tensed, her mind already anticipating the chase, the fear. But instead she saw... water?

Waves lapped at her ankles, and a man walked beside her. His face was lost in the shadow of the bright sun that warmed her skin.

She held a flower, studying it, twisting it with her fingertips. It wasn’t a rose. The petals were larger and more delicate. Then she recognized it. The same flower she’d seen at the mission in the courtyard. The scenery around her gradually shifted, fading and growing darker as the dream changed. The woman ran through dry brush, fighting for breath, for life.

The sound of her own scream woke her.

Kate sat up, sweating and shivering all at once. Her mind raced with receding terror and confusion. The dream had always been the same—until tonight.

Why would it change now, after all this time?

She struggled to keep the details fresh, fighting to remember. There was a man. Could he be the same man who chased the woman in her nightmare? She wasn’t sure, and the more she thought about it, she realized she didn’t want to know. She hoped she would never see that man’s face.

Finally Kate managed to stand, then wandered into the dark kitchen for a glass of water. It was probably just her pent-up emotions about being back at her parents’ house, combined with her anger at Tom’s betrayal, that changed her dream. Either way, she couldn’t go back to sleep.

The clock on the stove read 2:33 a.m. The sun would be up in a few hours, and she felt like she hadn’t slept at all yet. She dug through one of the plastic shopping bags on the kitchen counter and pulled out a box of instant hot chocolate. Maybe if she had something warm and soothing to drink, she might be able to sleep.

It didn’t hurt that hot chocolate was her go-to comfort food.

She dumped the packet into the cup, filled it with water, and after ninety seconds in the microwave, she had a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Leaning against the sink, she took a cautious sip in an effort to keep from scalding her tongue. She caught herself thinking about the man on the beach as she stared into the darkness. Kate wasn’t sure why the man had suddenly appeared in her nightmare but it was a relief to think about something other than the woman running for her life.

She carried her drink back to the living room and set it on the side table as she sat on the piano bench. Kate tentatively touched the keys. She wished she had been a better student. She took lessons and managed to pass her requirement to complete her degree in music, but she never truly mastered the art of this instrument.

When she played, it sounded methodical and choppy, not like concert pianists who had the ability to make the piano sing, cry, laugh, and scream with intensity. But right now her labored attempt at Beethoven’s “Für Elise” would have to suffice—anything to cover the deafening silence of the dark, empty house. She would have preferred something by Mozart, since most of his pieces made her smile, but his intricate sonatas were too difficult for her to play.

Beethoven’s classic was one of the most demanding piano pieces she ever learned to play. The slow, almost liquid beginning never left her memory, or her fingers. Grateful for the company of the music, even if it was slightly labored, the melody eased her fears and gradually released her from the hold of her nightmare. Finally, with a hint of a smile on her lips, she gave up Beethoven and instead banged out a gorgeous rendition of “Chopsticks,” grinning as she held the final chord. She could almost hear her mother now, rolling her eyes and telling Kate that playing “Chopsticks” with two fingers was a waste of a piano.

It felt good to smile when she remembered her parents.

She took her mug back to the kitchen. Rinsing out the cup, she stared at the predawn darkness, lost in thought. What would happen to her mother’s piano? Would Calisto ever sit on that same bench, or touch the keys? She shook her head and turned off the water. She didn’t even know if Calisto played the piano.

Settling back into her father’s easy chair, she hoped for a little more sleep. The warm beverage helped calm her nerves, and with luck her nightmare wouldn’t interrupt her again tonight. With a yawn, she curled up and closed her eyes. This time there was no running and no thundering hooves. No, this time a scent like sweet jasmine and a white flower that looked like crushed silk filled her dreams. And in her sleep, Kate smiled.

…

1775

The full moon glowed above the warriors whose pace Gregorio struggled to match. He wiped sweat from his brow though the cool, crisp air stung his lungs. They neared the cliffs and the treacherous climb to the opening of the Old One’s cave. Not only was the terrain steep, but instead of firm rock footing, hard sand formed the cliff. The farther they climbed, the more he slipped, scraping his hands until the skin was raw and bloodied. Never had he been so grateful for the sandals protecting the soles of his feet.

By the time he reached the mouth of the cave, his heart raced. The warriors stopped, leaving him to enter alone. Torches rested inside carved holes in the side of the cave and lit a narrow pathway.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he moved deeper into the cliff, his shadow flickering on the walls around him. The sight of the Old One beyond the final curve of the tunnel did nothing to ease his apprehension. In fact, the closer he came to the man sitting cross-legged on the other side of the fire, the more his anxiety grew.

The Old One’s long, white hair fell past his tanned shoulders, and although the firelight was not bright, the old man’s dark eyes seemed to glow crimson for a moment. A cold chill slid down Gregorio’s spine, and he squeezed his eyes closed to clear his vision.

He bowed his head. “Greetings,” he said in the tribal language of the Kumeyaay. “I am Father—” He corrected himself. “I am Gregorio Salva— ”

“I know who you are.” The Old One didn’t speak in his tribe’s tongue, but in Spanish.

“You know the language of my country?” The fire snapped, echoing through the cave.

“I know many languages,” the Old One said. “Why have you come?”

Hot, stagnant air choked him and sweat trickled down his back. “To become a member of the tribe.”

“No. You came for answers that might heal the pain in your heart.” He stoked the fire without making eye contact.

Gregorio frowned. “How do you know this?”

The Old One’s gaze rose from the flames to meet his, and a strange realization formed in his mind. Deep in the old man’s eyes, he saw wisdom that appeared far older than the man. Only his pure white hair betrayed his age. His face bore no lines or wrinkles. It made no sense. Gregorio rubbed at his eyes, sure he was mistaken, but the man’s youthful face remained a contradiction.

The Old One ignored his question. “You seek vengeance. But vengeance will not bring you the peace you seek. Only love will heal your wounds.”

Gregorio bit back the pain and loss that were his constant companions. “I will never love again.”

“You will. When she lives again.”

Gregorio’s gaze shot up to meet the old man’s. “I will never live to see that day.”

“You seem certain.” The Old One ceased poking the fire, resting the long stick against the side of the cave. “Are you so sure of the world around you that you would give up a chance to see her again?”

“I would have offered my life to save hers, but I did not get that chance,” Gregorio said.

“And now you would kill those who took her from you.”

“They deserve no better.”

“Perhaps not.” The old man tossed another log into the flames. “You were once one of them, an outsider. You came on a ship to this land and laid claim to something which did not belong to you. What makes you a better man than them?”

“I was naive. My intentions were only to help these people. The warriors tell me you can look into a man’s heart. Surely you can see I speak the truth.”

The Old One went silent, and his eyes seemed to glow in the dim firelight, as though the old man wasn’t simply looking at him but rather through him.

“You loved Tala,” the Old One whispered.

“With all my soul.” He wondered how the old man knew her name, but perhaps the Shaman from the tribe informed the Old One of her death.

“Enough to wait for her to walk this earth again?”

“You believe she will?” Gregorio struggled to keep his voice controlled when everything in his body wanted to beg this medicine man for any kind of magic to bring her back.

“Do you always answer with more questions?”

“Forgive me, but I have been raised to believe when a soul is laid to rest, her spirit dwells with the Lord in Heaven. How can you be certain this is not true?”

“How can you be certain this Heaven you speak of exists?”

Gregorio clenched his fists to keep from shaking the white-haired man. “Now it is you who answers with questions.”

A small smile curled on the Old One’s lips, briefly giving his face the lines of an older man. “I have given no answers. Not yet.” His stare mesmerized Gregorio until he was lost in the Old One’s eyes. “First you must answer my question. Is your love for her strong enough to see you through the years until her soul finds you again?”

“It makes no difference.” Gregorio met his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “No man lives forever.”

The Old One’s laughter echoed through the cave. He shook his head. “You know nothing, Father Salvador.”

“Father Salvador no longer exists. Only Gregorio remains.”

“Is that so?” The Old One’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. “A man can change his name, his title, but he is still the same man, no?”

“No. I will never be that man again.”

The Old One rose from the fire with ease seldom seen in one so aged. Gregorio watched as he retreated into the shadows and returned with a pipe and clay goblet. “We will make a trade this night. I will give your body the strength to face the centuries. You will be ageless. Immortal.”

“If that were truly possible, what would you take from me in exchange?”

“You will give up the sun, and you will help these people regain their land and their culture. These priests baptize them and take away their names and their beliefs. You will help them to free themselves from the bonds of a God they do not understand.”

Gregorio wanted to refuse. Both sides of this trade were impossible. No man lived forever. Only God was immortal. And how could he honor his end of the bargain? He was no warrior. How could he help the native people to reclaim the land the Mission now declared its own? He wouldn’t know where to begin.

Seeming to sense his reluctance, the Old One sat beside him, placing the smoking pipe in Gregorio’s hands. “Look into the fire. What do you see?”

He stared at the flames and puffed the pipe, letting the peyote smoke fill his lungs.

“I see her,” Gregorio said. “Her long black hair is falling down her back. She has the Romneya I gave her tucked behind her ear, and the moon is in her eyes.” His voice shook with emotion as his jaw clenched, fighting to hold back tears. “She is laughing, splashing through the waves on the shore.”

“You can see her again,” the Old One whispered. “Love her again.”

Was the fire getting hotter? The flames grew, and the peyote smoke filled the cavern. His head spun and his eyesight blurred. He could no longer distinguish reality from illusion.

The Old One danced around the fire, his shadow circling the walls of the cave. Everything spun like a whirlwind, each image blending into the next. Nothing made sense, and he wondered if he might be dreaming. The Old One lifted him to his feet with one hand. A sudden burning pain shot through him, and his heart raced.

He saw a lush jungle and triangular stone structures. And blood, so much blood. Chants echoed through his mind in a language he had never heard. His legs crumpled under him, but he didn’t fall. The Old One brought a clay goblet to his lips, and he drank until the cup was empty.

Somewhere deep within, Gregorio’s soul cried out in warning, and the last remnants of his faith clutched at his mind. For a moment he hesitated, but then he saw Tala smiling up at him and heard an echo of her laughter. He needed to see her again. To love her again.

Gregorio took the cup once more, but instead of quenching his thirst, the lust for more grew. The Old One filled the cup again and again, and Gregorio drank until he fell to the ground.

“Live forever,” the Old One whispered. And the shadows swallowed him in their suffocating embrace.

Chapter Four

Calisto rushed toward the Mission de Alcala with preternatural speed. He listened intently, not only to the night sounds around him, but to the mortals he passed. Long ago, he learned to close his mind to the internal feelings of men and women, shielding himself from their intrusion, but tonight he wanted to hear them.

Tonight he hunted.

The Fraternidad had violated his home while he slept. Calisto ground his teeth. They would pay for their intrusion.

He didn’t know how they had masked their presence from him. He hid his true nature from the mortals, but somehow the Fraternidad learned to hide from him as well. But this time, they had come too close while he lay defenseless beneath the earth.

Calisto rolled his shoulders back, loosening the knot of fury building within his muscles. They wouldn’t threaten him again. He would see to that. The zealots would respect his power, or they would die. He didn’t care which. He’d finally found Tala again, and he wouldn’t let their intrusion come between them.

As he approached the mission, his chest tightened with bitterness. He hated this place, these walls that he helped to build. The church annihilated a beautiful culture and replaced it with the beliefs of another. He tried to stop them once, but he was a different man back then.

Calisto jumped over the fence with ease and searched for the thoughts of the man who delivered the threat to his home. He stayed in the shadows, concentrating on each of the inhabitants. He listened to the thoughts of the mortals around him, allowing them to whisper into his mind. One priest was consumed with his dinner choice, while an employee in the gift shop tallied the days’ total receipts. He dug deeper, searching for thoughts regarding a monk visiting from Spain. After a few more minutes, he growled in frustration.

The monk from the Fraternidad del Fuego Santo was not at the mission. None of the priests knew much about why the monk traveled to San Diego or where he slept, only that he arrived two weeks earlier and would be in San Diego indefinitely.

Calisto hadn’t seen the man’s face yet, but he now had his name. Tomas. Father Tomas De Cardina.

Calisto disappeared into the darkness. He had no time to waste. The Gaslamp Quarter nestled in the middle of the high-rise downtown buildings would be his next stop. Allowing his mortal façade to fall away, he focused his immortal abilities, stalking the streets of downtown, searching the memories of the mortals around him.

Surely someone had crossed paths with Father De Cardina by now.

Face after face passed him by, one man worried about his job, a woman concerned for her sick mother, and another wondering if her date stood her up. Endless human babble intruded on his consciousness, but still he found no one who had been to the mission.

Frustration burned like indigestion. He wanted to find Kate again, not waste precious time searching for another fanatic from the Fraternidad. While at times he enjoyed hunting them, now that she lived again, his priorities had changed.

They killed her once. He wouldn’t take the chance they might hurt her again.

Valuable minutes slipped away, but no simple solution presented itself. The monk would not be mentioned on the Internet, nor would he rent a hotel room. The Fraternidad would forbid such publicity.

Calisto searched until his preternatural senses were overloaded. The scent of beer and sweat overpowered him as men and women gyrated against each other to heavy, thumping music inside the nightclubs. He heard their insecurities, the yearning, and the few who hoped they might have finally found love.

Love. He clenched his fists, fighting to control his emotions. He loved once, but it was gone far too soon, stolen from him. Worse yet, now that he had a chance at love again, the same faction who ordered her death centuries before threatened to keep them apart.

His rage was getting him nowhere.

In an effort to calm his mind, he ventured downstairs into the dimly lit Café Sevilla, lured by the familiar sound of his native tongue. Flamenco dancers clapped to the rapid beat of the Spanish music, drowning out the voices of the bar patrons. The club below the restaurant was warm, making his body feel even more inhuman and cold.

Stepping up to the bar, he ordered a brandy and swirled it in his glass as he settled in a dark corner. The flamenco show ended and one of the performers smiled in his direction from the edge of the stage as if she recognized him. Calisto returned the gesture with a polite nod. He often came to the café to watch them dance. The sound of the rhythmic clapping to traditional Spanish folk songs spoke to him.

They reminded him of a place and time he had once called home.

Tonight, he visited for a different reason. His gaze moved over the patrons, studying their faces until he spotted a woman who wore a gold crucifix around her neck. He opened his mind to hers and saw the mission bells and candles. His fingers tightened around his glass. She had been at the Dia De Los Muertos mass.

Calisto watched her sip a margarita. Thick, dark hair framed her fair skin, and her large brown eyes met his from across the room. He placed his untouched drink on the bar and approached her.

“Good evening.” He allowed the hypnotic tone he usually reserved for his victims to color his voice, making his lies more believable. “I think we met at the Mission de Alcala last night. For the mass?”

“Oh.” She nodded, accepting his mental suggestion as fact. “I thought you looked familiar.”

When she offered her hand, he placed a polite kiss on the back. The scent of her blood enticed his heightened senses, tempting him. Hunger gnawed at him. He wouldn’t be able to stay much longer.

He straightened, releasing her hand as he spoke. “My name is Calisto, and you are?”

“Gina,” she answered.

Flirtation filled her gaze as she wet her lips, but he wasn’t interested in a lover. He indulged in human pleasures of the flesh a few times over the centuries, but sex left him feeling more alone and isolated.

Without love, it was an empty act, and eventually he lost interest.

He didn’t want her body. He wanted her memories. Encouraging idle conversation, he studied her mind, searching.

His interest was piqued when he saw the sanctuary of the mission in her mind. “You speak Spanish, yes?”

She nodded. “My family is from Mexico. Why?”

“There was a priest at the Mission from Spain—”

“Father Tomas! I met him, too.”

“This world is indeed a small one, no?” He smiled, letting his eyes hold hers. He saw the monk’s face in her mind and gathered all of the information he needed from her. His gaze burned into hers, mesmerizing her until he could reshape her memories. It drained him mentally, but trivial, non-traumatic memories could be altered. He erased his face from her mind as a teacher might erase a chalkboard. And then he was gone.

Gina had indeed met Father Tomas. Moreover, her family offered to house him during his stay in America, but the priest declined. He told them he had church business to attend to in Point Loma.

Father Tomas already made it plain that he knew where Calisto lived. Point Loma was nowhere near his home. Odd...

So what business did Father Tomas have in Point Loma?

…

1775

Buried alive.

Clawing in a panicked frenzy, Gregorio shot up from the earth with a strength he’d never possessed before. When he broke free of the soil, he gasped deep breaths driven by fear rather than need. He turned back to see the shallow grave he escaped. What had the Old One done to him?

His body reeked, and he was sickened to realize he was covered by dirt, blood, vomit, and excrement. And he was thirsty.

Dear God, he had never been so thirsty in all his life.

“You must wash.”

Gregorio spun around to find the Old One placing a large Spanish barrel full of fresh water on the ground before him. A barrel much too large for any man to carry alone.

“You buried me alive,” Gregorio shouted.

“You first must die in order to live as I do.” The old man dipped his hands in the water, rinsing them.

Gregorio frowned. “You speak in riddles.”

“Wash,” the Old One said. “We will speak at the fire, and then you must feed.”

Gregorio nodded, although he still didn’t understand. Had the old man tried to kill him? The Old One walked away, but something about the way he moved confused Gregorio, and he rubbed his eyes. The farther the old man walked down the beach, the more difficult it became to see him clearly. His body appeared to mutate, shifting into a bird. No, not a bird. A white-headed eagle.

And without a sound, he took flight.

Flight? Gregorio’s jaw went slack. Impossible. Unable to believe what he’d just witnessed, he stared out at the troubled ocean. Although darkness surrounded him, he saw the landscape as if it were daylight.

Then he noticed the night alive all around him. Tiny crabs burrowed under the sand, escaping from the tide that sought to wash them away. Each tiny leg scuttled against the grains of sand.

And he could hear—everything.

The soft beat of a nearby owl’s wings, the song of the crickets in the sagebrush, and the warning rattle of a snake combined into a twilight symphony. How was this possible? What had the Old One done to him?

Pain and need jolted through him, silencing the night. Thirst overpowered his senses. He stumbled toward the barrel and leaned far inside, drinking huge gulps of water. The moment it slid down his parched throat, his body rejected it. He coughed violently until he purged the water from his body. Moaning, he fell to his knees, still aching. And still thirsty.

Gregorio knelt on the sand, catching his breath. He needed answers. But first he needed to rid himself of the stench of death.

He stripped off his soiled clothes and washed himself. The rough sponge and cool water soothed his skin.

Behind the barrel, draped over a fallen tree, he found a leather loincloth similar to the ones worn by the native warriors. Accustomed to having his entire body covered by the robes of a priest, the loincloth left him feeling exposed to the night, but he had nothing else.

He walked down the beach, searching the night for the Old One. He caught the scent of rabbits and even heard the disembodied voices of men in the distance. Impossible, like a strange dream, and yet he was awake.

Walking farther down the shoreline, he looked up at the cliffs, searching for the cave he entered the night before. Finally, he saw the opening in the rocks and climbed up the sandy cliff, surprised at how simple the task seemed now. His body felt stronger and more agile, like one of the native bobcats of the area.

He reached the opening to the Old One’s cave in half the time it took him the previous night, and he made the climb tonight without any abrasions to his hands or feet in spite of scaling the cliff face without sandals.

He moved to the back of the cave, and his head filled with questions for the Old One. What had happened to him? He felt changed, but how?

Before he could ask anything, the Old One stood in front of him. “Come. You are a Night Walker now, and you must feed.”

Without waiting for a reply, the Old One passed him, walking toward the mouth of the cave. When they reached a clearing, the old man whispered, “Listen to the night, and call the deer to us.”

He looked at the Old One with a questioning stare. “I do not—”

“No questions. Use your mind.”

Gregorio closed his eyes and listened, soon hearing the soft calls of a doe. Envisioning the deer in his mind, he found he could connect with the animal and see the night through the animal’s eyes. Gradually, he guided her into the clearing, and when he opened his eyes the deer stood before them.

Chanting low and steady, the Old One approached the animal and beckoned Gregorio forward. He tilted the doe’s head back, exposing its soft throat.

“Drink.”

“What?” Gregorio frowned. “I cannot. Not while the beast lives.”

“You must. Come.”

His disgust grew, as did his thirst, with each step he took. The doe’s heartbeat called to him, a temptation too strong to resist.

The Old One drew a small dagger from his belt, piercing the doe’s throat, and the scent of blood made Gregorio’s hands tremble with the ache of hunger.

“Drink, young one. Do as your new body commands.”

Unable to fight his thirst any longer, he knelt at the animal’s throat, moaning with a mixture of revulsion and rapture. He drank voraciously, enjoying the taste of the warm blood that filled his mouth. When the animal’s veins emptied and the doe collapsed, what remained of the man inside of him was repulsed.

Yet the monster yearned for more.

The Old One picked up the doe and started back toward the cave. Gregorio fell to his knees and stared up at the sky. He wanted to scream, to cry to God to save his soul, but he had no tears left. He was numb and empty.

“Why do you despair?”

Gregorio turned, surprised to see the Old One staring at him.

“Because I am cursed.”

“No,” the Old One said with a crooked smile. “You are blessed. I have chosen you as my descendant. You will be a great healer and lead these people against the Spanish outsiders. Come, you have much to learn.”

And learn he did.

For the following month, he acted as an apprentice to the Old One, learning the ancient healing secrets of the Night Walkers. Gradually mastering his powers, he became one with the night around him and found a new purpose for his existence.

He was a healer, a Night Walker.

The Kumeyaay tribes called him Kuseyaay, and he became their most respected Shaman and protector. With his help, they would regain their freedom from the mission. For that purpose, the Old One chose him to receive his power.

Then one night, the cave sat empty, the cinders within the inner chamber cold, the walls free of their designs.

The Old One was gone.

…

Just after three in the morning, Calisto reached Point Loma. With so few people awake and on the streets, he opened his mind without a mental overload from the humans around him.

He could not court Kate with the specter of the Fraternidad haunting him. The monks needed to remember whom they were dealing with. Hunger gnawed at his veins, reminding him that he hadn’t fed. He needed blood to keep his strength from waning. Hoping to find sustenance, he walked toward a well-lit corner in the distance. When he reached the convenience store, he lowered his mental shields, listening to the humans around him. Before he sorted through the entire fog of information, he found something interesting.

An ancient Latin chant.

His brow furrowed as he quietly walked through the parking lot, his mind fully focused on the chant, letting his Night Walker instincts draw him closer to his prey. When he reached the shadowed corner of the lot, he saw the face he’d searched for. Calisto smiled.

Father Tomas sat behind the wheel of a silver sedan. The chant he repeated shielded his thoughts, keeping Calisto locked out of his mind. Calisto clenched his fists and sucked in a deep breath. Apparently the Fraternidad knew more about his kind than he realized.

How long had they blocked his mental probes?

He burst into the passenger seat of the car, taking pleasure in the terrified gasp of the driver.

“Father Tomas De Cardina, I presume?”

The monk recovered from his shock and quickly thrust the cross that hung around his neck into Calisto’s face. “Stay back, creature of Satan.”

Calisto laughed. “Is that what you think I am?” He reached out to clasp the crucifix, and with a jerk of his wrist, snapped the gold chain from the monk’s neck. “If you know so much about me, then surely you know the church helped to make me what I am.”

He shook his head. “Lies! You sold your soul to Satan himself, and now you are his apprentice. You are an abomination before God.”

Calisto smirked. He heard the blood coursing through Father Tomas’ veins at an alarming rate, tempting him, calling to him.

“What you believe is of no consequence to me. I will not be threatened, least of all by the Fraternidad, and never at my own home.”

Surprise filled the monk’s gaze, and his mental chant faltered.

“I have not forgotten the signet of the Fraternidad.” He held up his left hand, showing his own ring. His personal signet bore the holy fire of the Fraternidad, but it also included a finely carved bird soaring across the top. Lifetimes ago, it symbolized the dove of peace, but now Calisto considered it a raven, his Night Walker spirit animal.

A bead of sweat made its way down Father Tomas’ forehead. “We know what you are, and we will do what we must in the name of God to insure that you make no others.”

Calisto frowned at the unexpected answer. “Why would I make another?”

Father Tomas kept silent, staring at the crucifix in Calisto’s hand. Again Calisto attempted to reach the monk’s mind, only to find the same repeated chant shielding the monk’s true thoughts.

He grabbed Tomas’ robe and yanked him closer. “Answer me!”

Frustration burned through Calisto. He felt his eyes glow crimson with rage.

“Santa Maria!” Father Tomas gasped and jammed a knife into Calisto’s abdomen, stabbing up underneath his ribcage.

Calisto’s eyes widened as pain seared through his chest. Blood spilled from the gaping wound, but his body tingled, healing from the inside out. He let go of the monk with one hand and plucked the knife from his torso, wrenching it free from the fanatic’s clutched hand.

Father Tomas struggled like a wild animal in the presence of a predator. Calisto dropped the knife to the floor of the car and clutched the monk with both hands. He drew Father Tomas closer. His fangs grazed the monk’s skin just below his ear. The priest fought to break away, but Calisto’s grip was inescapable. The more the monk struggled, the stronger his pulse became. The scent of blood combined with fear intoxicated Calisto. His thirst clawed to the surface, threatening to seize control.

“Let me go! In the name of God, let me go!”

Calisto’s voice was no more than a cold whisper. “I have no God. Not anymore.”

He sank his fangs into the monk’s neck and drank. The man’s life flashed through his mind, visions of Spain and the monastery where he trained centuries ago. He lost himself in the images, so modern and yet still the home he remembered.

His lips pulled at the monk’s throat, drawing more blood. But then one of the visions made his heart stutter, an image he never expected, and one that changed everything. Calisto jerked back, but the monk’s eyes were vacant.

“No!”

It was too late. Father Tomas was dead.

Calisto released him, growling in disgust at his lack of control. He was left with more questions than answers.

Kate’s face loomed in Father Tomas’ mind. The Fraternidad knew she lived again.

And they watched her, too.

Chapter Five

Kate stretched as sunlight poured through the window into the living room. Heading into the kitchen, she made a cup of coffee and a piece of toast and shook her head in disbelief at the beautiful November day. Back in Reno the days had already cooled as winter moved in, but here in San Diego, she could wear shorts into December. Though the climate here was familiar, she still found it amazing.

She popped open her laptop and glanced over the top local news stories on her homepage. Years ago, her father read the newspaper at this same countertop every morning. The memory brought a smile to her lips.

Settled in with her breakfast, she scanned headlines. One caught her eye: Spanish monk slain, body dumped at the doors of the Mission de Alcala.

Kate frowned. The priest, Father Tomas De Cardina, was visiting from a remote monastery in Spain. The police didn’t have a motive for the killing, and they hadn’t yet released the cause of death.

What kind of person would murder a monk? Kate sipped her coffee and considered what would drive a person to then treat the monk’s body with such disrespect.

Shaking her head, she finished her toast and set her laptop aside. The last thing she wanted to read about was bad news. She grabbed her Macy’s bags and poked through her wardrobe purchases.

Before her appointment at The Fish Market, she had lunch plans at Horton Plaza with Edie, so she headed upstairs to clean up and get ready to go. Kate looked forward to spending a little more time with Edie. Being back with her friends again definitely helped lift her spirits. Except when they hovered and lectured. She hoped to show them she didn’t need their mothering anymore. She would be strong. She would be confident. She would find her way.

After a quick shower, Kate dressed, grabbed her purse, and headed into the sunshine.

…

Betty rushed into her office, dropping the mail on her desk in an effort to save her coffee before it slipped completely out of the crook of her arm. Yes, she could’ve made two trips, but she hated going all the way back to her car for one item. It was an inefficient use of her time.

She set her coffee on the coaster and moved around her desk to settle in her executive chair. She loved the feel of the cool leather soaking through her linen suit. It made her feel powerful, all business. As a girl, she dreamed of being an attorney, but not because she longed to fight for justice or truth. A lawyer commanded respect. They were women that even rich, influential men feared.

Of course, she never became an attorney. College wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. In the end, she didn’t need a diploma to hang on the wall. She possessed an abundant amount of determination and organizational skills that college graduates would kill for.

And it was finally paying off.

Sipping her coffee, she quickly sorted the envelopes into stacks. Betty opened the drawer, retrieving her gold-plated letter opener. She started out as a personal assistant by accident. Three years ago she answered an ad for a receptionist at a talent agency in Los Angeles. While she waited in the lobby for her interview, she struck up a conversation with a guitarist from some rock band she had never heard of. Before she knew it, she had a job working for him.

Even though she was the best personal assistant her employer ever had, the job hadn’t lasted long. On a trip to San Diego to represent him at a dinner party, she met Calisto Terana, founder of a charity that raised money for performing arts in schools and colleges as well as promoting the arts to rural schools on the reservations.

After an enjoyable evening of small talk and cocktails, he asked her to move to San Diego and work for the foundation. She never looked back. Calisto offered her a six-figure salary and an office in La Jolla with a view of the ocean. Not to mention he was one of the most reclusive and sexy eligible bachelors in Southern California. She’d be nuts to refuse.

But she’d soon discovered reclusive was putting it mildly—more like virtually nonexistent most of the time. He rarely came into the office, and when he did, it was usually after hours and at the tail end of another trip. Although she’d hoped for more interaction with him, she grew to love the independence of running the office herself. For the most part, he let her have complete control of the foundation’s operations, as long as she kept him up-to-date on her activities, and Betty enjoyed every minute of it. Within a year, Calisto named her director.

The title suited her just fine.

Betty had the mail opened and sorted in no time. She glanced at her calendar and smiled when she saw her meeting with Calisto tonight. Her steel-gray business suit was tailored for a perfect fit, but she decided she’d have to run back to her condo before the meeting to change into something less… uptight. Calisto kept a very professional distance with her, but deep down she wished he would open up so they could get to know each other better.

He represented everything she wanted in a man: tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, cultured, and extremely wealthy. Her pulse raced just thinking about him, and every evening meeting with him offered another potential opportunity to expand their relationship.

Betty prided herself on not allowing opportunities slip by.

Although she’d worked for him for a few years now, she really didn’t know anything about his past, except that he was originally from Spain. Calisto didn’t like to talk about himself and even when she asked direct questions, usually he found some way to get around them.

She discovered he was an accomplished pianist purely by chance one evening when she walked in on him playing after work. Her employer remained a mystery to her, but that made him even more desirable in her mind. Betty loved a good mystery, especially when it came wrapped in a six-foot-two-inch chiseled body with dark eyes that could melt you where you stood.

She worked quickly to get their donor list updated. If she worked through lunch, she could leave with plenty of time to change and let her hair down.

If tonight went according to plan, Calisto would be the one melting. She could hardly wait.

…

1775

The Old One was gone.

Gregorio struggled to grow into his new role within the tribe. He settled disputes, reading each party’s thoughts to discover the truth, and healed the injured, closing their wounds with his own blood. The local tribes admired his abilities and judgment. They treated him with honor and awed reverence, but deep inside, his soul still burned with rage and hungered for revenge.

Tonight, he would hunger no more. The Kumeyaay people were not neophytes, as the priests so often labeled them. They were a proud people, rich with tradition, but the Church sought to change that, to change them, by whatever means necessary.

The Spanish, his own people, would pay for taking Tala from him and enslaving the Kumeyaay tribes. The priests would not go unpunished.

The moon shone brightly above them, casting light on the silent mission as the tribes banded together to fight for their freedom. Over 600 warriors silently surrounded the structure. The Spanish would call this the day of the Alcala Massacre, but for Gregorio, the Night Walker, it marked the night of judgment for a man he once called friend.

He had prepared the warriors for this fight, drawing pictures of the muskets and explaining how they were used. Warriors gathered from many tribes, each sharing a common fear of the white men who sought to steal their identity and way of life.

Tala’s death at the hand of a Spaniard provided further proof the white men were a threat to all of the tribes. Even their women and children were not safe.

With the warriors in place, a single battle cry broke the evening’s stillness. In seconds, the wooden planks of the mission’s roof blazed. At the same time, another band of warriors smashed the clay flumes that brought fresh water into the mission, making it impossible to extinguish the fire.

Gregorio remained hidden in the darkness, watching the fire feed on the buildings he helped erect only a year earlier. Father Jayme insisted they move the mission from the coast to the inland valley, closer to the native workers. Gregorio helped them move one plank at a time and rebuild one adobe wall at a time.

He looked up at the bell tower now engulfed in flames. So much had changed in such a short time. A few musket blasts erupted as the Spanish guards made a feeble attempt to defend the mission, but it was already too late. They soon realized the futility of their efforts and sought to escape with the priests and servants.

Kumeyaay women and men scrambled out of the burning mission, taking whatever food and trinkets they could carry. But Gregorio didn’t move.

It wasn’t long until he saw the man he waited for.

“Amar a Dios, hijos!” Father Luis Jayme called as he ran toward the natives.

Gregorio rushed forward before the priest uttered another word and yanked him close. They stared at one another, eye to eye. The depth of his hatred for this man stunned him. Until Tala’s murder, Gregorio had never hated anyone, but this man had introduced a bitter emptiness into his soul that slowly poisoned him.

They were once close friends. Brothers. But again, so much had changed. Too much.

Father Jayme’s face brightened with a smile. “Brother Salvador! Thank our Lord you are safe. We feared you were dead.”

The priest opened his arms to embrace him, but Gregorio stepped back, meeting his gaze with a cold stare. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. Every muscle in his body tensed. “You betrayed me.”

Father Jayme shook his head, his eyes pleading. “No, Brother Salvador. I saved you. Satan himself made you love her and caused you to stray from your faith. She tempted you until you broke your vows. I protected you when you could no longer protect yourself—”

Gregorio’s fist connected with Father Jayme’s face before he realized he intended to hit him. When the robed man fell, Gregorio grabbed his arms and yanked him up.

“I gave you my confession, and you used it against me. Did you know the soldier you paid to kill her also raped her?” He shook him like a rag doll. “Did you?”

The priest sobbed as blood trickled from his misshapen nose. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

Gregorio threw him to the ground. The priest cried out in pain.

“Once I called you my brother, and now you lie to my face? I saw him running away from her dead body, Luis! He took my ring that hung around her neck.” He grabbed the priest’s hand and twisted his finger. “This ring that is now around your finger! Tell me the truth.”

Father Jayme stammered his response. “You should not have given it to her. I corrected a mistake that you never should have made.”

Gregorio leaned in close and spoke with clenched teeth. “By killing an innocent woman?”

“A heathen! Satan in the form of a dark-skinned woman stole you from your true calling. Stealing you from God. I saved you.”

He stared into the priest’s eyes, fighting the urge to rip the man’s head from his body and sickened at how the scent of the priest’s blood tempted him.

“If Satan exists, Luis, then I am looking at him right now.”

He removed his signet ring from Father Jayme’s finger and slid it back onto his own. “You broke your vows by using my confession to harm another, and God Himself will judge you for that sin.”

Unable to bear the temptation of being so near Father Jayme’s bloody face, he turned away from the priest. With a nod from him, the native warriors moved in. As Gregorio walked away, short screams punctuated the thuds of sticks and knives as the natives beat and stabbed Father Luis Jayme to death.

It would not bring Tala back, but it felt justified. A life for a life. But the guilt he felt for trusting Father Jayme with his confession would linger forever.

He and Tala met secretly for months before he finally made that fateful confession. He made a fatal error to confess his secret love and his desire to give up the priesthood. Why had he done it?

But he already knew.

From the first moment he kissed her, he had known he loved her. After they lay together, guilt weighed on him until he could no longer bear it. He wanted to give up his missionary robes forever. When he learned Tala carried his child in her womb, he took it as a sign from God that he would become a husband and father. He actually believed Father Jayme would absolve him of his sin and bless their union.

How wrong he had been.

Gregorio moved on through the thick smoke, his revenge not yet complete. He needed to find one more man. Within minutes, three guards stumbled away from the inferno that devoured the mission. He recognized Tala’s killer instantly as the man he’d seen riding away from her body, clutching Gregorio’s signet ring. Fury lit through him. Using his heightened speed, Gregorio knocked the man to the ground and roared in anger.

The guard gasped, struggling to escape. The terror in his eyes reflected the fire in Gregorio’s. The Old One warned him not to allow others to see his sharpened teeth, which now resembled fangs. They should only be used to feed on animals and heal mortal wounds, not to strike fear or inflict harm.

But as he looked into the guard’s mind he saw Tala, her long hair tangled with brambles, her legs bleeding as this man chased after her on horseback. He watched the dog tear at her dress and rape her, holding his dagger to her throat.

In that moment, his rage was primal and all-consuming.

The man’s blood sang to him, his pulse raced, and without hesitation, Gregorio yanked him close and buried his fangs into the other man’s neck. Until now, he’d only fed on animals. He was unprepared for the power and pleasure of human blood.

Vaguely, he realized the guard fought to break free, screaming for help, but Gregorio’s grasp remained firm and unbreakable. He drank, overwhelmed by the images that sifted through his mind, his victim’s memories playing out before him.

He saw Spain, faces of men and women he did not recognize, and then he saw Tala running, her cheeks covered in tears, and he bit harder, pulling at the guard’s veins until the man went limp and his heart ceased beating.

Gregorio dropped the body in sudden disgust. What had he done?

But he knew, and worse yet, he enjoyed it. He was truly a monster, a blood-drinking demon. Scanning the smoke-filled clearing, relieved to see no one witnessed his atrocity against humanity, Gregorio ran.

Chapter Six

Calisto woke as the sun dipped behind the horizon. With a sigh, he rubbed his hands over his face, still shaken by seeing Kate in the priest’s mind the night before.

The Fraternidad knew where she lived, and he did not. How could he protect her from them if he couldn’t find her?

But he would find her. He had to find her.

Stepping out of a hot shower, Calisto quickly towel-dried his hair and stared at his face in the mirror. He would find Kate tonight after his business meeting. With Betty’s help searching on the computer, he would find her. If necessary, he would hire a private detective to locate her during the daylight hours.

Before the Fraternidad sent a replacement for Father Cardina.

Perhaps after they received his message at the mission’s doors, they would finally leave him alone.

He dressed in a pair of black slacks with a dark green turtleneck and the tweed sports coat Betty gave him for Christmas. Seeing him wear it would make her smile, and he owed her at least that much.

Her obvious infatuation with him made reading her thoughts unnecessary. He tried not to exploit her feelings. He cared for her as best he could, and never gave her false hope of a relationship between them. She was the closest thing he had to a friend in this world, but he learned long ago having mortal friends made it far too painful to leave when the time came.

Calisto didn’t allow himself to care for or love anyone, not ever.

He did strive to treat the mortals around him with respect, and if he made them happy in the process, so much the better. As long as he didn’t become too attached, or entangled in their lives. He remained ever watchful not to cross that line.

Upstairs in the main house, he settled behind his desk and found the address for the restaurant to meet Betty. The scent of her perfume still lingered on her stationery. He smiled at the personal touch as he folded the paper and tucked it into his coat pocket.

He stepped out of the house and glanced at the stars. The sight of the moon reminded him of Kate. He wondered when they would meet again. For the first time in centuries he remembered what it felt like to carry hope in his heart.

It was a dangerous thought.

Shaking his head, Calisto pushed the feeling from his mind. Tonight he would focus on business. First, he needed to feed or his skin would be too cold and far too pale. He had an hour before his meeting with Betty, not much time. Walking down the beach, he vanished into the darkness.

…

Kate signed the final paper documenting her mother’s donation of the piano and sheet music to the foundation and couldn’t help but notice Betty glanced at her watch several times.

“Sorry I’m so slow. I like to know what I’m signing.”

Betty shook her head with a smile. “Not a problem. I’m expecting the founder any minute, and I’m starting to worry he might have lost the address or something. He’s not usually late.”

“Calisto’s coming here?” When she saw Betty’s perfectly plucked eyebrow arch, Kate struggled to rein in her excitement. “My mom mentioned him to me before…. He’s Spanish, right?”

“Yes.” Betty’s smile brightened as she watched the door open. “And it looks like he just got here.”

…

Calisto followed the hostess back to the table Betty reserved, surprised to find she wasn’t alone. Another woman sat with her back to him.

“Calisto!” Betty rose from the table to greet him, the picture of sophisticated beauty, dressed in a simple black cocktail dress that accentuated her long, shapely legs. She usually kept her blonde hair pulled into a tight French twist, but tonight it fell loosely down her back.

He smiled, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Good evening, Bettina. I apologize for my tardiness.” He turned to acknowledge the other woman at the table. “I didn’t realize you invited anyone else to our—”

His words caught in his throat the instant he saw the other woman. Her large eyes were dark as midnight, except for the tiny crescent, and the sight of her smile as she stood to offer her hand felt like a summer breeze warming his cold heart.

He took the chance encounter as a sign. Destiny had crossed their paths again, offering their souls another chance at love. He prayed fate would be kinder to them in this lifetime.

Betty gestured to Kate with a curt, businesslike smile. “Calisto, this is Kate Bradley. Martha Bradley’s daughter.”

He fought to keep from pulling her into his arms. Instead, he managed a nod. “I am sorry for your loss. Martha was a wonderful woman. She will be missed by all.”

Martha Bradley. In his excitement over seeing Kate at the Mission, he hadn’t recognized her last name. Martha was one of Foundation Arts’ longtime donors, yet in all those years he’d never met her beautiful daughter.

Tala had been close to him all this time, yet just out of his reach. The thought caused his chest to tighten.

He watched her mouth, waiting to hear her voice again. He ached to touch her. It was the sweetest torture he’d ever known to see her alive once more, and not be able to hold her in his arms, to kiss her soft lips. Fire licked at his heart, awakening passion he had long ago forgotten.

“Thank you.” Kate offered her hand in greeting. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I didn’t realize who you were when we met at the mission the other night.”

He was unprepared for the electricity that shot through him when he took her hand. Touching her again after lifetimes apart made him feel both weak with gratitude and selfish. He never wanted to let her go.

Her skin felt warm against his lips as he pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “The pleasure is mine, Kate Bradley.”

Clearing her throat, Betty stepped closer to Calisto and took his arm, her smile growing when he finally forced himself to relinquish Kate’s hand.

“This coat looks wonderful on you. Isn’t it the one I gave you for Christmas?” Betty stood nearer to him than she ever had before.

Calisto raised a brow. “I believe it is.”

For the first time, Calisto wished he’d not used her infatuation to keep her pliant and unsuspecting. He’d waited so long to see Tala again, and the last thing he wanted to stand in his way were petty jealousies.

He forced himself to shake off his irritation as Kate glanced at Betty with a momentary look of concern. Kate flashed a smile and stepped back, and Calisto casually removed Betty’s hand from his arm.

“Kate signed the documents for Martha’s piano so we can pick it up for her,” Betty said, turning to face him more fully, using the movement to move close to him again.

Calisto nodded, putting some space between him and Betty. Kate looked stunning in her burgundy lace dress, her full lips tinted with wine-colored lipstick. The way her black hair spilled over her shoulders made him yearn to run his fingers through it. How had he survived so long without her?

“I think I’ve signed everything, so I guess I’d better get going.” Kate smiled at Betty, and cast a brief glance in Calisto’s direction. “I don’t want to interrupt your business.”

“Nice to finally meet you in person, Kate,” Betty said with a stiff smile.

Kate returned the pleasantry as she shook Betty’s hand. “I enjoyed seeing you again, Calisto.”

She was leaving. He couldn’t let her go, and yet he couldn’t make her stay. His heart pounded. Taking her hand, he placed another tender kiss to her knuckles. “Again, the pleasure was all mine.”

Kate lifted her hand from his and smiled. She picked up her purse and offered a final nod. “Good night.”

With one last look over her shoulder, she walked away.

His mind raced with panic as he watched her go. He needed to see her, and soon. Nothing would keep him from her.

Visions from Father Tomas filled his mind and anger flooded through him. The Fraternidad knew she lived again. Tomas had seen her. His train of thought ground to halt. The monk told him they would not allow him to make another blood drinker.

They must believe he would make Kate a Night Walker.

Even now, after centuries had passed, the church still tried to keep them apart. But they would not succeed this time. Kate gave his empty life new meaning with a simple smile. He would not allow anyone to steal it away. Not this time.

…

Kate drove away from the bay with a dreamy smile. Why was she so stuck on this guy? Hearing him talk made her heart flip.

She shook her head as she drove back to Point Loma. Infatuation was a strong emotion when you were alone. Kate tried not to think about the way he stared at her, the way his dark eyes held her in his gaze, like he could undress her with just a look.

Her skin flushed hot thinking about it. She recalled her mother mentioning he was handsome, but geez, handsome was an understatement.

Ok, so he was incredible. It was time to move on. The last thing she needed was another man in her life. Tom’s betrayal was too fresh, and trust wasn’t something she was ready to try again anytime soon. Infatuation might be harmless and fun, but it needed to end there. How could she work on a new life and a better future when she let a hot guy with a silky voice break her focus?

She didn’t have the emotional fortitude for anything more than getting her life back together.

Turning up the radio, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Tonight turned out better than she expected. She sang along with the music and pulled off when she saw a familiar taco shop. Good Mexican food was the one thing she missed most when she moved to Reno. Nothing else measured up to the spicy flavor of a carne asada burrito from a San Diego taco shop.

Her mouth watered thinking about it.

She ordered her burrito, hold the salsa, and a large iced tea. As she waited at the window for her food, she thought about what might have happened if she’d stayed at The Fish Market with Betty and Calisto. Part of her wished she had, but it would have been awkward. Betty made it obvious they had work to do. Besides, no sense in tempting herself with some crazy infatuation for a rich Spanish bachelor who probably dated a new supermodel every week. In fact, that was the last thing she needed.

She definitely made the right decision when she left. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

Kate traded the cashier a few dollars in exchange for her dinner and drove home. Time to focus. She needed to shove thoughts of Calisto aside and consider her long-term plans. She still hadn’t decided what to do about her teaching position in Reno. She wanted to investigate her career options in San Diego.

If she could immerse herself in a job search and dealing with her parents’ estate, Calisto Terana would fade into a distant memory. She was certain of it.

Her thumb unconsciously traced over the back of her other hand where his lips brushed her skin a couple of hours earlier, and her pulse pounded at the memory of his touch. Kate rolled her eyes and sighed. Get a grip.

After polishing off her dinner, Kate sipped her iced tea and surfed the websites of the county’s many school districts. There weren’t many openings, but she had a few options, including an opening for a position on an east county reservation. When she clicked the link for more information, the page loaded a photo of Calisto and described the grant he created to fund cultural music and art teachers for the school. She stared too long at the photo, thinking about how he looked at her. With a start, she realized she’d lost track of time again.

Really, this was getting ridiculous.

She stabbed at the keyboard to shut down the computer. Tomorrow, she would polish her resume and research local private schools. For now, she wanted to play the piano, possibly for the last time. Maybe if she played something, she’d be able to think about something other than Calisto.

But the longer she played, the more she wondered what he would do with her mother’s instrument. Betty told her he was an accomplished pianist. Would his fingers touch these keys?

It was hopeless. Kate closed the cover over the keyboard and grabbed her purse. She was going to a movie. It didn’t matter what was showing, as long as it gave her something else to think about.

…

Word of Father De Cardina’s death traveled quickly back to Spain. The monsignor let out a sigh, crumbling the courier’s letter. He had hoped to avoid more bloodshed.

For centuries, the Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo kept a quiet watch over the Night Walker, a monster who had once been one of their own.

During the Alcala Massacre, a lone monk had watched the carnage from the shadows. He witnessed the Night Walker feeding, drinking the blood of one of the guards, and rewrote history. Father Jayme was named the first Catholic martyr in the New World, and Father Salvador, along with his lover, Tala, were erased from all written records in the Catholic Church, but not forgotten.

The Fraternidad del Fuego Santo hid the story of the native woman with the moon in the iris of her right eye and the creature with a thirst for blood.

They still hadn’t found a way to kill the unholy abomination. In recent years they resigned to keeping a sentinel on the Pacific coast to observe his movements and be certain he did not spread his curse.

The truth behind the Mission de Alcala uprising had been buried for centuries. They could not risk allowing the world to discover what the Church had unknowingly unleashed. From Brother Cardina’s communications, they learned the Night Walker had met a woman with a strange marking in her right eye. Brother Cardina seemed convinced the abomination believed the woman to be the reincarnation of his Native American lover.

Of course she would have no memories of Father Gregorio Salvador. Reincarnation was a fallacy. But if the Night Walker believed she lived again and sought to make her immortal, the consequences would be dire. The Night Walker was formidable enough alone, but if Satan took the woman’s soul, too, the threat to the flock would be mighty. If only they understood the unholy races better.

Over the years, the Fraternidad collected files of research on the Night Walkers, but the creatures had remained secretive. The Church still had more questions than avenues for answers. Most people remained unaware of their existence, and that was the best the Fraternidad had managed.

They still weren’t sure if his life could be ended, and the moral implications of the Church ordering such an action were endless.

Murder, though justified, had been the catalyst that brought them to their present dilemma.

However, they would not sit idly by and watch the Night Walker unleash another unholy blood drinker into this world. Surely if the abomination believed his lover lived again, he would seek to make her an immortal like him. They had to control the situation.

His office door creaked open.

“You sent for me, Father?”

The monsignor looked up to see the young monk enter his chamber, shutting the heavy door behind him. “Yes, Brother Mentigo. I have received word from San Diego. Brother De Cardina has gone to the Lord’s arms.”

The color drained from the younger monk’s face as he made the sign of the cross. “God rest his soul. Was it the—”

“Yes.” The monsignor handed him a crumbled slip of paper. “The priests at the Mission de Alcala found this message pinned to his robe.”

Do not start a war you cannot win.

“Is this blood?” Mentigo asked. His brow creased, and he rubbed his thumb across the paper as if to test the words.

“It is.”

The monk wet his lips. “He wrote this?”

“Si.” The monsignor gestured to the seal on the back. “That is his signet. He still has it after all of these years.”

Brother Mentigo nodded. It seemed he caressed the seal, his fingers brushing over the script on the front once more. The monsignor cleared his throat, and the monk lifted his gaze, returning the note.

“Our mission falls on your shoulders now,” the monsignor continued as he tucked the note into his robes.

“What would you have me do, Father?”

“Keep your distance from the Night Walker, and be certain the woman has no contact with him. And pray, my son. Pray she stays away from him. We must keep this world safe from another blood drinker, and we will use whatever means we must.”

“You believe he will make her a Night Walker?”

The monsignor pressed his lips together, quiet for a moment before answering. “I cannot say, but we must not take that risk. Remember, no one else can know. Stay in contact with me alone. ”

“I will, Father.” He turned away, and the monsignor thought he saw the younger man slide his tongue along the edge of his teeth, burying an eager smile.

Once he was alone, the monsignor clasped his hands together, wondering if he had just sent another young priest to his death. He hoped not. He already saw the stain of Brother De Cardina’s blood on his hands each time he closed his eyes. He did not want to lose another priest to the Night Walker’s appetite.

Sadly, it was a chance he would have to take. Although they did not know how to end the Night Walker’s life, the woman still remained mortal, and if they needed to kill her in order to save the world from the plague of another blood drinker, they would do what must be done. God help them.

Chapter Seven

Calisto watched from the sidewalk as Betty drove out of the restaurant parking lot. He didn’t need to look into her mind to know she was disappointed their meeting ended early, her tight shoulders, aloof chin, and death grip on her steering wheel gave away her state of mind. It couldn’t be helped. His thoughts revolved around Kate, the sound of her voice and the feel of her soft hand in his. He couldn’t concentrate on the business he needed to discuss with Betty.

Usually, he buried his emotions without a second thought, but this newfound hope growing inside of him was impossible to hide. Deep within, icy fear stabbed him. The Fraternidad’s focus on Kate did not bode well under any circumstance, but he couldn’t forget the image of Kate in the priest’s mind, holding a small child in her arms, drinking its blood. The image, hazy and incomplete, had the telltale markers of a fear or dream, not a real memory, but it told him absolutely why they had targeted her.

Their belief he would turn her into a Night Walker was preposterous. If they understood the price she would pay for immortality, they would know he could never steal her humanity. Unfortunately, their foolishness made them dangerous. This same group of zealots had ordered her death once before. He didn’t doubt that they would do it again.

This time he would be ready for them.

He walked toward the water’s edge and closed his eyes, letting his mind reach outside of his body, searching for hers. When the person he sought was not nearby, locating them mentally became almost impossible. Many years ago, when his Night Walker abilities grew in power, he learned to bind his spirit to another raven, connecting them over great distances. Seeing the world through the bird’s eyes, he sometimes found who or what he was looking for.

But without a raven to aid his search, he was forced to sift through the deluge of mortal thoughts pouring in. When he could tolerate no more, he shielded his mind, and his spirit grounded once more. Kate wasn’t nearby. Without a phone number or an address, he had little information to locate her.

She’d left the restaurant less than two hours ago. Perhaps she was still in downtown San Diego. Hidden in the darkness, he made a running start while the air around him charged with electricity. With each stride, his body transformed and feathers black as night covered him. His final step became an easy leap, and he took to the air.

Soaring over the coast of San Diego, he batted his wings against gusts of ocean wind. He much preferred to fly as a raven than to ride in a car. The feel of the wind and the scent of the salt air brought him peace. He never mastered driving automobiles. He loathed being trapped inside a metal prison hurdling along the busy freeways. Although a car might travel faster from place to place, in the air as a lone raven, he had complete control and freedom.

Calisto landed in a dark, empty alleyway behind a nightclub in the downtown Gaslamp Quarter. Willing himself back to his human form, he straightened his clothes and walked into the masses of mortals on the sidewalk.

At the corner, he prepared to lower his mental shields to search for her. Before the onslaught of thoughts hit him, Calisto noticed a familiar face across the street. He stopped and stared. Perhaps fate would lend him a hand in this lifetime. When the light changed, he followed in her direction.

Kate hurried inside a movie theater, and Calisto smiled. A movie sounded like a great idea.

…

Kate bought her ticket and found a seat on the aisle in the middle of the empty theater. Tuesday night was obviously not the most popular night of the week for moviegoers, which suited her fine. She wasn’t looking for company right now anyway. She ate her popcorn, watched the slides for local businesses flash across the large screen, and incorrectly answered movie trivia questions that kept her mind off Calisto.

Sipping her soda, Kate shifted in her seat. She had the odd feeling she was being watched. After a moment, she glanced toward the bottom of the theater. Her heart leapt when she saw who stood below.

Calisto looked up at her, and the moment their eyes met, Kate wasn’t sure she could breathe. He climbed the stairs to her row, his eyes never straying from hers, and her pulse quickened.

“Is this seat taken?”

She swiped her buttered fingers against the napkin in her lap and cursed the crumbs she knew had fallen all over her blouse. With a smile she hoped would distract him, she said, “No. It’s all yours.”

He returned her smile and removed his coat while she had a field day taking in all the muscular curves that lurked under his fitted knit shirt. Kate snapped her gaze to the movie screen the second he turned to take his seat.

God, she hoped he didn’t see her staring.

“It is nice to see you again, Kate.” The overhead lights dimmed.

Kate nodded, finally allowing herself to glance at him again. “It’s strange that we keep bumping into each other.”

“Perhaps it is fate,” he said.

Kate hoped the dim lights hid her flush as the previews flashed on the screen. Neither one of them touched or said another word during the movie, although she wanted to, desperately. The romantic comedy should have made her laugh, but she found it impossible to concentrate. Knowing he sat beside her, catching the scent of his cologne, made her skin tingle. She ached for him to reach over and touch her.

Oh, she was in so much trouble.

…

The credits passed over the screen, but Kate didn’t move. She wasn’t sure she could. Half of her wanted to stay in this moment forever, and the other half wanted to protect her heart and run home to safety.

Finally, Calisto broke the silence. “It was a nice surprise to find you here, Kate. The evening is still young. Will you allow me the pleasure of buying you a cup of coffee?”

She looked at him, already losing herself in his dark eyes. “That sounds great.”

An inner battle between her heart and her head raged. Her heart wanted her to be near Calisto, to learn everything about him, and her head told her to escape before she got too attached to this way-too-perfect-to-be-true man. What happened to her plan not to rush into anything? She was supposed to be taking control of her life.

Kate walked down the aisle toward the door. The feel of his hand at the small of her back shot chills through her until she finally spun around to face him.

“I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

She hadn’t realized how close they were, but she didn’t move away. Calisto remained quiet for a moment before his hand dropped to his side. A gentle smile came to his face, but his eyes hardened.

“Forgive me if I gave you the wrong impression. I hate sitting in a café alone, and I thought I might get to know you better.”

Stupid! Did she honestly think he was interested in a romantic relationship with her? Her infatuation clouded her thinking. Why would Calisto Terana, philanthropist and longtime bachelor, give up his lifestyle for a choir director from Reno?

Wake up, Kate.

She took a step back. This close to him, the urge to touch him overwhelmed her. “I’m sorry. I’ve been under a lot of stress. I guess I read too much into this. I’d love to have a cup of coffee with you.”

“I would be honored.” Calisto offered his arm.

Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, Kate followed his lead into the bustling nightlife of downtown. The November evening air was crisp, and the fog rolled in, embracing them in its mist.

She walked a little closer to Calisto, telling herself it was because of the cold. Billows of misty clouds made beautiful orange halos of light around the old gas lamp streetlights while their footsteps echoed along the empty sidewalk.

After they traveled two blocks, Kate smiled up at him. “I hope you know where we’re going, because I haven’t been down here in years.”

“It is not much farther.” He teased her with a smile.

“I don’t mind the walk.” The haze around them blurred the city lights. She could imagine they were the only two people in the world. “It’s a beautiful night.”

He brought his free hand to lie over her fingers on the crook of his arm. “Yes it is.” He looked down, his gaze like a caress. “Incredibly beautiful.”

Kate caught herself imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Not a good sign considering she came back to San Diego to get distance from a relationship, not embroil herself in another. She pulled her gaze from his and focused on walking in a straight line.

“How long have you lived in San Diego?”

Calisto paused for several seconds. “I lost count years ago. How long have you been away?”

“Nine years,” Kate said.

“Why would you leave a paradise like San Diego?”

“Who says Reno isn’t paradise?”

Calisto shook his head slightly. “I meant no disrespect to your new home, but I wonder why you would give up the ocean and the perfect weather.”

Kate shrugged. The movement sent her fingers over a ridge of muscle in Calisto’s arm. “I don’t know. San Diego, especially the beach, never felt like home. Watching the waves made me lonely. I know it sounds strange, but I don’t have a better way to describe it. Almost like being haunted or something.”

Had she really just said that? She never told anyone how she felt when she stood on the beach, not even Tom, the man she had planned to marry. What was it about Calisto? She barely knew him.

Kate laughed, shaking her head. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” She smiled up at him, feeling vulnerable and most definitely not confident in that moment. He opened the glass door of a dimly lit café. “Sure you still want to have coffee with me?”

“I have never been more certain of anything in this life.” Calisto grinned. His hand brushed the small of her back, an encouraging touch. She let him guide her to a corner table, reveling in the feel of his hand against her and the acceptance in his smile.

Every time he touched her, her entire body tingled in response. And even though she shouldn’t, even though she needed time and room to settle into her new approach to life, she wanted more of Calisto. She yearned for it.

He took the seat across from her. Kate dreaded the awkward silence sure to come, but it didn’t.

“You are a musician in Reno?”

She relaxed into her seat, enjoying the way his accent colored the name of her city. “Yes, I direct a couple of middle school choirs. How did you know that?”

“I wish I could say that I knew your mother and she told me this, but I cannot. Sadly, I am not involved with the donors at the foundation as much as I would like.”

“Betty told you, huh?” Kate laughed.

“I wondered why a musician would give up a beautiful instrument like your mother’s piano.”

“My mother didn’t give me a choice in the matter. She wanted you to have it,” Kate said, surprised at how bitter she sounded.

“Do you play?”

She shrugged. “Not very well. But I get by.”

“Get by?” He moved his chair back and crossed an ankle over his leg.

In this new position, Kate could enjoy the cut of his shirt over his chest. She cleared her throat. “I can plunk out melodies just fine, but I’m a little rusty at playing the bass line with my left hand.”

“Sometime, I would love to hear you play.”

God, she couldn’t get enough of his accent. Focus, Kate. “Oh I’d be too embarrassed. Betty told me you’re a concert pianist.”

He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “How well I play has nothing to do with it.”

Kate laughed, leaning back slightly as the waitress placed their drinks in front of them. “What will happen to my Mom’s piano, anyway?”

Calisto grasped the warm coffee mug and answered, but Kate didn’t register the words. The café, its customers, the smell of coffee, even time faded when she noticed his hand.

“Kate?”

His ring. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it. Something about it seemed… familiar. Maybe she was insane. She couldn’t have seen it before, and yet she was sure she had. Either that or she had some vivid déjà vu.

“Kate? Are you all right?” Calisto asked.

Kate blinked and shook her head slowly, breaking the trance she felt when she noticed the ring. “I’m sorry. I saw your ring and I can’t help thinking I’ve seen it before.” She searched his face for something that might tell her why the ring seemed so familiar. “I swear I’m not usually this crazy, but it looks familiar to me.”

His gaze held hers, his voice soft but commanding. “You are many things, but crazy is not one of them. Perhaps intuition told you of our meeting in a dream. Stranger things have happened in this world, no?”

Dream. The word sent a chill down her spine. “You believe in déjà vu then?”

“You do not?”

“I asked you first.” She sipped her coffee, desperate to shake off the nagging anxiety that haunted her since she saw his ring. Something inside of her kept grasping for a memory that she knew didn’t exist.

“Yes, you did.”

His voice guided her back to the present. “Do you always answer a question with another question?”

“You are not the first to accuse me of such a thing.” Calisto smiled, lifting his coffee to his full lips.

“Now that I can believe. So maybe I’ve seen your ring before, huh?” She glanced at his hand but, concerned the design would entrance her again, she returned her attention to his face.

“Maybe so.” He placed his mug on the table. “As I said, stranger things have happened.”

Kate nodded. Strange things were happening all right. She sipped her coffee, unable to take her eyes off of his. Did he feel the same attraction?

She was a choir teacher who lived out of state in a two-bedroom apartment, and he was a reclusive philanthropist. This was real life, not a fairy tale. She had to wake up. She was on the rebound here.

“We should probably get going.” She set her mug down. “It’s getting late.”

“I suppose it is.” He looked almost disappointed, but he rose from the booth and moved around to help her to her feet.

“Thank you.” The second her fingers touched his, a shock of desire zipped through her. She had to force herself to let go of his hand. Keeping a clear head was difficult when her body reacted to him this way. He made her feel more alive, her senses heightened. Her heart raced just holding his hand.

Imagine if we kissed. Her skin flushed with heat and she rolled her eyes at herself.

“Where are you parked?” Kate asked.

“I am not.”

“You’re not? Did you take a cab or something?”

“Something… ”

Kate grinned, shaking her head. “You play the man of mystery well, don’t you? I’d be happy to give you a ride. It’s the least I can do since you saved me from a night all alone.”

“You should never be alone.” Calisto offered his arm, tipping his head slightly toward her.

She placed her hand into the crook of his arm, barely resisting the urge to run her fingers along his bicep. “Are you always so charming?”

His eyes lost focus, and something shifted in his expression. For a moment, he looked as haunted as Kate felt. “Not always,” he said.

She glanced at his ring again and wondered whether she had as much control over her life as she believed.

Chapter Eight

Calisto raised a brow. The small yellow car was not what he expected.

“Just a sec, I’ve gotta let you in from the driver’s side.” Kate leaned across the steering wheel and unhooked the bungee cord that held the passenger door closed.

He had no love for automobiles. They weren’t from his era and since he had the ability to fly, he didn’t see the purpose in learning to drive a car. That did not mean he hadn’t ridden in many BMWs, Lexus, Jaguars, and Bentleys. He knew the luxury of leather seats and climate control.

This car had neither.

He schooled his features to hide his doubts about the car’s viability when he tugged the door closed. The driver’s door had vice grips where the window crank should be, a bungee cord held the passenger-side door closed, and duct tape covered the small tear in the corner of the convertible top. Even though it was November, she had the top of her faded VW bug folded down. He envisioned a surfboard hanging out the back like many of the college students who came to La Jolla in search of waves to ride. Kate claimed she didn’t belong in California, but her car most certainly did.

“Sorry. I probably should have warned you about Bessie before you accepted my offer to take you home.”

“Bessie?”

“My car. I’ve had her since college. When I realized I finally could afford another car, I bought her a new engine instead.” She turned the key and smiled at him. “I still haven’t fixed the passenger door. I’ve been searching for a salvaged door off the same model bug. They’re tough to find now and… ” Her cheeks flushed with color. “And now I’m rambling. Sorry, I do that sometimes when I get nervous.”

He rested his hand over hers on the gearshift. “Did I complain about your car?” Kate shook her head slowly and he smiled. “I am grateful for your company, and here is a little-known secret.” He leaned closer to her. “I have never ridden in a convertible before.”

Her eyes sparkled with delight. “You’re in for a treat.” She put the car in gear and pulled onto the street.

Calisto usually despised riding in cars, but Kate’s car, in spite of its battle scars, was far from the metal prison of the luxury vehicles he’d ridden in before.

The night air blew through his hair, caressing his skin, and he closed his eyes, drinking in the sensation. It almost felt like flying. In all his years, the wind had never gusted this way against this skin. Only his feathers had ever experienced this freedom.

The moonlight shone in the midnight of Kate’s hair, and the wind brushed it back. He memorized every curve and angle of her profile, loving the way she sang with the radio under her breath.

Echoes of her native melodies filled his mind and for once it brought peace instead of bitterness and rage.

She still loved to sing.

By the time they reached the interstate, their conversation was comfortable. Within twenty minutes, they left the freeway and the thickening mist threatening to blanket the roads. They wound down the narrow road along the La Jolla cliffs and stopped in front of his house.

Kate whistled at the automatic gates that opened to reveal his winding driveway. He tried to see his home as Kate might.

His large, hacienda-style house overlooked the Pacific. On the rare occasions he stood at the arched windows on the second floor, he could see pods of dolphins jumping through the surf in the moonlight. The stucco walls were a tan shade that complemented the warm sand and ice plant that crept up the cliffs.

Kate flipped the keys to kill the engine and stared. “It’s beautiful.”

“I am glad you like it.” He unhooked the bungee cord to open his door. “Come, I will show you around.”

She seemed to consider his offer for several seconds before nodding once. “All right, but I can’t stay too long. It’s late and I hate driving in the fog.”

He hoped she couldn’t see the joy he felt. He was certain it would only scare her to know the depth of his desire and the intensity of his hopes.

Lost in his thoughts, Calisto led Kate down the limestone walkway to the front door. He wasn’t ready for the night to end. She had recognized his ring, his personal signet from Spain. It bore the flames of the Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo, and a dove of peace soared above the fire. There was no other ring like it in the world.

Lifetimes ago, he gave the signet to her, a token of his devotion. She wore it like a pendant on a fine leather strap around her neck, and she treasured the ring as she treasured him. Calisto cleared his throat, struggling to bury the thoughts before they resurrected his emotions.

He wondered if she had any other memories of him. He was tempted to peer into her mind.

The weight of her hand pressed against the crook of his arm, and the urge to hold her almost overwhelmed his tenuous grip on his self-control. He still remembered how perfect she fit into his arms, the way her body molded against his. How would she feel now, changed but still so like her former self? Having her close again was a tremendous temptation.

When he opened the door, he stepped back to allow Kate to enter. “Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you.” When she passed by, he caught the scent of her hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

She smelled like sunshine.

…

The click of her shoes echoed against the polished Spanish tile floor of the foyer and reverberated in the spacious great room. The rest of the floor was covered with sand-colored carpet, and whitewashed driftwood beams hung high above, accenting the vaulted ceiling. A large fireplace with a raised hearth stood in the corner with French doors on the right leading to a deck that overlooked the beach. Light colors decorated the entire room. Yet nothing looked touched, like no one lived there.

Kate thought maybe by seeing his home, she’d get a glimpse into the mysterious Calisto Terana. Though the hacienda was stunning, nothing inside revealed anything about its owner. No stacks of unopened mail, no photos of family, not even coats draped over the sofa.

Nothing was out of place.

He led her through the house and out the French doors without a word. Moonlight sparkled on the waves below. They stood together, leaning against the railing of the deck. Plumes of fog floated through the air, glowing in the moon’s haunting light, and the scent of salty sea air filled her lungs.

“It is beautiful here, no?”

Kate nodded as the sea breeze blew through her dark hair. Without meaning to, she leaned a little closer to him. “Yes it is.”

“When I need to clear my head and think, this is where I come.” He stared at the ocean. “This is where I find my peace.”

She watched the wind pull at the leather tie that held his hair back. Why was he telling her these things? They just met, but the feeling that they’d known each other forever pervaded her thoughts. Did he feel the same?

Even the profile of his face made her heart flutter. The angle of his forehead, the strength of his jaw, and the curve of his lips spoke to her, called to her, and made her yearn for him. She wanted to untie his hair and slide her fingers through it.

Turning toward the waves, she sighed. “I used to come to the beach as a teenager and sit for hours watching the water, wondering why I felt empty inside. The ocean never brought me any peace. The waves made me feel lonely, like a piece of me was missing. I never figured out why. I guess it was easier to move away.”

“Did you fill this emptiness in Reno?” he asked without looking at her.

“I think so.” Kate shrugged. “I’ve been happy, I guess.”

Until Tom upended her world.

He nodded and shifted beside her. Carefully he caught a stray lock of her hair and brushed it back from her face.

“Do you feel empty here now?” he asked.

Kate turned, finding him much closer than she expected. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her eyes lingered on his lips before finally locking on his heated gaze.

“No,” she said, surprising herself. “No, I… I like it here.”

“Maybe you need new memories of the ocean to fill the emptiness.” His dark eyes never strayed from hers, demanding her attention.

Kate bit back her desire and nodded, forcing herself to turn toward the water. “Maybe so.”

Calisto took her hand, and Kate was surprised to find her fingers lacing together with his as if they’d been made to fit together as one.

“Walk with me?” His low voice stripped away a layer of her resolve.

Kate nodded, following him down the steps to the sand below, only stopping for a moment to leave her shoes on the landing. They walked across the cool beach without saying a word, hand in hand, and Kate watched the haze float in atop the salt water. It was eerie and beautiful all in the same moment.

“You are shivering.”

Calisto’s voice added to the tremors that pulsed through her body. Why did he have to be so perfect? He looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.

“Am I?”

He smiled, raising their joined hands to place a tender kiss on her knuckle, and then tugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

“Is that better?”

Kate nodded, no longer able to speak. His masculine scent surrounded her, and before she could stop herself, she pulled his coat so tight, the cold lining spread gooseflesh across her skin.

He slid the backs of his cool fingers down her cheek, his lips hinting at a smile. “Good.”

Kate tilted her chin up. When he bent and brushed his lips against hers, her breath caught. Her pulse raced and electricity shot through her veins. Her skin warmed. Had she ever wanted anyone this badly?

She brought her hand to his chest. His chiseled muscles responded to her touch, and a moan escaped her as he clutched her tighter. Calisto’s fingers slid through her hair, and her lips parted, her tongue tasting him, tangling with his until her knees buckled.

Dear God, this man could kiss.

Gradually she drew back, softening the kiss until her forehead rested against his. She stared into his eyes, wishing she knew his thoughts. Wishing she understood what it was about this man that made passion ignite through her bloodstream like wildfire.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears, and she took a small step back. She tried to remember the list of things she still needed to finish at her parents’ place, and her job back in Reno. Anything to regain control of herself.

Real life didn’t involve rich, exotic bachelors on private beaches. She fought to think of the music she loved, to recall the pain she felt when she walked into Tom’s office three weeks ago. She needed to protect her wounded heart and fight the growing attraction to the man who made her body ache for his attention.

He reached for her hand, and her fingers entwined with his. Traitors.

…

He watched her face as they walked down the beach together. He had to concentrate to keep from dragging her back into his arms. Until he kissed her, he hadn’t understood the true depth of his loneliness, but now that he’d held her again, tasted her lips, he couldn’t let her go.

For the first time in centuries, he felt content and alive.

Until Kate pulled away from him.

He wanted to understand her, but he wouldn’t allow himself to look into her thoughts. Limiting himself to the speech of a mortal man proved difficult.

He was out of practice.

“You are quiet.”

“Sorry. We shouldn’t have done that. I... ” She shook her head and watched the waves. “I have no business jumping into a relationship right now, and I have no interest in being a one-night stand either. If I gave you the wrong impression, I’m sorry about that.”

“I did not mean to rush anything.”

“You didn’t. I kissed you back.” She sighed and finally looked up at him. “I’m probably going back to Reno soon anyway. The last thing I need right now is more drama.”

“Do you have anyone waiting for you there?” The question surprised him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. It hadn’t occurred to him until this moment that Kate might be in love with someone else.

Jealousy curdled in his stomach while he waited for her to answer.

“Not anymore.”

Her answer didn’t relieve him as much as he hoped it would.

“We were going to get married until I caught him fooling around with one of his grad students. That’s why I came back to San Diego. I needed time away. A change of scenery, you know?” She shook her head with a sigh. “It’s been an awful month for me.”

“He was a fool to let you go.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I wish I had more comfort to offer than words.”

The suffering he saw reflected in her gaze tore at his heart. Cold fury churned inside him. He wanted to know who hurt her, and he wanted to cause him pain.

Slow, lingering pain.

“Why are you being kind to me?” she asked, jarring him from his thoughts.

“What?”

She shook her head. “I just want to understand what’s going on here. I looked you up online. I know you’re one of San Diego’s most eligible bachelors. You could have anyone.”

He scowled. “Who I could have is of no importance.”

“No, it’s very important to me. I was naïve once, and I got burned. I’m not looking for another heartbreak.”

Calisto stared into her beautiful eyes. He could never hurt her.

The ocean breeze drifted past them, tugging at her hair. Her eyes sparkled, and for a moment, the centuries that separated them vanished.

His lips brushed hers, and he whispered, “I have no intention of ever breaking your heart.”

Kate stepped back from him, breaking the spell. Calisto felt like the sand shifted beneath his feet when he saw the shock in her eyes.

“I… I can’t do this. It’s too much.” She yanked her hand free, tugged off his jacket, and thrust it against his chest. “Look, I’m sorry if I led you on, or gave you the wrong idea. I shouldn’t have come here with you.”

Calisto stared in shock at Kate’s retreating figure. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Not yet. But the night enchanted him and dimmed the line between the past and present. Was it wrong that he wanted her? He needed to spend time with her, to win her heart, but she gave him no chance.

He gripped his jacket in a tight fist and jogged after her, careful not to let himself run too quickly. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her with his preternatural abilities.

The situation was maddening. She stood so close, yet still out of his reach.

Kate almost made it to her car, but she stopped abruptly. Turning to her right, she stared at a knoll covered with the flowers he left at Tala’s cross at the mission.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

Calisto forced a smile. “Thank you.”

She bent closer, smelling one of the blooms, and then finally turned toward him. “I saw some of these the other night at the mission. What are they called?”

“Romneya.”

She nodded, reaching out to touch the delicate petals. “I’ve never seen another flower like it.”

“They were native to Southern California, although now they are hard to find here,” he said, drinking in her every move.

“I love them.” Kate smiled. “They’re gorgeous, and they smell so good... ”

You have always loved them. How he wished she remembered.

Calisto leaned forward and snapped a bloom from its stem, careful not to jostle the delicate plant. Without a word, he nestled the large, white flower behind her ear.

He wasn’t prepared for the emotion that slammed into him. She was exactly the way he remembered, drenched in moonlight with her favorite flower tucked behind her ear. The stark contrast of her black hair and the white petals took his breath away. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, caressing it while his gaze held hers, and in that brief moment, she was his again.

The fog surrounded them, and the rest of the world disappeared. She gazed at him, her full lips parting until he could resist no longer. Calisto bent to claim her lips one last time. Her hand slid up his chest, but instead of deepening the kiss, Kate pushed him back.

“We have to stop. This can’t work out,” she whispered. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

She ran to her car without looking back, and within a minute her little VW disappeared into the fog.

Chapter Nine

The sun beat through the living room window. Kate sat up, still in her Dad’s favorite recliner. Glancing at the clock, she stretched her arms and groaned. Every muscle felt drained and achy.

She’d struggled with her mixed-up emotions the entire drive home. In the end, she didn’t fall asleep until almost five in the morning. Six hours wasn’t enough to recover from the tempest of emotions Calisto had brought on.

In spite of her exhaustion, she had a clear understanding of what she needed to do.

She would pack and head home. Running to San Diego was supposed to help her regain her emotional footing, but now her escape was on the verge of spiraling out of control, too. She’d run from her demons in Reno, and it was time she faced them. How could she gain control of her life when she let a cheating bastard chase her from her life? Besides, she couldn’t stay and let herself fall into another relationship when she’d promised herself she would take her time.

She wasn’t that masochistic. Not yet, anyway.

After packing up her clothes and a couple of boxes of mementos, she called the realtor to put the house back on the rental market, and then made one last call.

“Hi Betty, it’s Kate Bradley.”

“Hello Kate.” Did Betty sound less than happy to hear from her? “What can I do for you?”

“I’m heading back to Reno this afternoon. I won’t be here when the movers come to pick up the piano. Can I give you the realtor’s number? She’ll come by and open the house up for you.”

“Sure, that’ll be fine,” Betty said, her voice suddenly warm and friendly.

Kate gave her the information and chuckled to herself as she hung up the phone. Of course Betty would be happy that she was leaving. Or maybe she was just reading into it because Betty was staying here with Calisto.

She let out an exasperated sigh. How did he make such an impression on her in just one night? She was usually pretty levelheaded, not swayed by a pretty face, but if she didn’t stop thinking about the dark, charming, handsome Spaniard, she was going to drive herself insane.

She stared at the cordless phone and rubbed her hands over her face. How would she explain her sudden departure to Lori and Edie? She couldn’t leave without at least saying good-bye.

But her heart couldn’t handle another waltz around the floor with sadness. She also didn’t have the strength for questions.

“Hey Edie, it’s Kate.”

“Hey you! Everything okay?”

No, everything sucked. She forced herself to sound cheerful. “Everything’s fine. I’ve got to get back to Reno. The kids need me.” She sighed. She couldn’t lie to Edie, but if she told her the truth Lori would go on a trash-talking rampage against Calisto. “I met up with the man I met at the mission.”

Edie was quiet for a second. “What’s he got to do with your work in Reno?”

“Nothing. That’s the point.” Kate struggled to keep her voice from wobbling. “I really like him, Edie, but less than a month ago I was engaged. I’m not ready to jump into another relationship.”

She held her breath, ready for judgment.

Instead, the warmth in her friend’s voice reached through the phone like a hug. “You’re an amazing lady, Kate. I don’t know many women who would pass up a millionaire to go teach middle school, though.”

Kate laughed, and her eyes filled with tears. “When you say it like that I sound far from amazing.”

After assuring Edie she’d be back to visit soon, she hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and hoped she was making the right decision.

…

1775

“Kuseyaay! Kuseyaay! The trader is hurt. Come quickly!”

Gregorio dropped the log onto the fire and followed the women into the night. They ran through the sagebrush and up the mountainside. He followed close behind, no longer winded by running. The torches weren’t necessary for him to see in the darkness either, but they helped him hide his preternatural abilities. As far as they knew he was their Kuseyaay, their healer, and he was careful to keep it that way.

The Night Walker blood that coursed through his veins only gave his body life after the sun died, but it also healed the wounds of the mortals around him. His position as the tribal healer gave his strange new existence purpose. He enjoyed relieving the pain of others, reminiscent of his priesthood when he served the spiritual needs of his flock. The simple act of healing someone made it easier to believe that he wasn’t cursed, but in fact blessed with a newfound gift.

Gift or curse, he kept the secrets of his new state of being well guarded, just as the Old One had taught him.

As they neared the fur trader, the man moaned in pain. The foreigner was a friend to the tribe. He had traveled far from his homeland in the north, trading skins and occasionally meat from the brown bears and mountain lions he hunted.

“Lukas?” Gregorio knelt at his side and took his trembling hand. “Lukas, can you speak?”

The man’s eyes rolled back, and he wheezed, his breath fast and shallow. Gregorio bowed his head, preparing to offer a silent prayer for the man’s soul, when he heard Lukas’ thoughts in his mind.

A snake. My right leg. Hurts. Can’t move.

Gregorio reached down and pulled at the trader’s pant leg. The women gasped, pointing at the oozing wound.

“Fetch water,” Gregorio said.

They vanished into the woods, and he turned his attention back to Lukas. The venom had already infected his body and organs. Gregorio could pierce his tongue and lick the wound. His blood would heal the bite, but the man would still die from the poison.

Unless.

When Gregorio heard the women’s footfalls fade, he bit his own wrist, wincing as his fangs pierced his flesh. He placed his open wound over Lukas’s lips, watching as his blood filled the dying man’s mouth.

The seizures quieted, and a final breath bubbled up from the man’s lungs. Gregorio’s heart sank. He had hoped the blood might heal more than superficial injuries and symptoms of greater illnesses. He reached out to close Lukas’ eyes, and the man suddenly pulled Gregorio’s arm to his mouth and sucked hard at the wound. Gregorio felt the pull on his veins, but he hoped his blood would counteract the venom and heal the fur trader from the inside out.

When he yanked his hand away, Lukas coughed and sputtered. He sat up and looked down at his hands. “I feel better... much better.”

Then he looked down at his snakebite.

Gregorio watched the blood flow cease. The angry red flesh lightened, and Lukas’ skin wove itself back together, closing the small holes in Lukas’ calf. Gregorio smiled. His plan had worked. The fur trader would live.

Before he could speak, the women returned with two clay pots of full of fresh water. The wounded man’s attention snapped up, but his gaze was no longer that of a man. His eyes glowed red.

Gregorio’s stomach clenched. What had he done?

“I thirst,” Lukas said and then growled.

The women lowered the clay pots of water.

“So thirsty… ” He sprang from the ground, and Gregorio grabbed him as the man struggled to break free.

“Run!” Gregorio shouted, shocked to see the sudden change in Lukas.

The pots smashed against the ground as the women sprinted into the darkness. The fresh water soaked into the earth. Gregorio gripped the crazed man even tighter as the trader bellowed into the darkness.

He had not healed him. He had damned him forever.

…

The wind rattled against the cloth top of her old Volkswagen bug convertible as she drove into Reno’s city limits. Bessie wasn’t a great car for Reno’s cold winters, but Kate didn’t mind.

In spite of the quick fixes she’d used to keep the car functional, her bug never failed her. She bought it with her own money the week after she graduated high school, and drove it all the way to Santa Cruz when she started college.

It was her ticket to freedom.

And she’d finish restoring it soon. She just needed to find another passenger door and a new top. No problem. Plus the more projects to keep her busy, the less time she’d have to think about men.

When she made the final turn into her apartment complex, she remembered no one would be there to greet her. Even as she opened the door to her home, she half expected to see Tom’s friendly smile and open arms.

Then she remembered seeing his arms around his grad student.

And for the first time since she’d caught him in the act, it didn’t sting. In fact, since she’d met Calisto, it was even more apparent that Tom wasn’t the right man for her. She’d never felt the passion in his arms that she shared with Calisto on the beach, and they had only kissed.

Her bags hit the floor. She shoved her door closed and flipped on the lights. Unlike San Diego, Reno had a definite change in seasons as fall succumbed to the frosty cold of winter. She tugged her hooded sweatshirt closed and turned on the heat before she plopped onto her sofa.

Home again.

Her familiar surroundings reassured her that she made the right decision. After kicking off her shoes, she sorted through the stack of mail a friend had left on the coffee table. Doing her usual mundane tasks felt strangely surreal.

When she opened a card, she issued a surprised shout of laughter.

Hi Kate -

I’m sorry about everything. It was all a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. We need to talk. Please call me.

I know I don’t deserve it, but I still hope you’ll call.

Love,

Tom

She might have felt moved or even angry a month ago by his words. Instead, she felt a little sorry for Tom. After all, she hadn’t been honest with herself about him. Until she met Calisto she never realized she could feel so connected to another person. She’d spent her whole life feeling distanced from everyone. Had Tom felt the distance too?

If she had truly been in love with him, she would be devastated, not laughing at how apathetic she felt toward him. The betrayal still stung, but if he had broken off their engagement before cheating, she wasn’t sure she’d feel anything more than embarrassment at the rejection.

She crumpled the card and tossed it out with all the sale flyers and junk mail. With the mail stacked and sorted, she turned to her answering machine. She got through about five messages ranging from fund-raisers for the fire department to new benefits for her Discover card. Then she heard a familiar voice.

“Hi Kate. It’s Tom. I really am sorry. Call me when you get back, okay? Hope everything’s all right.”

The machine beeped and she sat in the silence overthinking every angle. She couldn’t avoid him forever, right? But she’d just as soon start her life fresh without any complications. Tom definitely complicated things, especially if he wanted to resume their old, stagnant life.

But a tiny part of her was comforted to hear his familiar voice, the one she’d thought would greet her for the rest of her life. Funny how life didn’t always turn out the way she thought it would.

Maybe funny wasn’t the right word for it.

She sat on the sofa and unzipped her duffel bag, throwing the clothes and toiletries out to get to the tiny treasure hidden at the bottom. Carefully, she opened the small Ziploc bag holding the Romneya. Just the scent of the flower reminded her of Calisto.

She tucked it behind her ear as he had the night before and went into the bathroom. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Was Calisto thinking about her, too? Probably not after the way she ran out on him.

She crossed the hall to her bedroom and collapsed on her bed with a sad sigh. She felt like a lovesick puppy. Despite her best efforts, she was falling in love with a man she hardly knew. A man who was definitely way out of her league. She was not in control, had not taken anything with Calisto slowly, and was certainly on a path that would take her right back to heartbreak and weakness.

Why was she doing this to herself?

Late-night coffee and a walk on the beach. It was amazing, but she needed to let it go.

It was a toe-curling kiss, though.

She plucked the flower from behind her ear and twirled the stem, watching the petals turn around the high golden pistil. For all she knew, Calisto and Betty were an item, and he figured he’d have a little fun with her on the side. The thought alone curdled her stomach. Calisto seemed genuine and sincere, and the way he looked at her made her knees weak. She couldn’t imagine it was all an act, but could she trust herself after she’d trusted Tom?

…

Father Mentigo spun his signet ring around his finger with his thumb, wrestling with impatience to get off the airplane. He’d never flown before, and he was ready to put his feet back on the ground. The cattle on board dragged out carry-on bags, reminded children to hold hands, checked voice mails on their cell phones.

A muscle in his cheek twitched.

He clutched his duffle bag to his chest and shot forward when the row in front of him finally moved. His ears still buzzed with the change in air pressure.

“Can I help you find your terminal, sir?” The blonde he’d watched throughout the flight stood at the hatch, holding a clipboard and wearing an insincere smile.

Did she fail to notice his robe? His rosary? He was a monk, not a sir. She might be stupid, but her breasts were the perfect size for his hands. He ogled her curvy figure, imagining the treasures hidden beneath her uniform, then met her gaze.

She shifted her weight and lowered her clipboard. “Is San Diego your final destination?”

“No hablo Ingles,” he said as he disembarked.

San Diego wasn’t his destination.

It was his destiny.

Chapter Ten

Calisto waited outside of the downtown bus station for his next meal. It was a good place to find people who would not be missed. Husbands walking away from the responsibilities of a wife and children, angry runaway teens entrenched in gang violence and drugs, men on the run from the police. They all rode buses, and all made perfect meals.

Someone might report his victims missing. No one would ever know they met their end in San Diego. He usually sought violent criminals that the world wouldn’t miss. Lately, the crime rate in this area had increased, which meant he could hunt quickly.

Tonight he was in a hurry.

He settled for a petty thug recently diagnosed with cancer. He was already near death anyway. Once he turned down a dimly lit alley, Calisto slammed the man into the wall, yanked him close, and bit into the man’s jugular, drinking until his struggles ceased. After closing the wound on the man’s neck, he disposed of the body and walked along the bay in quiet contemplation. He needed to see Kate again. He pushed her too hard the previous night, and he vowed not to make that mistake tonight. If she gave him another chance. Kate made herself perfectly clear when she left.

She didn’t want him in her life.

But her enlarged pupils and the flush that crept up her cheeks said otherwise. Somewhere inside, deep within, she remembered him. He saw it. Her heart still recognized his, but she had no conscious memory of their love.

He was still a stranger.

He had watched her drive away, unable to stop her. Nothing had prepared him for this. To find her and fall in love with her all over again was his destiny. He sold his soul to the night in order to live long enough to love her again.

But there was no guarantee of her love in return.

Tonight, he hoped she would agree to speak to him, to give him another chance. He had located her address for the piano movers in Betty’s office, and now that his skin warmed with fresh blood, he was ready to see her.

Kate.

Two running steps later, he soared through the night sky toward her home. Cutting through the crisp air, using the sea breezes to aid his flight, the raven glided over the water. The lights of the city faded, and the moonlight glittered on the waves below. Finally the cliffs of Point Loma appeared.

After landing in the darkness of her backyard, he found no sign of her, no scent, no sound. No Kate. With a shake of his body, the raven gave up its form. He straightened his clothes, walked to her back door and knocked. “Kate?”

He didn’t know why he called for her. He already knew she was gone. Her scent was faint, and he couldn’t hear any noise inside the house. But he still hoped.

Calisto checked the carport and found her car was gone. He peered through a couple windows. No suitcases, no shoes, no trace of her. The house was empty. A growl rumbled in his chest, and he raked his fingers through his hair.

After flying back to his home, Calisto stormed into his office, throwing the door open with enough force to bury the doorstop in the wall. He reached across his desk in frustration and ripped the cordless phone from its cradle, sending the base crashing to the floor.

“Hello, Bettina.” He forced his voice to chime with hypnotic purity. “Forgive me for calling you at home at such a late hour, but this is most important.”

“Calisto? What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Did you hear from Kate Bradley today? We picked up her mother’s piano, no?”

“Kate went back to Reno today,” Betty said with a smile in her voice. “She said she needed to get home right away. But don’t worry. We did pick up the piano.”

“Good.” He clenched his fists, fighting to keep his emotions under control. “The foundation is lucky to have you.”

“I’m glad you appreciate my work. While you’re on the phone, can we reschedule our meeting that got cut short last night?”

His mind raced. He couldn’t maintain rational thought much longer.

“No. I will be in touch soon. Goodnight.”

…

Calisto soared through the cold night air, heading north. After the phone call, he realized he had a long distance to travel before sunrise. Following his voracious feeding on two gang members, his body pulsed with strength and power. He would need the added energy to complete his flight.

Gluttony was something he avoided, usually only drinking once per night, sometimes even less. As the decades passed, he no longer needed to feed every night in order to survive. At times if he didn’t find a suitable victim, he relied on wild animals, but the blood of animals did not truly satisfy his hunger any longer.

It sustained his existence, but only human blood replenished the strength he was accustomed to.

He knew other blood-drinkers, vampires, who walked this world, were known to rob blood banks. Others indulged in taking small drinks like leeches and wiping the mortal’s memory clean. Those were not choices for him. He refused to live like a shadow, a parasite on humanity, watching the mortal world from an arm’s distance.

He was a Night Walker, and his life still had a purpose in this world. He read the hearts of mankind, and he fed on the lowest forms of humanity, those who would seek to injure the innocent. No longer a healer, instead he found himself a hunter.

So be it.

After hours of flight, his keen eyes made out the flickering neon brilliance that was downtown Reno. His mind opened wide, searching for Kate’s. He needed to find her. Gliding silent on the night wind, the raven flew on.

Calisto sensed the sunrise nearing. It drained his strength and left him lethargic. He would have to give up his flight soon.

Landing in the shadows of a darkened alleyway, Calisto straightened, once again a man. His earlier kills no longer warmed and colored his skin. Burying his hands in his pockets, he walked close to the buildings, trying to stay out of the streetlights.

For two hours, he searched for Kate or others who might know her. He found nothing.

Daylight would cover the earth soon, and he needed to find shelter. With the last of his strength, Calisto forced himself to run toward the mountains on the outskirts of the city. Just as the sun broke over the horizon, he finished digging a hole in the icy soil with his hands. By nightfall, his raw hands would be healed, and his search would begin again.

…

Calisto awoke and punched his fists through the dirt, his lungs awake once more and hungry for air. The arid soil gave way, and he rose to dust himself off. He loathed sleeping in the earth. Although he’d been immortal for centuries, he still couldn’t get used to waking up in suffocating darkness.

He enjoyed opening his eyes to the glow of his oil lanterns and the softness of Egyptian cotton sheets. Not to mention a shower a few feet away.

He raised his arms and took in a deep breath, welcoming the raven’s spirit. Becoming one with the bird felt natural to him now, like breathing, but it wasn’t always that way. He still recalled the pain and terror the first time his body contorted into his spirit animal. He’d fought the change, panicked to lose his human form.

Now he smiled when energy warped the air around him, and his body made a fluid transformation.

Calisto took to the air, soaring over the mountainous terrain. He navigated the wind gusts, alternating between gliding and beating his wings. He loved the freedom and weightlessness of flight while he searched the landscape below.

He’d never been to Reno before. The neon signs of the downtown area sat in direct contrast to the rugged mountain peaks right outside the city. A cold gust of wind hit his wings, and he shifted his tail to compensate. He headed toward the garish buildings and landed in a quiet alley. With a ruffle of his feathers, the bird’s eyes closed and his body expanded, morphing back into a fully dressed man.

Calisto checked his clothes and then walked into the bright lights of the city. Once he found a hotel, he would shower, feed, and continue his search for Kate. He almost smiled.

Then he remembered her final words to him. I can’t do this.

His jaw tightened at the memory, but he couldn’t let her walk out of his life. If immortality had taught him anything, it was patience.

…

When Kate stepped inside Harrah’s, desperate after a day of moping to feel the energy of Reno, she reveled in the lights, noise, and anonymity of the casino. The hotel was a block from the Reno arch, and it boasted some of the best karaoke in the city. Singing was always a great stress reliever for her, exactly what she needed tonight.

The brightly colored carpet and neon lights were tarnished by the scent of stale cigarette smoke, beer, and cheap cologne. Hope and desperation hung heavy in the air. She made her way through the maze of one-armed bandits and card tables toward the karaoke lounge.

She followed the sound of amateur singing through the casino. When she rounded the final corner and stepped inside, a woman on the stage belted out a pitchy version of “Hit Me with Your Best Shot.” It took a moment for Kate’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before she scanned the room for an empty booth.

“Kate?” She turned when she heard a familiar voice call her name, and her heart sank when she saw Tom walking toward her.

His blond hair, usually tamed into a typical businessman cut, was mussed with gel, and his skin looked a little more tanned. He could pass for one of the college students now, instead of one of their professors.

Pathetic.

Kate turned and headed for the door, but before she vanished into the casino, Tom caught her hand.

“Please don’t go.”

She stopped and gave him a direct look. “I can’t stay.”

“Yes, you can. You came to sing. I wouldn’t want to stop you.”

Kate tugged her arm free of his grasp. “Well, I don’t want to sing anymore. Enjoy your night.”

“Can we talk?” He gestured toward a table at the back of the karaoke bar.

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s nothing left to say.”

“I want to tell you I’m sorry. I want to tell you I still love you. I never meant to hurt you.”

She scowled and fought to keep her composure. A casino was not the right venue for this discussion unless Tom only wanted to avoid a scene. “It looked like you meant to get busy with your grad student on your desk. You just didn’t expect me to catch you.”

“It was a mistake.” His smile faded, and he reached for her hand. “I am so sorry, Kate.”

She stared up at him as the lounge burst into applause. Unsure what to say and desperate for a way out of the conversation, she pulled away from him. “I’ve got to choose a song.”

Kate walked toward the deejay, ducking through the tables and all the people. Once she was a safe distance away from her past, she opened one of the notebooks and skimmed song titles.

It only took a minute to flip through the pages before she found her choice. She gave the CD number to the deejay and prayed Tom left before she finished. After the past month’s events, all she wanted was some peace.

…

Calisto stepped out of the elevator feeling refreshed after his shower and a clean change of clothes. Renting a room he would never risk sleeping in during the day made for a costly shower, but after a night in the dirt, he would have spent a thousand dollars for a wet washcloth. He planned to feed and continue his search for Kate, but he heard a voice that demanded he still himself and listen.

Her beautiful voice.

He followed the music until he stood in the doorway of a darkened lounge. His gaze locked on the stage, on Kate singing about promises in the dark. He slid through the crowd, his eyes never leaving her.

She held the audience in thrall. The casual chatting quieted so that only her song carried through the large room. She connected with the audience, giving each person near the stage a full second of her attention. When the chorus of the song swelled, she tipped her head back, closing her eyes as her voice soared from her soul. The hair on Calisto’s forearms rose with the electricity of her performance.

When she opened her eyes, her gaze finally met his, and he offered her a smile and a nod. She looked surprised and quickly turned her attention elsewhere. She didn’t frown or glare at him, which seemed like a good sign. The final note rang out, and the crowd erupted with applause and whistles.

Kate stepped down from the stage, and Calisto made his way to intercept her.

“Calisto? What are you doing here?” Her eyes darted away for a moment, then back to his face.

“I am in town for a business meeting.” Would he ever be able to tell her the truth? He silenced his inner voice. Even if he had to live a lie, it would be worth the effort to have Kate in his life. “When I heard your voice, I had to investigate.”

“I’m surprised to see you... ” Her voice trailed off when another man approached them.

The man smiled at her and opened his arms, attempting to embrace her. “That was amazing, Kate. Really beautiful.”

Kate stepped back and turned toward Calisto.

Who was this man? Kate’s shoulders were tense, and she crossed her arms as if to shield her heart. Calisto’s gaze cut to the other man. Kate was definitely not happy to see him. Therefore, Calisto wanted him gone.

He stepped close to intercept the man and offered his hand. “I do not believe we have met. I am Calisto Terana.”

The man shook with a firm grip and smiled. “I’m Tom Hardy.”

“Tom is my ex-fiancé,” Kate said.

Calisto’s eyes narrowed and his hold on the other man’s hand tightened. Tom immediately yanked it back with a grimace.

“That’s some grip you have there,” he muttered.

Calisto touched the small of Kate’s back, his eyes never leaving Tom’s face.

“You must have been a fool to let Kate go.” Calisto struggled to keep his voice smooth and calm. Kate moved closer to him, but he wouldn’t take his eyes off the man who had broken her heart. He had no intention of allowing the man to touch her again. Ever.

Tom’s chin rose slightly. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but Kate and I need to talk.”

“As I recall, we were already talking. It was you who interrupted.”

Tom’s smile faded, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know who you are, but Kate and I were engaged until very recently, so back off.” He reached for Kate, but Calisto moved forward, his muscles tight, ready to attack. Tom dropped his hand to his side. “Can we go someplace and talk, please? I never got to explain.”

Kate sighed. “There’s nothing to talk about, Tom. What I saw was explanation enough, okay? I’m starting to feel better. I don’t want to pick at the scab.”

“So that’s it? You’re going to throw away the past two years like they never happened?”

“Why not?” She shrugged, seeming tired and annoyed. “You did.”

Without another word, Kate stormed out of the lounge.

Calisto watched her go before glaring at Tom. He opened himself to Tom’s thoughts, peering into his memories until he saw the look of betrayal and hurt on Kate’s face when she caught Tom with another woman.

Calisto ground his teeth together. He wanted to kill him for hurting her.

Tom turned to follow Kate, but Calisto caught his elbow and yanked him back. “You have hurt her enough.”

“Who are you to judge me?”

Calisto squeezed his arm. “I am someone who cares about her.”

Tom tried to pull away. “Let go of me, asshole.”

Calisto opened his hand, and Tom wrenched his arm free.

“Stay out of this,” Tom said. “You don’t know anything about Kate. And this doesn’t concern you.”

He tried to go after her again, but Calisto stepped into his path. It was all he could do to keep his eyes from glowing with fury. “I know that you hurt her. That is enough for me.”

Tom shoved him hard, but Calisto didn’t move.

“I told you to leave her alone,” Calisto said, his voice low and menacing.

Tom punched him in the jaw. His teeth cut through his lower lip, filling his mouth with blood.

Calisto smiled, grabbing Tom’s shirt and yanking him close. “Remember that you started this fight.” Calisto hurled him backwards.

Screams echoed through the nightclub as Tom crashed into the bar, and his body hit the ground. Calisto walked over to him and jerked him back to his feet. Tom’s shirt reeked of rum and beer, and blood trickled down his chin and along his hairline.

The scent toyed with Calisto’s hunger. He wet his lips, struggling to focus. Tom kicked and struggled until Calisto dropped him on the ground.

“I’m going to sue you for assault!” Tom scrambled to his feet and glanced at the crowd that gathered around them.

“Call my attorney.” Calisto smirked and straightened his shirt.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Kate pushed her way through the onlookers and stared at the blood on Calisto’s shirt and Tom’s battered face.

Tom glared at Calisto and reached for Kate’s hand.

“Don’t touch me.” She stepped back.

Tom frowned. “I wanted to apologize and talk things over.” He nodded toward Calisto. “Until Zorro over here decided you were a damsel in distress.”

Calisto raised a brow at the comment.

Kate looked at him with disgust. “Is that what you think? Did you think I couldn’t handle this myself?”

“You made it clear you did not want to discuss the past with him. I followed through on your request.”

“By beating him senseless?”

Calisto looked at Tom, then back to her. “Perhaps he never had any sense to begin with.”

“That’s it!” Tom yelled and lunged toward Calisto. Two men in the crowd held him back, and Kate shook her head.

“You know what? I’m done talking to both of you.” She turned to Tom. “Our relationship is over.” She gave Calisto her attention. The fire in her eyes made his heart pound. “You had no right to come here and get involved in my personal business. I don’t need you or anyone else to fight my battles for me.”

She backed away, shaking her head. “I don’t want to see you again. I’m done.” Her gaze lingered on Calisto for a long moment. “With both of you.”

Without another word, Kate stormed out of the casino.

Chapter Eleven

Father Mentigo’s palms sweated with eager anticipation in spite of the cool La Jolla breeze blowing through his car window. He sat directly across the street from the home of the Night Walker. He held his breath when the tall, dark-haired immortal stepped outside. Father Mentigo trained for years for this opportunity. Finally, he saw with his own eyes a man who defeated death itself.

Cloaking his thoughts with a mental chant, Father Mentigo watched the tall, slender blonde walk with the Night Walker to a black BMW.

He merged with traffic and followed them. The blonde didn’t look anything like the description of the woman in the ancient texts at the monastery. Father Tomas had been so certain in his communications that he found her.

Kate Bradley.

Since he arrived in San Diego, Father Mentigo had watched her house, but it remained dark and empty. Maybe the woman was gone. Perhaps the Night Walker never found her. If they never met, then the threat the monsignor feared was already over.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and ground his teeth. He had spent most of his adult life preparing for this. He was not about to see it come to an end so soon.

Not until he got what he wanted.

…

Calisto sat in silence, taking in the view of the coast through the passenger window of Betty’s BMW. After watching Kate for more than a week, he’d finally returned home with a heavy heart.

While he visited Reno, he learned all he could about her, and how she lived. He knew she woke nearly every night with terrible nightmares. He knew she liked hot chocolate with whipped cream, and even after his fight with Tom in the bar, she still saved the blossom he gave her the night she left San Diego.

But none of that changed the fact that she didn’t want to see him again.

Ever since the night in the bar, he warred with himself. It seemed unthinkable that he would have to live without her. Part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her until she loved him in return. He wanted to mesmerize her and make her his again.

He probably should have apologized, but Tom threw the first punch. He wasn’t fighting her battle for her. He was simply punishing the bastard who hurt her.

He wouldn’t apologize when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

The night he sat in the back of the auditorium to hear her middle school choir perform its fall concert, he made the decision to return home without her. Kate beamed that night, full of pure magic.

The music the young people sang came alive, feeding off of her energy. When he reached for the thoughts of the choristers at random, their minds echoed the same sentiments. They trusted her. Her enthusiasm and her faith in them gave them confidence. She believed in them, and their love of music shone like a beacon in their young voices.

She was an amazing woman. Alive. What right did he have to pull her away from the life she carved out for herself? And if he didn’t take her away, then how would he fit into her life?

He hadn’t figured that out yet.

Until then, Calisto loved her enough to walk away. For now.

“Have you heard a word I’ve just said?” Betty laughed.

He turned, forcing a smile and a nod. “Yes, you were telling me about another benefit the Arboroughs have volunteered to host in their restaurant overlooking the cove.” He actually hadn’t been listening. The ability to read her thoughts did have its advantages. “But you believe the restaurant would be too small for the event, no?”

Betty nodded with a smile of utter disbelief. “Exactly. I’m sorry, I had no idea you were paying attention. You looked preoccupied.” She paused, glancing over at him before shifting her gaze back to the highway. “You were out of town longer than usual this time. Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” He looked out the window again.

“You don’t look all right. You look pale. Maybe you’re coming down with the flu.” She reached over to touch his hand. “Are you feeling all—” Betty gasped, her brow creased with worry. “Calisto, your hands are freezing.”

He’d forgotten to feed. Betty’s warm skin tempted him. He cursed his carelessness and slid his hand from under hers.

“Forgive me, Bettina, but you are right. I did not wish to delay our meeting, but I cannot think clearly when I am ill. Perhaps you should take me home.”

Betty nodded, already maneuvering through traffic to turn around. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yes,” he lied. “He told me to rest and drink more fluids, which I intend to do as soon as I get home.”

“You’d better. I’d hate to see you get worse.” She glanced at him before the light changed, and she accelerated well beyond the speed limit.

“I will be fine.” He looked out his window again. He clenched his fist, reining in his emotions. Picturing his future without Kate in it was agony. But he would endure. He had no choice.

Betty pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. He turned to get out, but she placed her hand on his sleeve. The overwhelming warmth of her touch burned his cool flesh with a dangerous temptation as his thirst clawed its way to the surface.

“Do you need anything? I could come in and make you some tea.”

“No,” he blurted out with more urgency than he intended.

Pulling away from her, he sought to calm the hunger growing inside him with each beat of her heart. Her blood pulsed through her veins, calling to him.

Calisto shook his head slowly. “Thank you for your offer, but I would not want you to become ill too. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, call me if you get any worse, okay? You look really pale.”

He got out of the car, unable to bear the intoxicating scent of her blood any longer. Leaning down to the passenger window he managed a weak smile.

“Thank you for your concern. Drive carefully, Bettina.”

She smiled, looking up at him from under her perfectly darkened lashes. “I will. And I’ll check in with you soon, all right? Now, go rest.”

He nodded and stepped back as she drove away. His entire body ached for blood. His flight home from Reno drained him, and he had been too overwhelmed with thoughts of Kate to consider how strongly being trapped in a confined space with Betty would affect him.

At times like this, the strength of his thirst terrified him. It was carnal, primal, and when it screamed for satisfaction, he worried that one day he might not be able to control it.

If that day ever came, he feared for all the mortals around him.

The scent of blood drifted in on the cool sea breeze, distracting him from his thoughts and teasing him with its fragrant promise. Calisto walked down the beach toward a bonfire in the distance.

Pieces of flaming ash floated into the dark night sky from the large fire. Calisto instinctively stayed in the shadows of the firelight, watching the teens drink. The scent of their blood flooded his senses until his eyes burned with hunger. He fought to keep the inhuman crimson from glowing in his gaze, but his bloodlust would not remain hidden much longer. His precarious hold over his thirst weakened with each passing minute.

The college students laughed. They were kissing, caught up in each other. They had no idea a predator watched them from the shadows.

But they were not his prey.

Instead, Calisto turned toward the sound of muffled cries by the cliffs. He moved silently across the sand until he found a man with his hand pressed over a young woman’s mouth. She struggled, pinned against the sandy cliff, while her attacker fumbled with her shorts.

Calisto burned with rage, but he couldn’t kill the man in front of the girl.

Using his silent voice, he reached into the attacker’s mind and demanded his attention. Usually he took his time, using gentle mental suggestions, but his fury over the attack increased his urgency to feed. He called to him, hypnotizing him to his own will.

The attacker stopped grasping at her clothes and looked around. Calisto gave him a harder mental push, and he released the girl, his hands flying up to clasp his head. The woman scrambled away. Calisto coaxed his prey closer.

Come to me.

The tall, gangly man stumbled across the sand toward him. Tears shone on his cheeks as he smacked at his ears, straining to break free of the enthrallment. Calisto smiled in the darkness. He already heard the man’s heartbeat, the sound like primal music. He ached for satisfaction, but he fought to hold his ground and wait. His victim finally stopped in front of him, his eyes full of fear.

Just like the woman’s eyes had been.

Veiled in the dark shadows, Calisto buried his fangs deep into the man’s throat. Justice.

When the would-be rapist had nothing left to give, Calisto carried the body farther down the beach into the darkness. He rolled his shoulders back, his body warming as his strength returned and his heart pumped the new blood through his veins.

He hurried down the dark pier and, using all his strength, threw the body into the ocean, beyond the tidal waters, letting the waves claim it. With his thirst appeased and his strength once again restored, Calisto focused his energy. Reaching out, he united his mind and spirit with the raven he bound to himself back in Reno.

A Night Walker shared a unique bond with his spirit animal. This was one of the first lessons the Old One taught him years ago. Piercing his fingertip and allowing the raven to taste his blood tied the creature to him mentally, enabling Calisto to see the world through the raven’s eyes, and hear through its ears across great distances.

The raven circled and finally landed outside of Kate’s apartment complex. Calisto now used the raven’s eyes and ears to watch over her without interfering in her life. He told himself this was for her benefit, but he knew he actually didn’t have the strength to walk away without the promise of seeing her each night, even if from a distance.

With his link to the raven, he coaxed the bird closer to Kate’s window. Calisto’s gut twisted when he finally saw her face through the bird’s eyes. She stood alone in her kitchen with tear-stained cheeks, holding the Romneya.

Calisto broke the connection. He couldn’t stand to see her cry.

Chapter Twelve

Kate threw herself into her work until she barely had time to breathe. Her substitute teacher did a marvelous job keeping her choir in shape, and the winter concert went off without a hitch. Even the difficult three-part a cappella piece sounded glorious. Their young voices soared like angels on the pure vowels of the Latin text.

But even though she’d settled back into her regular routine of work, it wasn’t getting any easier.

No matter how busy she kept herself, thoughts of Calisto crept into her mind. Something in her nightmare was connected to him. As crazy as it sounded, she couldn’t shake the idea. That night in the coffee shop, she thought she recognized his ring. Now she knew why.

In her dream, the man dancing in the water wore a ring just like Calisto’s. She’d seen it more than once now. The puzzle pieces still didn’t quite fit, but he had to be part of it.

She picked up the dried Romneya flower, holding it in her fingertips as she lifted the phone to her ear, but she set it back on the cradle before she dialed.

She didn’t have Calisto’s number. Even if she did, what would she say?

Kate sighed and looked out the window. Winter break started next week. She’d have three weeks to figure out this mess of emotions and dreams.

She set the flower back on the counter, wondering if Calisto thought about her too.

Groaning, she shook her head. She was the one who told him she never wanted to see him again. He honored her wish. She hadn’t seen him since she stormed out of the casino that night.

During her winter concert, she caught a glimpse of him, but when she followed the crowd outside he was gone. Why would he think about her at all except to consider what a horrible mistake it had been to run into her in Reno?

She could apologize. For what? She didn’t ask him to meddle in her relationship with Tom. She didn’t invite him to visit her in Reno in the first place.

Okay, so an apology was out.

But she still needed to see him again. Somehow. She had to follow her heart. She had distanced herself emotionally from Tom long before he cheated on her. She had run away from Tom to avoid facing complications. Then she did the same thing with Calisto when she came back to Reno. She’d spent her life distancing herself from everyone when life got messy, and where had it gotten her? How could she pursue the life she wanted when she was so busy running from the scary parts?

She could go back, try to start fresh with Calisto.

Kate looked at the calendar. Winter break.

If she did run into Calisto, would he even speak to her? And how exactly would she run into him? It wasn’t like they would shop at the same grocery store. He lived in La Jolla and she lived over a half hour away in Point Loma. She didn’t even know his phone number.

But it didn’t matter. She’d take it one step at a time and wait to see what fate had in store. It had already thrown them together in the most unlikely places. Maybe it would give them one more chance.

She was going back to San Diego.

…

He didn’t stay at the mission.

Father Mentigo hated people looking over his shoulder and constantly pummeling him with their insignificant questions. Unlike the late Father Tomas De Cardina, he would do what must be done to control the Night Walker.

But his methods would not be well received by the Fraternidad, and he decided it would be best to have a private apartment. Father Mentigo would not make the same mistakes that his predecessor made. He had no intention of ending up dead on the mission steps.

In fact, what he planned would have an entirely opposite ending.

He smirked as he removed the photos from the printer. Hurrying to the warped dining room table, he slid the photos into a parchment envelope and lit a candle. Slowly turning the red wax over the flame, it dripped onto the back of the envelope flap. He pressed his signet ring into the hot wax, then blew out the candle and slid the ring back onto his finger.

Only the inner circle of the Fraternidad Del Fuego Santo received the ancient rings. Only the chosen monks of the Fraternidad knew of the Night Walker and his immortal race. But where the other monks had failed, he would succeed because he would battle the demon for the ultimate prize.

Until that moment came, he needed to be patient and cautious.

He drove to the beachfront home of Calisto Terana, safely hidden from the Night Walker by the noonday sun. At the back of the house, Father Mentigo made his way up the steps and smiled when he found the French doors. Easy to open, even with a deadbolt. He peered through the glass to be sure the house was empty before he picked the lock and slipped inside.

The light, spacious interior surprised him. He expected the Night Walker to dwell in a dark, gothic castle, not this clean, almost stark hacienda surrounded by the sound of the ocean. Father Mentigo continued down the hall until he found the office. He stopped in the doorway, his gaze moving over every detail. This was the first room that gave any hint to the personality of its owner, the first clue to understanding his adversary.

Father Mentigo stepped inside, staring up at the oak bookshelves that covered two walls from floor to ceiling. The titles on one wall ranged from A Tale of Two Cities, to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Most of the shelves held classic literary works with bindings that appeared creased and worn.

Apparently, the Night Walker was well-read.

He turned to gaze at the shelves on the other wall and found books on classical music composers, artists, poets, and architecture. Biographies, histories of music, and art styles lined the shelves, and Father Mentigo paused.

Why would an immortal care for such inane drivel as art? The Night Walker exuded power. Father Mentigo witnessed the immortal’s strength the previous evening on the beach. The Night Walker controlled a mortal man’s mind until he walked willingly into the arms of death without a single whimper or scream.

Death couldn’t touch him, and instead of ruling the world, forcing people to bow down in worship to him, he sat in his office reading Shakespeare and philosophical texts.

A pathetic waste.

Shaking his head, Father Mentigo went to the desk and sat in the tall-backed leather chair. He ran his fingers over the leather arms, imagining that only hours before, the Night Walker touched this very surface. He closed his eyes, drinking in the image of supremacy. Most men couldn’t conceive of the battle he faced.

And he had every intention of winning.

It will end with me, Night Walker.

The desk clock chimed with the passing hour, pulling Father Mentigo out of his reverie. He shook his head in silent reprimand. It was too soon to sit back and envision his future victory. He must remain focused.

After removing his tiny camera, he snapped photos of the papers he found on the desk, looking for any phone numbers that might be useful later. Satisfied he had gathered enough information, he laid the sealed envelope on the desktop and hurried out to his car.

But he had one more stop to make before returning to his studio apartment. He would have to stay inside tonight. When Calisto discovered the envelope, he would come looking for him, and Father Mentigo had no intention of being found.

He drove down the interstate, shifting himself inside his pants. His arousal came as no surprise. Knowing he manipulated an immortal, toying with inhuman power, created the ultimate aphrodisiac, exciting him far more than any woman. He was born to meet this challenge. He knew that now. And so far he enjoyed it.

Perhaps more than he should.

…

After the sun dipped below the horizon, Calisto made his way upstairs from his hidden quarters beneath his home. Something felt different tonight upon his waking, but he couldn’t place what it might be. Buttoning his dark blue shirt, he made his way down the hall to his office. What he saw lying on the center of his desk made him grind his teeth with rage.

Another envelope with the Fraternidad’s seal.

A heartbeat later he sat in his chair, breaking the wax. This time there wasn’t a note. Instead, he removed two photos. Calisto stared at them in disbelief, his eyes moving from one to the other.

He was looking at images of himself.

Someone else had been on the beach, watching him while he fed the previous evening. His heart quickened. The pictures could easily be written off as computer enhanced, doctored. The real danger was the face of the pale man in his arms.

If someone had reported the man missing, these photos would lead the police right to his door.

Calisto shredded them. Had he been careless? He hadn’t sensed anyone else on the beach, but his thirst had overwhelmed him by then.

Maybe he had been so desperate for blood that he missed sensing the presence of another.

He stood up with such violence, his chair banged into the wall behind the desk. Growling with fury, he stormed into the night. Not only had someone watched him, but now they had proof that would link him to a missing man. For centuries he had been so confident of his own anonymity, too confident.

Calisto hunted for the monk who left the pictures behind for him to find. He had underestimated his opponent for the last time. He would not make the same mistake again.

And he would not be blackmailed, not by anyone.

Chapter Thirteen

Kate woke up in her Dad’s old easy chair in a cold sweat, crying in fear. Her nightmares were getting worse, and the vivid details came into focus more every night. Tonight, she saw the shadow of a man leap from his horse, knocking the woman to the ground. She saw them struggle, and she couldn’t wake up. She was forced to watch the man press a knife to the woman’s throat. She heard the woman’s cries, and even though her screams weren’t English, somehow Kate understood. The woman was begging for her unborn child’s life.

Lurching up, Kate raced for the bathroom and threw up. She winced as her stomach cramped, and she retched again and again. Her body ached. When the nausea finally passed, she sat in the corner of the bathroom, pulled her knees into her chest and wept. The emptiness inside threatened to swallow her.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat, curled up on the bathroom floor. She’d never felt so alone, but dwelling on it wasn’t going to make it any better. She needed to get out of the house. Time to dust herself off and move on.

Within an hour, she drove the bug with the top down toward Seaport Village and a day of retail therapy with Edie and Lori. She took a long, slow breath, trying to pull the sunshine into her lungs. Another gorgeous San Diego day. Where else could you drive around with the top down at the beginning of December?

The wind whipped her hair around her face, and she finally smiled. Getting out was exactly what she needed. Maybe today would be a good day after all.

…

Father Mentigo couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She wore a dark green t-shirt that clung to the round curves of her breasts, hypnotizing him until he had to force his gaze elsewhere. Her dark blue denim shorts were no better, teasing him as she leaned over the front of her car. She stretched up to reach the top, and he held his breath, watching the sunlight shine on her dark hair. The way she struggled to lower the worn roof on her faded yellow VW enticed him to watch her shapely legs. He shifted in his seat. Oh, he enjoyed this battle more with each day.

Not only had he eluded the Night Walker the night before, but now he had also found the woman that Father De Cardina had discussed in his communications. However, the other monk had failed to mention her beauty. Father Mentigo watched Kate drive away and smiled. He would relish every bit of contact with her for as long as he could. He was more than prepared to do whatever was necessary, even if she had to die. Her life was a very small price to pay for what he stood to gain. And he wouldn’t allow anything, or anyone, to get in his way.

Once her car was out of sight, Father Mentigo got out of his rental and walked toward her house with a small brown parcel. Wearing unmarked cargo shorts with a plain, khaki, button-up shirt, he posed as a local deliveryman, hoping he would not draw attention to himself. He reached her front door, grumbling to himself when he found it locked. He couldn’t pick the lock right in front of the house. After checking for the prying eyes of any neighbors, he made his way around the side of the two-story home. He found the kitchen window open, and within minutes he was safely inside. It was practically empty. He frowned. Walking through the rooms, he wondered what kind of woman lived alone in an empty house. Ironic that her home was similar to the Night Walker’s. Empty.

He stopped when he found her opened duffel bag.

Kneeling down, he fondled the intimate clothes he found inside. He lifted a silk nightshirt, caressing his cheek with its softness, drowning in the scent of her skin. He forced himself to put it back and continued his exploration of her bag until his fingers hooked onto a pair of silk panties. He lifted them to his face, burying his nose in the delicate fabric. The soft, feminine scent intoxicated him with its forbidden pleasure, so he tucked them into his pocket.

Since his fingers were already there, he brushed the length of his hardened shaft, sending a chill through his entire body. He closed his eyes, treasuring the texture of her panties, every move of his hand teasing his passion higher. It was her. She was touching him, encouraging him toward his release. His hand moved faster inside his loose shorts, rubbing her underwear against his organ until it pulsed with need.

He suddenly withdrew his hand, biting back his desire. Enough. He would finish this later. Right now he had work to do. Searching through her things, he jotted down phone numbers and learned as much as he could about Kate Bradley, then retreated to his car. He needed the safety of his apartment before the sun went down. He couldn’t risk running into the Night Walker.

Not yet.

…

Afternoon wore into evening, and they decided to grab an early dinner and catch a movie. Lori and Edie wrestled with their bags.

Kate tried not to laugh. “Want me to carry a couple of those?”

Lori glared at Kate’s little Yankee Candle store bag and held out her bulky Bloomingdale’s bag. “Yes. You’re definitely not weighed down enough yet.”

Edie added bags from Payless shoes and Sephora to Kate’s load and gave her a once-over. “That’s better.”

Lori continued to glare. “I still can’t believe we’ve tromped all over Seaport Village and Horton Plaza and all you’ve bought is a couple of scented candles. That’s just wrong.”

“You’re not sick, are you?” Edie struggled with her bags to feel Kate’s forehead for a fever.

Kate dodged the attempt. “I’m fine. I didn’t come for the shopping today, I came for the company.”

Lori glanced at Edie. “Great, now we look like a couple of materialistic bitches, don’t we?”

Kate laughed and followed them up the escalator to the movie theater, where a well-reviewed drama was playing. They left the theater sniffling, drying their eyes and laughing at their own sappiness.

“I hate it when they don’t get to live happily ever after,” Edie said.

Kate sighed. “Me, too. I like the fairy tale endings when everyone falls in love and rides off into the sunset.”

Lori glanced at Edie, then Kate. “Guess it doesn’t happen that way in real life very often.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Kate wiped her eyes. “Come on. Let’s get some coffee and talk. I’ll buy.”

She walked a couple of blocks up Fourth Avenue before she realized where she was going. When she opened the glass door she wanted to cry again. This was the coffee shop she visited with Calisto the night her life changed.

Lori settled at a quiet table and pierced Kate with a serious look. “We’ve talked about everything except why you moved back. How long are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

“Lori!” Edie shot her a disapproving look. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

“Hey guys, I’m sitting right here. And I think I’m as ready to talk as I’ll ever be.”

Her friends sipped coffee, and Kate struggled to tell them her story without revealing the parts of herself that she never shared with anyone.

“After I called off the wedding and came back here... ” She hesitated before going on. “I met a man while I was here.”

Lori opened her mouth to say something, but Kate held up a hand.

“Nothing really happened between us, but at the same time, everything did. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I’ve never had a connection with someone like I did with him. I couldn’t stop thinking about him no matter how hard I tried. I had to come back.”

Edie smiled and patted Kate’s hand. “He must be something special to turn your life upside down like that. When do we get to meet him?”

Lori interrupted. “I don’t know. No man is worth giving up your job and your life for, you know? You were only with him one night, right? You can’t possibly know him well enough to push your life aside for a chance with him.”

Kate bristled. Typical of Lori to be the cynic, and though she was right, Kate wasn’t in the mood to be lectured. “I don’t know much about him, but that’s why I waited until winter break from my job to come back. It’s not like I quit my job. I don’t go back to work until January. Until then, I can stay at Mom and Dad’s. I took it off the market for now.”

Edie grabbed Kate’s sleeve and tugged. “So when are you going to see him again?”

“Hell if I know. I don’t know his phone number, let alone if he wants to see me again.” Kate laughed and rubbed her eyes.

Lori raised a brow. “What? You made it sound like you were in love, and now you’re not even sure he feels the same way? Geez, are you sure you did the right thing?”

Kate sighed. “I’m not sure of anything anymore except that I’ll go crazy if I’m always wondering about what might have been.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to see you again?” Edie asked. “Sounds like you guys had a great time together, right?”

“Yes, but I… ” Kate grimaced. “Well, he came out to Reno on business and we bumped into each other. He and Tom ended up getting into a fistfight, and I told him I never wanted to see him again.”

“So let me get this straight. You came back here for a man who probably thinks you hate him?” Lori shook her head. “Do you expect me to be happy for you?”

“Damnit, Lori, can you just be my friend? I don’t need lectures. I’m prepared for whatever might come, including consequences. I might not ever see him again, but I had to try. It’s a big risk, and I’m scared. But I owe it to myself to stop running away from my feelings.”

Lori stared for a few long seconds. Edie broke the silence.

“I hope everything works out for you.” Edie gave her a little hug. “And I can’t wait to meet him. What’s his name?”

“Calisto. Calisto Terana.”

“The guy you met at the mission.” Lori leaned forward in her seat with newfound interest and a little caution. “He runs a charity for the arts or something, right?”

“Yes. He’s the founder of Foundation Arts.”

Lori nodded. “I’ve heard of him before. He’s sort of reclusive, isn’t he? And I guess he’s rich, too. How in the world did you end up going out with him?” She frowned a little. “You said you didn’t give him your number.”

Kate scowled at Lori. “I didn’t.”

Lori held up a hand. “Sorry. I just... I worry.”

Edie interrupted. “Oh he was handsome! How did you find him again?”

“I ran into him while I was signing the papers for the foundation to pick up Mom’s piano. Later that night we ended up in the same movie theater and it went on from there.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it bad.” She reached across the little coffee table to give Kate’s hand a squeeze. “I don’t want you to get burned in the end. I worry, too.”

“Nobody wants to get burned. But it’s time I went after what I want. I’m a big girl. I can deal with it.” Kate set down her coffee mug, eager to change the subject. “I guess we should get back. I have a lot of unpacking to do.”

Edie stood. “I have to work early tomorrow anyway. I had fun with you guys today.”

“We’ll have to do it again soon,” Lori said. “Maybe next time Calisto can join us... ”

Kate gave Lori a quick, grateful hug. “I can only hope.”

They walked through the calm night to the excellent curbside parking spot Lori scored.

“Sure you don’t want a ride over to your car?” Lori asked.

“That’s okay.” Kate handed them their bags. “I’m just around the block. I could use the walk.”

“Be careful,” Edie said.

“I will. See you guys soon.”

Kate watched them drive away, waving before she walked toward the end of the block. Staring up at the moon, she wondered if somewhere in the city Calisto was looking at it too. It made the world seem smaller somehow, like they were closer together, sharing a moment, even though they were probably miles apart.

She shivered and kept walking. As she rounded the corner, she suddenly had the feeling she was being watched. The hair on the back of her neck rose to stand on end, and her pulse quickened. She picked up her pace, listening to everything around her. She didn’t hear another set of footsteps, but she didn’t turn around to check.

She was too afraid of what she might see.

What did newscasters instruct women to do when they walked alone? Keep your head up and have your keys out and ready. Now if she could only find her keys.

Kate groped through her purse, hurrying toward her car in the parking lot with her head held high, praying the paranoia was all in her mind and no one really followed her. Finally, she found her keys and grasped them tightly. Almost there.

Her instincts screamed at her to run, but she managed to cage her fears.

Clasping her keys in her fist, she walked toward her car where it sat under the dim yellow street lamp in a parking lot. Her inner voice begged her to hurry, more than certain she was in danger, but before she could run, something sharp poked through the back of her t-shirt.

“Scream, and you’re dead.”

Chapter Fourteen

After he fed, Calisto wandered the dark streets of downtown San Diego, searching for the Fraternidad’s new ambassador, the fool who chose to break into his home and leave behind incriminating photos. Fury churned in his gut at the thought. His pursuit of the arrogant bastard yielded no leads since he had no idea whom he was looking for.

Yet.

He’d already visited the Mission de Alcala, but he didn’t find anything new. None of the priests knew of the arrival of any monks from Spain. His stalker appeared to be keeping his presence hidden from the other priests as well.

Without a face or a name, he couldn’t search for mortals who might have seen the monk, which made his hunt even more futile. Only by opening to all of the mortal thoughts around him could he locate the monk who dared to expose his existence. It would be an overwhelming task in such a large city, but he had no other choice.

Closing his eyes, Calisto braced himself for the pain and lowered his mental shields, welcoming all of the silent voices around him, searching for the thoughts of a monk who trespassed inside of his home.

Entwined within the myriad of voices and thoughts, he heard a mental cry that filled his heart with terror. Please God don’t let me die…

He knew that voice. It haunted his every waking moment.

Kate.

By the sound of her plea, she was in trouble. But where was she?

Forcing himself to remain calm, Calisto struggled to find her, his mind searching for any others who might have seen her. Before he found any mental trace of her, he heard her scream.

He followed the sound, racing toward her as fast as his body would allow. Until the night settled into an eerie silence. He waited, listening, praying for a sign. His muscles contracted, ready to launch into action as panic festered inside him.

It was too quiet.

A delicious scent teased his senses.

Blood.

He tracked it to a dimly lit parking lot behind a broken-down liquor store. But he wasn’t prepared for the scene before him.

Kate lay facedown on the cracked pavement of the parking lot, struggling to break free from her attacker. The man crouched on top of her, his hand tangled in the back of her hair, pressing her face against the blacktop while his other hand held the blade of a knife against her throat.

“I told you not to scream, stupid bitch!” he said, looking around to be sure they hadn’t attracted any attention.

As the mugger reached for her spilled purse, Calisto emerged from the darkness, eyes glowing crimson with pure, primal fury. He yanked the leather-clad man away from Kate and held him off the ground.

Before the man uttered a sound, Calisto hit him with all his strength, feeling the bones of the man’s face shatter under the force of his blow. But his rage wasn’t appeased, and hearing the man’s blubbering cries wasn’t enough to atone for harming Kate. He wanted to rip the man’s head right off his shoulders, but Kate was too close.

Instead, he threw the mugger away in disgust, finding some solace in the hollow thump as he connected with the graffiti-covered back wall of the liquor store that bordered the parking lot. The sight of the bloody body embedded in the crumbling stucco further satisfied Calisto, bringing a smug smile to his face. The man now resembled a bug smashed on a car windshield and it seemed a fitting end.

The scent of blood instantly surrounded him, intoxicating him with its fragrant call. Streams of it trickled down the wall from the mugger’s lifeless body. Such a waste—

“Calisto?”

The sound of her voice shocked him back into the moment. He turned and knelt beside her, hoping to block her view of the carnage that, only moments ago, was her attacker.

“I am here,” he whispered.

She nodded and her eyes drifted closed. She lost consciousness.

His hands trembled, inspecting her wounds. He couldn’t bear to lose her again. If only he had gotten here sooner. He smoothed her hair back, looking over her bruised face. Other than a split lower lip, a minor scrape on her cheek, and a bump on her forehead, she seemed otherwise unharmed. The haze of panic and rage gradually thinned.

He needed to get her far from the crime scene before the police arrived. He couldn’t risk having any connection to the bizarre death they were going to find plastered against the wall of the old liquor store.

After retrieving her purse and car keys, he scooped her into his arms. Slowly, he scanned the perimeter for any sign of a security camera. The yellow streetlamp sputtered, apparently the only witness to Kate’s attack. Satisfied they hadn’t been seen, he carried her to the old Volkswagen convertible.

Looking down at her face in the moonlight, his gaze strayed to her mouth. Part of him was sickened by his own attraction to the blood pooling on her lower lip. The scent enticed the beast inside of him, teasing his thirst, and seeing its rich redness on her sensual lips was almost more than he could bear. It awoke the predator in him, and right now he wanted nothing more than to be a mortal man again. A man who could offer her a future she deserved. A man she could love.

He didn’t have time for these thoughts, though. Not right now.

Forcing his gaze from her face, he reached to open the passenger door of her car, frowning when it only opened a couple of inches. He tugged, but the door pulled back. He bent closer to the car and found the cause of the problem. The sound of his own laughter surprised him. He forgot about the elastic band tethered to keep the door closed.

Dear God, what a mess of a car.

He almost heard her telling him again that she was “restoring” the car and it just needed a new passenger door.

Shifting her slightly, he held her in one arm and reached inside to unclasp the elastic strap from the door handle. When he took a step back, the door creaked and fell open. He carefully lowered her into the passenger seat and reattached the elastic bungee strap to hold the door closed again.

He stared down at her for a moment, wanting to heal every cut on her soft skin. But he couldn’t, not yet. He needed to get her, and her car, far from this place so neither he nor Kate would be implicated in any way with the gruesome murder site.

It also meant he would have to drive.

In all his years, he had never driven an automobile. The closest he had come was watching various assistants through the years as they chauffeured him. He wasn’t sure he could even remember how to start the car, but right now he had no choice.

Grudgingly, he got into the driver’s seat, and finding the lever underneath, he pushed it back so he sat comfortably behind the wheel. After trying three different keys, he found one that slipped into the ignition.

From what he had seen over the past hundred years, driving was not a complex operation, and he was an immortal with reflexes far more keen than a human man.

How difficult could it be?

He turned the key and nearly jerked the wheel off the steering column when the car surprised him by lurching forward. The car went silent. The engine wasn’t running. What was he doing wrong?

He stared at the gearshift, wondering if he should move it. His frustration reared up, but his agitation would not make the car drive itself. He had to keep a cool head.

Not knowing what else to try, he pushed one of the pedals at his feet to the floor and turned the key again. This time the car didn’t move, and it roared to life. Grasping the gearshift, he jammed it into the first position and glanced over at Kate.

Why couldn’t she have owned a car with an automatic transmission?

Shaking his head, he put some pressure on the gas pedal and slowly released the clutch. Thankfully the car rolled a few feet, but without warning it jumped forward. He pressed the clutch back to the floor before the engine lost power again.

Calisto slammed his hand against the wheel, muttering under his breath in Spanish. At this rate it would take him all night to drive her home.

The faded yellow convertible pitched forward again, threatening to stall as he continued out of the parking lot, thankful it was late. The streets were fairly empty. At least he wouldn’t get into an accident with another car. Her car staggered ahead, lurching each time he tried to release the clutch, bouncing and jostling them both until Kate finally stirred and woke up.

…

“Are we out of gas or something?”

Calisto watched her with a tight smile. “Not exactly.”

Kate winced in pain when she laughed. “You can’t drive a stick-shift, can you?”

“Does it show?” Calisto pulled over, finally allowing the engine to stall.

She nodded her head slowly to avoid more pain. “Just a little. What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember being mugged. And I remember seeing you, but everything after that is blank.” She watched his eyes as Calisto reached over to brush her hair back from her face, and his touch sent shivers through her body. This wasn’t how she had hoped she would run into him, but she learned a long time ago fate didn’t always work out the way you expected.

“He ran off when I found you. I tried to take you back to my house to clean up your wounds, but I am afraid your car had other plans.”

“I think I can drive.”

“Are you sure?” Calisto studied her. “You hit your head when he attacked you. I—”

“How did you find me?” Kate interrupted.

“I heard you scream. I got there as quickly as I could.”

“Thank you.” Unexpected tears filled her eyes. “I was so scared. I thought he was going to kill me… or… ”

Calisto turned and pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair while she wept. She’d never been so terrified. What if Calisto hadn’t heard her? What if no one had come to her aid?

Would she be in his arms right now, or in a morgue?

He whispered against her hair. “You are safe. No one will ever harm you again.”

Something about the way he said it made her believe him. She felt protected in his arms, and gradually her tears faded.

“I hoped I would see you again, but this wasn’t how I pictured it would happen.”

Calisto smiled, drawing back to meet her eyes. “I was under the impression you wanted nothing more to do with me, no?”

“I’m not sure what I want anymore,” she said.

He placed a tender kiss to her forehead and held her close. “Mercy Hospital is not far from here.”

“No, we don’t need to do that.” Just the thought of the health insurance nightmare of going to an emergency room made her head hurt. “I’m just scraped and shaken up. I’ll be all right.”

“Where are you staying? We can park your car and I will call a taxi.”

“No,” Kate trembled, shaking her head slowly. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be alone just yet.”

“Then come back to my house. I will clean your wounds and you can rest.”

She winced when she pulled back to meet his eyes. “Are you a nurse?”

He tenderly brushed the backs of his fingers down her uninjured cheek.

“Do you need one?” He smiled.

Grinning, she asked, “Do you ever answer questions?”

“My answers do not please you?”

Kate rolled her eyes at him, laughing again, and flinched. “Stop it… It hurts when I laugh.”

“I am sorry. I would rather see you laugh than cry.”

She smiled. “Let’s find a safe place to leave my car… And I better drive before you give us both whiplash.”

Calisto nodded and handed her the keys. “As you wish.”

Chapter Fifteen

An hour later, the cab pulled away from Calisto’s driveway. He helped her inside his house and up the stairs to the master bedroom.

She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on the blank walls and undecorated furniture, as if she wondered why he hadn’t bothered to make the spaces cluttered and lived-in.

“I travel quite often. Lie down and rest while I get a cool washcloth for your face.”

Kate smiled. “How do you do that?”

He raised a brow. “Do what?”

“Sometimes you know exactly what I’m thinking.”

Calisto smiled and walked into the bathroom without responding. What could he say? He wasn’t trying to read her thoughts, but at times her mind reached out to his without any effort on his part. It had been like that for them well before he ever became a Night Walker. Tala used to tell him they shared the same heart. Lifetimes ago...

He came back with a cool, damp washcloth and laid it across her forehead.

“That feels better, thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” He sat on the edge of the bed, looking closer at the cuts on her lip and cheek, hating them.

Many decades had passed since he used his powers for healing, but seeing her wounded called to the Kuseyaay once more. He couldn’t let her suffer. Thankfully, he had been careful not to give her access to a mirror. Without any visual knowledge of the severity of her wounds, waking up to find them nearly gone wouldn’t be a shock.

He stroked her hair back from her face, waiting until her eyes drifted closed. Slowly he brought his fingertip to his mouth and cut the tip on his sharp fang until a bead of rich blood glistened on his skin. Leaning closer, he tenderly traced his fingertip over her bottom lip, watching his blood work its magic, repairing the open wound until her skin was once again whole.

With the tribes he used to place his mouth over their wounds, and pierce his tongue so that the secret of his blood would not be revealed to them, but he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to taste the sweetness of the blood on her lips.

He stared at his already healed finger. Only her blood remained. He turned his hand, watching the blood glisten, enticing him with its rich crimson color. The alluring scent called to his thirst, and he fought to bury the desire deep within.

Disgusted with himself, he bit back the temptation and rose quickly from the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom and scrubbed his hands, watching the blood from her lip thin and finally slip down the drain.

He didn’t want to yearn for her blood, only for her heart and her love. Now he realized separating himself from his bloodlust would be far more difficult than he imagined. He would never hurt her, but he also needed to remember to feed well before spending time alone with her, not only to appear more human but also to control his thirst.

From the doorway, he watched her sleeping, memorizing every feature. He lit the candles on either side of the bed and dimmed the lights while she rested. Quietly, he walked into his closet to remove his jacket.

A shrill scream brought him to full attention.

“No! Don’t hurt her!”

The sound of Kate’s scream stabbed through his chest and he forgot to slow his inhuman reflexes. Instantly, he sat at her bedside. Kate sank into his arms, shaking and sobbing against his chest. Calisto frowned, stroking her hair, trying to bring her some comfort.

“No one will hurt you, Kate,” he whispered. “You are safe here.”

She clung to him, trembling. “I know... I have a recurring nightmare. It always happens this time of year, but now... ”

He waited for her to finish. When she remained silent, he drew back to meet her eyes. “What is it, Kate?”

Time froze when their eyes met. Deep within the shadows of her tear-filled dark eyes, he saw her. Tala. Her soul was there, and the knowledge of her past life now threatened Kate. Her soul struggled to remember, while her mind fought to forget.

And once again, he found himself unable to help her.

He couldn’t tell her of their past together. Even if she did eventually believe his story, would she then fear him? Would she loathe him when she learned he drank the blood of the living to sustain his own life? He couldn’t take the risk. She was here now, with him. She came back by her own free will, and he loved her. He would always love her.

“Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had this nightmare. It comes back in the fall and it usually stops by spring. It’s always been exactly the same, but now... Since I met you it’s been changing.” She shook her head, trying to clear away her fear. “It’s getting harder and harder for me to sleep.”

“Why does it frighten you?”

“I don’t know. I guess because I feel helpless. The dream feels real. I can smell the sagebrush when she runs through the bushes. I see her running, and I can feel her body aching and her terror. She knows she has no chance of survival, but she runs anyway.”

“Who is she?” He wanted her to search for the name, wanted her to come closer to understanding.

“I don’t know. I never see her face.” Kate took his hand, her thumb brushing over his ring. “But she has a ring like this hanging around her neck. That’s why it looked so familiar to me before. I see it every night in my dream, dangling from a leather necklace.” She tapped her fingertips against her chest, her gaze haunted. “It hits her chest with every step when she runs.”

He watched her slim fingers trace the signet. Calisto’s jaw clenched, holding back the onslaught of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Kate was being tormented by nightmares of her own death.

A death she never would have suffered if she had never loved him.

“You said the dream is changing?”

Kate nodded, holding his hand tighter. “Now I can see him jump from his horse and knock her down. She tries to get away, but he’s too strong. He pulls a dagger out of his belt and holds it to her throat. I hear her crying and saying something, but I don’t think it’s English.” She wiped away a tear and added quietly, “I’m just glad I still wake up before... ”

Before he rapes and kills her, Calisto thought bitterly. At least fate protected her from that final truth. So far she hadn’t seen her own face in her dream.

Hopefully, she never would.

He lifted her chin as another tear escaped the corner of her eye. Without a word, he leaned in closer until his lips lightly brushed her warm skin, lingering against her cheek. He kissed away her tear and drew back slowly. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

“You are shivering,” he whispered.

Kate nodded, leaning closer. Her breath teased his lips. Calisto closed the distance between them, his lips finally meeting hers, brushing and caressing. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in close, crushing her breasts against his broad chest. He could hear her heart racing as he deepened the kiss. Every cell in his body screamed out with longing. He never wanted it to end.

No kiss had ever tasted so sweet.

Kate slid her hands up his chest, around his neck, loosening the leather tie that bound his long, dark hair. She pulled it free, tossing the tie away and running her fingers through his hair. Every touch aroused new desire inside of him, and when their lips parted and his tongue reached gently for hers, the sound of her soft moan reached into his soul, breathing life into a long dormant part of his spirit.

Calisto was lost. Lost in her arms, in her kiss, lost completely in loving her. The rapid pounding of her heartbeat and the feel of her body pressed tightly to his brought his hunger to life. But it wasn’t a hunger for blood.

Without breaking the kiss, he laid her back onto the bed, covering her body with his. Her fingers tangled in the back of his hair, holding him, wanting him, and he felt alive again. He let his hands move slowly down her body, molding over every curve. Her back arched into his touch, and he growled with desire and longing.

Centuries had passed since he felt this passion, and he was quickly losing his mind with want for her.

Forcing himself to draw back from the soft warmth of her lips, Calisto looked down into Kate’s eyes, his thumb brushing over her temple slowly. He wanted to tell her he loved her, wanted to remind her. But he couldn’t push her like he had last time he held her.

His gaze wandered over her face, stopping at the abrasion still marring her soft cheek. He pressed a tender kiss over the scrape, carefully brushing his tongue across the tip of his sharp fang. His blood passed through his kiss, washing over the broken skin and working its magic to heal the blemish left behind from the attack.

She hummed softly. “That made my skin tingle.”

Calisto caressed her newly healed cheek. “I hope I will always have that effect on you.”

Her dark eyes fluttered open, and the blissful smile on her lips took his breath away. She brought her hand up to his cheek, her gaze never straying from his. The warmth of her touch intoxicated him, until his only desire was to lose himself in her arms forever.

Slowly he turned his head to place a tender kiss in her palm.

“I’ve never felt this way before.” She brushed his hair behind his ear, her eyes wandering over his face. “I feel like I’ve known you forever, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“I feel the same,” he said. “Perhaps we know each other far better than either of us suspects.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had to come back.”

His lips brushed hers again. “I feared I might never see you again.”

Kate nodded, a soft smile teasing her lips. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again after what I said.”

Calisto raised his head, his gaze holding hers. “There was nothing I wanted more in this world than to be near you again, Kate. I only stayed away because you told me that was what you wanted.” He caressed her cheek. “If you had not come back to San Diego, I would have visited Reno again. Whether you wanted to see me or not.”

She stared into his eyes and smiled, her fingers sliding slowly through his hair.

“I like your hair down,” she whispered.

“You always did.”

He claimed her lips before she could question his response.

When her embrace tightened around him, his worries eased. How could he have been so careless? But he already knew. The feel of her fingers in his hair, the sight of her beautiful eyes smiling up at him, she hypnotized him, taking away his rational thought and replacing it with emotions lost to him centuries ago. Tala lived again, locked away inside the body of Kate.

And he loved her more now than he ever had before.

Kate was drowning, and she didn’t care. The moment his cool hand brushed the bare skin of her back, she surrendered to the passion that wrapped her in its fiery arms. Calisto’s arms. Her entire body burned, engulfed in flames of desire. This was passion she’d longed for, and never experienced with anyone else.

Calisto’s hand journeyed up her spine, his fingers quickly freeing her from the binds of her bra. Kate moaned when his hand slid up to cup her full breast. Her back arched into his touch, instinctively offering herself to him. His caress sent lightning arcing through her veins, making her nipples harden with need. Heat shot through the core of her body until she was breathless. This urgent, burning hunger was more than desire, a desperate yearning to feel him close to her, touching her.

Her hands moved up his chest, her tongue tangling with his. Kate’s fingers worked feverishly to free the buttons of his shirt, hungry to explore every curve of his frame. The sound of his moan, the feel of it against her lips, made her tremble with longing. She wanted to touch, taste, and love every inch of him until they were both lost forever in each other.

Calisto broke the kiss just long enough to pull her shirt free of her body before once again fusing his lips to hers. The moment her breasts pressed against his bare chest, he was lost. Passion consumed them both. He tore away the rest of their clothes, surrendering to the urgent craving for closeness. No barriers remained between them.

The heat of her skin against his left him addicted and hungry for more. His body tangled with hers, so that it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began. The frenzy of desperate, hungry kisses, exploring hands, touching every inch of one another, was the most delicious madness he had ever known.

Calisto held her in his arms and rolled her beneath him. He felt the softness of her inner thighs open to him, bringing him even closer to her. His hips settled between her legs, the heat of her core enticing him until his body ached to be buried inside of her.

He wanted this moment to last forever.

His lips moved down her throat to kiss the swell of her breast. Looking up at her beautiful face from under his brow, he took her hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently. The sensual way her lips parted when she gasped, her eyes watching his mouth on her skin, was beyond erotic.

Unable to wait any longer, he pressed his hips forward. The moment he entered her, he froze, paralyzed with pleasure. Their bodies were one; her moans blended with his, one song, and he felt his heart finally made whole. He held her in his arms, all of his muscles tight, lost to the fire of their passion.

Kate moaned when he moved inside of her. She watched his tongue and lips tease her nipple. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. Every thrust of his hips claimed her. The passion he awoke consumed her.

She never wanted it to end.

Pulling him back up to her lips, she moaned, tasting his mouth again. Calisto’s sleek hair fell loosely around them, teasing her sensitive shoulders, shielding her from the world outside of his arms. Calisto’s embrace became her world.

Her skin felt hot and ached for his attention. She bent her legs, bringing them up slowly around his waist, gasping with pleasure when he penetrated even deeper. Every chiseled muscle of his chest called to her, pure masculine power. And in this moment, he was hers.

Her nails gripped his back, her body pulsing with want and at the same time yearning for release. She couldn’t get close enough to him.

Calisto was alive again. His body moved into hers like a lover, not the predator he believed himself to be. She made him feel like a man again.

But while their ecstasy blossomed, so did the thirst.

It beckoned him to taste her in a purely inhuman way, and the faster her pulse raced, the closer she came to climax, the stronger the call became. Calisto fought to keep the desire for blood at bay while he covered her neck and shoulder with passionate kisses. Her pulse tempted him, so close, her body so willing.

Suddenly he felt her nails scratch down his back. She tensed under him and moaned sharply. Her body pulsed around him, as he plunged into her over and over. Gasping her name, Calisto shuddered and his release finally exploded through him, leaving him weak in her arms.

He rested his head on her chest, enjoying the sound of her deep breaths, her heart beating, and feeling her fingers stroking his hair back from his forehead slowly.

Calisto closed his eyes. Nothing would come between them ever again.

Chapter Sixteen

The sun blazed through the window when Kate finally opened her eyes. Her muscles still felt a little tight from the run-in with the mugger the night before, and her knee was definitely bruised, but none of that mattered. What mattered was Calisto.

He was gone.

Kate sat up, looked around the room, and collapsed back on her pillow with a groan. The down comforter was askew, and sunlight filtered through the shutters onto the king-sized bed where Calisto should have been. She peered over toward the bathroom, but the door hung open and the room was dark.

He left without even saying good-bye.

Maybe she’d been wrong about him after all. Last night he held her until she drifted off against his chest. It didn’t seem like a one-night stand. She saw the emotion in his eyes when they made love...

Or she thought she had.

When she rolled over to get up, she noticed something on the pillow beside her. His pillow.

She smiled, gently lifting the freshly cut Romneya bloom. Taking in its sweet fragrance, she picked up a folded slip of paper beside it.

Dearest Kate,

Please forgive me for being such a terrible host. I had out-of-town business to attend to this morning, and you looked so peaceful that I did not wish to wake you. I left the phone number to reach Betty. She can assist you in retrieving your car. I hope I will find it in my driveway when I arrive home.

I am counting the minutes until I see you again.

Love eternally,

Calisto

Kate ran her finger across the words on the page, imagining he had touched them just a couple of hours earlier. The script was beautiful, not the chicken-scratch most men jotted down. Holding the flower in one hand, and the note in the other, she flopped back onto the down pillow and smiled.

She had to get a grip on herself. She was acting like a lovesick puppy.

But she didn’t care. He hoped she’d be here when he got home. He counted the minutes until he saw her again. Laughing softly, she rolled over in the bed. His scent still lingered on the pillows and sheets, and she breathed him in deeply before completing her rotation to look up at the ceiling. She opened the note, and read it one more time, pausing at the end.

Love eternally…

An oddly romantic salutation. She’d heard of “yours forever” or “love always,” but “love eternally” seemed almost like... a promise. Maybe the salutation meant something different in Spanish than when he translated it into English.

She shook her head and sat up.

She was reading way too much into a short note. Time to get busy. After a quick shower, Kate walked back into the bedroom wrapped in a plush white towel and stared at the mirror. She felt like a different person. Last night she’d experienced the most intense passion of her life. The thought of a condom hadn’t even crossed her mind. Being on the pill made pregnancy worries nonexistent, but still…

In spite of her uncharacteristic recklessness, she had no regrets.

She leaned in closer to the mirror, examining her wounds. Her forehead had a bruise, but other than that, she didn’t see any other traces of last night’s attack. She touched her lower lip, and frowned. She thought she split her lip. She’d tasted the blood, but she didn’t even have a scab. Strange.

She didn’t want to think about the attack. As she stared down at her jeans and t-shirt lying on the floor beside the bed, she cringed. She didn’t want to put those back on.

Ever.

Walking over to one of the whitewashed dressers, she decided she’d borrow something from Calisto. She’d get a clean set of clothes from home and have his put away before he ever knew they were gone.

But the drawer was empty.

Kate frowned and opened the rest of the drawers. They were all empty. She could make up a million reasons to try to explain it, but something was wrong. No one traveled so much they didn’t have any clothes at home.

The closet.

She hurried to the walk-in closet and slid the mirrored door open. One sports coat hung on a single wire hanger. The rest of the closet was unused, no clothes, no shoes, no belts, no ties, nothing. There must’ve been a logical explanation, but it eluded her. The feeling he had never used this room came back to her full force, and she realized again that she knew nothing about this man she thought she might be falling in love with. He might be more of a stranger than she realized.

Kate put on her bra and panties and went into the bathroom to put on the chenille robe she saw hanging on the back of the door. Tying it closed around her waist, her stomach clenched tight.

Whirling around to the toilet, she wretched until she lost whatever remained of last night’s dinner. Kate sat back against the wall, resting her head in her shaky hands. She hated throwing up. Even as a teen, the few times she had stayed home sick from school, her mom had been right there to hold her hand afterward.

No one was here for her now, while she sat in the house of a man she just slept with, who also might be some sort of spy or something.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She usually did a better job thinking through decisions when it came to intimacy. But she’d never been so swept away by passion. The need to touch him had been all-consuming.

Just thinking about it made parts of her body heat up.

Her decision-making aside, it didn’t change the fact that Calisto was hiding something. What kind of man had empty dressers and closets in his own bedroom?

The kind of man you shouldn’t get involved with. She heard her mother’s warning in her head. Still giving her advice she didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t need.

Kate slowly picked herself off of the floor, fighting another wave of nausea. Maybe she had stomach flu. Food poisoning wouldn’t linger like this. When her head cleared, she tightened the robe and left the master bedroom determined to explore the rest of his house.

There had to be an explanation for the lack of belongings in his bedroom.

Walking through the living room, she stopped and gazed out at the ocean through the French doors. He had an awe-inspiring view. The waves washed up the sand, and for a moment her moonlit walk down the beach with Calisto filled her mind. Holding his hand that night had awakened something inside of her that she’d never known existed, a hidden passion and an unspoken trust.

It couldn’t have been a lie.

The kitchen was at the other end of the house. It offered a very open design, with a bay window that overlooked the shoreline. Large clay tiles covered the floor, and the stainless steel industrial oven was immaculate. She had a hard time believing it had ever been used. It did have a Spanish flavor to the décor that fit Calisto.

But he’s never used it, she thought but immediately dismissed it. He’s just got a great maid, that’s all…

A lame explanation, but all she had at the moment. The more she looked around, the harder it was to convince herself a housekeeper could be this meticulous. She wandered around the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cupboards, searching for food or cooking utensils that might be appropriate to have in the kitchen.

She didn’t find much.

The sum total of Calisto’s kitchen inventory consisted of a set of dishes and silverware, twelve cans of assorted Campbell’s soups, and two boxes of cereal that were two years past their “best by” date. No pans, no cooking utensils, and no sign that the large stainless steel stove had ever been used.

She opened both sides of the side-by-side upright refrigerator, revealing an empty freezer and two small Tupperware containers in an otherwise empty refrigerator. Maybe Calisto didn’t live here at all. This might be a friend’s house he used to impress women.

No. She didn’t want to go down that path. There must be some other reason.

She closed all of the cupboards and drawers while she pondered the strange situation she found herself in. Maybe he just got back to San Diego and hadn’t been to the grocery store yet. He was wealthy, so maybe he had his meals delivered and never used the kitchen. It still didn’t explain his empty bedroom or why he kept cereal he obviously had no interest in eating.

He just traveled a lot. He told her so himself.

But you couldn’t pack everything. Even frequent travelers left a few things behind in their dresser drawers. But Calisto didn’t.

Puzzled, and more than a little concerned, Kate continued to explore his house, leaving the kitchen and going back through the living room to an adjacent hallway.

She stopped in front of the first door on her right. Hoping for answers, she turned the knob and walked into a large office.

This was the first room she’d seen that actually looked lived in. Kate smiled. Unlike the rest of the sparse interior of his house, the office was cluttered with books, folders, and pieces of mail. This room was definitely his, and it looked like he spent a lot of time here.

The walls were lined with oak bookcases filled from floor to ceiling. His library reflected his love of art. Her fingers traced over the leather bindings as she skimmed the titles, until something by the window caught her eye.

A small oil painting hung to the left of the arched window behind his large oak desk. Two hands, clasped together as one. She stepped closer and stared at the muted earth-toned colors, unable to take her eyes off of it.

The way the fingers intertwined, holding their palms tightly together, spoke to her. In each brush stroke, she felt the strength behind the simple gesture that connected two people. The artist captured a pure, perfect moment, and communicated the power and strength of love through the joining of one couple’s hands. Love captured on canvas.

Kate looked closer for the artist’s signature and found only the initials G.S. in the bottom right-hand corner. And she noticed one more minute detail. On the ring finger of the man’s hand, he wore a thick gold band, flat on top where a stone might be. Or a signet?

The longer she stared at it, the more certain she became that the hand in the painting was Calisto’s. She wondered who the woman might be. Calisto was a bachelor, but that didn’t mean he’d always been one. Maybe he’d been married before. But if he were divorced, he wouldn’t keep a painting of him holding hands with his ex-wife. It didn’t make sense. You wouldn’t want a reminder of her in your office.

Unless she died.

Kate looked out the window with a sigh. She felt incredibly lonely all of a sudden. Death had touched her life, too. She hoped she was wrong about her suspicion. There was no greater pain than losing a loved one.

She hoped the woman hadn’t died. She shook off the thought. She didn’t even know if Calisto had ever been married.

Turning back toward the desk, Kate pulled out the high-backed black leather chair and sat down. The large oak desk had a phone and fax machine at one end, and a calendar and stacking file at the other.

Slowly, she opened the drawers of the desk, relieved to find them stuffed with office supplies and hanging files. His files were labeled with color-coded tabs, alphabetically sorted by last names. She quickly searched for her mother’s file, but it wasn’t there.

Kate frowned, scanning the papers out on the desk. When she poked through his stacking file, she found it. A membership form with names and phone numbers, her parents’ address and the different functions they had attended were tucked inside. Written in the bottom corner was a small note saying they were deceased, and the value of the property they left to the foundation. She flipped through a couple more papers, wondering where her mother’s piano might be now. The movers picked it up almost three weeks ago.

Then she had her answer. She held up a memo Calisto faxed to Betty on the day they picked up her piano.

Bettina-

Please see that Martha Bradley’s piano is brought to my home after six o’clock tonight.

Thank you…

C

But she’d been through most of the house, and her mother’s piano wasn’t here. He had a grand piano in the living room, but not the one she’d grown up learning to play. Closing her parents’ file, Kate got up from his chair and left the office, opening the rest of the rooms down the hallway to reveal more of the generic décor she had seen throughout the rest of his house.

Empty guestrooms with empty dressers and empty closets, and no sign of her mother’s piano anywhere.

By the time she got back to the master bedroom, it was already one o’clock in the afternoon. She was hungry, slightly nauseous, frustrated and very confused. She needed to get her car and get something in her stomach.

She unfolded his note again and smiled. Men could be so clueless sometimes. Calisto honestly thought Betty would be happy to help pick up her car, but something told her Betty would be far from happy to find her wearing Calisto’s bathrobe, waiting for a ride. Nope, calling Betty was not an option. Calling Lori wasn’t much better. God, Lori would blow a gasket if she told her about his empty bedroom and unused kitchen.

Edie! She smiled and nodded as she reached for the phone. Edie would help her without asking too many questions.

And after a quick call, she had it all arranged. Edie would stop by Kate’s parents’ house to pick up her clothes for her and then meet her up in La Jolla at Calisto’s to take her back to pick up her car. It was going to work out perfectly.

Then she heard the doorbell ring.

Chapter Seventeen

The slut never came home.

Father Mentigo left her house late last night and returned this morning right before sunrise, but her car was already gone. Kate never came home.

He wasn’t sure why he felt betrayed by her actions, but it didn’t really matter. It was her fault. Her doing. She would pay penance for her lust in due time. He would see to that. They would both be punished.

Severely.

Father Mentigo cranked the wheel to drive away when a white midsize sedan caught his eye. It pulled into Kate’s driveway and stopped. Yanking his binoculars from their case, he watched a blonde woman with a ponytail get out of her car and hurry to the front door. She plucked a red square-shaped rock from the flowerbed to the right of the main entry, turned it over, and slid a hidden key from the back.

Father Mentigo observed her every move, noting the exact location she returned the rock with the key hidden safely inside. His heart thumped with anticipation. He waited for the blonde woman to leave.

He would have a key to come and go as he pleased. Perfect.

After what seemed like an eternity, the blonde finally reappeared, locking the door and pulling it shut. She had a backpack hooked over her shoulder, and an overnight bag in her hand, leaving him to wonder if she might be picking up Kate’s things.

The white sedan drove away, and he stowed his binoculars back in their case. Dressed in his plain khaki shorts and matching button-up shirt, Father Mentigo made his way down her driveway. Picking up the red rock, he turned it over and slipped the key into his pocket. Kate could return at anytime. He had to work fast.

Within the hour, he returned, parking his car across the street, and walked down her driveway. Replacing the key inside the red rock, he put it back into the flowerbed, leaving no clue he had ever been there. He glanced over his shoulder before removing a second key from his pocket and sliding it into the lock. Relaxation filled him the moment he was safely inside of her house.

It was done. He had access to her whenever he desired, if she ever came home.

Patience, he reminded himself. He plotted for a chance at eternity. Nothing could be rushed.

Her scent lingered amidst her few possessions. He poked through some of the opened boxes, caressing the soft fabrics that touched her skin. Soon he would touch her skin, her soft throat.

The woman with the moon in her eyes would understand the value of immortality. In the end, she would understand why he had to hurt her. She probably wouldn’t forgive him, but he wasn’t seeking forgiveness.

He wanted victory. After surviving an abusive father, a suicidal mother, and the constant fear of not enough food or a place to sleep, he stood on the threshold of the ultimate victory. He would never feel death’s sting. He would never feel fear or hunger or pain again.

And he would love Kate Bradley forever for sacrificing her life to help him achieve his goal. Her blood was a small price to pay for the prize he stood to gain.

A twisted smile curled his lips, as Father Mentigo imagined the scene. She would be a beautiful sacrificial lamb. A perfect tribute to the God he would soon become.

But right now he had another package to deliver to the Night Walker.

He would meet Kate face to face soon enough. He could hardly wait.

…

Kate balanced on her toes to look through the peephole in Calisto’s door, cringing when she saw Betty outside, reaching to ring the bell again.

Crap! She looked down at her robe.

“Calisto?” Betty called after the second doorbell chime. “I’m going to assume you’re not home and use my key.”

The knob turned. Kate had nowhere to hide. She hoped she wouldn’t look too much like a deer caught in headlights when Betty walked through the door. She smoothed the robe into place and lifted her chin. When the door swung open, sunlight framed Betty in her impeccable dark blue business suit and stylish heels.

“Kate?” Betty frowned. “You scared me. I didn’t think anyone was... ”

Her voice trailed off as her cold gaze took in Kate’s ensemble. The disapproval in her eyes was painfully obvious. “What exactly are you doing here? Didn’t you go back to Reno?”

“I did.” Kate nodded with a forced smile, pulling her robe a little tighter and wishing she’d at least found a brush for her hair. “But I decided to come back here for a while.”

“So I see.” Betty walked past her without a second glance. “Where is Calisto?”

“I don’t know.” Kate turned around to follow her into the living room area. “He left me a note saying he had business all day today.”

“A note. I get a lot of those from him myself.”

Betty spun around to face her so quickly that Kate nearly flinched with surprise.

“So what exactly is going on here? Last time we met, you mentioned something about a job back home. But that probably doesn’t matter to a woman like you.”

Kate wanted to scream, but she didn’t. The cool, controlled tone of Betty’s voice and the way her tight ponytail made her eyes look like slits reminded Kate of a venomous viper, coiled and ready to strike.

Attempting to defuse the situation, she said, “I was mugged last night, and Calisto helped me. He let me spend the night. I’m expecting my friend here any minute with my clothes. She’ll take me to pick up my car.”

“Oh isn’t that sweet,” she said with a sarcastic grin that made Kate sick to her stomach all over again. “Is Calisto aware that his ‘damsel in distress’ has invited her friends to party in his house while he’s away?”

Kate clenched her fists and counted to ten. Betty went into Calisto’s office. What a pill.

“I said a friend was coming. That’s hardly a party.” Kate followed Betty. “We won’t be staying anyway. As I said, she’s taking me to pick up my car.”

Betty settled into Calisto’s leather chair as if it were her own and glanced up from her paperwork. “And will you be coming back?”

“That’s not really any of your business.”

Betty glared, aiming her pen like a weapon at Kate’s chest. “Oh, but it is. Calisto is a bit eccentric and a lot reclusive. He hasn’t had as much experience with gold diggers as I have. I can smell them from a mile away. As the director, it’s my job to keep his assets secure.”

Kate had a feeling Betty was more concerned with Calisto’s ass than his assets. She turned to leave. “I really don’t care what you think, Betty. Calisto’s a grown man, and I’m sure he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

Kate didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she walked away from further confrontation and prayed Edie would drive up soon. She’d feel more prepared for a verbal jousting match when she had clothes on.

Kate went upstairs and made the bed while she waited. Anything to keep busy and not have to cross paths with Betty again. Finally, she heard a car drive up and went downstairs to open the door before Edie could ring the bell.

“Oh my God, this house is gorgeous!”

“Hurry.” Kate tugged Edie inside and closed the door behind her. She made a beeline for the stairs, but unfortunately she wasn’t fast enough.

“And this would be your friend?”

Kate and Edie turned to find Betty standing tall in the hallway with her arms crossed and wearing a judgmental glare.

Kate sighed. “Yes it is. I didn’t want to interrupt your work by bringing her in to—”

“You’ve already interrupted,” Betty said, stepping forward and offering her hand. “I’m Betty Parker, the Director of Foundation Arts.”

Edie took her hand with a tentative smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Edna Banks, but my friends call me Edie.”

Betty shook her hand with a curt smile. “Then I’ll call you Edna. Please don’t touch anything, and be sure not to give out this address. Mr. Terana treasures his privacy. I’m sure you understand.”

Edie withdrew her hand with a nod and quietly watched Betty disappear down the hall and into the office.

“Wow. She’s not very friendly is she?”

Kate chuckled, heading up the stairs with Edie. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“What’s her problem?”

“She’s bent out of shape about finding me here in Calisto’s robe.”

Edie grinned and handed her the backpack of clothes. “Oh I see... She’s jealous!”

Kate took the backpack and slipped out of the robe with a shrug. “Probably, but I can’t say for sure. She thinks I’m after Calisto’s money, and as much as I’d like to smack her for saying that about me, more than likely there are quite a few women out there who are after his checkbook. She’s probably just doing her job.”

“She’s really good at it.” Edie shuddered.

Kate laughed as she tugged her jeans up over her hips. “Thanks for bringing my clothes. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I was hoping I might catch a glimpse of him.” Edie walked to the window and whistled low.

“Him?”

“Your Prince Charming.” Edie winked at Kate, then returned to the view.

Kate pulled on the t-shirt. “Unfortunately he left before I woke up, but he left me this.” She handed Edie the blossom and the note, watching her friend intently as she read his words.

Edie clutched the note to her chest. “Oh, Kate! He sounds wonderful!”

“He is. I still don’t know him that well, but... ”

“But what?” Edie grinned.

“Don’t tell Lori or she’ll kill me, but I might be falling in love with him.”

Edie squealed and hugged her tight. Kate grinned. She’d made the right choice calling her. Edie was happy because Kate was happy, no questions asked, and right now that was exactly what Kate needed.

Because right now, she had plenty of questions of her own and not nearly enough answers.

…

Betty tried to lose herself in her work. She usually enjoyed sitting at Calisto’s desk. Knowing she was the only person in the world he trusted to use his things... But she wasn’t the only one anymore.

The pencil lead snapped.

“Dammit!” She cursed under her breath, jamming the tip into the electric sharpener on the corner of the desk.

It was the fourth time she’d broken it since she found Kate in that goddamned bathrobe. What else had she touched? How could Calisto have trusted her and left her alone in his house while he was away on business? Kate was practically a stranger. He’d never been so trusting of anyone before. Betty waited a year for him to present her with her own key to his house.

Yet Kate was already in his bathrobe.

She couldn’t stand it. How could he have fallen for her little damsel in distress act? God, it was the oldest trick in the book. Oh please, someone help me... Oh I’m too scared to be alone...

She wanted to vomit.

The pencil lead snapped. Again.

“Shit!” She slammed the weak-leaded piece of crap into the wastebasket. Reaching for a new pencil, she heard a knock at the door.

She got up to answer it with a frown. Kate and her little friend left about twenty minutes ago. They couldn’t be back already. With any luck, maybe they wouldn’t come back at all.

She left the security chain latched and carefully opened the door. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I have a package here for a... Calisto Terana?” The man reminded her of one of the homeless guys in Ocean Beach with his wiry beard, but he spoke with an accent that sounded more like Nebraska than San Diego. His brown uniform looked familiar, though, and he wore designer sunglasses.

“I can sign for that. Hold on.” Betty closed the door and unhooked the security chain before opening the door again.

He handed her a clipboard to sign as he glanced around. “This is a beautiful house.”

Betty gave him her professionally aloof smile and handed his clipboard back. “I’m sure Mr. Terana will be glad to hear that you thought so.”

She waited impatiently for the courier to give her the small brown package, but her impatience gave way to unease when she realized he was no longer checking her signature. Instead, he seemed to stare at her.

“It appears that Mr. Terana is fond of many beautiful things.” His dark beard made his teeth look whiter than normal. Almost predatory. A chill slid down her spine. Maybe it was his wiry beard, or the way his sunglasses hid his eyes from view, but now he looked like a wild animal, lying in wait for his prey to come close enough for him to pounce.

Dismissing her irrational fear, she ignored his comment, cleared her throat, and held out her hand. “I’m sorry, we’re very busy now. Can I have the package?”

“We?” He peered around. “Is Mr. Terana inside?”

“That’s really none of your business,” she said, using her practiced, professional demeanor to cover her sudden wave of dread. “Give me the package before I call your supervisor.”

He chuckled and leaned against the doorframe. “You would have a hard time reaching my supervisor. I work for a much higher power than you could imagine.”

His words chilled her. When he offered the package, she snatched it from his hand and slammed the door closed, quickly locking it and sliding the security chain back in place. She leaned against the door for a moment to collect her herself. What a creepy courier.

Something about him, the way he’d looked at her, the way he tried to determine if she was alone, terrified her. She would definitely lodge a complaint to...

Betty turned the box over and frowned. Other than Calisto’s name and address, there were no other markings on the box, no tracking number, nothing. It must have been a private courier service.

She peered out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his truck, but the only car left in the driveway was her own. Damn.

Placing the box on the corner of his desk, she jotted a note to herself to remember to call all the local couriers to find out who delivered a package to Calisto Terana. That driver had messed with the wrong woman.

Chapter Eighteen

Calisto awoke filled with passion for the night to come. The memory of Kate sleeping in his arms, her raven hair strewn across his pillows in stark contrast to the ivory pillowcases warmed his heart.

His second chance had arrived. This time it would not end in tragedy.

He rose from his sleeping chamber and climbed the stone stairs to his room. Not the master bedroom of the main house, but his room. It was originally a wine cellar, but shortly after purchasing the house, he converted the cellar into a private bedroom and bathroom. His resting place during the daylight hours was far beneath his room, buried deep within the sandy soil.

He showered and dressed, pulling on his black boots and tying his dark hair back without making an effort to slow himself to human speeds. He needed to be with her again soon.

But first he needed to feed.

For a moment, he was tempted to go to the main house, just to see if she waited for him, but he thought better of it. If he saw her, he would never be able to pull himself away to feed. He couldn’t take the chance that his bloodlust might overcome him if they made love before he had a chance to sate his hunger. At best, she would suspect something was wrong with him if she touched his cool skin.

She would never guess he was no longer human, but rather a Night Walker who lived only after the sun died on the horizon. He wished he could shed his immortality and be the man she deserved, the man she thought he was.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked down the beach, disappearing into the night. He was lying to her. No matter how much he believed she was better off not knowing, he hid the truth from her, even denying her the chance to decide for herself.

She had no idea he would never be with her when the sun came up. Eventually he would break her heart daily by leaving her each morning. He had lived among mortals since his rebirth, but he had never loved one, never allowed anyone into his heart until now. Appearing human was simple when no one really knew him, but how long could he live a lie with the woman he loved?

At some point, she would ask him to stay.

With a frustrated growl, he ran as fast as he could, his legs propelling him toward the lights in the distance. He searched for his next meal at a shopping mall, pushing away the shadow of guilt lurking in the corners of his mind. The guilt whispered that Kate deserved a far better future than he would ever be able to provide.

…

Kate waited, trying not to watch the clock, trying not to count the minutes until Calisto walked through the door. She failed.

After Betty grudgingly left for the day, Kate took a long bath, blew her hair dry, and tried to read a book, but her thoughts kept drifting back to his note. She wished he’d told her what time he’d be back. She would have been happy to pick him up from the airport. It was the least she could do to repay him for saving her life. Or at least that’s what she would have told him if he had asked. In reality, she would have been at the airport the second his plane landed because she couldn’t wait to see him again.

But instead, she sat here, alone in his empty house, waiting.

And the longer she waited, the more she thought about how she might bring up the oddity of his empty master bedroom and unused kitchen. She hoped he wouldn’t be angry with her for snooping around his house.

Thinking about it drove her nuts.

Kate got up from the chair in the office and replaced the leather bound copy of A Tale of Two Cities with a sigh, wondering where he might be. It felt like she’d already waited all night, but the clock said it was only six-thirty. Kate wandered out of the office and down the hall. When she walked into the living room, she smiled. The piano.

She sat on the bench and looked over the slick black and white keyboard. It wasn’t her mother’s piano, but it didn’t matter. Playing took all of her concentration, exactly what she needed right now to keep her mind off of how slow the minutes crept by.

She warmed up with scales, her fingers flying up and down the keyboard in a building flurry of notes. Finally, she played a careful rendition of one of Mozart’s variations on “Twinkle Little Star,” starting with the simple melody in her right hand and gradually adding the harmony with her left, until the music became more complex and filled the room with its joyful song.

The act of playing, of making music and letting the chords fill the air around her, lightened her spirit. Her emotions bled through her fingertips into the keys, making every turn in the notes sound like laughter and every forte blossom with an almost tangible passion.

It was similar to the way the human voice sang. Loud and soft, crescendo and decrescendo, joy and sadness, major and minor, her fingers could convey a message words sometimes couldn’t achieve.

A communication beyond anything speech could convey.

When she reached the final cadence, she slowly let the sound of the last chord fade.

Applause echoed through the room. Kate spun around with a start, and then laughed.

“God, you scared me!” She rose from the piano. “I hope you don’t mind me playing your piano. I wasn’t sure when you’d be home.”

Calisto walked forward and took her hand, sending a familiar electricity through her bloodstream. “Not at all. What is mine is yours.”

She tried not to lose her head completely when he lifted the back of her hand to his lips, but the moment he kissed her knuckles, coherent thought escaped her.

“I hope you will play for me again soon.” He lowered her hand without letting it go.

Kate could feel the blush burn through her cheeks, but she shook her head and laughed. “You don’t have to flatter me. I’ve got a degree in music. I’m well aware my abilities as a pianist are lacking.”

“You are too hard on yourself. This fine instrument has never been introduced to such a beautiful rendition of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.’ ”

Kate’s heart fluttered. He made even the juvenile title sound sexy. Seeing he had no idea how sensual he sounded made him even more irresistible. He made no effort to be seductive. He just was.

Calisto sat with her. “You enjoy Mozart?”

Kate ran her fingertips over the keys. “Very much. I wish I could play well enough to do his work justice.”

He stared into her eyes for a moment with a crooked smile. Without a word, Calisto turned toward the keyboard and pulsed the steady tempo with his left hand while his right played the simple turns. Gradually it built into a faster, more complex work, his fingers teasing the keyboard until Kate thought she might never be able to wipe the smile off her face.

He played the third movement of Mozart’s piano concerto in E-flat perfectly. Every trill, every turn, every frenzied scale. She’d never heard anything like it before. He wove a web of music around them, leaving her breathless.

Mozart himself couldn’t have performed it with more fervor and precise intonation. Calisto played chord after chord leading up to the final cadence, urgent intensity masking his features. A lock of his dark hair dipped over his brow. He played with pure abandon and passion. Kate’s heart raced at breakneck speed, watching his body move with the melody. He didn’t hold back to find the right keys as she did. He felt them.

And she’d never witnessed anything so sensual.

The piece of hair dangled on his forehead, bobbing to the music with every beat he played, and the sight made her chest ache with emotion. If she didn’t love him before, she did now.

Nothing in the world spoke to her the way music did, and no one had ever given her such a beautiful gift as the one he offered her now. The concentration and passion pouring out of his body and into the piano spoke volumes about his emotions.

He loved her. It seemed crazy, but she knew he did. He told her with every note he played.

Calisto thundered through the finale of the third movement, and when the final chord sounded, he held the keys down, his foot on the sustain pedal, allowing the strings inside the grand piano to continue to sing as if he weren’t ready to give up the music yet.

When the music finally faded into oblivion, he lifted his fingers from the keys and slowly turned toward her.

He frowned. “You did not enjoy it?” He brought his hand up to cup her face, wiping away a tear.

“I loved it,” Kate whispered, nuzzling gently into his touch.

“But you are crying.”

“Happy tears. I’ve never heard anyone play like that before. You chose my favorite piano sonata.”

His thumb caressed her cheek. “I am glad it pleased you. For the first time in many, many years, I feel the joy in Mozart’s music. You gave me that gift, and I wanted to share it with you.”

Kate stared into his dark eyes, bringing her hand up to brush the stray lock of hair back from his forehead. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, and yet words seemed incapable of capturing the magic of his music.

Instead, she leaned closer, her lips meeting his in a tender kiss that made words unnecessary. A soft moan escaped her when his fingers slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. She pressed closer to him on the piano bench, her hands moving up his muscled chest. Kate’s pulse already raced. Just kissing him left her breathless. No man had ever had this effect on her before, which only furthered her belief he was the one.

Calisto was the missing part of her heart, her other half, but she still didn’t know him. Not really.

He pulled back from her lips, resting his forehead against hers. “If there had been any way for me to stay with you this morning, I would have. I was glad to find you here when I returned.”

“I was a little blue when I first woke up, but I found your note.”

“I hope you can forgive me.” His lips brushed hers, stealing a tender kiss. “Last night meant more to me than you could ever know.”

Kate’s heart skipped a beat. Between the way he looked at her, and the words he spoke, she lost her train of thought. “There’s nothing to forgive. But the next time you have to leave before the sun comes up, I hope you’ll at least wake me up to give me a kiss good-bye.”

“Any excuse to kiss you.” He leaned closer to brush his lips against hers and scooped her into his arms.

Kate’s breath caught in her throat when he carried her through the room. She lost herself in the kiss, her tongue tangling hungrily with his. She struggled to silence her inner voice from reminding her that the bedroom they were entering was virtually empty. Reminding her she might not know this man as well as she should.

He laid her down on the bed, covering her body with his, their lips never parting. Her fingers worked quickly to unfasten the buttons and open his shirt. She wanted him, needed him, now.

But deep inside, she wondered if fear fed her urgent hunger for him. She pressed hot kisses down his neck, her hands sliding his shirt off of his broad shoulders. With every hungry touch of her lips to his skin, she told herself she wasn’t afraid of anything. This was passion, and she was simply surrendering to it.

Or was it really fear, and she was running away from it?

Kate lifted her arms so he could tear the shirt from her body, moaned as his lips caressed the swell of her breast. The feel of his weight over her, seeing his dark hair fall over his shoulders, teasing her sensitive skin, drove her insane with desire. She couldn’t resist the passion his lips offered.

Or was she just afraid she wouldn’t like his answer if she stopped to ask him why his bedroom was so empty?

“Calisto, stop,” she whispered, pulling him up to meet her eyes.

He lifted his head, looking up at her with dark eyes that gazed directly into her soul. God, he made it hard to concentrate. She couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his chest and shoulders tense and he slowly pushed himself up, resting his elbows on either side of her head.

“Is something wrong?” His thumb gently caressed her temple, brushing her hair back.

“No... Yes.” Kate sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Calisto frowned.

“I need to talk to you about something before this goes any further and I lose my nerve.”

“Have I done something to upset you?”

She brought her hand up to cup his cheek. Touching him, knowing he was real, that he cared about her, eased her tension. Why couldn’t that be enough? “I need to know you, Calisto. The real you.” She stared into his eyes, watching for any sign he hid something from her. “I know this room, most of this house, is not you.”

Calisto’s smile faded, and he shook his head slowly. “I do not understand.”

Kate pressed her lips together, gathering her courage. She hoped he wouldn’t be angry with her for snooping through his home, peeking in his drawers and cupboards and closets. She didn’t want to lose him. Not ever.

But she’d ignored her doubts to love Tom, and look how that turned out.

If Calisto lived a double life, she decided she’d rather know now. She couldn’t risk getting too attached to another man with secrets. “This isn’t your bedroom, Calisto. It can’t be.”

He raised a brow and glanced around the room before meeting her gaze again. “I assure you I own this house, as well as this bedroom.”

“But it isn’t yours. All the drawers and closets are empty. There isn’t a single picture here, or anything that reminds me of you. The only room in this house that seems to have any of you in it is the office. The rest of this place is just an empty shell.”

She brushed his hair back with her fingers. “I want to know Calisto, not the founder of Foundation Arts, or some man from an eligible bachelor list. This house and this bedroom aren’t you.”

Calisto rose from the bed and offered her his hand. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

Kate allowed him to help her from the bed and pulled her shirt back on. He slid his arms into his shirt but didn’t bother to button it. He held her hand and led her downstairs.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Calisto smiled, lifting their joined hands to kiss her knuckle. “To my bedroom.”

Chapter Nineteen

Calisto led Kate onto the deck and down the stairs. The sight of her smile in the moonlight encouraged him that he’d made the right decision. He loved her, and she had a right to know him, more than anyone else ever would, even if he couldn’t share all of his secrets. He was stunned, not only by her perception, but by his own desire to open up to her. Mortals were often in his home and no one had ever found reason to doubt him before.

But Kate wasn’t like everyone else. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to share his soul with her, or as much of it as he could.

“Your room is outside?”

“You ask far too many questions.”

“And you still manage not to answer them.”

Calisto laughed. “Perhaps.”

Once they reached the sand, he took her around to the back of the house where the foundation met the sandy cliff. After he unlocked the double doors to the wine cellar, he froze.

He couldn’t let Kate go inside. Not yet.

On the wall of his private bedroom hung a large canvas that he’d painted lifetimes ago, after the mission burned to the ground. His last portrait.

He used to love using his brushes and oils, creating a new world of color and life on an otherwise dull canvas, bringing light and life out of nothingness. As a mortal man in Spain, he apprenticed with a Church artist, learning to depict the face of Christ or the Blessed Virgin. His artistic talent led to his selection to sail to the New World with Father Serra. He was a priest, and also an artist, responsible for many murals on the Mission de Alcala’s sanctuary walls to honor the Lord he served.

But this portrait was not of Christ.

The painting adorning the wall of his room was of his Tala. She wore his signet ring tied around her neck, and she had a Romneya bloom tucked behind her ear. He even captured the tiny crescent in her right iris, along with the secret smile she saved for him alone.

Until the night they took her from him forever.

He couldn’t let Kate see it. She would recognize herself, and he had no explanation for it. Maybe he should have waited to bring her here.

“Is this it?”

Kate’s voice jarred him from his worries and Calisto nodded. “Yes.”

He hesitated to open the door. Kate looked up at him. “Is something wrong?”

“I have never had a visitor to my room. May I have a minute to be sure everything is as it should be?”

“Of course.”

He bent to taste her lips, then straightened and locked his gaze on hers. “Wait for me.”

He slipped through the door and into his room. Lifting the painting from the hook, he stared at the portrait and smiled. He didn’t need it anymore. She was alive again and waiting for him right outside. Carefully, he wrapped the canvas inside the sheet and slid it underneath his bed and into hiding.

He glanced around his room and, satisfied, stepped outside.

“Can I see it now?” She smiled.

Calisto nodded with a crooked grin. “That is why I brought you here, no?”

…

He held the door open for her, and Kate stepped inside. She stared at the piano that now sat in the center of his room. Her mother’s piano.

She turned, smiling up at Calisto. “I wondered where it went.” She ran her fingertips along the lid of the baby grand piano. “I’m so glad it found a good home.”

“Your fingers have graced its keys.” He crossed his arms with a shrug. “I could not allow anyone else to touch it.”

“Have you played it?” she asked, looking back at him.

“Every night.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “It made me feel closer to you.”

“No wonder I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She smiled. “You were thinking about me too.”

“I feared I might never see you again.” He caressed her cheek.

She nuzzled into his touch. “I couldn’t stay away.”

“Good,” Calisto replied, his voice just above a whisper.

“Is it?”

“Si.”

“Why?” She tilted her chin up toward him.

Calisto took a step closer. “Because.” He kissed her tenderly, whispering against her lips. “I love you, Kate.”

His lips fused with hers, and he lifted her into his arms, carrying her to his bed. Calisto lowered her slowly without breaking the kiss, his body covering hers. He slid his hands underneath her t-shirt, pushing the fabric up. Her skin felt soft in his hands, and the way her body writhed beneath him sent his desire soaring.

He needed her. Now.

He kissed her mouth, chin, down her neck, his lips and tongue tasting every inch of her skin, exploring every curve. She pulled his shirt down from his shoulders and he shrugged it off. Her warm hands ran up his back and into his hair, her nails massaging his scalp while he freed himself from his pants.

He looked into her eyes, and she saw silent passion that spoken words could never hope to communicate. Lying in his arms, she lived simply to love him. Her fingers tangled in his dark mane, pulling him closer until their lips met in a hungry kiss. His hips pressed forward, joining them, one in a passionate struggle for pleasure and closeness.

Kate rolled on top of him without breaking the kiss. His hands slid down the arch of her back to grip her waist. Gradually she softened the kiss, drawing back until she sat up, staring down at him. Calisto filled her perfectly, completely. His eyes burned with carnal desire. She felt sensual watching his gaze moving over her curves.

She savored the feel of him inside of her, grinding against his slow thrusts. She dropped her head back, moaning his name. Calisto pushed up, kissing his way along her neck. His lips fused with hers in a hungry kiss as he held her tight in his arms, her breasts crushed against his chest. Kate wrapped her legs around his waist. She couldn’t get close enough. As her body reached its peak, she trembled in his arms, and gasped against his lips. “I love you, too.”

…

He was sick of hiding.

Time to push the battle forward.

Even though it appeared Kate was staying with the Night Walker, as long as she remained mortal, he had the upper hand. She held the key to his plan’s success. If he let her slip through his fingers now, the Night Walker had already won.

An unacceptable scenario. He had waited far too long for this. His ambition would never accept failure.

Father Mentigo combed through his thick black hair, focusing his attention on his dark eyes in the mirror. He would make an imposing immortal. His tall stature already forced most people to look up to him. The sharp angles of his face and his hawk-like nose made his cold stares even more piercing and threatening.

Replacing the comb, he picked up his silver shears and clipped his hair, cutting until it rested at least an inch above his collar. He took a moment to admire his transformation, and then reached for the ivory-handled straight razor. With a steady hand, he slid the blade along the edge of his jaw, shaving off most of his beard. Every deliberate swipe of the blade carved out a new identity, leaving behind a thin, angular goatee that gave him more defined features. He felt his bare skin and inspected his new look.

Facial hair wasn’t tolerated in the monastery, but he was far from their reach now. He wouldn’t be a pious monk much longer anyway.

A twisted grin curled over his lips, causing the razor blade to slice into his now-uneven jawline. He smirked, watching his blood pool around the cut and slowly drip from his face.

He’d never been very pious. But he was an excellent actor.

He finished shaving, allowing his wound to remain open, bleeding. Soon his body would be immortal, and wounds would heal almost the instant they were sustained. He dipped his index finger into the small puddle of blood pooling on the sink and held it up at eye level, marveling at the rich crimson color, the thick consistency, and the earthy scent.

Slowly, he brought his fingertip to his lips, sucking the blood from his skin, drinking in his own life. In the near future, it would be the blood of others that sustained him. The thought sent heat through his loins.

Bending lower, he licked the blood from the surface of the sink, savoring the coppery flavor of the last remaining traces of his blood. How sweet it would taste when it flowed past his lips, still warmed by his victim’s pounding heart. Soon, he would have the strength he thirsted for. Very soon.

He tended to his cut before stepping out for the evening. His palms were clammy as he gripped the steering wheel of his car, the Latin chant repeating itself endlessly in the back of his mind, cloaking his true thoughts from any beings who might try to listen. His senses were on the alert, his eyes shifting from one side to the other, knowing that any shadow might hide the Night Walker. He had to be careful. It wasn’t time for them to meet face to face.

Not yet.

Tonight, he would meet someone else.

Checking the address again, he pulled to a stop outside of the gated condominiums. He spotted her car inside the wrought iron fence and took a cigarette out of the glove compartment. He waited for almost an hour.

The blonde walked around the corner before he got out of his car to follow. It wasn’t hard to find her on the crowded streets. She had an air about her that commanded attention, and with her blonde hair falling past her shoulders, and her tight leather skirt, attention was exactly what she got. Men and women stepped out of her way, their eyes following her as she passed.

He wet his lips in anticipation. He could taste her already.

Her stiletto heels clicked out a confident pace ahead of him, then she disappeared into a dimly lit club. He followed, making his way through the masses of undulating bodies toward the bar. Once his eyes adjusted to the shadowy surroundings, he scanned the room. His head pounded from the blaring techno music. He struggled to maintain the constant chant running in the back of his mind.

Until his plan came to fruition, he remained vulnerable. He couldn’t let the Night Walker find him. He would face the immortal when he was ready.

It couldn’t be the other way around.

He turned to the bar when the bartender delivered his drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her. She sat alone at a small table just to the right of him. Taking a swallow of his drink, he made his approach.

…

Betty sipped her margarita and glared at the dancing couples from over the salty rim of her glass. Even the blasting music and alcohol didn’t dull the anger that festered inside of her. She’d been pissed off since she opened Calisto’s door and found Kate Bradley standing there in nothing but his bathrobe. The bitch was probably in his bed at this very moment, planning to screw him stupid until he married her and wrote her into his will.

She drummed her perfectly manicured acrylic nails on the table, trying to stop picturing Calisto touching another woman. She needed to find a gorgeous guy to take her mind off of him, but so far she was still alone.

“Good evening.”

A nice pair of black slacks suddenly obscured Betty’s view of the club. She gave him her sultriest smile and allowed her gaze to wander up his body. “Hello.”

His voice was deep and rich, with an accent very similar to Calisto’s. He was over six feet tall, with dark eyes and hair. His thin, well-groomed goatee only added to the overall look of sophistication radiating around him. He looked like a man who usually got what he wanted.

Nothing on earth turned Betty on more.

She took another long, slow sip of her margarita, her eyes on his, making it plain that he now had her undivided attention.

“I hope that I’m not intruding, but a woman as beautiful as you should be dancing, not sitting.”

Something about the way he said beautiful sounded familiar, but she didn’t take the time to try to place it.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

He nodded with a hint of a smile and offered his hand.

She followed him onto the floor. Betty sensed the stares from the other dancers and loved it. She enjoyed knowing they were drawing attention, knowing people watched their bodies move in harmony with the beat, their hips driving with carnal desire. She smiled at him with bedroom eyes and got a jolt by the heated stare he gave her in return.

Her night was finally showing some potential.

She wasn’t sure how long they danced. Heavy, unspoken flirtation made it easy to lose track of time, but she needed a break. The last thing she wanted was to start sweating.

They applauded as the band left the stage for a break, and Betty took his hand, leading him back to her table. “You were pretty good out there.”

“Only when I have the right partner.” He gave her a sensual, almost dangerous stare.

She sat but leaned forward to ensure he had a good view. “Thank you. You know, I don’t even know your name.”

“Jose. Jose Mentigo.”

…

Calisto didn’t need to read Kate’s mind to know she was elated and completely exhausted. By the time they pulled into his driveway, it was nearly three in the morning, but her face glowed, her eyes shone, and she wore a perpetual grin.

She followed Calisto into his office and sat in one of the large chairs opposite his desk. He still had some work to finish up, and she told him she wanted to read. Exhaustion set in, and within twenty minutes, her eyes drifted closed and the book in her hand fell to her lap.

Calisto smiled. Words couldn’t describe how much he enjoyed spending time with her, loving her. She was his perfect mate, just as she had been lifetimes ago. In fact, Kate shared much more in common with him now than she had when he had known her as Tala.

After tonight, he was certain he loved her for the woman she was today, not the memory of who she had been.

He shook his head, forcing himself to get back to work. Looking over the notes and receipts Betty left for him, he noticed an unopened package sitting on the corner of his desk. He tore open one end, frowning when he withdrew the contents. More pictures.

This time they were pictures of Kate.

Calisto flipped through the photos of Kate getting into her little yellow car, fighting the rage brewing inside of him. The monk watched her too.

But his rage gave way to cold fear when the pictures ended with a short note.

I know you cannot protect her during the day.

Unlike the recent warnings, it didn’t threaten to expose his true identity. This threat aimed squarely at Kate.

He couldn’t ignore the Fraternidad any longer. He needed to find the monk who stalked him. He should have found him already. Being with Kate made everything else in the world seem insignificant.

It also made him careless.

Calisto looked over at her snoozing figure on his chair and pulled his hair back from his forehead in frustration. It was nearly sunrise, too late for him to hunt for the man who left the photos. He should have already corrected the situation, but he’d been too distracted, too wrapped up in loving her to think about hunting down the nameless monk stalking him.

Until he dealt with the priest, Kate’s safety during the day was in jeopardy. He dreaded leaving her alone and vulnerable during the day. He wouldn’t let them hurt her again. Not in this lifetime.

He rose from his desk and went to her side, lifting her into his arms. When she moaned and snuggled in closer to his chest, she looked like an angel sleeping in his arms. His angel.

And he needed to protect her, even during the day.

He rushed her safely inside his secret chamber below the main house. He lowered her onto the bed and lay down next to her, stroking her hair back from her forehead.

She opened her eyes and gave him a drowsy smile. “You aren’t going to leave me again, are you?”

“Not yet,” Calisto whispered. “I need you to do something for me in the morning while I am away.”

“What’s that?” Kate caressed his chest. Then she yawned.

“Call your friend again, and move your things here. Stay with me, Kate.”

She sat up. “You want me to move in?”

He nodded. “Very much so.”

“Are you sure?”

“If I was not, I would not have asked.”

Kate hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his. “Ok... I’ll call Edie and Lori in the morning.”

“Good. I will have Bettina work here in my office to keep you company.”

“If you haven’t noticed yet, Betty is less than thrilled that I’m here. I don’t think she’s going to want to stay with me. Besides, I’d much rather go with you.”

“If only such a thing were possible.” He kissed her forehead. “But I do want someone here with you. You should not be alone while I am away.”

“I’m a big girl.” She fluttered her fingers over his stomach. “I know how to look after myself.”

She didn’t understand, and he couldn’t tell her the truth, but he knew she was in danger. He grasped her hand and held it still. “For me. Please, I do not want you left alone.”

She sighed with a resigned smile and laid back. “Ok, you win. Have Betty work over here. But I’m telling you, she’s not going to be happy about it.”

“Perhaps not, but she will do as I ask.” He kissed her forehead and pulled away.

Kate frowned. “Do you have to go?”

“If I did not, I would stay with you.”

“Then at least hold me until I fall asleep again...”

“Happily.”

And within a few minutes, Kate drifted off to sleep. Calisto smiled and rose from the bed. He had arrangements to make before the sun came up.

Chapter Twenty

A few days later, with a little help from Edie and Lori, Kate had all of her things moved into Calisto’s house. In no time, she had his kitchen filled with food and was thrilled when he encouraged her to hang some pictures and put some of her things around his home. It warmed her heart to know he wanted this to feel like their home, together. Every night it became more real.

But the days were lonely.

Calisto was never home while the sun was up. Even on the weekends he worked until nightfall. Kate tried not to let it bother her, but the schedule drained her. At times she didn’t recognize herself. Clingy and needy were never words she would have used to describe herself.

Betty continued to work out of the home office so Kate wouldn’t be alone. Not that she was awake much during the day anymore anyway. Since she moved in with Calisto, her inner clock turned upside down. She fought to keep from sleeping at night because that was their only time together. She wasn’t falling asleep until after four a.m. most nights.

She had no idea how Calisto could function on so little sleep. He went to bed with her in the wee hours of the morning and was up and gone before sunrise. Maybe he slept on the airplanes? She didn’t know, but each day she slept more of it away, usually only waking up when her stomach felt queasy, which still affected her off and on. It wasn’t bad enough to see a doctor, but it also wasn’t going away.

On the bright side, even though they were into winter, her nightmare wasn’t haunting her as much. Usually, fall and winter guaranteed her restless nights of fitful sleep filled with the nightmare of the woman being chased.

Since she moved in with Calisto, the dreams changed. The woman in the leather dress with the pendant tied around her neck still haunted her, but instead of the echo of hoof beats, she saw rocky beaches with waves breaking against the shore, secret kisses and warm breezes.

She still couldn’t see their faces, but she didn’t care. Anything was better than the running, and the woman begging for her life and the life of her unborn baby. For the first time in years, Kate slept soundly.

Except for nights like this one.

She had fallen asleep just after midnight, early for her new sleeping schedule. Around three in the morning, she woke up with an ache in her belly that demanded attention. With a soft sigh, Kate slipped from their bed, careful not to wake Calisto, and disappeared into the bathroom to purge whatever disagreed with her.

When she stopped retching, Kate wiped the perspiration from her brow. She felt like hell, but the wave of nausea finally receded. Yawning, Kate turned to go back to bed and nearly ran into Calisto’s chest.

“You scared me,” she said with a gasp, letting her eyes take in his naked body. Even just rolling out of bed in the middle of the night, he was stunning. His dark hair fell loosely around his muscular shoulders, and he leaned against the doorframe. The way he looked at her made her heart pound in spite of how sour her stomach felt. “Did I wake you?”

He gently hooked his fingers under her chin and tipped her head back until she looked him in the eye. “You are still sick... ”

Kate shrugged. “It comes and goes. I feel much better now.”

“You should see a doctor.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to bed. “You have been sick for the past three weeks.”

She nodded, sinking into the bed and closing her eyes as he laid her back down. “I will... It’s just a pain since my doctor is in Reno. I need to figure out what to do about my job, too. School starts next week and I haven’t told them if I’m taking a leave of absence.” She sighed at his look of concern. “Okay, okay, no more changing the subject. Tomorrow I’ll figure out a way to see a doctor here.”

…

Calisto settled beside her in the bed, stroking her hair as she drifted off to sleep again, but his head ached with worry. She had been sick frequently during the past few weeks. He let her believe he was sleeping, since she had obviously been trying not to bother him when she got up.

But he listened, and he was concerned. The few times Kate had been ill while they were both awake at night, she made excuses about the food she ate, but it was more serious now. In the last week, he had heard her getting sick nearly every night before he left to go to his underground shelter. Mild concern grew into worry and fear.

If he could taste her blood he might be able to discern her malady. Whatever cancer or disease she carried would taint her bloodstream.

But he couldn’t bite her. He couldn’t risk exposing his immortal nature, or the chance that once he tasted her blood he would thirst for more. Protecting her from the truth of his existence, the truth about her past, and the monk who stalked them both, was difficult, but he couldn’t protect her from her own body.

He shook off the thought as best he could, but he couldn’t help wondering if souls were doomed to repeat their fate. Was a human soul’s destiny predetermined?

The Old One promised that she would live again. He did not promise a long life. Did he know she would be destined to die young again?

Calisto clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t allow destiny to repeat itself, stealing her from his arms before he was prepared to let her go.

Not this time.

He rubbed his forehead, wishing he could squeeze the thoughts out of his head. He looked down at her sleeping face and found resolve in his heart. She would see a doctor and whatever ailed her would be treated.

She would be well again. Kate was a fighter—she always had been—and they would get through whatever this was together.

He kissed her tenderly and rose from the bed without rousing her from her slumber. He had work to do before the night ended.

The face of the monk stalking him remained a mystery, and his frustration mounted. His only solace came from knowing Kate was never alone while he slept. Things were working out well with Betty running the foundation from his office. Kate told him they were even talking more.

Betty also had a new man in her life, Jose, and Calisto was relieved to hear it. She was a driven woman with career goals that sometimes made men shy away from her. It was good to hear she had finally found a man who respected her ambition instead of being intimidated by it.

But recently Kate mentioned Jose’s company as well, a confession that made Calisto’s hackles rise.

Betty hadn’t told him she was bringing her new beau to his house. Calisto immediately ordered a background check on the man. Until he stopped the monk from the Fraternidad, he needed to stay alert.

Or at least that was the excuse he gave himself.

Deep down he felt the thorn of jealousy stabbing him whenever Kate talked about playing cards and walking down the beach with Jose. He should be glad she wasn’t alone while he slept hidden deep in the earth. It was his burden to walk under the moon’s light. It shouldn’t be hers as well.

But he didn’t have to like it.

After placing the final signature on the stack of paperwork Betty left for him to sign, Calisto opened the envelope marked confidential and pulled out Jose Mentigo’s background check. He glanced over all of the information, looking for any inconsistencies, but he didn’t find anything.

Jose had a bachelor’s degree in business management and spent the last ten years in facilities management for the Marriott Corporation. No misdemeanors or felonies, and his credit was spotless. Calisto shredded the contents of the envelope. He didn’t want Betty to think he was spying on her, but allowing mortals into his life was risky.

Background checks were a necessary precaution.

Calisto retired to his daylight sleeping chambers far beneath the sand. He cursed himself for being complacent about the threats he continued to receive from the monk he had yet to find. The last threat he received prompted him to search every chance he had. It was hard to leave Kate alone at night after he was away all day, but she fell asleep earlier each night.

He had to focus on her safety. She was his world now, but he couldn’t keep ignoring the risk that existed for them both while the Fraternidad watched them. He needed to remedy the problem so they could share their lives together without the shadow of danger looming around them like a heavy fog.

Calisto laid down in the darkness, and as the sunlight stole the life from his body, he made the decision to hunt down the priest that stalked them.

It was time to end the game.

Chapter Twenty-One

The drive from Torrey Pines to La Jolla passed by in a blur. Kate pulled into Calisto’s driveway and turned off her car, but instead of going inside the main house, she walked around the side until she reached the sand.

She didn’t want to see Betty and Jose yet. Right now, being alone was what she wanted. No, that wasn’t completely true. What she wanted right now was Calisto.

Looking up at the lazy afternoon sun, she tried to put the test results out of her mind. Her life had changed so much over the span of a few weeks, and the visit to the doctor left her reeling.

He didn’t prescribe any medication for her nausea, and he assured her that she wasn’t dying. Kate was pregnant.

“Pregnant,” she whispered into the soft sea breeze.

She still couldn’t believe it. She knew she’d missed a couple of periods, but her menstrual cycle had never been anything close to regular. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind that her bouts of nausea could be a sign of pregnancy. Besides, she was on the pill.

Even birth control pills aren’t a hundred percent. The doctor’s voice echoed in her mind.

Obviously he was right, and now she was living proof of that slim statistic. Instead of a prescription to settle her stomach, the doctor sent her home with prenatal vitamins and a lot to think about.

Kate loved children. Less than two months ago, she thought she would have a family with Tom. But her relationship with Calisto was still new. They hadn’t even discussed marriage, let alone a family. At this point, she wasn’t sure he wanted children.

But sure or not, she was having a baby.

And it wasn’t his.

Tears glistened on her cheeks while the strong breeze whipped her hair. For the first time since she met Calisto, that empty feeling welled up inside her again, washing over like the waves caressing the sand.

It felt like she’d already lost him. Kate wiped her tears away and stared at the horizon, waiting for the sun to set. It was crazy to feel this way. She knew Calisto well enough to know he would never blame her for this. She hadn’t been unfaithful to anyone.

Maybe he’d be happy about raising a child with her.

She clung to the thought like a life preserver to keep from drowning in the sea of doubt. She wanted to be excited for the baby and impending motherhood, but somewhere inside a dark shadow lurked that she couldn’t seem to shake. Until nightfall when Calisto came home, she was alone.

Alone and afraid.

…

Jose stood on the balcony, watching the wind slide its invisible fingers through Kate’s hair, envying the softness it caressed. She looked like a fragile flower, small and alone on the sand, and yet she was so much more. Kate was his sacrificial lamb, his means to immortality. She would make his dream possible, and he supposed in some small way, he loved her for that. Maybe he would tell her later while he made her cry out in pain.

A cold grin curled his thin lips at the thought.

But he wasn’t ready for the final battle yet. He had crafted a false identity, infiltrated Calisto’s home and his closest confidants without any of them ever suspecting his true desires. He shared Betty’s bed at night and Kate’s company during the day, all the while leaving threats to keep Calisto distracted and defensive. Anything to keep his mind off of making Kate a Night Walker.

But he wasn’t sure the threats were necessary anymore.

Kate talked about Calisto incessantly. It was painfully obvious she had no idea about his true nature. Perhaps the Church had been wrong all these years.

Maybe the Night Walker had no intention of making her a blood-drinker. Not that it mattered. The concerns of the Church had never really mattered to him in the slightest. What did matter was keeping her mortal long enough for him to gain victory over death.

Eternity would be his to claim.

Ever since he learned of the Night Walker’s existence, when the Fraternidad del Fuego Santo took him into their fold, he dreamed of the day they would meet face to face. And tonight his dream would become reality. Betty had arranged for the four of them to go to dinner together. He already counted down the minutes until he looked Calisto Terana in the eyes.

With a smug smile, Jose disappeared inside the house. He retrieved his leather attaché case and pulled out a small package.

He entered the office. “Someone just dropped this off for Calisto.”

Betty looked up from her paperwork with a smile. “You can leave it here on the desk. Calisto will find it when he gets home.”

He laid the box on the corner of the desk with an inward grin. He wished he could see the Night Walker’s face when he opened it.

“Who delivered this?”

The sound of Betty’s voice shook him from his thoughts. His eyes cut up to meet her gaze.

He shrugged. “A delivery man.”

Betty eyed the box. “Did you notice what he looked like?”

“No. Why? Is there something wrong?”

Betty glared at the box before looking up at him. “Not really, it’s just that I signed for a little box like this a couple weeks ago and the courier was... I don’t know how to describe it, really. He just seemed creepy, like he was a stalker or something. I tried to track down where the package came from so I could complain, but no one in town had record of making a delivery here.”

“That is strange. I’m glad he hasn’t been back,” he said, masking his features with a look of mild concern, but inside he laughed. Betty considered herself a shrewd businesswoman, someone who could spot a fraud in a heartbeat. Yet she was fucking the creepy deliveryman, and she hadn’t the slightest idea.

All he had to do was cut his hair, shave, and speak without a faked accent. Of course it wasn’t really her fault. Betty had never met a man of his caliber before.

“Me, too.” Betty glanced at the clock on the desk. “We’d better get going. I want to grab a shower and change before we meet Calisto and Kate for dinner.”

He pulled Betty into his arms. “She doesn’t hold a candle to your beauty.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Betty beamed at him.

“Yes, you do,” he whispered, nipping at her bottom lip when he kissed her. “Not to worry, tonight will be perfect.”

…

Kate was in the shower when Calisto returned. He smiled, holding a Romneya as he crossed the room. He tapped his knuckles against the door before entering.

“I missed you.”

“You’re home... ” Kate called from inside the shower.

“Si. How was your day?”

Silence.

Calisto frowned, staring at her through the frosted glass of the shower door. “Kate?”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you go to the doctor?”

She turned off the water and grabbed the towel. She wrapped herself before she opened the shower door.

“Yup. But I don’t want to get into that right now. I’ve got to get ready. We’re supposed to meet Betty and Jose for dinner in an hour.”

Calisto watched her move from one place to another, dressing and brushing her hair and searching for shoes... And never once looking up at him.

Something was wrong.

As she passed by again, he pulled her into his arms, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. “Talk to me, Kate. Please... What did the doctor say?”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she shook her head, blinking them back. “I can’t talk about it right now. If I do, we’ll never make it to the restaurant in time.” Her eyes searched his, pleading with him silently. “Please, Calisto. Just let it go for now.”

His chest tightened with worry, but he found himself nodding and releasing her from his arms. He couldn’t force her to tell him, and as much as he longed to search her mind for answers, he fought the temptation. He had to trust her judgment. Surely if her condition was serious the doctor would have admitted her to the hospital.

It was impossible not to watch her and wonder what her secret might be. He looked over her body for any outward sign of whatever might ail her. Her eyes looked red against her pale skin. She had been crying, and it stabbed at his heart. But for now she wanted space, so he would do his best to honor her wishes.

He went to his closet, quietly changing his clothes, listening to her brush her hair in the bathroom, his inhuman senses registering her every breath. He was no longer sure he would be able to maintain his precarious control over his emotions during dinner.

“We should cancel the dinner tonight.” He buttoned the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt.

“It’s too late to cancel now,” Kate said, still searching for her shoes. “Besides we need to eat.”

“Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

Her shoe search halted for a moment, and he could see a sigh escape her.

“I hope so.” She looked over at him with a weak smile. “Let’s just try to forget about it for now and have a nice dinner together, okay?”

“I will do my best.” Calisto turned back to slide his jacket off of the hanger. “That is all I can offer you.”

He adjusted his coat. “I am going to check my desk upstairs while you finish getting ready.” He leaned in close and kissed her cheek tenderly. “I love you, Kate.”

And with that he left. He needed to clear his head and think. Allowing himself to move quickly, he went up the stairs and entered the main house. When he reached his office, he froze. An unmarked package sat on the edge of his desk.

Yet another reason he should skip the infernal dinner date, but Kate had made it clear she wanted to go. As much as he wanted to cancel, he could refuse her nothing.

He went to his desk, tearing open the plain brown box and reaching inside. What he pulled out of the box made his heart stop. Dangling at the end of Calisto’s fingertips was a pair of Kate’s white silk panties, stained and reeking of semen. Red ink covered the fabric. On the front it read simply, Soon she will know me. The rest of the fabric was covered inside and out with the words Again and again and again scrawled all over the silk in a frenzied script of red ink.

He shoved the underwear back into the box. This was no monk. This was a madman. And he was after Kate.

“Are you ready to go?”

Calisto looked up as Kate walked into his office. She had the flower he brought for her tucked behind her ear, and all at once he realized he was trapped. She was just as innocent to what lay in store for her now as she had been over 200 years ago. Again her life was threatened, and not because of her own doing, but simply because she loved him.

While he wanted to find the sick monk and kill him slowly and painfully, it was clear that he couldn’t leave Kate’s side, not even for a second. Not now.

Fate was attempting to repeat itself, and it seemed they were once again set on a collision course with tragedy. This time he would change the end of their story, or die trying.

If dying were still an option for him anymore.

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles tenderly, masking the dread that festered inside of him. “You look incredible.”

She moved into his arms, and he closed his eyes, holding her tight. It had been centuries since he’d experienced fear. He had almost forgotten what it felt like.

He remembered now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jose had waited for years for this moment, to confront the immortal Night Walker. Now, he sat across the table from him talking about mundane topics such as the upcoming opera season and whether or not the San Diego Symphony would be able to maintain paying union wages.

He participated in the casual conversation, while still maintaining the constant drone in the back of his mind, reciting the ancient chant that had been drilled into his memory. They had prepared him to watch the Night Walker from a distance, not to dine with him at the same table, but Jose wasn’t worried.

Even if Calisto uncovered his true thoughts and identity, he felt confident he wouldn’t be harmed. The public place and the women who shared their table protected him. He and Betty were lovers, and now Kate considered him a friend. Both women would think Calisto was a monster if he suddenly attacked him.

And once the sun came up, the Night Walker would be helpless to stop him.

Perfect. Tonight, everything would change.

Amidst the conversation that surrounded him, Jose analyzed Calisto’s behavior and smiled inwardly. The box he left had obviously shaken the Night Walker. He seemed distant, and his gaze tracked every new patron, examining them. Each person became a suspect.

Jose chuckled at the irony playing out before him. While Calisto sat preoccupied with his search for danger, he never suspected he dined with his foe. Calisto had no idea the man he sought sat no more than three feet away from him.

And seeing the haunted gaze in the Night Walker’s eyes, as though Kate was already gone, only sweetened Jose’s victory.

…

Calisto watched Kate sip her water. He’d watched everything tonight. He couldn’t help it. What if the monk spied on them right now, plotting to harm her? Every person who entered the restaurant drew his attention as he lightly scanned their thoughts for any sign they were looking for him, or for Kate. Paranoia threatened to take over, but it was difficult to control it when he knew someone wanted to hurt her. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, and his head throbbed with worry.

“Calisto?”

He blinked when Kate’s hand brushed up his thigh.

“Did you hear a word I just said?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled, but tight lines rimmed her mouth.

“Forgive me.” He rested his hand over hers.

He ached to peer into her mind and know what ailed her, but he wouldn’t. He had to trust her. It would be far too tempting to dig deeper into her mind, to invade her privacy on such a personal level. He would never forgive himself for such a breach of her trust.

He patted her hand. “I was too lost in your beauty to hear the words you spoke.”

She laughed, and for a moment, her tense shoulders relaxed.

“You find this funny?”

“That was a fine piece of flattery to cover up the fact you weren’t listening to a single word I said.” Kate chuckled.

“Am I forgiven?”

“You are if you pay the bill.” Kate handed the small leather binder to him with a grin. “I thanked you for dinner and said I’d never been here before.”

Calisto took the check from her. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”

His words died away as his gaze shifted to the man sitting across the table from him. Was Jose glaring at him?

Calisto stared at the other man as he gently reached into Jose’s mind and... The chant.

The same chant the last Spanish priest had used to mask his thoughts.

Jose knew the chant.

Rage tore through Calisto. The threat he had searched for sat at his own table, and he had been too distracted with worry to notice. Calisto ground his teeth with pent-up fury, his cold stare cutting into his adversary.

This man had been in his house with Kate nearly every day. Jose’s mouth curved into a hateful smirk. Calisto wanted to kill him right where he sat. He rose from his chair suddenly, fighting to keep his voice down. “Please excuse us, ladies. Jose and I need to talk.”

“We do?” Jose wore a clever mask of surprise.

“Si,” Calisto practically growled. “Come.”

Jose politely smiled at Kate and placed a soft kiss to Betty’s cheek. “I will be right back.”

Calisto followed Jose, struggling to keep himself from ripping Jose’s heart out. He needed to wait until they were alone, then he would tear the arrogant bastard apart piece by miserable piece.

Jose stopped once they reached the main entry of the restaurant. “You don’t really think I would be stupid enough to be alone with you, do you?”

Calisto fought to keep his eyes from glowing red with hatred. “Do you think a crowd of people can protect you after all you have done? If so, then you have greatly underestimated who you are dealing with.”

“I don’t agree. In fact, you disappoint me. You’re hardly the foe I dreamed you might be. I have been with your women, in your house many times. I could have raped and killed them both any time I wished.”

Calisto’s fists tightened at his sides as he battled to cage his fury. “If that were true, then what stopped you?”

“They are not what I want, but they do provide me with a way to get it.”

“I know what you want, and the Fraternidad is wrong. I have no intention of cursing Kate with an eternal existence. I will not make her a Night Walker. There is no reason for them to interfere.”

Jose laughed and shook his head. His twisted smile sent chills through Calisto. “Do you think I care what the Fraternidad wants? They were simply a means to get what I desire. The Church’s limited view of what could be gained is almost as pitiful as your own. You could be a god, worshipped, have money and power, and yet you sit in your office and pretend that you’re a mortal man. You live a pathetic existence when you could have the world groveling at your feet.”

“You’re mad.” Calisto grabbed the collar of Jose’s jacket, jerking him up close. A deep growl emanated from Calisto’s chest. He reached out with his mind, seeking to coax Jose to come outside with him, but the constant repetitive chant kept the madman immune, blocking Calisto’s silent suggestions.

“Yes, why not kill me right here in front of all these witnesses? And don’t forget Betty and Kate are waiting for me to return. What will they think of you when you have my blood on your hands? I am their friend. You’ll be the madman, not me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Now put me down.”

Calisto threw him back, sickened at how impotent he felt. “What is it you want from me?”

Jose wet his lips like a hungry wolf. “I want immortality.”

Calisto clenched his hands into fists. “Impossible.”

“Then you will lose her again. I will take Kate’s life while you sleep. I’ll kill her slowly too, enjoy every soft whimper of pain. But first I’ll enjoy her moans when I taste her sweet flesh and remind her what being with a real hot-blooded man is—”

Calisto cut him off, his fingers tightening around Jose’s throat. He pinned the wiry man to the wall. The monk clawed at him, struggling to break free.

He couldn’t kill Jose here, with so many witnesses.

But he would kill him.

Calisto leaned in close to his ear and growled, “I will find you, Jose. I will hunt you down and slaughter you. No one will ever find your body and the women will never know. This is not a threat, it is my solemn vow.”

He freed Jose from his grip, watching the other man cough as the color returned to his skin.

“You think it will be so easy to rid yourself of me?” Jose rasped, gasping for air.

A cold, deadly smile pulled at Calisto’s mouth. “Yes.”

Calisto spun around and made his way back to their table. He was finished listening to the madman from the Fraternidad. He needed to get Kate out of there, now. He could deal with Jose once he knew she was out of harm’s reach.

“Thank you for your company tonight, Bettina,” Calisto offered Kate his hand. “Forgive me, but I have some pressing business to attend to, and we really must be going.”

Kate took his hand and stood, sliding her arms into her coat when Calisto held it up for her. “Goodnight Betty. Please let Jose know that we enjoyed his company.”

Before she could say anything else, Calisto led her away. He considered warning Betty about Jose, but harming her would get him no closer to immortality. His assistant wasn’t the monk’s target. The woman on his arm was.

And he needed to get her as far away as possible.

Once they were outside, Kate tugged at his hand. “Calisto, stop.” She steadied herself, catching her breath. “What’s going on?”

He scanned the parking lot for Jose. “We need to talk. But not here. Far away from here.”

“Is this about the doctor appointment today?”

His heart pounded with urgency. Jose’s scent still lingered on the night wind.

“Yes, we do need to talk about that. I am concerned about you, for many reasons.”

She smiled and stepped closer. “I know. I’m sorry I made you wait, but it’s not something I wanted to drop in your lap right before dinner. Come on, let’s go home. We can walk on the beach and talk.”

…

The monsignor wrung his gnarled, spotted hands in front of the fire. He never got warm enough anymore. His joints ached with arthritis, and his muscles felt atrophied after so many hours on his knees in prayer.

But prayer remained essential, especially now.

Something had gone wrong with Brother Mentigo in America. He wasn’t sure what happened just yet, but he would find out personally. He couldn’t in good conscience send another young monk to his death.

This time, he would make the journey himself, and if his day came to meet the Lord, let it be while protecting the world from the threat of another blood-drinker.

But he hoped it would not come to that. He hoped once he arrived in San Diego, he would find Brother Mentigo alive and well, and all of the suspicion around his disappearance would be a mistake.

He hadn’t received a message of any kind from Brother Mentigo in over three weeks. The monsignor contacted the Mission de Alcala and found that they hadn’t seen or heard from him either. His apartment stood empty, as if he simply vanished. Or he was dead. But until they had confirmation of the monk’s passing, the monsignor chose to hope for the best.

“How many more must die, Juan?”

The monsignor smiled, hearing the familiar shuffling of feet and the rhythmic thud of a cane. He turned to see his old friend Father Doñas standing in the open archway that led into his chamber.

The ailing monk had acted as the leader of the Fraternidad del Fuego Santo for nearly forty years until ten years ago, when his failing health forced him to give up some of his responsibilities. They had been friends for decades, and Father Doñas was probably the only person left in this world who still called the monsignor by his first name.

“Has word of my trip to America already reached you?”

“It has,” Father Doñas said, toddling closer. “And I have come to talk you out of going.”

“Then you wasted your time. This is something I must do.”

“You realize that he is probably already dead. Brother Mentigo was often a slave to his own pride. He may have gotten too close to the Night Walker and paid for his arrogance with his life. Nothing you do now can bring him back.”

“That may be true, but I won’t send another monk from our Fraternidad to die for this cause.”

“That is the first bit of wisdom to leave your lips, Juan.” Father Doñas sat in a bare wooden chair against the wall. “The years have proven that we cannot control the Night Walker. Maybe it is not our place to do so.”

“Are you suggesting we simply turn the other cheek and knowingly allow him to unleash another abomination into the world?”

“I am suggesting that if it is meant to be, then we have no power to change it.”

“So we let Satan’s minions take over the night without trying to stop them?”

Father Doñas sighed. “You know the old story as well as I do, Juan. We both know he was one of us. How can you be so certain that he now serves Satan?”

The monsignor shook his head in frustration. “Our Lord would never condone feeding on the blood of his children so that one man can achieve immortal life. He kills to live.”

“As do the lions and wolves, and yet they are still creatures of God.”

“But they do not answer to sin as we do.”

Father Doñas shrugged. “And the Night Walker is no longer one of us. Who are we to say his race is ruled by Satan? Perhaps our Lord has a greater plan in store that we cannot see, my friend. We have done all that we can in this matter. The rest should remain in God’s hands.”

The monsignor shook his head, jaw tight with frustration. “I will not waste any more time debating this with you, Father. Until I know that I have done all I can to prevent this evil from spreading, I refuse to sit back and simply watch it happen.” He brushed by the elder priest. “I will be in America in the morning.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The sea breeze blew through Kate’s hair as they walked together hand in hand. Seeing the waves washing up and pooling around her ankles made the danger that loomed around them seem miles away. Gradually, the thick mist of the marine layer enclosed them in its heavy embrace, and Calisto could wait no longer.

In a few hours the sun would rise and he would be powerless to protect her. The more he pondered his options, the more his rage and bitterness smoldered. Fate was cruel to allow them to find one another again, only to back him into a corner that left him no happy endings.

He needed to get Kate to safety, somewhere far from Jose, before the sun came up. She wouldn’t want to go, but somehow he had to convince her. And time was running out.

“We need to talk, Kate.”

“I know.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I knew we wouldn’t have time to discuss it before dinner.”

“Is it serious? Are you sick?”

“No nothing like that. But it was a shock. It is a shock.”

Calisto stopped walking and pulled her close, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “Just tell me.”

“I’m pregnant.”

His strength drained from his legs and for a moment, Calisto wasn’t sure he could stay on his feet. Kate was with child just as Tala had been before she was murdered.

It was happening all over again.

But this couldn’t be his child. Not this time. When he gave up his humanity he also gave up his ability to reproduce as a mortal man.

Perhaps this was her one chance, a slight change in her destiny.

Then he realized what he had to do. In order to save her, he would have to hurt her.

The situation spiraled out of his control. He needed to get Kate as far away as possible while he hunted Jose. With the threat behind him, he could find her again.

Kate might hate him, but she and her child would live. He didn’t want to do this, but he had no other option. “This child you are carrying. It is not mine.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I wish it was. But we could raise it together. Tom doesn’t have to know. We haven’t talked about having a family, but I love you. We can make this work.”

“I am sorry, Kate. This is asking too much.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and Calisto struggled to keep himself from pulling her into his arms. He would rather walk into the sun than be forced to see her hurt.

“You should go to him,” he whispered. “You deserve a family.”

“I can’t go back there and pretend none of this happened. Please don’t do this.” A tear spilled down her cheek.

Each one of her tears burned him worse than acid. Instead of walking away from him, she reached up to caress his cool cheek, making it almost impossible for him to continue. But he had to.

Let her live long enough to hate him.

Her eyes searched his and he fought the unbearable urge to hold her in his arms and comfort her. “Do not make this harder than it already is.”

“I don’t understand.” Her voice wavered, and he steeled his heart, reminding himself that he couldn’t allow history to repeat itself. “How can you just send me away like this? I don’t care who the biological father is. I love you, Calisto. You can be the father of my child.”

Dear God, how her words ripped at his soul. The pleading in her gaze made him loathe himself even further, especially when he lied to her. “I do not want to be the father of your child. My life has no room for a family.” He bit back the emotions that churned inside of him.

“So we make room.” She dropped her hand away from his face.

Calisto’s jaw clenched. “I am truly sorry, Kate. I love you, but you should do what is best for your baby.”

“And you think running back to Tom is best?” She wiped at her tears, her cheeks flushing with color. “I can’t turn my feelings on and off like you.”

“My feelings have not changed, but the situation has.” He sighed and turned to lead her back toward the house.

But she didn’t move. Instead, she stood her ground, staring up at him in disbelief. “So this amazing connection we had, it was all a lie?”

He stared out at the ocean. “No. But it is over.”

He didn’t want to think about Kate with another man, touching her, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, but he saw no other way to keep her safe. The sun would rise soon, Jose would come for her, and he would be unable to protect her.

He didn’t look into her eyes. He knew if he did, he would hold her and never let her go. “Go home, Kate. Tonight. Be with the father of your child. Live a happy life.”

“You really expect me to be happy without you?” she whispered.

He swallowed hard. Managing a soft, controlled tone he said, “Yes, I do. You are an amazing woman, and you will be an incredible mother.”

…

Kate stared at him in disbelief. He was sending her away. Just like that. Dismissing her like he never needed her around to begin with. It hurt so badly she couldn’t breathe. Her heart had just been torn in two pieces.

She shook her head. “Don’t patronize me, ok? If I were so amazing, I doubt you’d be so anxious to put me on the next plane out of San Diego.”

She walked away, toward the house, keeping her head up and hoping he wouldn’t see the tears flowing down her cheeks again. He didn’t deserve her tears, but she wept just the same. It wasn’t until she reached the stairs to go up to the main house that she turned around to face him, blazing with hurt and betrayal.

“You promised me that whatever it was, we’d face it together.”

“Not this,” he said with downcast eyes.

He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

“I am so sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” She stifled a sob when her voice hitched. “You’re far from sorry. You’re just a rich bastard who wants things his own way. I should’ve known. But no, I’m such an idiot! I actually believed you loved me. I bought in to all your noble romantic crap right from the start. But you know what? You’re not noble. You’re a coward, and you’re running away when I need you the most.”

She could see the hurt in his eyes, and for a moment she almost regretted her harsh words. But only for a moment. She wanted him to hurt, to feel some of the pain she endured. How could he do this to her?

“I do love you.”

He never saw the slap coming, and the sting it left behind went far deeper than his skin. Calisto watched her run up the steps and disappear inside of the main house. He climbed after her. He needed to make the calls to arrange for her shuttle to the airport and her plane ticket back to Reno.

Kate would be far from San Diego by the time the sun came up.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Her hair draped all over him. He groaned. Jose despised waking up in the morning to find Betty coiled around him like some sort of living security blanket. Soon she would respect him and pay him the homage he deserved. Because soon, he would be immortal.

He would be a god.

Jose shoved Betty off of him and got out of the bed with a smug grin. Today would be his last day of sunlight. His meeting with Calisto the previous night had been a triumph. He bested the Night Walker, and the sweet taste of it still lingered in his mouth. Seeing the fury and hatred burn in Calisto’s eyes, and knowing that the immortal wanted to kill him but couldn’t, was the crowning moment of his victory.

And today, Kate would learn she had made friends with the wrong man.

He had no intention of leaving now. No, today their final battle would begin, and capturing Kate would be the key. Once he had a knife pressed against her soft, mortal throat, Calisto would give him whatever he wanted, even immortality, in order to save her.

Love made him weak.

Jose showered and dressed quietly, not wanting to wake the blonde on the bed. Betty had served her purpose, and pleasured him many times in the process, but her usefulness had come to an end.

Taking his bag, Jose opened the door and stepped out. The warm morning sun washed over him, bathing him in its light as he slid his sunglasses in place and went to his car. Kate Bradley would be his, and immortality would follow once the sun dipped below the horizon.

What a beautiful day.

…

Kate disembarked the plane, bleary-eyed and brokenhearted. Purse in hand, she made her way through the sea of business travelers and tourists to the baggage claim area.

She felt like hell. Mentally, physically, just completely drained. She’d cried all night, or what was left of it after she left Calisto’s home. She left without a parting kiss good-bye, no “I’ll miss you,” nothing. And what ate at her now, was that the last time she touched Calisto had been in anger. Her slap was the last time she would ever touch him.

Don’t think about it, she scolded. Not now.

But no matter what she did, her thoughts ended up right back on the beach with Calisto. When her luggage came around on the baggage carousel, tears slipped down her cheeks. Calisto’s leather bag with wheels. He sent her with it so she wouldn’t have to carry a bag in her “condition.”

Why did he have to care at all? It would be so much easier to hate him if he’d been cruel.

Instead, he wished her happiness and told her she would be a good mother.

Kate unlocked the handle and slid it out to full length, wiping her tears as she pulled the suitcase behind her through the busy airport. None of this made sense. He cared about her, she could see it in his eyes, and yet he packed her up and sent her away the second she told him about the pregnancy. No discussion, end of story, she was out of his life like an unwanted discard left on the corner. She’d never known a greater pain.

Until a terrible sensation stabbed through her stomach.

Her bag fell, the metal handle clanking against the concrete terminal floor as it hit the ground. Kate sank to her knees, wincing in pain. She could hear people shouting around her, but couldn’t understand the words they said.

God it hurt... Two men helped her to a nearby bench. She knew she should thank them, but she couldn’t find the words.

Kate wept with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, rocking on the bench. Would someone call an ambulance? She might need one. People gathered around her, watching like buzzards waiting for the kill, but she hardly noticed.

She didn’t care about anything except making the pain stop. It felt like a knife slowly twisted into her lower abdomen, cutting through her abdominal muscles layer by layer. And then she noticed the blood trickling out from under her skirt.

“Oh God! Someone help me, please... ” she cried, fearing the worst for her unborn baby.

The blood flow that started slowly down the inside of her leg quickly became a rush of fluid. It pooled around her until she had to struggle to stay alert. Sirens rang out in the distance, but they seemed so far away.

A wave of dizziness washed over her as her body hemorrhaged. Kate tried to lower her head and take deep breaths, hoping it would help to ease the lightheadedness. She pulled air into her lungs, but it wasn’t helping. The sight of all the blood made her nauseous, and suddenly she lost her balance. She couldn’t sit up anymore. Before she could scream, she fell.

The impact against the cold concrete floor of the airport terminal stole the air from her lungs. A loud, hollow thud echoed inside of her head, answered by a blinding burst of throbbing pain. It felt as though she’d fallen from the top of a building, but it couldn’t have been far from the bench to the floor. She hoped it hadn’t been enough to crack her skull.

Kate fought to stay awake, to tell them to save her baby, but the paramedics arrived and covered her face with a mask of oxygen before she could articulate a sound.

They all talked around her instead of to her, as if she weren’t even there. Kate closed her eyes on the bloody scene before her, trying to block out the pain as the chorus of strange voices echoed around her.

“Please stay back... ”

“Station 5 we have paramedics here with a woman down... ”

“Pressure’s 80 over 50... ”

“Pulse is weak, 120 per minute... ”

“Start an IV of saline... ”

Suddenly, her blanket of darkness brightened when a paramedic with the deep voice lifted her eyelids, shining a light over each pupil. He lifted the oxygen mask and asked, “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?”

“Kate... ” she gasped softly. “Kate Bradley.”

“Hang in there. We’re taking you to the hospital, all right?”

She nodded as he replaced the oxygen and they lifted the gurney to take her out. She watched the lights pass overhead and whispered a prayer for her unborn baby. Then her vision blurred, and Kate embraced the darkness that lured her in, promising an end to the pain.

…

Jose’s heart pounded in his ears as he hurried down the stairs. Kate was gone.

He’d wasted most of the day waiting for her at Calisto’s house before he finally decided to go up to the master bedroom to look for her. He found the drawers and closets empty, and now at nearly three o’clock in the afternoon, he only had two, maybe three more hours before the Night Walker would be awake and searching for him.

“Fuck,” Jose said to himself.

He needed Kate to make all of the pieces of his conquest fall into place. Without her, he had nothing to force the Night Walker to give him what he wanted. Slamming his hands against the countertop, he turned and stormed out of the house.

He had to find Betty. She was his only way out of this mess now. If he stayed with her at all times, Calisto wouldn’t touch him. Attacking him with Betty nearby would be too risky for the Night Walker. Jose doubted Calisto would expose his true nature to her. He had lived among mortals, masquerading as one of them for far too long to give up the charade now.

Staying in San Diego was a risk, but a calculated risk, and he could live with that. He didn’t have the time, or the desire, to flee the city. He needed to wait until Kate returned, or at least until he learned where she had gone.

More than likely Calisto hid her away somewhere. Perhaps he would be a worthy adversary after all. Jose wondered how the Night Walker convinced her she was in danger without revealing too much of the past. Or had he confessed?

She had to be nearby. But where?

Jose tightened his grip on the steering wheel, fighting to keep control over his growing frustration. Tonight should have been his moment of triumph, yet now he found himself retreating into hiding. It pissed him off, and the slut would pay for forcing him to run back to Betty. When he found Kate Bradley again, he would enjoy hurting her.

That thought alone brought a smile.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kate stood on the beach, watching the couple from her dreams walk hand in hand into the water while the waves splashed up their legs, coaxing them deeper into the salted Pacific Ocean. The sun felt warm on her skin. The pain was gone, like it had been a bad dream...

But this was the dream, wasn’t it? The pain had been real... Yes, she reminded herself. This is the dream. She’d seen this beach before.

The jasmine perfume of the Romneya blossom woke her senses, teasing her to remain under the dream’s spell. She smiled, watching the couple dance. The man in black taught the woman with dark hair to waltz as the tide swirled around their calves.

They spun together to the music of the sea, slowing until finally their lips met in a soft tender kiss, and as they drew back, Kate could suddenly see through the woman’s eyes and hear through her ears. And what she saw jolted her from the dream back into the cold darkness of reality.

“Gregorio,” she whispered.

“Kate? Can you hear me?”

Her arms and legs felt weak and heavy. She shivered, her entire body screaming for warmth. The sharp pain she’d felt at the airport had been replaced by a throbbing, empty ache. Forcing her eyes open, Kate blinked, wincing at the light that filled her room.

“Where am I?”

“St. Mary’s Hospital.” The large nurse gave her an empathetic smile as she took Kate’s blood pressure. “You’ll be feeling better in no time, don’t you worry. I’m going to call the doctor and let him know you’re awake. I’ll be right back.”

Kate gave her a drowsy nod, looking up at the IV stand dripping clear fluid into her veins.

“Wait!” She turned her head to find the nurse standing in the doorway. “Is my baby all right?”

“The doctor will explain everything, okay? You just rest and he’ll be right in.”

Kate’s eyes filled with tears as the swishing sound of the nurse’s polyester pants legs rubbing together faded and finally died away when she turned the corner. Her hands moved down to cover her lower abdomen, over the womb she knew was empty.

She didn’t need the doctor to tell her. She remembered seeing the blood, so much blood. She couldn’t still be pregnant, not after that.

The nurse came back with another blanket for her, explaining that the doctor would be in soon. After jotting a few notes on her chart, she disappeared through the door again leaving Kate with the now familiar sound of swishing polyester pants.

She looked out the window, up at the moon, and sighed. Life used to be so simple. She saw no point in telling Tom about the pregnancy. What did she expect him to say?

And she couldn’t go back to Calisto after the way he treated her.

She was alone. As much as she hated that word, perhaps it was for the best.

Her eyes drifted closed again, weighed down by exhaustion, when a single thought pierced through the hazy fog of her mind.

Calisto. He was the man in black. It was his face she had seen through the woman’s eyes in her dream. She was sure of it. But his name was wrong. The woman had called him another name.

Kate struggled to remember, to pull the name from her tired, aching head. It didn’t matter anyway. It was just a dream. Calisto’s face probably showed up because she missed him.

Her breath hitched. She settled back against the sterile pillow, closing her exhausted eyes. The clinical smell of antibacterial cleanser and rubbing alcohol made her uneasy, not to mention the IV stand that resembled some sort of emaciated sentry standing at attention at the head of her bed. She just wanted to go home.

But where was home?

…

The sun sank below the horizon. Calisto’s chest rose, drawing in a slow breath, while the night restored life to his ageless body. His chest felt tight, and no amount of air seemed to loosen the constriction.

Kate wouldn’t be waiting for him tonight.

And Jose would pay dearly for the pain he caused.

Heaving a sigh, Calisto rose from his resting place and made his way into his small bedroom chamber below the main house. Her scent lingered everywhere, haunting him, daring him to go look for her.

Pulling his hair back from his face, he paced the room in frustration. He wasn’t going after her this time. He tried to keep Tala with him centuries before, and it had ended in her rape and murder. He would not let Kate suffer the same fate. Sending her away was the only way to keep her safe.

And she was pregnant.

Kate deserved to have a family and live the life she always dreamed for herself. She wasn’t Tala anymore. Kate loved teaching, and laughing, eating lunch with her girlfriends. He’d only met Lori and Edie once, but he knew from Kate’s stories they were dear to her, and they loved her. She had a wonderful life full of hope and sunshine.

She didn’t deserve the darkness that came with his love or his blood.

And that was exactly what his blood promised. Darkness.

Memories of the night long ago when he unknowingly made another immortal filled his head. A Russian fur trader named Lukas. Calisto could still remember the hatred in the young man’s eyes when he realized he hungered for living blood.

Calisto hadn’t meant to make Lukas a Night Walker. He’d tried to save his life, not damn him for eternity.

He knew very little about his own conversion. The Old One who turned him into a healer, a Night Walker, had done so after first drowning him in Peyote smoke. His mind had been so polluted with visions, he couldn’t be certain what was real versus merely illusion.

He remembered drinking from a clay goblet, but he never knew what liquid the cup held. It had burned his mouth and throat, while at the same time his body ached for more. He never imagined he swallowed blood from the Old One’s veins. His white-haired maker disappeared before he ever thought to ask.

Lukas’ transformation was accidental, but it didn’t matter. The young fur trader never forgave him. He went insane with bloodlust, and for a time Calisto had hunted him, planning to bind him to a tree to wait for the sunrise, but after the bloody slaughter of an entire family, the young man vanished.

As the years passed, Calisto assumed the other man had ended his own existence.

That night, Calisto learned his blood carried the curse of the Night Walker race. The Old One’s blood filled the goblet the night he changed. He knew that now.

Since that the fur trader’s disappearance, Calisto vowed he would never make another Night Walker.

The power that came with the Night Walker blood required control and heavy responsibilities too great to entrust to another. Calisto would never forgive himself if he unknowingly created a monster and unleashed it into the beautiful mortal world he cherished so deeply.

Therefore, Jose’s lust for immortal blood would go forever unsatisfied.

But forever would not be long for the monk. Calisto would see to that. And he would enjoy killing him, watching the sick, bitter life fade from his hateful eyes. It would not bring Kate back into his arms, but it might help to relieve some of his pain and frustration over losing her.

He clenched his fist and stood. Silence was his only companion now. It wrapped its arms around him, suffocating him until he thought he might scream with rage. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. But fate denied them happiness again, just as she had before.

Quietly, he pulled Kate’s portrait from under the bed and removed the sheet. He hung it on the wall in its rightful place in his chamber. Her beauty took his breath away, even when it was only oils on a canvas.

Brushing his fingers along the bottom of the frame, his whisper seemed to echo in the thick silence of his room. “I will always love you, Kate.”

Grabbing his leather jacket, Calisto disappeared into the night in search of Jose Mentigo, and revenge.

…

Jose wrapped his arm loosely around Betty’s shoulder just the way she liked it. He’d kissed her ass all evening to get her to take him back after his sudden disappearance this morning, and it drove him insane.

Swallowing his pride left a dry, bitter taste in his mouth.

He glared at her, watching her giggle at the movie on the television. He wanted to knock the smile from her lips, and blacken her eyes, until she begged him for mercy. Until she learned to show him the proper respect, no, that wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to beat her until she feared him. He fought to cage the fury smoldering inside of him.

Right now, he needed Betty at all times. She stood as his human shield against his inhuman foe.

“Baby, can you get me a Diet Coke from the fridge?” She tilted her head back to smile up at him.

Jose ground his teeth together, barely controlling the urge to yank her head back and rip her throat out. And he hated being called such an asinine pet name. Baby. Fuck.

He got up with a cold nod and went into her kitchen, grinning when he saw the butcher block full of knives. Wouldn’t she be surprised if he came back with one of those instead? He smirked at the thought and opened the refrigerator. He didn’t imagine she would call him “Baby” if he were holding a knife to her throat.

His fingers closed around the cold aluminum can when a chill shot down his spine. He felt like he was being watched. Clutching the soda tighter, Jose slowly turned around, half-expecting to find someone right behind him. But the kitchen was empty. He stepped closer to the sink, staring out through the window into the night.

Something watched him out there, he felt it.

Jose reached for the switch and turned out the light. The instant that darkness surrounded him, he took in his surroundings. The can of Diet Coke slipped from his paralyzed fingers. Right outside the window a raven, an enormous raven, hovered in the night sky, staring at him.

Adrenaline pumped through Jose’s bloodstream as he fumbled to flip the light switch back on. The thing outside was much too large for a raven. And something about its eyes, the way it glared at him through the glass, unsettled him. Jose snatched the Diet Coke from the sink where he’d dropped it and hurried back into the room with Betty.

“Thanks, baby,” she murmured, taking the soda without so much as looking at him.

Jose hardly noticed. He couldn’t look away from the sliding glass door, from the darkness beyond the glass. The moving shadow still hovered outside, watching him. He struggled to control the fear, telling himself it was probably some sort of large bat. But bats were rare animals in this beach community, and a bat with an eight-foot wingspan would be unheard of.

And yet, if he turned off the lights... A hissing noise and a sudden splash of cold liquid snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Jesus Christ! Damnit, Jose, did you shake this up?”

Between Betty’s sudden outburst and the cold spray of the Diet Coke dousing them both when she cracked open the can, Jose leapt up from the sofa, barely stifling a gasp.

“I might have dropped it once,” he shot back.

“Shit... I’m going to have to soak this blouse or it’ll be ruined.” She gave him an openly irritated sigh and disappeared down the hallway.

He watched her walk away with a hateful stare, but when his gaze shot back to the sliding glass door, his pulse raced so fast he felt light-headed.

Let me in, Jose. The Night Walker whispered into his mind.

The chant. Jose fumbled, trying to get his silent mantra going as he fought the power of the Night Walker’s hypnotic suggestion.

Jose shook his head slowly, reaching inside of his shirt to withdraw his gold crucifix pendant. He watched in horror as the raven landed on the balcony. The air around the bird churned, rippling with electricity while the bird mutated back into a man.

Calisto smirked at Jose and reached for the sliding glass door. Jose lunged to lock the door, but the Night Walker was too fast. The door opened and Jose jumped back, holding up his cross like a talisman.

“Did you really believe I needed an invitation to come in?” Calisto asked with a bitter, cold stare. “I can go wherever I please, and you can put your crucifix away. Nothing can protect you now.”

Jose hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. “You are wrong. Betty would never forgive you for harming me. She would expose you for the blood-drinking monster that you are. You would not risk that. You enjoy your life in this world far too much to jeopardize it.”

“Perhaps. But what if I showed her all of the little messages and photos you have been leaving behind for me to find over the past few weeks? Would she still care for you then, Jose?”

“I would deny it. You have no proof they’re from me, and she would take my word over yours.”

“Can you be certain of that? She has known me far longer than you. And I can convince her of anything I wish, if I choose to do so.”

“You have not used mind control on her before. You won’t use it now.” Jose glanced down the hall hoping he might see Betty return.

Calisto shook his head with a cold smirk as he circled around Jose, walking with his hands clasped behind his back. “Are you really so arrogant? You know nothing of what I can and cannot do.”

“I know more than most,” Jose said, wrestling to bury his fear and bolster his confidence. His eyes followed the predator that circled him.

“Then you must know that I am going to kill you.”

“I know you would like to, but I also know you still cling to some sort of human decency, and that is your weakness. You won’t kill me here under Betty’s roof, and I won’t leave it, so the way I see it, I am perfectly safe.”

Calisto rushed him, knocking the air from Jose’s lungs as they both fell to the floor.

“Jose?” Betty called. “What’s going on out there?”

Calisto’s eyes glowed a dark crimson and without conscious effort, Jose found himself calling back, “Everything is fine, I’m just cleaning up.”

He stared up at Calisto’s smug smile, his heart pounding in his ears as the realization of what had just happened stabbed fear into his heart. He hadn’t answered Betty’s call of his own free will. The Night Walker’s mental suggestion made him speak. And he’d been powerless to stop him.

“You have no idea of my power, Jose Mentigo. And I will kill you.” Calisto stood, leaving Jose sprawled on the floor below him.

He bent down to yank Jose to his feet, but Betty’s footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor of her hallway. “Thanks for cleaning up, baby.”

Jose scrambled to his feet, looking around the now-empty room. The Night Walker was gone. Vanished.

…

Calisto flew through the night sky, once again in the form of a large raven.

He wanted to kill Jose with every breath, but he wouldn’t harm Betty in the process. With Kate safely hidden, he could take his time and savor the battle. Jose couldn’t be with Betty all the time. Calisto would be patient, and he would enjoy his revenge when the time finally came.

But in the end, he would still be alone.

Calisto fed voraciously, gorging himself with the blood of three gang members, but no amount of blood could fill the emptiness inside of him. His body ached, not for blood or revenge, but for Kate.

But she was something he couldn’t allow himself to have.

Landing silently on the deserted beach, Calisto stormed into his bedchamber. He tried not to think about Kate, to wonder if she’d told Tom that she carried his child. Would she reconsider his proposal of marriage?

The cheating bastard didn’t deserve her.

He sat at the piano, his body tight with emotion, and played Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor. His fingers pounded the ivory keys of Kate’s piano, transforming the emptiness and pain in his soul into an audible yearning; a passionate fever of melancholy that cried out to whatever god might be listening.

A single red tear of blood made its way down his cheek and fell onto the keyboard. The splash of color on the white keys jarred him from the spell of pain that hypnotized him. Calisto withdrew his fingers from the keys, staring at the red stain.

Slowly, he rose from the piano and went to the mirror. He raised his hand to the single trail of blood that ran from the corner of his eye down the length of his cheek. After all of the years since he wept over Tala’s grave, it still shocked him to see blood where tears should be, a visual reminder that he was no longer a man, but a monster.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“You sure you’re okay, lady?” The cab driver helped Kate from the backseat. The noise of other cars dropping off passengers at the Reno airport made it hard to hear the man. “You’re awful pale.”

“I’m fine.” Kate reached for the black leather bag she never unpacked during her brief visit to Reno.

“At least let me get a skycap.” The cabbie took off in search of help before she could stop him.

She must look like hell for a cab driver to go out of his way to help her.

She felt like hell. She ached all over and probably had no business getting on a plane to go back to San Diego, but where else could she go? The hospital discharged her, and there was nothing left for her in Reno anymore. Besides, she was finished running, even when she only left because it was expected.

Lori would pick her up at the airport, and Kate could stay with her until she felt better. She still hadn’t told Lori why she went back to Reno, or why she visited the hospital. She couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.

The skycap helped Kate check her bag. His unmistakable look of concern only reaffirmed that she must look exactly as crappy as she felt.

“Do you need any help getting there?” he asked, pointing her in the direction of the terminal for her flight.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

He nodded, and Kate walked away, amazed at how heavy her legs felt. The walk to the terminal left her winded and dizzy, but she got there. With a sigh of relief, she plopped down in a chair, fighting back tears.

She’d lost her baby. Her baby was... She couldn’t finish the thought. She’d failed her child. At least that’s how she felt. Dabbing her eyes with a tissue, she struggled to hold herself together.

They upgraded her ticket to put her in first class. Apparently there were perks for looking like death walking. The flight attendants kept flashing her kind, I-hope-she’s-not-contagious smiles and brought her a pillow and blanket.

She managed to sleep through most of the flight, groaning when the flight attendant tapped her shoulder. Grudgingly, Kate blinked her eyes open and shivered as she set the blanket aside.

“Thanks for everything,” she told the flight attendant who helped her to the Jetway.

“Good luck, Kate. I hope you feel better soon.”

Had she told them her name? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what else she might have mentioned in her dizzy and dazed state. Frightening to realize she couldn’t remember most of the flight.

“Thank you. I’m sure I will.”

“Good, and I hope you see Gregorio again very soon.”

Kate’s knees wobbled for a moment. “Who?”

“You told me about a man on the beach, Gregorio... Don’t you remember?”

Gregorio. The name the woman in her dream had called Calisto. Gregorio...

“I hope I see him too,” Kate finally answered. “Thanks again.”

She turned around and slowly made her way up the Jetway. Her legs already ached when she reached the top. Somehow she made it through the terminal with only a couple of stops to rest.

“Jesus, Kate!” Lori rushed to the escalator leading to the baggage claim and helped her to a chair. “What happened?”

Lori sat down beside her and Kate tried to explain, but tears won out over her voice and instead of talking she ended up sobbing. She wasn’t sure how long they sat together in the airport, but she’d never been more grateful to Lori for her company.

She didn’t ask another question, just held her and stroked her hair until the tears finally passed. Kate drew back with a sniffle.

“Sorry about that. Can we leave now before I lose it again?”

Lori nodded and helped her through the airport and out to her car.

“Just wait right here,” she said, taking Kate’s ticket with the luggage tag stapled inside. “I’ll grab your luggage and we’ll get out of here, okay?”

Kate nodded in agreement, too tired to argue that she could get it herself, and watched Lori’s red hair disappear into the river of travelers. The doctor discharged her earlier in the morning with strict instructions to rest, and now she found it almost funny.

Rest was inevitable. She was too wiped out to do anything else.

The drive back to Lori’s house was a blur. She slept through most of it. Once they were settled inside, Lori brought mugs of hot tea and sat down beside her.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

“Other than my life falling apart around me?” Kate blew gently on the surface of her tea. “Not much.”

Lori frowned. “Is it Calisto? Is that why you were at the airport?”

“I went to the airport because the hospital in Reno discharged me and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I gave up my apartment when I moved back out here.”

“The hospital?”

Kate nodded, taking a sip of her tea. “Yeah... I went back to tell Tom I was pregnant.”

Lori leaned forward in her chair, taking Kate’s hand in hers.

“But I... ” Kate cleared her throat as another tear spilled over her cheek. “I lost the baby before I could tell him.” Lori squeezed her hand in support. “I lost a lot of blood, but the doctor said I should be fine.”

She sipped her tea, trying to avoid another wave of tears. A palpable silence settled between them. She almost hoped her friend would lecture her about jumping into a relationship with a man she hardly knew.

But she didn’t.

Instead, Lori hugged her. “I’m so sorry. You’re sure it was Tom’s?”

“I was too far along for it to be Calisto’s baby,” Kate said, looking down at her mug.

“So where is Calisto now?”

Kate shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Does he know you went back to Reno?”

“He sent me there,” Kate sighed, finally raising her eyes to meet Lori’s. “He looked like he’d seen a ghost the second I mentioned being pregnant, and immediately decided he didn’t have room in his life for a family. A few minutes later he had plane tickets for me to go back to Reno to live happily ever after with Tom.” She shook her head and wiped her nose. “As if I could just waltz back into his cheating arms and live happily ever after. But it doesn’t matter now. The baby... ” The word filled her head, blinding her with another wave of tears. “I lost the baby before I could even tell Tom I was back in town.”

“Do the doctors know why it happened?”

Kate shook her head, wiping her eyes. “Something might have been wrong with the baby, but they said it’s common in the first trimester. They don’t know for sure what happened. I lost a lot of blood, so they kept me overnight in the hospital on antibiotics and fluids.”

“Did they give you anything for the pain?”

“My heart hurts worse than my body. I lay in that hospital bed feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

Lori frowned. “You were alone?”

“Yeah.” Kate nodded. “Why?”

“Because on the way back from the airport you kept talking about some man in black named Gregorio.”

Kate’s hands trembled. She stretched forward to place her mug on the coffee table before she spilled it all over herself. Running both hands down her face, she fought for some kind of clarity. There must be a way to put the pieces together. She’d had the same dream for too long. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

It had to mean something.

The dream had changed, but the woman in her dreams remained same. She wore that same pendant. And when she smiled and laughed on the beach, Calisto’s face smiled down at her. But she called him Gregorio.

Where was Gregorio while the woman ran for her life with a man on a horse closing in on her? What if Gregorio was the man chasing her?

She shook her head, forcing the thought from her mind. They were just dreams. She saw Calisto’s face because he sent her away and she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She missed him. That felt logical.

But what if there was more to it?

“Are you all right?” Lori asked, pulling Kate back from her thoughts.

“I need to talk to Calisto.”

Lori cocked her head. “After he abandoned you when you needed him most?”

“He didn’t abandon me. He thought I would get back together with Tom and have a family. I’m sure he thought he did the right thing.”

Lori shook her head. “You are giving him way too much credit. Let’s face it. If he really loved you, could he just put you on a plane and send you away at the drop of a hat like that?”

“Damnit, Lori. You weren’t there. You didn’t see his eyes when I told him I was pregnant. He looked so sad. I don’t think he wanted me to go. He did what he thought was best for me and my baby.”

“Or he was sad because now you’ve see his true colors. Now you know once and for all that when you really need him, he won’t be there for you. He can’t fool you anymore.”

“Enough. Please, stop it.” Her eyes brimmed with tears all over again. “He’s not like that. I need to talk to him, and if you won’t take me, I’ll get a cab.”

Lori sighed. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Kate? He may not be happy to see you again.”

“How can you say that?”

“I’m just being honest, hon. You weren’t with him very long, and even though you think you were both deeply in love, the world’s a cruel place. Sounds like he used you. You told me yourself he was never around in the daytime. How do you know he’s not already married with five kids?”

“All of that might be true,” Kate whispered, praying otherwise. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I need to see him.”

“Fine.” Lori sat back and crossed her arms.

“Can I use your phone? I just need to call Betty and be sure Calisto is still in town.”

“No problem.” Lori handed her the cordless phone.

After a quick conversation with Betty, Kate hung up with a slight frown.

“What is it?” Lori asked. “Is he in town?”

Kate shrugged. “It’s nothing, I guess. She said as far as she knows he’s not out of the country.”

“So what’s the frowning all about?”

“Nothing really. Betty said Jose was looking for me yesterday, and they were glad I got back okay.”

“Isn’t Jose Betty’s new boyfriend? Why would he be looking for you?”

“I don’t know. I hope it’s nothing about Calisto. What if something happened to him?”

“Geez Kate...” Lori rolled her eyes. “Betty would have told you. Let’s not forget you’re the injured party here. He dropped you when you needed him most.”

“Please stop saying that. He did what he thought was best.”

She hoped that was all he was doing.

Lori sighed, shaking her head. “I hope you’re right, for your sake. So when do you want to go?”

“I need to sleep a little first. Promise you’ll wake me up at four so we can leave?”

“All right, I promise. But I really think you should rest longer than a couple of hours.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kate said, lying down on the sofa. “Thank you.”

Lori draped a soft blanket over her, and before she realized it, she fell asleep.

…

“Please wait for me,” the monsignor said, exiting the taxicab. He walked down the deserted driveway toward the home of Kate Bradley.

Secrecy no longer ranked as his main concern. He worried about Brother Mentigo and Kate. The only correspondence he received from Brother Mentigo since he left the monastery included this address and mentioned that Kate had indeed met the Night Walker. However, she was still mortal at the time.

But that was weeks ago. Now he prayed he wasn’t too late.

After ringing the bell twice, he peered into the front window of the house. It looked empty. Except for the sleeping bag on a big easy chair, there he saw no other sign that anyone had been inside.

He rubbed his forehead. Was he too late? With a sigh, he walked back to the taxi.

“Take me to the Mission de Alcala.” He clutched his crucifix and prayed.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lori finally drove away. It took a lot of arguing on Kate’s part, but her VW, still parked in Calisto’s driveway, had been the final bargaining chip. That and her demand that Lori back off and just support her decisions. Once Kate showed her she had car keys to leave if she needed to, Lori agreed to go home. She still insisted on giving Kate a final reminder to call if she needed her, no questions asked.

Kate had to promise she would before Lori finally drove away.

Calisto trusted her to keep his private room private, so once Lori left, Kate walked around the back of the house toward his bedroom below. She didn’t want to wait in the main house, but she couldn’t have gone down to his room with Lori around. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be alone for long.

Kate dug through her purse for her keys, walking across the sand toward the small double doors hidden under the deck. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally heard the familiar jingle of metal and pulled her key ring free of her leather bag.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, blinking her eyes until they adjusted to the dim light. His scent lingered in the room, making her ache to lose herself in his arms. She glanced at her watch and took a deep breath. If Calisto were coming back home tonight, he’d probably walk through the door any minute now.

Kate went to the piano, intent on playing something while she waited, but she never made it to the piano bench.

Her feet were glued to the floor, her body frozen in place, and her eyes locked on the large canvas portrait hanging on the wall.

It was her, right down to the tiny crescent in her right eye. But there was more to it. Her hair was longer, her skin slightly more tanned, and around her neck hung the pendant from her dreams. Only now she saw it clearly. It wasn’t really a pendant. It was a ring.

Calisto’s ring.

Kate blinked back her tears, her head throbbing until she wasn’t sure what was real anymore. She saw the woman running again, heard the hoof beats pursuing her, or was it the pounding of her head?

Her heart raced, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her entire body ached, drained of energy, and her feet stung. Every step felt like her legs were on fire, burning until she thought she might scream in pain. She was no longer watching the woman running through the brambles, she was that woman...

Her lungs heaved, her muscles were in agony, and finally she couldn’t run any longer. Kate crumpled to the floor.

…

Calisto awoke in his usual fashion, but after rising from his resting place, he frowned. Someone lurked inside his private chambers a few feet above. He heard a human heartbeat, racing.

His thirst demanded his attention, but he pushed the hunger aside as he rushed to roll away the large stone that kept his resting place hidden from the rest of the cavern. Replacing the stone, he hurried out of the cave and up toward the double doors beneath the deck. They were closed. If someone had broken into his private chamber, the locks would be broken, or the doors pried apart.

Unless someone unlocked it.

Kate!

In less than a second, he stood inside, unable to believe his eyes. But his initial rush of joy vanished, replaced with worry. She lay collapsed on the floor, weeping, and the lingering unmistakable scent of blood surrounded her.

“Kate?” He kneeled at her side and searched for any sign of an injury. Thankfully, he didn’t find any wounds. Stroking her hair back from her face, hoping to soothe her, Calisto leaned closer and placed a tender kiss to her hair. He stopped cold when he heard her whisper.

“Gregorio?”

Calisto sat beside her and withdrew his hand from her hair. When her dark eyes, so full of pain and confusion, finally met his, he knew.

Kate remembered.

“That’s your real name isn’t it?” Kate whispered.

Calisto nodded slowly.

“Oh God... ” She backed away from him. “Then it’s all true. My dream. It’s real... It was me!”

Tears gathered in her eyes, and fear. The fear tore at his heart and made him wish he had never intruded upon her life. He offered his hand. “Please do not be afraid. I would sooner die than hurt you.”

“But let me guess, you can’t die, right?” Kate sniffled, making no attempt to take his hand. “What does all of this mean? How can you still be alive?”

He slowly lowered his hand, realizing she had no intention of touching him. “Does it matter?”

“Don’t answer me with more questions. Not now. I need answers. Please.”

Calisto sat beside her, leaning against the corner of the bed. “Where would you like me to start?”

“It’s me in my dreams, and up there,” she pointed. “In the painting. It’s me, but it’s not me.” Kate paused. He watched her struggle to understand. “Who was I back then?”

“Your name was Tala,” Calisto answered quietly, staring up at the canvas. “You were a member of the Kumeyaay tribe here. We met on the beach on a summer afternoon. I had never seen an angel until the moment I saw you with the wind in your hair and a Romneya behind your ear.”

“Gregorio doesn’t sound like a Kumeyaay name.”

He stared into her eyes. “It is a Spanish name. I was Father Gregorio Salvador back then. I was a priest at the Mission de Alcala. I helped build it.”

“That’s why you were wearing black.” Kate said.

“Black?”

“I had a new dream. Instead of the woman... ” She hesitated and corrected herself. “I guess it was me. Anyway, instead of running, she learned to dance with a man dressed all in black. She called him Gregorio. I didn’t see his face until last night. It was you.”

Calisto’s eyes brimmed with tears he wouldn’t allow to fall. Knowing she remembered a precious moment they had once shared together, one of the moments he had treasured in his heart for centuries, touched him deeper than he ever could have imagined.

He nodded slowly. “You taught me the language of your people, and in trade I taught you to waltz.” A soft smile warmed his features. “Learning to waltz in the waves was all your idea.”

Kate smiled faintly. “We were smiling and laughing... Then we kissed.”

“I fell in love with you.” He paused, wishing she would look at him. “I had pledged my life to God, but I gave my heart to you.”

She pressed her lips together, eyes downcast. “Were you the man chasing me in my nightmare? The man on the horse, was that you?”

Calisto froze, too stunned to speak. He had thought about this day ever since the Old One told him she would live again, but never in all his years on this earth did it occur to him she might believe he was her attacker. Why would she suspect him?

“No... I love you. I always have. Why would you think otherwise?”

“I never saw the killer’s face in my dream. I always woke up before... But she... I was pregnant. It makes sense. A priest would get into big trouble for that kind of thing. Wouldn’t a secret pregnancy be motive enough?”

Calisto’s expression darkened. He wished he could spare her the details surrounding Tala’s death, but he saw no other way. She wanted to know, and she had every right to know.

But would she ever forgive him?

“I knew about the baby. Knowing you carried my child made me happier than I had ever been. But I was also an innocent fool. I trusted Father Jayme, my superior. I believed he was my friend. I wanted to marry you and raise our family together, so I confessed my sins and told Father Jayme of my plans to give up the priesthood.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I never dreamed he would pass judgment on you for my decision.”

“She... I was killed by a priest?”

“Not physically, but he ordered it.”

She shook her head slowly. “How did you find out?”

“I searched for you, to share my news and ask your father to let us marry. One of the guards from the mission rode past me.” He choked back the lump of emotion tightening in his throat.

Kate glanced at the portrait. Her hair, usually so vibrant, was dull and lank. Yet she was still so beautiful.

He forced out his next words quietly. “He had my signet ring, the one you used to wear around your neck. It dangled from his wrist while he rode away. Then I knew. Father Jayme had betrayed me. He had no intention of allowing me to give up the cloth or marry a native woman. Something terrible had happened, and I ran, searching everywhere for you.”

He had never shared this memory with another soul, and even with the passing of lifetimes, the pain still felt fresh. “I found you lying motionless, your dress shredded, your body covered in blood. I was too late.”

A tear rolled down Kate’s cheek. She moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, weeping softly as they held one another on the floor. “I don’t know how any of this is possible, but I love you, Calisto.”

He tightened his arms around her and stroked her hair. “My beloved Kate. You should not have come back here.”

Kate pulled back from his arms and stared at him. “How can you say that?”

“Because you are in danger here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Calisto shook his head and rose from the floor. She watched him as he paced, trying to find a way to convince her to leave. “There is no time to explain. Please remember I will always love you, and go. Leave me and this place, and never look back.”

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth parted and disbelief clouding her expression. She stood slowly and shook her head. “You know me better than that. I love you, and until you tell me what is going on, I’m not moving from this spot.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her hand. “I’m not finished yet.”

Kate walked toward him and took his hand. Her brow pinched as she glanced down at their joined hands. He realized his flesh was still cold, since he had not yet fed.

She looked into his eyes, her gaze questioning him before she uttered the words. “How can you be the same man who helped build the Mission de Alcala, who loved Tala, and still be standing here holding my hand?”

“I cannot answer that” He pulled away.

Her touch felt like fire against his cool flesh. His thirst clawed its way through his strong will, aching to be quenched. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Even if she believed him, he couldn’t bear to see the disgust that would surely follow.

“I would rather have you hate me as a man, than fear me as a monster.”

Kate sighed with exasperation. “Enough with the noble riddles you call answers. Talk to me. You tell me you love me, and then you send me away? That’s not love. Trust me with the truth. I can’t accept anything less.”

He shook his head and turned away. “Save yourself and your baby and go.”

“There is no baby. I... The baby...” Her voice trembled. “I lost the baby when I got back to Reno.”

Without a word he turned and drew her into his arms. He should have realized what had happened when he caught the scent of blood around her and found no wounds. It would also explain why he’d never heard the sound of another heartbeat. Maybe the baby never had one.

Again she had needed him, and again he wasn’t there for her.

Calisto closed his eyes, kissing her dark hair. He was through pushing her away. For better or worse, he would embrace her into his secret life.

He needed her.

“I am so sorry, Kate. I thought you would be safe, and have the life and the family you have always wanted.”

“All I want is you.”

He held her tightly, whispering into her hair. “Holding you in my arms again has made every lonely night of my existence worthwhile. I gave up my humanity to hold you again.”

She frowned, shaking her head, and he pulled away to look her in the eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“I am a Night Walker, Kate. I live only after the sun has died.”

Confusion clouded her eyes when she gazed up at him, and finally he forced himself to go on. “After I lost you, I could not face another day. I abandoned the God I served, and His church. Your tribe took me in and brought me to the Old One in the cliffs over the ocean. He was a wise healer, but even he could not mend my ailing heart. What he offered instead was a chance to stay alive until you lived again.”

“But how is that possible?” Kate asked. “No one lives forever.”

“I will, until the day I decide to watch the sunrise.”

“Impossible. Are you telling me he cast some sort of spell on you? A hex or something?”

“No. He gave me his blood and it changed me. I was no longer a man. I became a Night Walker.”

“Gave you his blood?”

“I drank it, Kate. Blood is what keeps me alive now.”

“Like a vampire?” Doubt filled her eyes. “You expect me to believe vampires are real, and I’m in love with one? That’s insane. All of this is crazy. It can’t be true.”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his cold cheek. “My flesh is cold because I have not yet fed. I was not on business trips or out of the country during the daylight hours. I slept far below this room, deep inside a cave along the cliff, safely hidden from the sun. My kitchen sat empty when you came to my home because I do not eat. Not food, anyway.”

He paused, gauging her reaction before he went on. “I am an immortal, Kate, a Night Walker, but I am not a vampire. I do not kill for pleasure or sport. I do not make minions of blood-drinkers to keep for my companions. I have no fear of garlic or crucifixes.” A hint of a smile sparkled in his eyes. “And I certainly do not turn myself into a bat.”

She stared up at him for a moment. A soft smile warmed her lips, followed by a chuckle until it finally bloomed into laughter. She didn’t believe him. He didn’t blame her.

Calisto lowered her hand with a tentative smile while he waited for his words to settle in her mind. He loved the sound of her laughter. Seeing her smile and hearing her laugh was the most precious gift he would ever receive.

Sadly, it was short lived.

She lifted his hand, examining it closely. He wondered what she searched for. But he didn’t ask, and he made no move to draw back from her inspection. He asked her to believe the unbelievable. The least he could do was give her time to accept it.

Her gaze moved back up to his face without making eye contact. He watched her eyes move slowly over his features until she finally met his stare. “I’m trying to understand, but it can’t be true. There must be some other explanation.”

“I wish there was.”

…

Tears came to her eyes. She lifted her hand to caress his cool cheek. None of this could be real, just part of a twisted nightmare. But deep inside she knew she wasn’t sleeping. Her thumb brushed over his skin and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I can’t accept this, Calisto.”

“How else can you explain that I still live?”

“Maybe you aren’t as old as you think you are. You’ve probably been having dreams about your past life too. You just caught onto yours sooner than I did, and you remembered me.”

He shook his head, taking her hand to walk her closer to the painting on his wall. “I painted this picture of you, Kate. The G.S. in the corner is for Gregorio Salvador.”

She didn’t want to believe it. Believing his story would mean accepting the world around her held much more than she ever realized. Beings she only dreamed of might be real, lurking in the shadows. She looked up at him, searching for some other explanation.

Calisto cupped her cheek in his hand. “I am telling you the truth. I helped build the Mission in 1769, and I led the attack and burned it down in 1775. I fell in love with you when I was a man on this beach, and I have loved you as an immortal ever since.”

“Stop it,” Kate stammered. “Just stop it. I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t want to believe this. It can’t be true.”

She looked up at the painting again, warring with herself. He knew too many details, and when he told her about his time with Tala, the memories played out in his eyes. He had been there. But if she accepted that much to be true, then she had to accept his entire story.

Calisto wasn’t a man at all.

Not anymore.

Her heart raced, and her fingertips tingled. It felt like her lungs couldn’t find any air in the room. She swallowed the lump in her throat and started for the door. “I can’t handle this right now. I need some time to think.”

“Wait, there is more you should know.” He reached for her, but Kate kept walking.

“I’ve heard more than I can believe already, Calisto. Just give me some time to think, okay? I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. Everyone would think I’m insane anyway. Maybe I am.”

Before he said another word, she walked out the door. He went after her, catching her arm as she reached the steps to the main house.

“You are in danger, Kate.”

“Don’t.” She pulled away. “You can’t scare me into staying with you. This is my life. I’d like to have some control over it. Just let me think all of this through. I’ll be back tomorrow night. If you’ve really loved me for over two centuries, then what’s one more night?” She bit back her tears and turned away. “Now leave me alone.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jose had searched Kate’s house as well as Calisto’s home, and still hadn’t found any sign of her. After spending another day searching for her, his frustration level peaked. He had no choice but to return to Betty’s condo and wait until tomorrow. The risk of being without her once the sun went down and the Night Walker awoke was far too great. His life insurance rested on Betty’s shoulders for now.

However, if she called him baby or asked him to rub her back one more time, he thought he might entertain canceling his insurance policy by ripping her throat out. He daydreamed about kissing her cold, dead lips good-bye and never looking back.

He wanted to make that dream a reality.

Instead, he sat at her glass dining table, choking down her pathetic attempt at Spanish Gazpacho soup. He had grown up on gazpacho as a boy in Spain. The last thing he wanted to eat while in America was food he could get back home.

To make the soup even worse, she heated it.

“How is it?” Betty asked.

Jose looked up from his steaming spoon. “It’s hot.”

“It’s soup.”

He raised a brow. “It’s gazpacho.”

“I know that.” Betty made a face. “Eating cold soup is disgusting. I improved it by serving it heated.”

Jose dropped his spoon back into the bowl and shoved his chair away from the table.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” He grabbed his jacket.

He felt her glare burning into the back of his head and smiled. He couldn’t kill her, but it brought him some solace to know he pissed her off.

“I tried to do something nice for you,” she said.

Jose reached for the door and turned around with a sarcastic smirk. “Then I guess you failed. I’m going out to get something I can actually eat. I’ll be back before sunset.”

The hurt in her eyes satisfied him and eased the growing rage inside of him. She wouldn’t cry. He knew her well enough to know she’d never give him the satisfaction of tears, but he had wounded her. It would suffice for now.

Jose closed the door and looked up at the sky. Twilight. Shit.

Calisto might already be alert.

Rubbing his hands down his face in frustration, he cursed himself inwardly for his carelessness. He should’ve checked the time before insulting Betty and storming out. He couldn’t wander back in now and keep his pride intact.

But if he ran into the Night Walker without Betty, he would have much more to worry about than his pride.

He took a deep breath and turned back, forcing himself to open the door and step inside. He pasted a look of contrition on his face. “I couldn’t leave knowing I hurt you. Forgive me?”

“You were an asshole.”

God, he hated her. He’d been a jerk intentionally. Did she think he didn’t notice his own behavior? Of course she did, because Betty knew everything. She thought she did, anyway.

“I am very particular about food from my homeland,” he said.

“At least I tried.” She sipped her mineral water. “You didn’t even say thank you.”

His fists balled up at his sides while he fought to hold back the fury lurking far too close to the surface. He refused to play her game and thank her for anything, least of all the slop she called gazpacho.

Closing the door behind him, Jose walked through the sterile interior of her condominium and around the glass dining table. He brought his hands up to her shoulders and kneaded them firmly, imagining his fingers gripped her throat instead of her shoulders.

Betty hummed, dropping her head forward. “Mmm, feels good.”

He nodded, closing his eyes and working his hands in closer and closer to the base of her neck, his fingers pressing harder, gripping tighter. As the fantasy grew in his mind, he saw her eyes light with terror when she realized she had made a fatal error in judgment. It was a sweet victory, even if it was only in his imagination. Soon it would be real. Soon he would choose who lived or died.

He would have the ultimate power, even over death itself.

Betty’s hands reached up to cover his own, moving them farther out on her shoulders, but in his mind, he strangled her, slowly watching the life drain from her icy blue eyes. He pressed his hips against the back of her chair, his member aching for satisfaction.

Jose’s fingers slid down from her shoulders until his hands cupped her breasts, kneading them forcefully. Her back arched, responding to his aggressive touch.

He opened his eyes, looking down at her, watching his hands corrupt her body, his fingers sliding in between the buttons of her blouse to tease her hungry flesh. Gripping either side, he suddenly ripped it open. Buttons clattered around them, and his hands invaded her black lace bra, pinching her nipples until she gasped.

Dominating her was a sinful pleasure that he enjoyed immensely.

And he intended to enjoy her, right here, right now.

With a sweep of his arm, he cleared the table of the soup, as well as everything else. Plates and bowls shattered against the marble floor, glasses spilled, and what remained of their dinner smeared red across the glass dining table. He yanked Betty into his arms, his lips claiming hers in a demanding kiss that would accept nothing less than complete surrender. He unclasped her bra, yanking it fiercely from her body.

Her fingers searched for the buttons on his shirt, but Jose caught her hands, bringing them down and behind her waist. He held her wrists behind her back with one hand, and suddenly broke the kiss, turned her away from him, and shoved her facedown onto the glass table. Yanking up her skirt, he tore her thong underwear and kicked her feet further apart. Her hips tilted slightly, hungering for his entry as he opened his pants.

He stroked himself for a moment with his free hand. Watching her lie there in front of him, pressed facedown, topless on the dirty table, her skirt lifted to expose her most private areas, and the remnants of her torn underwear still clinging to her upper thigh, made his erection rock hard.

He was in control. He had the power.

Jose thrust himself inside of her, violating her over and over, imagining she resisted instead of working her hips into his. He envisioned her moans of pleasure were cries of mercy, and her nails were digging into his wrists out of fear instead of pleasure. When he finally spent himself inside of her, he wished he could just walk away.

Jose stepped back as Betty stood up with a blissful, sexy smile. “You’re forgiven. God, that was incredible.”

It would have been even better if she could no longer speak. He tucked himself back inside his pants and zipped them up.

“Come on, I need a shower now. If you wash my back, I’ll wash yours,” she said with a purposefully seductive tone, re-igniting Jose’s urge to choke her to death.

He forced a smile and nodded, following her back to the master bedroom. He watched her take off what remained of her clothes and undressed while she started the water in the shower.

Betty stepped inside with a smile. “Oh I almost forgot, Kate called today while you were out. She was looking for Calisto. I guess she’s back in town.”

Jose froze. “She is here, in San Diego?”

“Yes. She’s probably with Calisto right now.”

His heart pounded in his chest, making his pulse throb in his ears. He lost himself in his thoughts as Betty washed his hair. Her constant petting usually annoyed him to no end, but right now he hardly noticed.

He needed a plan.

He squeezed shampoo into the palm of his hand, working it through Betty’s long blonde hair, and weighed his options. If Kate was calling Betty to find out Calisto’s whereabouts, then she obviously had no idea of her lover’s daylight sleeping habits. Jose felt fairly certain Kate had no idea about Calisto’s true nature.

“That feels so good, baby.”

Jose’s jaw clenched when Betty’s voice interrupted his chain of thought. He didn’t answer her, just pulled her back into the water, rinsing out the shampoo and letting his mind wander back to his plans.

If Calisto hadn’t revealed he was a blood-drinker, then what made Kate leave? Had they fought, or did Calisto send her away for her own safety without explanation? He supposed he would know soon enough.

The first step would be finding Kate. He couldn’t risk going to Calisto’s home tonight. Then it came to him.

Kate’s house.

He still had a key. He could wait for her there until daylight, and even if she didn’t come home, once the sun came up, he’d be free to go to the Night Walker’s house and meet her there while Calisto slept.

Quickly rinsing off the soap, Jose stepped out of the shower and toweled off. The bathroom tiles were cool against his feet.

“Where are you going?”

He gave Betty a dismissive glance. “To find Kate.”

“What?”

He could already hear her anger rising to the surface. Jose learned early on Betty had an unmistakable cold sarcasm to her voice when something displeased her, and he heard it now.

“I said I am going to find Kate.”

“Now? You can’t be serious.” She added with a sultry smile, “I had plans for you.”

“I’m not interested in your plans. In fact, I have plans of my own.”

She stepped out of the shower, her eyes blazing. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I disagree.” He pulled on his jeans.

“I don’t believe this.” Her cheeks flushed with color. She grabbed his wrist. “You can’t be serious. You’re really going out right after we had sex to see Kate?”

“Yes.” Jose jerked his arm free and pulled on his shirt. The moment his head popped through the opening, her hand connected with his cheek. The slap echoed through the bathroom.

“Over my dead body.”

Jose looked at her with a cold, hateful sneer, lifting her hand to kiss it. “As you wish.”

Before she had a chance to react, he shoved her against the wall, and his hands closed around her throat to prevent her from screaming.

Finally, after weeks of enduring her company, he saw the fear he had hungered for burning in her eyes. Her hands flailed, slapping and scratching at his face. Her struggles satisfied him far more than he imagined. Her body glistened, still damp from the shower, her breasts heaving as she fought to breathe.

Beautiful.

Once again his jeans became uncomfortable as his arousal grew. Wedging his shoulder against her flailing body, he removed one hand from her throat to open his pants.

A whimper escaped her crushed windpipe, and he laughed as her vain attempts to escape increased. Before he pulled himself free from the confines of his jeans, Betty’s knee jammed up into his groin, hard.

He lost his grip on her, doubling over in pain.

Betty wrestled free of him and ran for the door. Rage shot through him as Jose reached out and caught a handful of her hair.

“You whore!” He growled, still grimacing in pain.

He yanked her back to him, striking her across the face with his free hand, his ring biting into the soft flesh of her lip as she fell to the floor.

He pinned her to the ground, gripping her throat until she choked for air. “You said you had plans for me. Well, I have plans of my own.” He freed himself from his jeans.

Jose’s hips surged forward, and he plunged back into the moist warmth of her body. He loosened his hold on her throat just enough to hear her gasp and cry. Such an exquisite sound. He licked away the blood on her lip, laughing as she tried to slap him away from her.

“I like it when you fight.”

He ran his hand up her curvaceous body to grip her breasts, pinching them viciously until he saw the pain register in her eyes. He bent forward to kiss her swollen lips, biting at them as he whispered, “I’m only giving you what you wanted... ”

His words trailed off as he brought both hands to her throat, squeezing and clenching her neck. Her struggles weakened and the life faded from her eyes. Within minutes, she stared blankly at the ceiling. He continued thrusting his hips into her, enjoying every seizure of her muscles. He withdrew from her dead body, leaving her on the floor in a heap.

He stared down at her lifeless form for a moment. He had fantasized for years about taking a life. He never realized it would be so empowering.

Tucking himself back inside his jeans, he knelt down to kiss her temple, gently stroking her wet hair back from her battered, lifeless face. “I will never forget you, Betty.”

He straightened, kicking her onto her stomach, and walked out without a second look.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Calisto watched Kate go, unsure of how he should react. He wanted to chase after her and keep her safe, but he also knew she deserved time to think about the ramifications of what he had revealed.

If she chose to love him, they would never have a normal life. No children, no picnics in the afternoon. Her life with him would be confined to the night. He would never be able to give her a family. She needed to consider the truth of what their future would be like, without him hovering nearby.

However, her safety still had to come first.

He ran into the darkness, his body transforming into a raven as he took flight. Time to finish his battle with Jose. For good.

Calisto landed silently on the balcony of Betty’s condominium and looked through the sliding glass door for any sign of Jose. With Kate back in San Diego, he couldn’t risk allowing the madman to live any longer. If he had to mesmerize Betty to complete his mission, then so be it.

It had to end now.

He didn’t bother to knock, but reached for the door handle. It wasn’t locked. Calisto stepped inside and frowned. It was quiet, too quiet. Could they be sleeping already?

Calisto found her taste in contemporary design unbearably stark and sleek, but right now, it wasn’t the coldness of her interior design that had his attention.

It was the mess. Uneasiness washed over him when he saw Betty’s dining room table.

In the years he’d known Betty, she’d never left a mess behind. In fact, on occasion she had tidied up his office when he’d left papers strewn across his desk, or his wastebasket sat precariously on the brink of overflowing. So seeing her dining room in such a state of disarray worried him.

Puddles of soup dried on her glass dining table, and broken glass and shattered bowls littered the marble tiled floor. Silverware lay strewn all the way across the room. Betty never would have allowed a mess like this to linger so long.

He hurried down the hallway toward her bedroom, his pulse racing. If Betty and Jose weren’t here, then where were they? He couldn’t risk allowing the deranged monk to find Kate. He opened the bedroom door, hoping he’d see Betty and Jose inside sleeping.

When Calisto entered her room, preparing to call her name, the scent of blood assaulted his nose, bringing his thirst to life again. A moment later he found her naked body lying in a heap on the floor of her bathroom.

His heart sank.

“Bettina,” he whispered, kneeling beside her as he carefully turned her over.

His eyes glowed when he saw her lifeless stare, her swollen bloodied lip, and the black and blue bruising around her throat. He reached out to close her dead eyes, whispering the last rites he thought he had forgotten centuries ago.

Jose had done this to her, Calisto had no doubt. He should have warned her. Guilt stung him. He knew Jose was dangerous, but he thought Kate was the target.

He needed to find her. Now.

“Forgive me, Bettina,” he whispered, as he covered her body with a towel. Calisto vanished.

…

Kate left the top down on her convertible as she drove down Interstate 5 toward Point Loma. The cold wind stung her cheeks while more tears slid down her face and wet her skin. Her brain felt overloaded. She wasn’t sure whether she felt heartbroken, terrified, or just insane. Maybe a combination of all three.

She wished she could believe Calisto was crazy and write off his story about drinking blood and past lives as delusional nonsense, but she couldn’t. Too much of what he said made sense.

“God, maybe I’m the crazy one!” She laughed sadly, pulling off the freeway.

How could vampires or Night Walkers—wasn’t that what he called them—really exist? They couldn’t. They were myths. But if Calisto wasn’t really what he said, then how else could she explain that she’d known him for nearly two months and had never caught a glimpse of him during daylight? And how many philanthropists had private bedroom suites underground?

He also knew about her dream, and had the painting of her on his wall with G.S. in the corner. Gregorio Salvador. The man from her dream. And Calisto’s signet ring with the dove gliding over the flames matched the pendant she’d seen in her dreams.

Too much to chalk it up to coincidence.

The longer she thought about her past life with him, the more she remembered. Memories of secret meetings on the beach under the cover of night filled her head. She used to untie his hair and run her fingers through it. She always loved seeing his hair loose and free.

She still did. She guessed some things never changed.

She could remember picking Romneya flowers and wearing them in her hair. She’d always loved the smell and the stark contrast of the white petals like crushed silk against the ebony color of her hair.

Calisto told her the truth. As impossible as it seemed, nothing else made sense. If he planned to lie to her, surely he would’ve come up with a more believable story than I am an immortal Night Walker.

But assuming he told her the truth, then what kind of future could they have together?

She always pictured herself getting married and having a family. She loved Calisto more than she realized she could love another person, but this was too much. He drank blood from living, breathing people.

Could she love a man who killed to live?

If she stayed with him, there would never be a big wedding and no family gatherings. In fact, they wouldn’t have a family at all.

And what about her work?

She couldn’t teach choir all day and then stay up all night with him. Eventually she needed to sleep. She would end up giving up her days so they could be together at night. She’d already started down that road when she lived with him before the pregnancy.

She’d made the choice to give up the sun without even realizing it, but she also hadn’t known the schedule would never change. In the back of her mind, she thought at some point he would stop traveling so much and they could be together during the day, too. But it would never happen. She knew that now.

There was so much they would never share together.

She wiped her eyes, driving aimlessly through her hometown. Point Loma was fairly deserted at this time of the night, or very early morning. The quiet was a relief. The last thing she needed was people staring at her, wondering why she was upset.

They’d never believe it even if she told them.

It’s nothing really, just that the man I love with all my heart and soul is a blood-drinking immortal.

Oh yeah, she’d be in a padded room in no time.

She pulled into the driveway of her parents’ empty house and rested her head against the steering wheel. She knew she’d never love another man as much or as deeply as she loved Calisto. When he smiled at her, she felt whole. He was the other half of her soul.

Her heart had found him again even after lifetimes apart.

She couldn’t walk away. She wouldn’t, not now, not ever. But if she stayed, would love be enough to sustain them? Would he still love her when she turned eighty and he still looked like a gorgeous man in the prime of his life? Kate wondered if she might grow to resent him as the years stole away her health and beauty and left him untouched.

With a sigh, she heaved her exhausted body out of the car. She still hadn’t recovered from losing so much blood during the miscarriage, and the lack of sleep wasn’t helping. She needed to rest and face all of this with a clear head.

Grabbing her purse, she went to the door, wishing she had a bed to sleep in. At this point, even her sleeping bag in her dad’s easy chair sounded like heaven. Kate stepped into the dark house and closed the door behind her.

The second the deadbolt latch engaged, pain shot through her, stealing her voice before she had a chance to scream. A blade pressed against her throat, and blood oozed from a new opening in her shoulder.

“Welcome home.”

Chapter Thirty

The monsignor awoke with a start. His ailing heart raced, his brow perspired, but the vision remained clear in his mind. Blood. So much blood.

The vivid dreams weren’t a new phenomenon for him. Dreams were what led him to the Fraternidad as a young man. He’d dreamt of fire and a man who fed off the life of others. The monsignor spent his life learning about the Night Walker and searching for a way to stop him.

His wrinkled hands shook when his feet touched the floor and he rose to dress. He had to go back to Kate Bradley’s house. Her address had come to him twice during his dream. Brother Mentigo stood covered in blood. The final snapshot of his vision included a bloody handprint marking the window of the house he visited yesterday.

Kate Bradley’s house. He didn’t know what the dream meant, but it couldn’t be good.

His arthritic fingers slid back through the wisps of his gray hair, taming them as best he could before he reached for the phone to call a taxi. He would be at her house within twenty minutes.

He hoped he wouldn’t be too late.

…

Kate stumbled up the stairs backward as her attacker tugged and pulled her up with him, the blade of his knife still pressed against the soft skin of her throat. The darkness was a palpable creature now, and every step she took made the pain in her shoulder throb throughout the rest of her body. Her whole shirt felt wet and sticky with her warm blood.

She tried to calm herself, but terror won out, and her heart raced. Blood pumped through her veins and out of her wound at an alarming rate. She fought to stay alert, knowing if she fainted now she might never wake up.

At the top of the stairs, he yanked her into the master bedroom that used to belong to her parents and closed the door. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, his fingers digging into the stab wound until she felt nauseous from the overwhelming pain.

Moonlight cut through the darkness, making shapes out of the shadows. She tried to focus on the half-moon through the window and distance her mind from her attacker. He could hurt her body, but she would keep her spirit.

She would live through this.

“I thought I had lost you, Kate.”

She recognized the voice, and it broke her concentration. “Jose?” She gasped, blinking to try and clear her vision. She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

He smiled and slid the blade up her arm. Only now she realized it wasn’t a knife. Jose held an ivory handled razor, the old style the barbers used, and ran it slowly down the front of her shirt, slicing the fabric open.

Oh God, he’s going to rape me...

She brought her hand up to her shoulder, pressing her fingers over the wound in a weak attempt to slow the bleeding as she took a step back.

“Calisto will be here any minute,” she lied, praying she sounded more confident than she felt.

Jose stepped forward, reaching up to grab a handful of her hair and drew her in close to him. “I am counting on it.”

Scratches covered his face and arms, and her heart sank. Were they from Betty?

She winced as he leaned in even closer. Jose pulled her hand away from her wound, and she watched in horror as his tongue reached out to lick her blood. She whimpered, trying to push him away.

With a cold, calculated chuckle, he drew back to meet her eyes. “Forgive me for injuring your soft skin, but I needed the scent of your blood to draw him in.”

“You’re insane!” Kate spat at him.

She tried to turn her head away when his breath blew across her face. “I am a visionary. And you are my sacrificial lamb. Through you, I will gain immortality.”

She struggled to break free, but the more she fought, the tighter his hold became until she couldn’t resist any longer. Jose brought his bloody fingers to her face. He stroked her cheek, his lips brushing hers as he whispered, “I know you don’t want to die for this cause, but I will always love you for your sacrifice on my behalf.”

…

Calisto flew toward Point Loma, his heart pounding in his ears as his large raven wings beat against the cold night air. Betty’s body had still been warm and it wasn’t rigid yet. Jose couldn’t have been gone for too long. He prayed now that Kate hadn’t gotten home. Maybe she went to one of her friends’ homes. He had to find her before Jose did.

He opened his mind as he glided past the Cabrillo monument, flying inland toward Kate’s house. When he landed on her street, his form once again that of a man, he ground his teeth together. The scent of Kate’s blood called to him.

His hands shook with fury and hunger. He hadn’t fed, and with the sunrise so near, his immortal body already slowed and weakened. He wouldn’t have much time, and the intoxicating scent of her blood distracted him.

His thirst, like a primal animal, roared with temptation.

He threw open the front door, splintering the wood frame as the deadbolt ripped through it. Her blood left a trail up the stairs. Calisto followed, bursting through the bedroom door a moment later.

“Let her go.”

Jose slowly broke the bloody kiss, turning around to smile at Calisto as he pressed his razor blade against Kate’s throat. “You are not in a position to demand anything.”

Calisto locked eyes with Kate for a moment, his jaw clenching when he saw her wounds. Blood pooled at her feet, staining the beige carpet. Kate’s anemic complexion panicked him. His eyes cut to Jose’s face again as he stepped forward. “She has nothing to do with this. Let her go and we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.” He tightened his grip on the blade. “You know exactly what I want, and if you don’t give it to me, Kate dies.”

She winced in pain, and a drop of blood trickled down her neck.

Calisto narrowed his eyes, masking the dread brewing in his gut. “You will have nothing until she is safe.”

He reached out to the madman with his mind, trying to control him, to convince him to let Kate go. The Latin chant repeated, and regardless of Calisto’s focus of his power, Jose blocked his mental connection.

Jose laughed. “Do you really believe I am that stupid? If I let her go, I am a dead man. There will be no talking. I can see the hunger in your eyes... ” His words trailed off as he bent forward to lick the drop of blood from Kate’s throat, his eyes never leaving Calisto’s. “Have you tasted her blood yet, Night Walker? I can see why you want her for yourself... So sweet and rich... ”

“Leave her alone!” Calisto shouted, sickened at how deeply he longed to taste the blood draining from the wound in her shoulder.

Jose jammed his finger into the cut, and Kate squealed in pain. “Stay back, or I’ll do more than just hurt her!”

Calisto clenched his fists at his sides, restraining himself from moving any closer. Jose glanced out the window and then back to Calisto with a twisted smile.

“The sun is coming, Night Walker. Stop wasting time.”

Calisto struggled to think of a plan. His thirst demanded satisfaction, his body grew weak with hunger, and soon it would be morning. He was running out of options. He couldn’t give Jose his blood, but he wouldn’t allow him to kill Kate either.

The sound of her scream jarred him from his thoughts. Jose had opened her shirt and slid his blade across her abdomen, opening another deep wound.

“How much more will you make her suffer?”

She cried out, trembling, bleeding, and in pain, and Calisto couldn’t take anymore. “Let her go! Just let her go and my blood is yours.”

“No, Calisto don’t... ” Kate cried, but her words were cut off by Jose’s blade moving back up to her throat.

“Shut up, whore!”

“Let her go!”

This time the command didn’t come from Calisto. He turned to find an elderly priest standing in the doorway.

The robed man held up a hand and enunciated each word. “Brother Mentigo, in the name of God. Let her go.”

“God?” Jose laughed. “Monsignor, I will be a god. Why should I fear Him? You have no power over me. Soon, no one will.”

Calisto stepped to the right, moving out of the path between the old priest and his deranged missionary. His eyes locked on Kate’s. He could get to her faster than Jose could see, but he wouldn’t chance it, not with Jose’s blade pressed against her jugular vein.

“God has power over us all, Brother Mentigo. He will forgive you if you repent. Come, I will pray with you.” The monsignor took a step forward, offering his hand.

Jose pressed his fingers into the long cut along her abdomen. Kate gasped, her legs buckling.

“Both of you stay back!” Jose shouted.

Calisto froze where he stood, and the monsignor slowly lowered his hand.

“This is not your fault, Brother Mentigo,” the old priest said. “I never should have sent you here. The Night Walker has clouded your mind and lured you to thirst for his dark power. Give up this dream. God has a higher plan in store for you, my son.”

“You know nothing! You’re just an old man praying that God will welcome you into his heavenly gates. You knew about the Night Walker’s power and you chose to let it slip through your fingers. I will not make that same mistake.”

Calisto watched Jose’s hand tighten on the blade at Kate’s throat. Staring into her eyes, Calisto finally allowed himself to peer into her mind. Her thoughts were clear.

I don’t want to die.

He lunged at Jose with inhuman speed, knocking him to the ground, and punched him so hard that he felt Jose’s jaw crumble with the force of the blow. Kate fell, gasping, and the pungent scent of blood exploded through him.

Calisto, help me!

Turning around, he lifted Kate into his arms. Blood pumped out of her severed artery at an alarming rate. Her battered body broke his heart. The stab wounds and the cut on her abdomen could be mended with his blood, but he feared the damage to her neck, her jugular vein, might be too severe. What if she still bled internally?

If he offered his blood into her body to heal the internal injuries, she would be changed forever.

“Call 9-1-1!” he screamed at the monsignor.

The old man disappeared down the stairs as Calisto stared back into her eyes, blood-filled tears sliding down his cheeks. “I cannot lose you again, Kate.”

“I love you,” she whispered. Her hand rose to touch his cool cheek, wiping away his tear before falling back to her chest again.

He bent to kiss her forehead, and a searing pain shot through the back of his left shoulder. Calisto turned to see Jose’s hand draw back again before his blade bit into Calisto’s arm. He held Kate in one arm and shoved Jose with the other, sending the man flying back into the other wall.

Calisto wished he had fed. His strength dwindled and his wounds healed much slower than they should. And now he was losing blood. Carefully he put Kate down, resting her back against the closet. Her eyes widened, and Calisto spun around just as Jose rushed him, knocking him to the floor.

Jose sliced into Calisto’s chest viciously with his razor blade, but it wasn’t the razor that Calisto fought to keep away. It was Jose’s disfigured, gaping mouth.

The more Calisto bled, the more the monk struggled to drink the blood. And the more blood loss he suffered, the weaker Calisto became. Finally, Jose managed to close his mouth around a wound in Calisto’s wrist. Grabbing Jose’s hair, he yanked him back. How much had he taken? Was it enough to change him?

He couldn’t take that risk.

Summoning up the last of his strength, Calisto rolled over, pinning Jose on the floor underneath him. With his eyes glowing crimson, he plunged his hand through Jose’s ribcage and tore out his still-beating heart. The madman gurgled beneath him, his hands dropping to the floor. Calisto watched the life drain from his crazed eyes before he turned his attention to the still pulsing organ in his hand. Did it any of his immortal blood hide within its chambers?

With his back to Kate, Calisto lifted Jose’s heart to his lips and drank, emptying it of what little blood remained in the chambers before dropping it back onto Jose’s lifeless chest. Surely the immortal Night Walker blood couldn’t change Jose’s body without a heart to pump it through his veins.

Calisto heard a weak moan and spun around, hurrying back to Kate’s side. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, raspy breaths. She looked deathly pale. Blood still oozed from her wounds, painting the white closet door a vicious red.

He was losing her.

“No!” he screamed, lifting her into his arms and cradling her. “Please Kate... Stay with me. Please. Do not leave me.”

He wept and opened his mind to hers. She barely clung to consciousness as he whispered into her mind. I love you.

I don’t want to die. Please, Calisto, don’t let me die.

He drew back to meet her eyes, searching them for answers. “Do you understand what you are asking, my love? If I do this, you will no longer be human. You will be a Night Walker.”

Fate brought us together. It was supposed to be different this time. Her eyes pleaded with him. I don’t want to leave you. Not again.

He opened the collar of his shirt, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He never wanted this dark life for her. Would she grow to resent him for stealing the sunshine from her life? Did she really understand how this would change her?

He was too selfish to hesitate.

Using Jose’s blade, he made a deep cut into his shoulder and cradled her head close to him. He placed a tender kiss to her ear and whispered, “Drink, and live forever.”

Her lips felt like heaven on his skin, but he didn’t feel a pull at his veins. Was she already unconscious?

He held her tighter, closing his eyes, praying she would drink. Suddenly he felt her mouth come alive, sucking, drinking him into her injured body. Calisto fell to his knees, feeling her blood soak through his pants as he held her tight. His body screamed with hunger the more she drank from him. He stroked her hair tenderly, and watched as his blood mended her mortal wounds.

He prayed that her mind and heart would remain unchanged. He couldn’t bear to see the madness in her eyes that had haunted Lukas centuries before.

Drink from me, she whispered into his mind.

Calisto kissed her shoulder, trembling with temptation. Not yet.

He felt her strength returning, her body clinging to his, no longer weighing heavily in his arms, and finally Calisto’s heart rate calmed. Fate would not steal her from him this time. Her destiny had changed. Forever.

…

The pain faded away, and she realized Calisto held her in his arms while she drank. She never imagined she could be so thirsty. His blood made her feel warm all over, her skin tingled, and her lips ached for more.

She wasn’t sure how, but she communicated with him without speaking. She only thought her words and he seemed to hear them and answer directly back into her mind. There weren’t words to tell him how much she loved him, but she thought if he drank from her, maybe the feelings in her heart would pass through to him.

But he wouldn’t drink, and now she felt him trembling. Was she making him weak? Kate pulled away, but he held her close, his voice echoing in her mind.

Do not worry for me, Kate. Drink deeply and be strong.

She nodded against him, taking more of his blood into her body, making him part of her. Her arms slid around his waist, clinging to him as his blood filled her mouth again and again.

“In the name of God, what have you done?”

Kate turned to see the old priest, the one Jose had called a monsignor, standing in the doorway. Without a word, Calisto rose to his feet, still cradling her in his arms. She rested her hand over his heart, amazed to find the wound she had just drunk from already healing.

“What I have done has nothing to do with God.”

“Does Kate know she has sold her soul to the Devil himself?”

Calisto laughed, shaking his head. “Is that what you believe?”

The monsignor looked at Jose’s dead body and back to Calisto, raising the cross around his neck. Calisto glared at the leader of the Fraternidad as he carried Kate past the priest.

“Your cross has no power over me, Monsignor. And I am no one’s servant, least of all Satan’s.” He stopped and turned back to face the priest once more. “If you wish to blame someone for what has happened here tonight, I suggest you reflect on your own actions.”

“I was trying to save her from this fate,” the monsignor said.

“I had no intention of making Kate a Night Walker. My only wish was to love her for all of her life. I never would have stolen the sunlight from her. You and the madman you sent made this necessary. Because of your effort to meddle in my affairs, innocent blood has been spilled again, and for what purpose? Is my existence worth so much to you and your church? Perhaps now you will finally leave me in peace.”

Calisto started down the stairs. Kate heard his heart pounding in his chest and felt his strength ebbing, but he didn’t allow it to show.

I can walk, Calisto.

Rest, he whispered into her mind. I need to get you away from here.

The monsignor called after him, “If I am to blame, then why have I not met the same fate as Brother Mentigo and Brother De Cardina before him? Why am I still alive?”

Calisto glared over his shoulder at the monsignor and growled. “Because there are worse punishments than death. Live with your guilt, old man. May it rot in your heart and kill you slowly for many years to come.”

…

Calisto didn’t stop again. Every step made his body ache, and the sunrise threatened to steal what remained of his strength. He struggled and forced himself to keep moving, clutching Kate close to his chest. Once he reached the beach, he stopped and lowered her to the ground.

She looked up at him with concern in her eyes. “You’re weak.”

Calisto nodded. “There is much I need to tell you, but the sunrise is too close. We have to take shelter.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I need to rest and then I will feed,” he said, hoping he masked the true depth of his exhaustion. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to move the rock face to get them inside his underground resting place.

Kate nodded. “Where do we go to rest?”

Calisto raised a shaky hand and pointed at the entrance to a small cave in the side of the sandy face of the cliff. He took her hand and led her into the darkness. When they reached the back of the cave, Calisto leaned against the wall, resting. Kate felt the rock that barricaded their entrance, exploring it as if she were looking for some kind of secret handle. He stumbled beside her.

“There is no key or latch and it is too heavy for humans to lift without a crane.”

“Then how do we get inside?”

“I will roll it aside,” he said, moving to the right side of the boulder. He wasn’t at all sure he could budge the stone in his weakened state, but he had to try.

“Can’t we just stay in your bedroom below the house?”

“No. The monsignor knows where I live. If he comes to search for us he will eventually find the room and us, and if the sun is still in the sky, I am not sure you would survive being exposed to it. I will not take that risk.”

What usually seemed easy was now practically impossible. Finally he managed to shove the rock aside far enough for them to crawl through.

Kate moved through the opening first, before he followed her into the darkness. Panic seized him for a moment when he tried to replace the boulder across the mouth of the cave. He didn’t have the strength to move it.

Then Kate stood beside him, digging her feet in the sandy soil as she pushed with him. He didn’t have to ask. She was simply there for him. He no longer walked alone in this world. The realization stunned him. Never again. Gradually, with her help, they rolled the boulder back into place.

Calisto sank to his knees, no longer able to stand. He couldn’t remember a time when he had ever been so exhausted. He felt Kate take his hand and slowly forced his exhausted eyes to open.

“Just leave me. There is a bed at the end of the cavern.”

“I’m not spending another day without you,” she whispered, hooking his arm around her shoulder. “Come on.”

Calisto struggled to his feet, leaning on her to maintain his balance. They made their way through the darkness toward the dimly lit cavern. The tiny oil lamp he left burning sat on a small alcove he carved out of the cave just across from the antique bed. He saw his reflection in the mirror on the wall and grimaced. His face looked pale and gaunt, and his hair lost its inhuman luster.

“I look as dead as I feel,” he whispered as Kate helped him down onto the bed.

A tender smile lit her features as she pulled his boots free. “Everyone is allowed to get tired once in a while. Even you.”

He brought his hand up to caress her cheek. Her skin already felt cooler to the touch. Less human. “I am so sorry, Kate.”

She lay down beside him, staring into his eyes as she spoke. “I made this choice. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“You have no idea what I have cursed you with.”

“As if sharing forever with you could be a curse.” She took his hand, entwining her fingers with his.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“Now you’ll have forever to tell me... ” Kate kissed his lips and whispered, “Rest now. You have a lot to teach me once the sun goes down.”

He opened his arms, holding her close. “While we sleep your body will die... ”

He tried to warn her about the changes she would find when she awoke, but the sun rose over the earth, draining him.

“Then I’ll die in your arms.”

He smiled and kissed her hair, lifting his head to take one last look at her beautiful face. She was already lost to the sun, but the soft smile on her lips warmed his cold body.

“You have my heart forever, my love.”

His head settled back on the pillow, his arms holding her close as the sun stole his final breath from his body.

Chapter Thirty-One

Kate shivered, her heart picking up a slow rhythm. The echo of a lone wolf’s mournful howl haunted her as her eyes fluttered open. Seeing Calisto leaning up on his elbow, looking down at her with his lips curved in a sensuous smile, banished the residual loneliness of her dream.

She reached up to cup his cheek. “This is much better than waking up to a note that you had out-of-town business.” She pulled him down to kiss her lips and murmured softly, “I’m going to like waking up with you.”

Calisto smiled and nibbled at her lower lip. “This is the first time I have ever awakened to find a beautiful woman in my bed.”

“Ever?” Kate arched her brow.

“Si. When I was mortal I spent my life as a priest until I met you. We met in the shadows, but we never got the chance to drift off in each other’s arms. The day I confessed and gave up my vows was the day Tala... ” His words drifted off as he bent to kiss her again. “Waking to see your face is the greatest gift I have ever received.”

Before she could reply, Calisto got out of bed and slid one arm under her neck and the other under her knees. Kate shivered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Where are we going?”

Calisto smiled, carrying her from the room. “I have a hot bath ready for you.”

Kate peered around behind them and cringed, closing her eyes. The bed was a mess, the white sheets stained and rumpled. Calisto hadn’t been kidding the night before when he told her that her body would die while they slept. No wonder she’d felt wet and cold when she woke up.

“I did all that last night?”

Calisto kissed her forehead as he lowered her feet to the floor of his large marble bathroom. “It wasn’t you, my love. The Night Walker blood banishes all of the remains of your humanity while your body is transformed.”

She wanted to crawl under a rock. Instead, she stepped down into the sunken tub. The hot water felt good on her cool skin. “I’ll clean it up. I don’t want you to have to.”

“Look at me.” She met his eyes and he lowered his voice. “Please do not be embarrassed by this change. It is like being born again to the night. Nothing more.” He kissed her. “Rest here while I clean up and feed.”

Kate settled into the steaming water, watching Calisto’s naked form disappear into their bedroom.

Their room.

She rested her head back against the marble tub and lifted one hand out of the lavender scented bubbles. Her skin didn’t look any different. She spread her fingers, turning her hand back and forth before letting it slide back into the warm water. Last night seemed like a bad dream. Under the water, her fingertips slid along her abdomen, searching for the deep cut Jose had made, but her skin felt smooth. She reached up to her shoulder for the place he’d stabbed her, but again, the wound wasn’t even tender.

Was she really immortal now? It seemed impossible. She closed her eyes, drifting off in the warm bathwater.

She sat up when Calisto returned. He stripped the sheets from the bed and bagged them. She tried not to remember the death she’d seen in the bed. Blood, vomit, and she didn’t even want to think about what else. Her wounds were healed, and the fact that she could hear something as soft as sheets sliding off the mattress was evidence that her hearing was enhanced now too.

What else could she do?

Calisto?

Instantly, he leaned against the doorway. His hair hung loose around his face, and the view only got better as her eyes slid down his muscular frame. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else.

“You heard me.” Kate slid a little lower in the tub.

He nodded, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile. “Of course I did. Your mind reached out to mine.”

Kate gnawed at her bottom lip. “Could you hear everything else I was thinking?”

“I could, but I have always respected your privacy.” Calisto stripped off his jeans and stepped into the spacious bathtub behind her. He lifted her onto his lap, sliding his arms around her waist. “Unless your mind reaches for mine, your thoughts are your own.”

Tipping her head back to look at him, she smiled. “That’s probably a good thing. I had some pretty impure thoughts going.”

He held her tighter and kissed along her shoulder. “Sounds very... intriguing.”

She turned around to face him, her legs straddling his waist. Calisto claimed her lips, and she moaned into the kiss. His tongue tangled with hers, teasing her with the faint taste of blood. Something foreign stirred inside of her, animalistic and urgent.

Kate broke the kiss, gasping for breath as she rested her forehead against his. She wet her lips. “I’m really thirsty. I think I need some water.”

He held her a little tighter, kissing her hair. “It is not water you thirst for.”

She looked up at him with a crease in her brow. “What are you saying?”

Calisto caressed her cheek. “You are a Night Walker now. To live you must feed on life.”

She pulled back from his arms. “You make it sound noble, but what you’re really trying to tell me is that I need to drink people’s blood. That I’m… thirsty for it.” She shook her head, her eyes downcast. “I don’t think I could bite someone. I can’t imagine drinking... ” She shuddered, her voice fading away.

He grasped her chin, tilting her head so their gazes met. “I am sorry, Kate. I wish there had been some other way. I never wanted this life for you.”

Guilt and worry filled his gaze.

“This isn’t your fault. I didn’t want to leave you. I understood what you were doing, and I’ll deal with all of this. I will.” Somehow. She pressed her lips together, fighting the hunger brewing inside of her. Though she tried to imagine biting someone, she could only envision herself in a cape with fangs. Ridiculous. She grinned. “I don’t think I’m ready for blood-sucking vampire lessons just yet.”

Calisto rolled his eyes and laughed. When he relaxed against her, she traced his chest muscles. “We are not blood-sucking vampires,” he said.

“I know.” She rubbed her pelvis against his and kissed him. “I just wanted to see you smile again.”

Calisto bit her lower lip lightly, teasing her new heightened senses. “How did I live so long without your kisses?”

She parted her lips, and her tongue tangled with his. He cupped the back of her head and moaned into the kiss. She shifted her hips, and he pressed against her opening.

He thrust up, sinking himself deep inside of her. She dropped her head back with a gasp. Calisto bent to take her exposed breast into his mouth, enjoying the way her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

He licked over her nipple slowly, slid his hands down her wet body, gripped her waist, ground against her, and claimed her.

The candlelight flickered around them, bathing them in a warm glow as the water teased her cool, sensitive skin. All of her senses seemed more acute, more intense. She could feel every sensation, every curve, every inch of his body caressing hers. He thrust into her, slowly at first, his eyes locked with hers.

Staring into his eyes, she felt her mind instinctively slip into his. She felt his heated desire and love for her, his concern over her transformation, and finally...

Before she could identify the emotion, his mind was closed to hers.

Kate brought her hands up from his shoulders to cup his face. “No more secrets. Please, Calisto.”

His thrusts slowed and his eyes sparkled. Something was happening with his eyes. They were changing. Her heart pounded. His dark eyes now glowed crimson. She’d never seen anything like it, but she wasn’t afraid.

“What’s wrong?”

He wet his lips. “Nothing is wrong.”

“But your eyes.” She searched his face for any other changes.

He brought a hand up from her hip, trailing a wet finger along the curve of her neck. “Your blood calls to me.”

She turned to kiss his finger before meeting his eyes again. “Is it because I’m a Night Walker now?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. Your blood has been a temptation for me every time we made love.”

“But your eyes never changed before.”

“I was careful, hiding my true nature as best I could.” Calisto slid his hand back into her hair as he kissed her lips, and Kate couldn’t help but wonder if he had fangs now. Calisto met her eyes again. “Do I frighten you now?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Are my eyes glowing too?”

“Not yet.” Calisto wrapped his arms around her, his kiss demanding her submission. She moaned as his tongue claimed hers. His hips worked slow and deep, rendering her incapable of coherent thought. Tilting her head, she deepened the kiss until she tasted blood.

She jerked back from the kiss, shocked to feel her pulse race at the sight of blood coloring Calisto’s lips. He reached up to wipe it away, but she caught his hand. This was the blood that saved her life and changed every part of her. She leaned forward and kissed him, her tongue tasting his lower lip.

“Did I cut you?” She whispered against his lips.

“Yes.”

She shivered at the desire in his voice. “You liked it?”

He nodded, meeting her eyes. “Very much.” His lips curved into a dangerous, sexy smile. “I have never made love with another Night Walker.”

Kate wet her lips, feeling truly desirable for the first time ever. She didn’t know if it was because she was a Night Walker, or knowing that she’d loved Calisto for lifetimes.

At the moment, she didn’t care.

Kate smiled and leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear. “I have.” She drew back and rested her forehead against his with a satisfied grin. “I’ll be gentle with you.”

Calisto smiled and wrapped his arms around her, fusing their lips together. Kate clung to him, no longer sure where her body ended and Calisto’s began. Her mind slipped into his once more, and in that moment she’d never felt closer to another soul. They were one.

Almost, my love. Calisto’s voice whispered through her mind. Drink from me.

Kate’s heart fluttered, but he responded, slamming into her harder and faster, driving conscious thought from her mind as he kissed and nibbled his way down her neck to her shoulder. She felt his sharp teeth brush over her skin, but instead of tensing, her pulse quickened. Her skin felt hot, hungry. His lips caressed her shoulder and his mind reached out to her again.

Please Kate. Be one with me.

Kissing along the muscle of his shoulder, she surrendered herself to the passion. She sucked at his skin, her teeth teasing his flesh. One of his hands sank lower in the water, between them, stroking her and urging her even closer to the edge. With her body on fire, aching for release, she sank her teeth into his shoulder.

Lightning shot through Calisto’s body the moment Kate burst through the final barrier between their souls. The pull at his veins as she drank him into herself sent waves of hot, erotic pleasure through his entire body. He kissed along her perfect ivory shoulder until he could no longer fight the temptation.

He moaned against her skin when he tasted her blood on his tongue. Making love to her, sharing her body, her blood, her soul, he’d never felt passion like this before. He could feel her love for him, her acceptance of their new destiny and life together. Her hunger and desire for him.

The water splashed around them, out onto the floor, but he didn’t care. He needed her now. All of her.

I’m yours. She gasped into his mind as her body clenched around him, taking him over the edge with her. He didn’t loosen his hold on her as he kissed over his bite, watching the pinpricks close on her skin.

“And I am yours, my love.” He drew back just enough to meet her eyes. “I love you.”

She smiled, and he felt his spirit soar. “I love you too.” Kate kissed him and whispered against his lips. “Always.”

Epilogue

The moonlight sparkled on the water. Calisto lay on the beach, leaning back on his elbows, laughing as he watched Kate practice calling fish onto the shore.

“You could help me, you know.” She grinned over her shoulder, struggling to catch the jumping fish before the tide pulled them back into the water.

“I could, but watching is much more fun.” He smiled.

She amazed him more with each passing night. Over the past two weeks she had already embraced so many changes, in her body and her mind. He tried to introduce her new powers slowly, to ease the transition, but Kate took to her newfound talents and abilities with a natural grace that astonished him.

What pleased him most, in spite of all of the changes she faced, deep down she remained the same spirit, his mortal love, Kate. The moon still shone in her eyes, and she never missed an opportunity to laugh.

And as impossible as it seemed, he loved her more with each passing night.

Kate splashed through the water, groaning as the last fish got away. “I give up!” She walked up and plopped down onto the sand beside him. “What good is using telepathy to call the fish to me if I can’t get them to stay still once they’re up on the sand?”

Calisto shook his head with a smile. “I never did like fish anyway.”

“I was just practicing. I’m new to this Night Walker thing, remember?” She smiled and kissed him. “Ready to dance with me?”

He raised a brow. “Are you finished calling the fish?”

“Would you stop that?”

“Stop what?” He struggled to keep from smiling.

“Answering my questions with another question.”

“Will this do instead?” Calisto sat up, kissing her deeply as he rose from the sand and pulled her up into his arms. Slowly he drew back, lost in the dark beauty of the moonlight shining in her eyes.

“You can answer me with kisses anytime,” she whispered with a smile.

“Good.” He took her hand, walking out into the waves. He hadn’t waltzed in centuries, but with Kate in his arms, it was easy. Her laughter, her smile, just hearing her say his name made his heart soar.

Eternity was theirs to share.

The marine layer floated in from the ocean tide, surrounding them until the moonlight became an iridescent glow. The waves lapped at their ankles while they turned in each other’s arms, laughing together. Calisto smiled down at her, stealing a kiss.

The lifetimes he spent waiting for her spirit to enter this world were worth every second.

…

Overhead, wings glided silently on the night breeze. A white-headed eagle with intelligent eyes soared above them, watching from a distance.

Finally, his plan had begun to unfold. She was immortal. Again. He had waited thousands of years for this night, had been the instrument of fate to ensure they would come together. The world would be his once more. But he had to be patient. Tonight, he would only watch them. Watch and wait.

For now.

Did you love Calisto? Check out the rest of Lisa Kessler’s Night series!

Acknowledgments

There are so many people I want to thank that I’m not sure where to start. I’d like to thank the entire crew at Entangled Publishing for welcoming me into the family. Liz Pelletier, who invited me to submit my book, and Heather Howland, for making me the perfect cover and capturing the heart of the book in the tagline, I can’t thank you two enough.

I also want to thank Kelley Armstrong and Barbara Vey, who encouraged me to join RWA and pursue my publishing dream. Your encouragement has meant the world to me!

I also owe the last chapter to Angie Fox, who thought Calisto and Kate deserved it. Thanks for all your valuable feedback and guidance!

To my fabulous editor KL Grady, thank you so much for coming on this journey with me! It’s still surreal to me that we ended up working together again on my first novel! How cool is that?

Thanks to my wonderful publicist, Roxanne Rhoads, for helping me to get the word out about the book, and keeping the schedule organized for me.

I could not have pulled off the medical references in the book without the input of Dr. D.P. Lyle.

Lastly, I have to thank my husband, Ken Kessler, and my mom, Ally Benbrook, who have read Night Walker in all its versions and never complained. Thanks for always making the time to read and give me your feedback! Through all the ups and downs on this publishing journey, you never stopped supporting me and believing this book would be published. I couldn’t have done this without you.

About the Author

Lisa Kessler is an award winning author of dark paranormal fiction. Her debut novel, Night Walker, won a San Diego Book Award for Best Published Fantasy-Sci-fi-Horror, as well as the Romance Through the Ages Award for Best Paranormal and Best First Book.

Her short stories have been published in print anthologies and magazines, and her vampire story, Immortal Beloved, was a finalist for a Bram Stoker award.

When she’s not writing, Lisa is a professional vocalist, performing with the San Diego Opera as well as other musical theater companies in San Diego.

www.authorlisakessler.com

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Discover the Night Series …

Night Demon

Lukas Smith has spent hundreds of years searching for answers to his immortal Night Walker nature. As a series of ancient glyphs become clear, he’s about to find out more than he’d ever hoped, but the more he learns, the more his fate intertwines with the Night Demon, and the harder it becomes to hide his immortal secret from the beautiful, intelligent Gretchen. Together, they must find a way to stop the inexplicable violence and mass destruction surging across the earth before the Night Demon destroys more than just mankind.

Night Thief

Night Child

Other books by Lisa Kessler

Moonlight

Hunter’s Moon

Beg Me to Slay

Protecting humans is the Bringers’ duty. Sending demons to the Shadow World is their pleasure.

In one night, Ravyn’s life plunges from barely tolerable to deadly. Forced to flee the only home she’s known, she stumbles headlong into the clutches of Icarus, a powerful demon intent on stealing her powers. Unfortunately for him, she has no intention of cooperating.

When Rhys realizes the woman he’s rescued from the Bane Demon is no mere human, his obligation as a Bringer dictates he protect and train her in the ways of his people. But he’s unprepared for the intense desire he feels for the fiery Ravyn. To surrender to his need may mean her death.

As the Demon King’s desire for ultimate power escalates, fathers are slated against sons, and foes are made allies. The Bane threat upon them, Rhys and Ravyn must quest to unite the last of the Bringers—and explore a passion too powerful to ignore.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Boone Brux. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Libby Murphy and Kerry Vail

Cover design by Heather Howland

Print ISBN 978-1-937044-33-6
ePub ISBN 978-1-937044-17-6

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition December 2011

To my husband and kids.

Thanks for all the breakfasts at my computer
and for not being afraid of the vacuum.

You guys are the best.

Dear Reader

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away there was an aspiring writer. “I shall write an epic fantasy series,” she announced. “Sixteen or seventeen books minimum!”

Yeah, that writer was me. Let’s just say I might have been a tad naive at that point in my career. Okay, a lot naive. Who could blame me? Entangled Publishing had contracted my story. The hard part was over, right? Fast forward past several rounds of edits, a couple of editors, and more than a few crying jags. If I could have lit my manuscript on fire in the middle of my living room I would have. Wait...I’m supposed to be telling you why I love my Bringer and the Bane series.

The reasons are numerous, but one stands out above all the rest. Entangled contracted Shield of Fire before they’d ever opened their doors for business. Over the years both of us have grown, but they have never wavered in their support of this amazing world we created together. Demons, hot men, kickass heroines, magic—the Bringer and the Bane series has it all. Even when I could no longer see the big picture for my book, Entangled could, and helped bring the dream of a naive writer to life. I hope you enjoy Shield of Fire, book one in my Bringer and the Bane series.

- Boone

Chapter One

Menda Abbey, Itta Territory, Inness

One Thousand Years after the Bane War

The demon’s gaze narrowed. “Let me see her.”

Beautiful and horrifying, Icarus moved toward Brother Powell with frightening grace. Sinewy muscles rippled under taut, black skin as he prowled toward the crumbled wall of the abbey. His leathery wings scraped the tree branches overhead and waves of ebony hair, banded with rings of gold, cradled two spiraling horns that jutted upward.

Powell glanced away, refusing to gaze into the mesmerizing, reptilian eyes.

The demon’s deep purr poured over him. “What troubles you, Brother? Are you not happy to see me?”

The monk ignored the question and swiped the cold rain from his eyes. He held the hissing torch higher to reveal a young woman. She stood unnaturally still, compelled by the monk’s hypnosis—a spell taught to him by the demon. Her thin shift clung to her bony frame, and her dull eyes stared ahead. Angela had been lovely once, but like so many, she hadn’t been woman enough to withstand the honor of his attentions. They never were, always crying and pleading to be left alone. Lucky for them, the Demon Bane preferred their sacrifices pure.

“This is not what I asked for.” The deadly calm of Icarus’s voice belied the danger of his statement. “Where is the other woman—the gifted one?”

“In her cell. She doesn’t trust me.” Powell stroked Angela’s limp, blonde hair. “But she’ll not be able to resist the cries of her closest friend.”

“For your sake, monk, I hope you are right.” Icarus held out his hand. “Come to me.”

The compulsion whispered past Powell, sweeping across his skin with the promise of pleasure. He slipped his hand under his robe and adjusted his erection.

The demon’s call slithered toward Angela and wrapped around her like a sensual net. Before the force could ensnare him as well, Powell released his hold and backed away. She glided forward.

He watched, immobilized with morbid fascination. Her progress faltered when she reached the holy ground’s boundaries. He leaned toward Angela, willing her to cross the invisible barrier.

“Come to me,” Icarus repeated.

Weak of mind and body, she lumbered forward through the opening in the wall and away from the protection of the abbey’s sanctified ground.

The demon stood before her and grasped her frail arm. With the smooth curve of his talon, he caressed Angela’s cheek.

She didn’t move.

Powell cringed, excited and repulsed at the same time. He ached for a taste of the power Icarus would give him one day.

“So pure,” Icarus crooned. He trailed his talon down her neck. “So sweet.”

Powell squeezed his holy medallion, its ornate embellishments biting deep into his skin. The pain kept him present and protected against the call of the Bane, a call he wanted to answer. Riveted, he held the torch higher, trying to shed more light on the black demon.

Icarus slid his claw lower, coming to rest between Angela’s breasts. His energy pulsed and reached for its prey. The compulsion grazed Powell’s mind. The medallion slipped from his grasp, the chain catching on his fingers to hang loose. Forgotten.

“Awaken, little bird, and let me see your fear,” Icarus whispered.

Like a parting veil, Angela’s deadened expression cleared. She gasped, frozen by the sight of the towering demon before her. She twisted and fought for her freedom. Bare heels dug into the soggy earth, but the slick grass provided no traction. Icarus jerked her hard, his hold unbreakable.

“No!” Her scream shattered the silence of the night, its echoes hanging in the air like a heavy mist.

He pressed his fingers against her heart and pricked her delicate skin.

She convulsed, her strangled cry dying in her throat. With whispers as soft as the lightest breeze, the silvery essence of her soul sighed and bled from her body. Gossamer threads slithered around Icarus’s hand like small, white snakes, encircling his arm and swirling along the planes of his rounded biceps in an achingly slow, erotically sublime dance. The demon tilted his head and closed his eyes. Angela’s shimmering purity crept up his neck and hovered at his lips. He inhaled and drew her in, stiffening as if in the throes of passion, absorbing every delicate wisp.

The intimate union between predator and prey mesmerized Powell. He crept forward, forgetting the danger. The seductive and deadly act held a perverse beauty. Powell stroked himself, dragging the rough material of his robe over his erection, losing himself in The Taking. Time had no place; the tap, tap of rain on the leaves the only disruption brave enough to break through the reticence of the night.

When the sparkling vapor faded around her heart, Icarus retracted his talons and released his hold. Angela’s body slumped to the ground, dead. He stretched and smiled, his fangs glimmering in the torchlight. “That’s better.”

Powell’s heavy breathing punctuated the quiet. His body quivered from the demon’s feral presence. As the pleasurable effect began to fade, he opened his senses and scrambled to ingest the lingering scraps of Bane essence. Its pure power raced through his body and filled his veins with an intoxicating fire.

Icarus bent and scooped up Angela’s body. Four powerful strides brought him to the abbey’s border. He heaved his burden at Powell. The monk shrieked and jumped back, his euphoric haze evaporating. Bones snapped as the body landed in a crumpled heap at his feet. Bile rose in his throat. For a fraction of a second, remorse pawed at him, but, just as quickly, the sentiment disappeared.

“Bring me the other—now.” Icarus’s wings unfurled and stretched behind him. “Do not fail me, monk.” He crouched and pinned Powell with a yellow stare. “Or I won’t be as kind to you as I was to the girl.”

Powell glanced at the broken body at his feet and swallowed hard. Meeting the demon’s stare, he nodded.

With a powerful leap, Icarus launched into the sky and was instantly swallowed by the darkness.

…

Ravyn jolted upright in bed. She pushed her mass of black curls out of her face and looked around. Had somebody screamed, or was it only her nightmares?

Darkness blanketed her cell, and rain pounded a steady beat against the ledge of her narrow window. Shivers crawled down her spine like a dozen tiny spiders. The abbey, the wind, and the rain had a natural rhythm she had come to know. Like an off-key note, she heard the wrongness of the night’s cadence.

She closed her eyes and released her awareness. It flowed down the dark corridors of the ancient abbey, seeping into the corners and rooms, making its way toward the chapel. Malevolence strummed along the mental threads of Ravyn’s consciousness as it ghosted across the chapel door. Heat skittered along her arms, awakening the protective fire within her. She flexed her fingers and relaxed into the sensation. Always the awareness was bittersweet. The same power that made her an outcast with the Sisters now rallied to protect her from the evil housed inside the supposed holy space.

She yanked her senses back and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to steady herself against the draining presence. Only one evil dwelled within the abbey: Brother Powell.

Ravyn threw off the worn blanket and crammed her feet into the only pair of slippers she owned. She stood and tiptoed across her room. The cell’s heavy oak door loomed before her. Pulling on the iron handle, she prayed the hinges remained quiet for once. A soft squeak of protest pierced the silence and she flinched. Hopefully, the other girls were sound asleep. She poked her head into the corridor. Empty. Good. Their safety was one less problem to worry about.

Two sparsely placed torches threw small circles of light around themselves but did little to illuminate the passage. Ravyn darted from her room and blended with the shadows. To most, the dark passages appeared empty, but for her, people and memories of the past whispered around her, longing to tell their tales. Despite the Sisters’ efforts to beat this evilness out of her, knowing and listening had always felt right.

The spirit of a young woman materialized in front of her. Dressed in The Order’s habit, she was immediately recognizable to Ravyn as Sister Amalee. She smiled, but the ghost did not smile back. Instead, Amalee stood close, wringing her hands and shaking her head. Ravyn stepped around the spirit, not wanting to experience the staggering punch of emotion she felt when passing through the dead.

Blackness pulsated around the edges of the chapel door as Ravyn approached. The sensation of a thousand biting needles abraded her skin. She rubbed her arms, trying to scrub away the sting. The assault was all too familiar.

Powell waited inside.

She shook her arms. Tonight, his presence felt more caustic than usual. He was a venomous snake coiled within the delicate flowers of a garden.

Amalee slid forward and blocked Ravyn’s path.

“Move,” Ravyn whispered.

The ghost shook her head and held her hands out in a silent plea.

“I have to go in.”

Amalee threw her slightly transparent arms across the opening.

“You can’t stop me.” The spirit’s attempt to protect her was touching, but she needed to get inside the chapel. “Please move.”

Amalee bowed her head and folded her hands in front of her chest. Her mouth moved with a silent tirade of prayers. Without looking up, she floated forward and passed through Ravyn.

Waves of distress flowed from the center of Ravyn’s body and out toward her limbs, unbalancing her. She bit her lower lip and silently cursed, trying to calm the spirit’s tumultuous essence. After a few seconds, she shook her head and opened her eyes. She was alone.

Blackness bled around the edges of the door, reaching for her.

The Sisters sealed the chapel after evening prayers and, not surprisingly, as she shoved against it, the door yielded to her push. She’d learned long ago evil had a way of unlocking what should be locked, and unbinding what should be bound.

The groan of the old hinges announced her entry and echoed through the chapel. She grimaced, knowing now she was exposed to whoever waited. The prickling sensation on her arms increased.

Torches burned in their sconces. She swallowed hard and stepped inside. This hallowed chamber had never felt welcoming. She glanced up at the altar. The carved and still faces of The Sainted Ones scowled down at her.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

Their sightless eyes seemed to judge her, finding her unworthy to enter such a holy place. Their condemnatory glares followed her, but like always, she ignored them and drifted deeper into the chapel.

She scanned the shadows. Madness and the taint of evil seethed at the edges of the light. Her search tracked along the darkness, coming to rest on a crumpled body between the benches.

She gasped. “Angela.”

Sweet, naïve, and ready to believe in the good of others—that was Angela. Ravyn caught up her skirt and ran, the need to protect her friend blotting out the danger.

“Angela.” She dropped to her hands and knees and gathered her friend’s soiled and drenched body in her arms. “Angela!”

At first touch, a crushing blackness crashed into Ravyn. Unable to hold on, she released the body. Her stomach twisted in tight coils of pain. She clutched her throat, trying to tear through the feeling of drowning. The blackness choked and smothered her. She clawed at the stones of the floor.

Air. She needed air.

Heat spread through her body, her defensive fire once again flaring to life. It pushed against the dense darkness fighting to consume her. The evil’s grip loosened. A brutal hand seized her hair and yanked. She tipped backward, sharp knees driving deep into her spine. Wetness spattered her face. Please don’t let that be blood. Her hands pawed her cheeks and frantically brushed the droplets from her face.

Brother Powell towered above her, hair dripping with rain and lips twisted in a contemptuous smile. Before she could scream, he jerked her head at a painful angle and wrapped his hand around her throat.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s come to save the day. I’m afraid you’re too late. And just to let you know,” he whispered in her ear, “Angela died an incredibly painful death.”

Shadows darkened the edges of Ravyn’s vision. The foul stench of his breath assaulted her. He shouldn’t be this close. He should never be this close.

She struck out with her elbow and landed a blow to his stomach. A grunt huffed behind her and the pressure on her head eased. She scrambled across the stone floor, trying to regain her footing, but the dense blackness sucked at her strength.

Curses and footsteps echoed from behind. Her desperate grab hooked the back of a pew, but weakness caused her fingertips to slip from the wood and she collapsed to the floor. Her lungs ached. Darkness crept through her body. She shoved against it, fighting to keep its invasion at bay, refusing to give in so easily.

Powell’s boot pressed into her behind, and with a hard thrust, he sent her sprawling across the aisle. Bent on deflecting his attack, she rolled to her back and kicked at him. His hand wrapped around her ankle. With a yank, she tried to break his hold, the feel of his fingers against her flesh making her skin crawl. His mouth stretched into a wicked grin as he dropped her foot and straddled her. He fisted two handfuls of hair and jerked her to her feet. She slapped at him, hoping for a solid hit, but her hands sliced through empty air.

He released her hair and backhanded her across the face. Pain shot through her jaw as her head snapped sideways. Her body crashed into a wooden bench and tumbled over the top. Tangled in her gray wool dress, she lay on the floor, unmoving.

Powell’s words penetrated her muddled haze. “Oh yes. Icarus will reward me well for you.”

She slowly rolled over and sat up. Bursts of heat sparked in her veins. She shivered at the commands of her powers as they pushed against her barrier. She wanted to give the fire its freedom but clamped down the urge. The coppery tang of blood coated her tongue and she swiped the trickle at the corner of her mouth. “What’s wrong, Brother? Are you tired of tormenting me?”

“That’s a pleasure I’ll never weary of. Unfortunately for you, somebody has made me an offer I cannot refuse.”

He was on her in five short strides, latching onto a handful of hair to drag her across the chapel floor. She’d not cry out and give him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt her.

Fire surged through her body. She shuddered against the force of the inferno, struggling to keep it restrained. Unlike him, she was no murderer.

Blindly, she grappled with both hands for Powell’s arm and found his wrist. She twisted, digging her heels into the uneven stones and pulling her and the monk to a stop.

She leapt to her feet, knocking the monk off balance. He released her hair and pivoted to face her but Ravyn held tight to his arm.

He glanced at his wrist and back to her face. “Is that your attempt at escape?” He yanked on his arm but she didn’t release him. “Really, Lady Ravyn, is that the best you can do?”

The power within her billowed, demanding its freedom. She captured his gaze.

His milky gray eyes widened. Tears. Torment. Wickedness.

Her rudimentary connection to him opened a torrent of suffering. His debauchery swallowed her. She sensed the fear of his victims, and she touched…nothing. Like a sucking void, a dense aura surrounded the monk.

Her anger swelled. She gripped his wrist tighter, determined to give him a taste of what roiled inside of her. Maybe in some small way she could avenge Angela’s death. What sweet ecstasy to burn this abomination of a man.

She concentrated her energy on his arm and forced her heat into him. The power rolled through her body. He fought to pull free but she squeezed harder, her heat increasing.

“Let go!” He tried to shake her free, but she remained unmoving and locked. Fire danced up his arm. He clawed at her fingers. “Let go!”

“See what awaits you beyond this life, Brother?” Emotions slipped away as the trance overtook her. “The fires of The Abyss burn without mercy.”

He screamed and dropped to his knees, the fire engulfing his hand. “You are Bane!”

His words leeched through the fiery spell holding her and took coherent form in her mind. He had called her a Bane. The slur struck close to the fears she kept buried about her powers. “It would serve you right if I killed you where you kneel.”

His face paled.

But this isn’t right, is it? Ravyn blinked and tried to clear her head. She walked a thin line, she knew. Her decision to do what was right—not what felt good—was what kept her in the light.

She watched the monk’s wrist begin to smolder. The smell of charred flesh fouled the air. The fury of her power intoxicated her with its heady domination. His cries echoed off the stone walls, and she peered at him through a haze of euphoria. How easy it would be to submit to the inferno’s demand for freedom.

She stopped and stared at the sight of his burned flesh. A mixture of repulsion and giddiness washed through her. Had she really done that? Her mind clawed its way back from the edge of insanity, an edgy, irrepressible laugh slipping free.

Powell was corrupt and evil. He deserved to die. But was she the one to take his life? She inhaled. No. This wasn’t her right. She pulled her heat back and slowly loosened one finger at a time and dropped his arm.

He crumpled and cradled his blistered wrist to his chest. Careful to keep her distance, she shuffled around him, her need to get away paramount. One more minute and she would’ve lit him up like a stack of dry wood. With unsteady steps, she retreated toward the door.

Her feet tangled in the folds of her skirt. She stumbled and grabbed a pew for balance. Rage and madness warred with her rational mind. She righted herself and continued her backward steps, widening the space between them.

“Look what you’ve done! Look what you’ve done to me!” He struggled to his knees. “If not for Icarus, you’d feel my retaliation. And trust me, my lady, I wouldn’t grant you the kindness of death.”

“Kindness? As if you know what that word means. Let me assure you, Brother, I’d rather be burned alive than endure any more of your kindness.”

“I’ll see you suffer. Listen to you scream as Icarus drains you.”

Fire pulled at her restraints. She held his gaze and slowly allowed the blaze to take control. There would be no talking her way out of this situation. The monk was mad. Her senses screamed a second before he lunged, but she’d already found her focus.

Powell’s movements slowed, his attack becoming exaggerated and predictable, like he struggled through viscous liquid. A blanket of silence cloaked her, dampening the angry cry he spewed. One…two…three. She counted her slowing heartbeat and concentrated on the center of his chest, sinking into a trance.

The fire took command, wielding her body as a weapon.

Her vision altered, and Powell ceased to be solid. Blues and greens swirled where his body had been. A black, snakelike entity slithered unheeded within the colors, and a ruby orb pulsed where the monk’s heart should have been.

Flame and light raced down her arm, gathering in her hand. She launched the energy toward the beating orb. The ball struck dead center and the black snake writhed as threads of lightning coursed through the colors.

Powell catapulted backward and bounced when he hit the stone floor. The swirling colors reverted to solid. He lay sprawled and unmoving.

Her heavy release of breath echoed through the chapel. Control gave way to rational thought, and her body began to shake. No line had existed between her and the fire. Never before had the power demanded her submission and compelled her to do its bidding.

Nausea washed over her. “Holy Mother. What should I do?”

The sight of Powell’s still form pulled at her and she crept forward, her muscles tense. She nudged him with her toe but he didn’t stir. Her question remained unanswered, but The Sainted Ones’ silence held all the condemnation she could bear. She rubbed her hands over her face.

Few knew of Brother Powell’s depraved character, but her strange ways and evil nature were well-known within the abbey. They would turn their accusations toward her first and his murder would be all the proof The Order needed for one of its sanctified demon hunts.

Until now, the abuse from Powell had been worth the food in her stomach and a roof over her head. Her life hadn’t been happy, but it was better than scrounging for survival in a world she knew nothing about. Inside the abbey, she was safe and she had the girls.

The girls. Who would protect them?

She hauled back and kicked him in the ribs. “Bastard.” She glanced at Angela. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

She gathered her heavy skirt and fled the chapel, racing down the dark corridors of the abbey. When she reached the wide staircase, she took the steps three at a time, her ascent resonating off the walls.

Blood pounded in her ears. She rushed into her cell and looked around. There wasn’t much to pack. The few items she owned were shoved into a bag and within seconds, she was ready.

An ancient tome lay open to the page she’d been examining before falling asleep. She slammed the cover closed and dumped the book into her sack. The minor theft of abbey property seemed insignificant at this point.

As a last thought, she grabbed her cloak and rushed toward the outer stairs that led away from the chapel. The steps blurred before her as she spiraled down and around the stone staircase. Panic beat against her, but she tamped down the alarm and locked away her fear.

She was fleeing the only home she’d ever known.

At the bottom of the stairs, she flung open the heavy door. The night and rain hit her like a physical assailant, threatening her bravery. She slipped into the shadows and plastered her body against the abbey wall. Her breathing came in short puffs. Keep my head. I must keep my head.

Foot by foot, she edged along the back of the building, mustering her courage for her final flight. A stray curl fell across her eyes and she pushed it away with a trembling hand. The chill air ruffled against her skin, pulling the heat from beneath her cloak. She gripped its edges and tugged the folds tighter around her, squinting at her destination.

She tucked the bag under her arm and took a deep breath. Hundreds of frantic butterflies beat inside her stomach and up into her throat. Everything familiar…gone. Ahead of her was the unknown, a faceless future…

It’s now or never.

Before doubt could rob her of her courage, she pushed away from the wall and sprinted for the gate. Cold mud splattered her legs. Her hood fell back and needles of icy rain pelted her face. Her frantic breathing swelled and mixed with the driving wind.

The thump of the chapel door echoed across the courtyard. The irritating bite reengaged, chewing and gnawing her arms. She kept running.

“Stop!”

Chapter Two

Thousands of chafing bites bristled against Rhys Blackwell’s skin, alerting him to the presence of a demon. The irritation was the most basic warning for a Bringer Shield, but after 300 years, he barely noticed the annoyance.

He waited within the trees, hidden from view and sheltered from the rain. He watched the abbey, but all was dark and silent now. His awareness raked the sky and woods around him, searching for the dense void of the Bane. He lived for the hunt, and though he tracked and dispatched the evil back to the Shadow World, the abominations couldn’t be killed.

At times, the heavy responsibility he imposed upon himself threatened to bend his fortitude, but he remained strong. He had no choice. It was no less than his father would have done. After all, the only thing standing between the humans and the Demon Bane was him—the last full-blooded Bringer, the protector of mankind.

His methodical sweep searched the landscape. For an instant, his scan touched a black void, but just as quickly, the vacuous aberration disappeared. This was a clever demon, possibly a Spoil, the most cunning and dangerous evil incarnate. He doubled his concentration, staying the dark impulse to hunt.

A second energy hummed against his body, lighter and more delicate. If not a demon, then what? Often times, when he patrolled the area around Menda Abbey, an unfamiliar presence tapped at the part of his psyche where impossible desires huddled, cold and forgotten. His honor wanted to claim he patrolled the area to protect the humans. Honor before self. But the second energy resonated on a level much deeper than duty. He fastened his mental shields in place, unwilling to submit to its allure.

He tensed and narrowed his gaze at a movement within the abbey grounds. Now, who would venture out on such a foul night besides the Demon Bane and me?

…

Ravyn turned to see Powell stumble from the chapel and limp into the open. His good hand clutched at his chest.

“No.” The word rushed from her, releasing the panic she had struggled to contain. “No. You’re dead—no, no, no.”

Powell’s limp turned into an uneven shuffle, picking up speed across the courtyard.

Run.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins.

Run.

Powell’s shouts from behind propelled her forward.

Run!

Mud gave way under her feet. She slid, her body slamming against the gate and toppling into the muck. Panic drained coherent thought, replacing it with the simple act of survival. The heat of her energy slipped away like a coward fleeing a fight. She struggled to her feet, the metal bar scraping her skin as she grabbed the iron for support. She would not fall apart.

She looked back and saw Powell slip in the mud and fall to his knees. Within seconds, he was back on his feet, his course and purpose clear. The gate’s tall spires towered above her. She braced herself and heaved her bag over the top.

A wide reservoir ran directly under the gate, the trench dug deeper by the wheels of many wagons. She stepped into the hole to gauge its depth and gritted her teeth against the numbing cold of the water.

He was almost upon her.

She grasped the iron bars and stepped out to crouch at the water’s edge. The inky black liquid rippled below, its bitter embrace waiting for her body. She unhooked her cloak, letting the wrap fall, and eased to the ground next to the trench. Cold sludge pressed against her back, finding its way between the threads of fabric to her bare skin. Shivers splayed along her neck and arms, the smell of mud filling her nose.

She slipped into the water and gasped. The icy wet blanket flowed over her and through her dress. Every inch of her skin quivered in protest. The points of the gate hung under the water’s surface, jabbing her legs as she shimmied them under the barrier first, testing the space.

She sucked in a deep breath and submerged her head in the dirty water, pushing under the gate. The tips of the iron spikes scraped her forehead, but she didn’t stop until she surfaced on the other side, gasping and sputtering.

Powell hit the gate and dropped to his knees, frantically grabbing for her foot or a handful of material. She kicked at him and rolled away, putting as much distance as possible between them.

“Get back here!” He stood and tested the depth of the ditch. “Icarus, she’s escaping!”

The sodden wool wound around Ravyn’s legs as she gained her feet and backed away. She swiped at the mass of dirt and hair plastered against her eyes, praying he didn’t possess the only key to the gate.

“You can’t run!” Powell rattled the metal bars. He braced his foot against the gate and kicked, but the lock held. He shook the bars again. “He wants you, Lady Ravyn. You’ll never escape.”

She ignored his taunt and scooped up her belongings. With a quick tug, she secured the ties, tucked the bag under her arm, and limped toward the rutted road.

“Get back here!” Powell raged.

Thunder sounded above her, and the black sky and rain obscured her vision. Heat prickled along her arms, telling her more than her eyes ever could. The irritation intensified and spread up her shoulders. She stopped in the center of the path and glanced at the monk, but his attention was not on her.

As he stared at the night sky, his mouth thinned in a cruel smile. “You’re no longer on holy ground, my lady.” His taunt rolled toward her, turning her already chilled blood to ice. “All the worse for you.”

A strange presence pushed at her mind. The pressure hummed on a different vibration from what she’d experienced in the chapel—not malevolent, but still dark.

She pushed back. Pressure thrummed against the inside of her skull. “Get out.”

The force retreated.

The thunder roared above her, drawing her attention to a physical danger. Her fire flared, speeding heat the length of her body. She swiveled and blasted the air, but struck nothing. She shuddered and wrestled to control the energy.

Night masked all that wanted to be hidden. She turned in a circle and scanned the sky, dread tightening in the pit of her stomach. Someone besides Powell hid in the dark. Better to flee than fight the unknown.

She spun and ran, but only made it two steps before something large hit her from behind and knocked her to her knees. Her bag flew from her grasp. Heavy wings knocked her sideways.

Powell’s laugh billowed from behind her. “Yes, yes. Oh, this is too perfect.” He shook the bars violently. “You’ve merely escaped the cat to be caught by the hawk, Lady Ravyn.”

She struggled to her feet and shot another ball of energy blindly into the night. Her mind searched for a sliver of reality within the unfolding nightmare. Throbbing fire nullified some of her panic. With hands held ready, she stood. Her heat burned from the inside out. She clenched and unclenched her fists as it coiled through her body.

The blackness of the night thickened. Thudding wings echoed from all directions. Her attacker was everywhere and nowhere. She turned to follow the sound. Without warning, the creature dropped from the sky.

Large talons drove deep into her flesh and latched onto her shoulders. She stumbled forward, screams ripping from her throat. The creature held tight, dragging her through the mud. With each powerful stroke of the monster’s wings she slowly ascended.

Skin and muscle tore. Warm blood flowed down her chest as she swung helplessly, pinned by the talons. The edges of her senses dimmed. She battled unconsciousness, though she didn’t know why. Unconsciousness would free her.

New thunder penetrated her torment. The noise pounded out a different rhythm than that of the large, black wings above her. The thumping grew louder and she squinted into the darkness. Her eyes fluttered closed, certain the dark form racing toward her was the Angel of Death coming to carry her away.

Something collided with the demon, knocking them all toward the ground. The creature’s talons gouged deeper into her flesh as it attempted to keep its hold. It screeched above her, twisting to find the new attacker.

Screams peeled from her throat, the torture unending and inescapable. Her vision blurred and refocused. The monster ascended again, lifting her with it. Like a rag doll, she hung from its grasp, unable to move; sure her body was ripping in two. She closed her eyes and prayed for death.

A flash of orange flared behind her closed lids, the crackle of fire erupting around her. Heat singed her cheeks. She dragged her eyes open as her attacker released a ball of fire into the black sky, but hit nothing. Another blow from the invisible assailant pummeled the creature.

The demon released its hold and Ravyn plummeted toward the ground. Something black captured her, cushioning her fall as she hit the soggy earth and continued to roll. The breath rushed from her body. With barely enough time for thought, Ravyn registered that a man, not the monster, held her.

He rolled to his feet, and ran toward the trees, taking her with him. Ravyn held on to a thin thread of consciousness. None too gracefully, he deposited her in a mass of brambles and raced away again.

Sounds unlike anything she had ever heard echoed around her. She lay unmoving within the feeble protection of the foliage. Death neared. As the fight to live ebbed, so did her pain. Peace encompassed her. The noise of battle faded to a distant muffle. She watched a leaf dance in the falling droplets of rain and waited for the dark angel’s embrace.

No longer in control, her soul shifted and pulled free of her body. She drifted away from her limp form and the fight that raged several yards away. Her soul hovered, held to her physical body by a single delicate thread. Need to pass through the Veil called to her.

The man was suddenly standing over her body. “Don’t leave me.”

His command broke through the muffled haze surrounding her spirit. The need to obey him warred with the desire to be free of the physical world. The stranger’s body began to glow with amber light. Copper and gold flecks swirled within his growing radiance. It reached toward her in the darkness.

She recoiled from his light, somehow knowing it would hurt. His brightness flared and captured her soul. She fought against his control. Please, don’t make me return.

His distant voice yanked her from the peace she craved. “Don’t you leave me!”

She strained to drag her spirit from his will and go where there was no pain, but his commands ordered her to return to the fight.

His power poured into her and filled her with a strength she didn’t want, but her traitorous body drank deep. She gorged herself on his healing light, which saturated her dying body.

Heaviness pressed her. Golden cords of light wrapped and tightened around her ankles, wrenching her spirit toward her limp form. She fought the pull, but the increasing speed and force slammed into her corporeal body. Her physical form awakened and took command of her spirit.

Air poured into her lungs as she broke through the surface that separated the living from the dead. Pain and panic once again gripped her. “The creature?” She coughed. “Powell?”

The stranger crouched beside her but didn’t touch her. “Gone, but not for long.”

Chapter Three

Agony mired in determination stared at Rhys through ice-blue eyes. The demon’s attack had taken its toll on the girl and with every second, her defensive wall weakened. Pain—her pain—drummed against his mind as her mental shield crumbled. Hiccups of energy escaped like puffs of steam with each spasm that wracked her body.

What was she? The fire she’d shot into the sky suggested a full-blooded Bringer.

“Can you stand?”

“No.” The word sounded raw, as if it grated against her throat.

He reached to touch her but stopped when her eyes rounded with fear. “I won’t harm you. I need to get you away from the road and hidden. Can you trust me?”

Her nod was barely discernible, but he took the small movement as a yes.

He slipped an arm around her back and lifted her into a sitting position. The contact roused a long-forgotten thirst he hadn’t experienced in decades. A familiar nudge pressed against his psyche. Now in her presence, with her in his arms, he knew she was the force that had drawn him to the abbey. The connection was undeniable, though denying it was exactly what he tried to do.

He tethered his thoughts and stood. The prickling of the Bane still lightly played along his arms. He scanned the area but saw no sign of the monk or Icarus. He shifted her in his arms and she stiffened. A visceral protectiveness rose inside Rhys at her discomfort. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m all right.” Such brave words spoken with frail conviction. The lethargy in her voice belied the truth—if he didn’t heal her soon, she’d die. Her head lolled against his shoulder and her arms lay limp in her lap. Blood soaked through her dress. Eventually, her body would give up its fight. Desperation flowed into him as quickly as the sands of her life spilled out.

Rhys cut a path through the thick woods, where the dense canopy of leaves shielded them from the rain and searching eyes. He dodged trees and brambles, but stumps and deadfalls hampered his progress.

He knelt and settled her against a large oak. Soft black curls brushed his cheek, the feel like fingertips lightly playing across his skin. A hint of lavender mingled with the scent of mud and wet wool. She was too small, too weak, and he was too aware of how perfect she felt in his arms. Many years had passed since he’d last caressed the rounded contour of a shapely hip or sank into the softness only a woman could provide. Thoughts like these rattled his dedication to duty and honor. He pushed his musings to the place he rarely visited.

“Lean back so I can take care of your wounds.” Healing came naturally to him, but for the extent of her injuries, his skills were inadequate. He hoped the treatment would sustain her until they reached safety.

Her eyes searched his face. “Why—” She swallowed hard. “Why help me?”

How could he answer this question for her when he couldn’t answer it for himself? This is what I do? This is who I am? The reply seemed insufficient. “You’re in need and I’m here.”

She covered his hand with hers. Her touch released a longing for what could never be. Desire swarmed unbidden through the hollow part of his soul he’d thought long dead. “It’s not safe.”

Unable to deny himself, he took her hand. “No, my lady, it’s not safe. What kind of a man would I be to leave you defenseless and hurt?”

He knew nothing of this woman except that she was no mere human. Icarus wanted her, thus adding to her mystery. Rhys didn’t like unanswered questions. Why does she have the power of fire? Is she a Bringer? With great effort he eased open his fingers and released her hand, already missing her touch.

The bushes behind him rustled and he stood, taking a defensive stance. He held up his hand to silence her words. No hint of the Bane nipped his skin or wafted in the air. That didn’t mean the monk hadn’t followed them.

From the darkness emerged a black warhorse. Rhys smiled, walked to the animal, and rubbed its ears. “I’m glad to see you’re unscathed by the demon, Sampson.”

Sampson nickered and tilted his head to receive the full benefit of Rhys’s attention. His constant companion, the horse lived and fought alongside him, and on a deeper level, kept the loneliness at bay.

Rhys moved to the horse’s side and untied a blanket from behind the saddle. Digging inside his saddlebag, he searched for the few healing supplies he carried. Before the unexpected detour to the abbey, he’d been on his way to restock his provisions. Though not invincible, he rarely had need of them. And because he avoided interaction with humans, the opportunities to heal were few.

He removed a tear-shaped glass glowb and a small bundle from the bag. After peeling back the oilcloth, he examined the salve and antiseptic. Meager. The medicine would be sufficient until they arrived at the inn—provided there were no more interruptions.

With great care, he laid out each item on a flat rock near the tree. Two golden pendants with crystal centers, a vial of clear liquid, a small jar of salve, and several cloth strips comprised his medicinal cache. He lifted a pendant and hung the chain around his neck. After picking up the other necklace, he squatted in front of her. “May I put this on you?”

She eyed it suspiciously. “Why?”

He held it closer for her to see. “It’s a healing crystal. I can’t guarantee a full recovery, but it’ll help ease some of your discomfort.”

She dipped her head forward in consent and he draped the long chain on her, settling it between her breasts. Her thumb caressed the golden body of the dragon that cradled the crystal and held the stone in place. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was my mother’s.” A fact he’d never shared with anybody. “My name is Rhys.”

Before she could reply her back arched away from the tree as if burned by the trunk. He grabbed her upper arms, unsure of whether he tried to comfort or steady her. Stiff limbs fought against his hold. Tiny tremors rippled along her muscles. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream.

He sank next to her in the wet leaves and took her into his arms. What good were all his powers of protection and centuries of experience if he couldn’t spare her pain? As the spasm passed he relaxed, but his relief was short-lived. A fit of coughing besieged her and all he could do was hold her until the attack eased.

When the coughing subsided, she lay heavily in his arms. He brushed the damp hair from her forehead and flinched. Heat radiated against his palm. After easing her against the tree, he slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face. Flushed cheeks and glassy eyes heralded the onset of a fever. Her condition was deteriorating much too quickly.

He pitched his voice low. “What’s your name?”

Uncomprehending eyes stared at him and he knew she didn’t see him.

“What’s your name?”

She shifted her gaze to meet his eyes but said nothing.

Desperation pulled at him. He would save her. “What is your name?”

After several seconds, she whispered, “Ravyn.”

His shoulders relaxed. “I’m going to heal you, Ravyn. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“I need you to stay awake. Can you do that?”

Not waiting for her response, he opened himself to the healing spirits. Ancient words flowed from his memory and trickled over his lips. The chant’s resonance tuned itself to the surroundings. It coaxed energy from the trees, animals, and even the rain. He closed his eyes and offered himself as a vessel to the spirits.

The breeze buffeted his hair, the entities’ dance building in intensity. The song from the creatures of the forest crested over his melodic chant. The woods pulsed with life, the spirits calling on each animal, insect, and plant to give of itself and share its energy with a dying girl.

Without hesitation, the creatures gave. Without expectation, they gave. Without judgment, they gave. If only all living beings gifted so freely.

Ageless intelligence encircled the camp, charging the air around them. Harmony ebbed and flowed. Songlike voices blended with the blue haze building in his mind. Trails of golden light flooded from him and every living thing, like healing rivers. The glow penetrated Ravyn and saturated each cell of her body, reviving her.

Her need called upon him to give selflessly. She devoured the rejuvenating essence. The ritual connected them in a way he’d never connected with another person. Lulled by the union, he dropped his barriers and gave all to Ravyn. Such beauty. If only he could stay here forever and leave the ugly, cold world behind.

Too quickly, the golden light flickered and dimmed, pulling away from Ravyn and leaving his body. The music of the forest faded. As the last spirits dissolved, the blackness of the night settled upon them and swallowed the last bit of their warmth and solace.

He opened his eyes and placed a hand to her forehead. Cool. “Are you all right?”

Ravyn stared, wide-eyed and openmouthed. She sat up. “What happened?”

“My feeble attempt to heal you. I’m afraid my skills are minimal. How do you feel?”

She swallowed hard. “Better, thank you.”

He relaxed. She was awake and talking coherently, all good signs.

He picked up the tear-shaped glowb and cupped it in his hands. With pursed lips, he gently blew on the glass. A pinprick of light radiated at the heart of the teardrop. He blew again. The tiny white flower in the center flared to life, casting a luminescence bright enough for him to see her injuries. The white light spilled across Ravyn’s torso.

Her eyes grew wide. “Magic?”

“I suppose it’s a bit like magic.” He held out the glass to her. “The Illuminara petals glow when warmed.”

She made no response, only eyed him warily. He set the glowb on a ground next to her. “Are you in pain?”

“Yes, but not like before.”

“I wish my friend Nattie were here. She’s a great healer.”

“Better than you?”

He smiled and brushed a wet lock of hair from her face. “My talents are a disgrace compared to her abilities.”

She grimaced. “That’s hard to believe.”

He selected a cloth strip and dipped it in the antiseptic. “I’m going to place these bandages over your injuries. I’ll be quick, but you’ll need to remove your dress from your shoulders.”

She stared, taking his measure. He held her gaze. If the woman hadn’t been injured he was certain she would have bolted like a spooked horse. After several seconds, she gave a slight nod. Her fingers tugged at the tie on the front of her gown, but the cord tangled. She yanked harder. His fingers itched to help, but he didn’t offer. Despite her best effort, she only managed to turn the bow into a knotted mess.

Defeated, she lowered her hands and looked at him. “Please?”

Rhys deftly unraveled the knot and loosened the laces. Ravyn arched away from his touch as he eased the bloody material from her shoulders. The foreign awareness taunted him. He flattened his palm against her skin and slid the neck of her dress lower, making sure to avoid the open wounds. The bodice came to rest halfway down the swell of her breasts.

He swallowed. Yes, it had been too long.

Ravyn glanced at her injuries and gasped. Blood smeared her shoulders and chest. The ragged and torn flesh puckered around her puncture wounds. “Holy Mother!”

“Lean forward, I want to see your other wounds.”

She bent and he shifted to peer over her back. Her arm pressed into his chest and a mixture of mud and lavender teased his nose. Warm, slick skin grazed his fingers. He tilted his face into her hair and inhaled.

Her voice rumbled softly against his chest. “Are they bad?”

He held her scent for a second longer before sitting back on his heels. “They’re clean, but deep. They’ll need stitching, but not here. We’ll travel to an inn after you’ve rested a bit.”

The pitch of her voice rose an octave. “Stitching?”

“Without it, infection may set in.”

“Will your friend Nattie be at the inn?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He paused, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re not afraid of a little needle, are you?”

She blurted her answer without any sign of shame. “I’d rather go another round with that creature than have you stick me with a needle.”

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you didn’t fare very well in the fight.”

“It took me by surprise.”

“Yes, that’s usually the point of an attack.”

Her posture stiffened. “I can take care of myself.”

He recognized pride when he heard it and he had just stepped all over hers. Perhaps riling her would rouse her fighting spirit. He laced his neutral tone with a hint of sarcasm. “Like you did tonight?”

If possible, her spine straightened even more. “I’m not without skills. I have…talents.”

“Talents? That sounds mysterious.” He held up a cloth strip saturated in the antiseptic and laid the bandage across her wound. “These will help with the healing.”

“Holy Sainted Ones, it burns.” Her outrage bounced off the surrounding trees. “That’s worse than being stitched up. You could have warned me first.”

A faint vapor of steam rose from her dress. Rhys frowned. “And lose the element of surprise? What kind of a warrior would I be if I did that?”

He wasn’t sure but he thought she growled at him. Despite his efforts to keep the mood light, the pain on her face summoned his sympathy. Battle wounds were nothing new for him, their pain a reminder of his duty. He rarely thought about the punishment he heaped on his body. But for someone small and delicate like Ravyn, living through an attack from Icarus garnered both his assistance and his respect.

He held another dripping strip between his fingers. “Are there any other holy spirits you wish to invoke before I lay this on you?”

She pinched her lips together and shook her head. A hiss squeezed out when the cloth touched her wound. He wrapped a long, dry cloth around the wet strips and neatly tied off the end. He repeated the process on her other shoulder, receiving the same fervent exclamations from his patient.

When finished, he examined his handiwork. “That should do until we get to the inn.”

She gingerly prodded the bandage. “Inn?”

“Yes.” He pinned her with a stare, sensing her reluctance. “You need to heal and it’s not safe here.”

Ravyn glanced away and seemed to focus on her injuries. “What was that thing that attacked me?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.” She continued to examine the bandages a little too intently. When he didn’t answer, she finally looked up. “What?”

How could she not know? “It was a Demon Bane.”

She gave an unladylike snort. “The Bane? They’re just a myth used to scare children into behaving. They’re not real.” She paused, her expression growing serious. “Are they?”

“I assure you that they are very real, my lady.” He pointed to the bandages. His gaze didn’t waver.

She shook her head as if the idea wouldn’t take hold. “But why would it be after me?”

“My question exactly.”

“Well I certainly don’t know.” Her gaze searched his face. “I’ve lived my entire life in Menda Abbey. This is the first time I can remember being outside the gates. I was never allowed.” She shivered. “I left because of Brother Powell.”

“Was he the man at the gate?”

“Yes. He’s a monk at the abbey.”

“He knew Icarus.”

Her brow furrowed. “Icarus?”

“The demon.”

She searched the darkness around them, her eyes widening in alarm. How could she not be frightened with everything she’d been through tonight? His Shield intuition told him he’d stumbled onto more than a simple demon attack. Whether for her own good or not, it appeared Ravyn had been held as a willing prisoner at the abbey. And with Icarus’s assault, Rhys could only assume the location of her imprisonment was the key: sanctified ground. The Bane couldn’t enter, and if she’d never left, she would have been safe.

Her gaze drifted back to him but her voice dropped to a whisper. “I never realized how evil Powell was until tonight. He killed my friend. She’s dead because of me.”

Tears brimmed but refused to spill. She looked at her hands and sniffed, perhaps to hide her grief. Rhys admired her strength of will, no matter how misguided. She was a strong and caring friend, a leader who didn’t run from a fight. Those traits would be good qualities. If he could direct them in a useful way.

He leaned closer and lifted her chin so their eyes met. “Do not claim responsibility for other people’s actions. Taking on the sorrows of the world will cripple you and eventually drive you mad.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Do you speak from experience?”

His throat tightened. How many decades had it been since somebody looked at him with such open compassion? Like the stone that disturbs a glassy lake, her concern sent ripples deep and wide.

When he said nothing, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree. “So why would the Demon Bane want me? I’m nobody of importance.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He stood and walked to Sampson, placing the medical supplies and glowb back in his saddlebag. “If the demon had been a Deceiver or an Enticer, I might agree the Bane were merely having sport. But the demon who attacked you was Icarus, second-in-command of the entire Demon Bane. He’s a Spoil, one of the first true Bane. They’re capable of soul-stealing. Once stolen, the soul will never find its way through the Veil. It stays locked forever in the Shadow World.”

“Angela.” Her words hitched in her throat. Two tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes and looked at him. “When I touched her all I felt was a crushing blackness.”

He didn’t react to the information she had unknowingly revealed. A piece of her puzzle fell into place. Was she a Bringer? Her ability to know and feel things by touch would mark her as a Bringer Tell.

He knelt in front of her and brushed away a tear with the pad of his thumb. His words sounded empty, but he needed her to stay strong. “There was nothing you could do. I’ve fought thousands of demons and I assure you, they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. The Bane want you. If it hadn’t been Angela it would have been somebody else.”

Round, pale-blue eyes stared back at him.

He held her gaze, wanting her to understand the importance of what he said. “You must believe and remember that the demons will stop at nothing.”

The battle between guilt and the desire to believe him played across her face. “You’re not safe, then?”

He smiled. “My lady, I’m never safe from the Bane. Now, sit forward so I can help you with your dress.”

His fingers brushed her skin as he tugged the coarse wool back into place. She winced, slowing the material’s climb. Though he tried, he couldn’t prevent his eyes from wandering to the round swells of her breasts. Knowing his lust still thrived comforted him. Too bad it decided to come alive at such an inappropriate time. He ran his hand down her sleeve. “Your dress is dry.” He met her eyes. “And very warm.”

She caressed the fabric of her bodice, oblivious to what the sight of her hands running over her breasts stirred in him. She smiled with too much innocence. “How odd.”

Curiosity replaced his twinge of desire when he thought of the wisps of steam he’d seen rising from the wet fabric not five minutes earlier. What was she? “Does this happen often?”

“It’s never happened before.”

Her words sounded truthful—to a certain extent. She hid something. He unrolled the blanket and laid it over her. “This will keep you warm and your wounds hidden until I can find you new clothes. Try to sleep. We’ll have to move soon enough to get you to safety.”

“What place could possibly be safe from that demon?”

He pointed in the abbey’s direction. “There’s the closest place. But I’m afraid it’s been compromised by the monk. We’ll restock our supplies at an inn. They’re friends, and I can protect you there until you’re well enough to travel.”

“I’m not your burden to undertake.”

He recognized the digging-in of stubborn heels when he heard it. If she believed she put him in danger, her obstinacy would grow. “You’re no burden. If the Bane are involved, I’m involved.”

“Why is that? It seems an unlikely coincidence that you just happened by in my time of need. I might have grown up in an abbey, but I’m not stupid.”

“Agreed, my lady.”

“Are the Bane after you also?”

“Always. The Demon Bane are always after me.”

“Then perhaps you’re not the best companion for me.”

He couldn’t agree more, if the desire she stirred in him was any indication. “Perhaps, but I’m currently the only person around who’s not trying to kill you. Your options are somewhat limited.”

“But my concerns are valid,” she mumbled.

Her need to protect him was endearing, even if misplaced. “I’m quite able to take care of myself and you.” He took a deep breath and slowed his words in hopes of putting an end to their debate. “If Icarus wants you enough to execute the abduction himself, you must be important. If you stay here, he’ll find you. You’re unable to protect yourself and it’s my duty to protect you.”

“Don’t speak to me as if I’m stupid,” she snapped. “I can protect myself far better than you know.”

“Really?” Making her angry might get him some of the information he wanted. “How?”

She rolled her lips as if all her secrets itched to spew forth.

“I won’t deny there is something very special about you, Ravyn. In time I hope you’ll come to trust me.”

She glared at him.

“Now rest.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

He cut her off. “Rest.”

Her mouth opened again.

“Silently.”

Ravyn pressed her lips together and thumped against the tree, flinching when her shoulder hit the bark. “Every day at the abbey I was told what to do, where to go, or how to act. Just once I’d like to do things my way without regard for anybody else’s opinion.”

A smile threatened as Rhys nodded. “It’s a good goal to strive for. Just not tonight.”

She harrumphed but said nothing more.

He massaged the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders to loosen some of his tension. Everything about this situation chafed. It was never good when the Bane plotted, but what concerned him most was Icarus’s involvement. What did the demon want with Ravyn?

He watched her scan the darkness with a haunted stare. It looked like neither of them would get much sleep tonight.

Chapter Four

Icarus’s limping footsteps echoed off the pillars of rock as he descended deeper into the Shadow World. Imps clung like spiders to the sloped, jagged ceiling, while lesser demons flattened their bodies against the wall or pressed into the deep crevices, scattering to clear his path.

He blasted one of the few torches along the passage. The pitch sparked to life and bathed the shaft in golden light. This place was always so damn cold and it didn’t seem to bother anybody but him. Another difference between him and the mutts.

His knee buckled, but he caught himself before he fell. “Bloody Bringer,” he growled.

The number of humans Icarus had converted faded with time, as did their faces. His existence was perpetual and, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember the beginning of his life.

Each day was the same—one mission melding into the other, always for the favor of the king, his father, and always falling short. Perhaps if he delivered the woman, he’d finally gain Vile’s approval.

The scaly, deformed back of a large demon blocked Icarus’s path. His foul mood churned and roiled. He needed—no, wanted—a fight. The overwhelming desire to strike was all the permission he required. Icarus grabbed the unsuspecting creature by the blunt horns and hurled its bulk into the nearest stone wall.

He didn’t look back. And he didn’t feel any better.

A roar of outrage echoed behind him, filling the narrow corridor. He stopped. Yes, this was what he craved. A chance to inflict the same kind of punishing blows he’d received tonight. An opportunity to work off some of his frustration before facing his father. He turned toward the massive demon. This brute wasn’t one of his conversions. Not that it mattered. Demons didn’t indulge in the practice of alliance and friendship. Every Bane for itself.

Recognition registered on the monster’s face. Fear mixed with deference transformed the demon’s expression from ferocity to one of compliance. The creature quickly bowed its head in submission.

Icarus sneered. He wanted a fight. Not acquiescence.

“Did you wish to say something, mutt?” He drew out the slur, hoping to goad the beast into a fight.

The shadow of the hulking demon danced up the glistening cavern wall.

It huffed, but kept its head down. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Icarus’s calculated steps brought him inches from the cowering demon. Its bristly hair rubbed against his forehead. The beast’s foul breath spattered his face, but he didn’t flinch. “Because a few seconds ago you seemed keen on taking my head. Do you want to take my head…mutt?”

Rocks scattered at the hovering imps’ hasty retreat. Low, panting growls rolled inside the creature’s chest, but the threat remained unvoiced. The faint ping of dripping water marked the seconds. Would the monster do what came naturally and strike out?

He dearly hoped so.

To the creature’s credit, it kept its eyes low and its voice compliant. “No,” it grunted.

Icarus pressed his chest against the brute’s bulging arm, purposely trying to provoke a brawl. The creature didn’t move. After several charged seconds, Icarus stepped back, disappointed. He’d get no relief here. He stomped down the passage, his heavy footfalls crushing rock to dust. Nobody stopped him.

The tunnel’s course descended the last level to the throne room, where his father waited. Facing Vile was unpleasant at the best of times. Icarus mentally replayed the scene from the abbey. The loss of the woman wouldn’t go unpunished. With Blackwell involved, his mission had just gone from difficult to dangerous. Before tonight, he hadn’t realized just how powerful the Bringer was.

“Wise to keep your secrets,” he mumbled. “But why reveal yourself tonight?” He pondered the question. Was it just the woman or something more?

The cavernous throne room loomed ahead. He slowed at the edge of the light that spilled from the archway entrance. His stomach threatened to revolt against the pungent smell of rotting meat. Demons of every shape and size littered the chamber. They were a disgusting lot, fighting and fornicating like wild animals. Much like parasites, they pissed on and ate everything in sight. How could his father tolerate them?

He shifted to take refuge in the shadows and bring Vile into view. His father lounged against his infamous throne, said to be constructed from the bones of the Bringers he’d personally killed. The Demon King reclined in glorious splendor with three female demons fawning at his feet. One succubus draped her near-naked form across Vile’s lap, cooing and stroking a black curved talon across his muscular chest.

Rarely did the king lift a talon to further the Banes’ cause. He still basked in the glory of his near annihilation of the Bringers, a coup he’d led over 300 years ago that had landed him on the throne. Vile proclaimed his service to the Bane fulfilled, and the time had come for the demons to serve him. He took particular joy in reminding Icarus of his purpose within the Bane—to fulfill the king’s every need.

Things would be very different if Icarus were Demon King. He wouldn’t be satisfied with the little bit of chaos his minions spread. He’d rule not only the Shadow World, but all the upper territories as well. He’d take a queen.

The Bringer woman’s image flittered through his mind before he could suppress the thought. A tidal wave of yearning surged through him. There had been times in his life—too many times—when intense feelings nearly crippled him. Random events and ideas evoked emotions akin to memory and want. Now, like every other time before, he thrust the bitter longing back into the dark crypt that housed this shame. He locked anger and ardor away, ignoring a part of himself too caustic to explore.

His focus traveled back to the throne room. Large stalactites hung like giant fangs from the high ceilings, dripping as if in anticipation of his entrance into the mouth of the beast. With great effort he ignored the pain in his leg and marched from the shadows, stopping in front of his father. His body flowed into a deep, respectful bow. He said nothing, only waited for Vile’s acknowledgment.

“Icarus, you’re back,” the king drawled.

He straightened. “I am, my lord.”

The king eyed him. “Are you injured?”

“Nothing life threatening, I assure you, my lord.”

“Then why have you arrived empty-handed?” The king circled the succubus’s dark brown nipple with his talon. “Am I foolish to expect success when I give you such a simple task?”

“A simple task turned difficult.” Icarus kept his tone even. The ground upon which he walked was tenuous, and it did no good to raise Vile’s hackles.

“Difficult? How?” The king’s voice remained casual, but the stillness of his exploring hand betrayed his interest.

“Rhys Blackwell rescued the Bringer woman.” He kept his explanation concise, knowing his father didn’t like excuses. Things about tonight’s encounter plagued him, something about the events didn’t sit well, but he wouldn’t voice his concerns until he had more answers. “I was unable to obtain her.”

“Unable?” Vile cocked his head, his eyes growing wide. His hand continued its exploration of the female’s body. “Surely one Bringer and a little woman weren’t a match for my fiercest warrior?”

The demons turned from their feasting to watch his humiliation, their laughter rippling through the crowd. Icarus ground his fangs, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Degradation at his father’s hand was nothing new, and this trivial insult didn’t disturb him. But being laughed at by a bunch of filthy animals did.

Perhaps his new information would silence their amusement. “The Blackwell Bringer has the power of fire like me.”

“What?” Vile hissed and rose, pushing the female from his lap. He stepped over the now-shrieking succubus, his blue-black wings flaring, their spiked tips extended as if to attack. “How can this be? No Bringer has that power unless they’re a full-blood.” He looked just past Icarus’s head. “Or a Bane,” he added in what sounded like an afterthought. “You’re mistaken.”

Icarus dipped his head in acquiescence. “Perhaps, Father, but as a result, they escaped.” He stood his ground, not wanting to enrage his father but not wanting to appear weak, either.

“It can’t be.” Vile paced along his dais, his steps reverberating through the now silent hall. “How?” He paused, looking directly at Icarus. His wings expanded in excitement. “Perhaps it was the woman. Perhaps her powers are greater than I originally believed.”

Icarus held his father’s yellow gaze but did not contradict or agree with his speculation. It hadn’t been the female who attacked him. Of this, he was certain. Her injuries had been too severe. He’d been surprised by Blackwell’s presence at the abbey and unprepared for the raw purity of his power. The Bringer would prove a worthy adversary in the battle for the girl’s soul.

“What do you propose, Father?”

Vile folded his wings and settled onto his throne. “Find them. Take a pod of infantry demons. I want her.”

The succubus crawled through the dirt and rotten debris scattered across the floor. With a simper, she cowered at the king’s feet, stroking his leg in an attempt to regain his favor. He ignored her.

“No more excuses, Icarus. I want the woman.” He tapped a long talon on the bleached bone arm of the throne. “This time I will annihilate everybody who possesses so much as a drop of Bringer blood in their veins.”

“As you wish, my king.”

Icarus pivoted and limped toward the stone archway, baring his fangs and growling at the filthy mob. Demons scattered, pushing and falling over one another, which incited a riot in Icarus’s wake. He ignored them and forcibly ejected any demon too slow or too stupid to move from his path.

He’d get the woman, and his father’s approval. At any cost.

Chapter Five

“Ravyn, wake up. We have to go.”

Goosebumps rose unbidden at the thought of tossing back the borrowed cover. Couldn’t she sleep a little longer? She cracked open her eyes and squinted at the unfamiliar surroundings. No hint of dawn filtered through the trees. High above, rain pattered against nature’s roof. The ground’s cool embrace stretched beneath her, but the thick blanket trapped the heat from her body, cocooning her.

His hand cupped her cheek, the warmth a glaring contrast to the cold wake-up she’d always received at the abbey. “We need to move before daybreak.”

Rhys sounded tired, and she suspected he’d stood guard all night. Events of the previous evening rushed back and extinguished her exhaustion. Her eyes tracked along his arm to his handsome face. She lived, thanks to this man.

She shifted. Every muscle throbbed, every bone ached, and every inch of skin recoiled from the slightest brush of a breeze. Tight tendons protested as she slowly uncurled her legs from their fetal position. Her body felt like a team of runaway horses had dragged her for miles over the uneven and rutted road.

“We need to move while we still have the cover of darkness. We’re an easy target if we stay here.”

She bit back a moan and levered herself into a sitting position, hating to appear weak. But even more than that, she hated the pity in his eyes.

He stared at her, his amber gaze fixed and harder than she liked. “You’re in no condition for a long journey. The inn is but a few hours’ ride from here. There you can rest and heal.”

She’d never depended on anyone, let alone a complete stranger. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

She cleared her throat. “For being a burden.”

He smiled, and his beauty hit her full force. She leaned away, as if by putting inches between them, his handsomeness would settle to a more realistic state. It didn’t. Had his eyes been this deep gold last night? His black hair fell in glossy sheets past his shoulder blades. Thin red cords tied off the ends of a braid woven at each temple. Ravyn curled her fingers around the blanket to stay their wayward desire to touch the strands. What was wrong with her? Perhaps she’d hit her head harder than she thought last night.

In her defense, no man she’d ever seen at the abbey looked this handsome, especially after getting caught in the rain. She’d once thought Mr. Trudeau, the farrier, handsome in a rugged way. Admittedly, she’d developed a bit of a crush on him, but her ardor had been short-lived. Unbeknownst to her, until she accidentally stumbled upon the scene, the farrier had made a practice of giving Sister Agnes a little extra service in the barn after tending to the horses. The image of Mr. Trudeau’s white buttocks pumping back and forth, and Sister Agnes’s booted feet bouncing over his shoulders, had burned itself into her mind. A large chunk of her innocence had been ripped from her that day.

Heat crept up her cheeks, and she scolded herself for such sinful thoughts. She turned away, resisting the urge to fan herself. Bless The Sainted Ones, the man even smelled nice—clean and wild.

She jumped when he slid his hand around her waist to help her rise. The feel of him pressed intimately against her body nearly paralyzed her. If she discounted Brother Powell, Rhys was the first man who had ever touched her.

He seemed oblivious to his effect on her, thankfully. Surely she would burn in The Abyss for the small thrill lilting through her.

Unable to avoid touching him, she held onto his arm and let the pain divert her thoughts. She struggled to rise, but quickly found her balance and detached herself from his grasp.

“Thank you and again, I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies. I’m used to inconveniences. One more doesn’t matter.”

The dazzle of his handsomeness dimmed to irritating. “Well, that makes me feel much better. Thank you. I think.”

“What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean. You don’t need to justify your actions. I’m still grateful.” She nodded toward the horse. Far too much intelligence lurked in the animal’s eyes for him to be a simple beast. “Now, will we be riding…Sampson, is it?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m supposed to mount him?” The prospect of performing such a feat with any amount of grace was doubtful.

Once again he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her away from the tree. “Take it slowly. I’ll help you.”

Her hands fluttered about like a crazed moth trying to find a resting place that wasn’t against his body. The urge to push him away butted against the enjoyment of his touch. Something truly wicked must nest inside her. “Uh, thank you.”

“I’ll help you as much as I can,” he continued, “but this won’t be comfortable for you.”

Irritation renewed itself. She craned her neck to glare at him. “Are you trying to comfort or torment me?”

“Sweet-talk’s always eluded me.”

“Obviously,” she grumbled. Exhaustion made her cranky but she shouldn’t take it out on him. “I prefer straight talk over sweet words. Usually.”

He arched a black eyebrow. “A rare trait in a woman.”

The seconds it took to hobble the few yards to the horse were agonizing, but not due to her aching body. He practically carried her to Sampson. Her toes barely touched the ground and she couldn’t think with his arm twined around her. Without thought, she blurted the first question that came to mind. “You don’t like women much, do you?”

“I like women very much.”

“But?”

“Most are tedious and not much use beyond certain situations.” He paused. “You have more backbone than most.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see how impressed you are once I start complaining. And I’m utterly offended, but I’m too tired to argue.”

“Another rare trait in a woman.”

She glowered at him.

He appeared unaffected except for the hint of a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll travel slowly. Once we reach the inn you’ll be able to rest, eat, and have a hot bath. By tomorrow, you should feel much better. But you won’t fully heal for quite some time.”

They stopped at Sampson’s side and Rhys eased away from her. “Lean against him while I gather our things.”

The horse’s warmth penetrated the chill and sank into her bones, easing some of the achiness. She pressed her chest into Sampson’s shoulder and laid her head against his silky black neck. His hide quivered where her fingers grazed him, but he didn’t shy away. Her eyelids slid shut. She felt eighty years old instead of twenty-three.

“I can help you with some of the soreness.”

She opened her eyes. Rhys stood a few inches away, watching her. Butterflies tumbled in her stomach as his gaze caressed her face. She stared back, unable to look away.

He rubbed his thumb across her forehead. “I can lessen your pain if you allow me inside your mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve tried to block your discomfort, but your mind is a fortress. If you allow me in, I can dampen the majority of your pain.”

“I don’t understand.” She straightened and winced. “Wait.” Her gaze raked him. “Did you attempt to push into my mind before the demon attack?”

“Yes.”

“I felt you.” She glared at him. “That was rather rude.”

He smirked, not looking the least bit remorseful. “Forgive me. I thought you were a human in distress. My mistake.”

“What do you mean, ‘mistake’?” She controlled some of her powers instinctively, but that was the extent of her command over them. “And why is my mind is like a fortress?”

“I’ll answer your questions when we’re safe. We need to be on our way.”

“Fortunately for you.” The effort of standing robbed what little strength the few hours of sleep had gained. “This conversation isn’t finished.” He gave her a quick nod and a brilliant smile. Charming devil. She sighed and leaned her head against Sampson. “And I need my bag.”

He glanced around their camp. “Where is it?”

“I lost it when the demon hit me. Maybe in the bushes.”

Without a word, he dissolved into the woods.

What had he meant she was no human in distress? Those words dredged up childhood horrors. The Sister Superior had muttered a similar sentiment with each lash of the switch she’d lain across Ravyn’s hands. Punishment for setting the altar cloths on fire or for speaking to those haunted souls only she could see. The memory bit like the chill air. No—she wouldn’t let past experiences control her. Things were different now. She’d do what had to be done and not lament the loss of her miserable life in the abbey.

A twig snapped. She pressed closer to Sampson, praying it was Rhys. He emerged from the darkness carrying her bag. She couldn’t help but stare as he picked his way across the ground. He was tall and muscular, not bulky like the farrier. His dark elegance reminded her of a mythical warrior. She pondered the thought, if the Bane were real, why not a knight in shining armor?

“What do you have in here?” He tossed the bag up and down, weighing the contents.

“A few personal items and a book I stole from the abbey.”

“What kind of book?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t understand most of the writing, but the artwork is beautiful.” Heat fused her cheeks. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

“You’re lucky to have it. Books are a rare gift and should be owned by those who can appreciate their value.” He secured her bag to the saddle.

“I don’t think the Sisters would agree.”

He smiled conspiratorially. “Then we’d better not tell them. Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll ride in front of me in case you need to sleep. Don’t try to brace yourself. This will be uncomfortable enough without straining your muscles. I suspect you have a cracked rib or two.”

His words skidded over her and her breath quickened at the thought of draping herself against Rhys.

Misunderstanding her hesitation, he said, “I’ll be as gentle as possible.”

She bit her lip and stared at her feet, unable to look him in the eye. “It’s not that. I’m just a bit nervous. I’ve never been completely alone with a man who wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“Shall I hold a knife to your throat? Would that make you more comfortable?”

“That won’t be necessary.” She frowned at him. “Perhaps I’m more naïve than I like to imagine.”

His smile hinted at sadness. “Innocence and naïveté are characteristics we don’t appreciate until they’re gone.”

Her nervousness abated. He was simply a good man performing a valiant deed. Right?

“You can trust me not to kill or molest you in your weakened state.”

She raised her eyebrows in question. He said nothing, but his sly smile spoke volumes. Her nervousness returned. Would it be her life or her virtue in danger?

“Can you get your foot into the stirrup?”

“Yes,” she said a bit too quickly.

“I’ll lift you into the saddle.”

His hands held her waist, warming her skin beneath her layers of dress. She placed her foot in the stirrup and grabbed onto the pommel.

“Ready?”

She nodded and gritted her teeth.

“One, two, three.” His words whispered against her ear and she suddenly found her body lifted off the ground and settled sidesaddle.

The position felt awkward, but took the pressure off her spine. As Rhys mounted behind her, she slouched forward to avoid contact, but with steady and insistent hands, he eased her against his hard chest. She stiffened, but the warmth of his body melted the last of her tension and she relaxed into the cradle of his arms.

A multitude of smells enfolded her—leather and rain, trees, wind, and fire. She closed her eyes and exhaled, as if her breath could carry away all trace of her shameful stirrings.

Sampson picked his way through the thick growth of the trees, staying clear of the road. An unnatural silence permeated the air around them. The wet leaves muffled the sound of Sampson’s hooves. It felt like they’d become part of the forest, indistinguishable from the trees and the wind. As with the abbey, the forest hummed with a life force she understood.

Rhys’s strength cloaked her. When was the last time she had felt safe? Or the last time somebody had been concerned about her? The girls had cared, but she had always been the protector, the lone tree that weathered every storm. Her soul yearned for one person she could depend on, one person she could be herself with, maybe even one person to love.

Exhaustion crept unbidden, and she didn’t fight her fatigue. It seemed like only minutes had passed when Rhys’s gentle shake pulled her from a dreamless nap. She yawned and stretched the aching muscles of her back to sit forward.

Grit scraped her eyelids as she blinked away the fog of sleep. A tug of vanity sent her hand inconspicuously across her mouth to check for drool. She might have no control over her unkempt state, but crust in her eyes and sleep-induced slobber was repairable.

Her right foot rested beneath her dress and blanket, but her left wasn’t so fortunate. Unprotected from the morning cold, it ached and tingled. She wiggled her toes in an attempt to coax feeling back into her foot.

“We’re here,” he said.

His arm draped around her waist. The weight of his touch and the frosty air tempted her to sink against him. Before she could give in to the urge, he leaned forward and pointed to an opening in the trees. Distracted by the black strands of silk brushing her cheek, it took several seconds before she noticed the distant voices. She looked around but saw nobody.

“We’ll enter the main road from there and appear as casual travelers.” He paused and lowered his arm. “I think we should pose as husband and wife.”

She spun to face him, the ache in her ribs erupting. “What? Why?” The incoherent argument tumbled from her mouth. “I don’t think—me, a wife? I can’t cook and do laundry, plus…I’ve never even been with a man.”

“I don’t believe any of those things are a prerequisite.” Was he laughing at her? “Our relationship will be only for show. Icarus and the Bane are devious. I can’t risk them slipping in during the night to steal you.”

She stared straight ahead. Of course he was right. She couldn’t fight the demons in her weakened state.

“Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

But could she promise him the same? “I’ll try. What do I do…to be a wife, I mean?”

“Nag. Whine about the accommodations. Talk about having children.”

She craned her neck to see him. “Do wives talk like that?”

He smiled.

“You’re teasing me?”

“A bit. If it puts your mind at ease, it’s been a long time since I’ve shared quarters with anybody. Especially a woman.”

She harrumphed. “No, that doesn’t ease my mind at all. At least one of us should know what we’re doing.”

“Rest assured, Lady Ravyn, I know what I’m doing.”

A spike of pleasure raced through her body. “Yes, I just bet you do.”

“You will have to pretend to like me.”

She could do this. “A heavy burden, indeed.”

He gave her a brilliant smile and she groaned inside.

He clicked softly and moved Sampson onto the path.

Chapter Six

They emerged from the woods and onto the muddy road. Sampson skirted the edge of the track to avoid the water-filled ruts carved through the center of the dirt pathway. Ravyn tried to lift her foot above the splattering muck, but her efforts failed. She hoped Rhys hadn’t lied about the hot bath.

A bellow of distant voices rolled down the road toward them. She stretched to see around the bend. “Is there a town nearby?”

“No, but this road leads to Itta. The Dirty Habit is a frequent rest stop for travelers. It’s like a small town. I’ve know the owners for years.” He chuckled. “They’re a very prosperous lot.”

“The Dirty Habit? What kind of name is that?”

“For a century, members of The Order of the Saints have stopped at the inn to rest and change out of their dirty habits. I believe the inn’s original name was The Dragon’s Head.”

“I like that much better than The Dirty Habit.” She sighed. “Then again, I might be prejudiced against anything named after The Order.”

“With good reason.”

They continued toward the noise. She scanned the area visually and mentally for signs of danger. Nothing seemed out of place—no needling bites or oppressive darkness.

A polished wooden box hanging between four white horses crowded the road. A skinny boy holding a tether leaned on, more than led, the animals picking their way through the mud. Ravyn’s gaze narrowed, bringing the oncoming conveyance into focus. Smoke furled from a small chimney on the roof. Only the wealthiest or most holy traveled by horse litter.

Sampson veered into the trees and stopped. Sympathy bloomed as Ravyn watched the boy slog through the ankle-deep mire. How many miles did he still have to travel? Dark blue tapestry curtains ensconced whoever rode inside. She squinted. Silver symbols embossed the curtain, a flame inside a crown. She sank back, pulling the blanket up to cover her mouth and nose.

Rhys’s arm tightened around her waist. “What is it?”

“That symbol represents The Order of the Saints.” She muffled her reply behind the blanket. “What if I’m recognized?”

“I doubt it. The Sisters might not even know you’re missing.”

She nodded and watched the litter’s slow progress. Though she was nobody in the eyes of The Order, gossip traveled fast. Fueled by Powell, the news of her escape would quickly spill to every abbey and monastery in Inness. With a few discreet questions and several well-placed coins, Brother Powell could uncover her trail within a day.

The litter pitched from side to side as the horses moved toward her and Rhys. A thin crack widened between two curtains. Ravyn pressed against him, willing herself to vanish. Pale eyes peered out from the litter. Had she seen them before, perhaps in her nightmares?

The haunted stare pinned her in place. She bit the blanket, trying to stifle her panic and silence her fear of being seen. A whimper slipped from her lips.

Seconds passed before the curtain snapped closed. The hold over Ravyn vanished. Her breath stuttered from her lungs in tiny huffs, but her gaze remained riveted on the litter. The horses lumbered past and carried their mysterious rider around the bend and out of sight.

Her voice wavered. “Let’s go.”

She straightened away from Rhys, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction. The Order of the Saints unnerved her, but those eyes—they were too familiar. But the occupant of the litter must possess a fair amount of power among The Order, why would she recognize the eyes?

Rhys moved Sampson to the edge of the road. A hive of activity greeted them as they rounded the turn. The odor of manure and hay mingled in the air and rough wood-hewn buildings with woven thatch roofs clustered together in what looked like a small market. This was a happy place—and a far too busy place. Her anxiety at being discovered in this teeming area heightened.

“Try to act natural,” he said in a low voice.

She gave a weak nod and sat a little taller in the saddle. Natural. I can do this.

Rhys pointed to a massive dwelling that soared three stories high. Cedar shakes covered the roof, and dozens of multi-paned windows gleamed in the morning sun. “That’s the inn.”

“It’s wonderful.” Her glance darted around the courtyard, trying to see everything at once. “There are an awful lot of people here.”

He said nothing but gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

Men congregated on the front porch and lounged against a railing that stretched the length of the inn. Who were these people? Patrons of the inn? Sympathizers to The Order? Ravyn resisted the urge to shy away from the crowd. With concerted effort, she relaxed her shoulders, letting them sag.

A young girl cranked a large handle attached to a pole, reeling in dry laundry, as another girl plucked the items off the line and tossed them into a small wagon hitched to a goat. An elegantly dressed woman smiled into the dirty face of a giggling baby held by his gypsy mother. A twinge of jealousy nipped at Ravyn. Perhaps one day she’d have a life that would allow her such untroubled days.

Several young people with various shades of orange hair bustled about the inn.

Ravyn blinked. “How curious.”

Rhys’s quiet laughter rumbled against her back.

A round-faced man waved to them from across the yard. The same bright orange hair wreathed his balding head. “Ahoy, my lord.”

“Good morning, Orvis. I see business is good,” Rhys called back.

The man wiped his dirty hands down the front of his apron and waddled toward them. “Thanks be to The Sainted Ones. I’ve many mouths to feed.”

“Darling, may I present Orvis Giles, the owner of this fine establishment.”

Ravyn stared at the innkeeper, listening to the men talk. A not-so-gentle squeeze pinched her arm and Ravyn realized Rhys’s comment had been directed at her. She forced a smile, certain her expression looked anything but natural.

Orvis gave her a toothy grin and a proper bow. “A pleasure, my lady.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Your inn’s quite impressive.”

“Thank you, thank you. We do what we can for our customers.” He folded his hands across his ample belly.

“Are all these children yours?” She pointed to the scurrying crew of carrot tops.

“Indeed, they are.” His voice rang with pride. “The Saints blessed me with fertile loins. There are ten in all. My wife and I care for and feed them, but they do their parts. No room for lollygaggers here. Too much to do.”

He radiated happiness and honesty. But she had to wonder—what kind of woman could give birth to ten children? She’d seen the animals at the abbey give birth and just thinking of bearing one child made her knees press together.

Orvis beamed. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

The lie flowed smoothly from Rhys’s lips. “Lady Blackwell and I are traveling south, and we couldn’t think of a better place to rest for a few days.”

If possible, Orvis’s face brightened further. “You’re married? Well, bless my soul. I never thought I’d see the day when you settled down, my lord. She’s a real beauty.”

Ravyn pulled the blanket more tightly around her. Now who was telling the lies? She might be many things, but a beauty wasn’t one of them—especially after brawling with a deranged monk, submerging herself in a dirty trench, warding off an attack by the Bane, sleeping outside in the rain, and riding on a horse all morning.

“Thank you, sir, but I must look a fright. I took a tumble from Sampson.” She absently picked at a patch of mud on her skirt, unable to lie directly to the man’s face. “And uh, landed in a large mud puddle.”

Lies did not come easily for her. Every falsehood she’d ever told growing up in the abbey had been met with painful and humiliating punishment. Deceit was a sin you burned in The Abyss for. Was it her imagination or did the fires of damnation just roar to life?

“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” The concern on Orvis’s face deepened her guilt.

For his benefit, she plastered on a cheerful smile she didn’t feel. “I’m fine. Only my pride was injured.”

“Glad to hear it, my lady. You don’t want to start your marriage bruised and battered.”

Her smile pulled against her mouth, probably looking more like a grimace than happiness. “Not to worry, my—hu—husband takes very good care of me.” Husband sank its claws into her throat in an effort to not be spoken.

“Yes, his lordship seems properly fit. And I suppose he’s handsome enough, if you like the dark, masculine type.” He gave Rhys the once-over. “Luckily, my wife has a more refined palate and prefers a sturdier man.” He patted his belly. “I was the catch of the territory at one time.”

Rhys propped an elbow on his thigh. “Yes, we all live in your shadow, Orvis. I still don’t know how you landed Willa. She’s much too good for you.”

“No truer words were ever spoken.” The jolly innkeeper rocked heel-to-toe.

Ravyn liked the way Rhys teased Orvis. Joking made him more…human.

She cleared her throat and forced her words, ignoring the flush creeping up her neck. “Fortunately, I prefer the dark, masculine type.”

Orvis grimaced. “Careful, or his head will swell like a fall pumpkin.”

“Not with you around, Orvis,” Rhys said.

He cupped the back of her head and stroked downward, stopping at her neck. It felt nice, a little too nice. She waited, unsure what to do. Strong fingers burrowed into her hair and curled around her neck, sending unwelcome shivers across her shoulders. In an attempt to dislodge his fingers yet look natural, she leaned slightly forward. Rhys continued to massage her stiff muscles. Was he toying with her? She was fairly certain actual married couples did not display this type of affection in public.

He pressed his chest to her back. “I’m grateful you find me appealing, wife.”

The word “wife” expanded and filled her like warm soup on a cold day, but his overt flirting horrified her. There was nowhere to go. Trapped in his grip, his body layered against hers, she flushed.

Orvis’s hoot of laughter deepened her mortification. “Ah, now there’s a woman in love if I’ve ever seen one.”

She ground her teeth and smiled. In love? Ridiculous. If the innkeeper only knew the true nature of their relationship.

Rhys slid his hand down her back and wrapped both arms around her waist. “I’m a lucky man, indeed.”

A black braid fell forward and caressed her cheek. She couldn’t move, scared he’d pull her farther into his embrace. When Orvis turned away, she elbowed Rhys in the ribs. He let out a small grunt, but his hold loosened. She expelled a pent-up breath when he finally sat back.

“Willie, set that crate down and come over here,” Orvis shouted.

The boy obeyed immediately.

“This is my son Willie.” Pride tinged Orvis’s introduction. “He’s my oldest.”

Though Willie’s build was slight, he was a young man and not a boy. The faint shadow of a ginger beard dirtied his chin. “Welcome back, my lord.”

“Thank you, Willie. I hope things are well.”

He executed a stiff bow. “Very well, my lord. Thank you.”

“Take care of his lordship’s mount.” Orvis ran a hand down Sampson’s flank. With a quick sleight-of-hand, he produced an apple and offered it to the horse. “I believe he’s the finest stallion in all of Inness.”

Sampson shook his head and gently retrieved the fruit from Orvis’s grip.

“He’s smart,” Willie chimed in. “He knows not to bite the hand that feeds him.”

Ravyn stroked the animal’s mane and looked at Willie, mustering the sweetest smile possible. “I’d be grateful if you could slip him a small treat during our stay. He was a perfect gentleman after I tumbled off of him this morning. He stood perfectly still while I floundered about in the mud.”

Willie stared up at her, and like the last patch of snow on a spring day, his stiffness melted away. “I’ll treat him like royalty, my lady.”

He took a step toward her. She jerked upright, putting a bit of distance between them. His gaze caressed her. Certainly this wasn’t proper?

Her eyes began to burn and she blinked several times, willing him to do the same. Nobody had ever looked at her this way. She smiled awkwardly, and Willie took another step forward.

What was she supposed to do? She was certain social etiquette required her to say something. The extent of her isolated life mocked her. “Um, thank you, Willie.”

Rhys cleared his throat but Willie seemed oblivious to everything but her. “My name on your tongue is music to my ears.”

Well now, that wasn’t appropriate. She scrambled for a neutral-yet-discouraging response. His hand drifted toward hers. Whether he meant to cover, caress, or capture her hand, she never found out. A sharp smack on the back of his head knocked poor Willie out of his stupor.

Orvis propped his fists on his hips and glowered at his son. “All right, get on with ya, boy, before you disgrace yourself in front of Lord and Lady Blackwell.”

Willie’s cheeks reddened to match his hair. He reached for Sampson’s reins but shot a furtive glance her way. It seemed rude to ignore him, but more errant to encourage him.

Rhys smiled and slipped off Sampson’s back. He turned to reach for her and she accepted his help. Muscles and bones protested, and though he eased her to the ground, she landed harder than expected and winced.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Willie stepped toward her, but Rhys placed himself between her and the boy before Willie could touch her.

“I’m fine. Just not used to riding as much as we have.” She yanked the blanket back into place. “I’m afraid my years of pampering are showing themselves.”

“Would a hot bath be possible for my wife?” Rhys wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her blessed support, but Ravyn suspected part of his action was for show.

The intimate way he kept touching her made it nearly impossible to act natural. Riding on a horse was one thing, suggestive comments and shows of affection were something else entirely.

“Of course, of course!” Orvis exclaimed. “I’ll have the girls prepare a bath immediately.”

He waddled off, shouting out several names.

Willie led Sampson away but continued to glance back at her until he disappeared around the corner of the barn. Did men always look at women in such a manner? She couldn’t remember any young men from the parish looking at her like Willie did now.

Rhys again cleared his throat.

Her stare cut to his face. “Not a word,” she said.

One side of his mouth quirked with amusement. “I said nothing.”

“You want to.” She looked away before his quirk turned into a full smile.

They made their way past crates of bright yellow birds. Her gaze scoured the shadows of the surrounding woods, looking for anything that might spark alarm. She had to admit, Rhys’s hold gave her a measure of comfort.

They passed a group of men near the front door. Ravyn searched their faces for any hint of recognition. A few greeted them with a nod, but most ignored them completely.

The interior of the inn was rustic but grand. Even at this early hour, patrons lounged at long wooden tables, talking over pints of ale and trenchers of bread. Yet another redheaded boy turned a knob at the side of the massive hearth, causing the flames to leap to life and garnering appreciative cheers from the diners. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. Ravyn relaxed a little.

A young girl of about twelve snapped to attention behind a tall counter and watched their approach. Long red braids hung down the front of her dress, and a bright, freckled grin radiated across the room. “Good morning, may I help you?”

She wore a contagious smile Ravyn couldn’t help but return.

“Matilda?” Rhys asked.

The young girl preened and curtsied. “I am, my lord.”

“Why, you’re a young woman.” He leaned an elbow against the counter. “When did that happen?”

“I’m not sure, my lord, but I do believe it happened last year.”

He nodded. “Well done, Matilda. Very well done.”

A faint blush stained Matilda’s cheeks. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Are you married, then? Must be. A beauty like you wouldn’t go unclaimed.”

Ravyn smiled at the effect his praise had on the blossoming girl. Rhys’s sweet-talking skills were not nearly as inept as he’d led her to believe.

“I’m not, my lord.” Matilda flipped a thick braid over her shoulder. Her voice rang with confidence. “But I’m hopeful Billy Johnson will come to his senses soon.”

“He’s a fool if he doesn’t. And there’s nothing worse than being married to a fool,” Rhys advised.

“Papa says the same thing.” She crinkled her forehead in contemplation. “I think he wants to keep me around a bit longer.”

“Can’t blame him.” Rhys dazzled her with his smile. He could be incredibly charming when he wanted. She’d have to remember that. “Your best room, please.”

Matilda giggled. “Of course. Top of the stairs and down the hall. But you already know that.”

“Of course I do.” He gave the girl a devilish wink and wrapped his arm around Ravyn again. As they walked toward the stairs, he stopped and turned back to Matilda. With a shake of his head he said, “Oh, to be ten years younger.”

They slowly ascended the stairs, Matilda’s titter dancing behind them.

“I think you have an admirer.”

“Yes, I’m quite the ladies’ man. You’re one to talk. I’ve never seen poor Willie so besotted.”

“He’s not besotted,” she argued. “Merely a little touched in the head.”

“Why, because he’s infatuated with you?”

“He’s not infatuated.” She hefted her body up the next step and ignored the heating of her cheeks. Bless The Sainted Ones, but she’d never spoken of men or lust this much in her entire life. Not even if she combined every lecture the Sisters ever gave.

“I admit Willie seemed a bit more intense than usual, but you’re a beautiful woman and he’s a young man. I don’t see anything off about his response.”

Twice in one day, somebody had called her beautiful. The Sisters reviled vanity and compliments. Perhaps because nobody had ever told them they were pretty. She wasn’t going to lie—compliments felt good, no matter how unfounded.

Ravyn cleared her throat. “I admit I have little—well, no—experience with romance, but he’s not infatuated. He was just being hospitable.”

“If he was any more hospitable I would have had to peel him from you like a Lake Leech.”

The image almost made her laugh, but she refrained, desperately wanting to change the subject.

He led her down what had to be the longest hallway ever built. At the last door, they stopped. Despite her exhaustion and aches, her heart raced at the thought of being alone with him—in a room—with a bed. He stepped around her and opened the door.

A pleasant surprise waited inside. The room spanned the end of the building. A wall of multi-paned windows allowed the morning sun to bathe the space with gentle light.

“This is lovely.” She stepped inside and walked to the windows. Activity buzzed below her. From here, they had a view of the outbuildings, stables, and, beyond that, the forest. “Are you sure we’ll be safe here?”

“For a while. Until you’re well enough to travel.” He closed the door. “But I think you should use a different name. We don’t want to alert anybody looking for you by using Ravyn…” He paused. “What is your surname?”

She turned and looked at him. Should she tell him? It wouldn’t take much for him to find out if he was determined. What would he gain by knowing or, more to the point, what would she lose? Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if Mayfield was truly her surname. “Mayfield.”

“Ravyn Mayfield.” He gave her a hard look. “Where does your family hail from?”

She shrugged and winced. “I don’t know. As far as I know I’m an orphan.”

Rhys opened his mouth to ask more, but someone rapped against the door—much to her relief. She wasn’t sure how much about herself she wanted to share.

He opened the door. “Come in.”

Two young boys with flaming red hair and sheepish grins stumbled into the room. They reminded Ravyn of puppies—all feet and little grace. They hobbled a large wooden tub to a corner of the room, bowed, and left. A few seconds later, two girls arrived. One draped the tub with a cloth liner while the other opened a small door in the wall to reveal a wide spigot. She positioned the tap directly over the tub and pushed the iron lever above the tap in a wide arc. Water poured from the spigot and into the bathtub.

“That’s amazing.” Ravyn walked to the tub and stretched out her arm. Warm water poured over her fingers. She smiled at the girls. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“The inn is built near Dragon Springs so we always have a supply of hot water, my lady,” the older of the two girls explained. “When it’s full, just pull the lever back and the flow will stop.”

The girls curtsied and left.

Within minutes, the tub brimmed, steaming and hot. Rhys shut off the water.

“I believe this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She sighed at the thought of washing the filth from her body. “I may need your help with my dress, but you’ll close your eyes, yes?”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. I need to stitch you before you bathe.”

She opened her mouth to argue but another knock sounded at the door. Without waiting, the visitor entered. She was the most beautiful woman Ravyn had ever seen. Though middle-aged, the woman radiated vitality. Her glow of health and happiness filled the room. Long blond hair, the color of a pearl, curled around her shoulders, and her vibrant green eyes rivaled the lushest meadow.

Ravyn pulled the blanket tighter and drifted forward to stand behind Rhys. Maybe his broad shoulders would hide most of the night’s filth and damage.

“Lord Blackwell, I saw you arrive. Orvis told me the happy news of your marriage.” Her voice was soft and low. Ravyn clung to the blanket. What she wanted most right now was to melt into the wall.

“Willa, you are as beautiful as ever.” Rhys walked toward the woman, leaving Ravyn exposed. He kissed her on each cheek and turned to Ravyn. “May I present my wife, Lady Romelda Blackwell. Romelda, this is Willa.”

Ravyn shot Rhys a heated glance. Romelda? Was that the best he could come up with? She leveled a bright smile on Willa. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

“It’s an honor and a pleasure to have you here, my lady.” Willa reached to take Ravyn’s hand and stopped, her eyes narrowing. “Are you all right?”

Ravyn’s smile thinned. “Yes, a small accident, but I’m fine.”

The innkeeper’s gaze darted between her and Rhys, but she made no further comment.

“Are you Orvis’s wife?” Ravyn said, attempting to change the subject.

Willa’s suspicious look evaporated and she smiled. “I am.”

“And all those children are yours?” The idea of this beauty giving birth to so many was inconceivable.

Willa beamed. “The five oldest are from Orvis’s first wife, Saints rest her soul. And I birthed the youngest five, but all the children are ours.”

Ravyn imagined she’d beam, too, if she’d delivered five babies. Still, ten children in all. It seemed a bit excessive. And though she liked Orvis, she couldn’t imagine him as Willa’s lover. She blushed. When had such wicked thoughts crept into her head?

Willa held out a pile of serviceable items to her. “I’ve brought you a change of clothes. Orvis said you were traveling light.”

While living in the abbey she’d helped the needy. Now she was the needy. This change of station didn’t sit well with her. “Thank you, but I can’t accept.”

“Nonsense. We have more than enough. Besides, we’ll tack it onto your husband’s charges.” She laid the clothing on the bed. “Now, Lord Blackwell, I believe there are some lovely refreshments waiting for you downstairs. Why don’t you go and enjoy them while I help your wife bathe?”

Ravyn sputtered, her swelling protests only outdone by Rhys’s. What if Willa saw her injuries? First, she’d ask questions, and then throw Rhys and her out. Though being alone with Rhys made Ravyn uncomfortable, at least he knew of her wounds and she wouldn’t be forced to explain.

“Hush, now.” Willa pushed Rhys toward the door. “I’ll see to these duties.”

“We appreciate your kindness.” He planted his feet to stop his expulsion. “But I’d like to tend to my wife.”

Willa laid her hands on his upper arms. “I’ll take care of her, my lord. Gather your strength. Let me help. You can heal her later.”

Ravyn watched their exchange. How did Willa know? Were they so transparent in their lie? Weakness washed over her and she eased onto the bed. Rhys looked at her. She returned his stare, willing him to stay, afraid of Willa’s condemnation.

After several seconds, he said, “You’ll require a needle and thread. She needs to be stitched.”

Ravyn groaned at his words.

“She’ll tell you she doesn’t, but she does. And she doesn’t like needles. If need be I can hold her down.”

Ravyn gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

She glowered at him. “Traitor.”

Willa’s smiled indulgently and patted Rhys’s arm. “Thank you, but I think we can manage.”

He gave Ravyn a long look. Without encouragement or reassurance, he turned and left the room.

Willa walked toward her. “Now, let’s see what we have here.”

She lifted the blanket from Ravyn’s shoulders, revealing her blood-soaked dress. “My, my, my, it appears you ran into a little trouble. Bane?”

Ravyn coughed, caught off guard by Willa’s deduction. “You’re not surprised?”

“After being married to Orvis, not a lot surprises me anymore.” She dropped the blanket to the floor. “We’re familiar with the Demon Bane and their minions.”

“When you say we, do you mean you and Orvis?”

“Me, Orvis, our children, and others. Let’s get you out of these clothes and stitched up.” She reached in her pocket and produced a small leather pouch. “And don’t try to sweet-talk me. You need to be stitched and wrapped before infection sets in. As it is, you’ll probably have a few nasty marks.”

“I think…” Ravyn’s stomach churned as she watched Willa thread a long, sharp needle. “I believe I’d rather have the infection.”

“Nonsense,” Willa said. “Think of them as battle scars.” She lined up the strand and pushed it through the needle. “If you’re married to Rhys, I’m sure these won’t be your last.”

The thought of more demon attacks nauseated Ravyn. How could she accept help from these fine people and lie to them at the same time? Her very existence here at the inn put their lives in danger. They helped her because they believed she was Lady Blackwell. A lie—all of it a lie.

“Let’s get you undressed.” Willa helped her stand. Ravyn’s head swam and fatigue pushed against her resolve. After unlacing the bodice, Willa widened the gap and slid the material down Ravyn’s shoulders. With a firm grip under her elbow, she levered Ravyn back down to sit on the bed. “This may hurt a bit.”

The innkeeper tugged at the fabric stuck to the dried blood. Ravyn gasped as the material peeled partly away from the stinging wounds. Willa stood to retrieve a warm bowl of water and a rag. She soaked the area around the wounds, dissolving the blood to free the dress. The pain was nearly as bad as the anticipation of the needle. Willa set the bowl on the floor and helped Ravyn extract her arms from the tight sleeves to fully expose the wounds.

“Would you rather sit up or lie back while I do this?”

“Lie back. I don’t trust myself to stay conscious.” A lump clogged her throat, making it hard to take a breath. “I really hate needles.”

Willa fluffed the pillows, and Ravyn slid up to lean against the cushions. “Close your eyes. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Though Willa’s tone was reassuring, Ravyn wasn’t fooled. This would hurt.

Stick, drag—it hurt. Every pinch of the needle, every pull of the thread through her raw and tattered flesh throbbed. She stared at the ceiling, unable to watch the slow, precise stitches. She held her breath, waiting for the each new poke of the needle.

After several teeth-gritting minutes, Willa stood. “All done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The woman’s encouraging words did not hurt. Ravyn suspected she could endure a hundred such stitchings for the feel of someone’s caring touch. Not trusting her voice, she shook her head.

“Let’s get you bathed.” The innkeeper helped her to stand, but the floor tilted under her. Willa’s grip tightened and kept her standing before she plopped back on the bed. “Take it slow.”

After a few seconds, Ravyn found her balance. With expert hands, Willa stripped off the rest of the dress and led her to the bath.

The warm water massaged Ravyn’s legs and banished any shyness she might have felt at being nude with a near stranger. The Sisters rarely permitted full baths in the abbey. Such luxuries took place once a year, during spring at The Time of Cleansing. A bowl of cold water and a rough rag served her the rest of the year. Sometimes in the summer, she’d escaped to the small pond on the abbey’s property to swim and bathe.

The steaming liquid folded over her body. “I think the Afterlife must be filled with large marble tubs and warm pools.”

Willa chuckled and pulled a stool up next to the tub. She leaned forward, placing her arms along the edge of the bathtub. “Now then, why don’t you tell me about your adventures?”

“Oh, our adventures.” How would their hosts feel when they found out she and Rhys had known each other less than a day? “I was attacked by one of the Bane—Icarus, I believe Rhys called him.”

Willa bolted upright. “Icarus?”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Oh yes, I know of Icarus. I’ve always believed that demon to be a myth. That’s unfortunate.” She leveled a serious look at Ravyn. “Why would such a high-ranking Bane be after you?”

“I don’t know.” Ravyn threw up her hands and splattered Willa with water. The woman barely flinched. “Sorry.”

Willa’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Until last night I’d never heard of Icarus. Actually, the only things I know about the Bane are what the Sisters at the abbey told me as a child. When I got older, I thought the stories were just tales spun to frighten me.”

Willa’s brow knit as her gaze narrowed. “But how can this be, considering what you are?”

Every thought froze in Ravyn’s head. Time seemed to slow. She stared at the steaming water. This mystery had plagued her all her life. Willa’s answer could define her, give her a place in the world. She met the woman’s eyes. “What do you mean, what I am?”

Willa’s scrutinizing stare was steady. The question hung in the air between them. “A Bringer.”

The pronouncement rang through the room like the tolling bell of the abbey. Waves of awakening rippled along Ravyn’s skin. She shuddered. Emotions tumbled and rolled.

Her—a Bringer? A mythical warrior? She—part of something greater than herself? Hope mixed with disbelief. Could it be true? If the Bane were real, why not the Bringers? In every legend she’d ever heard, both had existed, the Bringers to defeat the Bane. She focused on the surface of the water, the meaning of Willa’s pronouncement taking hold.

“There’s no need to hide your identity from me. As with the Bane, we know of the Bringers. After all, you can’t have one without the other, can you?”

“No.” Her voice wavered. “No, you can’t.”

Questions formed and faded and new questions took their place. Ravyn tried to close her mind against the onslaught of possibilities, but they refused to be silenced. She grabbed onto the most basic question plaguing her. “Why would you think I’m Bringer?”

“I may not be one, but I’m not without my talents.”

Ravyn looked up. “Such as?”

A radiant smile spread across Willa’s face. “Such as knowing a Bringer when I see one.” The woman held Ravyn’s gaze and her smile slowly faded. “You didn’t know, did you?”

Ravyn looked away. She didn’t want to see the pity now apparent in Willa’s voice. “No, I didn’t know.”

“But, again I must ask, how can this be?” Willa pressed.

How would she ever survive if she couldn’t tell a simple lie? She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I’ve always known I was different, but I never knew why.” She focused on the quivering drop of water at the end of the tap. “I thought there was something wrong with me.” She hugged her knees more tightly. “I thought the Sisters were right about me being cursed.”

Willa’s posture stiffened. “Your sisters?” Ravyn shook her head. “Sisters from The Order of the Saints?” Ravyn nodded. “But why hasn’t Lord Blackwell explained this to you?”

Ravyn covered her face. Shame over their deceit swamped her. She couldn’t lie to these trusting people. The muffled confession seeped from behind her hands. Surely, she had one foot in The Abyss. “We just met.”

Silence stretched. Unable to stand the stillness, she peeked from between fingers. The innkeeper rose, and for a second Ravyn thought she was leaving the room. Instead, Willa walked to the bed where the soaps and towel lay. Was she outraged by their ruse? Ravyn held her breath, waiting for judgment.

Willa picked up a jar, moved back to the tub, and slid the stool behind her. “Get your hair wet.”

Ravyn quickly obeyed and slipped partway beneath the water. Like black tendrils of seaweed, her tresses floated out around her. She ignored her stinging wounds, her attention riveted on Willa’s expressionless face hovering above her. When her hair was wet, Ravyn sat up and waited, unsure of what to do next.

Willa pressed a lump of soap into her hair and started to massage Ravyn’s scalp. She scrubbed and rinsed the muck from the long strands, speaking with only her hands, gently coaxing Ravyn to relax into her gentle touch.

“So,” Willa said, finally breaking the silence. “Let me understand this. You and Lord Blackwell have only recently met?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not married?”

“No, and my name is Ravyn not Romelda.”

Willa smirked. “Well, there’s one lie that thankfully isn’t true.” She threaded her fingers through Ravyn’s hair, working the soap to the ends. “Knowing Rhys and seeing your wounds, I’m guessing he saved you from Icarus?”

“Yes.”

“And up until a few minutes ago, you didn’t know you were a Bringer?”

“Up until a few minutes ago, I thought the Bringers were myth. Up until a day ago, I never knew the Bane existed. Then I met Icarus.” She could hear the tinge of hysteria in her voice.

More silence stretched between them as Willa continued her massage. Finally she said, “And now?”

Ravyn thought for a moment. No ringing revelations came to her. She should be happy that something in her life finally made sense. She should dance for joy that she was not evil, but her mind and body were too tired. Perhaps tomorrow would shed new light on what this discovery meant to her future.

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know how I feel.” Tension flowed from Ravyn’s muscles as Willa’s fingers continued to work their magic. “I guess it makes sense. I’ve never fit in. There’s a degree of comfort knowing I’m not cursed.”

“You’re far from that. Do you know anything of the Bringers?”

“Only what I heard as a child. I used to picture them as angels.”

Willa smiled. “It is a common misconception, but I think it serves the Bringers well. They’re able to remain anonymous among the common man.”

A barb of resentment darted through her. Maybe if the Bringers hadn’t been so secretive, she could have been a part of something instead of being locked away from the world. “Why would they do that? Legends trumpet the coming of the Bringers and their vow to protect humans from the Demon Bane. Why are they hiding?”

“Ouch.” Willa snatched her hand out of the water. “You need to calm down before you boil yourself alive.”

Steam rose from her bath. Ravyn’s eyes widened. “Did I do that?”

“I have no such talent,” Willa snapped.

“I—I’ve never heated water before.” She filtered the water through her fingers, letting the droplets fall back into the bath. “That would have come in quite handy at the abbey.”

“Your powers must be growing now that you’re in contact with another Bringer.”

She looked at the woman. “Another Bringer?”

“Rhys,” Willa said.

“Rhys. Of course. That makes sense.” She paused. “He makes sense now.”

“What do you mean?”

Ravyn swiped at a drop of water gliding down her cheek. “The way he takes command of a situation, and the way he protected me.” She wrapped her arms around her legs again. “And how he looks.” Her gaze cut to Willa. “He even looks like a warrior.”

Willa let out a heavy sigh. “He certainly does.” She rinsed the soap from Ravyn’s hair. “Bringers can be secretive to a fault.” Willa’s statement sounded like it came from personal experience. “Take Rhys for example,” she continued. “My family knows he’s a Bringer, and he knows that we know he’s a Bringer, but we all pretend that none of us know. It’s very civilized.”

Ravyn nodded. It seemed instead of answers, this new revelation would only give her more questions. Her head ached. Just once she’d like some aspect of her life not to be steeped in mystery.

“Willa?”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me what you know of the Bringers?”

Her hands stilled in Ravyn’s hair. “Ask me after you speak with Rhys. He’s the one who can give you a deeper knowledge of your people.”

A thrill shot through Ravyn. Her people.

Chapter Seven

Rhys eased closer, careful not to wake Ravyn. He brushed back a damp curl from her forehead. Her pallor had darkened, and pink dusted her cheeks. For the first time he noticed a sprinkling of tiny freckles across her nose. How old was she? Perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three? Young, innocent, and far too trusting, despite her show of bravado last night.

She sighed and snuggled deeper into the pile of blankets.

Intimacy such as this made him uncomfortable. Closeness opened the way for hopes and expectations, two things he couldn’t give. With her asleep, he’d allow himself this one moment of indulgence, but it was a moment that could go no further. He lightly rubbed his finger against her cheek, the feel of her smooth skin so foreign against his callused hand.

Duty came first, which meant he needed to remain aloof. It had always been this way. Until now. Now he had Ravyn and all the chaos she stirred inside him. Bringer blood hummed in his veins, and being a Bringer Shield demanded he guard her from all peril. He wanted—no, needed—to protect her. No other choice existed, but in order to do that, he couldn’t get involved.

Everything about her resonated Bringer, especially her fire, but at the same time she lacked some element of his race. For centuries the Bane had assassinated the full-bloods. Was she like him? Had she been protected for hundreds of years, safe and locked away? If so, did she know more than she was saying?

She rolled over to face him, her eyes slightly open. He pulled his hand away.

“Hello.” Her voice sounded sleepy and unguarded.

“Hello.” He sat up, intent on putting distance between them.

She smiled and closed her eyes. “Don’t go.”

Lavender, soap, and rainwater enveloped him. Her scent. The low afternoon sun squeezed through a crack in the heavy drapes. The dusky dimness of the room and the soft pillows enticed him to lie next to her and rest. Every one of his years made themselves known, and he was more tired now than he could ever remember.

Ravyn’s peaceful smile pulled at his weary soul. What he would give for a few hours of soft caresses. What he would risk for a few hours of freedom from duty and honor. What he would venture to not feel alone for a few precious hours.

“You should have told me.”

Her statement pulled him from his reverie. “Told you what?”

“That I’m a Bringer.”

He eased his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “Are you?”

“Aren’t I?” She sat up, her sleepy expression gone. The blanket crept down her shoulders.

He noticed the fresh bandages, but more pointedly, he noticed the enticing swell of her breasts. He locked his hands behind his back and straightened. “To be honest, I don’t know what you are.”

Her expression fell, and a shard of guilt needled him.

“What I mean is, you’re not like any Bringer I’ve met.”

She settled against the massive headboard and pinned him with a stare. “Explain, please.”

He searched for words to describe the intangible gut feeling that governed his every move, an elusive instinct he’d come to depend on in almost every situation, an intuition that was nearly infallible. “You’re much stronger than other Bringers I’ve met.”

“How so?”

“Your powers are more obvious. The Bringers I know have talents, but nothing as blatant as yours.”

“And you have firsthand knowledge of my powers?” She sounded suspicious.

“I saw you try to attack the demon last night. Your skill of fire goes far beyond that of most mixed-bloods.”

She looked down, adjusting and readjusting the covers. “Maybe I’m full-blooded.”

He cocked his head to the side. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Then you’re not full-blooded.”

“How do you know?” She lifted her chin in defiance. “You know nothing of my past. I don’t even know who my parents are.”

He walked to the window and pushed aside the curtains, letting the afternoon sun bathe the room. “I’m not an expert on you, but I am an expert on the Bringers. The last full-blooded female died over three hundred years ago.” He paused. “My mother.”

Ravyn was silent for a moment. He resisted the urge to look at her.

“But that would make you over three hundred years old.”

“Three hundred and thirty-two, give or take a few years. The last living full-blooded Bringer.”

Very few people knew his real age. Luc, his best friend and captain of the rebel half-blooded Bringers, did, as well as Nattie and Jaspar. They had been starving orphans when Rhys had found them and took them under his wing. It seemed only days ago, but they were no longer children. Jaspar was in his eighties and Nattie not far behind. Though vital and healthy, they could no longer share in the thrill of the hunt like they had decades ago. As with every person he’d let into his life, Rhys knew one day they would pass through the Veil and leave him behind.

Ravyn scrutinized him as if contemplating his sanity. After a few seconds, her suspicion slowly softened. “You look very good for your age.”

“You believe me?”

“I don’t know what I believe.”

“Any sensible person would question such a mad declaration.”

“Well, that’s your first mistake. I’m obviously not sensible. Accepting that you’re three centuries old is like swallowing a spoonful of honey compared to the large dose of demons and legends I’ve been force-fed over the last day. You could tell me you’re a dragon or a vaporous genie and I’d believe you at this point.”

His smile faded. He searched her face for a hint that she knew more than she was saying, but no allusion surfaced. He turned away to stare out the window again. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“But how is it possible you don’t age? Are there others like you?”

“I wish I knew.” If he didn’t look at her, he wouldn’t see her pity—or disgust. “I’ve never found another Bringer like me. I aged normally as a boy, but over time, my aging process slowed.”

“Are you immortal?”

At the note of alarm in her voice, he peered over his shoulder, unable to stop himself. There it was, the look of revulsion he was used to. “A truly horrifying concept indeed.”

Eternal physical life. No light at the end of his dark existence. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“No, I’m not immortal,” he said more for his own reassurance. “I can be hurt and even killed, but it’s difficult to do. I heal quicker than most humans and mixed-bloods.”

“Mixed-bloods?”

“Descendants of the Bringers, but not full-blooded. They don’t possess the abilities I have.” He returned his attention to the window. “Or that you have.”

She said nothing, and he made no effort to fill the silence. Rehashing these memories shackled and dragged him deeper into the murky depth of his reality.

“I’m sorry about your parents.”

Her soft condolence floated across the room and hovered behind him. It would be so easy to sink into her sympathy and accept comfort. But indulging his pain would make him weak and unable to serve the greater good. Duty before self. Always.

“Thank you. It was a long time ago.”

“Perhaps, but I’m sure it’s still difficult.” She had an uncanny knack for finding the grain of truth in a situation, no matter how deeply he buried it.

“The sting has lessened over time,” he lied.

At the sound of rustling blankets he turned his head. She’d snuggled back into her nest of bedding.

“How did they die?”

He leaned his hands against the windowsill and stared blankly at the activity below, searching for the detachment that came naturally. The disconnection eluded him. “Murdered by the Bane.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath and pivoted to face her. Her eyes were wide and her knees tucked against her chest. As if by making herself smaller, she could shield herself.

“What do you know of the Bringers?” he asked.

“Nothing, really. Mainly that they protect humans from the Demon Bane.”

He crossed his arms and sat on the windowsill. “A thousand years ago, the Bane spread across this land like a plague of locusts.”

Ravyn’s eyes rounded but she said nothing.

“Queen Anna ruled this land at the time and journeyed to The Arch of the Mystics to beseech the Bringer King for help. Legend says she begged for three days, calling out to King Arron for his assistance in ridding the land of the demons.”

Ravyn sat forward, her attention riveted on him.

Rhys walked to the bed and perched on its edge. He kept a respectable distance, not trusting his reaction to the fact that she was probably naked under those blankets. “They say King Arron watched her, wondering how long the high ruler of Inness would grovel like the lowest peasant.”

“Did he help her?” Ravyn eased out of her cocoon to lean against the headboard.

“Oh yes, he helped. It’s rumored the longer he watched Queen Anna, the deeper in love he fell.”

A completely female sigh issued from her lovely mouth. The sound called to Rhys’s maleness. What would it take to make her sigh that way for him?

“When I was a child my parents regaled me with stories about the king and queen’s love and how they planned to rule the two worlds as one,” he said.

“What a wonderful love story. So what happened next?” Ravyn leaned her head back. A dreamy look glazed her eyes.

“Unfortunately, there’s no happy ending. King Arron died in battle, and Queen Anna wasted away from a broken heart.”

“Oh.” Ravyn sat forward. “That’s terrible. Why did you tell me such a horrible story?”

“Because the tale is part of who we are. May I continue?”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry.

“Though the king and queen were thrilled by their upcoming union, others weren’t.”

“Who?”

“The Order of the Saints, for one. They feared the Bringers would usurp their authority, and the Bringers didn’t wish to be saddled with the problems of the humans.”

She tugged the blanket around her as if wrapping herself in righteous anger. “That’s rather conceited.”

He suppressed a smile. If only he had more impassioned soldiers like Ravyn among his rebels.

“I think both sides had valid points,” he said. “The Order would have most certainly lost its power to the Bringers’ dominant ways. And the Bringers would have been expected to cure all ills of Inness. If somebody always cleans up your mess, you never become self-sufficient. When King Arron died, the Bringers agreed to honor his pact with Inness, as far as ridding the world of the Bane.”

“Is that why we’re called Bringers? To bring destruction to the Bane?”

“In part,” Rhys said. “Bringer was a name given to our people by Queen Anna.” He smiled. “My father said it was because she couldn’t pronounce the word in our ancient language.”

“Do you know the ancient word for Bringer?”

Her blanket slipped down her shoulders again and his concentration wavered.

“Vrydracozril. It means faceless warrior.”

“Faceless warrior? How odd.”

“Like most ancient things, the true meaning was probably lost in translation.”

“I suppose so. I certainly see why Queen Anna changed it.” She pulled the blanket tighter. “What is the connection between the Bringers and the Bane? Why are the Bringers able to kill the Bane but the humans can’t?”

“We can’t kill the Bane, though there are tales. My father spoke of immortal weapons used to battle the demons. I was very young and might not remember his account clearly, but as I got older I began to suspect his stories were part of the Bringers’ history.”

Her brows furrowed. “Have you ever found the weapons?”

“No. If they exist, I don’t know where they are, and I’ve discovered nothing capable of destroying the Bane.”

“Well, that’s not good, is it?” Her shoulders sagged as if defeated. “If they can’t be killed the Bringers can’t defeat them.”

“No, we can’t.” He stood and paced the length of the room. “Most of the Bringer lore has been handed down verbally. When the Bane assassinated the original Bringers, the stories died with them.”

Her head snapped up. “Assassinated?”

“In retaliation. When King Arron and the Bringers battled the Demon Bane a thousand years ago, the Bringers believed they had annihilated the demons.”

Ravyn gave an absent nod toward her bandages. “Obviously, they didn’t.”

“No. A demon named Vile, the same demon who had killed King Arron, slipped back to the Shadow World. Other demons must have escaped or never emerged from their hole to fight in the Upperland.” He continued to pace, pulling his parents’ stories from his memories. “With infinite patience, Vile rebuilt an army. He enticed every demon out of hiding with the promise of vengeance on their enemy.” He stopped and pinned her with his gaze to press the point. “There’s nothing the Bane love more than killing and vengeance.” He began to pace again. “After Vile recruited the demons, he targeted humans. Starting with those who wouldn’t be missed, orphans and the homeless, he stole their souls and turned them into demons.”

Ravyn shuddered and pulled her blankets snugly around her, as if to shield herself from his story. “Those poor children.”

He stopped and stood beside the bed, forging on while the words still flowed. “Thinking they’d quelled the threat, the Bringers returned through the arch to their home. But before they left, The Order asked for volunteers to stay in Inness in case the Bane returned.”

“Stay for how long?”

“Forever. Any Bringer who volunteered would cut all ties to his old life and remain on Inness. The Archway doors were to be sealed to prevent the Bane from entering.”

Ravyn closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t imagine making such a sacrifice. Why would anybody agree to that?”

Rhys pulled a wooden chair up next to the bed and sat. He bent and rested his arms on his thighs. “My parents told me duty and principles were the most important things to a Bringer. Not volunteering showed disloyalty to the crown, which in return brought dishonor to the Bringer and his family. I can only assume that’s why my parents volunteered to stay.”

Her question rushed out in a cloud of amazement. “Your parents fought with King Arron?”

“Yes, and they agreed to stay behind and guard the humans.”

“I can barely believe it.” She wrapped her arms around her bent legs and rocked forward like a child listening to a scary tale. “What happened? Did the Bane become too strong?”

“Not at first. For seven hundred years, the Bringers lived without incident from the Bane. Vile is a most devious and patient demon.”

Rhys looked at the floor. He tapped his index fingers together in a steady cadence to center his thoughts and keep his anger from coating his words. To relate the story meant closing off the pain.

“With no sign of the Bane for several centuries, the Bringers relaxed their watch,” he continued in a steady voice. “They integrated themselves into human society. Some even fell in love and married humans.”

“They must have produced hundreds of children—hundreds of mixed Bringers.”

“From what I’ve learned there are several thousand of us scattered around the world. My parents were already married and remained together. Most who volunteered to stay in Inness were unattached Bringers in their primes.”

“That’s quite a sacrifice. At least they found some happiness in this foreign land.”

“Perhaps. I’ve always assumed the Bringers performed their duties.” He stood and gazed down at her. “But given the choice, they would have returned home.”

“Were all the Bringers who stayed behind murdered?”

He gripped the back of the chair. She needed to know their history, but remembering the day his parents died opened a tender wound. “Yes. Vile and his minions systematically assassinated each full-blooded Bringer. They were ruthless and calculating.”

A dozen emotions played across her face. She licked her lips as if preparing to say something. Normally the action would have aroused him, but he knew the movement was nothing more than a prelude to another prying query. Indecision wavered on her face. “Were you there?”

He wished she hadn’t asked. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back. “Yes. I was there.”

Those four words tore his wound wide open. He walked to window, seeing nothing but his memories of that grievous day. Despite the warm sun, a chill raced through his body. He hated remembering. “I was six years old.”

The rustle of bedding issued behind him, followed by soft footsteps. Wrapped tightly in her blanket, Ravyn moved to stand a few arm lengths away. He glanced at her and back out the window. Her concern blazed like a roaring hearth on a winter day.

“What happened?” Her need to console him spread across the distance like giant wings, but she kept her distance.

Images pushed their way to the forefront of his mind, and suddenly he was six again. “The demons attacked my parents.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “My father told me to stay hidden, but I didn’t.”

Screams and the clanking of swords reverberated through his memory.

“I wanted to help.” The vision of that day gripped him. “My parents fought bravely. They moved like dancers, protecting each other’s backs while slashing and blasting demon after demon.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t so horrific.”

Ravyn took a small step closer. He looked into her pale eyes and some of his anguish eased. She gave him a slight nod, encouraging him to continue. For the first time he wasn’t reliving these memories alone. He couldn’t look away.

“I wanted to help. My father saw me charge into the horde of demons and yelled. I don’t know what he screamed. I was too panicked. Before I’d run ten steps, one of the Bane caught me and slung me over his shoulder. There were too many. My parents were overpowered.”

Guilt. Shame. Vulnerability. His three jailers never let the memory of their deaths fade. “When I saw my parents’ limp bodies, I kicked and scratched at the creature. Surprisingly, it released me. I dropped and crawled through the blockade of legs to get to my father. I could barely see from crying so hard. The Bane taunted me as I crawled to my father’s body.”

Tears swam in Ravyn’s eyes. Her question was no more than a whisper. “What happened?”

“Not since that day have I experienced such anger.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I grabbed my father’s dagger from his hand and tried to drive it through Vile’s heart.”

The room seemed to grow smaller. The air around him compressed against his chest. He turned back to the window and closed his eyes against the memory, but the recollection wouldn’t be silenced. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I wanted to feel my father’s blade split that demon’s flesh.” The memories threatened to steal his voice as the images unfolded without mercy. “Vile caught my hand before I could drive the knife into his chest. The other demons laughed, but Vile didn’t. He knelt before me, staring, as if searching for something in my expression. I remember his foul breath panting against my face, and his yellow eyes.”

“How did you get away?”

Rhys looked at her and gave a harsh laugh. “I didn’t.”

Ravyn shook her head. “But you’re still alive.”

“Yet another mystery to add to my saga. I can’t tell you how I survived because I don’t remember much after I spit in Vile’s face.”

Ravyn blinked. “You spit in a demon’s face?”

The memory still granted him a sliver of satisfaction. “Yes.”

“What did he do?”

Rhys clasped his hands behind his back. This was the easy part, speaking of his torture. It was no less than he deserved. If he’d listened to his father and stayed hidden, maybe his parents would still be alive.

“I think Vile had been contemplating what to do with me, but when I spit in his face, I sealed my fate. He wrapped his hand around mine, nearly breaking my fingers. He said, ‘If you miss your mommy so much, why don’t you join her?’ I couldn’t fight him. He was too strong. He guided the dagger to my chest.” Rhys walked to Ravyn and took her hand. She stiffened but didn’t resist. Unlike Vile’s grip, he gently curled her fingers into a fist and placed it against his chest, his hand covering hers. “Right here.”

Tears slipped from her eyes.

“I remember pressure and a twinge of pain when the blade bit through my skin. I remember Vile’s sneer, and then nothing until I woke two days later.”

Ravyn lightly squeezed his hand and opened her fist to release his fingers. “How did you survive?”

He shook his head “I don’t know, but as you can see I am still very much alive. I regained consciousness in a monastery. A monk named Brother Archibald had witnessed the battle and gathered me up after the Bane had left me for dead. He removed the dagger while I was unconscious and…” He held his hands out to his sides. “I healed.”

“How is that possible?” Ravyn tightened the blanket around her and leaned against the edge of the window. “You should have bled to death.”

“At the very least. But the good Brother proclaimed I’d been saved by a miracle.” He held up his hand to stop the tirade of questions on the tip of Ravyn’s tongue. “I tell you only what the monk told me. I have no answers for you, not even a scar to show.”

She gazed out the window. “There must be more to the story.”

He walked to the pitcher and poured a goblet of cool water. The same words had tumbled through his mind for the first fifty years of his life. But he had grown tired of looking for answers where there were none.

Rayvn gasped and jumped away from the window, pressing her body against the wall. “Powell.”

“Here?”

She nodded vigorously.

Rhys set the goblet on the table and walked to the edge of the curtains. “The monk seems very determined to find you.” He inched forward and pulled the curtain aside. “Where?”

“Near the main road entrance.”

Powell stared down at Orvis from atop his horse. Rhys scrutinized him, committing everything from his stringy blond hair to his muddy, but expensively made, boots to memory. From the look of his mount, the monk had wealthy connections.

Orvis shook his head in response to something Powell said and then pointed down the road toward Itta.

“Well done, Orvis.”

“What is he doing? Is Powell still there?” Ravyn’s voice wavered.

“Yes, but Orvis is sending him toward Itta. We’ll travel in the opposite direction.”

Orvis pointed toward the inn as if inviting Powell to have a meal. The monk shook his head. The innkeeper waved his arms as if trying to cajole him off his horse.

“Don’t overdo it, Orvis.”

“Overdo what?” Ravyn still stood pressed against the wall, unwilling to look out the window. “He’s not coming in, is he?”

Rhys watched the monk shake his head. Finally, Orvis delivered a convincing show of acceptance and gave a quick bow. Powell scanned the front of the inn and its patrons. His gaze tracked up the side of the building, lingering at their window. Rhys didn’t move. He doubted Powell could see into the darkened room but he didn’t want to draw his attention with any sudden movements.

“What’s happening?” Ravyn whispered.

Rhys didn’t reply and after a several seconds, Powell kicked his horse and headed toward Itta.

Rhys dropped the curtain. “He’s gone.”

Ravyn released a heavy breath but didn’t appear relieved. “He’ll be back.”

“Perhaps.” He walked to the door and stopped. “Get dressed. We need to get you healed as quickly as possible. I’ll wait outside.”

He stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him, trying to not imagine Ravyn naked mere feet away. Rhys straightened, on alert as footsteps thumped up the stairs at the end of the hallway, but he didn’t relax when Orvis turned the corner. Rhys met the innkeeper midpoint, away from Ravyn’s hearing.

“You had a visitor,” Orvis said.

“I saw. What did he want?”

“He was looking for a girl and the man who kidnapped her.” His unspoken question hung in the air.

“Yes,” he flicked his head toward their room. “She’s the girl he’s looking for, and no, I didn’t kidnap her.”

Orvis crossed his arms over his belly. “I didn’t think you had, but a man can never be too safe when it comes to his family.”

Rhys nodded but didn’t elaborate.

“You’ve never given us any reason to mistrust you. I won’t start now. Besides, the monk gave me an uneasy feeling. Can’t put my finger on it but he wasn’t acting right.” He pointed to his head. “In here.”

“Thank you for your help. Once Ravyn is healed, we’ll be on our way.”

“As long as you’re honest with us, you’re welcome here. Can’t fight what we don’t know about.”

“Of course.” Rhys clasped Orvis by the shoulder and extended his hand. “I’m in your debt.”

Ravyn’s voice floated from under the door. “I’m dressed.”

Orvis’s eyebrows raised and he smiled. “Best not keep the lady waiting.”

Rhys smirked but didn’t dissuade the man of his notion that there was more than protection between Ravyn and himself. Let Orvis think what he wanted.

Rhys entered to room to find Ravyn sitting on a straight-backed chair in only her shift and a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her posture was stiff.

She stared at the wall. “I need your help getting dressed.”

“Of course.” He closed the door and grabbed another chair on his way across the room. “Let’s heal you first, and then dress you.”

She nodded but still wouldn’t look at him.

He opened his saddlebags and pulled out his healing pouch. Unlike before, he removed only the pendants, placing one over his head and one around Ravyn’s neck. There’d be no need to change the fresh bandages until morning. He sat facing her. She shifted to the edge of her chair but her spine remained unyielding.

“Relax. This won’t hurt…much.”

Her eyes darted to his face and he smiled. Her posture softened slightly. “Have you ever healed yourself?”

Rhys rubbed his chin with the top of his hand. “No.”

“Never once?”

He shook his head.

“Not even when you’ve been gravely injured?”

“I’ve always healed naturally unless Nattie got ahold of me. Then I had no choice but to instantly mend.”

“I’m not sure I want to meet her if she’s more demanding than you with her healing.”

He cocked a brow. Demanding, that described Nattie very well. “Close your eyes.”

She did as he instructed.

“Relax.”

Ravyn nodded.

Rhys fingered the gold dragon, letting ancient words cascade from his mind. Low and melodic, the chant forced its way free and came to life, demanding to be spoken. Whispers of energy swept along his skin as the room filled with power. The healing light circled and danced. He invited the spirits to use his strength, and they accepted. Traveling through his body, the healers carried his vital force across the short distance and entered Ravyn.

She gasped and opened her lids, peering at him. The glow of her eyes illuminated her porcelain skin and cast blue through her hair. The air hummed around them.

The spirits’ dance intensified, taking and giving life. Streamers of golden light connected Rhys’s body to Ravyn’s as his strength poured into her. Pulsating ribbons cradled her, the energy guiding her with sensual movements. Whispered words formed on her lips. Rhys strained to understand, but caught only a few words of the ancient language. He stopped chanting.

Ravyn slid farther forward on her chair, her gaze locked with his. He leaned toward her. Without warning, her hands snaked out and grabbed his wrists. Darts of heat spiked through him—pleasurable, glorious heat.

Golden light erupted from Ravyn’s hands. Rhys tried to jerk away but the radiance encircled his wrists like glowing shackles and bound him and Ravyn together. Tendrils of energy burrowed under his skin, trailing rivers of light through his body. Each wave of power burned away more of his grief. Ravyn’s hands grew hotter and her grip tighter. He slid from the chair, kneeling before her.

Closer. He had to be closer.

Her eyes burned like a white flames. It felt as if she peered straight into his soul, seeking out his sadness. The blood in his veins seemed to crackle and burst with life.

What was Ravyn? More powerful than Nattie and even more powerful than his mother—she must be a full-blood.

She healed him, filling the dark voids and black wells of his soul. Her eyelids closed and her head tilted back. Vibrations rippled through her body, her chant growing louder, more commanding.

Rhys was at her mercy. Unable to pull away and unwilling if he could have, he watched as Ravyn’s body began to glow. The dragon pendant grew hot against his chest. He glanced down at their connected hands and flinched. Blue flames danced across their fingers. He stilled the urge to pull away, feeling no pain. The tongues of fire grew, traveling up Ravyn’s arms.

Though they touched, the flames enveloped only her. Like the sheerest veil dancing in the breeze, the blue lengths of flames flared around her. Ravyn’s head snapped forward and she stared at him, unseeing. Words poured from her mouth and swarmed around him. Rhys closed his eyes and gave over to her merciful healing.

Seconds, minutes, hours, time had no relevance until her chanting slowed and finally stopped. Rhys opened his eyes. She was there, inches away, looking back at him. The flames were gone and everything had returned to normal—everything except him.

He leaned toward her to—to what? He stopped, his lips hovering close to hers. She didn’t pull away, only watched him. The room grew shadowed in the afternoon light, returning him to reality.

He’d almost kissed her, almost brushed the softness of her mouth with his lips, almost tumbled beyond the boundaries of duty. The desire to be with her nearly overwhelmed him. One indiscretion would steal away everything he’d built his life around and everything he’d locked out. She’d gotten too deep in such a short amount of time.

With great strength of will, Rhys sat back. His body tingled and vibrated from her energy. Even when Nattie had healed him, he’d never felt like this. It wasn’t just the aches and pains that had been cleansed, but a small part of his soul hummed with renewed life, freed from the chains of guilt and failure.

“How?” he said.

She sat back in the chair. “I don’t know. It just happened. As if I suddenly knew what to say.”

“How is it possible that you healed me?”

Her brow furrowed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He stood, his mind fumbling for the right words. She’d done something he’d never believed possible, eased his sorrow. If he were a braver man, he’d take her in his arms and kiss her, the consequences be damned. But he was not a braver man. “Thank you.”

She gave him a wary smile.

He scrambled for a neutral subject. “You must be hungry. I’ll get us some dinner.”

“Yes, thank you.”

He walked to the door and stopped, his hand on the iron handle.

“Rhys? Would you help me dress when you return?”

“Of course.” He yanked on the handle and stepped into the hall. As the door closed behind him, he let out a heavy breath and leaned his back against the uneven wood.

Holy Sainted Ones, he was in trouble.

Chapter Eight

Sun filtered through the yellow leaves and lay across Ravyn’s legs like a bright blanket as she and Willa shelled peas on the front porch. Ravyn picked up a pod and popped the brilliant green nuggets from their nest, her gaze constantly scanning the area. Though she felt no chafe of the Bane, she couldn’t relax. This was the first time since arriving that she’d ventured outside. Afraid Powell would return, she had stayed hidden in the room, but the eight days of confinement hadn’t set well. After four days she thought she would pull her hair out from boredom. Another four and she’d tottered on the edge of madness, willing to risk discovery for the feel of sun on her face and fresh air in her lungs.

“It’s a beautiful day, almost like summer,” she said.

“Just glorious.” Sitting forward, Willa turned her face to the sun. “I try to savor days like these no matter how busy I am. Mother Nature is fickle. We might wake up to a white landscape tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope she remains in a good mood. I’m not ready for winter.”

Ravyn’s eyes never left the bustling crowd as she selected another pod and extracted the peas. Her fingers knew this work. From the moment the snow melted to its first fall, the abbey gardens had provided a sanctuary for her, and she’d preferred the company of plants and herbs to that of the Sisters. She and several of the girls would practically hibernate in the processing room, drying and putting up enough vegetables for the entire abbey.

To help Willa gave her a purpose and kept her mind sharp. Rhys wished her to languish the days away in bed, hidden and healing. But honest work like this was the best cure. Though he seemed determined to keep his distance, this had been the happiest week of Ravyn’s life.

She rested her wrists against the edge of the large bowl on her lap. Her gaze traveled across the busy yard and settled on Rhys, her task forgotten. Honed muscles flexed under the drawn material of his shirt as he hefted a small crate onto a wagon. Her eyes traveled down his wide back to a tapered waist and narrow hips. Her appreciation caressed his firm backside, and heat flushed her body. The man grew more handsome each day, and she grew too bold with her looks.

Willa leaned across her basket. “He’s very attractive.”

“What? Oh, I guess so.” Ravyn returned her attention to her chore and shelled a pod far more vigorously than it required.

“You guess so? You’d have to be dead not to notice.” Willa flicked her head toward Rhys. “Have you ever seen a finer man?”

An unladylike snort erupted from Ravyn. “I’ve lived in an abbey all my life, Willa. I’m lucky to know what a man is, handsome or otherwise.”

Ravyn’s attention slipped back to Rhys, remembering their first night at the inn. He’d healed her, and for a moment she thought he would kiss her. Perhaps she should be ashamed, but in all honesty she wished he had—just once, to know what it felt like.

Lost in thought, it took several seconds before she realized Rhys returned her stare. He rubbed his hands against his pants and started across the yard toward her, winding through the crowd. Graceful, like a wildcat she once saw on the abbey grounds—that’s what he reminded her of.

Ravyn shook her head and returned her attention to the peas. “How can any man be so handsome?”

Willa chuckled. “I don’t know, but if you find a magic potion I’d like a vial to pour over Orvis’s porridge.”

Ravyn slid her friend a questioning look.

“Just a dash,” Willa said, holding up her thumb and index finger in measurement.

They burst out laughing as Rhys stopped in front of them. His eyes narrowed.

“What’s so funny?”

Ravyn shook her head. “Nothing.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and took a wide stance. “Tell me. I like a joke.”

Ravyn highly doubted that. “You probably wouldn’t think it’s funny.”

“Why not?”

“Women’s humor,” she explained.

“Try me,” he said firmly.

“Well, Rhys,” Willa began. “We were discussing how women who live together have their monthly cycle at the—”

He held up his hand. “Never mind.”

Ravyn blushed at the mention of such an intimate subject, but couldn’t suppress a smile at his reaction. Willa gave her a sly wink, a secret pact between friends. Rhys seemed oblivious of his charms and Ravyn would be mortified if he knew she found him attractive. Some things were better left unsaid.

Rhys cleared his throat. “I hate to break up your hen party, but I’d like to work with you a bit, my lady.”

“Well,” Willa said, setting the basket on the ground next to her chair. “I have to start the evening meal. Dinner will be ready in a few hours, so don’t wander far.” She stood and picked up the basket, giving Rhys a beautiful smile. “Don’t work her too hard.”

She glided down the length of the porch and into the inn. Several appreciative glances from the male patrons followed her departure. Ravyn scrutinized the gawkers. What would it be like to have that effect on men? She looked at Rhys. Was that a trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth? She straightened. What did she care what men thought of her, including Rhys? She had more serious matters to consider—like the Bane.

Rhys’s suggestion to work with her piqued Ravyn’s interest. “What do you have in mind?”

“Stretching, if you’re up to it. Working some of the stiffness out of your shoulders. He paused. “And I’d like to gauge your strength.”

Ravyn scanned the hive of activity around them. “Here?”

“There’s a glen a ways from the inn. We shouldn’t be disturbed there.”

“What about Powell?” She lowered her voice.

“There are things I need to know about you. Things I can’t find out here.” He lowered his voice. “Like how powerful your fire is. I’m not worried about Powell.”

“What about the Bane?”

He gazed into the shadowed forest. “We’ll deal with them if the time comes.”

Her eyes widened. “We?”

He looked at her. “Yes.”

Leaving the inn made her uneasy, but he was right, they needed to prepare her for what lay ahead. She held out an arm in front of her. “Please, lead the way.”

He stalked toward the forest, and she followed, trying to squash the apprehension poking at her. His demeanor was suddenly rigid and curt, nothing like the man who had flirted with Matilda the day they’d arrived at the inn.

Ravyn wordlessly followed him. Better an awkward silence than babbling like an idiot to fill the quiet. Her gaze slid along the silky black strands of his hair, down his back, and came to rest on his rear end. She cut a glance upward, away from the temptation to look her fill.

Being with Rhys day after day was changing something inside her. An understanding of what a woman could feel for a man warred with the self-loathing for impure thoughts that had been beaten into her by the Sisters. He’d almost kissed her, and she wouldn’t have stopped him. Saints forgive her but the desire to feel his lips hadn’t been sinful. If anything, it had felt more right than all the prayers she’d performed her whole life. And though Rhys hadn’t kissed her, a sliver of curiosity about intimacy between a man and woman had burrowed just beneath her skin. There it stayed, unwilling to be removed, uncomfortable when too much effort was made to rid it from her body, a barely noticeable, constant ache.

Rhys stopped. Wrenched from her contemplation, Ravyn barely avoided smashing into him. She looked around. Ancient stone crosses, worn away by time and weather, poked above the brambles and brown grass. A hazy gloom blanketed the resting place of the dead, leeching the area of color.

He pointed through an opening in the trees. “We’ll work out there.”

Sun spilled a circle of light onto a large clearing. Its bright rays beckoned them from the shadows of the graveyard and into its warm embrace. “Is it safe?”

“What do you feel?”

Ravyn looked around the forest.

“Not what you see,” Rhys said. “What do you feel?”

Besides several ghosts hovering around the graves, she neither saw nor felt anything out of the ordinary. “Nothing.”

“Me, either.” He turned and walked into the clearing. “Lesson one: when the Bane are near, your Bringer senses will alert you.”

She followed him. “Meaning?”

“Needles, biting, an irritation you can’t rub away. Have you experienced this?”

“At the abbey the night you saved me. I’d felt it before, but that night was the worst.”

“That is your demon alarm. Pay attention to it. Heed it.” Rhys circled her and grasped her right wrist from behind, lifting her arm out to the side. “I want to work your shoulders, loosen the tissues so they don’t adhere to each other.” He rotated it forward, pulling her limb in different directions. “Does that hurt?”

“A bit when you draw my arm back, but the stretching feels good.”

“You heal quickly.”

She grunted. “It doesn’t feel quick.”

“Your Bringer blood is strong.”

Strong had never been a word used by the Sisters to describe her. Strong implied someone noble and worthy of respect. Stubborn? Yes. Rebellious? Most definitely. But never strong. She didn’t reply.

“You know nothing of your parentage?” Rhys continued.

“No. I asked the Sisters about my parents many times.”

He’d stopped tugging on her arm and now his fingers performed a most delicious dance, massaging her muscles. “And?”

“They beat me for asking.” The kneading slowed and deepened. Her line of thought dissolved. “I stopped asking after that.”

His fingers stopped. A low growl issued from Rhys, its vibrations rumbled against her back. “Did they beat you often?”

“As often as they thought necessary,” she said matter-of-factly, wishing he’d start his manipulations again. She leaned into his hand as a hint. “Eventually, I learned to blend in and become invisible. I spent most of my time exploring the abbey and its catacombs.”

After a few seconds, his fingers resumed their lovely ministrations. “You must have been very lonely.”

“It wasn’t so bad. I had the girls. They were like a family for me.”

He released her arm and moved around her. With infinite tenderness, he began the same routine on her left side. Gentle stretching turned into deep massage.

Unable to stop herself, Ravyn groaned.

“Am I hurting you?” His voice held a hint of humor, which immediately lightened her mood.

“Yes, but don’t stop.”

She tilted her head to the side to give him better access. His fingers dug deep into her skin, working muscles that felt a hundred years old. Warm pressure moved along her shoulders and dipped below the neck of her dress. Her breath caught as Rhys’s fingers explored the area above her shoulder blade. He’d seen more of her flesh than any man, but she’d been injured. Now the situation was different, and she was no longer helpless. Her awareness of him was palpable.

His fingers slowed their descent, almost as if he’d read her thoughts. Something in the mood between them shifted. Vibrations from his body hummed along her skin. He felt closer, more overt. His breath tickled the back of her neck, sending goose bumps dancing down her spine. She wanted to lean into him. She wanted to feel his lips on her neck. She wanted him to kiss her.

Needles bit into Ravyn’s skin and she gasped, rubbing her arms against the sudden onslaught. Dark clouds rolled across the sky and blocked the sun as chill winds circled the clearing. Rhys’s fingers stilled, and then slipped from her back.

“Rhys, Bane.”

He swore under his breath. “I feel it.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the cemetery. “Run.”

The wind buffeted the trees, rattling their branches and raping the limbs of their leaves. Like the night Icarus had attacked at the abbey, the sky grew dark and dense.

He pulled her to a stop, his voice muffled against the increasing wind. “It’s too late. They’re here.”

Without thought she let her awareness flow into the trees across the clearing. Cluster after cluster of beings lurked beyond her sight. “Blessed Sainted Ones, there are so many of them.”

“That, my lady, is an understatement.”

Terror clawed at her throat but she struggled to maintain a rational mind. “What do we do?”

Rhys’s gaze darted around the small clearing to the graveyard, and back to her face. For the first time since she’d met him, he appeared unsure of what to do. “Fight.”

“Fight them? Are you insane?” Her calm evaporated as her stare dug into the shadows, trying to discern the shapes of the demons.

“Trust me, it’s not my first choice, but we can’t lead them back to the inn. There are children and innocents there.” His gaze bore into her. “I need you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Our predicament is serious if I’m the best plan you have.”

“Faith, Ravyn, faith.” He didn’t sound like he had faith in her. He sounded like she was the path of last resort. Rhys reached into his boot and produced a dagger. “Take this. Use your fire whenever possible, but the dagger might prove useful.”

The beauty of the knife dazzled, even in the darkened daylight. With a trembling hand, she took the weapon. A strange tightening pressed against her fingers, causing them to curl around the intricately carved hilt. The dagger weighed heavy in her palm, but the feel of the knife comforted her. Prying open her fingers, she fought against the sensation of being bound to the dagger.

“It was my father’s. Slip it in your boot. You’ll need both hands free when the demons attack.”

She did as he said and straightened. A slow burn started at the base of her spine and seared its way up her back and down her arms. Ravyn fisted her hands.

“Get ready,” Rhys said.

Dark forms flowed from the forest. Horrifying creatures with hunched backs and misshapen heads lumbered toward them, spreading like a black shadow from the trees. Each demon swayed with a different gait or tempo. Some bobbed awkwardly up and down, while others hinged from side to side. The evil mob fanned across the ground with their wicked weapons drawn.

Rhys’s voice crested over the wind. “They’ll try to circle and drive us into the trees to their waiting comrades.”

The current of air whipped her hair into her face and she captured the mass, tying it in a knot at the base of her neck. “There are more than these?”

“Yes. It’s a battle tactic. They try to intimidate with sheer numbers, but demons aren’t united. They’re greedy and impulsive. They’re predictable in the sense that they’re so unpredictable. Standing together is only effective until one of them sees a self-serving opportunity.”

She glanced at Rhys, now every inch a soldier. Gone were his smiling eyes and easy manner. Gone were his gentle caresses. In their place stood a mythical warrior, tensed for battle and ready to protect at any cost.

He barked the commands like an army captain. “Stay close. Don’t get separated from me. Hold your ground. Strike as many demons as possible.”

Her hands trembled as she raised them. All his instructions bled from her mind as a particularly nasty demon inched forward. Ravyn stepped into Rhys, pressing her body against his.

“We can do this,” he called. The wind lifted his words and carried them away.

“We can do this,” she repeated, fairly certain they couldn’t do anything of the sort.

The creature sneered, exposing rotten, razor-sharp teeth. A thick, black tongue danced inside its mouth like an agitated snake.

“Disgusting.” She pressed closer to Rhys’s side. His solid presence tightened her courage and was the only thing keeping her from running away.

The monster drew closer, bobbing back and forth on twisted feet. A strong smell of sulfur assaulted Ravyn’s nose, and she gagged but maintained her focus. The wave of demons stopped to watch their comrade’s brave advance.

She glanced at Rhys. Why wasn’t he attacking? He returned her stare and with an almost imperceptible movement, nodded his head toward the demon. A lump pushed against her throat, her mouth drying instantly. He wanted her to kill the demon? Some kind of test?

“I can’t,” she mouthed.

He simply stared, demanding she take the lead. Turning, she faced the creature full on.

“Fools rush in,” Ravyn said, unsure the comment was meant for the monster or her.

The demon scooted toward them, hissing like an angry lizard. Ravyn’s power pulsed and reverberated around them. A low hum emanated from Rhys, increasing the demon’s agitation. She searched the sky for potential danger.

“Good. A soldier looks for attacks from every direction,” Rhys barked.

She doubted being a good soldier had anything to do with her instincts. Icarus’s talons had driven the lesson of vigilance deep.

Fire burned under her skin. Ravyn bit her lip. “I need to release some of this power.”

“Do it.”

Her stare locked onto the approaching demon. She dropped the restraints on her energy and let the fire gather in her hands.

The creature’s eyes grew wide. Its steps faltered to a stop, as if it sensed its demise. Energy charged the air and Ravyn raised her hands out to her sides. The demon took a small step back, and then another. She let the fire build. An orange glow radiated from her hands. It felt good to release control.

Too late, the creature spun and launched itself away from Ravyn. Lightning erupted from her hands, raced across the distance, and struck the fleeing monster. In a brilliant flash, the demon disintegrated into a million glowing pieces.

Blasted backward by the force, she slammed against the solid wall of Rhys’s chest. Her breath rushed out, but his strong hands caught and steadied her before she fell.

Ravyn righted herself and glanced around the clearing. “What happened?”

Silence, dense and thick, pressed around them. Weapons hung forgotten at the demons’ sides as the horde stood transfixed by the glowing red embers hanging motionlessly in the air. As if caught by a sudden updraft, the sparks flared. In unison, the demons flinched and retreated several steps.

She shook her head. “No more. I can’t do this, Rhys.”

“You can.” He grabbed her shoulders. “We have to.”

He looked fierce and for a second she was afraid that if the demons didn’t kill her, Rhys would. Energy moved up her spine. What a hard-hearted master her powers were, neglectful of her weakness or apprehension. They demanded she serve the fire whether she wanted to or not. She nodded.

A war cry erupted from the mob. Some of the creatures beat on their chest plates with large swords, while others jumped and waved cudgels and hammers in the air. This would have been a remarkable sight if their anger hadn’t been directed at her and Rhys.

He leaned close. “I’m here to protect you.”

She nodded. Yes, but who will protect you?

Ravyn crouched, holding her hands ready. The mass of demons surged forward. Her power pulsed and heaved, and with a cry of surrender, she dropped her restraints and freed the fire. Lightning bolts shot from her palms and toward the approaching Bane with unpracticed skill. The massive amount of power from each strike knocked Ravyn back several steps. The first bolt struck a misshapen behemoth, but the second flew over their heads and split a tree down the center.

“Focus,” Rhys shouted.

“I’m trying.”

What did he expect? It wasn’t as if pelting evil creatures with lightning was a part of her daily activities. Her heart slammed against her chest as she focused on the closest demons. They were coming too fast. She continued to spin and blast, leaving glittering bits of demon hanging in the air. Panic swamped her. With each successful strike, a new demon took its comrade’s place, gaining a few precious feet in the process.

She heard herself screaming, but couldn’t stop as the sights and sounds of the melee blended. Ravyn fought to maintain what little courage she had and to gain some degree of accuracy. Several trees lost their lives as her energy shot wide of its target. She frequently found her mark, but just as often she disintegrated an untargeted Bane. The results were the same—dispatched demons, but there seemed to be no end to the demon army.

Millions of sparkling embers hung in the air and obscured her view. An explosion erupted a few feet in front of her, knocking Ravyn onto her backside. She jumped to her feet and spun toward Rhys. For the first time, she realized he also fought with fire. Why hadn’t he told her they shared this ability?

A new wave of demons jerked her back to the present danger.

Ravyn took her fear out on the Bane. Her lightning lobbed and bounced around the clearing with no discernible strategy, but Rhys made a strike with every attack. Frustration rushed through her. Whereas she panted from the effort of fighting, he seemed to parry the attacks with the least amount of effort. As she struggled to remain on her feet, her ire grew.

She yelled, her war cry stopping the Bane from approaching further. The few demons that remained stood a short distance away. They didn’t flee, only stared. She raised her hand to release another bolt, and froze. A new wave of demons poured from the forest, taking the place of their disintegrated companions.

Ravyn lowered her hands. Surely this was the end of them. “Holy Sainted Ones.”

Rhys moved to stand beside her.

Her voice cracked, rising in volume and octaves. “We can’t defeat them.”

“We can, and we will.” He grabbed her arm and spun her toward him. “Look at me, Ravyn.”

Tears burned in her eyes. She tore her gaze away from the advancing Bane. She really didn’t want to die. Her breath tumbled and fought to get free, but try as she might, her throat wouldn’t open. “H-how?”

He gripped her upper arms and gave her a quick shake. “Stay focused and keep fighting.”

“There are so many.”

Rhys bent and leveled his gaze with hers. “Yes, and we can defeat them, but I need you in the fight. I need you with me.”

Yes, he needed her. She could do this—or die trying.

She spun and pushed her hands forward. Lightning crackled and raced toward the Bane. The two bolts split and then split again, striking eight demons simultaneously. Ravyn sank into the familiar trance, reveling in the power coursing through her.

The grotesque creatures melted and merged into black voids. A brilliant light glowed where the center of the creatures’ chests had been. Like a white dove caught in a thorny bush, black tendrils snaked around and through the light, holding it captive within the black prison of the Bane.

With each blast of lightning and each thrust of fire, reality slipped from Ravyn’s grasp.

Kill demons.

The chant echoed through her subconscious, fueling her hate and purging her of fear. How long she fought, and how many demons she had dispatched she didn’t know.

Kill demons.

Footsteps pounded from behind, and Ravyn spun to face her attacker. Before she could strike, it froze. She stared at the demon, her sense of the present slipping back into place. Shivers ran through the creature, its eyes widening and bulging in their sockets. With her hands still held ready, she stepped backward. The demon didn’t move. It didn’t seem to see her.

Kill demons.

She crouched, ready for its attack. The demon’s body jolted violently. She retreated further. It jerked again, flopping like a rag doll.

Ravyn’s mouth fell open, unsure what was happening.

The demon’s body stretched and lifted, its clawed feet gouging shallow furrows before levitating to dangle several inches above the ground. Yellow, watery eyes rolled to the back of its head as tiny coils of lightning spread across its body. Appalled fascination riveted her in place. The creature’s tongue lolled out of its mouth and spittle trailed a path to its chin. Its feet hovered just above the ground, kicking and convulsing. Ravyn covered her mouth, suppressing the urge to vomit.

Had Rhys done this? She looked around, unsure. He faced the opposite direction, blasting the approaching Bane with both hands. She scanned the clearing. Nothing. She and Rhys were the only Bringers around.

A low moan emanated from the demon, its quake ebbing to twitches. The monster’s keening grew. Its body stretched and swelled before curling in on itself. Ravyn stumbled backward from the grotesque scene and the small black hole expanding behind the demon.

Ravyn’s dress wound around her legs, the heavy, wool folds sabotaging her retreat. She pitched forward. Her hands shot out to brace for the impact, but instead of colliding in the soft grass her palm landed hard against the sharp point of a rock. She wanted to cry out, to cradle her hand against her stomach and rock back and forth to ease the ache radiating up her arm. But the sight before her numbed her reaction. Only panic remained.

Like a crab, she scrambled away from the man-sized hole and demon. Piece by piece the monster’s body disappeared in the dense hole. With a giant pop, the Bane imploded and vanished.

She fell onto her elbows and stared.

A dark presence drew her awareness to a grove of trees on the opposite side of the clearing. Something familiar flashed and suddenly vanished. Before she could react, powerful arms grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. The breath rushed from her body, and hot moisture lapped at the back of her neck. The rancid breath of a demon assaulted her.

“Gotcha, girlie. You’ll be coming with me,” the creature rasped in her ear.

Its grip tightened and she gasped. Where was Rhys? Was he hurt? Strength surged through her at the thought of him lying injured or worse. She fought against the painful hold, but the only result was the demon’s laughter at her attempt to escape.

Anger burned through her. Blasting this bastard wasn’t possible. She could neither muster nor maneuver the energy to strike. Think, Ravyn, think.

Fire wasn’t her only weapon. A foreign sense pulled at her hand—the dagger. She lifted her knee to slide the knife from her boot. The awareness and connection were immediate. The sensation of binding wrapped around her hand. The weapon calmed her panic and focused her fighting instincts. She and the dagger were one.

Ravyn willed her body to hang limp in the creature’s grip. The demon shrieked in triumph and hefted her wilted form over its shoulder. Both her uncomfortable position and the stench from the beast had her fighting for air, but the demon sprinted across the clearing, away from its companions.

They were a self-serving lot.

Rhys’s angry cry filled the air. Relief washed over Ravyn. He was all right. She turned her head and now saw that her captor raced toward the cemetery.

Blood rushed to her head, her body bouncing painfully against the spiny shoulder. Metal studs from the creature’s leather vest jabbed at her stomach with each bounding leap. She’d be bruised tomorrow for sure—if there was a tomorrow.

With aching slowness, Ravyn inhaled and raised the dagger awkwardly above her head. She gritted her teeth against the inevitable and plunged the knife into the demon’s back.

The monster’s shrill cry filled her head, tearing at her eardrums. Before she could cover her ears, the demon’s grip slackened and it listed forward. Its knees buckled and her body spilled sideways off the creature’s shoulder. With an ungraceful roll, she pulled the dagger from its thick skin and grabbed the blade with her other hand. Though clumsy, she managed to escape with merely a slice across her palm.

Ravyn rolled, gaining the shelter of the trees near the cemetery just as her kidnapper exploded. The eruption rocked the glen. Thousands of sizzling demon bits blasted outward, catapulting the fighting Bane backward from their spots. A fiery wind swept over her body and out into the forest. She buried her face under her arm, sheltering her eyes from the flying debris. The air thinned. Ravyn choked and lifted her head, scanning the area for Rhys. He lay several yards away in a similar position. She stumbled to her feet and wove toward him, her lungs burning.

As if caught by a sudden updraft, the sparks from the demon flared and began to spin.

She dropped to the ground beside Rhys. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” He pushed to his hands and knees and looked around, his gaze settling on the growing vortex. “What—is that?”

“A demon, I think.”

Stronger and faster the mass spun. Ravyn’s gown tightened against her shoulders, the hem straining toward the spinning air. She dug her fingers into the grass.

“Rhys?”

The sparks swirled faster, pulling rocks, branches, and Ravyn toward the vortex. Her feet lifted from the ground. Rhys grabbed her, hauling her against him.

“Give me the dagger.”

Their bodies inched across the ground. She shoved the knife into his hand and clung to him. Rhys rammed the blade into the ground, burying it up to the hilt. He wrapped one hand around the handle and tightened his other arm around her waist.

“Hold on,” he yelled above the growing maelstrom.

The circling embers congealed into a violent funnel cloud. A demon screamed, the howl ripping through the fragile shield protecting Ravyn’s mind.

This was slow death. Bit-by-bit she fragmented, watching the glue that bound her to the mortal world dissolve, knowing nothing existed after the pain.

Tears spilled from the corners of Ravyn’s eyes. Rhys held her, and she knew he wouldn’t let her plummet into the void, but the torment of the cry plunged into her soul like a searing blade. She pressed her face against his bicep. He was her rock, her salvation, the only thing that stopped her from toppling over the precipice and into The Abyss.

The shields of her mind crumbled, and she screamed, her soul pitching toward the blackness. She hung, suspended in time, waiting to tumble into nothingness.

She was faintly aware of the wind lifting her body and sucking the air from her lungs. This must be what drowning feels like. How much more could she take? She waited for the blackness, praying for the peace she’d felt the night Rhys had saved her. Neither came.

The horrific cry suddenly ceased, releasing Ravyn. She lifted her head and looked at the funnel cloud. With a thunderous roar, it dove straight into the earth. Ravyn’s body slammed to the ground. If she’d had any breath left, the fall would have knocked it out of her. Pain consumed her body, but she knew she was alive. Facedown in the dirt, she smiled and grimaced. Thanks be to The Sainted Ones.

A dead calm enveloped the clearing. Not a bird chirped. Not a reed rustled.

Rhys rolled her over and lifted her unceremoniously into his arms. His face hovered an inch from hers. “Ravyn, are you all right?”

She tried to smile but her breath rushed out as he crushed her to him. “I can’t breathe.”

He loosened his hold, but he didn’t let go. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m alive.”

He smiled. “I had my doubts.”

Rhys helped her stand, the ground swaying beneath her. She inhaled, trying to clear her head. He continued to touch her, somewhat for support but also as if he had to. Confusion, the throbbing in her body, and the horrifying events she’d just witnessed overruled any happiness she might have felt.

“What happened? I stabbed a demon with your dagger and then…” She let the statement hang in the air.

He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He looked around. “Where are the Bane?”

Ravyn scanned the surrounding woods. Not a demon remained. Not a weapon lay forgotten. The only evidence of a fight was the upended trees and rocks, and her and Rhys’s disheveled appearances.

Relief and fear jumbled together. She stepped out of his hold and looked around again. The slight prickle of Bane tapped against her arm but there were no demons that she could see. She walked to the cemetery, stopping at the first gravestone. Rhys followed.

She felt sick, like when she’d dream of falling and wake up an instant before she hit the ground. Relieved to be alive, but scared to fall asleep again, not wanting to relive the dream.

She knelt and brushed the brambles away from the stone. “I’m not strong like you.”

The grass crunched behind her. His warmth radiated against her back. “Yes, you are.”

She stood and peered at the unreadable gravestone. Who were these forgotten people buried in this forgotten cemetery? Would that be her fate—forgotten, celebrated by few, loved by none?

She turned and faced him. “I don’t want to be a Bringer, Rhys. I don’t think I can.”

Chapter Nine

Icarus stood deep within the shadows of the trees, watching Ravyn Mayfield as she and the man stepped over split and ravaged trees and disappeared into the woods. What an enlightening day this had been. He twisted the band of gold at his wrist and contemplated his next move. New questions burned to be answered.

Lady Mayfield was far more powerful than his father had led him to believe. If Vile captured her powers, his domination would be unconquerable. But what if one demon, brave enough to defy his king, broke rank and took her immense powers for itself? What if the lowest of the Bane realized it could perform the ritual of Taking on any Bringer? Chaos and rebellion, to be certain. No, Vile was wise to hide the extent of her powers and even more prudent to keep secret the fact that the key to the Bane throne lay nestled within one small woman.

Icarus sneered. “Well played, Father.”

He crossed his arms. But not played well enough.

The other Bane might be a pack of simpletons, unable to see the tree through the forest, but he wasn’t. His tenuous loyalty to Vile melted away, replaced by a more self-serving scheme. The prospect of breaking free from his father’s clutches strengthened his determination. No matter whom he had to kill or what he had to do, he’d possess the Bringer’s powers and crush his father—but only after making Vile grovel like the dog he was.

His heart quickened at the thought of defeating the mighty Demon King. A sneer curled his upper lip. He’d make sure to show his father the same mercy Vile had shown him. Perhaps he’d force the king to eat the rotting flesh of his victims, or to drink their clotting blood. Icarus fisted his hands, his talons digging deep, but not as deep as the memories of his humiliation at Vile’s hand. Maybe he’d chain his father to the floor. Force him to his hands and knees and release the demons who they kept locked away. The ones who were more animal than demon, The ones who violated and then killed their victims. His sneer widened to a smile at the image.

“That’s an odd reaction for one who has just lost the golden prize,” said a feminine voice behind him.

Icarus stiffened and slowly pivoted. A tall, blue, female demon leaned against a tree several feet away. “Sha-hera,” he hissed. “Why are you here? Spying?”

She drifted toward him. Her sultry sway exhibited the honed muscles of a warrior, and the gold beads adorning black braids glimmered in the afternoon light. “Spying would imply I was skulking about where I shouldn’t be.” She stopped inches from him. “I came to watch the battle. I love a good fight.”

He didn’t react. Like him, Sha-hera was an original Bane and matched him in strength and power. The skills of the succubus could corrupt the most devout man, but the female demons were as deadly as any male Bane. As captain of the succubi, Sha-hera proved more dangerous than most. Ruthless, heartless, and merciless, all wrapped in a pretty package. Her gluttony for power pushed against him. He sensed her determination to acquire what she wanted, in any manner possible.

The irony that he had just resolved himself to that same single-minded focus minutes before was not lost on Icarus. But he and Sha-hera were not the same. She lived to kill. He killed to survive.

As she circled behind him, she ran a bloodred talon across his chest and over his shoulder. Her breasts pressed against his back. “But I must admit, Icarus, I’m a bit disappointed.”

“And why is that?” he asked. “Not enough bloodshed?”

She laughed and dragged her talon across his back and arm until she stood in front of him. He gritted his teeth against the sting of her caress. How he hated her touch. He wanted to step away from her, but that simple movement would give Sha-hera too much power. Intimidation was her tactic, and she had mastered it.

The iridescent material of her tunic and pants molded against the curves and swells of her body. Icarus ran his gaze from the gold bangles at her ankles to her topaz, almond-shaped eyes. He donned what he hoped was an expression that said he’d found nothing of interest below her neck. For a succubus, it was the gravest of insults.

She smirked, letting him know his affront had missed its mark. “Well, I do love a good bloodbath. But that’s not the cause of my disappointment.”

She dangled her worm before him, but he didn’t bite. Bored, disinterested, and stony-faced silence was her only reward. She turned and glided several feet away, the distance giving him room to breathe.

“I was greatly disappointed with your lack of…how should I put it? Enthusiasm.” She faced him with a look similar to a cat that had cornered a mouse. How much had she seen? “I wonder why you came at all if you had no intention of kidnapping the girl.”

She had seen too much. “You’re babbling, Sha-hera. I’m here at the king’s command.”

“Ah, the king’s command.” She paused. “Not of your own accord?”

“It’s one and the same.” He resisted the urge to fidget. Whatever the demon-bitch played at, he wouldn’t engage her.

Like a predator, she paced in front of him, her stare fixed on his eyes. She stopped, her face so close he could feel the brush of her breath on his chin and smell the tang of sulfur over her potent female scent. The sultry softness of her voice floated over him, seeping deep to coax the truth from his throat. “Really? Because I swear I saw you attack one of your own infantry demons just as he was about to grab the woman. Or maybe I was mistaken. What do you think, Icarus? Was I mistaken?”

Before she could move, Icarus wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed. He raised his arm until her toes dangled above the ground. Her eyes widened in shock, her fingers clawing against his hold. Her leathery blue wings flapped wildly behind her. “Don’t provoke me, Sha-hera. You know nothing of what transpired here.”

With a flick of his arm, he tossed her into the trees. She landed on her feet like an agile cat, hissing and baring her fangs. She expected him to show fear. Most demons would have cowered or run at the sight of the angry succubus. He wasn’t most demons.

Icarus took a step toward her and flared his black wings as wide as they would stretch. “Don’t pretend to know my orders.”

Sha-hera crouched and hissed again but shuffled backward a few steps. “You let her escape. I saw you.” She spat the words at him, all trace of her succubus allure vanishing. “Vile wants her, but you let her go. I wonder how he’ll react when I tell him his second-in-command betrayed him.”

Her threat stopped him. If Sha-hera ran back to Vile and openly accused him of defying orders, he’d be pulled from the mission—or worse, thrown into The Abyss. No, that could not happen. He couldn’t let this harpy ruin his plan.

“Even you can’t be so dense,” Icarus drawled. “Were you asleep during the battle or did you not notice the girl’s amazing power?”

“I saw. What does that have to do with you letting the Bringer go?”

“This isn’t the first time she’s displayed exceptional abilities.” He clasped his hands behind his back and relaxed his stance as if Sha-hera was no more than a childish inconvenience. “She may hold secrets the Bane can use against the Bringers. Is it not prudent to gauge how and when her energy manifests before we present her to the king?”

“And letting her go is the best way to do this?”

Sha-hera’s hunger for power swamped him. Icarus stilled and let her emotions pour through him, sifting and dissecting each wave of desire. He understood her, felt what she craved, and knew what she wanted to hear. New options presented themselves. For the first time, he realized his shameful ability to empathize might just be the very weapon he needed in battle.

He kept his tone even and nonthreatening. “Perhaps I should let you lead this mission.”

Desire flashed in Sha-hera’s eyes, and Icarus knew he’d read her correctly.

“Maybe I should let you capture the Bringer and transport her to the king’s throne chamber.”

Sha-hera straightened, and ran her tongue across her lips like a dog on the scent of a bone. Her gaze was too intense, too interested. Like every Demon Bane, she was a slave to her greed and self-serving desires. “What are you saying?”

“You could present her to Vile with all the pomp and circumstance your army seems to deem necessary.” Icarus wanted to laugh at the desire so clearly displayed on her face. Oh yes, this demon was hungry for power.

“Maybe you should let me, Icarus. I could do it quicker and cleaner than you.”

“I’d stand in the shadows and watch you present the Bringer to the king,” he continued evenly. Icarus held his hands out to his sides and slowly shook his head. “Oh, how he’d praise your success. And I would have to endure his tirade of insults at my failure.”

Sha-hera grinned. She’d love to see him humiliated in front of the entire Bane.

Icarus paced forward until he stood directly in front of her. “Then I’d watch as the Bringer unleashed untold power upon the chamber.”

Her mouth thinned. “What are you talking about?”

It was his turn to smile. “I speak of the very power you witnessed today being unleashed in the presence of our king. I speak of powers we know nothing about. Powers that could annihilate every Bane within minutes because you’re blinded by your desire to be the king’s lapdog. You’ve lost sight of the goal.”

He closed the distance between them and wrapped his hand around her throat. His grip tightened, but only to the point of pinning Sha-hera in place. Though she clutched his wrist, she didn’t fight his hold. “Go back to what you know, succubus—fucking and sucking the men of this world. But stay away from me and out of my business. If you don’t…”

She pulled at his arm as his grip tightened.

“I’ll see to it you spend the rest of eternity bent over a pleasuring table. How would you like to be the hole every lowlife demon sates itself in?” He ran his tongue along the marbled blue skin of her cheek. “Mmmm, I think I like the idea.”

With a shove, he released her.

She stumbled and straightened, her eyes rounding at his threat. She wiped his saliva from her face with a trembling hand. “Watch your back, Icarus.” Blue wings unfurled behind her. “You think you are invincible because you’re Vile’s number one, but he doesn’t trust you any more than I do. Nobody does.”

She crouched and launched herself into the sky.

Icarus watched Sha-hera until she disappeared from sight. She wasn’t as stupid as he had thought, and he now understood what drove her: the throne.

He turned toward the empty clearing. His plan to delay the woman’s capture had worked, but he would indeed have to watch his back, and not only from Sha-hera. With a powerful leap, he took to the air.

Chapter Ten

Rhys wove his way through the trees, dragging Ravyn behind him. Confusion and disappointment at her announcement of not wanting to be a Bringer rendered him speechless. He’d been certain once she’d felt the full extent of her powers, she would be driven by duty to embrace her fate—like he had been. But that’s not what happened. She didn’t want to be a Bringer. Could she do that? The mixed-bloods pretended to be full-bloods and many had nothing more than intuition and drive to distinguish them from humans, but they still wanted to be Bringers. And yet here she was, as strong as he—if not stronger—and she wanted to turn her back on her heritage.

He huffed and pulled on Ravyn’s arm.

“Ouch. Rhys, slow down. I can’t keep up.”

He stopped and swung to face her. “Should I carry you?”

She glowered at him, twisted free of his grip, and rubbed the reddened area on her wrist. “No, I’m quite capable of walking, but my hand hurts from where I cut it and I am a bit tired from the legion of demons you just made me battle. Or did you forget that?”

Forget? How could he forget? The rage that had consumed him when he saw the demon running across the field with Ravyn over its shoulder was enough to awaken his beast. If she hadn’t escaped, he would have surely loosed the creature, consequences be damned. “I made you fight because that’s what Bringers do.” He kept his voice even. “We fight, not run.”

“Yes, I believe you have never run from a fight.” She lowered her arms and released a heavy breath. “But I’m not you, Rhys. I haven’t had 300 years to live with my powers.” She stepped around him but stopped to look at him, her expression resigned. “I’m not strong like you.”

She turned and walked away, not waiting for his reply. He rubbed his hand over his face. Damn, he hadn’t meant to argue with her. He couldn’t blame her for not choosing a life of war, always expecting the worst, never finding peace. No, he couldn’t blame her, but he had hoped.

He followed several paces behind, stifling the urge to pick the sticks and leaves from her long, black, and now tangled tresses. He should tell her he understood, but the words jumbled in his mind. Apologizing to her felt too much like apologizing for his sense of duty. This is why he kept his distance from people. They never understood what it meant to be a Shield. He had thought maybe Ravyn was different.

He swore at his own foolishness and cursed the fact that he’d started to care for her. His pace quickened. But he was thinking straight now. She’d reminded him that duty came first. It would be his constant companion through the centuries. Duty and honor would never waste away and die. Duty and honor would never leave him.

He swiped at a branch hanging across his path. Its small thorns speared his palm. The din of people greeted them seconds before the inn came into view. Their cuts, bruises, and overall disheveled appearance would raise too many questions if they entered through the front of the inn. Skirting the grounds, they circled around back where there was less chance of anyone seeing them. The kitchen door stood open. He hoped it was empty and they could escape to their room and clean up before dinner, but he doubted that would be the case.

He stepped aside and allowed Ravyn to enter the kitchen, then followed her in. The savory smell of mutton greeted him as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior. Mary, the oldest of the Giles girls, and Willa stood staring into a huge pot. From snatches of their soft conversation, Willa was instructing her daughter in the art of making stew.

Ravyn looked at him and he gave a quick nod toward the door leading to the hallway. They’d tiptoed halfway across the room when Willa cleared her throat. He froze and slowly turned to look at her. Whereas Mary’s eyes were round in surprise, her mother’s were narrowed and full of suspicion.

“Mary, go get your father and tell him to meet us in the library. Then come back here and tend the stew.” When Mary opened her mouth to protest, Willa placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. I trust you to handle the kitchen.”

Mary smiled, cut a nervous glance to Ravyn and Rhys, and then hugged her mother. “Thank you, Mama.”

“Now go,” Willa said. “And tell your father to bring an extra chair from the dining room.”

“Yes, Mama.”

When the girl was gone, Willa pinned them with a stare. “What happened?”

“Bane,” Ravyn answered before Rhys could make excuses.

He glowered at her, but she ignored him.

“Where?” Willa’s complexion turned ashen. “How close?”

“The clearing beyond the cemetery,” Rhys said.

She pointed her wooden spoon at both of them. “Don’t you listen? I told you not to go too far.”

Rhys straightened his shoulders, suddenly feeling like a scolded boy. “Yes, because dinner would be ready soon.”

She slammed the spoon against the huge wooden table that separated them from her wrath. “No, because the ground is not sanctified beyond the cemetery. Of all the people in the world, I didn’t think I had to spell it out to you, Rhys. Ravyn is only now on her feet. Why would you risk your lives like that?”

He flinched at his stupidity. That’s why he’d always felt safe here, sanctified grounds. He’d never asked, not wanting to broach the subject of being a Bringer, and never believing they could help him. That helping and protecting were his jobs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ravyn slide him a glance. He thanked The Sainted Ones when she didn’t follow it with an “I told you so.”

“Can you bind Ravyn’s hand until I can heal it?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled it up to show Willa. An angry line cut across her palm but there was no blood. “I thought you cut yourself.”

She pulled her hand away and stared. “I did.”

“Not as bad as you thought,” he said.

Ravyn said nothing for a few seconds as she rubbed her finger along the red welt. “Yes, I guess.”

The innkeeper circled the table and looked at Ravyn’s hand. She gave a knowing grunt and walked to the door Mary had exited. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Follow me. It’s time we stop pretending and speak frankly.”

She held Rhys’s gaze until he nodded. Perhaps it was time to trust Willa and Orvis. As he followed Ravyn out of the kitchen, he couldn’t help wonder what information the Giles family held.

Willa led them down a narrow hall and into the last room on the left. It was small but brightly lit from the two large windows against the west wall. Shelves lined one side of the room, and a large wooden table, acting as a desk, held court in the center. Ledgers stacked in neat piles rested to one side of the table, and an inkwell and quill stood ready to scribe.

Rhys liked how the room smelled. Leather and the mustiness of old books mixed with the light scent of linseed oil. The smell reminded him of Alba Haven and his library. He silently sighed, feeling the tug of home. Emotions warred with each other. It would be best for Ravyn to stay here with people who would take care of her, but he wanted her with him, wanted her to want to join the fight. He had no right to demand this from her. He pulled out one of the three chairs with a loud scrape across the wooden floor and offered it to Ravyn.

She didn’t look at him, her voice a little too controlled. “Thank you.”

When he made a move toward Willa, she waved him away, hauled out her own chair, and plunked down. She drummed her fingers on the table and glared at him. With an impatient huff, she stood and paced along the wall of shelves. Rhys sat in an empty chair next to Ravyn and focused on the trees beyond the window. The gentle movement of the leaves was much better scenery than Willa’s glower.

The innkeeper paced back to her chair and plopped down again, slamming her hands on the table. “Well, at least tell me you’re all right.”

He and Ravyn jumped at her outburst.

“We’re fine,” Rhys said.

Ravyn crossed her arms and made a tiny noise that sounded like ha.

“It seems Lady Mayfield disagrees,” Willa said.

“Yes, well, Lady Mayfield is being difficult today.”

Ravyn opened her mouth to argue, but something heavy hit the wall outside the room, the thud cutting her off. A picture rattled as another thump echoed in the hallway.

Scrape…drag…thud.

Willa let out a heavy sigh and tapped an index finger impatiently on the table.

Scrape…thud.

“Blessed Sainted Ones, he’s going to destroy the woodwork,” she muttered. “Are you all right, Orvis? Do you need some help?”

The round, smiling face of the innkeeper peeked around the corner. “No, I’m good, dear.”

All three watched Orvis cajole a large wooden chair into the room and set it at the head of the table. He huffed and removed a white rag from his pocket to dab his forehead.

Willa smiled sweetly at her husband. “Could you close the door before you sit down, dear?”

He seemed to melt under his wife’s gaze and hustled to do her bidding. “Of course, my sweet.”

The couple reminded Rhys of his parents. Always a tender smile, always supportive and caring. In his experience, that type of relationship was rare. A tinge of envious warmth spread through him. His gaze shifted to Ravyn.

She watched the couple, her brows slightly knitted. What stirred in that mind of hers? She kept it tightly locked, never allowing anybody beyond a certain point. He understood her reluctance to trust others, but he didn’t like that it ruled her life and actions. One day she would have to open herself to what she was and trust her instincts. But he couldn’t make that decision for her, and if shutting out the world—shutting out him—was how she needed to deal with her situation, he’d accept her choice. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d do anything to ensure her safety.

His heart ached at the thought of leaving Ravyn behind. He pulled his gaze from her and turned his attention back to Orvis, a small attempt at regaining control of his frustration.

The innkeeper wrestled his ample frame into his chair, looked around the table, and smiled again. “Now, why are we all here?”

Rhys looked to Willa for the answer. After all, she’d been the one to corral them into the library.

She pointed an accusing finger across the table at him and Ravyn. “These two were attacked by the Bane today, just beyond the cemetery.”

“Really?” Orvis said. “How many?”

“Lots,” Ravyn piped in. “Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” Orvis and Willa said in unison.

“Not hundreds,” Rhys interjected. “Maybe fifty.”

Ravyn harrumphed and crossed her arms.

“Still, fifty against two is very impressive,” Orvis said.

“Yes. Quite impressive. Speaking of which,” Willa said, “I think it’s time we stop tiptoeing around what we know and exchange information.”

Rhys took note as Willa shifted uncomfortably in the chair. She’s got secrets. “Why don’t you begin, Willa?”

She cut a glance to Orvis. He responded with a quick nod of encouragement. Not surprisingly, he shared in the information his wife was about to reveal.

Willa folded her hands in her lap and leaned back against her chair. “I’ve known for quite some time that you are a Bringer, Rhys.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment but didn’t interrupt.

“Over the years, I’ve come to realize you’re different than most of the Bringers I’ve met,” she said. “All except one—my first husband.”

Her words shot through him. He leaned forward and placed his palms on the table. “What do you mean?”

Orvis patted Willa’s hand. “Go ahead, dear. He needs to know.”

She stood and walked to the bookcase to remove two small leather-bound books. She returned to the table and sat, gripping the journals with a protective ferocity. Her gaze snared Rhys’s. “My first husband was a full-blooded Bringer, but he was killed by the Bane—as were my two daughters. That was fifteen years ago.”

“Fifteen years ago?” Rhys asked. “But I thought the last full-blood, aside from me, was killed over three hundred years ago?”

“The originals who stayed after the war were killed. But my husband wasn’t one of the originals.”

Ravyn shifted to sit forward and prop her elbows on the table. He glanced at her, his mind struggling to comprehend what Willa was telling him. His chest tightened as Willa slid one of the books toward him, its worn leather all too familiar to him. His voice pushed past the lump forming in his throat. “Where did you get this?”

“What is it, Rhys?” Ravyn said.

He continued to stare at Willa. “Where did you get this?”

Willa held his gaze. “From my husband.”

Orvis stood and took his position behind his wife’s chair. Whether in support or protection, Rhys didn’t know. He reined in his emotions, not wanting to scare his friends. He needed answers. If the book in front of him was any indication of where this conversation was headed, he wasn’t sure he could be responsible for his later actions.

“It was given to him by a monk,” she continued. “A Brother Archibald, I believe his name was.”

Ravyn’s pressure on his arm increased. “Rhys, what is this book? Do you recognize it?”

He stared at the journal he hadn’t seen for over 300 years. “It’s my father’s diary.”

She gasped, her gaze snapping to Willa. “I don’t understand. When did your husband get the journal?” She looked back to Rhys. “Wasn’t Brother Archibald the monk who saved you after Vile’s attack?”

He nodded, his mind trying to piece together Willa’s words. He turned his attention back to the innkeeper. “If your husband wasn’t one of the original Bringers, how did he return to Inness? The Archway was sealed over a thousand years ago.”

“My husband once told me that leaving the Bringers behind on Inness had never set well with most of the Bringer people. They wanted the door reopened and the soldiers brought home, but the old king refused. When Vile began assassinating those left behind, the cry to reopen the passage grew until the people overthrew the old king and set a new king in his place. A man named Janus, I believe.”

Rhys stood and paced along the wall of shelves. “A rebellion? A new king?” He stopped and looked at Willa. “If the Bringers came through, where are they?”

“I don’t know, Rhys. Bowen never told me more than his reason for being in Inness. But I got the impression there were plans in the works to remove the Bane from Inness. Bowen never said as much, but he would leave for several days and even weeks at a time without telling me where he was going. He’d only say he had Bringer responsibilities.”

Emotions assaulted Rhys, jumbling and tumbling. Each exploded, then faded away.

Anger—all these years alone when there were other full-bloods still living.

Confusion—when had the doorway reopened?

Excitement—what did this mean for the cause?

If there were full-blooded Bringers living on Inness, would they be willing to fight?

If they were here, why hadn’t they joined the fight? Were they hiding?

Again, anger took the forefront.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” he ground out.

“I’d promised to keep the books and information safe.” Willa shifted uncomfortably. “Bowen didn’t want me drawing unwanted attention to myself if something should happen to him.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. “That promise was the only thing I had left of my husband.” She looked back at Rhys. “Until a few minutes ago, I didn’t know the journal belonged to your father. I’ve been tempted many times to give it to you during one of your stays. I thought maybe it would do more good in your hands than gathering dust on my shelf…but I couldn’t break my promise to Bowen.”

“Why now?” Rhys asked. His voice sounded cold to his own ears. Inside he knew none of what the Bringers had and had not done was Willa’s fault, but she was the closest thing to a scapegoat right now.

She slid the second journal across the table to sit beside his father’s diary. She seemed to understand this and spoke gently when she replied. “You’re going to need it. I don’t know when, but I think there’s a war coming. These books will serve us better in your keeping than mine.”

Rhys smirked. “We’ve been—I’ve been—at war with the Bane for nearly three hundred years.”

Willa shook her head vigorously. “No, Rhys, what you’ve experienced so far is nothing compared to what is predicted in this journal.” She pointed to his father’s book. “The old ways will be resurrected and new hardships will have to be endured.”

“How do you know this?” Ravyn said.

Her body leaned toward Rhys as if blocking any pain Willa’s words might cause him. He kept his attention riveted on the innkeeper, but drew strength from Ravyn’s nearness.

“I read it.” Willa flicked her head toward his father’s worn diary. She leaned against the chair and wrapped her fingers around Orvis’s, who remained steadfast behind his wife. “Bits and pieces, anyway. Not all of it. At times it felt like spying on somebody’s private moments. After Bowen died, I needed some connection to the life I’d just lost. I’ve tried to read his journal but I don’t understand the language.”

Rhys reached for Bowen’s journal. He pulled open the cover. The leather creaked from age and disuse. Familiar symbols and signs filled the pages, but the link between his spoken words and the written language wouldn’t connect.

Ravyn leaned in over his arm to gaze at the pages. “This is the same language as my book.”

Rhys handed her the journal. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She touched the page. “This symbol has always reminded me of a bird in flight.”

“Do you know what it says?” Hope tinged his question.

“No. It’s…” She searched for the right word. “It’s familiar, but I don’t understand it.”

As it was with him. Rhys took the book from her and stared at the words, trying to force them into some kind of coherent language. But the symbols remained silent and secretive.

“It’s the Bringer language,” Willa said. “I can’t read it, but maybe you can find somebody who can.”

His mind raced. Where could he possibly find a Bringer with the ability to read the ancient language? He mimicked Ravyn and propped his elbows on the table. If he hadn’t found such a person in the last three centuries, he obviously didn’t want to be found. He toyed with the idea of taking the books to Illuma Grand, but quickly discarded it. The Bringers there were mixed-bloods, all of them too caught up in politics to know anything about the Bringers’ heritage. He tapped his index fingers together in a steady cadence, trying to focus his frustration.

“Both are yours now,” Willa said.

Rhys’s hand crept toward his father’s diary and stopped just shy of the bottom edge. How could he ever read his father’s words? How could he relive the happy memories before his life had turned to dust? The tips of his fingers inched forward and rested against the cover. Slowly, as if the diary were a poisonous snake, he drew the book toward him and pocketed it inside his tunic. The small lump felt like a brick against his heart.

Ravyn picked up the second book. “May I look at this?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice. Tension gnawed at his muscles. He rolled his shoulders and he circled his head, trying to ease the strain of the day. He cleared his throat and looked at the couple. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Willa said, her expression serious. “I fear for you and Ravyn. Your father’s predictions are dire, Rhys.” She gave a weak smile. “But you must never give up. There is hope within your father’s pages.”

Ravyn’s words came back to him. She didn’t want to be part of this fight. “May I ask a large favor of you?”

“Anything,” Orvis piped in as he slid back into his chair.

“It’s imperative that Ravyn remains safe.” The words choked in his throat. “Would you allow her to—”

“Have a weapon?” Ravyn interrupted. Rhys’s gaze snapped to her, but she didn’t look at him. “Perhaps a crossbow or a small sword of some kind?”

Words failed him as he stared at her profile. What was she saying? Was her Bringer blood too strong to let her cower from the Bane? Was she choosing to be with him?

It didn’t matter. He’d been reminded today that duty dictated he remain detached. Nothing would change even though she’d decided to travel with him. He was her protector and nothing more.

Why then did his private declaration feel like a lie?

He faced Orvis and Willa. “Yes, and perhaps some supplies for our travels?” he added. “We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

“Of course, of course,” Orvis erupted. “And for you…” He pointed a chubby finger at Ravyn. “I have just the thing. Sit tight.”

He squeezed out of his chair and bustled from the room.

“I’ll get started on your supplies after dinner.” Willa stood and walked to the door, but stopped and faced them. “You’re always welcome and safe here. The entire inn is on sanctified ground, all the way to the edge of the cemetery.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows in surprise. “All of it?”

“Yes. It took a bit of searching, but I finally found a monk willing to do the job.” She smiled. “A month of free meals seemed like a reasonable price for his time and our safety.”

“That would have been a useful bit of information today.”

Her expression turned serious again. “Consider The Dirty Habit your refuge.”

He nodded. “Thank you—for everything.”

She gave him a sad smile and left to tend to dinner. Rhys turned to Ravyn and cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want to be a Bringer.”

Her lips thinned under his question. “Obviously, I’m a glutton for punishment. Deciding to go with you doesn’t mean that I’m not scared or that I have the faintest notion of what I’m doing.”

“Understood.”

“So don’t expect miracles.”

“Of course.”

She sighed, “Don’t depend on me, Rhys, or we both could end up dead.”

“I have faith in you, Ravyn.”

She shook her head. “I must be mad.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Get used to it. That kind of insane behavior is in your blood. If you’re anything like me, it’ll be all you can do to stay out of the fray.”

She offered him her hand. “In other words, live or die, we’ll do it together?”

He wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her to a stand. “Exactly.”

He closed the distance between them and gazed into the blue depths of her eyes. Her breath caressed his neck. The presence of an impending kiss hung between them. He wanted to kiss her. Duty, honor. As if reading his mind, she tilted her chin upward. Like a moth drawn to her heat, his lips lowered.

“Here we are,” Orvis announced as he sidled into the room.

Rhys turned to glower at him. “Wonderful.”

Ravyn stepped back and smiled at the innkeeper wrestling the quiver of arrows and crossbow through the opening.

Once he cleared the doorjamb, he proudly held up his prizes. “For you.”

“Oh, Orvis, they’re perfect,” Ravyn said.

The way she ran an admiring hand along the curve of the polished wood stirred Rhys’s blood. Appreciative fingers plucked the string. She took the black bow awkwardly in one hand while gripping the book in the other and looked at him. “Will you teach me to shoot?”

Rhys took the weapon, testing its weight. “It’s a good fit for you.” He handed it back. “I’ll teach you.”

She smiled, and he suddenly wanted to grant her every wish. I must be going soft.

“Where did you get such a weapon?” he said, turning to Orvis. “It’s a masterpiece.”

Orvis beamed with pride. “Made it myself.”

Ravyn shoved the bow toward the innkeeper. “I couldn’t possibly take it.”

“Nonsense.” He waved a hand in the air. “I’ve got a dozen just like it in my shop. Had loads of time on my hands when Willa was pregnant.” He winked at Ravyn. “A man needs a hobby.”

“You mean besides getting your wife pregnant?” Rhys asked.

Orvis wiggled his eyebrows and again waved the offered bow away. “Take it. I want you to have it. If my little girl was in need, I’d want somebody to help.”

Ravyn’s eyes grew wide. After a second, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Orvis. You and your family have shown me more kindness than anybody in my entire life.” She chanced a look at Rhys. “Besides Rhys.”

“Weeell.” Orvis blushed. “You two are pretty easy to get attached to. Now, you better get ready. Go pack. Might I suggest waiting until morning to leave? Night cloaks the Bane. Better to fight them in the light of day.”

“I agree,” Rhys said. “We’ll leave at first light. I’d be surprised if we saw much of the Bane for a day or two after today’s fight. We should take advantage of the lull, get a good night’s sleep, and head out early tomorrow.”

“A sound plan. And if my nose hasn’t fooled me, I’d say we’re having Willa’s famous stew. Full bellies and restful sleep is what you have to look forward to tonight.”

Yes, but for how long? As much as Rhys didn’t want Willa to be right, he knew her prediction of war might be true. Today’s battle was merely a harbinger of things to come.

Chapter Eleven

Sha-hera stood to the left of Vile’s throne, her shoulder braced against the high, fanned back of bleached bones. The conniving bitch had run straight to the king. Icarus stayed the compulsion to launch himself at her and rip out her throat.

“Icarus.” Vile’s tone was deceptively mild, but threatening enough to draw Icarus’s glare from Sha-hera. “It has come to my attention that you might not be working in the best interest of the Bane. Tell me this isn’t so.”

“My king.” He bowed low. “All my actions are for the good of the Bane and for your glory.”

“I want to believe you, Icarus. Really, I do.” The king tapped a long black talon against the arm of his throne. “But the latest report I received was rather disturbing.”

Snickers of laughter from the watching demons rippled around the throne room. Sha-hera’s lip curled in a mocking smile. He would torture her before he tore her apart, piece by piece. He would listen to her plead and beg for mercy, and then he would torture her some more. No suffering was too cruel for the back-biting harpy.

“I’m afraid the reports you’ve received are inaccurate, Father.” He stressed the paternal title to remind Sha-hera he was no mere soldier. His stare never wavered from the female demon. “I fear these lies are motivated by greed. The Bringer has powers beyond what we originally thought.”

“Really?” Vile stood and walk to the end of the dais. “How interesting.”

For the first time, Icarus saw the lie in his father’s eyes. His words feigned ignorance, but Vile definitely knew about the woman’s power, and there was something false in the way he moved that Icarus couldn’t place.

“All the more reason to secure her so I can absorb those powers.” The king descended the steps to the throne room floor. He kicked the carcass of a dead dog, its flesh stripped long ago by the filthy demons. “No other Bringer has the power I need.” With his hands clenched behind his back as if deep in contemplation, Vile meandered toward Icarus, stopping inches away from him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I cannot open The Abyss of Souls without her.”

Icarus stilled. “The Abyss of Souls?” He struggled to show no outward signs of alarm as Vile stared at him, gauging his reaction. “Legend says he who opens The Abyss of Souls controls an unstoppable army.”

An arrogant smile spread across Vile’s face. “Does that prospect not thrill you—son?”

Icarus said nothing, acknowledging neither the slurring con-descension with which Vile said son, nor the revelation that his father had not been as idle as he’d thought. Opening The Abyss of Souls would guarantee Vile’s domination and guarantee Icarus an eternity under his father’s brutal rule. The ground on which Icarus stood was slowly crumbling. This could not happen.

“A worthy plan for a worthy king,” he said, bowing his head in a way he hoped exhibited subordination. “If I have erred, it has been on the side of caution, Father. I was not aware of your plans.”

“I appreciate your efforts to keep us all safe, Icarus, but I want the Bringer—now.”

Icarus’s gaze slid to Sha-hera. Did she know of Vile’s plans? She’d called him out, directly challenging him. Did she believe the spot beside Vile’s throne was already hers? If she knew of Vile’s plan to open The Abyss of Souls, she would most definitely want to position herself as close to the king as possible and reap the benefits.

Vile’s voice echoed through the chamber. “Perhaps I have worked you too hard.” He gripped Icarus’s shoulder and steered him toward the group of succubi. “I command you to take your ease and enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

He gestured toward the near-naked female demons lounging on padded benches inside the pleasure pen. The king’s whores. They smiled and cooed, eyeing him longingly. A voluptuous succubus ran her hands down her breasts and tweaked her nipples. Groans of pleasure issued from her mouth. Icarus suppressed the urge to bare his fangs at the group of females he considered no better than dogs, but instead he smiled, knowing Vile watched him.

“You’re too kind, my king, but I’d rather continue with my quest.”

“I’m not asking. I’m telling you.” Vile’s dictate held no room for debate. “I have other plans to put in motion. Sha-hera.”

“Yes, my king.” She jumped from the dais and fell on one knee before Vile.

Icarus curled his talons into his palms. It took all of his self-control not to tear off her head.

“Take your army of succubi and do what needs to be done. I want the Bringer at any cost. Now.”

“Yes, my king.” She stood and slid a glance toward Icarus and smiled. “I will not fail you.”

“We’ll see,” Vile said mockingly.

Sha-hera strode past Icarus, head held high, arrogance firmly in place. The strength of will it took not to attack her nearly overwhelmed him. Now was not the time to lose control. He needed to appear compliant to the king. He focused his attention on the preening females.

“Icarus,” his father drawled.

He pretended difficulty with pulling his gaze away from the succubi. “Yes, my king?”

Vile chuckled and held his arm toward the female demons as if offering Icarus a roomful of treasure. “I command you to take your ease.”

He gave Vile a compliant smile. “As you wish, Father.”

“This doesn’t mean poring over your maps and planning more Bringer attacks. You will bed one of my whores. I command it.”

Vile was trying very hard to keep him occupied, perhaps a little too hard. Icarus bowed his head in obedience. “As you wish, my king. A particular succubus has promised to do the most amazing thing to me. Perhaps I will seek her out.”

Vile smiled like a proud father. “If you find her worthy, send her to me when you’re finished. I’m always up for new pleasures.”

Icarus gritted his teeth. The thought of sharing anything with his father made him sick. “I hope you don’t mind waiting a bit. It may take quite some time.”

Vile let out a bark of laughter. “If she’s that good, I definitely want a taste.”

Shouts and howls erupted from the horde of demons. Drums thundered and the whining notes of the dancers’ music began. The king’s whores spilled from their pen, gyrating and twirling toward the king. With a low, respectful bow and a wicked smile, Icarus strode from the throne room.

The heavy beats faded as he headed down the dark tunnel leading to the soldiers’ training area where Sha-hera and her army would be preparing for their mission. He wanted to know what she planned. Vile would be furious if he detected Icarus’s hand in Sha-hera’s failure, but it was a chance he was willing to take.

The tunnel narrowed and dipped into the bowels of the Shadow World. Darkness enveloped him. Few demons besides soldiers dared to travel here. There were things in the deep. Things even demons feared. He’d explored many of the untraveled tubes and caverns, but there were many more he hadn’t. The Shadow World sprawled beneath the Upperland of Inness, an entire world in itself.

The muffled excitement of voices flowed from a doorway farther down the tunnel. Sha-hera’s soldiers. Icarus pressed his body against the cold stone and slipped into a wide crevice in the wall. A few feet in, the space widened to reveal jagged carved steps. Silently, he followed the steps up and around to a rock shelf, on alert to any other demon that might be lurking in the shadows. The ledge jutted over the chamber below where Sha-hera and her army now gathered.

He crept forward, making sure to stay away from the light. Below, the succubi army crowded around a stone slab table, arguing and plotting their attack to retrieve the Bringer. He smiled at their plan. Ignorant fools.

Chapter Twelve

With hushed voices, Rhys and Ravyn said their good-byes to most of the Giles family. All but the three youngest had risen early to help them secure their supplies and see them off on their journey. Tears threatened, burning behind Ravyn’s eyes as first Willa, then Orvis, wrapped her in affectionate hugs.

Ravyn didn’t regret her decision to leave with Rhys, but she couldn’t help but pine for the simple life staying at the inn would have afforded. Whether she wanted it or not, the Giles family would have pressed and molded her into their lives, accepting her as one of them. She knew this as surely as she knew her own name. But that was not the choice she had made, and she wouldn’t lament her decision. Not for long, anyway. Perhaps a day or two to miss her friends, but after that it would be time to face her future.

Willie helped her mount Sampson, his hand lingering a fraction too long against her thigh. “Take care of yourself…Lady Romelda.”

She smiled at the use of her alias. “You do the same, Willie.”

“You can always come back,” he said hopefully. His green eyes bore into her. “There will always be a place for you.”

The lump she’d been swallowing around since she’d gotten up this morning grew and pushed against her throat. Her voice cracked. She sniffed and struggled not to cry. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Rhys gently slapped the boy on the back. “Take care, Willie. My thanks for tending Sampson.”

Willie grasped Rhys’s hand with manly vigor. “My pleasure, Lord Blackwell. I was only doing as Lady Ravyn requested.” Willie stepped away from the horse, his gaze never leaving Ravyn’s face.

Rhys climbed behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest. The heavy folds of his cloak draped her shoulders, providing a double layer of warmth against the morning chill. She relaxed into him, taking strength from the feel of his arm. His touch seemed to keep her tears and melancholy at bay. She had to remember she wasn’t alone anymore, even if that’s what it felt like at this moment.

Rhys directed Sampson across the cold, hardened mud, and Ravyn gave a final wave. It was just the two of them now.

They rode in silence for the first hour of their trip. Each mile chipped away at Ravyn, making her feel raw and unsure of what lay ahead. For so many years, she’d been confined to the abbey. Now, the current of her new life seemed to whisk her away before she could settle.

She ruminated about her decision to stay with Rhys. Her inability to run from a fight was not the only reason she’d chosen to leave the safety of the inn. When Willa had pushed his father’s diary across the table, all sensible thought and reason had fled Ravyn. At the stark look of horror on Rhys’s face, she knew she would have done anything to ease the sting of his memories.

Had he read the journal yet? The question hovered on her tongue. The need to know what awaited the Bringers was nearly unbearable, but she couldn’t ask. Last night she’d compared Bowen’s book and the tome she’d stolen from the abbey. The script was the same. More questions surfaced. Why did the abbey have Bringer books and were there more? She sighed, tired of too many questions and too few answers.

“What is it?” Rhys leaned over her shoulder.

“I was thinking about the future, Willa’s prediction of war, and the other full-bloods who might be living among us.”

“Heavy things to contemplate so early in the morning.” His breath warmed her cheek. He tightened his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.

The warmth from his body felt good this morning. She needed it more than she needed the Sisters’ scornful voices in her head, chanting about the evils of a man’s touch. Emboldened by her uncertain future, she ran her hand along his arm. The adage Life is too short was taking on an unpleasant edge. Rhys gave her waist another light squeeze and entangled their fingers with a firm but gentle hold. Her body hummed from feelings she couldn’t identify. His nearness gave her a sense of being protected. The Sisters’ caustic rhetoric faded to an ignorable level.

For the next two hours, they spoke quietly about mundane things—the Giles family, her life in the abbey, and their favorite foods. As the sun crested the horizon, Rhys pulled on Sampson’s reins and stopped. “Do you hear that?”

Ravyn listened, cocking her head in an attempt to hear better. A low whooshing ebbed and flowed in the air. She scanned the clear morning sky but saw nothing. She let her senses flare in search of the Bane. But there was no sensation, no prickling or biting rub against her skin.

She twisted to look at Rhys. “What is it?”

He smiled. “That sound means we’ll be home by evening.”

He kicked Sampson forward, giving Ravyn no further explanation. The dense woods thinned as the path inclined up a steep hill. Large boulders littered the open field in front of them.

Ravyn sniffed. The slight tang of salt sifted through the air. The low whoosh escalated into a dull roar, rumbling on the breeze like nature’s background music.

“What is that noise?” she asked. They crested the hill and Ravyn froze, her mouth dropping open at the scene stretching before her.

Rhys stopped Sampson and leaned forward. “That, my lady, is the Sea of Alba.”

She stared, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the dark green water before her. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve read several stories where the characters crossed a sea, but…” She exhaled heavily. “But I couldn’t have imagined this.”

Mounds of water raced across the undulating surface of the sea as if chasing each other. They swelled, lifting from the surface like luminescent sea creatures ready to strike, only to crash forward and melt into a milky froth. The sea was a feast for her senses. She could even taste it on the morning air.

“I never grow tired of seeing it,” Rhys said. “Being on the water is like being home.”

The morning sun hung low as it began its trek across the sky. Ripples of light reflected along the horizon.

“It moves,” she said.

“Constantly.”

Rhys tightened his other arm around her and leaned against her back. Ravyn closed her eyes and held the moment like a precious snowflake that had no choice but to thaw and fade away. For a few scarce seconds, it was sheer perfection.

Sometimes, if a person is lucky, everything is right with the world. It may only last for a minute or an hour, but for a brief span of time, no wrongs exist. She didn’t know what awaited them a hundred feet down the trail—maybe the Bane—but right now, locked in Rhys’s arms, she savored a moment free of worry and loneliness, filled with nature’s miracle.

“I’ve read that it moves,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder. “But I didn’t understand. I thought it moved like a river, but that’s not right. Sometimes I pictured the sea like a large lake, but that’s also incorrect. And it sings.”

“What do you mean?”

“The sea’s song is different from the land’s rhythm.”

Rhys turned an ear toward the sea, as if straining to hear someone’s faint call through the wind. His eyes closed and he sat motionless, listening. A slow smile spread across his face. “It’s eerie and beautiful.”

“You can hear it?”

“Yes.” He shook his head. His stare made Ravyn breathless. “I’ve never heard the song before, never listened beneath the sound of the crashing waves. Thank you.”

She glanced away, suddenly uncomfortable with his intense gaze, but happy she could give something to him. “You’re welcome.”

Rhys urged Sampson on. The coastal trail they followed veered away from the edge of the bluff and headed inland. Sampson picked his way around rocks and the large pits of mud softening in the sun’s warming rays. For several hours, they traveled along the tops of the cliffs. Though most of the time the sea was hidden by the rounded sloping hills, Ravyn could still hear the powerful roar of the moving water.

When the sun reached its zenith, they stopped for lunch and settled in the shade of a lone tree. Unfettered, Sampson made his way to the small creek running along the coastal trail and drank. Ravyn opened the cloth bag holding their lunch and smiled.

“Willa outdid herself.” She showed the contents to Rhys. Roasted chicken lay in its own oilcloth, and a hunk of cheese, fresh bread, and whole apples filled the rest of the bag. Ravyn bit off a hunk of bread and chewed, savoring the spongy lightness.

“She’s a born nurturer,” he said, taking a chicken leg from the pile.

“I bet she’d be a healer if she was Bringer. Don’t you?”

Rhys nodded and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “That or a Shield. She’s quite ferocious when she’s angry or protecting somebody.”

“A Shield?” Ravyn said.

“Like me. A protector. A shield against the Bane.”

The description fit him well. There were still so many things she didn’t know about her people. Not wanting to lose the light mood, she smiled. “Yes, Willa would definitely be a Shield.”

They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the warm weather and sunshine. When they finished the meal, they stored the lunch supplies and remounted.

“We’ve another four hours before we reach the road leading into Alba. If you’re tired, now would be a good time to sleep.”

“I don’t think I can sleep. I’m too excited.”

“I thought you might be regretting your decision to come with me.”

She leaned against him, wanting him to feel the truth in her words. “No regrets. No running from who I am—no matter what the future holds.”

He was silent for several seconds. Slowly his arm tightened around her, and he lowered his cheek to rest tentatively against her head. “Good.” The single word rippled with emotion, as if he had at last made peace with some personal conflict.

Lulled by Sampson’s gait, Ravyn drifted into a dreamless doze despite her pronouncement of being too excited.

Her eyes snapped open when Rhys pulled Sampson to a stop.

She straightened and stretched, taking in their surroundings. “Is something wrong?”

“We’ve arrived at the junction to Alba. I’m sorry I woke you, but I doubt you would have slept much longer with all the traffic.”

Ravyn watched a hunched old man pull an empty two-wheeled wagon past them.

“Evenin’,” the man said, tipping his head. Two rows of missing and blackened teeth punctuated his smile.

“Good evening,” Rhys said. “How was the market?”

“Well, I won’t be starving this week, so I’m sayin’ it was good.” The old man cackled at his joke. “Safe travels, my lord.”

“And to you,” Rhys replied.

They watched the man trundle away with his few purchases tucked high in the bed of the wagon.

“What an interesting man,” Ravyn said.

Rhys guided Sampson onto the road. “Just one of many you will meet now that you’re no longer cloistered in the abbey. Life is much different in a city.”

“What is Alba like?”

“Big, noisy, dirty, and dangerous,” he said flatly.

“You make it sound so appealing. Are you sure we should go there?”

“It’s home.”

“Why?”

“I’ve owned Alba Haven for over 200 years. It was beautiful once, but the squalor of the city has grown up around it. Fortunately for the Bringers, the less-motivated demons become diverted by easier prey. The more vigilant demons are kept at bay by the san-ctified ground.”

Her sadness over leaving the inn had given her little time to think about their destination. Like the sea, she doubted her vision of Alba would compare to the reality of the large city.

Sampson began the slow descent down the mountain. Canyon walls grew up around them as they journeyed lower into the pass. Rays from the sun glittered off the top of the mountains but could not penetrate the chasm’s gloom. Deep shadows swathed the canyon walls, and the temperature dropped several degrees. People pulling small wagons lumbered ahead of them, skidding and jostling their loads down the steep path.

“Alba is a port town,” Rhys said. “The biggest in the area for trading. People travel many miles to buy and sell there.”

“Perhaps you could give me a tour? You must know it well after 200 years.”

“I haven’t lived in Alba all that time but I am well acquainted with it.” He leaned into her. “If you’re a good girl, perhaps I’ll give you my special tour.”

Her heart fluttered at his nearness. She gave a nervous laugh. Was he flirting? She wasn’t sure. How would she ever be sure unless he did something so blatant even the village idiot would be able to tell?

She stared straight ahead and focused down the trail. “The Sisters always told me I was much better at being bad.”

Rhys laughed and slid his hands up her arms to rest on her shoulders. Shivers ran down her spine. “Sometimes bad can be very good.”

Her grip tightened on the pommel. Certainly, she’d tumble off Sampson now that her bones had softened to pudding. She craned her neck, wanting to see his expression. “You’re teasing me.”

“A bit.”

His amber eyes sparkled with amusement. There was that delicious, forbidden feeling in the pit of her stomach again. She faced forward, trying to ignore the disapproving voices of the Sisters that had just roared to life.

Chapter Thirteen

Ravyn sighed when Sampson emerged from the narrow canyon and into the sunlight. Warmth seeped into her chilled flesh and melted the goose bumps left by the brisk breeze that blew through the pass. The expansive walls of the city stretched along the horizon before them.

Ravyn gaped. Never had she seen such a sight or so many people in one place. They joined the teeming crowd heading across the open flats and through the massive arched entrance of Alba. She searched the face of every person she could see, afraid Powell lurked within the bustling mob, watching and waiting to attack, but she saw no sign of him.

The smell of salt hung in the air as if trapped by the mountains. Ravyn flexed her fingers against the fine deposit of moisture that settled on her skin and quickly dried to a crusty layer.

As they drew closer to the city of Alba, a tingle slithered up her neck and along the side of her face. She opened her mouth and shifted her lower jaw but the pressure in her ears continued to build. A hazy film blurred her vision, bringing with it a wave of nausea. Saliva pooled in her mouth and she swallowed several times as her throat prickled with the urge to vomit. She swayed in the saddle, the heavy presence painfully invading her mind. She slapped her hands over her ears.

Noise—so much noise.

Rhys stopped Sampson and twisted Ravyn around to face him. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “There’s too much—too many people with me.”

“Too many what?”

She clawed at her ears, wanting to peel open her skull and let the pressure bleed from her head. “People. Noise.”

“Reinforce your mind.”

She shook her head. “It hurts too much.”

Rhys covered Ravyn’s hands with his and eased her against him. “Relax.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Pick what you want to allow in.”

She tried but still couldn’t focus. Every ounce of her will fought against the encroaching presence that seemed determined to squeeze the very soul from her body. Unable to do as Rhys instructed, Ravyn built a solid wall in her mind and blocked out everything. The expanding heaviness lessened with each mental stone she set in place. Slowly, she lifted one finger at a time to test the noise level.

Blessed silence.

Ravyn’s shoulders and arms relaxed.

“That’s never happened before. The Bane penetrated my shield when we battled, but this…” She waved her hand toward the crowd. “This is different.”

“How?” Rhys said.

She looked at the city before them. “It felt as if all these people shared the same space with me.”

Rhys’s solid hands rested on her shoulders. “Your powers are growing.”

“I don’t understand.” She shivered against the sensation of losing herself inside her own body.

“I experienced the same thing when I was young,” he said. His deep voice and firm touch anchored her to the present. “Eventually, I taught myself how to select what I would allow in. I nearly went insane from the awareness of living among, and sometimes within, another being.”

Ravyn nodded and regretted the movement. Her head pounded from the brief experience of having hundreds of people crammed into her mind. “There were no conversations, just other entities within the space where I existed. I couldn’t tell where I ended and they began.”

“It’s not a comfortable awareness. I can allow the presence in when I want. It takes practice. We need to focus on your training once we reach Alba Haven. You’ll need to fight with your mind and body.”

“The abbey was horrible.” She paused. “But at least life was quiet most days.”

“There weren’t many people and you probably learned from a young age to block what you didn’t want to experience.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You will learn to master all your powers. Until then, I’ll protect you.”

The declaration poked at her pride. She wasn’t completely helpless. Hadn’t she proved she could defend herself, at least a little bit? She understood Rhys’s natural instinct to protect and shield, but she doubted anybody could keep her safe if the Bane truly wanted her. The tireless monsters had no conscience.

Now, each day seemed to add another dimension to her powers. “How did you manage on your own with no one to explain the changes you were going through?”

“At times I wanted to die. Even tried to kill myself once. Slit my wrist.” He loosened the leather band around his wrist and pulled it back to reveal a faint white scar. “Hoped I’d bleed out.”

Ravyn traced the smooth scar with her finger. “Why didn’t you?”

He yanked the leather back into place and tightened it. “I healed too quickly. There was barely any blood.”

The thought of Rhys so desperate he’d tried to kill himself tugged at Ravyn’s heart. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

“Me too.”

She twisted to look at him. His answer had been devoid of feeling or inflection. “Do you mean that?”

One side of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Most days.”

They followed a bright blue covered wagon along the main road. A young boy dangled his legs over the end of the cart, laughing at the antics of a wiry monkey wearing a purple hat and vest. The animal swung from a metal perch attached to the roof, screeching and jumping each time the boy snapped his fingers, which produced a green flame in his hand. Just as quickly, the child smothered the fire only to repeat the action, much to the monkey’s delight.

Ravyn watched, amazed. She’d never seen a monkey other than from illustrations in a book. Her fingers itched to touch the creature’s fur. Would it be soft or bristly? And could one hold such an animal? It hopped about as if its feet were on fire. Such strange and wonderful things existed outside the walls of the abbey.

As they drew closer to the city, Ravyn could see that sections of the wall were crumbling. The grandeur she’d been expecting fell short. Dirty children with outstretched hands crowded around them, each pleading for a coin. She recoiled, heartsick by their gaunt faces. Never had she seen such desperate souls, not even at the abbey.

Rhys tossed a handful of coins into the dirt a few yards away, the tinkling of metal whistling through the air. Like swooping vultures, the children descended on the money, leaving them to enter the city in peace.

“Repent! Repent! The end is near,” called man in a tattered monk’s robe.

He looked like no monk Ravyn had ever seen. “Is he from The Order of the Saints?”

“Not any longer.” Rhys pulled Sampson to a stop as the carts and people jammed the entrance to the city. “His name is Malachi.”

“But he used to belong?”

“Yes. Now he spends his day prophesying the end of man.”

The old monk caught her staring at him and pointed a boney finger at her. “The end of days is upon us. The flying scourge will bleed this land of blood and spirit.” He folded his hands in prayer and took a step toward her. “Hear our cries, oh merciful angels.”

Ravyn couldn’t look away, his words sending shivers up her spine.

“A legion to lead. Three to triumph.” He began to weep. “Angel, don’t forsake us.”

A wagon rumbled toward the old monk. “Get out of the way, idiot!” shouted the driver.

Malachi fell against the wall, where he sat mumbling to himself.

“What does he mean a legion to lead, three to triumph?” she asked.

She felt Rhys shrug. “He’s a crazy old man. His words mean nothing.”

Ravyn couldn’t shake the feeling that his rants weren’t mere ramblings. Like the symbols in the books, his warning rang of familiarity. Sampson moved forward and Malachi was soon forgotten as they entered the crush of the city.

Her gaze bounced from one sight to another, but still she couldn’t take it all in. The odors of unwashed bodies, mud, and wet straw invaded the air, never giving her nose a respite. People loitered everywhere. Shops and houses sat one on top of the other. Narrow streets branched off in all directions and faded into murky darkness.

Sampson turned off the main road and traveled along one of the sinister-looking alleyways. With every step, they burrowed deeper into the seedy labyrinth of Alba. She leaned against Rhys, trying to take comfort from his solid, safe form. He enfolded her in his arms but said nothing, as if wanting her to absorb the city’s full measure.

People eyed them from open windows and doorsteps. Three scantily clothed women flaunted their breasts, trying to entice her and Rhys to purchase their services. Ravyn stared, shocked by their brazen display. These must be the women the Sisters had preached about. Guilt at what she felt whenever Rhys touched or looked at her eased. She was not like these immoral women, eager to give themselves to anybody willing to pay.

The women targeted her and Rhys, offering to do things not only to him but to her as well. She had never heard of any of the acts they shouted, but she knew they were of a sexual nature. Heat infused her cheeks when one of the women rubbed her exposed nipples and shook the flabby globes at them. Ravyn faced forward, not daring to look at Rhys, even though she was more than a little curious about his reaction to the offer.

Sampson wound his way along the narrow alleys as if he knew where he was going. His pace quickened as he circled his way up a steep cobbled street, finally stopping in front of a smooth, black wall. Two tall metal doors embedded in the stone sealed in whatever lay beyond. Rhys slid from the horse’s back.

Ravyn glanced around uneasily at their surroundings. “Are we here?”

An unconscious man lay sprawled in a doorway a few yards away. His snores echoed off the narrowly placed buildings and mixed with the high-pitched squeak of two rats that rooted through the garbage near the man’s limp hand.

Rhys reached to help her from Sampson. “Yes.”

Several doors down, four men eyed them. They slouched against a stone wall and passed a thick, brown bottle between them. All wore tattered clothes and suspicious expressions. They looked as if they weren’t averse to committing a crime if the act got them what they wanted. Ravyn stepped closer to Rhys and slipped her hand into his.

Surely, she’d be killed—or worse—if she ever had to travel within Alba.

He glanced at her and then at the loitering men. “Don’t worry. They won’t hurt you.”

“Do they know that?” She pressed into him, not letting more than a few inches separate their bodies.

He grasped Sampson’s reins. “Yes. Although it took a few lessons before the message sank in.”

She watched the group for any sudden movements. “I bet it did.”

He lifted the iron ring on the door and slammed the metal knocker down. The low thunder of the knock ricocheted along the length of the barrier. The sleeping man coughed and shouted at some imaginary foe in his dream.

Ravyn faced the doors, not wishing to experience any more of Alba’s ambience. She rubbed her temples and concentrated on strengthening the shield around her mind. Weariness made the act an effort. She inhaled and imagined a layer of ice around her barrier. The mental din dropped back to a tolerable level. She opened her eyes and sighed.

The faint tang of urine and the strong stench of stale ale burned her nostrils. She pulled the edge of her cloak over her nose. Sainted Ones, she hoped Rhys’s home smelled better than this.

Rhys turned his head as if listening. Footsteps crunched on stone. She willed herself not to look at the group of men as a loud clanging of chains and the scraping of gears drew her attention back to the door. The thump of a large bolt sent waves of relief through her as the clatter of more chains rattled against the door.

Ravyn looked at Rhys and raised both eyebrows in a silent question.

“This may not be the best neighborhood in the city.”

She dropped the cloak from her nose. “Uh-huh.”

One of the thick doors heaved open. The groan of heavy hinges echoed off the buildings. Sampson nudged them aside and trotted into the enclosure.

“He’s happy to be home,” Rhys said. He pulled her along and moved beyond the gate. “Come.”

“Where is he going?”

“He knows his way to the stables. The boys will take care of him.” He smiled. “Sampson is rather spoiled here at Alba Haven.”

A man as tall as Rhys stepped out from behind the door. His hair hung in thick, brown coils to his shoulders and a dark beard shadowed his face. “Welcome home, my lord.”

“Siban, it’s good to have you back.” Rhys grasped the man’s thick forearm and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

Siban stiffened. “Good to be home, my lord.”

Rhys leaned away and held the man’s gaze for a few seconds longer. Some unspoken message passed between them and suddenly Ravyn felt like an intruder. Of course, these two had a shared history. Was it battle, death, loss?

There were probably many people who shared more joys and sadness with Rhys than she had. Moreover, there were probably women from his past, maybe even some who lived at Alba Haven. Up until this moment, she’d had him to herself. Now she was entering his world. Uncertainty crept through her. His world, what did that mean? Each phase of this journey had exposed her to ways of life she’d never imagined. Would she fit in at Alba Haven or be ostracized like at the abbey?

The men separated, and Rhys tugged her forward. “May I introduce Lady Ravyn Mayfield? The newest member of our ragtag group.”

Siban executed a quick bow. His eyes never left her face. “My lady, welcome.”

She would have been warmed by his reception if it hadn’t been overshadowed by the cold calculation in his hazel stare. “Thank you. And please, call me Ravyn.”

He gave a quick nod. “As you wish.”

“Si,” Rhys drawled, “Your social skills have improved since you were last introduced to a lady.”

Ravyn couldn’t be sure, but she thought the man blushed. “Nattie’s made it her mission to make me socially acceptable. Glad her diligence is paying off.” He paused. “It’s sometimes hard to tell.”

Rhys nodded. “You’ll be back to your old self if Nattie has her way. And she will.”

A genuine smile spread across Siban’s face and transformed him from dangerous to nearly approachable. Ravyn would bet money his smile was a rare event. Siban’s eyes sparkled and straight white teeth gleamed against his dark skin.

“Indeed,” was all he said before he walked back to the metal door.

Rhys followed, and together they leaned against a large wooden lever. The gap inched shut as fat links of chain rattled along a track and pulled the door closed. A bolt the size of her body slid neatly in place, sealing them inside. A sense of safety stole through Ravyn, as if closing the door set some kind of magical ward against the dangers lurking beyond the gate.

“Will we see you at dinner?” Rhys asked Siban.

The man shrugged. Rhys nodded and placed his hand on Ravyn’s waist. As he guided her toward a large stone arch, she glanced over her shoulder. Siban’s stare followed her, his gaze intense.

The need to ease the strange sadness he stirred in her, pushed at Ravyn. “Good night.”

He bowed, but said nothing.

They walked along a chipped stone path with low walls on each side. A robed spirit drifted across their path and through the wall of a building. “Alba Haven reminds me of the abbey,” Ravyn said.

Rhys smiled. “Originally it was the largest monastery in the region.”

He pointed to a carved stone that had been placed at the corner of the building. The relief had been worn by weather but Ravyn could make out the symbol of a flame inside a crown.

“The Order?” she said. “But how did you come to own it?”

“The Order went through a reformation about two hundred years ago, selling off the abbeys and monasteries that were a drain financially. I own seven.”

“Why?” Her question came out more sarcastic than she’d intended.

“Sanctified ground. Safe havens for Bringers.”

She felt foolish for asking. Of course any holy dwelling would be a refuge for Bringers. As they passed through the inner curtain into a cobblestone ward, the uncomfortable feeling from Siban eased. Whether the relief came from distancing herself from the man or from leaving behind the ills beyond the gate, Ravyn didn’t know.

Her gaze scanned the buildings surrounding the open space. “What happened to Siban?”

“What do you mean?” Rhys looked at her.

“To make him so…” She struggled for the right word. “Broken.”

He stopped. “Broken?”

She slowed and looked at him. “Yes. It’s like his soul has been fractured.”

“Most people think him cruel or distrustful. Why do you see him as broken?”

“I can just—” She shook her head.

“Tell?” he finished for her. Rhys’s expression darkened.

She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. Had she said something wrong? “Yes.”

He mirrored her actions and peered at her. “How did Siban know it was safe to open the gate?”

His change of direction confused her. She thought about his question and shrugged. “Peepholes or viewing ports?”

“He opened the door because he’s a Bringer Tell.”

She shook her head, not understanding.

“A Tell knows things without being told. They can, as you said, just tell.” He held her gaze. “You seem to possess some of this ability.”

“Siban knew it was us?”

“Not us specifically, but somebody friendly. If a person speaks falsely, Siban knows. He wouldn’t necessarily know what the truth was, but he would know the person lied.”

He gripped her elbow and guided her across the pebble courtyard and through another black stone arch.

“You never answered my question,” she said. “What happened to Siban?”

The grounds opened onto a lush courtyard that held no hint of the squalor seething outside the gate. Small, white bushes bloomed along the wall of the main building, their delicate fragrance filling the open space. Ravyn recognized the blossoms from Rhys’s glowb, Illuminara plants. Two plump spirits drifted among the plants, speaking in hushed tones about the blossoms.

A pained expression crossed Rhys’s face, as if remembering some unpleasant memory. “For two years Vile held Siban prisoner in the Shadow World. He never speaks of it, but I can only imagine the torture he suffered.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It’s a miracle he survived. If not for Nattie and other healers, he wouldn’t have. At times death seemed like a more merciful outcome.”

A shiver raced across Ravyn’s shoulders and up her neck. She shuddered against the thought of being held by the Demon King for even a moment, let alone surviving for two years. “That poor man.”

Questions raced through her mind, but in no way did she feel entitled to such intimate details of a stranger’s life. At least now she understood Siban’s look of suspicion. The scope of her naïveté pressed in on her. So many things had happened outside her solid abbey walls. Every day people struggled for survival and fought against the wrongs in the world, and there she’d sat, believing her difficulties with Powell were something of monumental importance. How arrogant she’d been to think she knew anything of hardship.

The doors stood open in invitation at the end of the courtyard. Brass doorknobs and bands gleamed against the pitch-black, wooden doors. When they stepped inside the entry, Ravyn’s mouth dropped open. Her gaze tracked upward to the ceiling arching forty feet above them. A vibrant mural depicting planets and stars spread across the dome.

Ravyn squinted. “Amazing.”

Pride tinged Rhys’s words. “The Brothers from The Order of Alba painted it more than five hundred years ago. It’s a depiction of the night sky.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t look like any night sky I’ve seen.”

“Nor will you.” He pointed to the far corner of the painting. “Do you see those two planets, one in front of the other?”

“Yes.”

“Legend says they align only once every thousand years.”

“When was the last time?”

He shrugged. “Nobody knows. There’s no written record.”

“You don’t know the alignment’s significance?”

He shook his head. “It’s one of the great mysteries of the millennia.”

She drummed her fingers on her arm. “Indeed. Very mysterious.”

A voice rang across the grand space. “Rhys.”

He spun and smiled. “Nattie.”

Nattie closed the distance between them and Rhys wrapped the older woman in an affectionate hug. The infamous Nattie. Long gray hair hung in a braid down her back. Her gray skirt was like Ravyn’s, but flowed in heavenly layers. The woman wore a dark gray tunic that laced up the front and a linen blouse with billowing sleeves. Ravyn had never seen anything so serviceable look so beautiful.

Nattie stepped out of Rhys’s embrace and held his arms out to his sides. “Are you hurt?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Anything need healing?” She spun him in a circle. “Turn.”

“I’m fine.” He sounded as if he’d said these same words a hundred times before.

“Nothing broken or torn? Anything impaled that needs removing?”

Ravyn suppressed a laugh as Nattie wrenched, pulled, and tugged, subjecting Rhys to a thorough inspection. After a few minutes of her fussing, he grabbed her hands and held them in an unbreakable grip.

“I’m fine, Nattie. Never felt better.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Well bless The Sainted Ones, miracles do happen. I can’t remember the last time you returned to me unscathed.” Her gaze slid to Ravyn. “You may be in one piece, but your guest is not.”

She stepped around Rhys before he could make introductions. Ravyn glanced down at Nattie’s feet. Bare toes peeked out from under her skirt, and Ravyn thought she heard the tinkling of bells. The older woman stopped in front of her. Nattie scanned her from head to toe with a look that not only skimmed her physical body, but ghosted across her very soul.

“Nattie, this is Lady Ravyn Mayfield,” Rhys said. He moved to stand beside Ravyn and placed his hand on the small of her back.

Crystal blue eyes captured her gaze. Light swirled within the depths of Nattie’s eyes and suddenly Ravyn felt very insignificant. “Please, call me Ravyn.”

With slow, graceful movements, the woman lifted her hands and placed them over the wounds made by Icarus. “You’ve had some trouble with the Bane.”

Nattie’s gaze bore into Ravyn and the simple act of blinking proved difficult. Was it her imagination, or were her scars getting hot? The healer slid her hands along Ravyn’s shoulders and grasped her upper arms. “Welcome, Ravyn. We’re so happy to have you.”

The woman’s voice dripped with sweetness and honey.

“Nattie.” Rhys’s voice warned. “Leave her alone.”

“Now Rhys, be a good boy and mind your own business.”

The now-familiar ancient words whispered from Nattie’s lips. Ravyn sank into the comforting tone as a wave of euphoria filled her with the kind of happiness she’d never known—seconds before the old woman attacked.

As if plunging a knife into Ravyn’s soul, the old woman drove deep. For the first time, Ravyn understood what it meant to be healed. Nattie wrenched and twisted, searched and vanquished any hint of pain, both physical and emotional.

Ravyn’s knees buckled, but Rhys was there to catch her. Pain, confusion, and anger leeched from her body. Sadness drained away, and the pounding in her head melted down her spine and out the soles of her feet.

Rhys’s healing had been tentative, but Nattie commanded her body to respond. Heat raced through Ravyn’s veins and across her skin. Where she had an injury, the light lingered and sizzled, burning away any trace of the damage. Without mercy, without soothing words of reassurance, the healer locked into Ravyn’s very essence.

After what seemed like hours, Nattie released her and stepped away. “Better?”

Tingles danced across Ravyn’s skin. Each pulse diminished, the heat abating and taking with it the last traces of her fatigue. She hadn’t realized how truly tired she’d been. Her body hummed with renewed vigor. “I think so.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I’m a bit stubborn when it comes to my healing.”

“Not like you gave her a choice,” mumbled a voice from behind Rhys.

They all turned toward a short old man with large boots and very little hair.

Rhys grasped the man’s shoulder. “Jaspar, it’s great to see you.”

“Good to be seen, my lord. Welcome home.” He turned to face Ravyn. “Welcome, my lady.” His glare cut to Nattie. “I apologize for our resident Redeemer.”

“Keep your comments to yourself, old man,” Nattie snapped.

“Or what?”

She propped her fists on her hips. “Or I’ll stop healing those aching relics you call bones.”

“Praise The Sainted Ones, I might actually get a peaceful night’s sleep.”

“The only thing you’re going to get is my kettle upside your head.”

Rhys faced Ravyn. “Nattie is also an excellent cook.”

“What?” Ravyn stared at him, shocked by the escalating argument between the older couple.

“Nattie is an excellent cook,” Rhys repeated. “Not just good—truly excellent.” He ignored the tirade flowing around them. “You’ll see tonight at dinner.” He turned toward the arguing couple. “Nattie, did you make pie?”

The fighting stopped like a snuffed flame. A smiled lit Nattie’s face. “I made five pies this afternoon. They are cooling as we speak.”

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re an angel.”

Jaspar turned and bowed to Ravyn. “Again, pleasure to have you with us, Lady Ravyn.”

“Uh, thank you, Jaspar was it?”

He bowed slightly at the waist. “Yes, my lady. At your service.”

Nattie snorted. “You won’t be of service to anybody now that I’m not healing you.”

“Hush, harpy.” He gave Ravyn a toothy grin. “I am at your service.”

Ravyn forced a smile, unsure whether the fighting had ended. “Thank you, Jaspar.”

She liked him. He might be old but he had plenty of life left in him. He straightened and winked at her. A lot of life.

“My lord,” he said to Rhys.

“Jaspar.”

Jaspar regarded Nattie. “Witch.”

“Jackass.”

Jaspar shuffled toward one of many arches without a backward glance.

“I’ve had your chambers prepared,” Nattie continued, as if the old man had never been there. “Go freshen up while I finish dinner.” In a swirl of gray, Nattie glided from the room, calling over her shoulder, “So nice to have you, my dear.”

Ravyn turned to Rhys. “Are they always like that?”

“Always.” He pressed her toward a wide spiral staircase. “I’d be concerned if they didn’t fight.”

Rhys propelled her up the first three steps. “Why do they dislike each other so much?” she asked.

“Dislike each other? They adore each other.”

Ravyn looked at him in disbelief.

“She heals him every night, even when he bellows at her to leave him alone. Once when Jaspar was drunk, he told me Nattie was most alluring when she was angry.” He shrugged. “It’s their way.”

They crested the last few steps and she let him lead her toward an alcove with three doors. “I’ll take your word for it because I saw none of what you say.”

He grasped the ornate doorknob. “Your room is next to mine.”

A thrill raced through her. Maybe it was from Nattie’s healing, but Ravyn’s awareness of Rhys curled around her and skated along her skin. And there was that mysterious ache again. She shifted, trying to ease the need she had no words to describe.

“This is your room.”

The evening sun spilled out of the room as he pushed the door open. Ravyn’s eyes rounded as she stepped inside. Beautiful did not do the chamber justice. Black marble shone from nearly every surface. Ravyn squinted against the gleam of the afternoon sun as she walked to the tall, arched windows spanning the west wall.

Below her stretched a garden in full bloom. Beyond that the view spread for miles. Rhys’s home sat perched at the highest point of the city. Dwellings and streets branched out below her. Though the upper sections of the city were hidden by the towering wall surrounding Alba Haven, Ravyn could see the city entrance and coastal trail winding across the flats and up into the hills. Though evening was setting, people still flowed in and out of the city.

Never could she have imagined such a room. She ran her hand down the thick folds of raspberry silk framing the window. Somebody had drawn the drapes back to allow in the afternoon light. Ravyn turned to face Rhys. “It’s magnificent.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Her praise seemed to make him happy. He walked to stand next to her. “You complete this space.”

She didn’t turn, couldn’t look at him. “Thank you.”

Was that the right thing to say? It sounded inadequate once she voiced it.

“Come, I’ll show you where I sleep in case you need me during the night.”

Heat infused her cheeks. Needed him during the night? Her errant imagination conjured a bevy of reasons she could possibly need him during the wee, lonely hours of the night. She inhaled deeply and followed him out of her chamber and into the next room. Dark, heavy furniture dominated the space. Leather, jewel-toned fabrics, and fur rugs swathed his furniture, windows, and floor. It was a room for the master of the house.

He sat on the edge of his bed. “If you need me, I’ll be right here.”

She moved to stand beside him. “That’s very reassuring.” He stared at her, saying nothing. She gave him a tight smile and let her eyes wander around the room. “Your room is beautiful as well.”

Rhys took her hand. The Sisters’ condemnation of such situations flared to life. Here she was alone in a man’s bedroom—with a man. She stared at their connected hands, unable to look at him. Bless The Sainted Ones but she liked the feel of his hand in hers. Slowly, as if testing, he pulled her to him. She shuffled woodenly, her will resisting the urge to go to him, but her legs moving of their own accord. Only inches separated their bodies. She braved a look at his face and felt her resistance weaken. He was so handsome. His fingers skimmed the sensitive skin of her neck before pushing a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. She fought the urge to fidget against the tingling in the pit of her stomach.

Rhys sighed and lowered his head to rest against her chest, wrapping his arms around her hips. The feel of his arms around her while not on a horse was amazing. She wanted to be closer and craved more of him. Her arms slid tentatively around his neck and cradled him against her breast. His need for touch radiated from him. Her need for touch answered. She threaded her fingers through his hair and he sighed again, another single perfect moment.

“You are beautiful,” he said into her body. He squeezed her tighter. “I like you here. I like you with me.”

His words made her happy, but the intensity of the emotions rushing through her frightened her. She concentrated on the softness of his hair, sifting the strands through her fingers. “I like being here—with you.”

He looked at her and slowly stood, raking his hands upward over her hips and ribs. The world stopped as his hands came to rest at the sides of her breasts. She stood, paralyzed, unable to move, unable to flee. Did she want to flee? She couldn’t think with his hands on such a personal part of her body. Surely, he could hear her heart hammering against her chest.

His gaze caressed her face, and slowly he lowered his mouth to hers. She waited, eyes wide, watching its agonizing descent. Rational thought seeped from her mind to be replaced with the overwhelming desire to feel his lips against hers. Mother of pearl but she would burn in The Abyss for this.

Soft like the velvety petal of a flower, his lips brushed hers. Her eyes closed and her wayward body leaned into him. A small growl rumbled in his chest as he deepened his kiss. She wanted more, something she couldn’t name.

He nudged open her mouth and she complied, shocked by the feel of his tongue playing against hers, moist and oh so intimate. She should pull away. She really should. One of his hands slipped to the front of her dress and cupped her breast. She jerked, nearly jumping out of his hold.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and moved his hands to cradle her back. His mouth teased hers, nipping at her lips. “Truly.”

She relaxed, opening to him again, granting him her kisses.

“I didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist,” said a masculine voice from the doorway.

Chapter Fourteen

Ravyn pushed against Rhys, heating with embarrassment. He groaned and released her, but didn’t look at the door.

“I’m sorry, Ravyn.” It was his second apology in less than a minute. Thankfully, his body blocked her from their visitor’s view. “Go away. I’m busy.”

The deep voice floated into the room. “Yes, I can see. Is this any way to treat a lady, pawing her like an inexperienced altar boy?”

Rhys turned and glared at the man at the door. “Not that you’d have the faintest idea of what a lady is.”

Ravyn craned her head, but Rhys blocked her view. Who in The Saints’ name would be so rude?

“She looks quite comely from what I can see of her,” the disembodied voice continued. “Maybe you should let me have a go. I’m sure she’d appreciate my expert skills as a lover.”

Ravyn gasped. The nerve of this disrespectful trespasser.

“Or I could beat some manners into you.” Rhys’s words held an obvious threat. “Clearly it’s been too long.”

Mortification, embarrassment, and fear that the two men would start brawling swamped her. Her pride would heal, but she couldn’t tolerate any more fighting. She stepped around Rhys, intending to talk some sense into the two men, and froze.

The man standing at the door was beautiful. No, the word beautiful lacked magnitude. Glorious or breathtaking. Rational thought abandoned her, and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the golden angel framed in the doorway. He filled the space, not only physically but beyond that which could be seen. Strength and raw appeal poured from him. Only Rhys equaled the stranger in size.

Hair the color of winter wheat hung to the man’s waist. Sun-kissed shocks of white threaded through the darker blond and glistened with the slightest movement of his head. Bronzed skin accentuated his crystal blue eyes, and heavy brown lashes framed his lids. If Rhys was the darkness, then this man was the light—halves of a whole. Power radiated off him in waves, making the hair on Ravyn’s arms stand on end.

“I see my beauty has left you speechless, fair maiden,” he taunted. “Why don’t you come here and I’ll give you a taste of a real man?”

Rhys stepped in front of Ravyn, blocking her from the man’s view. “Get out.”

Ravyn peeked around his shoulder. The stranger smiled. “Not before you introduce me to your lady?”

With Rhys blocking her, she couldn’t see their silent exchange. Finally, he stepped aside and said, “Ravyn, this is Luc Le Daun.”

Luc executed a deep bow, complete with mocking humility and an exaggerated flourish of his arm. “At your service, my lady.”

Rhys crossed his arms.

Luc entered the bedchamber, seeming to take up more than his share of the space. The room shrank and pressed around Ravyn and she was happy Rhys stood between her and the intruder.

“You’re as crass as ever,” Rhys said.

“And you still can’t take a joke, my friend.”

“Are you?” Ravyn interjected.

Both men looked at her.

“Are we what?” Rhys said.

She waved a hand toward Luc. “Friends?”

Rhys cocked a brow. “Unfortunately, yes.”

A brilliant smile spread across Luc’s mouth, displaying two rows of perfect teeth. It seemed everything except his manners was flawless. Rhys stepped toward him and clasped Luc’s forearm, pulling his friend into a one-armed hug.

“Good to see you, old man.” The warmth in Luc’s tone eased some of Ravyn’s anxiety. “It’s been too long.”

“Feels like a lifetime,” Rhys replied. He held out his arm to Ravyn. “May I introduce Lady Ravyn Mayfield of Menda Abbey?”

She took a tentative step toward the golden stranger.

He closed the distance and stopped two very short feet from her before executing another bow. “A pleasure, Lady Ravyn. I hope Rhys has been…” He cleared his throat. “Treating you well.”

“Luc,” Rhys warned.

The burn of embarrassment infused her face. Her spine stiffened and she scooped her hair back over her shoulder. “Very well. Thank you for your concern.”

“How did you meet?” he continued, a little too interested. “I’ve never known Rhys to travel with anybody, let alone a woman. Says they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

A low growl rumbled from Rhys.

She bit her lip to stop from smiling. “Yes, he’s told me as much.”

“Your personal observations are unwanted,” Rhys said. “If you must know, I found Ravyn dangling twelve feet above the ground.”

Luc’s brow furrowed. “You weren’t trying to climb through her window, were you? Remember what happened last time?”

Ravyn looked at Rhys in question.

He pointed at Luc. “I’ve never climbed through a woman’s window. That was his exploit.”

Luc coughed but the noise sounded suspiciously like Camilla.

“As I was saying.” Rhys paused and glared at him. “When I found Ravyn, Icarus was intent on hauling her off to the Shadow World. At least I believe that’s what he’d planned. I didn’t have the opportunity to interrogate him during our tug-of-war.”

Luc’s expression lost all traces of humor. “Why would Icarus want Ravyn?”

Rhys shrugged. “Her extraordinary abilities perhaps.”

“Really?” Luc turned his full attention to her. She shifted under his riveting stare but didn’t look away. “I’d love to hear all about them.”

“We’ll catch up at supper.” Rhys placed his body between her and Luc again. “Now, leave.”

Luc crossed his arms. “I will if you will.”

Rhys looked over his shoulder but didn’t turn away from his friend. “Most likely Nattie left a change of clothes in your wardrobe.”

He reached for Ravyn’s wrist and pulled her so close her chest pressed against his back. As he guided her out of his room, Rhys used his body as a barrier between her and Luc. She couldn’t be sure his show stemmed from jealousy or his protective nature.

“I’ll wait for you out here.” He deposited her inside her bedroom and chanced a glance at his friend. “Lock it.”

He tugged the door shut, the latch giving a decisive click. Ravyn smiled. He definitely didn’t trust Luc. She remembered some of the advice she had heard from the girls at the abbey: Men want what other men have—and breasts. There had been many conversations about men and breasts. Looking at Luc, she was certain he could have his pick of any woman.

The man was vexing, but to his credit, Rhys considered him a friend. She couldn’t help but wonder if the devilish personality Luc exhibited was all there was to him or if his mischievous behavior hid a more complex man.

Ravyn washed and searched the wardrobe. Three dresses hung inside. After scrutinizing each gown, she decided on the pale violet piece with insets of black lace. The neckline dipped low, far lower than anything she’d ever worn. Whereas Willa’s gowns were serviceable and pretty, this dress shouted scandalous. She draped the material along her torso and snugged the waist of the dress against her body with her arm. Daring—maybe too daring. Did she have the nerve to wear a garment so obviously made for a…woman?

After quickly undressing, she slipped the soft lavender material over her head. The fabric slinked down her body, hugging her form. Her curves were more ample than the original owner’s, but the gown would work for tonight. She twisted left and right to survey her reflection in the mirror.

Well, Ravyn, there’s no doubt you’re a woman.

She bent and shimmied, braving a bit more cleavage. Most of her courage fled when she straightened and caught sight of her image in the mirror. She grabbed the material at her neckline and heaved it back up. The point was to look womanly. Not like a tart. She ran her fingers through her hair. Did the tousled mess look sensual, or like she’d been traveling on a horse all day?

The way Rhys had kissed her had unraveled some of the mystery between men and women. Heat spread through her chest at the memory of his lips against hers. Even with so little experience to draw on, she was beginning to suspect she desired him in more ways than she could put into words.

She released a soul-weary breath. Life was too short. The yearning ebbed as her sobering reality sucked the joy from her musings. Her life might be even shorter than most. Seize the day—or the night, maybe.

Timidity swamped her, and she leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door. She could do this. It was only a dress. With a slow release of breath, she stepped into the alcove. Rhys and Luc stood by the railing, laughing at a private joke. She stopped. Saints be damned, they were good-looking.

She turned and pulled the door shut. Blood pounded in her ears and her arms suddenly felt awkward, as if they didn’t belong to her. She licked her lips and put on a confident smile. Her body fought her as she forced her feet to pivot and face the men again.

They glanced toward her, their conversation dying. Rhys’s smile slid from his face and it was Luc’s turn to stare openmouthed. Seize the day. She lifted her chin and walked toward them with a steadiness she didn’t feel.

With her arms held out, she performed a slow turn. “How do I look?”

The answer was written on their faces; otherwise she wouldn’t have had the courage to ask. Luc gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“Thank you,” she said, dropping into a quick curtsy. She faced Rhys. “Well?”

His eyes raked her body, lingering at her breasts a few seconds beyond proper. How about that? The girls at the abbey had been right. He detached himself from the rail and offered her his arm. “You look very nice, my lady.”

Nice? Not exactly the glowing praise she had hoped for. “Thank you.” Her answer sounded tight.

Luc surprised her by offering his arm. She hesitated and glanced at his face.

A lascivious smile stretched across his full lips and he winked at her. “You look ravishing.”

That was the response she’d wanted from Rhys. With a quick tip of her head, she accepted his offered arm, then turned and slipped her arm through Rhys’s. He didn’t look happy. Doubt picked away at her thin layer of confidence. Maybe he disapproved of the dress. Did she look like a tart? She chanced a glance at him again. He scowled over her head at Luc. Was he jealous or just being protective? Some of her confidence returned. Maybe it was a good thing to let him wonder if she found Luc appealing—maybe.

The three walked down the wide spiral staircase and entered a cavernous kitchen. The aroma of roasting meat and warmth enveloped Ravyn. Her stomach growled in answer to the savory scent.

“Hungry?” Rhys asked.

“Starving.”

Nattie looked up from where she sliced a large chunk of meat and smiled. “My, my.” She pointed a wicked-looking carving knife at Ravyn. “Don’t you look lovely.”

Ravyn detached herself from the men and smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt. “Thank you for the gown.”

“It’s nothing, dear. We have plenty. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the wardrobe room and we’ll outfit you with what you need.” She tilted her head and appraised Ravyn’s breasts. “Perhaps something a little more…well…a little more. Now sit, dinner is almost ready.”

“Can I help you serve?” Ravyn asked.

Nattie waved the knife in the air again. “You can help tomorrow. Tonight, you’re a guest of Alba Haven.”

“You’ve been warned,” Rhys said over the banging of pots and pans. He guided her to the table. “Once Nattie puts you to work, you’ll barely have a moment to yourself.”

“Lies, all lies,” Nattie said. “Don’t listen to a word he says, Ravyn. I’m very reasonable.” Another pan clattered to the floor. “For the love of the Sainted Mother, Jaspar, what are you doing?”

“Found it.” Jaspar’s fingers appeared over the edge of the table as he heaved himself up, clutching a dented goblet in his other hand. “Thought you could hide it from me, didn’t you, you meddling fishwife?” He hoisted the goblet above his head. “But I found it.”

Nattie pointed the huge blade at him. “That filthy cup will not touch my table. Go drink your swill with the pigs for all I care, but you’ll not befoul my table with that tainted tumbler.”

Ravyn leaned close to Rhys. “What’s wrong with the goblet?”

Luc plucked a grape from a wooden bowl and popped it in his mouth. “Took it off a dead man.”

“That’s right, and Jaspar will burn in The Abyss for such sacrilege.” Nattie said.

“Wasn’t the dead man one of your suitors, Nattie?” Luc goaded.

The healer jabbed the knife at him. “Hush before I cut the tongue from your mouth. He was a friend, nothing more. And Jaspar stole the goblet before his body was cold.”

Luc gave Jaspar a nod of support. “Well, it’s not really stealing if the man was dead.”

Ravyn scooted closer to Rhys, putting distance between her and Luc. He certainly enjoyed antagonizing people. Jaspar picked up the wine pitcher.

Nattie’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you do it, old man.”

The pitcher hovered above the offending cup. Jaspar glared at the woman and poured.

Nattie leveled the carving knife at his heart. “I’m warning you.”

Jaspar set the pitcher back on the table and, with aching slowness, brought the cup to his lips. Nattie sputtered and hissed, spitting obscenities as he drained the goblet. In a show of supremacy, he slammed the vessel on the table and wiped his arm across his mouth, his stare never leaving hers. He refilled the tankard, clutched the cup between both hands, and shuffled from the room.

“Cur!” Nattie shouted to his back.

“Hag!”

Ravyn looked from Rhys to Luc, and then over to Nattie.

The older woman shrugged. “Keeps him on his toes when I hide his stuff. Don’t want his mind getting muddled.”

“You provoke fights?” Ravyn asked.

“Every chance I get.” Nattie turned back to her meat.

Never had Ravyn been around people who were so…loud. Life in the abbey had been quiet and full of contemplation. She picked up the wine pitcher and filled her goblet. “Well, there’s no doubt life here will be interesting.”

Rhys held his cup up in tribute. “To hearth and home.”

Luc raised his goblet. “To hearth and home.”

Dinner was beyond any meal Ravyn had ever eaten. She devoured everything set in front of her. Venison in blackberry sauce, creamed vegetables, and puffy bread dripping with butter and honey vied for space inside her belly. She inhaled and eyed a ripe fig. The fruit’s sticky syrup coated her fingers.

“One more bite,” she moaned.

She leaned against her propped elbows and bit. The rough skin rubbed her lips as her teeth sank into the fibrous meat of the fig. Juice trickled out the corner of her mouth but she sucked it back in, unwilling to miss a single taste. She closed her eyes and chewed. Pure bliss. Never had she eaten such rich and decadent food. Portions at the abbey had been sparse. Her eyes opened and she swallowed.

The entire table stared at her.

She lowered the fruit. “What? Haven’t you seen anybody eat a fig before?”

“Is that what you call it?” Luc asked. “I’m rather envious of that fig.” He shifted in his seat. “And a bit randy now.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Luc,” Nattie barked. “Find your manners.”

“Truly, Luc, she’s a lady, not one of your doxies. Treat her accordingly,” Rhys warned.

Instead of feeling championed, Rhys’s words made her feel treasured. Like a fragile doll. Set on a shelf. Never played with. Her mood soured. So what did she want? Certainly not to be treated like a trollop, but maybe not like a delicate flower, either?

“What?” Luc continued. “I’m simply saying that if she keeps eating like that, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Ravyn glared at him. “Well then, neither can I.”

“He sleeps with his mouth open,” Nattie supplied.

Maybe it was the wine, but she suddenly felt mischievous. “Thank you, Nattie. That bit of information could be very useful one day.”

Luc’s gaze narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Rhys chuckled, the sound like a caress against her ears.

Luc stood. “I see where your loyalties lie, Nattie.”

The healer hooted with laughter. “Finally, a woman who isn’t blinded by your beauty.” She leaned back in her chair. “It’s my greatest wish to see him married off to a woman who can keep him in line.”

Ravyn shook her head. “I’d pay a great fortune to watch Luc court a woman who didn’t want to be wooed.”

“Do you hear this, Rhys?” Luc said. “And they say men are ruthless.”

Nattie leaned back in her chair. “Sainted Ones, women are far more merciless.”

Luc shuddered. “You’re scaring me.”

Nattie laughed. “I scare you? With the way you go through women, I can’t believe you’re not already dead.”

He held up his hands. “Let’s change the subject.”

He stood and walked to the other side of the table to sit across from her and Rhys. “So Ravyn, what are these extraordinary powers Rhys talked about?”

She glanced at Rhys, not knowing how much she should divulge. He gave her a single nod.

“Fire, mainly. And I know things sometimes without being told.”

Luc’s eyes lifted. “Like a Tell.”

She nodded. “And I see ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Rhys asked.

She squared her shoulders. “Yes.”

“How fascinating,” Nattie said.

Luc sat forward and folded his hands in front of him. “Are there any ghosts in Alba Haven?

“Mostly monks. I noticed a few women drifting around the courtyard.”

“Women?” His expression turned serious. “Are any of them young and beautiful?” He held her gaze. At first she thought he was teasing, but the way he stared at her told her he wasn’t putting her on, almost as if he needed to know. “One with golden brown hair and piercing green eyes?”

“No.” His body visibly relaxed. She smiled and tried to lighten the heavy mood. “They are mostly matronly and fat. I could introduce you if you’d like.”

“You have enough problems with the living, Luc. Best you stay away from the dead,” Nattie said.

He smiled but Ravyn noticed the haunted look that passed across his face. “So,” he said. “Fire, telling, and ghosts; are you a full-blood?”

“We don’t know,” Rhys said. “She knows nothing of her parentage.”

“Too bad, more Bringers like her would help our cause,” Luc said.

Rhys stared at him. “You may get your wish.”

Luc raised his eyebrows but didn’t reply.

“I’ve received new information alluding to the possibility of more full-bloods in Inness.” Rhys held up his hand to stop Nattie and Luc’s questions. “All I know is that they may be here. Nothing else.”

“Who told you this?” Luc said.

“If you’re asking if it’s reliable, then yes, as reliable as information like this can be,” Rhys said.

Ravyn wondered why Rhys didn’t tell them about their con-versation with Willa, or about the books. Perhaps he still struggled with the idea of reading his father’s words.

“What do you plan to do?” Luc asked.

“Train her mentally and physically. She must learn to defend herself and gain control over her powers,” Rhys said.

Luc picked at the fig’s skin. “And then what?”

Ravyn’s gaze cast between the two men. Though Luc smiled, the mood between him and Rhys had shifted and now crackled with tension.

“We keep her alive,” Rhys said. The two men stared at each other. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Luc poked at the fruit with his knife. “You’re not going to like it.”

Rhys leaned forward and rested against his folded arms. “That’s never stopped you.”

“You need to take her to the Council.”

“What?”

Not backing down, Luc said, “I think it’s in our best interest.”

Rhys gripped the edge of the table and stood. “How could exposing Ravyn to that group of squabbling bureaucratic buffoons be in our best interest?”

Luc reclined against his chair. “Two reasons.” His eyes followed Rhys as he paced the stretch of floor behind the chairs. “First, you know how it is for us here. We’re the outcasts, acknowledged but not accepted, included but not wanted. The Council is barely civil and rarely forthcoming with information. If you don’t register Ravyn with them, you will appear not only uncooperative, but openly hostile. We can’t afford to alienate them.”

The fact that Luc’s words rang true angered Rhys. “So I should parade Ravyn into Illuma Grand and present her as what? A sign of peace?”

“In a manner.”

Rhys stopped beside Ravyn. “What manner?”

“Point number two.” Luc glanced at Nattie, who gave him an encouraging nod. “New reports from Illuma Grand say several Bringers are missing.”

Rhys slid into his chair and leaned forward. “The Bane?”

“That’s what our informant suspects, but there were no signs of struggle.” Luc mirrored Rhys’s posture.

“Then you go and investigate. I won’t risk Ravyn,” Rhys said.

The fig lay forgotten. “We need her,” Luc said. “If what you say about her powers is true she can help us instead of being a burden.”

She scowled. “I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” he said with a wink.

Indecision gripped Rhys. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t risk losing Ravyn to the Bane. The muscles at the back of his neck tightened. Wasn’t this why he never got involved or grew close to anybody? “She’d be open to attack from the Bane.”

“Only until we were on the grounds of Illuma Grand,” Luc countered. “Then she’d be safe. I’ll go with you and act as her bodyguard as well.”

Rhys scoffed. “Safe? With the Council’s politics and a crazed monk after her? You’ve got to be joking.” If this was about him or any other rebel, he wouldn’t hesitate. He slammed his hand down on the table. “No, I won’t put Ravyn at risk.”

“Excuse me,” she said, holding up her hand. “May I ask a question?”

Nattie’s expression melted to a warm smile. “Of course, dear.”

“Who are the Council?”

Rhys crossed his arms. “They’re a group of mixed-blooded fools who believe the Bane don’t exist.”

“Don’t believe the Bane are a threat, more like it,” Nattie added.

“They’re Bringers?” Ravyn asked.

“If you can call them that.” Rhys fought down years of frustration from trying to deal with the useless group. “They do nothing but argue amongst themselves, never once lifting a finger in the fight against the Bane.”

Ravyn shook her head. “Surely they can’t deny that the demons are dangerous.” She pressed her hand to the front of her shoulder. “I’ve felt the sting of their talons.”

“You’d be amazed what their leader, Fromme Bagita, can deny when power is involved,” Rhys said.

“Hates the fact that Rhys doesn’t pander to him,” Luc said with a smile. “I’ve seen Bagita so angry at Rhys he nearly swallowed his own tongue in a fit of rage.”

“Which is why I won’t expose Ravyn to him.” The thought of Bagita anywhere near her made his stomach knot. “What purpose would it serve?”

Ravyn’s hand covered his. “Shouldn’t I have a say in this?”

No was his first reaction. She didn’t understand what she’d be subjected to. He looked at her and the no died on his tongue. Censure sparkled in her eyes, stopping his argument. She was right. She’d made the decision at the inn to join him and deserved the right to be heard. Heard, not necessarily make the final choice. She was still too naïve for that.

“Yes, you should have a say,” he said.

Her hand slipped from his and he immediately missed her touch.

She looked at Luc. “What did you mean I could help?”

“We could use your Tell powers.” Luc glanced toward the door as if checking to see who listened. “Jaspar is too old and Siban refuses to leave Alba Haven.”

Rhys gritted his teeth against his protest. Ravyn’s hand covered his again, but she didn’t look at him.

“What else?” she said.

“Maybe you could ferret out clues, something we can’t see. Feel if the missing Bringers struggled.” A sheepish grin crossed his face. “Can you talk to ghosts?”

“Oh for Saint’s sake,” Rhys barked. “You expect her to run around Illuma Grand, searching for ghosts? The Council will think she’s daft.”

“Good,” Nattie said. “Better that than trying to use her as a pawn.”

“It’s all right, Rhys. I’ve spent two decades hiding my powers.” She turned to Luc. “And yes, I can hear the spirits.”

“This is madness,” Rhys grumbled.

“Didn’t you warn me about that at the inn?” She gave him a warm smile. “Please, Rhys, I want to help. I’ve spent so much of my life not being a part of the fight.”

“That wasn’t your fault.” He stood and paced again. “And I’m beginning to believe you were put there for a reason. To keep you safe.” He stopped and peered at her, wanting her to understand. “This isn’t some grand adventure, Ravyn. It’s dangerous.”

She glared up at him. “And I’m not some delicate flower that will wilt in a fight.”

Her look of determination told him she meant to go.

“You don’t understand.” He softened his tone. She didn’t understand the intrigue and scheming that went on at Illuma Grand. “This isn’t a game.”

“The Council doesn’t scare me.” She leaned back in her chair. “I lived for over two decades with some of the most unpleasant women you will ever meet. I think I can handle a few arrogant Bringers.”

“That very attitude is why I worry. These aren’t Sisters of the Order. The Council is ruthless and unforgiving, blinded by greed. If they can use you, they will.”

“Then we use them first,” Luc chimed in. “They’ll never suspect we have ulterior motives. The world revolves around the Council. Use that to gain access to Illuma Grand.”

“Please, Rhys,” Ravyn said before he could answer. “If not us, who will look for the missing Bringers? We’re Bringers. We don’t run from a fight.”

She slung his words back at him. Damn her.

“I’m the lord of Alba Haven and I have final say. You’re not ready.”

Ravyn glared at him. He knew he was being a hypocrite but he couldn’t put her life at risk.

“We could get her ready,” Luc offered.

Rhys pinned him with a stare meant to dispel further ar-guments. Unfortunately, Luc was not so easily intimidated.

“You could train her—we could train her,” Luc said. “Teach Ravyn what to expect and how to handle herself?”

Rhys paced beside the table. “I never intended to dangle her in front of the Bane.”

“I can handle the Bane, and I’m not afraid of the Council.” She stood and blocked his path. “Don’t keep me locked up, Rhys. I’ve lost too many years hidden away behind stone walls.”

Damn her. How could he demand she stay within the walls of Alba Haven when she’d nearly chosen not to come at all? He saw the determination in her eyes and knew she had no intention of staying cloistered. Damn her for making him care.

He kicked the chair, swearing under his breath. “I don’t like this plan.” He paced across the room and spun, pointing a finger at Ravyn. “We’ll train first.”

She nodded vigorously.

“Until I’m satisfied you’ve gained control over your fire.”

“Understood,” she said.

“I say when we leave,” he continued.

“Fine,” she gritted out.

Rhys turned and looked at Nattie and Luc. “Understood? I make the rules. I won’t risk her life.”

“Understood,” Luc said.

Rhys glared at them. “You’re all a bunch of fools.”

Chapter Fifteen

Rhys waited for her in the kitchen the next morning and they began their day with another wonderful meal from Nattie. Excitement coursed through her. Today she would start her training, the first step to becoming a Bringer. After breaking their fast, they left the main building and walked down a wide walkway she hadn’t seen yesterday.

Life at the abbey was calm compared to that of Alba Haven. People bustled about Alba, readying supplies for the voyage to the Council and putting up winter stores. Every person seemed to have a job.

They passed through a large outbuilding that opened at both ends. Large copper vats of dye bubbled over low flames, and different shades of dripping spun yarn draped over long racks that spanned the entire length of the building. A large circle around the vat had been worn deep by a donkey harnessed to each spindle over every vat. As the animal walked, large paddles stirred the dye to keep the color mixed and consistent.

“Each year the women weave new blankets and repair all the old ones in preparation for the wet, cold winter,” Rhys explained. “Alba Haven, for the most part, is self-sustaining.”

Their tour ended at the training field. Luc and several other men sparred with a variety of weapons, and three men practiced on an archery range that stretched along the outer wall.

Ravyn look around. “Don’t women practice?”

“Some.” Rhys guided her onto the field. “Mainly they do the support work for Alba.”

His statement grated on her. Why were women expected to help but not fight? “Can they spar if they choose?”

“The women here are not like you, Ravyn. They don’t have extraordinary power to make up for their lack of strength and skill.”

“Well, maybe they wouldn’t lack skill if you and your boys trained them.”

He stopped. “Many have families to care for. We can’t risk losing the mothers as well as the fathers.”

A valid point, but his condescending tone set her teeth on edge. “Did you ask the women their opinions?”

He pushed her toward the men, effectively silencing her comments. “The subject has never come up.”

Ideas churned in her mind. The importance of people to support the army was obvious, but not every female had children. She tucked the information away. Maybe Nattie would have a better perspective on the situation.

Ravyn spent the rest of the day familiarizing herself with Alba Haven’s armory. Rhys and Luc reenacted several battle situations to demonstrate the proper stance and hand position of each weapon. She also received pointers on deadly circumstances, how to avoid them, and how to escape if she did find herself at a disadvantage. Never once did they approach the subject of her powers. By the end of the day, she was dirty, tired, and starving.

Nattie took pity on her, feeding and healing her. All the bruises and most of the aches dissolved under her touch.

From that point on, their lives fell into a pattern, and over the next two weeks, every day passed with the same routine. In the morning, she practiced rudimentary riding, fighting skills, and target practice. With each session, her strength and control grew. In the afternoon she, Rhys, and Luc honed her powers. People gathered to watch and cheer with each task she mastered. As her confidence grew the years of scorn for being different faded. Here, among people who accepted her, she’d found her home.

But today, things were not perfect. For the tenth time since training had begun that morning, she kicked her horse forward. Like the nine times before, Ravyn reached for the short spear and pulled it from her side holster. And like all the other times, the spiked tip tangled in the folds of her skirt, disrupting the flow of her movements, her timing, and her aim. She released the spear.

She cursed before the weapon even reached the target. “Damn.”

The spear rocketed past the mark and bounced off the back wall. She cantered her horse around the training grounds. “Damn!”

“Concentrate,” Rhys barked.

“I am concentrating. My gown keeps getting in the way.”

“Learn to compensate for your dress,” Luc chimed in.

She rolled her eyes. “‘Learn to compensate for your dress.’ ‘Concentrate.’ I’d like to see you put on a skirt and do this.”

The gathered crowd remained silent. Most of residents had quickly learned the safest place on the training ground was behind Ravyn. More than one unsuspecting spectator had received an up-close look at the tip of her short spears. As she rounded the bend, Ravyn saw Nattie step out on the field.

“That’s enough for now,” Nattie yelled. She waved Ravyn to her. “Ravyn is coming to town with me.”

Ravyn pulled her horse to a stop. She still had hours of instruction, and Nattie knew it.

“We’re in the middle of training,” Rhys said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Then you continue to train.” The healer glared, challenging Rhys to argue. “I’m taking Ravyn with me.”

“How can we train her if she’s not here?” Luc asked.

The gold bangles at Nattie’s wrists jangled as she shrugged and held up her hands. “How should I know? I’m just a humble Redeemer. You two are the great Bringer warriors. Figure it out. Why don’t the two of you beat on each other for a while? You used to spend hours doing it when you were younger.”

Ravyn caught snatches of the men’s complaints, something about being a serious warrior and hard work, but they didn’t openly argue. Ravyn couldn’t blame them. When Nattie decided she wanted something, there was no use in disagreeing. The memory of the woman’s ruthless healing was still burned into Ravyn’s mind.

She slipped from her horse and handed the reins to one of the grooms. “What are we doing?”

“Shhhh,” Nattie hissed and smiled.

Ravyn didn’t care what the old woman had up her sleeve. The men’s unreasonable demands to concentrate or try harder chafed at her. If this errand gave her a break from their company, then she was game.

“Don’t be long. We still have a lot of work to do,” Rhys yelled.

“We’ll be back when we’re back,” Nattie countered.

She took Ravyn by the arm and, with a firm grip, led her through the crowd and to the front gates of Alba Haven.

“Open the gate, Siban,” Nattie said, barely slowing her pace.

A hint of surprise flashed across his face. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business,” she snapped, stopping to glare at him. “Now open the gate.”

Ravyn watched the exchange, certain Nattie was the only person on Inness who would dare speak to Siban in such a manner. He didn’t move.

“It’s dangerous out there.” He drawled. “Where’s your escort?”

She smirked. “You offering?”

Siban looked between her and Nattie before turning to pull the bolt free. The towering gate creaked open and Nattie propelled her forward.

“If you’re not back before midafternoon, I’m sending Rhys.”

Nattie huffed and pushed Ravyn through the gate, not giving him a response.

“Where are we going?” Ravyn said.

“Shopping.” Nattie looked at her and smiled. The door groaned closed behind them. “It’s about time you have some proper clothes.”

“You gave me plenty of gowns from the wardrobe room last week. I don’t need anything new.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She picked up her pace, causing Ravyn to skip a few steps to keep up with her. “You’ll thank me when you see what I have in mind.”

Their trek to the market was all downhill, which meant going home would be uphill. Ravyn decided not to dwell on that part of the trip. Nattie marched her down dozens of narrow alleys. It was one thing to ride through Alba on Sampson and quite another to walk amongst the throng of people. She reinforced her mental shields, blocking out their uncomfortable presence.

They picked their way along muddy streets, where the smell of urine and decay emanated from doorways and puddles. People stared, following them as they maneuvered through the crush of the homeless, prostitutes, and drunks. Ravyn scooted and squeezed, trying not to touch the unwashed masses. There were slight tugs at her pockets, as if small hands deftly checked them for treasure. She had no money for them to steal.

Uncertainty plagued her the farther they traveled from Alba Haven. Rhys would be furious if he knew she was beyond the gates and unprotected. Though she’d gained confidence in her abilities over the last two weeks, she was still untried in the real world.

Her stare tracked along the buildings, searching for the tiniest hint of Powell’s presence. Twice, the soft prickle of needles irritated her arms. Her heart raced as she scanned the street for lurking Bane, but saw nothing. The warning could have been anything from a demon watching from a rooftop to a drunk Bane minion. It didn’t seem like her senses differentiated between caution and danger. Only grave peril managed to engage her fire. Though she tried, she couldn’t locate the exact cause of her alarm. As they moved down the street, the irritation faded but Ravyn didn’t relax her vigilance.

A cacophony of sounds echoed off the buildings as they exited the dark street and entered what looked like the town center. Notes from an oboe squeaked in time with the low thump of a drum. A woman in blue veils danced for the milling crowd, the tiny bells at her waist jangling as she spun and gyrated. Coins clanked against a metal cup placed beside the oboe player.

The quick flicks and slow rotations of the dancer’s hips mesmerized Ravyn. Her body swayed like a charmed viper, drawing her toward the woman. A firm hand grasped Ravyn’s wrist, breaking the hypnotic spell.

“Don’t watch,” Nattie said. “She’s a Splinter.”

Ravyn dragged her gaze from the dancer. “Splinter?”

“Gets under your skin and you become obsessed. Usually men, but everyone is susceptible to their allure. I’ve seen men spend every cent in hope of winning the Splinter’s affection.” She pushed her way through the crowd. “That’s what they want—to drain every last coin from a person and then move on to new, rich prey. It’s old, dark magic.”

Even now, the image of the swaying woman swirled through Ravyn’s head. She slammed her mental shields, surprised that the music’s haunting whine was able to penetrate her now formidable blocking. “I’ve never heard of Splinters.”

“Because you don’t associate with such scum. Respectable people usually aren’t privy to the unsavory side of society.” She released Ravyn’s wrist. “Trust me, Alba’s market is one of the seediest places I know.”

They passed merchants calling out and waving their wares, attempting to lure patrons into their shops. Open carts with vegetables lined the street. Butchers hung strips of meat from racks in front of their stores in hopes of enticing customers. Ravyn thought the only thing the dark, crusty meat would attract was flies. Her stomach clenched.

She slowed as they passed a covered stall. Birds chirped and sang from cages, and a toothless old man sat amongst the choir, weaving a tiny cage from twigs. Bright green birds the size of plums hopped from perch to perch, ruffling their feathers.

However, it was the silent beauty in the brass cage that drew Ravyn. Orange and gold feathers swathed the body, and long, brilliant red plumage draped below the bird’s perch like fiery lace.

“It don’t sing.”

Ravyn glanced at the old man. “What is it?”

“Firebrand.” He stopped weaving. “You want to buy it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have any money.”

He gave her a gummy grin. “I’ll give you a good price.”

She looked around for Nattie, but she was too far ahead. “I still don’t have any money.”

He harrumphed and went back to his weaving. “Nobody’s ever got money for that bird. Stupid thing don’t sing.”

Ravyn certainly understood the need for freedom. “Maybe she’s unhappy. Maybe she doesn’t like being caged.”

“Birds aren’t happy or sad. They’re just dinner.”

Ravyn scowled at him. “That’s awful.”

“If you think it’s so awful you should buy the bird and save its life.”

The Firebrand watched her, its golden eyes steady, not darting like the spastic green birds. Ravyn ran her hand along the horizontal bar that circled the cage. Flashes of light sparked at her fingertips and tingled into her hand. “Maybe I will.”

She jumped as the bird spread its wings and trilled. The old man dropped his basket and stood to stare into the cage as the bird continued to sing.

“What did you do?” he asked.

She stepped away from the cage and instantly the bird settled, growing silent again. “Nothing.”

The old man looked at her. “I think you should buy it, yes?”

“Yes.” She glanced around and saw Nattie waiting for her near the corner of a building. “I have to go now, but promise me you won’t sell her.” The man gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll pay you double the amount if you keep her until I get back.”

“Double?” the old man said. Ravyn nodded, praying Nattie would lend her the money. “You come back tonight?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I wait.”

“Thank you.” She gave the doleful bird one last glance.

“She only sings for you,” he called after her.

Ravyn gave a quick wave and jogged toward Nattie. Something about the bird spoke to her. She looked over her shoulder. Both man and bird had resumed their quiet poses.

They turned onto a cobbled street and began the arduous climb up a steep hill. Ravyn followed the older woman, her mind filtering through everything she’d seen within the last few minutes. The more she contemplated the bird, the more she wanted it.

After a short distance Ravyn’s calves burned with effort and her breath tightened in her chest. She jogged to catch up, but dropped back after a few feet, her thighs now adding their complaint. Nattie seemed unaffected by the sharp incline. Slightly embarrassed, Ravyn hiked up the hem of her skirt and picked up her pace, refusing to be outdistanced by the older woman.

Tiny wooden signs hung above the doors lining the street. Inns and bakeries gave way to stores like fortune-telling shops, seedy pubs, and apothecaries.

“Here we are,” Nattie said.

Ravyn looked to the right. A worn and faded sign nailed to the door listed the goods and services provided inside. She squinted. “Removal of evil spirits: three locks of hair. Removal of toad warts: five teardrops.”

Her eyebrows raised in question.

Nattie pointed to the left side of the road. “Not there. Here.”

“Madam Turner’s Intimate Apparel,” Ravyn read aloud. “What does it mean, intimate apparel?”

A devilish smile tugged at the corners of the old woman’s mouth. “You’ll see.”

Bells jingled and the smell of powders and perfumes assaulted Ravyn’s nose when she stepped into Madam Turner’s. Prisms of color cast by dozens of crystal candleholders danced on the walls and ceiling, enveloping the shop in a warm glow. Nattie slipped out of her cloak and laid it over the back of a garish pink velvet settee.

“Bella?” she called.

No answer.

Ravyn squinted and walked toward the wall. She ran a hand across the flimsy material hanging from a large brass hook. “It’s a gown.” She held out the edge of the garment. Well, the dress was shaped like a gown, but in no way would cover any vital bits. “What is all this?”

Nattie crossed her arms over her chest. “What does it look like?”

Gossamer creations in every color glimmered with seed pearls and jewels, satins and ribbons. She turned to Nattie, confused. “I thought we were purchasing everyday clothing, not my…not for…well, not this.”

Nattie laughed. “Be patient. Madam Turner has exactly what we need.” She waved a hand toward the gauzy gowns. “And it’s not these.” Moving farther into the shop, she called, “Bella, are you here?”

A singsong voice echoed from somewhere in the back. “Be there in a second.”

Ravyn assessed the diaphanous creations, her hand drifting along a deep violet, one-shouldered gown. The hem angled from the floor to the hip, and she couldn’t help but wonder how Rhys would react if he saw her in this.

“It’s very beautiful,” Nattie said from behind her.

Ravyn blushed and lowered her hand. “But impractical.”

“Depends on who you wear it for.”

Before Ravyn could reply, a large concoction of pink velvet and feathers swirled into the room. “Nattie, it’s been too long.”

Ravyn blinked several times, trying to take in the full scale of Bella Turner. The woman looked like a plump, pink swan.

“Far too long,” Nattie said, wrapping Bella in a hug. “It’s my fault. This time of the year is always busy for us at the Haven.”

Ravyn could see Madam Turner had been beautiful once but had perhaps overindulged in sweet cakes through the years. Her head full of auburn ringlets clashed with her pink ensemble. Gold and jewels glistened from her chubby neck, both wrists, and every finger.

Bella turned to Ravyn and gave her a wide, dimpled smile. “And who is this?”

“Lady Ravyn Mayfield,” Nattie said.

“Please, I prefer Ravyn.”

“Oh, so modest and so polite.” Bella clapped her hands. “I haven’t had a true lady in here for years. No offense, Nattie.”

“None taken.”

Ravyn could only imagine the kind of women who frequented Madam Turner’s Intimate Apparel. She smiled at the plump woman, not wanting to risk a comment.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Bella, but Ravyn isn’t here for one of these creations.” She gave the shop owner a pointed stare. “She’s here for some of your other creations.”

Bella’s elation plummeted. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She sighed and stroked Ravyn’s hair. “Such a beautiful girl should be making love, not war.”

“Yes, well, maybe one day soon, I hope,” Nattie said bluntly.

Ravyn gasped. “Nattie!”

The fragment of information reignited Bella’s excitement. She clapped her hands and bounced, sending her curls gesticulating around her head. “And who is the lucky man?”

Nattie butted in before Ravyn could speak. “Lord Blackwell.”

Her mouth fell open. “There is nothing like that between Rhys and me.”

Nattie gave an unladylike snort. “And the fact that you believe what you just said is the reason you’re still a virgin.”

“Nattie!” Ravyn’s face burned with embarrassment.

Bella fell back a few steps and crushed her hand dramatically against her large bosom. “Lord Blackwell? Oh my. Oh my, my, my.” She fanned herself with her gold-laden hand. “That is a very fine piece of man-flesh. Oh my.”

Bella walked with wobbly but very determined steps and pulled out the dark purple dress Ravyn had been admiring. She shuffled back to them and shoved the gown at her.

“Take this,” she said. When Ravyn protested, she held up her hand. “You will take this and wear it. You will wear this gown when you make love to that beautiful man, and you will do it for all womankind.”

“Thank you, Madam Turner, but I’m not…having relations with Rhys or any other man.”

“You must take it and when the time comes, wear it—for me—for women.”

Nattie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “She’s always had a thing for Rhys. You’d better take the gown or we’ll never get out of here.”

Ravyn removed the gift from Bella’s trembling fingers and draped the thin material over the pink settee. “Uh, thank you.”

“No, thank you, my dear. Thank you for not letting such a fine man go to waste.” Madam Turner released another heavy sigh and straightened. Her dreamy doe-eyed expression vanished. “Now, back to business. So, what’s the problem?”

Ravyn looked at Nattie for help. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Her weapons get caught on her dress when she’s fighting from horseback.”

“Ah.” Bella pointed a finger at Ravyn. “I have just the answer to your problem.” She spun and flounced through the store. “Follow me.”

Ravyn rubbed her palms on her skirt, nervous about what Madam Turner would show her next, and followed her to the back of the store.

A tattered gray curtain hung across an opening, and Bella yanked on the makeshift door to reveal more racks of clothing. Ravyn stepped inside the small enclosure. The smell of leather and wool filled the space. No gossamer gowns hung here.

“What is this?” Ravyn lifted a black garment from the pile and shook it open. “A tunic?”

Bella squeezed in beside her and rummaged through a large shelf in the corner. “Yes. I have everything a warrior needs.” She turned with an armload of clothes. “This is something new I created.”

Ravyn took the top item from the pile and unfolded it. “They’re pants.”

Bella nodded, her ringlets bouncing with excitement. “Pants for women.”

“What?” Ravyn’s mouth fell open as she examined the garment.

The shopkeeper ran her hand up the length of the pants. “Notice how the legs are narrow at the calf, but the rear and hips are wider? I designed them for a woman.”

Reaching for the next piece, Ravyn shook out another long-sleeved tunic. Leather patches protected the elbows, wrists, and shoulders—a perfect reinforcement for those abused areas. The last item of clothing was a mystery. Ravyn held up what appeared to be a very short, sleeveless shirt with long strings attached to the front. “What is this?”

“This is the best part,” Madam Turner said. “It’s the chest harness. You wear it under the tunic. It holds you in.”

Ravyn crinkled her face as she examined the shirt from every direction. “Holds me in?”

Bella cupped her breasts firmly. “Holds you in.”

“Oh.” Ravyn eyed the piece. “How do you wear it?”

“Try it on,” Nattie said. “Bella can show you.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve been dying to see it on someone,” Bella said. “I have my own set, but it’s not the same as seeing a real warrior in one of my creations.”

Ravyn’s eyes rounded. “Are you a Bringer?”

“Oh no.” Bella took the harness from Ravyn. “But I’m ready to fight the Bane when the Bringers need me. Everybody has to do their part.”

“Bella’s the leader of the Human Rebel Force,” Nattie added.

“Human rebels?” Ravyn looked at the pink puff of a woman. Madam Turner was the last person Ravyn would suspect to be a rebel. Willa’s words about how she and others were familiar with the Bane floated back to Ravyn. “Are there many?”

Bella scrunched up her face. “Ten so far, but we’re growing. Can’t allow just anybody into the group. Most humans will turn tail and run at the first sign of demon trouble. I’m selective. Nobody joins until they’re tested.”

Nattie glared over Bella’s head at her with what looked like a silent plea to not to ask any more questions.

“That’s very noble of you, Madam Turner. The Bringers thank you,” Ravyn said.

Bella blinked several times and sniffed. “It’s my honor.” Determination clouded her face. “Now, let’s get you outfitted.”

Ravyn handed herself over to the ministrations of the women, who efficiently stripped and redressed her in minutes. The harness turned out to be surprisingly effective. Two long strings pulled the material around her chest and tied beneath her breasts. The tunic and pants fit as if they were made for her. When Madam Turner handed her a tall pair of black leather boots, Ravyn nearly melted. The soft leather flexed and hugged her calves. She stared at a reflection that looked nothing like the old Ravyn.

“Rhys will never let me wear this.” She ran her hand over her backside. The pants hugged her curves and tapered into the knee-high boots. Though dressed as a warrior, in this outfit, she flaunted every womanly aspect of her body. “It’s fabulous.”

“Why does he have any say?” Nattie asked. “He’s not your husband.”

Her statement stung a bit more than Ravyn wanted to admit. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t let me leave my room in these clothes. Remember, his rules—no arguing.”

“I’ve found the element of surprise always works best,” Bella piped up.

Ravyn glanced back at the mirror. These clothes were the solution to her problem and Nattie had a point. Rhys wasn’t her husband. She ran her hand over the leather patch at her wrist. He wouldn’t be pleased.

“You’re right. This is a matter of safety, and I should have the final say in what I wear.”

“Make sure you perform better than ever,” Nattie said. “Show Rhys these clothes are for your safety.”

The three women smiled conspiratorially. Ravyn pivoted in front of the mirror. “This just might work.”

Nattie paid for the clothes and they exited the shop amongst pink-feathered hugs and perfumed waves. Loaded down with four sets of leathers in black and green, a supple pair of black leather boots, four undershirts, and the gauzy purple gown, they made their way back to Alba Haven.

Merely holding her new wardrobe gave Ravyn a sense of control.

“Nattie? Can we make a stop on the way home?”

“Of course, dear.”

“And—may I borrow some money?”

Chapter Sixteen

Sunshine spilled across the bed, blanketing Ravyn with warmth. She lay cocooned in a nest of pillows and lush comforters, softness conforming to every bend and curve of her body. She smiled sleepily and snuggled deeper into the bedding. This was paradise.

Pounding thumped against her door. “Get up, sleepyhead. Time to train,” Rhys yelled through the door.

“No,” she whined, curling onto her side. “It’s still early.

“If you’re not on the field in thirty minutes, I’m sending Luc up to get you.”

“Tyrant!”

He was still angry with her and Nattie for leaving the grounds. She snuggled deeper into the bedding, not wanting to face him again. Soft whistles cooed from the corner of her room and she smiled. At least somebody knew the proper way to awaken a lady. She slid out of bed and walked to the brass cage in the corner of the room.

“Good morning, my little beauty.”

The Firebrand ruffled her feathers in response.

Since Rhys hadn’t been speaking to her last night, she’d spent the evening situating her new pet. An unworldly connection existed between her and the bird. Ravyn had never experienced anything like it with other animals.

She unlatched the cage door and opened it. “You’re going to need a name.”

The bird squawked and shimmied across the bar to the end. Using its beak and talons, it made its way along the bars and out the opening to sit on the top of the cage. Ravyn wondered if the bird could fly. She should have asked the man.

“So what shall we call you? Something special.” She stared at the Firebrand. It stared back with big golden eyes, cooing softly. “How about Beacon, because you are a bright spot in my day?” The bird made a clicking sound and Ravyn reached a tentative hand and stroked its satiny orange head. “Beacon it is.” The bird nuzzled against her fingers. “I’d love to stay and pet you but I’ve been summoned.”

Ravyn washed and braided her hair into two long tails, securing the ends with black, leather cords. She contemplated the sets of leathers, knowing she was about to make Rhys’s bad mood even worse. Which set to wear, green or black? Since he was in a black mood this morning, why not embrace his frame of mind? The harness gave her fits, but after several minutes of twisting and swearing, she secured the strings. Her heart skittered as she gazed at a warrior in the mirror.

“Be confident. Be bold.” She released her breath. “Don’t back down.” Walking to the door, she called over her shoulder, “Wish me luck, Beacon.”

A loud squawk was her reply. With her head held high and a confident step, she strode from the room and pulled the door shut to keep Beacon inside in case he decided to go for a flight. Ravyn marveled at the freedom the pants allowed her as she descended the staircase. No material tangled around her ankles or underfoot. Her irritation grew. How many times had she fallen over a heavy gown or watched other women wrestle yards of fabric out from under them as they struggled to stand?

Her righteous indignation for all womankind billowed around her. “Just let him tell me to go change.”

Shocked expressions and whispers from the other residents followed her. Good. Let them look their fill. From today on, she’d be dressed in pants, so they’d better get used to the notion.

She entered the training field. Rhys stood with his back to her, arms crossed and his legs spread wide. He was listening intently to Luc, probably discussing her future. Nattie stood in the front row of the crowd and gave her an encouraging nod. Ravyn squared her shoulders and marched forward with more self-assurance than she felt.

Luc’s gaze slid from Rhys to her. Like butter melting in a pan, his wicked smile spread across his face. He refocused on Rhys, mirroring his crossed-arm stance. “This morning keeps getting better and better.”

Murmurs of laughter from the other men eroded some of her poise. With each step, she felt more foolish and awkward. Why had she gone along with Nattie’s plan?

Rhys slowly turned, his eyes widening and then narrowing. Butterflies beat against her chest but she didn’t slow her stride as her wool- and leather-clad legs ate up the distance between them.

Luc stroked his chin. “Have her legs always been that long?”

Rhys growled, and her step faltered.

“I knew she had curves.” Luc’s hand glided down his stomach and cupped his crotch. “But those legs, they make a man fantasize.”

“Shut up, Luc.”

His friend held his hand up in surrender but made no attempt to suppress his smile.

Rhys pointed at her. “Stop.”

Ravyn stopped.

“Turn around and go change your clothes.”

She took two steps. This was about her safety as a warrior, not her modesty.

“Stop!” His voice rose above the crowd.

She refused to obey, and faltering now would show weakness. This was a battle of wills. She stopped inches from Rhys and fisted her hands on her hips. “What’s your problem?”

He shook his finger in the direction she’d come. “Turn around and change those…those…” He paused and raked her with his gaze. “What are those?”

“They’re my training clothes.” She performed a slow rotation with her arms held out to the side. “And they’re much safer than those bulky dresses I’ve been wearing.” To prove her point, she spun and tried to kick Rhys in the chest, but he easily blocked her foot. “I can move in all directions with ease.”

“They’re indecent. Every man here can see your…” His hands cut an hourglass figure in the air. “Body.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not my body, just my shape.”

“Shape, body, it’s all the same.” He took his defensive pose—legs in a wide stance, arms crossed. “I will not have them gawking at you.”

Ravyn mirrored his body language. “You will not have? What makes you think you have any say?”

“I’m the leader of this group.” His gaze rebounded between her and Luc. “I make the rules.”

Her temper flared. “I make my own decisions, Lord Blackwell, and if you weren’t so pigheaded you’d understand my safety is worth more than my modesty.”

“You will change,” Rhys growled.

“Your arrogance has no place in this decision or in battle.” She marveled at the strength in her voice and the wisdom of her words. Rhys’s expression darkened. Her confidence fled. Taking the coward’s way out, she trolled for reinforcements. “Aren’t I right, Luc?”

Luc cleared his throat. “She has a point. Her safety is the most important thing, and these clothes seem logical.” He ran his hand over his chin. “Actually, I’m surprised we haven’t thought of this before.”

“These clothes are indecent.” Rhys hands frantically waved toward her chest. “They’ll be more disruptive than helpful.”

Ravyn gasped. “It’s not my fault you men can’t see beyond a pair of breasts.”

“You’re playing with fire, Ravyn. Before we know it, all the women will want to wear these costumes.”

“Good,” she snapped. “And now that you mention it, I want to talk about why more women aren’t training.”

Luc’s tone dripped with warning. “Ravyn.”

“What? Can you honestly say the best use for the strong women living in Alba Haven is cooking and cleaning? Give them swords. Train them. Even if they don’t go into battle, they’ll be able to defend their homes.”

A loud buzz of approval mixed with low grumbles hummed from the crowd. Rhys’s glower narrowed. He remained unmoved by her logic.

She huffed. “At least let me show you what I’m capable of. If these clothes don’t make a difference, then I’ll get rid of them.”

“Immediately,” Rhys said.

“Immediately. I’ll even let you burn them.”

She wouldn’t, of course. At least not the three sets she had hidden away in her room. The two stared at each other, neither willing to back down from the fight.

“Well, then…” Luc said. He stepped around Rhys and grabbed Ravyn by the hand. “Let’s get you saddled.”

She released the breath she’d been holding. Now came the easy part. She scooped up a quiver of arrows and secured it across her back, settling the bow into the loop on the side of her saddle. Unhindered by her clothing, she mounted and straddled the horse.

“Show him what you’re capable of,” Luc said.

He smacked the horse’s flank. Ravyn galloped around the field, learning the rhythm and new position of her body. Awareness of the watching crowd melted away as she kicked the horse into a high-speed gallop. Her body hummed, and power pulsed around her. She blocked out all distractions and focused on the target. Her vision shifted to a world of color and light. She reached out with her right hand, ran her fingers through the lines of energy zigzagging across the field, connecting every living thing in the arena. Flickers of light and heat raced up her arm, and sparks flared from her fingertips.

The energy existed for her. Vibrations pulsed and ran along her skin, sending tiny shocks through her body. She rounded the bend for the final time, plucked the short spear from the holster, and elevated the stick to her shoulder. She leveled the spear, aiming. Her fingers tingled and her movements slowed.

She closed her eyes and sent power through her arm and into the spear. Her heart beat eight times with each full breath she took, measuring the cadence of her pace. Images of the weapon lodging in the center of the dummy swam through her mind. With a steady hand, she drew back the spear.

The horse came level with the target, and she opened her eyes. The dummy swung from side to side like the slow, steady pendulum of a large clock. She exhaled and thrust her arm forward, releasing the weapon.

The javelin soared toward the moving mark and pierced the center of the painted circle. Flames erupted as the tip passed through the dense straw stuffing and buried in the stone wall behind the target.

She kicked her horse into a gallop and circled the field again. Tongues of fire licked the edges of the hole made by her spear and spread across the chest of the wildly swinging dummy. On the second pass, she yanked the bow from its holder and in one smooth motion notched an arrow. Leaning forward, she goaded the horse faster. She gripped the bow with her left hand and sighted down the arrow. With steady fingers, she pulled the bowstring back to her cheek. Breath flowed in and out. The horse’s gait rocked steadily under her. She lifted from the saddle to level the arrow into the line of energy radiating toward a second dummy. She twisted her body, pointing her shoulder toward the target. She relaxed her fingers and loosed the arrow, the fletching grazing her knuckles.

The projectile whistled toward the target, embedding its razor point between the painted eyes of the dummy. Hay erupted in all directions, the head exploding from the impact of the arrow. Ravyn circled the field once more and pulled her horse to a stop.

The lines of energy and color disappeared and her vision shifted back to normal. Men raced toward the blaze to douse the target with buckets of water.

Luc stopped next to Ravyn. “Maybe I should get a pair of those pants.”

She shook her head, unable to speak or to pull her eyes from the target.

The crowd swarmed onto the field, firing questions too quickly for her to answer. She dismounted and handed the reins to a groom. Blood pounded in her ears, and a throbbing pulsed at the base of her neck. Where was Rhys? She craned her neck to locate him but the crowd pressed around her.

He found her. His firm hand wrapped around her upper arm and pulled her through the mob. Rhys didn’t look at her, didn’t slow when she stumbled, didn’t indicate he’d been swayed by her performance.

Luc, her loyal protector, marched a few steps behind them, probably determined to temper Rhys’s anger if needed. She took a deep breath and tried to relax as she trailed behind him. Off the field, through the halls, and up the winding staircase he dragged her without a word. He opened the door to his room and pushed her inside, turning to block Luc’s path.

“You’re not needed,” Rhys growled and slammed the door. He spun to face her, his expression difficult to discern. “You are an awful lot of trouble.” He stepped away from the door and raked her body with his eyes. “I don’t like these clothes.”

She retreated a step. “You saw the freedom they give me.”

He prowled toward her. “I saw all the men looking at your body.”

She edged around the bed. “You have to admit, my performance was amazing.”

“Do you know what else is amazing?” He rounded the corner of the bed, pacing her. “It’s amazing how you’ve wrapped Luc around your little finger.” He backed her against the wall. “It’s amazing how you and Nattie plot and scheme to get your way.” He placed both hands on either side of her head. “And it’s amazing that I’ve been a gentleman this long.”

The heat from his stare burned into her. “Um, thank you?”

He leaned in, his mouth hovering inches from hers. “Not good enough.”

Her body was pressed so tightly against the wall, she had nowhere else to move. “Are you still angry with me?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “Yes.”

She pushed against his chest. “You don’t seem angry?”

“Trust me, I’m not pleased with you.”

She frowned. “Then why are you holding me?”

He captured her mouth, plunging his tongue inside. She stiffened against his hold, but he didn’t relax his attack. Was this the price for letting her keep the clothes? Her body betrayed her and molded against him. Bless the Sainted Ones, but she could feel every inch of him. Her heart raced and her body ignited with what even the purest virgin would recognize—desire.

She pushed against him, not wanting her first time to be like this, with Rhys angry. She broke their kiss and panted, trying to gain control of her faculties. “Can I keep the clothes?”

Rhys growled.

“Please?”

He stared and her, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He exhaled heavily and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “You may keep the clothes.”

Chapter Seventeen

Ravyn punched her pillow for the fifth time and flopped back down. She stared at the ceiling. Rhys had treated her with respectful deference all through dinner. Respect—the very word galled her. How dare he respect her after the way he had touched her?

She kicked at the covers, searching for relief from her agitation. Silk skimmed along her limbs and teased her sensitive skin. Sleep had finally claimed her after tossing and turning for an hour, but she awoke a short time later, wide-eyed, restless, and thinking about Rhys.

She swung her legs over the side of the massive bed and stared into the darkness. The man was truly frustrating. How could he appear so indifferent after what they’d shared? Maybe she was too naïve to understand the way men thought.

She padded across the room and hauled back the silk drapes. Night greeted her. Sunrise was still hours away. Her chemise felt too confining. She grabbed at its neck, quickly pumping the material in and out, trying to cool her body. Nothing seemed to help.

A small decorative pillow perched on the window seat. She picked it up and waved the cushion in front of her face, but the breeze did little to temper the flush of her skin. With a frustrated huff, she threw the pillow across the room and paced.

Had she imagined Rhys’s interest? Her steps slowed as she neared her bedroom door. Tonight, she’d prayed Rhys would come to her, but he hadn’t. Maybe she’d misread the situation. To her disappointment, all he’d given her was a chaste kiss goodnight at her door before retiring to his room, leaving her confused and more than a little frustrated.

She leaned an ear against the wood. Silence. Butterflies tumbled in her stomach as she gripped the knob. Her hand wouldn’t move. Maybe she should go back to bed. Maybe she should leave her relationship with Rhys where it was, Bringers fighting for the same cause. What if she destroyed all they’d achieved by going through with her plan? I don’t run from fights.

With a quick yank, she pulled the door open. No noise echoed up the staircase. Everyone is probably asleep by now. Ravyn pressed her eye to the crack, but saw nothing. Blue moonlight shimmered through the arched windows and illuminated the landing at the top of the stairs. She inched the door open and slipped out of her room.

The wide hall across from the alcove stretched empty and dark. Ravyn tiptoed along the wall to Rhys’s door and pressed her ear against the wood. Was he awake? Silence greeted her. She stepped back and fanned herself with her hand. What was she doing? Her heart thudded against her chest.

She stared at the door. The barrier might as well have been a fortress wall for all the courage it would take her to breach it. Ravyn’s cowardice prevailed, and she slumped toward her room. Be a good little girl and leave him alone.

She stopped.

“But I’m not a good little girl,” she muttered. “As a matter-of-fact, I’m quite the opposite.” She made her decision and turned back to Rhys’s door. Squaring her shoulders, she twisted the knob.

…

Rhys’s head lay cradled in the crook of his elbow, staring out at the night sky. He’d been awake for hours, unable to find sleep as images of Ravyn darted through his mind. It had been two weeks since they’d arrived from the inn. Two weeks that he’d gone to bed alone. He missed being close to her. Even though she slumbered in the next room, he couldn’t touch her skin, couldn’t hear her soft breathing, couldn’t smell the lavender in her hair. He shifted and adjusted his erection. Sainted Ones, how he wanted to touch her. The memory of her body pressed against him made him ache.

Today, he’d kissed Ravyn out of frustrated desire. The sight of her in those clothes, performing with such grace and skill, had been too much. Where he’d found the strength to let her walk out of his room unravished, he didn’t know. Now he racked his brain, trying to remember why. Oh, yes, out of courtesy. How gallant of him. Alone and in need, all he wanted was to spread her legs and bury himself deep inside her, kiss every inch of her body, and hear her stubborn mouth cry his name when he pleasured her. His erection thickened. It seemed his deeds were far more gallant than his imagination.

The snick of the door handle whispered across the room. Rhys lowered his hand to the side of his bed and felt for the knife stowed between the down ticks. The chance of an attack in his chamber was slim but not impossible. He tensed and waited. His fingers skimmed across metal and wrapped around the hilt of the dagger as the door eased open.

A slight figure slipped inside his room and closed the door with a quiet click. His grip relaxed. What was she up to? If not for her white shift, Ravyn would have blended with the shadows. He closed his eyes and watched through slitted lids, half praying she had come to ease his need and half praying she’d turn around and leave him to wallow in his moral dilemma.

She crept toward his bed, her silent steps landing on the thick rug. Rhys held back a grin. If he had been asleep, he might have never heard her enter. Stealth was a good trait to have as a Bringer. Every few feet Ravyn stopped, fanned herself, and then tiptoed a few feet closer. He steadied his breathing and remained motionless, waiting, hoping she was there for him.

Ravyn edged around the bed and stopped. Moonlight spilled through the large windows, casting a blue glow over her skin and along her black strands of hair. She looked like some mythical goddess from the sea, a siren sent to tempt and lure him.

He suppressed a groan when Ravyn stopped by his bed. The moonlight kissed her profile, outlining the curve of her breasts and their erect tips. His body tightened painfully as he devoured the sight. How long could he resist the urge to touch her?

She made no move, only stared at him. After several torturous seconds, she reached for the hem of her shift, and pulled the garment over her head in one quick motion. His eyes opened and he sat up, no longer interested in pretending.

Ravyn gasped and crushed the shift against her breasts. He pushed back the covers and stood, his naked body lit by the moon’s glow. The whites of her eyes rounded but she didn’t retreat.

He refused to accept her embarrassment—not with him—not ever. With only inches separating them, Ravyn’s desire and apprehension rippled along his skin. The beast stirred.

He’d give her one chance to leave. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She nodded. “I know.”

He took a step toward her. “I can’t give you what you seek, Ravyn. I can’t be who you need me to be.”

She stepped toward him. “I understand. Please don’t send me away. I want this.”

His honor faded with her words. He pulled the crumpled material from her hand and exposed her naked form. Heat radiated from her. He stepped closer, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Don’t hide yourself. Not from me.” He tipped her chin so she would look at him. “Do you understand?”

She nodded, but her posture remained stiff. He trailed a finger across her shoulder, down her breast, and over her nipple. The tips pebbled under his caress. Ravyn sucked in a breath and grabbed his hip for support. He loved the way she responded to him, the way her body nearly sizzled under his touch.

He palmed one full breast and rolled the extended nub between his thumb and index finger. She answered by arching into his hand. With tentative strokes, Ravyn smoothed her fingers across his torso. Her light touches delivered spikes of pleasure through his body as her nails scraped across his flat nipple. He wrapped his free arm around her back and pulled her close, needing to feel her body. His erection pressed fully against the soft skin of her stomach.

Ravyn tilted her head to look at him, her lips parting in an invitation—one he instantly accepted. Mouths met and tongues danced. This part, she’d learned well. No inhibitions muddied the execution of her kiss. She matched him stroke for stroke and moan for moan. The beast pushed against him, wanting more, needing to take control. Rhys held the urge to dominate at bay and sank into their kiss.

She tasted of wine and her new favorite fruit, figs. The light scent of lavender teased his nose. His hand journeyed down and around her body. He cupped her bottom to lift her and rub the length of his shaft between her thighs. Ravyn whimpered and twined her arms around his neck when his erection grazed her womanly folds. She clung to him, grinding her softness against his shaft. Small pulses beat at the base of his cock in response to her touch.

“So hot,” he whispered into her mouth. “So sweet.”

He inched forward and backed Ravyn against a carved bedpost. Breaking their kiss, he pressed his nose against her neck. Her scent surrounded him and he drank her in. Not the wine or lavender, but the essence of her desire.

The beast within him came fully awake. The creature stretched against Rhys’s will. Control and mate, that’s what the animal demanded. Rhys sent a mental command to the beast, ordering the creature to cease its fight. Control slowly returned to him as the animal settled down to wait for another chance to dominate.

Rhys broke Ravyn’s hold around his neck. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “Hold onto the post.”

“But I want to touch you.”

He smiled. “Me first.”

He crowded her body with his. The allure of Ravyn’s passion purled around him and heightened his senses. Silky black strands brushed his cheek as he buried his face in her hair and inhaled. Her head tilted to the side, giving him better access. Sweet surrender. He ran his tongue along the pulse of her neck and gently blew. A shiver ran through her body and she shuddered against him. The way she responded, her scent, and the soft curves of her body strained Rhys’s control. He nipped her neck and started his trek downward, laying a trail of kisses over her shoulders, chest, and breasts.

Her question came out in gasps as she stared down at him. “What are you doing?

“Trust me,” he breathed against her breast.

She looked at him for a moment. With a quick exhale, she leaned her head against the post again. “All right.”

Her nipples tightened with the caress of his warm breath, but he didn’t touch them. Ravyn arched her back in a silent plea for his mouth. With a long, languid stroke, he ran his tongue up her right breast and over the firm tip. She gasped and leaned into him. He loved her response. Switching sides, he tongued her left breast. The firm mound against his mouth made his nipples harden, his body responding in kind with hers. Ravyn’s nails dug into the carved wood and her head lolled to the side as she watched him. With parted lips and lids heavy with desire, she gave herself over to his exploration.

Her moans broke the silence of the room as he took her nipple tenderly between his teeth, laving the firm bud, and gently sucking. Pulses raced along his shaft when Ravyn wrapped her leg around his back and pulled him closer. Tingles of pleasure skittered along the base of his cock. He glided his hand up the inside of her thigh and stroked her slick folds. With cautious caresses, he sought entrance. Ravyn arched away from his prying fingers. He’d need to go slower. Give her time to adjust.

His tongue swirled a path under the full mound of her breast and across her ribs. Her breathing turned to moans, and those moans to gasps. Rhys’s erection tightened as he knelt and positioned his mouth close to the junction between her legs. Her sensual aroma eddied around him. He ran both hands up the back of her calves and thighs, caressing and massaging her smooth skin, encouraging her to relax.

With each touch of his lips and each stroke of his fingers, he branded Ravyn as his. The barriers around his solitary world crumbled, and though he didn’t fully embrace the possibility of Ravyn loving him, neither did he run from the chance. The beast cried for control.

Rhys’s kisses traveled lower and he settled on his knees in front of her. With a gentle nudge, he parted her thighs and tongued her hipbone.

Ravyn gasped and eased her legs open. “Rhys.”

His hand smoothed the inside of her thigh. “Let me in, sweet.”

She spread her thighs, giving him access to what he wanted. His trail of kisses traveled across her flat belly and along the edges of her black curls. His fingertips skimmed across the folds of her sex, pulling a moan from her. He liked her reaction and stroked again, this time spreading her lips with his finger.

Ravyn pushed against his hand. “Oh, Rhys. I need…you need to…” Her voice trailed off as she thrust against his hand.

“Do I need to do this?” He slid his finger into her tight sheath and slowly pumped. Ravyn exhaled with several quick pants. He drew his finger free and swirled the tip around her engorged nub.

She jerked. “Yes, you need to do that.”

His gaze skimmed her body, so achingly beautiful in her innocence and desire. “Like this?”

Again, his finger delved deep and pumped, enjoying her wet grip. Her eyes closed and her hips flexed toward his hand. When he circled her clit, she cried out. His cock stretched painfully, his patience warring with his need to be inside her.

Hot and tight, Ravyn drew and inflamed his desire. She pushed toward him in an unspoken invitation and moaned when his two fingers slid inside. Rhys lowered his tongue to her moist heat.

She stared, not speaking, not moving. He flicked her bud. She gasped and jerked against his mouth. With a long, languid stroke, he licked her folds while driving his finger inside her. Breath exploded from Ravyn’s body.

He pulled his finger free and rubbed her sensitive button again. Ravyn whimpered, her hands repeatedly searching for a hold on the bedpost as she shifted under his touch. She was addictive, a craving that couldn’t be satisfied. “You taste so good. Like fire and honey.”

His hand slid around her right thigh. He lifted her leg and gently placed her foot on the ledge of the bed frame. The action spread her wide. She didn’t resist, only watched his sensual maneuvers. Callused hands skimmed over the soft skin of her inner thighs. Rhys lowered his head and moved his tongue into her moist cleft, the creamy taste of her nectar coating and teasing his senses.

Ravyn’s fingers slid from the bedpost and threaded through his hair. She stroked and encouraged, cooed and whimpered. His tongue swept long and slow, her knees softened, but her grip urged him on. He wrapped his arms around her thighs to support and draw her sweet treasure closer to his mouth.

He buried his face in her slick sex and drove his tongue deep. His lips caught her swollen bud and he gently sucked. Bites of pain darted through his scalp as Ravyn fisted a handful of hair and pulled him closer, moving her hips against his mouth. His cock strained and pulsed. He needed relief. Needed to be in her.

He released one of Ravyn’s thighs to reach down and cup his balls. His finger massaged the tight sac, but the action only inflamed his need. Ravyn gyrated against his mouth and he moaned, his hand running up his shaft to palm the head and massaged. This was insane ecstasy. He pulled away from her.

“Look what you do to me, Ravyn.” He stroked himself again. “I’m so hard I could burst.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry?”

A slow smile crept across his mouth. “Never be sorry for making me want you.”

She glanced at his erection and the smooth action of his hand. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.

Rhys stopped his sensual assault and slowly rose. His fingertips caressed her delicate cheekbone as the tightening in his chest intensified. How had she become so important to his happiness? How had she breached the wall he’d built around his heart?

“I will make you happy.” His words sounded too much like a declaration for the future. He smiled and added, “And I’ll make you cry my name.”

He captured her mouth in a searing kiss before she could respond. He didn’t want to hear her rejection or excuses. All he wanted was to touch her, feel flesh upon flesh, and lose himself in his desire. All he wanted was for Ravyn to want him.

He slid down her body and once again settled on his knees. Determination to pleasure her swelled. His fingers spread her lips and Ravyn opened to him. Encouraging. Trusting.

He tongued and teased her back to her euphoric state. The beast roared for its mate, and Rhys struggled not to give into the demands he so desperately wanted to surrender to.

Ravyn pushed against his tongue, wanting more of what he gave her. He felt her body tighten. His hands caressed the inside of her thighs and his tongue lapped and drank her in. She burrowed her fingers into his hair and bucked against his mouth. Sweet Sainted Ones, he’d never wanted to pleasure a woman as he did now. Her hips gyrated and she rode his mouth, rode each stroke of her sex, and each wave of fulfillment. He gripped her bottom. His cock pulsed as he licked and suckled.

She cried out and her knees buckled, but he held her upright, taking the brunt of her weight as she jerked against his mouth. Tremors rocked her body and she whimpered with each flick of his tongue over her sensitive nub.

In one graceful motion, he lowered her foot back to the floor and stood. He scooped Ravyn up and laid her gently on the bed. She sagged like a ragdoll against his chest, her rapid breathing coming in short puffs. Heavy lids lifted to look at him.

“That was amazing,” she rasped.

He stretched out beside her. “And we’ve just started.”

His erection pressed against her hip. Ravyn rolled to her side and looked down at his arousal. With a timid reach, she glided her fingertips up his shaft to circle the head.

His breath hitched. “That’s right.” He covered her hand with his, showing her how he liked to be touched. “Don’t be afraid. It all feels good.”

Emboldened by his words, she massaged the swelling crown of his cock and gave it a gentle but firm squeeze. Bolts of pleasure shot through him. He closed his eyes and rolled to his back to allow Ravyn better access. Slow and firm, tentative but not afraid.

“Ravyn,” he growled, “you’re killing me.”

She smiled. “I think that’s a good thing, yes?”

He rolled over and covered her body with his, nipping her ear. “A very good thing.”

Her thighs parted and allowed him to settle against her sweet sex. She leaned up and kissed him. “Show me more.”

He stared, unsure if he should take what she offered. His conscience warred with desire. She was a virgin, and he cared about her. He’d never do anything to shame or hurt her.

As if sensing his turmoil she pressed against him. “Please, Rhys, I want this. Tomorrow we leave for Illuma Grand. Give me this one night. Don’t let me die without knowing…” She hesitated. “Without knowing love.”

A lump expanded in his throat at the mention of Ravyn’s life. “I won’t let the Bane have you.” He plundered her mouth and she returned his passion. He broke the kiss and buried his face in her hair. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Ravyn said nothing, only spread her legs farther, and ran her hands across his back. With hesitant movements, he guided the thick head to her wet opening. Her fingers lingered on his shoulders, their grip tightening with each gentle push. He stretched and eased into her tight velvet heat. A moan escaped Ravyn, the sound nearly pushing him over the edge. Never had making love to a woman felt so complete, so right.

Spirals of ecstasy pulsed and swirled through his cock. He stilled, afraid the next shift of her body would pitch him past the point of control. “Don’t move.”

“It feels so amazing. Like I can’t…” She pushed against him. “Like I can’t get close enough.”

As he slid deeper, his fingers gripped the duvet, a minimal effort against the onslaught of escalating pleasure driving through him. He froze at the first touch of Ravyn’s maiden barrier, the thin wall the only obstacle between chivalry and ecstasy. He struggled for control, but her tight grip taunted him to surge forward and claim her virginity. He needed to go slow, to be gentle. But Ravyn had other plans.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and locked her ankles under his rear end. With a hard push, she shoved him forward to bury his cock deep inside her. Her nails dug deep into his shoulders, but he barely felt the pain as her muscles contracted and relaxed to accommodate him.

His words tore from his throat, his hips flexing against her. “Ravyn, I’m sorry.”

She stroked his hair with one hand while the other still gripped his shoulders as if prepared for more pain. “I want this.”

Words failed him as she shifted, tested, and began to move. His body responded in kind. Feral passion coursed through him, and he captured her mouth. Each long thrust into Ravyn was matched with an equally slow glide as he began his sensual attack. His hand traveled under her left thigh and lifted her leg to sink deeper. Feminine gasps of pleasure issued in time with her lifting hips. A fine sheen of sweat coated his body as he cradled Ravyn and worked her tight sheath.

Pressure grew and spiked along the length of his shaft. He’d never seen anyone so sensual, so purely sexual as Ravyn. He thrust again, loving the way her breasts bounced and her lips parted in a soft mewl. She gripped him, her muscles milking his shaft. The orgasm stirred and began spiraling from the base of his cock. He pulled out, not wanting to finish until he’d pleasured Ravyn again.

Before she could protest and lock her ankles around his back again, he rolled her to her stomach and drew her up onto her hands and knees, drawing her against him. Her blue-black hair spilled across her back, the sight purely erotic. He slid into her and buried his cock to the hilt. A groan ripped from his throat. Ravyn cried out and pushed against him.

He gathered her hair and leaned over her back to thrust. “Look up.”

Ravyn lifted her head. Their image stared back at them from the large mirror on the front of his wardrobe. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. Their skin glistened blue in the moonlight. He hunched over his lover and grasped her hips, plunging in and out. With each withdrawal, he pulled out to the tip and slowly eased back into her. Ecstasy, torture, slick heat. Ravyn’s body tightened around him and pulsed. She stared into the mirror, her gaze locked on him as he thrust into her. He couldn’t look away and couldn’t stop driving into her taut sheath.

One hand wound under her body and cupped her breast to tug and roll her nipple. Her eyes closed and she gyrated against him, spreading her legs wider. The sight of her lost in the pleasure of his touch pushed Rhys past the point of control. He needed to find his release and needed Ravyn to find hers.

Slick folds spread to his touch as he glided his fingers across her sex and circled her wet nub. He worked her passion higher, dragging moans and gasps from her with each flick and caress.

“Look,” he whispered, “look at the mirror.” His breath rasped from his throat. “Watch as we both find our pleasure. Watch as my cock fills you.”

Ravyn’s moans quickened as his fingers and shaft worked their magic. Her muscles tightened around him. For a second time, she cried out, her sex pulsating against him. Spikes of pleasure flared and vibrated up his length. He thrust into her velvet grip and stiffened. His orgasm erupted, filling her, and holding him captive until finally quieting.

Rhys draped his body over Ravyn and buried his face in her hair. Shudders continued to tear through his body. Without releasing her, he lowered her to the bed and covered her body with his. He held her tight, their gasps and pants slowing to deep breaths. With a measured turn he rolled them to their sides and eased out. They lay quietly, settling back to earth.

“Did I hurt you?” He brushed the hair off Ravyn’s cheek. From the smile on her face, he was sure he hadn’t. Much.

“No.” Ravyn sighed.

“Any regrets?” Though he didn’t want to hear her answer if she did, he had to be sure.

Her voice took on a serious edge. “I’ll never regret tonight, no matter what happens from here.”

Rhys reached for a cashmere blanket and pulled it over them. His arms circled her waist and he snuggled against her, relishing the feel of her naked body next to him. Even at the inn, there had always been clothing or a blanket between them. Now it was flesh against flesh.Ravyn’s breathing slowed and deepened. Rhys inched his mouth close to her ear. “Ravyn?”

Barely audible, she answered, “Hmm?”

He paused. What had it cost her to come to him tonight? Everything. What would it cost him now? “I love you.”

He waited, but only her soft breathing answered him.

Chapter Eighteen

The smell of coffee and hot bread guided Ravyn from her blissful sleep. She cracked open her lids and smiled. Nattie bustled about the room, setting up the breakfast tray between the two large chairs by the fireplace. The bedding cradled Ravyn in a nest of soft warmth and she snuggled deeper, savoring Rhys’s strong arm draped across her waist.

Rhys’s strong arm? Nattie?

Ravyn gasped and threw the covers over her head, burrowing into the lush linens.

“There’s no use hiding,” chastised Nattie. “I know you’re in there and probably as naked as the day you were born.”

Ravyn groaned. Didn’t anybody knock in this place? Her face flushed and a deep rumble of laughter echoed next to her. Rhys tugged her close and threw his leg over her thighs, the coarse hair rubbing her sensitive skin. Sainted Ones, the things he had done to her last night. With each movement, her muscles rebelled.

He tugged the covers lower but she fought the exposure and wrestled the edge up again. The shushing of curtains whispered near the windows seconds before a million needles of sunlight attacked her eyes. She pulled her hair over her face to fend off the onslaught of sunshine.

Every inch of her skin hummed and all she wanted right now was sleep, but it appeared Nattie had other plans. So much for being a guest.

“Nattie,” Rhys said. “You seem very efficient this morning.”

She walked to the edge of the bed and glared at them. Ravyn peeked over the covers, cowering from the older woman’s censure.

“I’m always efficient,” she snapped. “The same can’t be said about you two layabouts. The final cargo is being loaded. I suggest you haul your lazy bodies out of bed or you’re going to miss the tide.”

“We’ve plenty of time.” Rhys caressed her back. “Nattie, get out of here. I need to wake Ravyn up properly.”

Heat infused Ravyn’s body, mainly from embarrassment, but a little from his suggestion.

Nattie scowled. “Get up or I’ll toss a bucket of cold water on you two. Luc and the others are finishing up breakfast.”

“Harpy,” Rhys mumbled.

“So I’ve been told.” She walked to the breakfast tray and stopped. “You have half an hour. If you’re not downstairs I’m sending Luc up.” She smiled wickedly. “We had quite a tussle over who would bring the tray. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to retrieve it for me.”

The threat of Luc worked. “We’ll be down,” Ravyn said.

Nattie nodded. “Thank you, Ravyn. See, now that wasn’t so difficult. Perhaps some of your cooperative nature will rub off on the men around Alba Haven.”

Rhys snorted. “Don’t count on it.”

Nattie stuck her nose in the air and marched to the door. “Half an hour.”

The room shuddered from the slamming door. He yawned and threw back the covers, walking gloriously nude to the tray Nattie had left.

Ravyn gasped. It was the first time she’d seen him naked in the light of day. He faced her and smiled. “Are you turning shy again or am I more spectacular by daylight?”

“No,” she said. “I mean…”

His eyebrows rose in question.

Ravyn pointed at him. “What is that?”

He leered at her and ran his hand down his semi-awake penis. “After last night I thought you’d know exactly what that is.”

“Not that.” She jabbed a finger at his privates. “What’s on your back?”

All traces of amusement vanished as he helped himself to the tray. “It’s a tattoo.”

Ravyn slipped out of bed, dragging the top sheet with her, and stopped several inches from Rhys. Delicate lines ran from his left hip to his right shoulder and twisted to form a dragon in flight.

“It’s beautiful.” She placed her finger on the tip of the creature’s spiny wing. A tremor of fire raced up her arm as she traced the webbed arc across his shoulder. He shivered under her delicate caress, which sent an almost lifelike ripple along the scales of the dragon’s back. “It’s amazing.”

He set down his plate. “It doesn’t repulse you?”

“Repulse?” She knitted her brow and shook her head. “No, I think it’s stunning. Where did you get it?”

“Let’s just call it a gift.”

He skirted her query, so Ravyn redirected her question. “How long have you had it?”

“Since I was very young.”

He said no more and she didn’t press, even though a dozen questions danced on her tongue. She changed tactics. “It’s rather…” She hugged the sheet around her and bit her lower lip. “Sexy.”

The tension in his shoulders eased. “Is it?”

She gave him a shy smile. “Yes.”

With tiny steps, he corralled her toward the bed.

“Nattie will send Luc up,” she protested weakly. He ran his hands over her shoulders and pulled the sheet from her grip. “We should… uh… he’ll be…” Rhys cupped her breast, strumming his thumb across her nipple. “Oh, that’s nice.”

He smiled at her an instant before his mouth covered hers. What had she been saying?

…

The line of horses and loaded carts rumbled to a stop. Ravyn’s mouth hung open, her eyes tracking upward to the towering masts.

She pointed. “Is that yours?”

“Yes.” Rhys dismounted and scratched Sampson’s ear. “Be good while I’m gone.”

The horse whinnied and pushed his nose against Rhys.

“I’ll take good care of him, my lord,” said a young groom.

Rhys handed him the reins. “Thank you, Jimmy. Don’t let him bully you.”

The young man smiled. “No, my lord.”

Rhys helped Ravyn from her horse. She smoothed her hand down Sampson’s mane. “Good-bye, boy, maybe you can keep Beacon company.”

The horse answered with a flick of his head. She’d miss Sampson and Beacon, both already members of her little family.

“Shall we?” Rhys asked.

He guided her up the ramp and onto the polished deck. Men scurried about, unfurling the sails and readying the vessel for sea. The smell of tar and seawater seemed to permeate everything. Creaking leather straps and timber droned in the background of the activity.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never even been on a boat before, let alone a ship.”

He led her up wide stairs and into an enclosed room made mostly of windows. It provided a clear view for anyone steering. A large wheel as broad as her arm span stood front and center, and a rectangular table positioned in the middle of the room held a colorful map. Arrows and curly lines spread across the large expanse of blue, commanding most of the chart’s surface.

“The Sea of Alba.” Ravyn ran her hand across the glass covering the map. “It’s so large.”

Rhys joined her at table. “Not really. Only a day’s journey if the winds favor us. Come, let me show you the ship.”

He explained the large brass compass and how the wheel guided their direction, but her favorite item was the tall copper and wooden spotting scope perched on the bow of the ship. Through it the world looked so different. With one of these, she might actually see the danger coming.

When departure time came, they headed back to the glass room, where, from high above the ground, she watched the launch process. Men on the dock shouted and waved, signaling to the crewmen they were untied and cleared. A thrill of excitement raced through her as the ship creaked, the sails billowing like gigantic kites pulling them into deep waters.

Leather and wood groaned. Ropes strained. Ravyn grinned at Rhys. They were on their way. A new adventure. A new experience.

Once at sea, duty called and Rhys placed Ravyn in the enthusiastic hands of Luc. With his usual flair, Luc introduced her to each crew member, making sure he stated names, ranks, and any unsavory information he had on them.

The crew was courteous and respectful. Since none of the sailors had given her a second glance when she boarded decked out in her black leathers, she figured the men must have been warned about her. They included her in conversations, spoke and joked with her, and after the first hour, Ravyn relaxed.

She and Luc approached a young lad, who sat coiling rope into a neat pile. His beautiful green eyes and delicate features made him almost pretty. Prickles skittered along Ravyn’s skin. Her pace slowed. She rubbed her arms and glanced at Luc, but he seemed oblivious to any discomfort. The boy glared, his eyes fixed on Luc, but when he noticed Ravyn staring at him, he cast his gaze back on his task.

“And this fine lad is…actually, I don’t know who this fine lad is,” Luc said.

He reached to grab the boy’s shoulder but the young man moved with lightning speed and ducked away from Luc’s touch.

“Jaden, sir.” Though the boy spoke quietly, Ravyn swore she heard a hint of malice in his answer. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t touch me. My pa used to touch me.”

Luc pulled back his hand, red coloring his cheeks. “I understand. You’re safe here, Jaden. There’s no need to be afraid.”

“That’s what my pa used to say,” the boy spit out.

Ravyn stared at Jaden. Her vision wavered and senses shifted. Pain and anger swamped her. The boy’s solid form changed and brightened to brilliant blue, except for the heavy black border surrounding his aura. The biting sensation increased. She knew this blackness. Remembered its crushing heaviness from when she’d embraced Angela’s dead body. Remembered the way the evil serpent snaked through Powell’s aura.

Anger and disgust swept through her. Was nothing sacred to the Bane, even a young boy? No, they were monsters, every one of them. She pulled back and reinforced her mental shields. This boy held darkness, and she couldn’t take a chance on her powers flaring to life as they had the night Icarus had attacked. A large, wooden ship and uncontrollable firepower was not a good combination.

She forced a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“My lady.” Jaden tipped his hat, the warmth in his voice taking her by surprise. “It’s an honor.”

She let her smile stretch into something more genuine. “Thank you. Perhaps later you can teach me how to coil a rope.”

He peeked out from under his wide-brimmed hat. “If you wish.”

“Carry on,” Luc said.

He grasped Ravyn’s elbow and led her away. She glanced back at Jaden—the boy’s gaze bored into Luc’s back.

“You have an ardent admirer,” he teased.

She looked away from the boy. “Watch him.” She lowered her voice. “I see darkness around him. The kind I’ve come to associate with the Bane.”

He gave a quick nod but didn’t glance back. “I’ll see to it personally. We can’t afford to have a Bane minion on board.”

“I pray he isn’t tainted. I pray I’m wrong,” she said.

She spent the rest of the day being lectured on the basic tasks of running a large ship. Rhys explained how to maneuver the craft, and for a short time let her steer. She learned to not fight the wheel, and to give the ship enough freedom to use the wind and waves for maximum speed. The large vessel and the fresh air invigorated her. What independence this ship could provide. A means to travel the world. See things she’d only read about. The endless expanse of blue stretched before them. Clear skies and smooth sailing—what could go wrong?

The ship skimmed across the water as the sun sank beneath the horizon and the stars speckled the darkening sky. The bustle of activity quieted, and the men settled into relaxed conversation. She stood at the helm, guiding the ship, Rhys’s hands covering hers. With his persistent reassurance, she’d found her sea legs and could now confidently walk around, but stayed cautiously away from the sides.

She scanned the lower deck and found Jaden sitting alone on a barrel away from the circle of crewmembers. “I’ll be back.”

As she approached, Jaden glanced up and smiled. “Evening, my lady.”

“Good evening.” She watched his fingers deftly work a long piece of rope into a knot. “Why don’t you join the other men?”

He kept his attention on the rope. “I try not to mingle. I just do my job and get my pay.”

She leaned against a large barrel and crossed her arms. The slight pinching of needles tingled along her forearms, but she resisted the urge to scratch. “They seem like a friendly lot. I know Lord Blackwell is a fair man, and there’s no one friendlier than Luc.”

His brow crinkled, and he sneered. “Him? I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.” His gaze slid from Luc back to her. “You’d do well to remember that…for your own good.”

Ravyn flinched from his vehemence. “What has he ever done to you?”

The boy jumped off the barrel, his eyes burning bright green in the lantern’s light. He tossed the rope. “Ruined my life.”

A chill ran across her shoulders as she watched him stomp into the darkness. She contemplated going after him, but before she could follow him, warm hands slipped around her waist. Rhys’s solid chest pressed against her back and chased away the chill. The way he touched her body put everything right with the world.

His breath brushed her ear. “Anything wrong?”

“Not now,” she said.

She turned and smiled at him. Maybe she could talk to Jaden in the morning. Though the boy hated Luc, that wasn’t a crime—luckily. She twined her arms around Rhys’s neck.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

They’d made love the last two nights but she still wasn’t used to open displays of affection “Won’t the crew riot?”

“I’ll chance it.” He lowered his head, his lips brushing hers. All thoughts of Jaden and Luc disappeared. His tongue swirled against hers and she moaned. This was where she belonged. He slowed the kiss, nipping at her bottom lip.

His hand crept over her ribs and rested just beneath her breasts. With great strength of will, she broke their kiss. “We need to stop before we make a spectacle of ourselves.”

He groaned. “I don’t think I care.” After another quick kiss, he stepped away from her. “Come. I need a mug of wine.”

The dull ache that she’d become accustomed to over the past two weeks stirred within her. The man need only touch her and she melted. She brushed her braid over her shoulder and sighed. “Lead on.”

Rhys led her to the congregation of sailors lounging on the deck and took a seat on a bench. Gem, a short, round man with a large gold hoop in his ear, produced a flute and began to play. The hauntingly beautiful notes drifted through the night and lulled Ravyn. Curled next to Rhys, she snuggled closer and drifted into a light doze.

In her dream, she floated in an expansive black sea. The warm water welcomed and caressed her, enticing her to stay forever. The sea’s beguiling song grew louder and wrapped around Ravyn. The gentle brush of a tail or the tickling of a fin swept along her leg. She reached to touch the long, blue strands of hair, but missed. The mermaid glided by. Their songs beckoned her into the dark depths, promising she’d be happy in their silent, watery home.

She stroked a passing siren. The creature’s skin glittered like sapphire dust in the moonlight. If only she could hold onto the mermaid, grab her long enough to travel into the hushed world beneath the waves. The tune expanded and the mermaids joined voices, creating one mesmerizing song. Soon, they would escort her to the murky depths, where men and Bane couldn’t go. Her fingertips hovered inches from the mermaid’s webbed hand. So peaceful. So beautiful.

Rhys stood and Ravyn tumbled forward off the bench. Pain shot through her head as she smacked her skull on the deck. A dense throb pulsed at her right temple. She groaned. A shiver rippled through her, the memory of the eerily beautiful dream fading.

Black dots danced in front of her eyes and she slowly sat up, rubbing her head. The song from her dream hovered on the breeze. Her hand stilled. The music ebbed and flowed with the movement of the ship. Where the melody had been beautiful in her dream, now the unnatural tune made her hair stand on end.

She looked around the deck. As if waiting for something, every sailor, including Rhys, stood staring toward the horizon.

“Rhys?” He didn’t respond. She stood. “Rhys?” Still no response. She circled him but he stared, unblinking, unseeing.

Gnawing fire raced up her arms. She gasped, doubling over to clutch herself. “Bane.”

Crouching, she scanned the starless sky. The impenetrable night hid her assailants, but she knew they were there, hovering and waiting to attack. Instinct pushed her into action. She cast her awareness outward. Cold dread doused her. The demons were everywhere. They swarmed below the hull and circled overhead.

“Holy Sainted Ones, help me.”

She crept to the side of the ship and leaned over the railing. The siren’s song swelled. Green luminescent shapes glided below the inky surface. Sleek and graceful, one rose from the water on foaming waves and reached for Ravyn. Gleaming lengths of emerald hair blended with the wave and diamond-like scales of her tail winked beneath the frothy crest. The impulse to take the creature’s hand pushed at Ravyn like a strong wind propelling her forward. The siren smiled, welcoming her with open arms.

Fire seared at the base of Ravyn’s spine and blistered its way up her back. She cried out and fell to her knees, clutching the rail for support.

Wave after wave of heat cascaded over her, shaking her body. Ravyn reinforced her mental shields and struggled to her feet. The ship lurched. She stumbled, careening into a pile of rope. Some of the men toppled and rolled across the deck like limp dolls. Bile rose in her throat as she struggled to keep her fear under control, but the song’s screeching pierced her skull. She clapped her hands over her ears and scanned the skies for an attack.

Zeek, the first mate, rose and took a step, instantly drawing Ravyn’s attention. His foot slid forward in a labored dead-man’s walk.

“Stop!”

He ignored her, taking another shuffling step toward the ship’s edge and the waiting siren. Panic tore through Ravyn. She clawed at the pile of rope, scattering the coils until finally locating the end. She grabbed the line and raced toward him, wrapping the rope around his skinny waist. Despite her effort to form a tether, all she managed was a bulky mass.

Another sailor, one whose name she couldn’t remember, step-ped forward.

“Hey you, stop!” The ship rocked at exaggerated angles, forcing Ravyn to shuffle toward him. “Don’t move.”

Only a few feet away, she leaned forward, her fingers almost close enough to touch the sleeve of his shirt. The grating pitch of the song escalated and the man smiled, raising his hands to the sky.

Too late, she saw the creature spiraling out of the darkness. Ravyn dove for the man, but the demon wrapped her talons around his wrists and yanked him off his feet, lifting him into the sky. Ravyn hit the deck hard, taking Zeek down with her. Laughter from the nameless sailor faded as the blackness swallowed him. Ravyn lay on the deck, tears burning her eyes, but she didn’t have long to mourn.

Crewmembers inched toward the rail with heavy-legged scuffs. Ravyn jumped to her feet, pulling Zeek behind her, and rushed to Gem. She circled the portly sailor with the line and gave a hard jerk. The cord tightened, sending the men crashing into each other. She stumbled from man to man, binding and yanking. Sirens surrounded the railing, calling to the sailors. Ravyn circled a pole twice and lashed the end of the rope around a heavy water barrel. They fought their binding, trying to answer the demons’ call.

The ship lurched, sending the bundle of men toppling toward her like a human wheel. Seconds before the tangle rolled past her, she jumped out of the way. Waves washed across the deck and drenched the men. Unable to gain their footing, they flailed about, reminding Ravyn of a giant beetle on its back.

Notes from the sirens’ song ground like an ax against a sharpening stone. She wanted to scream, wanted to cover her ears, wanted to block out the once-beautiful melody that now sounded like cats fighting.

Ravyn searched the deck for Rhys but located Luc first. Her breath caught. He walked, not shuffling, toward a singing siren. Fire raged through Ravyn, pushing her to react. With nothing but her body to stop him, she raced across the deck. Luc placed a foot on the ledge of the ship’s railing. In a move motivated by sheer desperation, she launched herself at him. The force of her blow carried them sideways, away from the reach of a shiny blue demon.

As they went down, Ravyn twisted and blasted the siren with a spinning ball of fire. The creature dove into the waves. The energy sizzled past, narrowly missing the demon. Ravyn lay on top of Luc, panting and nursing her bruised ribs. Now, if he would just stay down. Before she could react, the siren rose again, undulating on the wave. She beckoned Luc toward her with open arms. He shoved against Ravyn, rolling her off of him, and stood. The screeching melody rose, knifing through her head. Warmth trickled beneath her nose. She touched her finger to her upper lip—blood.

A fortress. Ravyn formed the image in her mind but still the song cleaved through the barrier. A blanket of ice. The song lessened. The smooth, black stone walls of Alba Haven. The song fell silent. She sent up a prayer and looked around.

Entranced, Luc once again moved toward the creature as it hovered, singing to him. He extended his hand, ready to receive his siren lover. Ravyn jumped to her feet and released a spinning ball of light, missing the creature by mere inches. The demon hissed, wrapped her fingers around Luc’s wrist, and jerked. Ravyn blasted her again, this time making contact. Bolts of lightning blanketed the demon. She seized and convulsed, but didn’t release Luc’s wrist.

Ravyn crammed her body between him and the side of the ship. With her legs braced against the railing and her back against Luc, she pushed. He fought her.

Suspended between Luc and the demon, Ravyn was close enough to touch the creature. Fire raged inside her, pulling her into its heartless control. She slammed her hands against the demon’s chest and pushed her energy into it. The creature exploded.

Millions of glowing bits swirled and gathered into a spiraling vortex. She continued to fight against Luc, her legs trembling from the effort. The funnel rotated faster, sucking the breath from her before plunging into the water and disappearing into the dark depths. Waves hammered the ship, rolling over the deck.

Even though the demon was gone, Luc still struggled to climb overboard. Her legs burned with the effort to restrain him.

“Luc, wake up.” Sweat drenched her tunic and fire raced through her body. Tears welled and spilled from her eyes, turning to steam from her heat. She needed help. “Wake up, you stupid oaf!”

A loud clang echoed behind Ravyn. Luc twitched and went limp, barreling toward the ground. Ravyn went down, too. Her rear end hit the deck hard, and pain ricocheted through her hips and lower back. Unable to stop her backward tumble, she landed half-on, half-off Luc. When she opened her eyes, Jaden and a very large shovel stood above her.

“Jaden?” His name grated from her throat. The joy of seeing anybody who was not entranced warred with the fear of being bashed in the head. “What did you do?”

“Knocked him out.” He gave the shovel a quick spin. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time.”

Ravyn pressed her ear to Luc’s heart. Strong thuds pulse against her temple.

“He’s fine. Hopefully he’ll be out for a while.” He stuck out his hand. “Come on, you better get up.”

Ravyn stared at his offering. Good or bad, she needed help. Whether she died at the hand of a demon or Jaden clubbing her, the result was the same.

He pointed in the air. “Bane. Succubus, to be exact. They’re trained to lure men, and they shift to become anything carnal. They may sound like sirens, but they’re just Bane.”

“Just Bane? There’s no such thing as just Bane. And why aren’t you affected?”

“Talk later. Kill demons now.” He scooped Ravyn’s crossbow up off the deck and shoved it into her hands. “Shoot as many as you can.” He pointed behind her. “Starting with that one.”

Ravyn spun and released an arrow. The tip buried deep inside a demon’s chest but Ravyn didn’t have time to congratulate herself. The creature grabbed the bolt and yanked, but the barbed end wouldn’t dislodge. She shouldered her crossbow, gathered her fire, and released her power. The ball of light struck the arrow’s metal shaft and pushed her energy into the creature’s body. The demon convulsed, its eyes bulging from its head before exploding. Sparkling pieces seared her face. Nausea rolled through Ravyn. The embers rotated, the glowing bits spiraling into a flaming vortex.

Waves tossed the ship, and Ravyn grabbed the railing before she skittered over the edge. The ship lurched and the sea boiled, hammering the vessel. Her fingers slipped free of the wet wood, pitching her forward against the handrail. As the spinning cloud drove into the water, it separated the sea, sending a massive wave against the side of the ship. Ravyn toppled away from the edge and onto the safety of the deck.

She struggled to her feet on the slippery wood but her feet skidded, unable to find her footing. After a few seconds, she found her balance and wiped the stinging seawater from her eyes. The waves continued to batter the ship, causing her stomach to revolt.

Her hands flailed for something secure to hang onto, but nothing was within reach. A loud clang rang out and she glanced to her right in time to see Big Al drop like a chunk of rock to the deck. Ravyn flinched.

Jaden scooted around the ship, knocking his fellow crewmem-bers on their heads. Rhys climbed to his feet and stepped forward.

“Stop him,” Ravyn shouted. A strong gust of wind buffeted the ship and she stumbled sideways. “Jaden, stop him.”

Jaden lurched toward Rhys and swung. The thunk rang above the wind’s howl and Rhys fell forward, leading with his face. Ravyn grimaced but was relieved as Jaden snapped a metal leg iron around his ankle. Rhys might not thank her, but at least he’d be alive.

Jaden turned and smiled. “This is fun.”

Maybe a little too fun. Ravyn nodded and looked around the ship. She noticed Jaden hadn’t shackled Luc. As she took a step toward him, a demon swooped from out of the darkness. Ravyn bellyflopped onto the deck, barely avoiding its talons.

As it turned and dove for her again, she rolled to her back and blasted the succubus. The night lit up with a shower of sparks. The particles collected and, with a blazing spiral, plunged into the water. The demons circling overhead called to her fire, causing her energy to demand its freedom. Heat seared her skin and she cried out, convinced her body would erupt into flames. She struggled to restrain the internal blaze as it pulsed and pushed against her shields. If released, her fiery devastation would ignite the ship and send them all to their deaths.

Ravyn picked up the crossbow and zigzagged her way toward the scattered arrows, retrieving one lodged in a coil of rope. After notching the arrow, she spanned the bowstring and locked the trigger in place. Her breathing slowed and she relaxed, sending her awareness into the heavy darkness. Fire rolled through her. As she gave it more freedom the power surged forward and melted into liquid energy. Heat slithered through her body, igniting every cell. Her cavernous well of energy yawned, its power flowing into instead of around her. As on the training field, her vision shifted. Night turned to day, and the lines of energy sparked and crisscrossed over the deck.

She saw the demons circling above. Two broke formation and swooped toward her. The grating bites on her skin intensified into painful jabs. She gave the fire permission to flow. The succubi dove, one behind the other, wings tucked, fangs bared. These were no beautiful sirens. Ravyn leveled the crossbow and touched the tip into a thread of energy. Her barriers fell, and she took aim.

“Two birds with one stone.”

Her finger snapped the trigger. Fire engulfed the projectile and struck the first demon, only to pass through and lodge in the second. Both Bane exploded before they had time to register what hit them.

“Two birds with one stone, indeed,” Jaden said behind her.

Ravyn spun to face him. His body radiated brilliant blue light, but the black edges still remained. He pointed and launched his body at her as another demon swooped toward them. Ravyn’s head hit the deck and her vision shifted, returning to her normal sight. Darkness once again blanketed everything, and she grappled for another arrow, but they slid out of her grasp as the funnel clouds from the two demons swirled, tossing the ship from side to side.

Jaden snatched up an arrow as it slid across the deck and grabbed Ravyn’s arm, hauling her to her feet. He shoved the arrow into her hand. “We have company.”

A circling demon descended. To her horror, the creature flared its wings and landed on the deck with a heavy thud. Energy surged through Ravyn, consuming her with the need to obliterate. She notched the arrow and pulled back the bowstring. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she locked it into place. The situation was bad—if she blasted the demon, the spinning vortex would drive through the hull and sink them.

The succubus folded her large blue wings behind her back and crossed her arms. She flicked a nod toward Ravyn’s crossbow. “Planning on using that?”

“Yes,” Ravyn said.

She leveled the arrow at the demon’s heart, or at least where her heart should be, terrified of what she would have to do next. She’d rather burn or drown than be taken by the Bane and suffer their torture. Siban’s face swam into view. The haunted set of his eyes and his brokenness shook her to the core. Whatever it took, she’d defend herself or die trying.

The succubus sauntered a few steps closer, her hips undulating with each footfall. Ravyn glanced over her shoulder to ensure the ploy wasn’t an ambush. The creature seemed neither hurried nor the least bit concerned about the arrow aimed at her.

Clawed feet scraped against the deck as the succubus inched forward. Ravyn and Jaden stepped back, matching the creature’s pace and stepping over unconscious sailors. Everything on the demon glimmered blue except for her eyes. Her piercing yellow gaze slid from Ravyn to Jaden and she smirked.

“Jade, nice to see you again,” the demon drawled.

Ravyn jumped as the hiss of a blade being pulled from a sheath whispered beside her.

Jaden pointed his sword at the demon. “Can’t say the same, Sha-hera.”

“Jaden?” Ravyn said slowly.

“Jaden, is it?” The Bane tilted her head back and laughed. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t you snare a man? I’d offer to teach you some tricks, but I doubt you’d agree to my price. Although, you do make a very pretty boy.”

Jaden sneered. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Well, never say I didn’t offer.” Her reptilian eyes fixated on Ravyn. “I guess I’ll just take my Bringer and be on my way.”

Ravyn’s finger brushed the trigger of her crossbow. “I don’t think so.”

“I must insist.” Sha-hera prowled forward. “My king desires a chat with you, among other things.”

“I don’t fancy a chat with him.” Her heart pounded, pushing the blood into her ears. She tried to swallow but her body rebelled against every effort she made to manage her fear. “Besides, I have a previous engagement.”

“What previous engagement would that be?” Sha-hera asked.

Ravyn depressed the trigger and loosed the bolt. “Killing demons.”

The arrow whistled toward the demon’s heart, but the creature spun and snatched it from the air. Ravyn clenched her teeth, trying not to gape.

“For the life of me, I can’t understand why Vile wants you.” Sha-hera snapped the metal shaft in two and tossed the fragments to the side. “You’re not very powerful. Or very smart.”

Ravyn curled her hands and released the barriers. Power pooled in her palms, building and pulsing. She centered her focus, exhaled, and gave herself over to the fire. Time slowed, and as with Brother Powell, Ravyn knew the demon’s move before she made it.

Sha-hera launched herself at Ravyn, talons extended. With a thrust of her arms, Ravyn released a bolt of lightning that penetrated the center of the demon’s chest. Sha-hera’s hatred melted to shock as the strike lifted the succubus off the ground and held her several feet above the deck, writhing.

The demon’s yellow eyes protruded and her stunned expression turned fearful, seconds before she exploded. The blast catapulted Ravyn and Jaden backward. Ravyn slammed her head against the deck Lights burst behind her eyes as she slid across the deck and rammed into a post. She groaned and rolled to her side.

“Ravyn.” Jaden’s voice penetrated the haze. “Ravyn. Get up. Get up. She’s spinning.”

Ravyn cried out as Jaden propelled her upright, nearly pulling her shoulder from its socket. “What?”

Jaden pointed. “She’s spinning.”

Ravyn blinked and swayed, her gaze following the direction of his finger.

“Sha-hera,” he shouted. “She’s spinning. Do something.”

Her mouth went dry and her mind raced. The embers had gathered and were spiraling into a tall funnel cloud directly over the deck, much larger than the ones the previous demons had created.

“Blast her,” Jaden yelled.

Ropes, barrels, and men inched toward the pull of the funnel cloud. Panic clawed at Ravyn, but she beat it back and released her shields, freeing her fire. She thrust her hands forward and blasted the swirling embers with two spinning balls of light. The vortex barely moved.

“Hit it again,” Jaden cried over the swelling noise.

Ravyn dodged a flying cask and launched another assault. The funnel cloud moved a few feet toward the rail. Inhaling, she mentally sought her well of untapped power and drank deep. Her body vibrated as renewed energy filled her, giving her strength and direction.

“Move it beyond the ship.”

Ravyn bombarded the funnel with wild, rapid energy. The cloud drifted toward the ship’s side, but continued to pick up speed. She couldn’t let the men die. She wouldn’t let the Bane take Rhys from her. Death—for any of them—was not an option.

She reached deep and gathered as much force as she could bear. With a cry to rival the sirens’, Ravyn ran at the spinning vortex and released her power. Energy spread like a glittering net as she hit the fiery cloud. Locked with the funnel, her body shook violently as she pushed against its resistance and finally shoved it over the edge of the ship. She pulled in her powers, and released the towering vortex.

The spinning cloud stirred the sea and Ravyn grappled for the railing. Violent waves tossed the ship, pouring across the deck and drenching Ravyn. Slammed by the wave, Jaden lost his balance, hitting his head against a post as he went down. He didn’t move. She crawled across the deck and latched onto the neck of his shirt. With her other hand, she clung to a rope. Men and barrels skidded along the side of the ship like toys. The mast creaked and groaned. Shrieks rang through the dark as the black shapes of the demons disappeared into the vortex.

Another wave crested the side of the ship, dousing her with icy water. Ravyn sputtered and gasped but didn’t dare let go of the rope. She searched the deck for Rhys. His body pitched backed and forth, repeatedly hitting the bench he was shackled to. At least he was safe. How many men had died? Luc lay several feet away, untethered. Dragging Jaden behind her, she clawed her way to him and looped the rope around one ankle. Ravyn gasped, choking as the funnel sucked the air from her lungs.

The ship pitched, dragging the right side toward the surface of the water. With one hand on Jaden and one clinging to the rope, Ravyn flew forward and crashed face-first onto the deck. Waves pummeled her as she struggled to rise above the water. This was it. Surely they were all going to die.

With a thunderous roar, the funnel burrowed into the water, dragging the ship with it until suddenly releasing it as the vortex disappeared into the depths. The ship catapulted upright, sending anything not tied down sliding over the opposite edge or slamming against the side.

Ravyn lay on her back, choking as she expelled seawater. Her throat and nose burned. With each rasping inhalation, she struggled for breath. She rolled to her side and vomited. Tears spilled down her cheeks as everything from relief to shock washed over her. Had she won? Were the demons gone? She rolled to her back again and stared at the starry sky. Her lungs ached and her head pounded. How many had died?

She whimpered as the burning sensation fumed against her arms and legs again. “No, no, no.”

Her plea whispered through her lips. She had no more fight, no more strength in her body. Whatever demon waited in the dark would have easy pickings. A movement near the top of the mast caught her attention. She squinted. Somebody was there—sitting, watching her. With a giant leap, the creature detached itself from its perch and glided down to settle on the deck with surprising grace.

She recognized him, would know the black demon anywhere—Icarus. Her heartbeat stuttered. He had come to take her. She’d fought and saved the men, but the demon had still won. The gnawing needles were nearly too much to bear in her weakened state. She struggled to stay upright, her every instinct screaming to flee.

Muscles rippled under his skin as he prowled toward her. Ravyn scooted backward, tumbling over Jaden’s unconscious form. In a blink of an eye, Icarus towered over her, no more than a foot away. He captured her gaze, and suddenly she wasn’t afraid. All fear drained from her as his yellow stare penetrated her very soul. She watched, unconcerned, as the demon crouched beside her. She should be afraid. Why wasn’t she afraid? His eyes skimmed her body as if searching for something.

“Are you injured?” His voice poured over her.

She blinked. Something about his eyes drew her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked again.

She shook her head. “No.”

Ravyn couldn’t turn away. Icarus’s eyes changed, swirling from gold to silver. She grabbed his wrist. He flinched, his eyes widening in shock

“What…” The words froze in her throat as images of Icarus stealing Angela’s soul assaulted her. “No!”

He pried her fingers loose and stumbled away.

“Murderer!”

She jumped to her feet and sent a lightning bolt careening toward him. Icarus launched himself into the sky, narrowly avoiding her strike. She raced across the deck, hurling every bit of energy she could milk from her body at him until the night sky swallowed the demon.

Ravyn dropped to her knees and sobbed. It was one thing to know Angela had been killed by the Bane…but to relive it? No punishment for the demon was too great. If it was the last thing she ever did, she would destroy Icarus.

Chapter Nineteen

Smoke invaded Rhys’s nostrils, along with something putrid he couldn’t identify. The sour odor wafted across his face in short, measured bursts. He cracked open his eyelids, but images danced and spun before him. A moan slipped through his lips as he shut his eyes again and rolled to his side. He listened to the creaking of the ship. Another blast of foul air sprayed his face and his eyes snapped open.

Gem lay curled in a ball only inches from him. The sailor’s resonating snore battered the wooden deck, and a substantial puddle of drool pooled under the man’s cheek. Before Rhys could turn away, another cloud of fetid breath hit him in the face.

Rhys coughed and moved onto his back, flinching as his head made contact with the deck. The ache in his skull suggested he’d drunk too much. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and tried to remember. Nothing. He drew a blank on everything after Big Al’s story of the seven dancing girls. He lowered his hands and sniffed. Smoke. Why did he smell smoke?

With great effort, he willed his body into a sitting position and looked around. His entire crew lay scattered across the deck in varying states of undress. Some slept curled up in a fetal position like Gem, while others snoozed across barrels, benches, or entangled in lengths of rope.

Coherent thought and panic pushed the haze from his mind. Where was Ravyn? Giggles floated to him at his right, and he turned to see two figures slouched against a wine cask.

He cleared his throat and swallowed. “Ravyn?”

“Rhys?” Ravyn said.

His voiced cracked, the dryness making it difficult to speak. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better.” She held a cup in the air. “But this is helping.”

He rubbed the back of his head and flinched. “What happ-ened?”

She snorted and took another drink. “Funny story, that. We had a bit of a run-in with the Bane.”

“Succubi disguised as sirens,” Jaden clarified over his cup.

“Right. Succubi,” Ravyn said.

Rhys’s voice boomed, causing the sleeping sailors to stir. “WHAT?”

“My reaction exactly. It was not a pleasant experience.” Her words slurred slightly. “But,” she pointed between her and Jaden, “we took care of them.”

He tried to calm his voice, but the seriousness of the night’s events was quickly becoming clear. “What happened?”

“Well,” she said, “there I was, enjoying a perfectly wonderful evening when the Bane decided to visit.”

Rhys’s insides twisted but he didn’t respond.

“And in order to save you men from a watery grave,” she continued, “Jaden and I had to battle the demons.” She took another long drink. “And let me tell you, there were a lot of them.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, rallying all three hundred years of his discipline to calm the beast raging inside him. “Explain.”

“They started singing this horrible song, and you and your crew turned into a bunch of mindless puppets, ready to follow them to your death. I restrained some of the men, but I couldn’t save everybody.” Her voice shook and she took another drink. “At least I saved you.”

He stared at her, sure she’d done everything she could to save the crew, but that wouldn’t be enough for her. He was certain she’d lament the loss of the few she didn’t save. “What happened to the Bane?”

“I blasted the leader and they either flew away or were sucked into the cloud—just like at the inn.” She sighed. “But I can’t say for certain.” She looked at him and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without Jade.”

Jealousy gnawed at Rhys as he watched the obvious camaraderie between Ravyn and Jaden. She held her cup up in a toast to the young man, the look of hero worship mocking Rhys’s ability to shield. The Bane had attacked and he’d been helpless to defend anything. Guilt and failure burned through him. All his life he’d protected humans, but when it mattered the most, he hadn’t been strong enough to protect her. Anger pushed at him to lash out, but against whom? The woman and boy who had saved them?

He moved to stand, but his leg yanked against the iron band clamped around his ankle. “Why am I shackled?”

“For your own protection,” Ravyn said. “So the Bane couldn’t carry you away.”

He ran his hands through his hair and glanced helplessly around at the carnage. A charred hole the size of Sampson smoldered in the center of the ship’s deck. He growled and pointed at the devastation, not trusting himself to speak.

Ravyn held up her hand. “That was my fault.” she admitted. “Well, mostly my fault. Icarus moved before I could blast him.”

“Icarus?” Rhys kicked the forgotten flute across the deck with his unshackled leg. The instrument whistled in protest. “Icarus was here?”

His mind reeled at the possible outcomes this evening could have had. The damage to his ship seemed inconsequential compared to the potential loss of Ravyn. His throat tightened, and a cold wave of desperation rushed through him as his body rebelled against the very idea of Icarus being close enough to abduct her, and him only feet away, unable to help.

“Yes, but he got away.” Ravyn pulled herself to a standing position and clung to the edge of the wine cask. She plunged her cup into the ruby liquid and handed the dripping vessel back to Jaden. He accepted the cup and traded it for his empty mug. After successfully repeating the task, Ravyn turned and slid back to the deck.

Rhys watched her, his mind unwilling to grasp what had happened tonight. He grabbed onto the obvious. “Are you drunk?”

“That’s my fault,” Jaden said. “She was a little upset.” Ravyn sniggered. “Well, hysterical, really. I thought this would calm her down.”

“Jade, you’re a true gentleman,” Ravyn said. She looked at the boy and burst out laughing.

Jealousy fanned Rhys’s already simmering anger. “Jade? You two have become very friendly while I was unconscious.”

Ravyn wiped tears from her eyes and sighed. She looked at him and slowly pointed a finger. “Fooled you.”

She leaned forward and knocked the hat off Jaden’s head. A wealth of silvery-blond hair spilled down his shoulders, instantly transforming Jaden from a young lad to a stunning young woman. Jaden giggled and pushed the silver strands out of her eyes.

“She fooled everybody,” Ravyn added.

Rhys stared in disbelief. “You’re a girl?”

“I told you he was smart.” Ravyn said.

“You told me.” Jade tipped her cup.

“A girl?” How had he not seen it? It was so obvious now. “You’re a girl?”

“Not very quick, though,” Jade added. “Maybe I bashed him too hard with the shovel.”

Rhys rubbed the back of his head. “Is that why I have a raging headache?”

Jade smiled and patted the handle of the shovel lying beside her. “Crude but effective.”

“A little too effective,” he said. Rhys bit back the rest of his terse retort. How could he complain? Ravyn and Jade had saved nearly every man onboard. The revelation dug deep, and his anger grew—not at the women but at himself and his broken promise to protect Ravyn.

“Do you have the keys?”

“Keys?” Ravyn asked.

He shook his leg. “To unlock them.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look and shook her head. “Sorry, but if you tell me where they are I can get them.”

Now that they were relatively safe, the last thing he needed was her to fall down the hatch and break her neck. He scanned the deck. Luc lay by the edge of the ship, unshackled.

“Luc,” Rhys shouted.

His friend didn’t move.

“Luc,” he shouted again.

Jade rose a little unsteadily to her feet and gave the shovel a little twirl. “I’ll wake him.”

“No.” Ravyn reached up and snatched the tool from her hand. “No more bashing Luc in the head.”

Jade pouted. “You’re no fun.”

She wove her way across the deck and stopped beside him, staring for a few seconds. Without warning, she hauled her foot back and kicked him in the ribs.

Rhys flinched.

“Wake up,” Jade shouted. When he didn’t move, she tried again. “Hey, ignoramus, wake up.”

As she let her foot fly, Luc rolled and caught her ankle, upending her. Jade shrieked as she crashed to the deck. With lightning speed, he rolled on top and pinned her beneath him, his big body wedged tightly between her thighs.

“Get off of me you filthy piece of…”

He kissed her. The words died in her mouth and her body stiffened. Ravyn burst out laughing. Rhys blinked and shook his head. What madness had possessed this night?

Luc broke off the kiss and grinned arrogantly down at Jade. A dreamy smile drifted across her face as her hand slid up his torso and bunched a handful of material at the neck of his tunic. Her voice dripped with honey. “Luc?”

His superior smile grew. “Yes?”

“Don’t ever…” Her smile vanished a second before her fist slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back, and Jade heaved him off her and climbed to her feet. “…touch me again.”

He rolled to a sitting position while rubbing his jaw, and glanced around the ship. “What happened?”

“You kissed me, you big lunk-headed lamebrain. Who do you think you are?” She drew back her fist in a threat. “Don’t ever kiss me again. Why did you kiss me anyway?” She waved her hands in the air. “Never mind,” she sputtered. “I don’t care why you kissed me, just don’t ever do it again. Do you hear me? Next time you’ll draw back a bloody lip.”

Luc ignored her rant and pushed up from the deck. He gripped the ship’s railing to steady himself and slid his hand to the back of his head. He winced. Rhys sympathized with his friend. His skull throbbed, and he was fairly certain Jade had hit Luc with more enthusiasm than he’d been subjected to.

Luc’s brow knit as he appraised Jade. “Weren’t you a man a few hours ago?”

“No, I wasn’t a man,” Jade snapped. Color rose in her cheeks. “I mean, I was dressed as a man, but I’ve always been a woman. You’re just too thickheaded to notice.”

“If you wanted me to notice, then why did you dress like a man?”

“Pompous ass. You think every woman is begging for your attention.” She thrust her thumb at her chest. “Well, I’m not.”

“I suggest you pick a gender and stick with it.” He straightened from the rail, once again ignoring her sputters of indignation, and walked to Rhys.

Rhys shook his foot and rattled the chain. “Do you know where the keys are to these leg irons?”

Luc looked down. “Why are you shackled?”

“So the Bane wouldn’t carry him off,” Ravyn said, slowly standing. “Jade did it.”

Luc glared at Jade. “I wasn’t shackled.”

She covered her mouth with her hand in mock innocence. “Oops.”

Luc’s mumbles faded as he disappeared belowdecks to retrieve the keys. Within minutes he’d set the crew free from the manacles but not from the effects of the sirens’ song. Or Jade’s shovel.

Rhys clenched his jaw as Ravyn retold the events of the evening as best she could. The crew cursed and gasped at all the appropriate moments. With each detail, the weight of his failure pressed around him. What if he’d lost Ravyn? He stepped away from the crowd and moved to examine the smoldering hole in the deck.

As he reached for a blackened plank of wood, his hand quivered. He curled his fingers into a fist in an effort to stop the shaking, and squeezed until his nails dug deep into the palms of his hands. Loss. Grief. Failure. All the pain he’d shut away centuries ago boiled to the surface. A lump formed in his throat as the crushing weight of responsibility pressed down on him again. He could not run away from his duty, no matter how hard he tried. He was too close to Ravyn. She disarmed him and made him careless. He’d grown soft. And though he didn’t want to admit it, he cared too much for her to be a worthy protector.

The barriers around his heart galvanized as he wrapped himself in the duty and honor of being a Shield. Yes, he had been happy since he’d found her, more content than he could remember. But at what cost? He’d dropped his guard and become complacent. What right did he have to put others in peril just so he could be happy? None. He hadn’t earned the right. What’s more, he didn’t have anybody to share the burden of duty with. He was a full-blooded Bringer, a Shield, the protector of mankind…and nothing more.

He walked back to the circle of crew members. Ravyn leaned against a pole and yawned. Tomorrow would be soon enough to explain that he needed to distance himself. His chest tightened when she smiled at him, and try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to smile back. How could he? There was nothing to be happy about. He’d have to harden his heart against his feelings for Ravyn and once again embrace his coldhearted mistress, responsibility. His gaze slid from Ravyn and focused on Luc.

“Why are you on the ship?” Luc said to Jade.

She smiled sweetly. “To kill you.”

The crew snickered.

Luc’s gaze narrowed. “Where’s your family?”

Jade glared at him. “Dead.”

He opened his mouth but Rhys cut him off. “Enough. She saved our lives. We owe her our gratitude, not our suspicions.” He cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Find her new quarters.”

Luc and Jade glared at each other.

“She can have my cabin,” Luc said.

“I don’t want your cabin. I can sleep on deck.”

“It’s not proper for you to sleep on deck with the men.” Luc crossed his arms as if setting up for battle. “You’ll take my cabin.”

“No. I. Won’t.”

“Yes. You. Will.”

“Noooo IIIIII woooon’t!” The menace in Jade’s tone increased with every syllable.

Not to be outdone, Luc scooped her up and hoisted her over his shoulder. Her high-pitched shriek filled the silent night.

“Hush up, you crazy wench,” Luc shouted.

Jade pummeled his back, her fists tangling in his unbound hair. “Put me down, you stupid ape.”

With a loud whack, he smacked her on the butt and marched across the deck. The entire crew gawked as he manhandled Jade down the ladder and out of sight.

“Cute couple,” Ravyn said.

Rhys stared at the hatch, not trusting himself to look at her. “I think he likes her.”

She leaned into him. “I’m tired. Can we go to bed?”

One last time. Would he allow himself this last indulgence? No. He couldn’t put his resolve to the test, not when the wound of letting her go was so raw. He wrapped his arm around her waist but didn’t pull her close. The comfort of her touch held too high a price.

He looked at the milling crew. “Weigh anchor and throw some water on that hole.”

A unanimous roar erupted from the crew members as they stumbled to their posts.

Rhys guided Ravyn to the hatch. “Go to bed and get some sleep. By this time tomorrow, we should be safely on dry land.”

She yawned and covered her mouth with her hand. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Later.” He rubbed the back of his head again. “Besides, I just had a pretty good nap.”

Ravyn hugged him. Just one more touch. He enfolded her in his embrace and pressed his mouth to her curls. His lips lingered longer than he’d intended as he drank in the scent. How could he let her go? Closing his eyes, he burned the feel of her body against his into his memory and reminded himself whom he sacrificed for—Ravyn.

When the sun broke the horizon, he’d be alone. Again.

Chapter Twenty

“How is it that one itty-bitty girl has managed to elude my fiercest soldiers?” Vile drew out his question. He draped his body across his throne and casually flicked a bug crawling on the arm of the chair. “My son couldn’t bring me the woman.”

Icarus stood stiffly at the left of the throne. Settled with legs slightly parted and hands clasped behind his back, he ignored his father’s jab. Last night he’d been so close to finally getting the Bringer. His plan had been almost flawless. Sha-hera had failed and he had meant to snatch Ravyn Mayfield and hide her away until he could perform the Ritual of Taking. But then she’d grabbed him. He shifted slightly at the uncomfortable memory of her touch. Like fiery webs spinning through his veins, she had invaded him. How, he didn’t know. Then she’d attacked and he’d barely escaped Sha-hera’s fate.

He stared out over the silent crowd, smelling the fear emanating from the mutts. The king’s penchant for ripping off heads or blasting the nearest Bane was well-known amongst the demons.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Nobody laughed now.

For once, the sting of Vile’s biting taunts would not be directed at him. Sha-hera held that distinction, and he planned to enjoy every second of her humiliation.

His gaze wandered to the center of the chamber where Sha-hera knelt. Her spiny wings lay limp behind her back, still not fully formed after last night’s attack. Her twisted horns pointed toward the ground as she bowed her head, playing submissive. To Icarus, she missed the mark by an almost-imperceptible degree. Vile wouldn’t notice. He loved dominance in any form, but Icarus recognized the trace of defiance in her clenched jaw and fisted hands.

“I dispatched my impressive female army and the girl crushed you. Please tell me I’m wrong. Please tell me my commanders aren’t a bunch of idiots who can’t find their asses with both hands.”

Vile’s tone was deceptively mild but Icarus knew his father too well. The king’s deadly calm usually led to bloodthirsty punishment. Icarus curled his lip in a triumphant smile, the only movement he dared to make.

The she-bitch actually looked scared. Sha-hera prostrated herself on the ground before the throne. “You were not wrong to entrust the mission to me, my king.”

Her false assurance set Icarus’s fangs on edge. Sha-hera feigned humility like a master actress. She groveled and yet never once admitted her failure.

“Yes?” Vile sat up and held his hands out in confusion. “And yet, where is my Bringer?”

Sha-hera pushed upright but folded her hands meekly in her lap. A hint of panic crossed her face as she scrambled for a plausible explanation. Her eyes cut briefly to Icarus and he smiled, openly baring his fangs in genuine pleasure. Sha-hera cleared her throat. “There were complications, my king.”

Vile’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“There was another female on board. She helped the Bringer during the fight.”

Vile sat forward and rested his elbows on his muscular thighs. “Another female?” His eyes narrowed. “Was she a Bringer?”

Sha-hera glanced to Icarus. He raised his eyebrows in question. How would she explain this away? He loved watching her squirm.

She looked back at the king. “No.”

“Did she use fierce weapons against your highly trained army of succubi?”

A titter of laughter rippled through the chamber.

Sha-hera’s spine stiffened. “She dispatched several of us with a crossbow.”

“I heard it was the Bringer who wielded the crossbow while this mystery woman ran around the ship hitting the men over the head with a…” He paused. “Shovel.” He threw back his head and laughed. Icarus suppressed the urge to laugh as well. Vile’s amusement faded, the humor in his voice dying. “And still you couldn’t capture the Bringer?”

Sha-hera bowed her head. “No, my king.”

She made no further comment about the unknown woman on the ship. Why? She’d certainly known the human girl, so why hide their acquaintance? Icarus tucked this bit of information away for later scrutiny.

Vile leaned back and folded his hands over his rippled stomach. “Pathetic.”

Not a single demon stirred within the throne room. Icarus remained silent, letting Sha-hera’s disgrace hang in the air. She had no idea who she was dealing with if she thought to best him at the game of intrigue.

“Icarus,” Vile said over his shoulder.

He stepped forward. “Yes, Father.”

“I’m giving you one last chance to bring the girl to me.” He tapped one long talon on the arm of the throne. “If you fail me again, I will not be as happy as I am now. Do you understand?”

Icarus’s stare bore into Sha-hera, silently warning her to stay out of his way. “I understand.”

Vile stood and flared his wings. “I grow weary of fools.” He turned and stomped from the hall.

Icarus jumped down from the dais and marched toward the exit. Demons scattered from his path. As he passed Sha-hera, her hand shot out and grabbed him. He stopped but didn’t look at her.

“This is not over,” she hissed.

He turned his head in the slowest of motions. She blamed him for her humiliation. He liked that. Her fury would unbalance her judgment. “Get your hand off of me or I’ll break it off and feed it to you.”

She hesitated, but let her hand drop. “Where were you hiding? I know you were there watching. You couldn’t wait to run back to the king and tell him, could you?”

“Your failure reached the king long before I did,” he lied. He leaned toward her, his nose an inch from hers. “Your exploits circled the Shadow World before you stopped spinning from the Bringer’s blast. I told you not to fuck with me.”

Icarus marched from the chamber and down the corridor. His mind sifted through his options. Time was running out. Vile was growing impatient and suspicious and there would be no more chances to secure the girl after this. He slammed his fist into the rock wall. Chips flew in all directions, but he didn’t feel better. His father could not have Ravyn’s power. If he opened the Abyss of Souls there would be no hope of escaping Vile’s rule. There would be no throne. Cold settled over him and he shivered.

That couldn’t happen.

Icarus launched himself upward through the wide portal of the Shadow World. The orange sunrise kissed his face. He closed his eyes and spread his wings, basking in the dawning light. A new day. A new start. That’s what he wanted. Free from his father’s control. He opened his eyes and headed south. Hopefully, Brother Powell was in place.

Chapter Twenty-One

The ship landed on the shores of Faela in late afternoon. Ravyn leaned over the rail. As The Saints were her witnesses, she would never drink again.

She craned her neck and looked up at the huge passenger vessels on either side. Their ship maneuvered between the two behemoths, slicing the space with expert timing and skill. Crew members dashed around the deck, tying off ropes and battening down the hatches.

People swarmed the docks, their shouts and laughter rising above the constant drone of the lapping water and creaking ships. The harbor pulsed with life. Using the technique Rhys taught her, she blocked the mental din of the bustling mob. The noise in her mind quieted, but not the pounding in her head.

The smell of fish, wood, and oil permeated the air, and the light winds did nothing to dissipate the afternoon heat. Wedged between the larger ships, her hope for a breeze went unfulfilled. Thankfully, the tall, sloping sides of the neighboring vessels blocked most of the sun’s rays, giving her a measure of relief from what was sure to be a sweltering evening. Though she loved her wool pants, they were too much in this warmer climate.

Ravyn searched the ship for Rhys. He hadn’t come to bed last night, and she’d only seen him briefly at breakfast. He stood on the upper deck, arms crossed, legs spread in a wide stance, speaking with Luc. Tension radiated from him. Last night’s attack had put everybody on edge.

She stared at Rhys, willing him to look at her. Despite the compulsion she pushed at him, he continued to talk to Luc. She could’ve been wrong, but it seemed as if he was avoiding her. She struggled to squash the feeling that something had changed between them since last night.

A loud cackle drew Ravyn from her brooding and she turned back to the rail. She scanned the crowd below. A colorfully clad female threw her ample body into the arms of a disembarking sailor. The man caught her up and swung her around, planting a long, wet kiss on her mouth. Ravyn’s thoughts drifted back to Rhys. She touched her fingers to her lips as she remembered the feel of his kisses and his gentle caresses.

Already, she missed Alba Haven and the easy routine they’d fallen into. How long would it be before she could share his bed again? She liked sleeping tucked next to Rhys, his arm wrapped around her as if he were afraid she’d leave him while he slept. She scowled at the thought of having to sleep alone at Illuma Grand.

Their ship settled, and the crew moved around her as they secured the lines. Her throbbing head and roiling stomach prevented her from lending a hand. To let the men go about their tasks without her interference was more of a blessing than giving them her assistance. She continued to stare at the bevy of activity on the docks, riveted by so many sights and sounds.

Commands and greetings issued from all direction as the wharf’s habitants hastened about their business. Crates, sacks, and boxes were unloaded from every kind of ship by people of every color. Wagons parked along the road, awaiting their burdens. Young children flitted in and out of the crowd. Pickpockets. Ravyn remembered her outing with Nattie and the times she’d felt a gentle pressure at her hip, as if small hands searched her pockets. Vendors beckoned to newly arrived passengers and sailors in an attempt to part them from their money.

A man with large, gold hoops in his ears held his laden arms wide. Dozens of necklaces swung from his forearms in a sparkling display.

“A trinket for a loved one or a bauble for a special lady,” the merchant enticed.

Ravyn wondered how many of his jewels had been stolen.

Rhys moved behind her, his warmth mingling with the afternoon heat but his voice holding a note of stiffness. “What do you think?”

She turned and smiled. Her stomach fluttered as his energy caressed her. Since being together intimately, it was as if her soul was tuned to him. Her smile slipped. She couldn’t put her finger on the reason for his mood change, but prayed it was simply preoccupation with getting them safely to Illuma Grand.

Ravyn glanced back at the crowd and squared her shoulders. “It’s very loud.”

She broadened her smile, trying to act normal. After all, they’d only been together for two nights, and she’d practically thrown herself at him. It wasn’t as if he owed her anything, including his love.

“Very.” An awkward silence stretched between them as they stared at the activity below. “We’ll be disembarking soon.”

She turned away from the railing. “Wonderful.”

Last night she’d loved the ship and the freedom she’d experienced on the open sea, skimming across the water. Now the vessel seemed empty, somehow barren of the joy she’d shared with him and the crew. They’d lost three crew members in the fight last night and she couldn’t help but wonder where they were now. Dead? Turned into Bane? Would these men be demons they would eventually have to vanquish?

Her limbs moved woodenly as she headed toward the gangway. Now, more than ever, she was happy she’d given herself to Rhys. Tomorrow was not guaranteed, especially now that they’d left the safety of Alba Haven.

He followed her to the exit, stopped beside her, and pointed toward two formal-looking men who stood at the end of the walkway. “It appears the Council sent us an escort.”

“How would they know we were here?” she asked.

The men waited on either side of the gangplank, positioned like two sentries. Were they here to invite, or insist she and Rhys join them?

“From me,” Luc said. He stopped beside Ravyn. “I sent a message ahead. You know how the Council is. They love to make us wait.”

Rhys arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

Luc’s shoulders slumped. “All right. My father would have my head if we’d arrived unannounced.”

This caught her by surprise. Not only that his father would be part of something they fought against, but also imagining Luc having a father at all. Somehow, she’d pictured his birth as something more impressive, like rising from the sea or being born of the sun. Ordinary parentage seemed to dim his glorious nature a bit.

“Is your father part of the Council?” Ravyn asked.

“Yes,” Luc drawled. “For the most part, he believes as we do, but being immersed at Illuma Grand sometimes blurs the facts for him.”

“He’s a good man,” Rhys interjected.

“Yes, but he’ll have to pick a side. I’ve already chosen mine.”

Rhys held out his arm. “Shall we?”

The men sandwiched Ravyn between them in what she assumed was a defensive position. She mentally rolled her eyes. They were completely male. Even after last night, they didn’t believe she could protect herself. The thought grated on her. The men from Illuma Grand shifted as the three of them approached. She supposed they did make an impressive sight, especially with her dressed in her leathers.

“Afternoon, gentleman. Were you sent by my father?” Luc asked.

One of the men gave a quick bow. “He thought you might appreciate the convenience of his horses after your voyage.”

“How thoughtful.” Luc gifted the men with his flawless smile. “And our baggage?”

“We will see to it.” The blond-haired man pointed to three black stallions on the small rise above the docks. “The horses are there.”

“He sent his best?” Luc said.

Rhys smirked. “He’s never one for subtlety.”

“It’s very thoughtful of him,” Ravyn said.

“My father is a bully. That’s why he sent his horses and an escort. To make sure we arrive in a timely manner.” He placed a hand on Ravyn’s shoulder. “You’re far too naïve.”

“I am not.” She was getting tired of Luc and Rhys thinking she was still the scared girl Rhys had saved from the abbey.

Luc held up his hands in surrender. “All right, you’re cold and jaded.”

“Somebody mention my name?”

They turned to see Jade descending the walkway. Soft nips played along Ravyn’s arms, but she shook off the feeling. Even though she’d trained at Alba Haven, her demon senses obviously needed a bit more honing. Jade had proven herself last night. Nobody in league with the Bane would have risked her life as she had.

“How are you feeling?” Ravyn said.

Last night’s tumble into the wine barrel showed in the dark shadows puddled beneath her eyes and her ashen complexion. She smiled at Rhys and Ravyn but completely ignored Luc.

“I’ll live. You?”

“The same. Where are you staying? You could come with us,” Ravyn offered.

She liked the idea of having a female ally, and she was more than a little curious about Jade and her relationship with the demon. Too many mysteries surrounded the woman for Ravyn’s liking.

Jade’s gaze slanted toward Luc. “I’m staying with friends.”

“You should come with us.” Ravyn said.

“You’re always welcome,” Rhys added.

“Thank you, no. I have other obligations.” She paused. “But perhaps I’ll visit later.

Relief washed through Ravyn. “Please try. It will be nice to see a friendly face.”

Jade’s glance shot to Luc and away again. She stepped past the three of them and set her bag on the ground. “I’ll call on you soon.”

“Do you know how to get to Illuma Grand?” Ravyn said.

“Yes.”

She stepped forward and hugged Jade. “Thank you for every-thing.”

Jade gave her a quick squeeze and stepped back. “Well.”

She leaned to pick up her bag but Luc beat her to it. He flung the pack over his shoulder. “I’ll carry your bag.”

“You’re not carrying my bag.” Her tone was even, but it held a definite threat.

Luc turned to Rhys. “I’ll meet you at Illuma later. I’m going to see Jade safely to her friends.”

“No you’re not.” Jade yanked on the strap of her bag. “I don’t need an escort.”

He glared at her. “You’re no longer dressed as a man. It’s not safe or proper to walk the streets like a common whore.”

”Luc,” Ravyn said, “I’m sure we’re all concerned about Jade, but I think our worries are…” She gave him a meaningful stare, willing him to understand. “Unfounded.”

His gaze slid to her. “I’m not so easily convinced.”

“Listen, you ass. If I want to walk the streets like a two-bit doxy, that’s my business. I don’t need an escort.”

People stared and whispered, slowing to watch the arguing couple as they passed. The two men from Illuma Grand shifted uncomfortably as the quarrel escalated.

Luc jerked the bag out of Jade’s grip. “Yes, you do.”

“Fine, then I don’t need you to escort me,” she yelled.

“Too damn bad. You’ve got me.” Without a backward glance, he marched down the dock, leaving Jade to stare after him.

She stomped her foot and roared in frustration. With a stiff spine she stalked after Luc. “Overbearing ass.”

Ravyn looked at Rhys. “Who do you think will win that battle?”

He smirked. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

She watched the warring couple weave along the wharf. Jade gave several furious yanks on the strap of her pack but to no avail. Luc held fast and appeared unfazed by her haranguing.

Ravyn shook her head. “I can’t tell if they like or hate each other.”

“It’s a very fine line.”

She furrowed her brow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, both emotions evoke a powerful reaction. It’s sometimes hard to distinguish love from hate.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the dock. Warmth flooded her body. Some of her self-doubt eased with his touch. He didn’t appear angry with her and now that they were on dry land he seemed a bit more relaxed.

Her legs felt wobbly, as if the ground moved beneath her feet. Rhys had told her this might happen but she hadn’t completely understood. She smiled at the new experience.

They accepted the reins from the two boys who waited with the horses, and mounted. Rhys took the lead as they picked their way along the road, around carts, and through the throngs of pedestrians. Ravyn didn’t know if she’d ever become accustomed to being surrounded by so many people. Alba was crowded but Faela boasted three times the population. The city was second in size to only Itta, Inness’s largest city.

An inkling of a headache drummed at the base of her skull. She reinforced the shields around her mind, blocking out the din. Men watched her pass, their stares hungry. Unease seeped into her bones and she guided her horse as close to Rhys’s as possible. She almost wished she’d worn a gown instead of her leathers.

The crowds thinned, and she kicked her horse forward to ride next to Rhys. “So, what should I expect?”

He stared straight ahead. “Formality.”

She smirked. Now that was ironic. She focused on the scenery around her, hoping to appear equally as practical. “Formality?”

“That’s why they don’t like me.”

“Because you’re not proper?”

It was his turn to smirk. “Some of the Council don’t like my methods.”

“Which are?”

He glanced at her. “Which don’t involve a thousand meetings and several hundred committees to get something done.”

“A man of action.”

“If you had to label me,” he conceded.

She mustered her courage to ask the question that had been pressing on her all morning. “Rhys?”

He didn’t look at her. “Yes.”

“Are you angry with me?”

She bit her lower lip, almost hating to hear the answer. He hadn’t come to bed last night and had been aloof all morning. She couldn’t stand the thought of being the cause. He exhaled as if resigning himself to an unpleasant task.

“No, I’m not angry with you.” He still didn’t look at her. “I’m angry with myself.”

“Why?” She willed him to look at her.

He turned his head and stared at her. She mentally flinched. Self-loathing, pain, acceptance, each emotion burned in his gaze.

“For forgetting my responsibilities.” He sighed and looked away. “For allowing myself to care.”

Ravyn wasn’t sure she should be happy or heartbroken. “What are you saying?”

His chin lifted slightly. “I was wrong to foster a relationship between us. I shouldn’t have let it go this far.”

Her reaction tumbled toward heartbroken. She swallowed against her tightening throat and blinked away the burn of tears. “Why?”

It was the only word she could form and it came out in a breathless waver.

“I was wrong to think I could protect and care for someone at the same time.” He looked at her and she saw the stubborn set of his jaw. “I can’t.”

“So we should pretend that we never—never?”

She couldn’t say the words. Up until that moment she’d known she would never regret being with Rhys, but his words somehow made her feel foolish and unclean. His expression softened a fraction but not enough to give her hope he might change his mind.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said and looked away.

She stared at his profile for several seconds, letting his words sink in. Maybe Luc was right. She was too naïve. She sniffed and straightened her spine. “Me too.”

They rode in silence most of the way. If only they’d stayed at Alba Haven, safe and away from outside interference. But they weren’t home and they had a mission to do and Bringers to help. She’d spent all her life pretending harsh words and taunts didn’t bother her. What was one more? Strange how Rhys’s rejection weighed so much heavier than all the barbs the Sisters had cast at her while in the abbey.

The silence grew awkward and she stilled herself from demanding more answers. She wouldn’t beg for his affection. But not being with Rhys left a big hole in her future. Where would she go? Being around him at Alba Haven might be too painful to endure day after day. Perhaps she should be like him and put duty before all else.

Her thoughts turned to the impending battle with the Bane. She wanted to ask him if he’d read his father’s journal yet, but the question now felt too personal. He hadn’t said anything about it since they’d left the inn. Did he treat the diary the same way he was treating her, pushing it aside because to deal with the situation was too painful?

She struggled for a neutral subject. “Will the Council be hostile?”

He stared intently at the road ahead. “Some, but not all. Many of the Council use Bringers for their own gain. I have no doubt they’ll attempt the same with you.”

A shiver rippled through her and the hair on the back of her neck pricked at the thought of being manipulated. How could the Bringers of Illuma Grand be so different than those at Alba Haven?

Unaware of her increasing fear, he continued. “Be careful what you say and to whom.”

“You’ve made this mission sound completely unpleasant,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

Her attempt failed. His expression remained serious. “I’d hate for you to drop your guard and trust the wrong people.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop her retort. Did he believe her incapable of distinguishing friend from foe? “Well, I guess I’m lucky to have you here to protect me.”

Rhys didn’t respond, but she noticed the slight clench in his jaw. It appeared she’d hit a nerve.

The sprawl of the bustling city shifted and spread to open fields and farms. Rolling hills and trees replaced the press of stacked and crowded buildings, and the street diminished to a one-lane, rutted road as they left the city limits of Faela.

Ravyn inhaled, able to breathe again, and followed Rhys as he guided his horse off the main roadway and onto another narrow path. Beyond a grove of trees the road widened. He straightened in the saddle and scowled as the first buildings came into view.

Illuma Grand was aptly named. They traveled through a massive stone and metal archway, and the natural tangle of the woods smoothed into organized orchards and gardens. Small, gray stone buildings dotted their course, and people bustled along rock paths. Each person wore the same drab gray clothing.

Well, she certainly wouldn’t blend in.

Ravyn stared at the workers. They reminded her of the ants she’d spent hours watching as a girl, all with single-minded focus as they scurried to do their tasks. “Are all these people Bringers?”

“Yes, mixed-bloods. Most possess some talent, but none have the powers we do.”

She watched a woman with an armload of rolled-up parchments hurry down the path toward one of the small stone buildings. Ravyn wondered how different she was from the rest of these people. “They’re very…stiff?”

He smiled. “Formal.”

She glanced at him, frowning.

“They’re the epitome of procedures and rules. None know what it’s like to act on instinct.”

A man in a strange wagon moved across the path in front of them. He pedaled the contraption, moving the wagon forward as another man removed small shrubs from the bed of the vehicle and strategically placed them on the ground. Gardeners, perhaps?

“What is the purpose of the Illuma Grand Bringers?”

Irritation laced his voice when he replied. “An excellent question. Please enlighten me if you ever discover the answer.”

She frowned and scanned the open grounds they rode along. “Under what guise do they operate? This is a massive estate, and I thought the Bringers demanded anonymity to promote their legend. But these Bringers seem to mingle openly in Faela.”

“As I’ve said, many Bringers have misguided ideas.” He held his arms wide. “They think it’s their mission to be businessmen or public stewards and to ignore the Bane.” He lowered his arms. “So much of our history has been lost. We’re no longer warriors, but social servants. Eventually, the Bane will overrun Inness and all the good intentions in the world won’t stop the demons or save the humans.”

“Or us,” she added.

He raised a brow. “Or us.”

She contemplated the ramifications of what he said. How does somebody change an attitude that’s been set for centuries? “What are the chances of enlisting help from some of the Bringers at Illuma Grand?”

He smirked. “Not everybody is happy with the Council. Our informer mentioned rumblings.” He paused. “Unfortunately, those discontented Bringers are now missing.”

Cold dread washed through her. “Bane?”

He shrugged. “The Bane, the Council…that’s what we’re here to find out.”

They stopped the horses in front of a set of wide, flat steps that spread along the front of the building. White marble pillars reached to the sky and kissed the soaring roofline of the palatial structure. Two men dressed in identical gray tunics jogged down the stairs and took the reins. They bowed but didn’t speak.

Ravyn glanced at Rhys in question.

“Jacob Le Daun.” Rhys stated the name as if that should explain everything, and slid off the horse. He helped her from the mount and guided her up the steps. His touch held none of its normal warmth, but instead felt stiff, as if he preferred not to touch her at all. She had the sudden longing to be home, but squashed the thought, not sure where home was anymore.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Most everything about Illuma Grand was brisk and sharp, including the manicured lawn, the hedges, and the people. Immaculate walkways gleamed in the sunshine, and white marble statues of curvaceous women and straight-nosed men blended with their pristine surroundings. Not a single leaf littered the ground, and not a single blade of grass tilted at the wrong angle.

“Illuma Grand is very…” She struggled for the right word. “Crisp.”

Rhys smiled but didn’t look at her. “An apt description.”

She yanked on the bottom of her tunic. “They’re going to love me.”

He ran his gaze down her body, his eyes holding not a hint of emotion. “Yes.”

They turned a corner and entered a crowded courtyard. Ravyn’s step faltered as the people stopped and openly gawked at her and Rhys. Of course, the residents of Illuma would stare at Rhys. His handsomeness and raw presence naturally drew everybody’s attention. A twinge of jealousy bit at her. Several seconds passed before she realized the stares didn’t stray to him, but scrutinized her with rude curiosity.

She hunched toward him and away from the crowd, watching for signs of hostility. “They’re staring.”

His posture was stiff. “Your outfit.”

Was he embarrassed by her? Ravyn glanced down and then back to the bystanders. Every woman wore a practical gray gown, none of which sported embellishments, jewels, or even a weapon.

Several whispered behind their hands, and all openly stared.

“Well, this is rather awkward,” she said under her breath.

He didn’t respond. She wondered if he was enjoying her discomfort. He’d made it clear he didn’t like her leathers. Well too bad, she wasn’t going to change, no matter how uncomfortable these Bringers made her feel. She’d survived three demon attacks, and there was nothing worse these people could do to her.

Feeling defensive, Ravyn’s mood darkened. She cast about, her gaze falling onto a few male onlookers. Their expressions seemed anything but hostile. Butterflies tumbled in her stomach as one of them winked at her.

“Stop staring,” Rhys growled.

The pressure on her lower back increased and he quickened their pace.

“I wasn’t staring, they were.”

“Sainted Ones, give me strength,” he mumbled and propelled her forward.

A tall, golden-haired man strode toward them. Ravyn knew him before he spoke. Brilliant blue eyes framed an older version of Luc’s face. He stopped and waited for their approach.

“Lord Blackwell,” he said, loud enough for all the spectators to hear. “It is so good to see you.”

Rhys smiled and grasped the older man’s forearms. “Jacob, you’re looking well. Haven’t lost any of your flair.”

“I simply give them what they want. Gets boring here,” he said in a quiet voice. Jacob Le Daun was every bit as handsome as his son. He turned and gave Ravyn a low bow. “Lady Mayfield, you do us great honor with your presence.”

“Thank you, my lord. I’m pleased to be here.”

He gave her a look that said he knew better. “Come. I’ll show you to your quarters.” He led them down the wide corridor and past the gawking spectators. “Where is my wayward son?”

“Luc will join us shortly,” Rhys said.

“Off on some fool’s errand, I suspect.”

Rhys cleared his throat. “Time will tell.”

“A girl?”

“Something like that.”

“He’ll never change.” Jacob sighed. “Should be glad he comes to visit at all.” He looked at Ravyn. “Even if it’s for reasons other than to see his father.”

She gave him a weak smile, unsure how to respond. There were obviously things between Luc and his father. Whether they were problems or merely a father’s concerns, she couldn’t tell.

Jacob’s gaze cut to Rhys. “Will you and the lady be…sharing a room?”

“No,” Rhys said.

Embarrassment heated Ravyn’s cheeks.

Jacob’s eyebrows disappeared into his blond hair. “So it’s like that?”

Ravyn scowled, her mood darkening again. “It’s not like anything.”

He laughed and slapped Rhys on the back. “I see why you like her. She’s a feisty one.”

Rhys refused to look at her and didn’t respond.

A coy smile remained plastered to Jacob’s face. “I bet Luc likes you. Probably put him in his place, eh?”

“He’s her lap dog,” Rhys snapped.

Ravyn blushed and Jacob laughed. Somebody should have warned her it wasn’t the Council she had to be wary of.

She ignored the men as they traveled through Illuma Grand, staring into some of the rooms they passed. Each room held something different—children in classes, people gathered around a large table, waving their hands and debating, and rows of tables where several people sat hunched, scribbling on parchment paper. There was even a room filled with what looked like science experiments. Small, blue flames burned under bubbling pots and glass bowls. She craned her neck, trying to see more but only caught a final glimpse of what looked like the large skeletal structure of a…dragon?

“What’s happened since I was last here?” Rhys asked.

“Very little, I’m afraid. Mainly gossip and speculation.” Lowering his voice, he added, “Since there is nothing else to keep their minds occupied.”

“Aren’t the meetings and assemblies enough?” Rhys drawled.

Jacob gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Many of the Council members have started making more decisions and asking less from those who live here. I’ve heard grumblings. Many believe the Council is trying to gain control over Illuma Grand.”

Rhys lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Do you believe the missing Bringers have been taken by the Bane?”

“Hard to tell.” Jacob gave a little shrug. “There are no signs of struggle. Some of us have been discreetly investigating, but we’ve found nothing yet.”

“Aren’t you a member of the Council?” Ravyn asked.

“Barely. A specific few make the majority of the decisions. They conspire to control the vote. Most decisions directly benefit them, but they assure us it’s for the greater good,” Jacob said.

“Not surprising,” Rhys said. “Their scheming is one of the reasons I didn’t want Ravyn to meet with them.”

“About that.” Jacob turned down another long corridor. “The Council would like to meet with you immediately, Rhys.”

“Now?”

“Yes, but only you. They’d like an update on your activities. They want to meet with Ravyn tomorrow morning.” He paused. “Alone.”

Rhys stopped. “No.”

“I’m sorry. I tried to convince them to let you attend, but they overrode me.” He turned to Ravyn. “Fromme Bagita was quite insistent.”

For the first time all day, Rhys really looked at her. Anxiety rolled off him and shivers skittered across her as his energy openly caressed and enfolded her.

Surprisingly, Ravyn wasn’t afraid. She turned to Jacob. “Can Rhys wait outside? Be there if I need him?”

“Of course.” He clasped Rhys on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

She peered at him, wondering if he’d take a stand and demand to be with her, secretly hoping he would. Not that she could truly be sure of his reason, caring for her or doing his duty and protecting her. After several long seconds, Rhys gave a single nod of agreement. His acquiescence left the faint taste of betrayal in her mouth. Neither lover nor protector, he’d leave her to face the Council with barely a fight.

The three continued their trek until finally stopping at the end of the corridor.

“I secured these adjoining rooms for you. You must make sure you and Luc exit from this door and Ravyn exits from her door. I know it seems ridiculous, but we don’t need to make waves over something easily avoidable.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she nodded. Sadness pinched her heart. There would be no reason for her to exit Rhys’s door.

Clean, simple, and very sparse were the first impressions that came to mind when she stepped inside the chamber. From the impressive entrance and elegant beauty of the main area, she’d expected something a little grander. This room reminded her of her cell at the abbey, but was not nearly as oppressive.

She turned to Lord Le Daun. “Thank you. It’s very…organized.”

“It is that, my lady. And so are the people.” Jacob moved farther into the room. “They are also predictable, punctual, and proper.”

“Sounds rather boring,” she muttered.

“Exactly. Perhaps you will add a little spice to their lives. I daresay your outfit has already inspired an array of tittle-tattle.”

A young man carrying their belongings knocked on the open door. “Your things, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Jacob said. He pointed to the bed. “Set them over there.”

The man unloaded her items and ducked out of the room before she had a chance to thank him. Very efficient and a little skittish. She untied her dirty, worn bag and surveyed the items inside, pulling out her tome and Bowen’s journal. Perhaps she’d look at them while Rhys was gone.

“Can you meet with the Council now, Rhys?” Jacob called.

Rhys stepped into her room. “Will you be all right? I’ll only be gone a short while.”

“I’ll be fine.” She laid the books onto the bed. “Besides, I’m a little tired. Maybe I’ll take a nap.”

“I’ll ask for them to serve us dinner in our rooms tonight.”

Jacob held up his hand. “Leave that to me.”

He walked to a tall, thin cabinet beside the door and opened it. A thick, silk rope hung inside with a bell positioned at the top. He reached in and yanked on the rope. Ravyn was surprised that the bell didn’t ring.

“When you hear this bell ring,” he said, pointing inside the cabinet, “You open this door.” He tugged open a small, square door she hadn’t noticed. “The food will be waiting inside. When you’ve finished, place the dishes back inside and pull the rope.” He closed the door. “Somebody will be by to collect them.”

She smiled. “Very clever.” Tonight, at least, she wouldn’t be subjected to any more stares or whispers. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, my lady.”

Rhys followed Jacob out of the room. Before drawing the door shut, he said, “Lock it.”

Her hand hovered on the lock. She glanced over her shoulder to the two books lying on her bed. Would she have enough time to look at his father’s journal? With Rhys putting more and more distance between them, she might never get another chance to see inside the diary. As far as she knew, he still hadn’t read it.

She opened her door and peeked out. The hall was empty. Ducking inside, she locked her door and then Rhys’s. If he came back early, she’d have time to replace his journal. She rifled through his bag, pawing over his clothes until her fingers found the rectangular lump. Her hands shook and heart raced as she lifted the book from the sack. This felt wrong. He’d be furious if he found out she’d read it. Willa had been right. It felt like trespassing on somebody’s private thoughts.

This was no time for guilt, however, and there was no room for hesitation. Not when others depended on her, and not when the journal’s contents could save her life. Maybe the words of Rhys’s father would provide much-needed answers to their questions. The leather felt cool under her fingers as she hurried to the bed and sat. She reached into her boot and removed the dagger, its metal hilt warm from her body. After placing the knife on a low table, she kicked off her boots and climbed onto the bed. With infinite care, she pried open the covers of the diary.

Lines flowed in a beautiful script, the letters forming words that tugged at Ravyn’s heart and made tears pool in her eyes. He wrote of the life they’d left behind and how he missed it. They were words of love from a man to his wife, and from a father to his son, sentiments that confirmed what Ravyn believed but Rhys couldn’t accept—he had been his father’s pride and joy, and nothing Rhys did would ever change that.

She turned the pages, reading as quickly as she could but not wanting to miss a single sentence. His father told of the Bane and his worry that Vile grew stronger. He penned his frustration at not knowing where the immortal weapons were hidden. The words on the parchment illustrated the happiness and hardships of Rhys’s early years, his parents’ love, and all he had lost the day they died.

Her finger slid behind the paper and turned the page. She froze. A daggerhad been painstakingly reproduced in the journal. She picked up her weapon from the table and laid it next to the book.

“It’s the same,” she whispered.

Small writing ran along the edges of the page. She held the book closer and squinted at the script.

In death there is life, in sacrifice, return.

All barriers destroyed and evil be spurned.

No hindrance remain, from our blood be renewed,
that which was taken, settle in those who Bring true.

She shook her head. “What does it mean?” The text dipped along the crease of the pages. She turned the book and pressed it open.

Speak the words before death. Those who Bring true will be served.

A ruckus erupted outside the door. Panic shot through Ravyn. She jumped off the bed, raced to Rhys’s room, and shoved the journal into his bag. As quietly as possible, she slid the bolt on his door and jogged to her room. Loud thuds sounded near the base of her door.

“Who is it?”

“Luc,” he grunted.

Ravyn opened her door.

A large trunk was perched precariously on one of his shoulders, and he held a smaller wooden box under his arm. He scowled. “A little help, please.”

“Sorry.” She pulled open the door and retrieved the smaller box. He pushed past her and tramped into the room, setting the crate at the foot of her bed. Ravyn stuck her head out the door before closing it. Three women watched from down the hall, their expressions stony. So much for discretion.

“How many gowns did you bring?” he said. “This is heavy.”

She shut the door and faced him. “I only brought one gown. These are my weapons—crossbow, arrows, and a few short spears.”

“You must have an entire arsenal in there.”

“Well, you know how we girls are, Luc. If I wear my black leather, then my crossbow looks nice. If I’m wearing green, then a nice thin saber or short spear is the weapon of choice.”

He shook his head. “You’re the only woman I know who accessorizes her artillery.”

“Functionality is no reason to disregard fashion,” she teased. “So, did you get Jade settled?”

“Yes,” he snapped. He stood and paced across the room. “There’s something off about that woman.”

“She may be a bit of an eccentric, but she saved my life—all our lives.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Still there’s something about her. She’s too secretive…and irritating.” He raised his voice to imitate Jade. “Give me back my bag. Don’t escort me. Stop following me. Put me down.”

Ravyn blinked. “Put me down?”

“She wouldn’t stay where I told her to so I picked her up and carried her.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. The woman needs a good lesson in humility.”

“Luc.” Ravyn shook her head. “You’re dense.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one screeching like a banshee.” He dropped onto the chair with a sigh.

“I think you like her.”

“Like her? I’d rather contract the plague than be around her. I was watching her because you told me to. Remember?”

“I remember, but I also tried to tell you I’d changed my mind about her being involved with the Bane.”

He grunted as if unconvinced.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So what did you find out?”

He rose from the chair and paced. “Nothing.”

“Did you kiss her?”

Luc stopped and looked at her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A great deal.”

Rhys opened her door and stopped. His gaze rebounded between her and Luc as he hovered in the doorway. He pinned her with his icy stare tinged with—was that jealousy?

“What’s going on?”

She ignored the flutter in her stomach. “Luc likes Jade.”

“I do not.” Luc pointed at her and said to Rhys, “How can you stand her? She’s so irritating.”

Rhys said nothing, only continued to stare.

“How’d the meeting go?” Ravyn asked him.

Luc perked up. “You met with the Council already?”

“Yes. They don’t trust me.”

“From what I hear,” Luc said, “they don’t trust anyone, including one another.”

“What did you tell them?” Ravyn asked.

“Exactly what they asked for and nothing more. Fromme Bagita wasn’t very happy with me.” Rhys seemed extremely satisfied with himself. “He took an exceptional dislike to my answers.”

“You weren’t supposed to antagonize them,” Ravyn said.

“I simply answered their questions.”

“Don’t you mean answered their questions simply?” Luc asked.

“You’re splitting hairs,” Rhys said. “They already know I’m difficult. They would become suspicious if I was suddenly cooperative.”

“When do I meet with them?” She couldn’t keep her voice from wavering.

He sighed. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll escort you. I want them to know you’re protected.”

For once, she would happily let him play protector and savior. The bell chimed in the cabinet, breaking the tension in the room. Rhys opened the cubby door to reveal three platters heaping with hot, delicious-smelling food. They each gathered a dish and carried it to the round table in the middle of Ravyn’s chamber. Within minutes, a meal fit for royalty had been set. Her mouth watered as she bent and inhaled the savory aroma of duck, tiny potatoes, and some vegetable she couldn’t identify, with a platter of sugar cakes and tarts for dessert. If she kept eating like this, she’d have to revisit Madam Turner to purchase bigger leathers.

They spent the rest of the evening eating and speculating on what the Council would do during its interrogation. After the fifth time being told not to reveal her firepower, Ravyn yawned. She moved to her bed and lay down, her head sinking into the pillow. “I understand. No fire.”

Luc stood and stretched. “I’m off to bed. I’ll be here in the morning to escort you as well.”

Ravyn’s heart swelled at his protective nature. “Thank you.”

Rhys rose, and gazed at her for several seconds.

She stared back, wondering what he was thinking, hoping he would stay.

“Get a good night’s sleep,” he said.

He scooted back the chair and walked to the adjoining door. She mentally sighed. Nobody could accuse Rhys of being weak-willed.

Luc’s brow knit, his look silently asking her what was wrong.

Ravyn shrugged.

He scowled.

She shook her head, telling him not to push the issue.

Then he shrugged.

The entire silent conversation happened before Rhys reached his door.

“Coming, Luc?” he asked over his shoulder.

Luc picked up a small berry tart and popped it in his mouth. “Good night, Ravyn.”

“Good night.”

He was like a large child at times. She smiled as he left the room licking his fingers. Rhys glowered at him and pulled the door between their rooms shut.

She climbed out of bed and stacked the dishes inside the cubby. After giving the bell pull a yank, she stripped off her clothes. Cool night air brushed her skin and sent tiny goose bumps along her arms. She rummaged in her bag and her fingers grazed the purple gown Madam Turner had given her. The material shimmered as she slid it across her hand. She’d brought it on a whim, a decision that now made her feel foolish. She laid the dress over the back of the chair.

The quiet click of the lock echoed around her silent chamber. She scowled at the door. What did Rhys think? She was so madly in love with him she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself? Arrogant oaf.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Morning came too quickly. Ravyn rolled onto her back and jumped when her gaze fell on Rhys. He sat in the straight-backed chair, watching her. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Was she dreaming? “What are you doing here?”

“I think you should wear a gown to see the Council,” he said.

“What?” She sat up and stretched. The sheet pooled around her waist, exposing her thin shift. She noticed his eyes linger on her breasts. Maybe he wasn’t as immune to her as he’d like to believe. “Why?”

He rubbed his hand over the black stubble on his face. “You look too formidable in your leathers. Your gown will make you appear less threatening. The Council may even underestimate you.”

She answered with an unladylike snort. “I think I’ve forgotten how to act meek.”

“Just be yourself. This group is drunk on its own importance. They won’t want to believe you’re more powerful than they are.” He paused and lifted his arm. The flimsy purple gown dangled from his fingers. “What is this?”

Ravyn cleared her throat and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She walked across the room, plucked the garment from his hand, and stuffed the dress into her bag. She turned to face him. “A gift.”

He fired his next question. “From whom?”

“A friend.” She let the innuendo hang in the air. If he was jealous, so much the better. “Now, please leave so I can get dressed.”

He stood and stared at her, his unasked questions filling the room. She stared back, not willing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

A knock on his chamber door pulled Rhys’s attention from her. He stomped into his room and closed the adjoining door. Not wasting any time, Ravyn dressed in her one conservative blue gown and leather boots. She dug a wooden brush from her bag and tried to tame her mass of hair. With deft fingers, she divided and plaited the strands into a single, thick braid, then surveyed herself in the mirror.

“That’s about as proper as I’m going to get.”

She stored the rest of her things inside the trunk and dragged her dagger from under the pillow. The sensation of binding wrapped around her hand as she slipped the weapon into her boot. She stuffed the tome and Bowen’s journal between her mattresses. No sense in tempting curious Bringers.

The words from Rhys’s father’s diary floated back to her. “In death there is life, in sacrifice return. All barriers destroyed and evil be spurned.” She stopped and stared at her hand. A prickle ran along the white scar where she’d cut herself with the dagger while fighting the Bane at the cemetery. She clenched and unclenched her fingers.

Rhys knocked. “Ravyn, are you ready?”

“Yes.” She squeezed her hand again and rubbed it against her thigh. “Coming.”

As she entered the room, she noticed Siban standing just inside the door. He bowed. “Morning, my lady.”

“Siban, what a surprise.” She glanced at Rhys.

“He took the transport after ours.” Rhys hesitated. “He says he needs to be here.”

Unease settled over Ravyn as she looked at the Tell. “Some-thing bad?”

“I don’t know, my lady. Better safe than sorry.”

She nodded. Yes, she was quickly learning better safe than sorry.

Somebody knocked and Siban leaned over and opened the door.

“Siban,” Luc said as he entered the room. “What a surprise.”

He grasped Luc’s forearm. “So I’ve been told.”

“Well, it looks like I have a formidable escort.” The three men stared at her with a mixture of protective ferocity and helplessness. “Stop looking at me like I’m a lamb going to slaughter? They’re only people.”

“Bringers. They are still Bringers,” Rhys growled. He turned to Luc. “I don’t like this. One of us should be in the chamber with her.”

Her anger flared. She was tired of Rhys expecting one thing, then disputing her every action. Expected to train but not allowed to fight. Expected to be a Bringer but only when it suited him. Willing to take her to his bed but not willing to take a chance on them.

“I can take care of myself. I don’t need you holding my hand every step of the way.”

“You already underestimate the Council, even after I’ve told you not to.”

“I think I’ve done well taking care of myself so far, or have you forgotten the little incident two nights ago?” She regretted the words the second they spilled from her lips.

He bared his teeth at her. “I haven’t forgotten. There’s a huge hole in the deck of my ship to remind me.”

“Why you ungrateful son of—”

“Enough.”Luc stepped between them. The vehemence in his voice shocked Ravyn into silence. “This is neither the time nor the place for this argument.”

She crossed her arms and gave Luc a single nod, even though she wanted nothing more than to rail at Rhys. Was he actually angry about his ship, after she and Jade had saved the entire crew? Rage seethed just below the surface. What a fool to believe he could feel anything more than duty and obligation. What a fool to hope he’d been falling in love with her. Good thing she found out now that it took so little to fall out of his favor. With a stiff spine and her head held high, she marched out of the room.

Rhys fell in beside her while Luc and Siban posted themselves at her back. Some of her anger cooled as they passed through the halls of Illuma Grand. She could only imagine the spectacle they made. One small woman guarded by three imposing and strikingly beautiful men. People lined the walls, stopping to stare, openmouthed.

Rhys led her through what looked like a huge gathering room and down a wide marble staircase. As they descended deeper into the earth, the crowds of people thinned. Soon, all trace of the morning sun disappeared and only the flickering light from mounted braziers lit their way. By the time they reached the last step, nobody remained but the four of them.

“This is rather uninviting.” Her voice echoed in the polished marble hall. A chill ran up her arms.

“The Council loves drama,” Luc said.

Two arched doors loomed at the end of the passage. Rhys’s hand touched her waist and guided her forward. She didn’t pull away, needing any warmth and comfort she could get, even though she was still angry with him. Maybe she wasn’t as brave as she thought. Torches burned in the wall sconces, but the stark space lent a cold, unwelcoming feel to their golden light.

The huge, black doors of the Council chamber remained closed and forbidding. Ravyn and the men stopped and waited without speaking. Words seemed too harsh in the chill of the silent chamber, as if speaking would shatter the bond between the four of them.

She studied the carved design on the door. Mythical creatures swirled across the polished wood. The same dragon as Rhys’s healing pendant stretched along the panel of one door, and on the opposite side, a phoenix twisted in an aerial dance.

“Incredible,” Ravyn whispered. She ran her hand over the phoenix’s tail. Warmth seeped into her chilled fingers and across her hand. She rubbed her thumb over her fingertips and looked at Rhys. “What do the carvings mean?”

“Nobody knows. They’ve been here for as long as anyone can remember. Most believe they are nothing more than beautiful craftsmanship.” His hand glided across the dragon, and he smiled slightly. “But I think they have more significance.”

Ravyn noticed how his fingers caressed the ridge of the dragon’s back in an almost loving manner.

He lowered his hand and looked at her. “Ready?”

She released a heavy breath and squared her body. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Siban and Luc braced their hands against a door and waited. She took a deep breath and nodded. As Rhys’s hand slipped around her side, the other two shoved against the doors. Hinges creaked as the massive panels swung inward. Ravyn’s stomach roiled, and she silently counted to ten as the doors opened like the parting curtain of a play, slowly revealing the cast. Nine Council members faced her, each seated behind a long table that stretched across the back of the chamber—four women and five men.

Her instinct was to tighten her shields and protect herself. Instead, she lowered her barriers a little, opening herself to the vibrations of the room. She sent feelers of awareness outward, searching for information that would give her the edge.

A mixture of animosity, curiosity, disbelief, and even hopeful anticipation greeted her. At first touch, she couldn’t tell who exuded which emotion, but by the looks on their faces and their body language, it wouldn’t be difficult to figure it out.

Rhys pressed her forward. Four soaring arches intersected at the center of the room’s ceiling, directly above a large circle laid into the stonework of the floor. A buzz ran up her legs and out the top of her head when they stopped in the middle of the sphere. She shivered and mentally shook herself.

She glanced at Rhys and, by the look on his face, knew he also felt the power. The energy made her giddy, and she struggled to focus on the Council.

In each chair sat a Council member, and behind each member hung a portrait with his or her likeness. Most were tastefully painted and simply hung, but a few of them had been so ostentatiously posed and ornately framed they surpassed the boundaries of good taste.

Rhys bowed and tugged at the back of Ravyn’s skirt. She curtsied but said nothing.

His voice resonated through the chamber, deep and confident. “May I present Lady Ravyn Mayfield of Menda Abbey.”

A couple of the members smiled, some appeared bored, while the remaining few scowled. She didn’t need her Bringer intuition to know where the animosity emanated from. A large, bald man swathed in deep maroon brocade rose from the center seat at the table. Silver fox circled the collar of his robe, making him look like a lion. Ravyn bit back a laugh and cleared her throat, trying to subdue the room’s effect on her. She narrowed her lids and focused on him.

The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes when he spoke, and he ignored Ravyn. “Welcome, Lord Blackwell.”

The urge to laugh bubbled up again and nearly spilled out. What was wrong with her? Ravyn pinched her thigh. Hard. The pain brought back her focus, and she realized she should be insulted by this man’s rebuff.

He stared at Rhys in challenge.

Silence rang through the chamber. Three of the Council mem-bers shifted in their seats while the two closest to the man who’d just spoken smiled.

Ravyn bit the inside of her cheek.

“We will be waiting outside if you need us.” Rhys’s statement echoed through the chamber and she had no doubt he’d said it as a warning to the Council. He glared at the standing man for several seconds before leaving the room.

Hinges squeaked, and the soft swish of the doors sounded behind her. She stood alone and silent. Let him insult her. What the Council thought of her didn’t matter. This introduction was a courtesy Rhys had extended to them.

The large man leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Lady Mayfield, how interesting to have you here.”

It was neither a compliment nor an insult. She could play this game. “Thank you, Lord…?”

A few of the Council members cleared their throats and Jacob Le Daun chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement. The two watchdogs next to the speaker scowled, their disdain pouring over her like a cold bucket of water.

“I am Fromme Bagita, but you may call me Lord Bagita.”

She inclined her head but said nothing more.

Lord Bagita folded his hands on the table in front of him, oozing superiority. “Do you know why you have been summoned?”

“You did not summon me, Lord Bagita.” She would let him know from the start that he wasn’t in control. “I believe you were informed of our impending arrival and Lord Blackwell requested this meeting.”

Fromme puffed up and opened his mouth to argue, but Jacob Le Daun cleared his throat. “She is correct,” Jacob said. “My son notified us of his arrival and requested an assembly on Lord Blackwell’s behalf so that we might meet Lady Mayfield.”

Bagita’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he turned a strained smile to Ravyn. “Well then, Lady Mayfield, why have we assembled? It must be a matter of significance to take us away from our important duties.”

“To warn you of the Bane threat. To tell you of my encounters with the demons.” She sifted through Rhys’s endless lecture from last night. Not to show my abilities, she reminded herself. The energy inside the room was making her body hum like a huge tuning fork. “Rhys offers this as a show of his willingness to cooperate with the Council.”

Fromme opened his arms wide. “So, Lord Blackwell has condescended to grace us with his presence and share what I am sure will be fascinating new information.”

Ravyn remained silent.

“That is so very like Blackwell.” Bagita folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Running on the assumption that the Council waits with bated breath for any tidbit of information he sees fit to share.”

“Lord Blackwell is concerned with the progression of the Bane.” She struggled to keep the accusation out of her voice. “And the lack of response from the Bringers of Illuma Grand.”

“Yes, we’re well aware of Blackwell’s inflated views of the Bane.” Lord Bagita relaxed into his chair and splayed his hands over his broad stomach, his chins pooling against the wide fur collar. “Has he not shared the fact that our ancestors annihilated the demons over a thousand years ago? Since then we’ve lived in peace.”

“Annihilated?” It was her turn to scowl. The thick energy pulsed, elevating her sensitivity to the thoughts and expectations in the room, and heightening her emotions. Her anger expanded by an illogical amount. She rubbed the spot on her shoulder where Icarus had speared her. “I can assure you, Lord Bagita, the Bane are very much alive and growing in numbers. I have the scars and the memories to prove it.”

Mutters rippled through the Council. Perhaps they finally understood the growing peril.

Fromme gave Ravyn a patronizing smile. “I see Lord Blackwell has swayed you to his way of thinking.”

“No, my lord. Hanging twelve feet off the ground in the clutches of a demon did that.”

The smile tightened on his round face as murmurs from the other Council members swelled. Fromme held up a hand. “We will convene privately and take this new information under advisement.”

Like a pile of dirt conveniently swept under a rug—that’s how Lord Bagita treated her.

“Are you putting me off?”

Snickers tittered from the left side of the table.

“Think well before you dismiss me, Lord Bagita. This may be your only chance to understand your peril.”

“Really?” Something in the way he looked at her made her wary. This was a man with secrets. “Well, Lady Ravyn, rest assured that the Council is not as ignorant as Blackwell would have you believe.”

A thin, rat-faced man sitting at the left side of the table glared at her. “What are you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand your question, sir.”

“What are you, girl?” He squinted as if to see her better. “A Redeemer, or perhaps a Tell?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

The man grunted. “Blackwell deems it necessary for us to meet you, yet you can’t answer the simplest question?”

The woman to the left of him laughed.

Pompous ass, as Jade would say. A line of fire burned down Ravyn’s arms, taking her by surprise. She fisted her hands. No, this was not the time or place for her powers to flare. Energy danced around her, calling her, answering her need to defend herself. The hum running through her body nearly overwhelmed her.

“I’m a Bringer,” she bit out.

“Yes, yes, girl, we are all Bringers, but where do your talents lie?” he pressed.

Little by little, she wrestled her fire under control. Why now? It wasn’t possible for a Bane to be inside Illuma Grand. Was it? Desperation pulled at her. Rhys had said the Council was blind to the demon threat, but she hadn’t actually believed him. She’d thought there would be some acknowledgement that the Bane still existed beyond the walls of Illuma Grand and were actively stealing souls. There wasn’t. They’d turned a blind eye for their own selfish agendas. These people needed to understand the severity of the situation. The Council had to listen to Rhys. His group wasn’t just a band of misguided rebels.

“Can you heal people,” asked the rat-faced man.

“Or tell the future?” the woman added.

“Are you at all gifted in the art of battle?”

They bombarded her with questions, not giving her time to answer. Her control slipped. The fire pushed her to prove herself.

She shuddered against what she was about to do. Rhys would kill her. Slowly lowering her mental shields, she allowed the rat-faced man’s essence to pour into her. He crowded her spirit, taking up space inside her body. She adjusted to the oily feel of his aura as he slid against hers. Her awareness shied away, repelled by his self-centered presence and the way he consumed everything he touched, even the very space occupied by her soul.

She probed his life force, her own personality shifting to enfold him. Greed, lust, and bloated self-righteousness eddied around her. She was Deputy Master Byrnes.

“Perhaps you can help me discover the answer.” She glided forward and stopped in front of him. He stared, not breaking eye contact. “Deputy Master Byrnes.”

“Lord Blackwell has obviously instructed you on the members of the Council.” He looked at the pinched-faced woman, who sat to his left, and back to Ravyn. His body leaned, his shoulder nearly touching the woman’s. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

She could feel his obsession with the woman sitting next to him. Not his wife. He was a man of some importance and deemed himself more important than others did. He felt slighted in many areas of his life.

“You’re a leader but not followed. A lover but unloved.”

The woman gasped. The Deputy’s face purpled. “Blackwell’s lies.”

“Perhaps,” Ravyn said. She moved to stand in front of the woman beside him. As Lord Byrnes’ essence drained away, the female’s essence flowed in. Ravyn sifted through it. Desire for Byrnes swamped her. Desire but not love. It took all of Ravyn’s control not to vomit. She smiled at the woman. “Tsk, tsk, Lady Grimes, you’ve been a very bad girl.”

She slid her glance toward Deputy Master Byrnes. Lady Grimes stiffened and pointed at Ravyn. “She’s a Tell.” The woman’s glare burned into her. “And a rude one at that.”

Ravyn raised her eyebrows. “Am I?”

An insidious elation crept through her. Knowing the sins of people gave her a sense of power. Each bit of information she gleaned was like a link in a chain that bound them to her. She was in control. Heat spread across her shoulders like a fiery hug. Ravyn shook herself, recognizing her descent into the forbidden territory of greed. What was it about this room that made her want to dominate every member of the Council?

She moved to stand in front of the man to the left of Lady Grimes. Lord Grimes. Gentleness flowed over Ravyn. He was a kind man and loved his wife, much to the detriment of his happiness. Ravyn’s feet and legs began to ache as Lord Grimes’ essence slipped further inside. Pain traveled up her calves. She sensed his daily discomfort and placed her palms on top of his hands.

Lord Grimes convulsed at first touch but didn’t pull away. The desire to help him swept through her. She tapped her well of power and visualized the warmth traveling through her hands and into Lord Grimes’ body, mending tissue, strengthening bones, and burning away the sickness.

She sent light into him and silently recited the ancient words Rhys had used to heal her at the inn. The familiar breeze brushed against her as she asked the spirits to restore Lord Grimes to health. After several minutes, she drew back her energy and removed her hands.

Lord Grimes sighed. “She must be a Redeemer.” Whispers of amazement echoed around the chamber. “I have no more pain in my leg. None at all.” He smiled at her. “Even after healings they still usually pain me a bit.”

A heady superiority coursed through her as heat pulsed in the palms of her hands, wanting more, demanding to heal again. “Yes, maybe I’m a Redeemer.”

She stopped in front of the last man at the table. He’d tucked his chin-length black hair neatly behind his ears and sported a trimmed goatee. Except for the gold hoop dangling in his ear, he was dressed all in black. He appeared much younger than the other Council members, and stared at her with eyes the color of silver coins. His gaze unnerved her, as if he saw and could read her easily.

She opened herself to him, nervous about receiving his essence. Nothing flowed in. She searched, but found only a solid wall.

He watched her, a small smile tugging at his lips. This man was more than he pretended to be. A crack in his consciousness opened and a name drifted to her: Sir Gregory James.

She realized he had fed the information to her. Her anger fumed. She controlled this meeting, not him. She pushed against his barrier but felt no give.

His expression turned wary.

“What do you think, Sir James? Am I a Tell or am I a Redeemer?”

“I have no idea, Lady Ravyn.” His gaze remained steady, his essence locked behind impenetrable barriers. “Perhaps you have extraordinary powers. You might even have had a run-in with the Bane.”

A few of the members snickered.

“Or maybe you are a girl who has no idea what she’s talking about,” he said.

Fire pooled in her hands. She squeezed her fingers together; knowing the urge to blast Sir Gregory James wasn’t rational. The indignation consuming her challenged her control. She returned a tight smile and stepped away from him. Her control slipped. They were all fools, weak and ignorant. The need to dominate the Council consumed her.

She inhaled deeply, clinging to the few threads of rational thought left. These people were not her enemies. Energy coursed through her as if she were facing the Bane. Something was very wrong but she didn’t know how to stop the consuming anger.

“Perhaps you are right, Sir James.” She hissed the sentence at him. He moved to stand but she turned away and forced her body to walk to the center of the room. She needed Rhys. Where was he? Always there when she didn’t want him, never around when she needed him. Even though she knew it wasn’t true, the thought tore through her.

“Are you all right, Lady Ravyn?” Sir Gregory said.

She opened her mouth but the words wouldn’t come. Her foot hovered above the circle on the floor, trying to resist the urge to step in the center. Her will weakened and each delicate thread to reality snapped. She stepped into the center.

Shocks of energy traveled up her legs and rippled through her torso. Her body quivered, and she was aware the Council members were on their feet, some shouting in alarm. Heat engulfed her, burning through every cell of her body. The power coiled and pushed against her skin with the need to expand and encompass. Her quivers gave way to shudders as she clung to her restraints, but the tethers of control slipped from her grasp.

Flames plumed around her like the blazing petals of a flower. She felt the heat but wasn’t burned. Screams erupted and people moved toward her. Imprisoned by her powers, she was helpless against their desire. She lifted her arm, trying to stop them from approaching, but two bolts of lightning shot from her hands, blasting Fromme Bagita’s portrait and catapulting everybody backward, including Ravyn.

She hit the floor and slid, stopping at the feet of Rhys, Luc, and Siban.

They don’t look very happy, she thought, seconds before she passed out.

…

Rhys paced in front of Ravyn as she sat propped against the wall. He’d entered seconds before she’d been engulfed in flames The Council had departed the chamber in a hive of whispers and stares. He stopped and glared down at her. “What happened?”

“I already told you,” she said, rubbing her temples.

He stopped in front of her and placed a hand over her head against the wall. “Tell me again.”

“I couldn’t control my fire. There’s something about the room.”

“Why didn’t you call for help?”

“I tried but I couldn’t.”

“Even I’ve never erupted into flames.” He took a deep breath, trying to comprehend how things had gone so awry. “You must have done something.”

“No, nothing. It just happened. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Until I understand.”

“I was angry.” She shifted away from the wall. Luc took her arm and helped her stand. “It was like I was standing in the center of my well of power.” She rubbed her hands over her face.“I couldn’t control it.”

“I knew I should have been in there with you,” Rhys growled.

“And you’re lucky Bagita didn’t have you arrested for fire-balling his lovely portrait,” Luc added.

“Not helping, Le Daun.” Rhys kicked the wall. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle this. Now the Council knows we hold more than just information.”

“Good,” Ravyn snapped. “These people need a leader. Why not show them what we’re capable of. Let them decide who to follow?”

“Oh, so you’re suddenly the expert on what our people need? A month ago you were locked behind stone walls and iron bars. You know nothing about these people or what they need.”

He hardened his heart against the tears welling in her eyes. The sight of Ravyn erupting into flames had nearly brought him to his knees. He was angry and knew he was lashing out, but today’s meeting had given Bagita more than just the knowledge of Ravyn’s powers. He’d seen the way Fromme’s eyes had glittered with anticipation. He’d looked at Ravyn like a shiny new bauble, which equated to another pawn to position for his benefit. That’s why he hadn’t arrested all of them. Ravyn was too valuable. Rhys cursed himself for agreeing to this damn plan.

“It’s not her fault,” Luc said, drawing him out of his brooding.

Rhys turned on him. “You’re right. If I hadn’t been taken in by yours and Nattie’s pleas, this never would have happened. I knew she wasn’t ready and yet I allowed it. I blame myself and you.”

“I’m done talking about this,” Ravyn said. “You can blame me, blame yourself, blame the Council, but that won’t solve our problems. We came here for a reason. I for one don’t plan to tuck tail and run because of a little incident.”

She pushed past Siban and stomped up the steps.

He wanted to go after her and tell her how scared he’d been when the doors of the chamber door had blown open. But he didn’t. This was how it had to be. Maybe it was better if she hated him.

“She’s really angry,” Luc said. “Go after her.”

Rhys shook his head and peeled his gaze away from the now-empty stairwell and looked at the two men. “No. It needs to be this way.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

After changing into her leathers, Ravyn found refuge on the second floor above the Great Hall. A dark alcove fashioned into the wall was a perfect spot to wallow in self-pity. She didn’t know how long she sat curled up on the stone bench, railing about Rhys and contemplating her future. But as the shadows of the pillars grew long and the walkway darkened, her anger began to fade.

Irritated by her own weakness, she struggled to come to terms with her displeasure. She’d spent over two decades living in a place where she rarely received a kind word, and she’d been fine. Strong, as a matter-of-fact. But the second Rhys said an unkind word, she fell apart. Some soldier she turned out to be.

Unrequited love hurt too much. He’d destroyed the walls she’d built around her heart and ruined her. Not because he’d taken her virginity. She’d given that freely. But because she now knew she wanted love and to be loved. And after a few hours of silent misery, she realized it wasn’t just love she wanted, but his love.

Voices from the Great Hall rose above the walkway and pulled Ravyn from her depression. She stood. Her back and hips ached from sitting on the cold stone for so long. She stretched and shook the feeling back into her legs. With an uneven gait, she limped to the railing and peered down into the hall.

A sea of gray swirled around a group of white-robed people. Ravyn recognized them immediately as The Order’s superiors. She took a step back, her heart galloping, threatening to tear away from her chest. Why were they here? Surely not for her. Possibilities raced through her mind but nothing made sense.

She scanned the crowd for Rhys or Luc but didn’t see them. They had to leave—tonight. A chill skittered through her and she rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the unease. She inched forward and leaned over the rail.

A black-robed figure amongst the sea of gray drew her attention. The hint of biting tapped against her arm. No, it couldn’t be. Before she could step back, the figure turned and stared up.

Bile rose, and his name hissed from her lips, pushed from her body by shock. “Powell.”

The monk stripped away whatever sense of security she’d had. He was here. Powell placed a hand on the shoulder of one of The Order’s Superiors and whispered in his ear. The figure nodded but made no further move.

Ravyn backed away from the rail and flattened her body against the cold marble. She had to find Rhys. Her mind raged with questions, demanding to know why Powell had come. But Ravyn knew why. He’d come for her.

Movement across the walkway drew her attention. She ducked into the alcove, frightened. Had Powell brought other minions? Panic made it difficult to breathe.

A man appeared in the walkway directly across from her. Sir Gregory James. What was he doing up here? He ignored the crowd below, his attention focused on somebody she couldn’t see.

Ravyn ducked behind a pillar and waited. A woman glided out of the shadows and Ravyn leaned forward, trying to get a better view. Her gaze narrowed as the woman stopped in front of Sir James. Were these two in league with Powell? She’d been so close to Lord James this morning. Surely she would have felt some disturbance from him. Or maybe not. He’d fed her his name. Maybe he was able to keep things locked behind his impenetrable wall, including his association with the Bane.

The woman turned in her direction and Ravyn’s breath caught.

Long black hair plaited in a braid just like her own hung down the woman’s back. She was the same build and height as Ravyn, and she wore pants, not exactly like Ravyn’s leathers, but similar. Staring at her was like looking at a mirror. The woman’s gaze turned in her direction and Ravyn gasped. Pale eyes reflected in the dim afternoon light. Though Ravyn couldn’t distinguish their color, she’d bet her life they were pale blue—like hers.

Sir Gregory’s head snapped toward Ravyn and pinned her with his stare. She couldn’t move, overwhelmed but not quite knowing what she had seen. The woman melted into the shadows, and after a second, he followed and disappeared.

She raced after them, needing to know who the woman was. A sense of the familiar drove her forward as she hurtled down the staircase. She stopped and scanned the crowd for Powell’s black robe, but only gray ebbed around her. Seeing Sir Gregory’s head towering above most of the throng, Ravyn barreled into the Bringers and pushed against the flow, trying to keep up. She made her way out of the crush and into the open courtyard. The echo of running footsteps spurred her on as she careened down the walkway and around the corner of the building. The tingle of biting subsided as she raced away from the Great Hall.

Hooves thundered as the mystery woman kicked her horse and raced away from Sir James, down the trail of Illuma Grand. Ravyn bent and braced her hands on her knees. She wanted to yell, wanted to shout for the woman to stop, but her heart pounded and her chest burned.

“Damn.” She was too late. She straightened and walked over to Sir James. They both stared down the now-empty lane. “Who is she?”

The question hung in the air. Gregory peered at her for a few seconds, making Ravyn think he wouldn’t reply. “All in good time, Lady Mayfield.”

Without another word, he walked away, leaving her alone on the front steps of Illuma Grand. She contemplated finding a horse and chasing after the woman, but knew her effort would be wasted. She was gone.

Her powers flared, shaking her to the core. She stumbled and lurched forward, grabbing a stone balustrade. Fire raced up her spine and down her arms as she fought the urge to vomit. An arm wrapped around her neck and wrenched her backward. Her feet dangled a step below her attacker. She clawed at the arm around her neck, scrambling for a foothold. The sensation of falling unbalanced her as she struggled to breathe. Blackness crept in at the edges of her vision like dense smoke. Screams couldn’t push past the arm crushing her neck.

She latched onto the arm choking her and released her heat. The fire raced along her arms and into her hands, willing her attacker to burn.

“Not this time, girl.”

The words whispered in her ear as a damp cloth covered her mouth and nose, filling her lungs with a sickly sweet odor. A single name screamed through her mind an instant before she slid into unconsciousness.

Powell.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Powell laid Ravyn’s limp form at the edge of the clearing and stepped away from her as if offering food to a deadly predator. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and searched the surrounding woods. “Icarus.”

“I’m here, Brother.” Icarus stepped from the shadows. He circled Powell and came to a stop in front of him. Only inches away, Icarus smelled his fear, tasted his desire to please. “You’ve done well. You’ll be greatly rewarded for your service.”

The words rushed out. “Thank you, Icarus.”

Euphoria and anticipation of what Icarus’s praise would bring shone in the monk’s eyes. He’d seen it a hundred times—the promise of power, the taste of glory. Powell postured at being stronger than other minions, but he was just a puppet, an addict to the Bane’s essence. The good Brother hadn’t disappointed tonight, and, for that, Icarus would give him his fix—but not with Ravyn. He wouldn’t share the Ritual of Taking with a greedy minion who watched and panted for his prize.

Icarus glanced at her unconscious body. No, tonight he’d join with the Bringer in private. He moved toward her and crouched, then glided a talon over her cheek to brush a wayward curl from her face. Tonight would be for him.

His talon lingered over her skin. Forbidden tenderness rolled over him as he laid his hand flat against her cheek. So much softness and power contained in such a beautiful package. His fingers slipped to her neck. Her pulse beat strong and steady.

A familiar and unwelcome voice wafted out of the darkness. “Isn’t this a touching scene?”

Slowly rising, Icarus turned and faced Sha-hera. She leaned against a tree, her arms crossed, lifting her ample breasts nearly out of their sheer covering.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my business, whore,” Icarus said.

“Yes, I remember you saying something like that.” She pushed away from the tree and sauntered into the clearing. “You didn’t really think I’d heed your warning—” She stopped in front of Powell and looked at Icarus. “Did you?”

“Actually, I did. Stupid of me to think you were smarter than that.”

Sha-hera replied with a throaty laugh. She looked back at the monk and cocked her head. “So this is one of your pets?”

Powell swallowed heavily and took a step backward. His gaze cut to Icarus and back to the female demon.

“Icarus, haven’t you ever explained to your minions the dangers of leaving holy ground?”

Powell sent a pleading look to Icarus. She paced in front of him. He really should help the monk, if for no other reason than to best Sha-hera at her own game. But showing any type of favoritism would only provoke her. Though he hated to admit it, he’d been overzealous in acquiring the Bringer and hadn’t given his minion’s safety much thought. Not that he normally would, it’s just that Powell had become very useful and well-placed within The Order. He had bigger plans for the monk, and losing him would mean starting over.

“Sha-hera,” Icarus said, lacing his words with boredom and menace. “What are you doing here?”

She dragged her talons none too gently across Powell’s neck as she circled him. He whimpered and flinched away from her touch.

“Your father sent me.” She stopped and wrapped an arm around the monk, drumming her talons on his upper arm. “He didn’t trust you to bring him the woman.”

Icarus sneered. “You lie.”

“Do I?” She sauntered toward him. Powell inched toward the trees. “Do you actually believe your father doesn’t know of your hunger for the throne?”

“Ironic coming from you. A viperous snake, waiting to strike,” he retorted.

She laughed and walked toward Ravyn’s body. Icarus stepped in front of her and bared his fangs, warning her off. She stopped and her laughter died.

“He knows, but as he cannot destroy me without an immortal weapon, he chooses to keep me close.” She crouched and surveyed Ravyn. “He understands me because we are the same.” Standing, she pinned him with her yellow stare. “Unlike you.”

Icarus narrowed his gaze, wondering at her tactics. “He understands me. I am his son.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong. Vile neither trusts nor understands you and do you know why?” A smile of genuine pleasure crept across her full lips. “I do.”

He held her gaze, wondering if she knew of Vile’s plans to open The Abyss of Souls. Uneasiness sifted through him. There was something more in her smile, some knowledge she held that he didn’t. “Enlighten me.”

Sha-hera’s head snapped to the right as Powell ran for the trees, obviously realizing his poor judgment of being in the presence of two demons off sanctified ground. Her shrill laughter filled the clearing as she pounced; taking the monk down before he’d reached the tree line.

“Going somewhere, Brother?”

“Please, I’ll do anything.” The words stuttered in rapid promises. “I can help. I know people.” His promises melted into sobbing. “Please don’t kill me.”

She clutched the front of his robe and lifted Powell to a stand, bringing his face an inch from hers. Despite his struggles, he was no match for Sha-hera’s strength.

Icarus stepped toward her. He knew the look in her eye. A hunter on its prey. “Do not anger me further by killing my minion, Sha-hera.”

She ignored him and sniffed Powell. The monk cried out as she ran her tongue up the side of his cheek. “You taste like sin, Brother.”

Prayers tumbled from his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Icarus growled, not wanting to lose his servant but unwilling to leave Ravyn. That would be the opening Sha-hera wanted. One wrong step to swoop in and steal his prize. “Release him.”

Her head twisted toward him with an unnatural bend. He stilled himself against her horrific stare.

“Come and get him,” she hissed.

Icarus didn’t move.

“Icarus, please.” The man’s begging stirred a twinge of protectiveness inside him, but he didn’t allow himself to respond. She dropped the monk. He fell to his knees and folded his hands. Like a drowning man, he reached again for the only lifeboat he’d ever known, and began to pray.

Sha-hera laughed again. “It’s a little late to make amends, Brother.”

The demon grabbed Powell’s hair and yanked his head forward to expose the back of his neck. With a lightning quick move, she rammed a talon into the base of the monk’s skull and severed his spinal cord. His eyes went wide, his mouth open in a soundless scream. She held Powell by the hair, keeping him upright as she glared at Icarus and slowly spun her talon inside the monk’s head. Her hook scraped from his skull as she pulled her talon free and smiled. A generous set of fangs glimmered in the moonlight seconds before she slid the brain-coated claw into her mouth and sucked.

“Mmmm, I must say, Icarus, you have good taste in friends.” She let Powell’s body drop to the ground.

Icarus seethed. The bitch didn’t know when to mind her own business. He stilled himself against his rage. She wanted him angry and unbalanced. “Are you quite finished?”

“Not quite.” She prowled toward him. “I’ll take the Bringer, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, but I do mind.” He snarled and crouched. “If you want her, come and get her.”

Sha-hera mirrored his fighting stance and bared her fangs. “I’m going to enjoy this,” she purred.

“Not nearly as much as I am.”

She sprang as Icarus launched toward her. The two demons collided in midair, wings flaring and talons clashing. She slashed at his throat, but Icarus dodged her deadly attack. He twisted her arm behind her back and as he landed, Icarus spun and released her. Sha-hera soared across the clearing and slammed into a tree. The trunk exploded in a spray of splinters and split down the center. She slid to the ground and rolled, coming to her feet.

“You will never rule the Bane.” She crouched again. “You are Vile’s private joke.” She launched herself at him again.

Icarus met her attack, keeping himself between Ravyn and the she-demon and ignoring the sting of uncertainty her words caused. Razor-sharp fangs sank into his shoulder as she speared him in the sides with her long talons. Pain tore through his torso as Sha-hera punctured flesh and bone, ripping and tearing at the muscle around his ribs. He grabbed her by the horns and dragged her head back to pull her fangs free.

“You are a Bane whore and nothing more,” he said into her face. She snapped, trying to sink her incisors into him. “The only worth you have to the king is when you spread your legs.”

Rage rolled off her and she screamed, pushing her talons deeper, burrowing farther into his body.

“And you are nothing but a lost soul. An idiot dangling at the end of the Demon King’s strings.”

Fire burned as she stripped the flesh from his bones. Still gripping her horns, he pressed her to the ground. Sha-hera braced her legs against their descent, but Icarus used his weight to tip forward and knocked her offbalance. They went down, even though Sha-hera’s talons remained buried. She flared her wings and extended their tips in an effort to impale him, but Icarus levered his knee against her neck and crushed her to the ground.

The she-demon kicked and flopped under the weight of his body, choking as he applied pressure to her throat. Icarus pressed his other knee against her stomach and pinned Sha-hera under him. He seized her wrists and pulled away, extracting her talons from his body. The succubus bucked, trying to unseat him, but Icarus had the advantage of weight and position.

“I am the son of a king,” he gritted out.

She stopped struggling and began to laugh. The sound rubbed against him like sand against his skin. He yanked Sha-hera off the ground and threw her into the air. Before she had time to recover, he pelted her with spinning balls of energy. Tiny bolts of lightning consumed her body as she hung frozen in midair, jerking. Icarus settled on his haunches, crouched for another attack. Her piercing cry made him smile. He catapulted into the air, digging his talons into her neck, and ripped out her throat.

A sickening, sucking noise gurgled from her mouth as she clutched at her neck. With another spin, Icarus blasted her with energy. For the second time in as many days, Sha-hera exploded into a million glowing bits. The embers swirled and twisted, picking up speed. Icarus hauled Ravyn into his arms and braced himself against a tree. Within seconds, the glowing vortex plunged into the earth and disappeared.

He’d defeated Sha-hera, but if what she said was true, his father would be expecting betrayal from him. Sha-hera’s words echoed through his mind. More than likely she’d been baiting him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew more.

As the sands of time ran out, his plan crumbled with it. He bit back a curse. It looked like he’d have to crawl into bed with the enemy. With Ravyn cradled in his arms, he launched himself into the sky.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ravyn shivered and moaned. Why was she so cold? A crippling agony tore through her. Pain shot through her head and down her entire body as she rolled over. Her arms and chest were on fire, burning her from the inside out. Whispers chased around her, but she couldn’t understand what they said. She opened her eyes and stared up. Something moved above her. She squinted and then recoiled. Small hunchbacked creatures stared down at her from jutting rocks. They looked like misshapen monkeys but their brown skin was furless. Blue flames danced in their black, egg-shaped eyes. Demons.

“They’re imps,” said a voice to her left.

Shards of pain raced through her as she turned to see a large, blue-winged demon. His massive, blue-marbled body reclined against the back of a throne. Her eyes widened as the slow revelation of who held her captive sunk in—Vile, the Demon King.

Ravyn turned her head to the right and gasped. Hundreds of Bane demons stood mere yards away, their yellow eyes peering at her with a frightening hunger. She looked back at the ceiling, preferring the imps to the horrid creatures encircling her.

“It’s rather shocking, isn’t it? Waking to find yourself sur-rounded by the Bane, with no chance of escape?” Vile’s voice sounded almost bored. Almost. “There isn’t, you know. In case you were wondering. There is no possible chance of escape.”

Ravyn closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe. Her heart beat so hard it made her nauseous. Tiny shivers, which had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with terror, rippled through her body. She sifted through everything she’d learned over the past few weeks, but no solution came to mind. A sigh escaped her as she struggled to find her calm but failed. She turned to her side and sat up. Her head pounded and her fire pushed against her. Now she understood the agony rushing through her body. How could her power not rage when she was practically drowning in demons? She strengthened her shields and focused on the king.

She feigned calm. “Vile, I presume?”

“Yes,” he purred. “King of the Demon Bane, ruler of the Shadow World, and slayer of Bringers.”

She eased to her feet and dusted off her pants, letting her gaze wander around the chamber. She coughed against the assortment of putrid smells, too numerous and foul to identify. Blue flames burned from pits in the ground but appeared to give off no heat. Rough walls soared to a jagged ceiling. Her perusal tracked downward and settled on the king. She squinted and stilled herself from recoiling as she realized he sat upon a throne made of bones.

“Very”—she coughed again—“impressive.”

“You’re not impressed?” Vile asked.

Scared, yes. Impressed, no. “Should I be?”

“Oh yes, my lady. You should be in awe of my very presence. I am the demon that decimated the entire Bringer population.” Titters of excitement rang through the dark cavern.

She crossed her arms and arched a brow. “Really? Then what am I?”

“Yes, indeed,” he drawled. “What are you?”

He rose and spread his wings as he descended the steps of his dais. She wanted to back up as far as possible, but she didn’t move. His heavy footfalls crushed the debris of bones and rock beneath his feet as he prowled toward her. Vile stopped and towered, peering at her for several seconds with his snakelike eyes.

The fire moved and churned under her skin, beating against her barriers. She shifted as the pressure nearly buckled her knees. Her neck ached from looking up at the demon, but she held his gaze. She might not get out of here alive, but she’d not die a coward.

“You look very much like your mother,” Vile said.

The breath froze in her body. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that was not one of them. Logic told her not to respond, not to fall for his ploy, but cursed curiosity won out. “What do you know of my mother?”

The king smiled triumphantly and stepped away from her. He held his arms out wide in a grand gesture. “My lady, I know everything about your mother. And your father.”

Her chest tightened and dread washed through her. Fire hovered below the skin in the palms of her hand. She readied herself for his lies and his attack.

“Would you like me to tell you about them?” he asked.

She didn’t respond.

“I will,” he said, smiling. “I’ll tell you everything I know. It will be my gift to you before I take your powers and join with you.”

She glanced away, not wanting him to see the effect his words had on her. She scanned the great hall, panning across the demons’ faces. Her gaze stopped, riveted on Icarus across the chamber. His black, muscular body stood framed by the doorway. He watched her, unmoving. She held his gaze as something foreign passed between them. Could she call it comfort? Surely not.

“Icarus is my second-in-command, and my son.” Ravyn didn’t miss Vile’s mocking tone. “After many failed attempts, he has at last succeeded in bringing you to the belly of the Shadow World. I didn’t think he would.”

She noticed he said would, not could. What was Icarus playing at? He could have taken her the night on the ship, but he hadn’t. “Yes, he’s very efficient,” she said flatly.

“Icarus, take the rest of the day off.” Vile threw back his head and laughed at his own joke.

Bowing, Icarus backed out of the arched doorway, his eyes never leaving her until the shadows swallowed him. For whatever reason, his departure did not make her feel better.

She dragged her gaze from the empty entrance and turned to Vile. “Yes, I would like to know about my parents.”

“Splendid,” he bellowed. He strode up the stairs and onto the dais. In true showmanship fashion, he stood in the center so all could see and hear him. “Before I tell you about your parents, let me tell you about yourself.”

Ravyn kept her expression passive, but inside confusion, mistrust, and even hope rioted. There was no sorting through the feelings, not this late in the story. Her posture was stiff and unyielding as she waited for the king of the demons to reveal another unknown chapter of her life. Sadly, the knowledge would come too late.

“You are a Bringer,” he said. “That is to say, my lady, you’re a full-blooded Bringer.”

She struggled to keep her voice even. “Not possible. The last full-bloods were killed over three hundred years ago.”

“They have me to thank for their near-extinction. But you are not from those Bringers.” He stopped, as if she knew what he was talking about. “You are a product of the new Bringers.”

“I don’t understand.”

He paced along the dais, his steps rumbling under the mass of his body. “They thought they were clever, but they weren’t clever enough. You see, I knew.” He paused and pinned her with a stare. “I knew they had come back, searching for their comrades, but I’d already killed them.”

Ravyn couldn’t move, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t look away from the fiery yellow eyes boring into her. What was he saying? Were her parents dead? Had she truly lost them before she got the chance to know them? Or were they still alive? Hope flared.

“You, Lady Ravyn,” he said. “You are the daughter of King Janus and his bitch queen.”

Ravyn stared at him and then burst into laughter. After a second, she wiped her eyes and sighed. “Nobody told me you had a sense of humor.”

“You think I am joking?” he shouted.

She sobered. “I think you’re lying. Why would I believe anything you have to tell me?”

He jumped from the dais, his weight cracking the stone of the floor. He stopped inches from her. “I know, because I watched them come through the archway. I know because I’m the one who led the attack on your father’s retinue. I know because I’m the one who killed your mother and father.”

She fisted her hands, wanting nothing more than to silence his lying mouth but unable to control her need to know more. “If you killed my parents, then how am I alive? Why didn’t you kill me?”

Vile stroked his chin and took a step back. “Yes indeed, why didn’t I kill you?”

Not a demon stirred as she stared him, struggling to temper the fire flaring in her chest.

He tilted his head and gazed at her, then turned and sauntered to his throne. With a flourish of his wings, he folded them behind his back and sat. “I didn’t kill you because I didn’t know you existed. But wasn’t I pleasantly surprised when the monk informed Icarus about the odd girl in the abbey, especially since I thought I’d killed all the full-blooded Bringers. But now I needed some for the Ritual of Taking. A little shortsighted on my part. But here you are, and here I am. It all worked out for the best.”

Growls of laughter sounded behind her. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. He could be lying. Probably was lying. Sainted Ones, she prayed he was lying. Not that it mattered. She was about to die. “Well, you’ve told me. Now what?”

The chamber fell deadly silent.

“Well, Lady Ravyn, I thought we’d have a little fun.”

“Is this before, during, or after you kill me?” she asked warily.

“Kill you?” He looked genuinely surprised. “No, no, I need you alive for what I have planned.” His expression melted into a cunning gaze. “Besides, I’d need an immortal weapon if I were going to kill you.” He stared. “Wouldn’t I?”

She didn’t reply.

“No, Lady Ravyn, this is simply a little entertainment before more important matters.” He stood and clapped his hands. The loud scrape of a metal bolt sliding free sounded from the back of the cavern. “I have something very special planned for you. We’ve been told what a great warrior you are, and I thought I’d give you the chance to show off a bit. I’m dying to see what you’re made of.”

Heavy hinges protested, the high-pitched grind of metal-on-metal screeching through the cavern. Ravyn turned and followed the sound. Blood pounded in her ears and her heart raced. She would fight. She could do that, and had done it several times already. The hair on the back of her neck pricked with a sense of something familiar. Had Vile chosen his largest demon? She looked at the horde and knew she wouldn’t win in a physical fight.

The crowd of Bane in front of her fanned out to make a path for whatever headed her way. She rubbed her hands against her pants, her fire burning against her palms. Fear choked her as she tried to catch a breath.

She could fight. She was a Bringer.

Her thoughts flittered to Rhys. The last memory she’d have of him would be their argument. How she wished she’d told him that she loved him. Regrets weighed heavier than an anchor on a drowning man. She squared her shoulders and faced the crowd.

“I thought a little Bringer versus Bane challenge was in order,” Vile said.

The last of the crowd parted to reveal a leather-clad demon. Her light green skin covered hard, toned muscle, sleek and honed. Ravyn looked into the face of the demon and gasped.

“Angela?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Have you seen Ravyn?” Rhys asked Lady Tobin, one of the Council members.

“Is she missing?”

He smiled. “She probably just stepped outside for some fresh air. I’ll look for her in the garden.”

Luc met him at the terrace doors. “Did you find her?”

Rhys shook his head, and they walked outside for privacy. “Nobody has seen her.”

Where is she? The beast inside stirred. Rhys opened his mind to scan the area. The taint of Bane mingled with the night air. The beast lifted its head, coming fully awake.

“Bane,” Rhys said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Get Siban and meet me at the entrance. Maybe he can tell us something.”

Luc left without question, his pace quick and purposeful. Rhys’s anxiety heightened as the animal’s agitation grew. He filtered through the crowd, the people parting like water around a rock. He would find her. He had to find her. Fear, pure and cold, ran through him. What if the demons had taken her? He punched a wooden door as he passed, sending people scattering. All his lectures on duty and responsibility faded into the ridiculous. He should have insisted on being with Ravyn in the Council chamber, supporting her. But mostly he should have never pushed her away. He jogged along the path to the entrance of Illuma Grand. The demon stain was stronger here. He scanned the area again but felt nothing. No demons, and no Ravyn.

Siban and Luc came around the corner and joined him on the top step. Siban closed his eyes and stood motionless for several seconds, reading the night. None of the men spoke. Rhys clenched and unclenched his jaw, waiting as precious seconds ticked by.

“She’s been taken.” Siban opened his eyes and patted the stone railing. “From here. It was quick.”

“Damn!” Rhys kicked the stone railing.

Siban held his finger over his lips. “She didn’t have a chance to fight.”

“Can you tell which way they took her?” Questions swirled through Rhys’s mind. His voice sounded deceptively calm but inside the beast roared for release. This time, instead of subduing the creature, Rhys promised it freedom.

Siban turned several times like a compass needle before stopping to point. “That way.”

He took the lead and guided them along the path, stopping every hundred feet to get his bearings. They left the grounds of Illuma Grand and crossed a vast meadow before heading into a thick grove of trees. Siban picked his way through the dense foliage and finally broke free of the trees. They stepped into a small clearing.

“Uh-oh,” Siban said.

Rhys and Luc stopped beside him.

“Who’s that?” Luc asked.

Hope drained from Rhys. “Brother Powell. He’s one of Icarus’s minions and the monk who tried to kidnap Ravyn.”

“Looks like he got more than he bargained for,” Luc said.

Rhys paced beside the dead monk, barely able to contain his rage and the helplessness tearing through him. Why had he let her run? Why hadn’t he gone after her? Desperation clawed at him. “Siban?”

Siban pointed to the sky. “She went up.”

“Damn,” Rhys bellowed. He turned and slammed his fist into the closest tree. The pain felt good. Agony was no more than he deserved. How many times had he promised to protect Ravyn? How many times had he failed? “Icarus.”

Luc voiced the despair of the situation. “How are we going to find her? We don’t know where the doorway to the Shadow World is.”

A voice drifted across the clearing. “I will take you.”

The three men turned and froze as Icarus stepped out of the shadows.

“You.” The beast roared and pushed against Rhys’s already-weakened restraints. He crouched, preparing to attack.

The demon held up a black hand, his talons curling toward them. “If you kill me, you’ll never see your woman again.”

Rhys’s body remained tense and ready to strike. “Explain.”

The demon stared, unblinking, as he paced along the opposite edge of the clearing. “Vile has your woman. He plans to join with her and take her powers. Once he has them, he will open The Abyss of Souls and release every demon sent there by the Bringers. If he succeeds he will command an army so powerful none will be able to defeat them.”

Luc stepped forward. “Why would you help us? Isn’t this what the Bane want?”

Icarus’s gaze slid over him. “The Bane are sheep who follow the strongest leader. I am not. You wish to stop my father and get your woman back. I wish for you to stop my father.”

“Why?” Rhys asked.

“Because he wants to rule,” Siban answered.

“Siban,” Icarus purred. “Nice to see you again.”

“Can’t say the same.” Siban held the demon’s gaze. “What he says is true.”

Icarus stopped pacing and faced the three men. “I will show you where Vile is keeping the Bringer woman. You will rescue her. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

Luc crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the demon. “Then why don’t you do it? Why risk Rhys knowing the location of the Shadow World?”

“I cannot openly oppose my father in case you fail. Knowing the location is one concession I am willing to make.”

Rhys rose and turned to Siban. “Is it a trick?”

The Tell stared at Icarus, his green eyes glowing in the dark. “He speaks the truth.”

Rhys faced the demon. “I’ll accept your help, but know this, Bane—when Ravyn is safe I will hunt you down.”

“Well then, it seems we have two things in common, Bringer.” He gave Rhys a condescending grin. “Shall I carry you or can you manage on your own?”

How did the demon know? Luc and Siban stared at him with slightly confused expressions, waiting for him to respond. It seemed the time for secrets was at an end.

“I can manage, demon.” He turned to his friends. “Step back.”

Luc lifted his eyebrows in question, but took a big step back.

“Farther,” Rhys said.

Both men eased backed into the trees. Rhys swallowed his apprehension. It was too late to worry about his friends’ reactions. Ravyn’s life was in peril and he’d do anything, risk anything, to get her back, even if that meant alienating the people he cared for.

He walked to the center of the clearing and closed his eyes, releasing the barriers caging the beast. His creature roared and broke through the human bond that kept it restrained and compliant. His body shuddered violently as he fell to his knees and let the change take him, glorifying in the feel of freedom. Nothing ever felt so right as when he and the beast became one—except when he was with Ravyn.

Desperation to save Ravyn fueled his change, pushing his body to elongate and expand. Muscles rippled under his skin as scales pushed out and flattened along his flanks and back. Huge, black wings sprang from his sides. Red webbing arched and connected cartilage thick enough to create fans massive and lift the creature’s body. His vision shifted and the auras of all living things glowed around him. Clawed feet gouged deep holes in the earth as his body morphed into the massive form of a dragon.

He swung his spiked head toward Luc and Siban.

The men fell back several yards as Rhys’s tail thrashed and beat the ground.

Luc turned to Siban. “What in all saints’ creation is that?

“I believe that’s a dragon.”

They both stared at him for moment, Luc’s mouth hanging open. “Did you know?” he asked.

Siban shook his head. “I knew he was different, but”—he pointed in a helpless gesture—“not this different.”

Rhys finished his transformation and grinned, his lips pulling across his fangs. His forked tongue darted from his mouth, tasting his friends’ fear. He took a step toward them.

Luc held his hands in front of him. “Whoa, nice dragon.”

Rhys snorted and a spiral of smoke emitted from his nostrils.

“You’re my best friend, Rhys,” Luc said. “But I would appreciate you pointing that in another direction.”

Rhys turned to Siban.

The Tell stepped forward and stared into his eyes. “We’re to wait here until he returns with Ravyn.”

Luc’s gaze rebounded between Siban and Rhys. “You speak dragon?”

“Not exactly, but I know what he wants,” Siban said.

Rhys gave an impatient snort.

“All right,” Luc said. He took a few steps forward and, although hesitant, placed his hand on Rhys’s massive, scaled shoulder. “Bring her home, Rhys. Whatever you have to do, whatever it takes, bring Ravyn home to us.”

He gave Rhys a single pat and stepped out of the path of his unfolding wings. Rhys turned to Icarus and snarled. The demon cast him a wicked, satisfied grin and launched himself into the sky. The dragon watched for a few seconds before spreading his wings and propelling his huge black body into the air.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Angela’s mouth pulled into a feral smile, displaying glistening white fangs.

“Icarus made her especially for you,” Vile said. “What do you think?”

Ravyn stared at the demon, willing any semblance of the old Angela to spring to life. The demon’s face was a mask of stone. No compassion or human emotion surfaced. No hint of recognition dawned in her reptilian eyes.

“I think she’s an abomination,” she said as Angela’s smile twisted into a snarl. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

The demon hissed, the sound piercing Ravyn’s heart. This wasn’t Angela. This wasn’t her friend. Vile’s laughter echoed off the cavern walls and stirred the gathered demons’ agitation. The crowd surrounded them to make a fighting circle.

“You will fight,” Vile shouted above the din.

A large gong sounded from somewhere near the dais, and Ravyn had no time to react. Angela lunged and Ravyn dove to the right, scarcely missing the deadly talons trained toward her neck. She rolled and came to her feet. Vile’s booming laugh mocked her as Ravyn struggled to find her focus amid the whooping cries and shrieks of the demon horde.

She took a deep breath and exhaled all traces of fragmented thought and emotion. This was a demon. Not her friend. Ravyn knew Vile hoped the image of Angela would weaken her resolve. She is not Angela. She is not Angela. A calming silence blanketed Ravyn, giving her mind the blessed peace she needed to focus. She was fighting for her life and for everything she and the Bringers believed in.

Angela lunged, and again Ravyn dove out of the way and moved to her feet. She pivoted to face the demon. She knew the old Angela had no special powers, but the creature fought with single-minded determination. The demon spun and caught Ravyn in the chest with her foot, propelling her backward and into the crowd of Bane.

Her skin crawled as the demons’ groping hands hoisted her up and tossed her back into the circle. She landed on her feet, stumbled, and dropped into a roll, landing next to Angela. Ravyn crouched and swept the demon’s legs out from under her.

Angela lost her balance and tucked into a smooth tumble, spinning gracefully to her feet. She grabbed a long staff from an armor-clad demon and advanced on Ravyn, swinging the barb-tipped weapon in a wide arc.

Ravyn knew Vile wanted her to use her powers, but she wouldn’t. Even if it meant dying here in the Shadow World among the Bane, she wouldn’t bend to his demands. The barbs missed her head by inches as she ducked and leapt toward the weapon. Ravyn yanked, trying to pry the staff free. The demon’s arms tangled as Ravyn twisted the stick. Driven by survival, she let the momentum carry her, hauled the demon over her body, and slammed her to the ground.

Angela released the staff and grabbed Ravyn’s ankle, jerking her foot out from under her. She crashed to the dirt floor, her breath knocked from her lungs. As Ravyn went down, her head struck a stone. Pain speared her skull and she lay dazed, unable to move.

Vile’s laughter boomed.

Ravyn’s body refused to obey her mental command to get up and fight.

Pain. Fire. Anger. All three burned through Ravyn, goading her to attack.

Before Ravyn could recover, Angela closed her taloned fingers around Ravyn’s throat. Life slowly squeezed from her body as the demon’s grip tightened. Angela’s knees and legs pinned Ravyn’s shoulders and arms to the ground, making it impossible for her to strike back. Fire pulsed under her skin, demanding its freedom, but she couldn’t move. She gasped as the stranglehold compressed.

A tug pulled at her hand. She struggled to identify the sensation as blackness seeped around her vision. This was something she should know. Something she needed. Her fingers inched toward her boot and she realized what she was feeling. She unfolded her knee and straightened her leg, shaking her foot in the air directly over her hand. The dagger slid free from her boot and dropped. A wave of relief washed through her when the knife’s handle landed in the center of her palm.

Her lungs burned. With a surge of panic, she bent her wrist and sliced Angela’s ankle. The demon screeched and moved her leg, releasing Ravyn’s arm. Kill or be killed. She silenced her conscience as she swung the blade upward and plunged the dagger deep into Angela’s heart.

The demon stiffened, her hold loosening on Ravyn’s neck. Air rushed into her lungs and she gasped. The blood pounding through her head calmed as her vision cleared. Angela stared down at Ravyn, her yellow eyes swirling, giving way to shades of blue. A low sigh hissed from her body as she fell sideways, clutching the dagger’s hilt, her breaths coming in short, measured gasps.

A thick silence fell over the hall.

Ravyn rolled to her knees and crouched over Angela. Tears slid down her cheeks as the eyes of her old friend stared back at her from the demon’s body. Peace brightened her face.

“Ra-a-vyn,” she whispered. Angela’s face went slack as death crept through her body. She convulsed once and her muscles tightened, then settled against the packed earth. A low sigh rattled from her lungs as her body relaxed and her eyes stared, unseeing, to the sky.

Ravyn moved to close Angela’s eyes but recoiled as a glistening white essence escaped from Angela’s mouth. The glimmering mist gathered and hesitated. With caution, Ravyn skimmed her finger along the gossamer tendrils, unsure of what she was seeing. The essence coiled around her hand. Confusion enveloped her, followed by happiness as the mist’s awareness shifted. The threads drifted up her arm, filling her with love and joy.

“You’re free,” Ravyn said. Tears of pain turned to tears of joy. “Go.”

The vapor hovered.

“Go!” Her shout echoed through the chamber as she urged Angela’s spirit on before another Bane captured and imprisoned it.

In a sudden explosion, Angela’s soul burst free from its demon shell and spiraled upward. Ravyn gripped the dagger and pulled it free. The body splintered and crumbled to ash. The breeze from Angela’s ascending soul scattered the gray flakes across the stone floor, erasing all reminders of her former friend.

Ravyn gazed at the dagger, its weight binding itself to her hand. Understanding flooded her—the drawing in the journal, the passage that flowed like water through her mind, and the release of Angela’s soul.

Ravyn now understood what she held. An immortal weapon.

The crescendo of Vile’s rage shocked her back to the present.

“Impossible.” He slammed his fist against the arm of his throne. Bones shattered and sprayed the demons cowering nearby. Vile shot from the seat and stalked to the edge of the dais, but stopped as if unwilling to draw any closer to her. “What did you do?”

She said nothing. The pull from the dagger increased and she cradled the knife against her heart, suddenly comforted and no longer afraid. The weapon pulsed against her chest, warming the spot directly over her heart. She closed her eyes, accepting her fate as the sequence of events since she left the abbey crystallized. She stilled herself and opened her eyes to stare at the Demon King.

“Answer me,” Vile shouted.

Ravyn took her time choosing her words. “She’s free. Angela is no longer your prisoner.”

His wings flared as he bared his fangs and looked to the ceiling. A thunderous roar erupted from him, shaking the cave and sending tremors through Ravyn. She cringed inwardly, but didn’t move when Vile leveled his blazing glare at her.

“You,” he said, pointing a black, curved talon at her, “will not follow your friend through the Veil. You will spend eternity locked inside me.”

“No.” The word rushed from her as if he’d punched her in the stomach. Bile rose in her throat. Not die? Not pass through the Veil? She shook her head and clutched the knife to her chest. Never would she let herself be locked to Vile for an eternity of torture.

“You will never have my power.” She flipped the knife around and pointed the blade at her chest. The blade dug into her flesh. “You will never have me.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rhys soared close behind Icarus as the demon spiraled toward the earth. Icarus folded his wings when they approached a large hole in the mountain. On first glance, Rhys didn’t see the entrance on the plateau, but as the gap yawned before him he tucked his wings and followed Icarus into the bowels of the Shadow World.

They descended through the dank blackness. In dragon form, his vision distinguished living creatures from their life forces. Icarus’s aura glowed hot in the center of his body, fading to gray as it fanned out toward the edges. Most demons pulsed black or murky gray with no variation in color, but the center of Icarus’s body nearly blinded Rhys’s dragon vision.

The demon flared his wings, slowing his dive. Rhys followed suit. The tips of his own wings scraped the sides of the walls, igniting sparks as his scales dragged against the stone. Icarus landed on a large ledge and pointed to another on the opposite side. Far below, Rhys made out the glow of torches spilling from a doorway.

“The ledges become progressively smaller as we descend,” Icarus said in a low voice. “You are too large in dragon form. I will have to carry you down from here.”

Rhys sneered, a low grumble erupting from deep within his throat. Imps clinging to the wall cheeped and scurried away from him.

“If you do not change, you will land in front of the chamber, alerting everybody to our presence.” Icarus smirked. “Trust me, Bringer, I don’t like touching you any more than you like touching me.”

With a mere thought, Rhys transformed to his human body, his clothes reforming over his flesh as the scales melted. The beast roared in protest, but 300 years of experience gave him ultimate control. Leaping across the expanse, Icarus spread his wings and landed softly behind him.

“No talons,” Rhys said.

Icarus locked his massive arms around Rhys’s chest. “But of course,” he said, and stepped off the rocky ledge.

Powerful wings expanded, catching the rising currents that swirled up the tube. They descended with much more grace than Rhys thought possible and landed on a ledge about eight feet above the chamber’s doorway. Icarus released him and stepped away. He turned to face the demon, keeping his back to the rock wall.

“Thank you,” Rhys said. The words sounded wrong.

“I’d say that it was my pleasure,” Icarus said, “but it wasn’t.”

Rhys ignored the insult. “What now?”

“Do what you do best. Save the damsel. But I suggest you don’t dally, Bringer. Your lady is in trouble.” Icarus took a step back and jumped from the ledge before landing gracefully on the ground below. “And I will give you one more gift tonight. Vile doesn’t know you’re a full-blood. Use that to your advantage.”

Before Rhys could say anything, the demon disappeared down a dark corridor, leaving him to fight this battle alone. He vaulted from the ledge and landed in the shadows, scanned the corridor, but sensed nothing more than the imps.

The entire Bane population must be inside the chamber. An abrading sting chewed at his body. He reinforced his shields, struggling to block out the sensation. Ravyn was close. And she was alive. His body thrummed from her vibrations. He sent up a prayer of thanks.

Rhys crept to the edge of the doorway and peered into the hall. Demons filled the chamber, brown imps hanging from the walls and ceiling like fat, giant bats. And in the middle of the chaos stood Ravyn.

“You will never have me!” she screamed.

He sagged in relief. There was still a chance of getting her out of the Shadow World alive. He inched closer, straining to hear what she was saying.

She appeared strong and unafraid. Her words drifted to him on the cold currents of air. “In death there is life, in sacrifice return.”

Warmth spread through him.

“All barriers destroyed and evil be spurned.”

Pain sizzled across the place where he’d been stabbed as a boy by Vile. Rhys pressed his hand to his chest, leaning against the stone doorway. He grabbed at the rock for balance as his world started to spin.

“No hindrance remain, from our blood be renewed.”

As her words wrapped around him, his body seized and his knees buckled. Unable to stand, he slid down the stone wall.

Pain. Fire. Rebirth.

Heat raced up his spine, followed by ice. He fell on all fours and gritted his teeth against the searing blanket spreading across his back. Rhys lifted his head, trying to locate Ravyn, but his vision blurred. He pulled his body across the ground, his need to protect her driving him forward. He wouldn’t fail her, not this time. Balanced on his hands and knees, his vision finally cleared to see Ravyn standing in the middle of the chamber. What was she doing?

She cradled his dagger against her chest, the tip poised over her heart. Someone screamed. A man? A demon? Rhys tried to call to her but his throat constricted, choking off his cry. Fire engulfed him.

“That which was taken, settle in those who Bring true.”

Ravyn plunged the blade into her heart.

A howl ripped from Rhys’s throat, finally finding voice within his tempest of pain. Her body crumpled to the ground. He reached for her but couldn’t move.

The tightening eased and his shaking stopped, tears running unfettered down his cheeks. He dug his fingers into the rock and forced himself to move toward Ravyn’s lifeless body.

“No.” The word repeated over and over in his mind. This wasn’t possible. She wasn’t dead. Rhys stepped into the silent hall. As the fire drained away, rage took its place, filling and consuming him. He snarled at the gawking demons, allowing the dragon to have its way. The Bane stumbled away from him, jostling and bumping each other.

Only yards away now, she lay with her hand gently curved around the delicate handle of his blade. Grief sliced through him. His dagger. The gift he’d given her, and the gift that had taken her from him.

A large demon launched from the dais and landed inches from Ravyn, crouching over her. His wings folded around her body and he roared. “She’s mine.”

Vile. Energy burned through Rhys. With barely a thought or intent, he shifted and changed to his dragon form. He and the beast were one, no longer at odds, no longer one without the other. His powers coalesced and filled every cell. Strength surged through his mind, body, and spirit.

Demons screamed, climbing over each other in an effort to flee the dragon’s path. He lifted his head and roared. The walls trembled and the ceiling quaked. Small stones and dirt cascaded over the frantic crowd. Vile moved as if to scoop up Ravyn, and Rhys spun. The tip of his spiked tail hammered the demon’s body, sending him crashing into the dense rock wall.

Vile plummeted to the floor, his wings crumpling under his massive frame as he rolled and came to his feet. Rhys swung his head toward the demon and released a jet of fire. Vile catapulted himself into the air, narrowly avoiding the flames. He landed on a ledge twenty feet above the throne room. The demon’s stare raked along Rhys’s scales as he glared down at him.

“How?” the demon yelled.

Rhys spewed another stream of fire at the ledge, forcing Vile higher. The Demon King’s injured wings struggled to lift his mass. He clawed at the rock, digging his talons into the wall, and hoisted himself onto the next ledge. The outcropping was too high for Rhys to blast. The dragon roared and loosed a jet of fire anyway. The beast wanted its prey.

“Attack the dragon,” Vile yelled from his perch.

Rhys coiled his body around Ravyn and snapped at the approaching horde. They would not touch or defile her. Hadn’t these abominations done enough? With a blast of fire, he sprayed the shrieking mob.

Cries of agony swelled. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air and clogged his nostrils. The demons turned and scattered toward every doorway.

“Stop, you gutless cowards,” Vile yelled. “Get back here and fight.”

Rhys lifted his head and jettisoned another stream of flames. Vile jumped back and disappeared from Rhys’s view. Ignoring the chaos and tortured wails, he shifted back to human form and knelt over Ravyn. His hand shook as he reached for the knife protruding from her. Grief consumed him and he stopped, unwilling—unable—to pull the dagger from her body. No amount of revenge would bring her back.

With Ravyn’s warm body cradled in his arms, he strode from the throne room and into the dark corridor.

Icarus stood at the entrance of a black tunnel. He stared at Rhys, his demon gaze fluctuating from glowing yellow to swirling silver. He didn’t speak.

Rhys waited. Would he have to fight Icarus? One last trial before he could take Ravyn home?

Icarus flared his wings and Rhys tensed. “Calm yourself, Bringer.”

The demon moved to stand behind him, slipped his arms around Rhys’s chest, and pushed off from the ground. Icarus’s wings struggled to lift the extra weight. They slowly climbed, the huge fans elevating them until they reached the large outcropping Rhys had landed on as a dragon.

The demon dropped him and Ravyn onto the ledge but didn’t settle. “It’s up to you now, Bringer.”

“Thank you.” The words didn’t seem enough and yet didn’t seem deserved.

“Perhaps you’ll return the favor one day, Rhys Blackwell.”

Shivers crept across Rhys’s skin as the demon spoke his name. The only favor he planned on returning was his death. He stared, saying nothing.

A wicked smile spread across Icarus’s face a second before he folded his wings and dove back into the Shadow World.

Chapter Thirty

Rhys circled the clearing and spiraled lower to gently place Ravyn on the ground. Before touching down, he shifted to human form and dropped the last few feet.

Luc and Siban rushed from the trees.

“You found her.” Luc skidded to a stop, his excitement flagging as his gaze fell upon the knife in Ravyn’s chest. “No.”

Rhys swallowed the denial he wanted to shout to the world. How could she be dead? He rubbed his hands over his face and struggled to find words—any words—to explain how he’d failed her yet again.

Siban stepped forward and knelt next to Ravyn’s body. Rhys tensed, not wanting the Tell to touch, or even look at her. She was his, in death as in life. He’d take her back to Alba Haven to be buried so she’d always be with him.

Before Rhys could stop him, Siban gripped the hilt of the knife and yanked it free. Rage flashed, and Rhys launched himself at Siban, wrapping his hands around the Tell’s throat. Nobody touched her. Nobody but him.

The men careened backward, rolling across the ground until Rhys came up on top, pinning Siban to the ground. Siban clawed at Rhys’s fingers, mouthing words he couldn’t push past Rhys’s crushing grip. Somebody had to pay for her death—and his failure.

Luc tackled Rhys, knocking him sideways, breaking his hold on Siban’s throat. They tumbled to the ground but Rhys jumped to his feet. Luc grabbed him around the knees and knocked him to the ground, facedown.

“Rhys, calm down,” Luc shouted. Rhys twisted and took a swing, but Luc dodged his fist by an inch. “He didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Anger clouded his judgment and the dragon pushed for retribution. Somebody had to pay.

Luc held him down. “Tell him, Siban. You didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Rhys reached for the Tell, but couldn’t move with Luc’s body on top of him. He clawed at the earth and fought against his friend’s weight.

“She’s not dead,” Siban rasped.

Luc relaxed. “What?”

Rhys tossed his friend off him and crouched, ready to launch himself at the Tell again.

Siban struggled to sit and pointed to Ravyn. “She’s not dead.”

The words leeched through Rhys’s rage. Slowly, they merged, made sense, and drained the anger from his body.

Luc ran to Ravyn. He touched her skin and pressed his ear to her chest and smiled. “She’s alive.”

Rhys raced to them and skidded next to Luc as he dropped to his knees. He scooped up Ravyn, and realized for the first time she was still warm and pliant. Relief swamped him. Praise The Sainted Ones, he’d been given a second chance. His mind raced. He would have to heal her.

He rose and cradled her in his arms, swearing he wouldn’t fail her again. Not waiting for his friends, he jogged toward Illuma Grand. His long strides ate up the distance as he tore across the open field, onto the manicured lawn, and up Illuma Grand’s front steps, taking them two at a time. He raced down the winding corridors to Ravyn’s room. Footsteps echoed behind him, letting him know Luc and Siban followed, but he didn’t slow.

He kicked open her door and lay her on the bed, where he knelt beside her.

She was alive.

Luc and Siban entered, shutting the door behind them. Rhys jump up and bound into his room to grab his healing pendants. He slipped one over his head and ran back to Ravyn’s side to hang the other around her neck. This would work. She would be all right.

The ancient chant tumbled from his lips, calling to the healing spirits to take from him and give to Ravyn. He closed his eyes, opened himself, and waited. No healing light or comforting breeze entered the room. He chanted louder, willing the spirits to help. Still, his request went unfulfilled. He clutched the pendant and squeezed the metal, raising his voice yet again. He commanded the spirits to answer his call.

Silence.

Minutes? Hours? He didn’t know how long he chanted and still they didn’t come. He felt his hope ebbing and desperation rolling in on a new wave. He had to heal her. It was his duty. It was his obligation. It was his only hope from his endless loneliness.

Luc placed a hand on his shoulder. “Rhys?”

He ignored him and continued to chant. Why weren’t the spirits answering? They had to save her. His chant turned to a plea, beseeching them to not abandon Ravyn or him.

“Rhys,” Luc said again.

He opened his eyes and stared at her still form. She wouldn’t die—couldn’t die. The thought that he’d lost her and found her only to lose her again drove him to the edge of madness.

Luc’s hand slipped from Rhys’s shoulder. “Now we just have to wait.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Ravyn opened her eyes and stared at the gray ceiling. Was she dead? She turned her head, expecting pain, but experienced no discomfort. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the familiar gray-colored walls, and Rhys.

She must be in paradise if he was here with her. She closed her eyes and strained to remember what had happened. Angela…the dagger…and then…nothing.

How in The Heavenly Saints had Rhys rescued her from the Shadow World?

She smiled at his slouched form. He slept in a straight-backed chair with his feet propped on the bedside table. His breathing moved in a shallow rhythm. She wondered how long she’d been unconscious, and how long he’d been here. Cradled lovingly in his lap lay his father’s journal.

“Rhys.” Her throat burned and her mouth ached as she spoke his name. Clearly, she’d hit the ground face-first when she passed out. “Rhys.”

He stirred and opened his eyes, looking at her but not seeing her.

She smiled and his eyes widened.

“Ravyn.” His voice hitched, thick with emotion. His feet thumped to the floor as he scooted forward to kneel beside the bed. His fingers threaded through her hair, sending tingles of warmth through her. “I thought I’d lost you.”

A lump formed in Ravyn’s throat as she wrapped her hand around his and held it to her cheek. Calloused skin brushed tender hands, an affirmation that she wasn’t dead.

“Almost,” she said.

He brushed her hair from her face. “Why, Ravyn? Why did you stab yourself? I saw you …I thought you were de—” His voice broke.

She shimmied into a sitting position and clutched his hand. “Not dead. Resurrected.” Excitement cleared the fog from her mind. “Rhys, the dagger, it’s an immortal weapon.”

His brow crinkled. “Immortal?”

Ravyn nodded.

He shook his head. “How did you know?”

She pointed to the journal he still held. “He wrote about it. There was a drawing and words. I didn’t understand until I released Angela’s soul. Haven’t you ever noticed how it binds to your hand?”

Rhys looked lost. “I thought I imagined it.”

Ravyn shook her head. “These are our people’s weapons. It’s like they recognize us. The soul isn’t trapped forever inside the Bane. With immortal weapons we can release them. I released Angela’s soul. And I think we can bring the mix-blooded Bringers to full power.”

“You’re not sure?”

“No, I’m not. I stabbed one of the demons at the inn, but his soul didn’t release. I don’t know what the difference between him and Angela was.” She wanted Rhys to believe her but she was running on gut instinct, remembering how the dagger had felt so right in her hand, as if the knife guided her. “I believe with the words in the diary and the dagger we can resurrect the Bringers to full power. You were stabbed by Vile, but the words were never spoken. That’s why you didn’t die as a child, and that’s why your powers were stronger than most.”

He stared at her for a few seconds. “‘Resurrected by the blade.’ My father said that to another man once. Could it possibly be?”

“We’re living proof.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “But how do we know for sure?”

“I guess we get some willing soul to let us test out our theory.”

Rhys cocked a brow. “Let us stab them? Who would be stupid enough to do that?”

Ravyn shrugged and flinched from the pain at her back. “I don’t know, but when the time is right we’ll know.”

He sat utterly still, contemplating the thought.

“You saved me,” she said. “Thank you.”

A shadow ghosted across his expression. “I should have done better.”

She touched her finger to his lips. “No, you saved me. From the first night we met you’ve been saving me from the demons, and from myself.” She caressed his face. “From being lonely.”

He leaned in and kissed her. Her mouth burned but she didn’t stop, willing to endure discomfort for more of his kisses. Never would she hide her feelings for him. Life was too short and love too precious.

She broke their kiss and hugged him. “I love you,” she whispered.

He pulled back and stared.

She held her breath, wanting to hear the same from him, but she’d accept his feelings, no matter what they were.

“I thought I had lost you. And when I believed you dead, I wanted to follow you beyond the Veil. You are everything to me, Ravyn, but the words pale when compared to how I truly feel.”

Her nose tingled as tears welled in her eyes. “I’d still like to hear you say it.”

He smiled. “Ravyn, I love you, now and forever.”

“That was worth dying for.”

“Indeed.”

She shifted again and sat upright. As he slipped his arm around her waist, she winced.

He loosened his hold. “Are you hurt?”

“My back feels like it’s on fire.” Ravyn held out her hands for help and stopped, her eyes rounding at the sight of her hands. An angry tattoo of a sun burned bright on each palm. She turned her palms toward him. “What are these?”

Rhys smiled. “The sign of the Redeemer. My mother had them, and I found the symbol in my father’s journal.”

“I’m a Redeemer?” Though she’d happily embrace the powers of a healer, the label didn’t feel right somehow.

He gave her a sly smile. “That’s still undetermined.”

“But I have the symbols.” She bit her lip and flinched.

Rhys’s smile widened.

“What?”

He held out his hands. “Nothing. Let me help you up.”

She stood for a few seconds before she felt sturdy enough to release his arm. She still wore her leathers, minus the boots, and other than the burning on her back and her lips, she felt good. “Can you help me off with this?”

She raised her arms and Rhys slid the tunic over her head and laid it on the bed. He palmed her shoulders and turned her back to him to get a better view.

“Do you see anything?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Take this off.” He ran his hand across the linen harness. “I want to get a better look.”

She untied and unwound the straps, letting him help her with the garment. She pressed the material to her bare chest and hunched her back toward him. “Am I hurt? Is it bad?”

He ran his finger in stinging loops across her sensitive skin.

She jerked away from his touch.

“I wouldn’t say injured, really.”

She craned her neck, trying to get a look. “What is it? Another hole from a talon? It really hurts.”

“Oh, I know it really hurts.”

Was that amusement in his voice?

Rhys guided her to the mirror on the front of the wardrobe. “Look at yourself.”

She squinted at her image and leaned closer. “What is that?” She licked her thumb and rubbed at the blue line running from her bottom lip to just above her chin. A biting sting spread across her lower lip. She leaned closer to the mirror.

He captured her gaze in their reflection and smiled. “It’s the mark of the Tell.”

Ravyn’s eyes widened as understanding dawned.

“I’m a Tell?” She shook her head. “But how can that be? I thought I was a Redeemer.”

He smirked.

With a slow pivot, she twisted toward the mirror and gasped. The image of an orange and red phoenix danced across her back. Its tail feathers caressed her left hip and its beak touched her shoulder. She backed up a few steps, drinking in the image of the bird. She turned to him. “It’s like yours.”

He nodded.

“Am I a Shield?” The words sounded right.

“As much as I hate the thought of you being a protector, there’s no denying the brand.”

“But what about the other tattoos? Why do I have those?”

He shook his head. “Maybe you have the powers of all three groups.”

“Can that happen?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see what develops.”

She stared at the bird, unable to tear her eyes away. “Why the phoenix and not a dragon?”

“Each Shield is branded with something particular to their nature. For you, fire is not only a weapon, it is what you can become.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When you need to, you will become a phoenix.”

She backed closer to the mirror, examining every inch of her new brand. “But that’s impossible.”

“Trust me—it is not impossible.”

Something in his voice drew her attention. His arms were crossed and legs in a wide stance, his defensive pose. “Do you…your dragon…can you…change?”

He nodded.

She shook her head, trying to grasp the full scope of her lover.

His gaze narrowed, as if he expected her worst reaction.

“Rhys.”

He tensed at her tone.

“That’s amazing.”

His stance relaxed, and he lowered his arms to his side. “Really?”

“Yes.” She turned her attention back to the mirror. “I seem to be afflicted with the same malady. This is truly amazing. I can’t wait to transform and…oh.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to have to fly.” Her stomach churned. “I don’t like heights.”

Rhys chuckled. “You’ll do fine. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

Again, it was like seeing him for the first time. “We could fly together.”

“Yes.”

She hesitated. “Could you give me a ride?”

His deep chuckle rumbled and the world seemed right again. “Whenever you want.”

Ravyn liked the way he said that, sexy and loaded with innuendos. The journal rested loosely in his hands. She pointed to the book. “Did you read your father’s diary?”

He nodded. “Most of it.”

“He loved you and your mother very much.”

“I see this now. I think I always knew, but guilt plays strange tricks on a person’s mind.”

She walked to him and twined her fingers with his. “You couldn’t have stopped Vile from killing your parents.” Her voice cracked. “He said he killed mine also.”

He held her gaze. “Maybe he lied.”

She shook her head. “I pray he has—for all our sakes.” She paused. “Vile said my father was King Janus.”

Rhys’s eyes grew wide. “King Janus?”

She nodded.

“Another blow to the Bringers if he is dead.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

A weak smile was the best she could muster. The thought of never seeing her parents upset her. Odd, how losing someone she never knew could still hurt so deeply.

Rhys sobered. “I’ll make him pay. I’ll hunt Vile down myself and bury my father’s dagger so far inside him there’s no possibility of him resurrecting.”

Plans and ideas formed in her mind. “Rhys, if the dagger exists and it is an immortal weapon…”

“Then the legend of the immortal arsenal is probably true,” he finished.

“We need to find them.” Her mind raced with the possibilities. “Finding the weapons could turn the tide against the Bane.”

“Yes, but our first order of business is to figure out what we know and decide who we can trust.”

She perched on the edge of her bed. The road before them branched in many directions. “I only wish we’d known about the dagger sooner.”

“There are a lot of things I wished I’d known or done sooner.” He sat beside her and ran a finger along her jaw.

Warmth spread through her. She captured his hand and kissed his fingers. “We’ve been given a second chance. No regrets.”

He smiled and stroked her cheek. “No regrets.”

“How did you find me? Even as a dragon, that wouldn’t have been possible.”

“Icarus.”

Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

“He helped me find you and even helped us escape.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

“Greed. He wants the Bane throne.”

She sneered. “He is the worst of them all, using whatever means necessary to get what he wants. I hate him.”

Rhys didn’t contradict her, only stared at her. Finally, he said, “Powell is dead.”

Ravyn blinked, waiting for some emotion—anger, elation, pity. But she felt nothing but numbness. “Who killed him?”

“A demon, I think. We found him dead in the clearing from where you’d been taken by Icarus.”

He watched her. Should she be angry that she hadn’t delivered the killing blow to Powell and avenged Angela? “Good,” she said looking at Rhys. “It’s a fitting death for him. Poetic in a way.”

“Yes, killed by the beast he served. So you’re not angry that you won’t get your revenge?” he said.

She shook her head. “Life is a sacred gift given by the Universe. I am not so prideful as to feel cheated because I wasn’t the one allowed to take his life, even if I hated him. Being spared such a gruesome task is a blessing, not a slight.”

“Not all in your position would feel the same way.”

“Perhaps I’m not the cold-blooded killer I imagine myself to be after all.”

“Again, not a bad trait.”

Silence stretched between them. Where would they go from here? Ravyn took a deep breath and exhaled. She was safe. Rhys was safe. And Powell was dead. “Now what?”

A lascivious smile crept across his face. He eased her back onto the bed. “Well, first I’m going to make love to you.”

Ravyn smiled as her pillow cradled her head. “Yes?”

With achingly slow movements, he covered her body with his. Ravyn spread her legs to accommodate him, the discomfort from her back evaporating. “And then I’ll probably make love to you again.”

“So far I like this plan very much.” She lifted her head and gave him a languishing kiss.

“I’ll need to feed you so you keep up your strength.” He nibbled her earlobe. “Because I plan on making love to you several more times before I let you get dressed.”

“You’re a very good strategist.” She wrapped her legs around his waist and rubbed against his growing erection. “And when we’ve sated ourselves? Then what shall we do? Rally the rebel forces? Make a pact with the Council? Start searching for the immortal weapons?”

Rhys cupped her breast and rubbed her aching nipple. “I have something more personal in mind.”

She moaned and arched against his talented fingers. “And what would that be?”

He slid his hand down her stomach and pressed his fingers between her legs. Nuzzling her neck he whispered, “I think it’s time Luc embraced his destiny.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“He needs to die.”

She smiled and closed her eyes. “Mmmm, I’ll let you use my dagger.”

Did you love Rhys? Check out the rest of Boone Brux’s Bringer and the Bane series!

Acknowledgments

I’d like to acknowledge my fabulous editors, Libby and Kerry. Both of you deserve Editor of the Year awards. Thank you is not enough. I’d also like to thank Liz Pelletier and Heather Howland for believing in me enough to give me several chances. You guys rock. And thanks to Becky, Liz P’s secret operative, who kept me on track and busted my butt with edits. Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank the women from my Alaska Romance Writers chapter, especially the Critwhores, who lovingly rip my stories to shreds and help me piece them back together. I couldn’t do it without you guys.

About the Author

Boone lives in rugged Alaska with her vampire-pirate husband and her twin daughters, each of whom possesses the superpower to destroy a room with a single pass. She began writing in a desperate attempt to counteract the in-stereo babbling from her toddlers and to fill the lack of adult conversation in her day. After seventeen years in bush Alaska, Boone and her family made the big move to civilization, where she joined the local chapter of Romance Writers of America and realized she knew nothing about writing. Steeped in the paranormal world, Boone has a particular love for demons, good, bad, or otherwise.

Find out more at www.boonebrux.com.

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Get lost in the Bringer and the Bane novels…

Kiss of the Betrayer

Mix-blooded Bringer Luc Le Daun lives a life of danger, risking all and committing to no one. Seeking revenge on Luc has been all Jade Kendell has thought about for years. When her plan goes awry and she’s brought into the Bringers’ fold, she fights to keep her own dark secret hidden. Brought together by their pasts, Jade and Luc plunge into the dangerous world of the demon Bane. The price they must pay threatens their fragile bond, especially when their slightest misstep could give the Demon King exactly what he needs to annihilate the Bringers…

Chain of Illusions

Also by Boone Brux

Suddenly Beautiful

When he falls, only one woman can save him...

Kidnapped by humans and raised in a research facility, Jett was taught to believe his own race of demons are insidious and violent. But a friendship with the archangel Raphael shatters Jett’s reality. Caught between two worlds, his first months of freedom find him lingering on the fringes of his home colony, Sanctuary.

When the human who kidnapped Jett captures another demon youth from Sanctuary, Jett learns of the real plan—to steal Raphael’s archangel twin grandchildren. Jett want to bring his captor to justice, but he must overcome the lies from his past and join forces with the demon Guardians, and the demon child’s older sister, Lexine.

Irresistible attraction grows between Jett and Lexine, but but Lexine has prophetic dreams of being mated to a traitor. If Jett is goes through the all consuming process of becoming a Guardian to the archangels, he may forfeit any chance they have at being together.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Sarah Gilman. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Kaleen Harding

Cover design by Libby Murphy

Print ISBN 978-1-62266-896-0

Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-895-3

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition September 2013

To all who embrace their slightly demonic side.

Dear Reader

In paranormal romance you’ll find many alpha heroes and many dark worlds. I’m sure you love them as much as I do. Here you’ll meet Jett from Deep in Crimson, a tortured alpha hero of my Return to Sanctuary series. But he is so much more than that.

I invite you into a world where fallen archangels are hunted by poachers for their feathers, and demons, like Jett, protect them. Both hated by humans, the fallen archangels and the demons join forces for survival. I’ve always loved the idea of taking the “monsters” of other stories and making them the heroes and heroines.

The love story in the first Return to Sanctuary book, Out in Blue, shows us a human woman who was raised by a demon, and a half-human half-archangel hero. The romance is fast-paced and focuses on the idea that love can and does happen fast and hard when the right two people come together, as it did for me and my husband—the first man I ever kissed and the first and only man I’ve ever loved. I am a believer in true love and these particular characters are the embodiment of that.

The love story in the second book, Deep in Crimson, focuses on free will. Both Jett and his demon heroine struggled with the driving forces in their own lives, which never seem to be themselves. I examined the emotional effects of being stuck fulfilling a prophecy, what drives us to want the things we want, how fighting hard for one thing can allow something better to sneak up behind us, and how sometimes we miss that the most important thing was right in front us the whole time.

Happy reading,

Sarah Gilman

Chapter One

Two unusual scents carried on the dwindling thunder-storm’s breeze: humans and demon blood. Jett paused, his muscles tense, his mouth dry.

Nothing good ever came of the scent of blood in the air.

Nothing good ever came of the presence of humans.

Nothing good, sure as fuck, ever came of those two things together.

He abandoned the two lifeless ducks, which he’d caught by hand, next to the fire pit. Breathing deeply through his nose, he circled the area in the forest he considered his.

Heavy rain had washed away most scents except for sodden earth. The breeze blew from the direction of Vermont’s demon colony, Sanctuary, in the valley below. If he made his way down the mountain, he’d find a bloody scene—he sniffed the air again—less than a half mile away.

An attack on Sanctuary by humans? He turned his back on the breeze and shut his eyes, his heart rate resisting his mental demand for it to slow. An attack was none of his business as long as the humans stayed the hell away from him and away from the archangels—what little hope there was of that.

He paced. Hostility toward any demon colony usually focused on the archangels, whom the demons protected. Religious zealots throughout human communities viewed both demons and the “fallen” archangels as evil and wanted both species killed, but archangel feathers sold to the highest bidders and dedicated collectors.

The result: poachers, and an ever-dwindling archangel population. A few countries had given land to demons to form colonies, similar to Native American reservations. The demons took in the archangels and offered protection from poachers, and, in exchange, the archangels shared their various skills, such as healing abilities. Despite the sovereignty of the colonies and the Guardians who protected the borders and the residents, attacks still came and blood still stained the ground from time to time.

Jett had stayed in this place, on the fringes of the demon colony in northeastern Vermont, for one reason—to make sure the archangel Raphael and his son, Wren, weren’t betrayed again by the demon Guardians who were supposed to protect them.

At first, Jett couldn’t comprehend why Raphael had wanted to return, why the archangel was willing to trust again. But it had turned out his personal Guardian, Lark, hadn’t been the one who murdered Raphael’s mate, attacked Wren, and imprisoned Raphael. Lark’s body had been stolen for eighteen years by the revenge-bent spirit of Thornton Bailey, a poacher Wren had killed.

The same poacher that Jett had been forced to work for.

He knelt by the stream, washed his hands, and drank. The thunderstorm—still rumbling in the distance, flashes of light illuminating the cloud-and-night-shrouded Green Mountains—had soaked him and plastered his hair to his neck. He stripped, hung his clothes on a rack he’d made from tree branches, and ignited demon fire on his skin, drying himself and shunning the midnight chill.

Another gust carried the scents again. Only two human scents, but a lot of demon blood. Dressing in his second set of clothes, well-worn jeans and a long-sleeve black shirt he’d stolen from human campers, he repeated his mantra in his mind.

Not my business. I don’t give a shit.

The demon in charge of the colony, Vin, left him a note not long after he’d arrived, warning that unless he came directly to the Guardians first, he needed to stay away from all of Sanctuary’s citizens, or he’d be viewed as a threat. Suspicious fuckers didn’t trust him. Who could blame them? He used to work for poachers—even though it had been against his will.

So, whatever this was, it wasn’t Jett’s problem. The Guardians protected Sanctuary, not him.

He wanted to check on the archangels, Vin be damned, but they rarely flew in the middle of the night and only left the house at such hours to socialize in the demon village. Jett couldn’t get close enough to see into the houses. He’d have to wait—the archangels always flew at dawn. If they failed to show, he’d act.

He hated waiting, even though that was all he ever did anymore, in his self-made purgatory on top of this mountain. He cleaned his twin hunting knives, the only things he’d taken with him when he’d fled Raphael’s former prison, and returned them to sheaths on his thighs.

The breeze blew again and he breathed in deeply, catching the scent of blood, stronger this time.

A month ago, Jett had passed through the woods near three demon boys at play. It had appeared one of them was pretending to be Jett by jumping out from behind trees, covered in mud, making his friends run and scream.

Little bastards. What did they think he was, some sort of boogeyman?

One of those boys…was that scent in the air his blood? He’d been eight, ten years old at most.

“Shit.”

He was a prick and he knew it, but he wasn’t the sort of prick to ignore a hurt kid. A memory surfaced from his own childhood, of waking from a healing fever on blood-soaked sheets because the humans, who’d whipped him and cut him to study his healing abilities, had simply locked him in the observation room to recover alone.

Muttering more curses, he grabbed his jacket, then made his way through the trees and down the steeply inclined mountainside. He broke into a run, suddenly furious with himself for not acting immediately. It wasn’t his business—the Guardians protected the colony. But they hadn’t protected Jett the day he’d been kidnapped, so many years ago.

The scents led him to a hemlock grove, the soaked earth churned up from an apparent struggle. Four bodies, all demons, lay in the mud, their throats torn open. One adult. Three little kids, including the one whose scent Jett recognized. He’d seen death before. Had killed before. But the sight of three small bodies in a pile made him dry heave, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Even if he’d rushed here the moment he’d caught the scent of blood, there would have been nothing he could do for grievous wounds such as these. Small comfort.

The back of his neck prickled, and he stared upward. A gap in the canopy framed an archangel in flight far overhead, circling. If Raphael had come in response to the injuries, guided by his preternatural ability to instantly heal others, it was too late. Even Raphael couldn’t fix death.

And Raphael had better stay the hell away while humans occupied the woods.

Jett shut his eyes and inhaled. The scents of the scene around him invaded his nose—this crime had occurred after the rain had stopped and little had been washed away.

The scent of one demon didn’t match the bodies. The scents of two humans and the missing demon led through trampled undergrowth, away from the colony toward the logging roads further up the valley.

“Oh no you don’t, fuckers.” Jett turned in that direction and sprinted.

…

Lexine, running and clinging to the arm of a black-clad Guardian, stumbled to a halt in a small clearing surrounded by hemlock trees. Warm and shaky from adrenaline, her legs protested even holding her upright. The Guardian hadn’t wanted to bring her along, but she’d followed him—her brothers were out there, damn it!—and he’d been unwilling to leave her alone in the woods with humans around.

A birth defect prevented her from seeing well in the dark like most demons, but Raphael’s stark-white wings all but glowed in a beam of moonlight now that the storm clouds had thinned.

The archangel knelt in water-saturated, trampled peat, holding a body half off the ground. Darkness obscured the visual details, but as she approached them, the familiar scent confirmed her worse fears.

Jac, her brother.

Raphael is here, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Jac would heal. He wasn’t moving because he was deep in a healing sleep. Tension fled her body in a heavy sigh.

The archangel glanced up and shook his head. “He bled out before I got here.”

She dropped to her knees, swallowing a strange urge to laugh out loud at Raphael’s words. “That can’t be.”

“I’m sorry, Lex.”

She stared, her jaw shaking.

“I’m so sorry.” In a rare gesture from any archangel, he touched his wing to her back, his flight feathers dragging through the mud.

Her denial shattered. Sobs tore out of her throat and she dropped her face to her brother’s dirt-and-blood-matted hair.

Another scent pulled her back from the edge—a distinct, sweet, citrus fragrance entwined in the nauseating mess of odors. Her younger brother, Bryce, had been hiking that night as well. She didn’t smell his blood, thank goodness. “Bryce?” Clutching Jac’s shoulder, she raised her head and looked around, straining her eyes. “Bryce?”

A Guardian stepped closer, crouched, and spoke quietly. “Scents indicate two human males took him and fled.”

“What?”

“Vin and his team have gone after them. We’ll get Bryce back, Lexine.”

She struggled to her feet in the mud, sniffling, trying to isolate the scents despite her stuffed-up nose and tears. The Guardian was right, of course—Bryce’s scent mingled with the humans’. But there was also another intense, more recent scent that shot straight to her heart and jolted it into a rapid flutter.

Jett, the demon who’d been living secluded in the woods for the last eleven months—the object of gossip and suspicion and confusion—who’d been presumed dead as a child. He’d gotten entangled with poachers, but he helped rescue Raphael.

She knew his fragrance of tea and honey from the cemetery, where he lingered, out of sight, whenever she tended the landscaping. Creepy, but not threatening—Raphael trusted him, and that was good enough for her.

He’d gone after the humans and wasn’t far behind them. Nothing else mattered.

“I’ll bring you home,” the Guardian said, offering his arm.

She shook her head. “Jac would go after them.” Her voice shook. “He’d kick my ass if I just sat at home like a blubbering fool while humans have our brother.”

“Lex, you need—” Raphael began.

Lexine caught Bryce’s scent and ran after it.

Chapter Two

“That’s no way to treat a little kid.”

The moment Jett emerged from the woods and spoke, the two humans whirled, the captive demon child locked in the arms of the brawny, taller member of the kidnapping duo. The giant man clutched his prisoner’s throat and backed toward the car parked along the muddy, puddle-ridden logging road. His partner covered his retreat, aiming a semiautomatic handgun at Jett.

Though the rain had stopped, water dripped from the canopy of the old-growth forest, the only sound aside from the boy’s muffled protests. The faint mix of scents on the breeze indicated that Sanctuary’s Guardians were catching up, but still had a lot of ground to cover. The humans would escape in the vehicle if Jett didn’t intervene, but he hesitated.

Demons were a malevolent, disgusting species. Violent beings who took pleasure in others’ misery.

Or so his captors had raised him to believe.

In the eleven months Jett had been studying the colony from the shelter of the forest, he’d seen nothing to suggest anything he’d been taught about demons was true.

Not one damned thing.

This child didn’t deserve anything the humans had in mind.

The little boy wriggled and kicked, his arms secured behind his back. A band of metal wrapped around his head and covered his mouth, preventing him from biting. Far too young to ignite demon fire on his skin, he stood no chance against the two men. Even if he could ignite demon fire, which was itself harmless to demons’ skin, he’d seriously burn himself with the molten metal.

The kidnappers’ plain clothes and unmarked vehicle gave nothing away, but the scent that came from the SUV when the human opened the door identified the kidnappers better than a photo identification card. The interior reeked of rubbing alcohol, formalin, rubber gloves, and a myriad of other chemical odors—the stench of the despicable research facility that had been Jett’s prison for thirteen years of his childhood.

He’d be damned if he stood by and allowed these criminals to escape with another innocent child. Jett hissed, baring his fangs.

Had Jett been taken from the colony in the same manner as this? He’d been so young. He remembered nothing.

The heavy-weight human shoved the boy into the SUV, locked the door, and rejoined his partner. The two men faced Jett, aiming their guns. Calm. Ready. Professionals, for certain. But had they ever faced a demon their own size?

Growling, Jett bared his upper and lower fangs and ignited demon fire. The flames engulfed his body but left his skin and his worn, threadbare clothing intact—the fire destroyed only if he willed it. He lunged toward the humans.

“Holy fuck!” Gunshots rang out, but the humans fired one-handed and blind as they shielded their faces from the heat of the demon fire. A bullet grazed Jett’s arm, but the other shots went wide.

He plowed into the nearest kidnapper, seized the gun, and fired into the man’s stomach. Letting the bastard collapse to the ground, Jett sprang at the second human and shoved him hard against the side of the gray SUV.

Jett extinguished his flames and sank his fangs deep into his opponent’s muscular shoulder, tasting sweat and blood. The scent of the other children, of their deaths, clung to the man’s clothing. He bit deeper.

The venom from his fangs went to work in seconds, propelled through the human’s blood to his brain by his own rapidly beating heart. A scream ripped from the kidnapper’s throat and he seized hard enough to break his own back.

Jett stepped away, letting the limp body drop to the ground, and spat out the blood. He licked his fangs. Stimulated by the recent bite, the venom flowed hard and filled his mouth with a caramel-like sweetness.

The other human lay on his back on the puddle-ridden ground, blood running from the corner of his mouth. Gurgling sounds accompanied his shallow, rapid breaths. Eyes narrowed, he reached into his jacket as Jett approached.

A blade glinted in the moonlight. Jett caught the human’s wrist and sank his fangs into the bastard’s forearm. Already half in the grave, the human’s venom-induced spasms subsided in seconds. Pity had been trained out of Jett years ago, but now, he paused. Not long ago, he’d shown another person empathy, an act that changed his entire existence. He’d won his freedom and no longer saw himself only as a monster. Still, for these kidnappers who intended God knew what for the demon child, no regret rose.

Jett searched the body and found a set of keys. Hooking the keychain around his thumb, he hurried back to the vehicle.

The child sat on the backseat, his eyes wide between his mussed red hair and the steel gag, breathing hard through his nose. Jett froze. Even after so many years, he could feel the cold, tight metal clamped around his own head.

Tears beaded at the corners of the boy’s eyes. Jett lifted him out of the car. The child trembled, his head heavier against Jett’s shoulder than it should have been, thanks to the metal device designed to keep a demon from biting. Holding him securely with one arm, Jett lifted a hand to the back of the boy’s head. He used the keys to unlock the gag and tossed the thing away.

Sounds halfway between screams and sobs erupted from the child. Jett tightened his grip around the boy’s shoulders and fumbled with the lock on the handcuffs. As soon as the restraints fell to the ground, the child threw his arms around Jett’s neck.

“It’s okay.” It’s okay? Damn it, he wasn’t kid-savvy or nurturing in the best of circumstances. He ignited a thin layer of demon fire over his body. The one fuzzy recollection he possessed of his father was that fiery, comforting embrace. “You’re okay now.”

The boy’s breathing calmed, his faced pressed into the flames, but he maintained a choking grip on Jett’s neck.

“You’re strong for a… How old are you, little one?”

The child leaned back slowly, wiped at his eyes, and murmured, “I’m not little. I’m five and a half.”

“I’ve never met a stronger five-and-a-half-year-old.”

A ghost of a grin pulled at the corners of the boy’s mouth.

“What’s your name?”

“Bryce.”

“I’m taking you home, Bryce.” Jett stood and tried to maneuver so that the kid didn’t see the two dead humans. It didn’t work. Though the shaking resumed, Bryce craned his neck over Jett’s shoulder and hissed.

“Easy there.”

Bryce hissed again and growled. The sound, not par-ticularly menacing coming from a young boy, lightened Jett’s mood as he headed for the woods.

A strange whistle filled the air and pain exploded in Jett’s lower back. He sprang forward the last couple yards to the cover of the evergreen trees and, supporting Bryce with one arm, pulled a small dart free from his backside. The colorless liquid in the dart could have been anything, but the rapid numbness spreading throughout his limbs told him all he needed to know. His legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground on his side. Bryce scrambled to his feet.

“Run, Bryce.” Jett slurred the words. Fuck, how had a human snuck up on him?

“Guardian?” Bryce shook Jett’s shoulder, tears reap-pearing.

I’m not a Guardian. Jett stared at the child, unable to do anything else, even blink, the drug’s grip on him complete. Run, damn it.

A new human scent carried on the breeze: Leather. Cigarettes.

Run!

Bryce crouched at Jett’s side. He hissed as a figure emerged through the trees. The human, dressed in jeans, a black sweater, and a skull-tight black cap, walked forward with a dart gun slung over his shoulder. Damn weapon appeared military grade.

Bryce turned his back on the man and hid his face in Jett’s chest. No emotion whatsoever bled into the human’s expression.

Get away, damn you!

The human pulled a dart from a pack at his hip, held it like a throwing dart, and let it fly. The needle landed in Bryce’s shoulder. The child jerked and his grip on Jett tightened. A few seconds later, his body went limp.

The kidnapper gathered Bryce in his arms.

Motherfucker! Jett writhed within his cement-like body. Despicable coward!

The human stared at Jett for a moment with an unreadable expression, turned on his heel without a word, and strode off toward the road. A moment later, the SUV roared to life.

…

Lexine tore through the undergrowth of the forest. Thick, humid air made it hard to breathe as she ran. She strained to see, as blind as a human in the post-midnight darkness. She stumbled over an exposed root and landed in the muddy, rotting leaves on her knees and palms.

Damn my defective eyes!

With a curse, she stood and rubbed her ankle. Her pain trivial compared to her missing brother, she ignited demon fire on her hands and pressed forward in the crimson light.

The loss of her older brother sat in her stomach like a cluster of shrapnel, but she refused to sit and grieve. She needed to act. Losing Bryce, too, wasn’t an option.

The Guardians had long since outpaced her, their attention focused on tracking the humans who’d taken her little brother. They left only the whispers of the forest in their wake. She stopped, shut her eyes, and listened. Leaves rustled. Water dripped. A swollen stream roared after a week of thunderstorms. Faint voices drew her attention ahead and to her left.

She scrambled in the direction of the distant shouts. Branches scraped her arms and ferns snagged her feet, but her crimson fire lit her way. Ahead, one of the many old logging roads in Sanctuary’s vicinity came into view.

Lexine extinguished her fire to avoid being a visible target if any humans remained in the area before stepping out into the open. The moon cast silvery light over the road and the adjacent field. Strong scents of humans, Bryce, and the Guardians filled her nose along with the choking stench of engine exhaust.

“Lex, what the hell are you doing out here?” Moonlight reflected off a pair of eyes to her left. The speaker stepped out of the trees, dark clothing and hair putting his pale skin in stark relief.

“Vin!” She ran up to the Guardians’ leader. “Where’s Bryce?”

He caught her by the shoulders. “He’s not here.”

“But his scent is so strong!”

“The humans took him in a vehicle only minutes before we got here.” The Guardian squeezed her arm in a chaste show of comfort. “I’ve sent trackers after them.”

She held her breath and squeezed her hands into fists. Panicking wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“Jett tried to help your brother.” Vin released her arm. “He had a good head start on us.”

She wiped at her moist eyes with the back of her hand. “What happened?”

“They hit him with some sort of drug. Probably the same one used when they ambushed Jac and the kids.”

“Is Jett…?”

“No, they didn’t kill him. Bizarre, considering he killed two of them. I admit he’s not above suspicion.”

“You think he helped the humans?”

“It’s possible. Jett’s loyalties are highly questionable, given his past and the fact that the humans left him alive. This way.”

Lexine followed Vin toward the evergreens, puzzling. What little the Guardians knew of Jett’s story had long been common knowledge in the colony. Kidnapped himself as a child, he’d been raised in some sort of human research facility. Later, he’d been employed—forcefully—by the poacher who’d held the archangel Raphael captive for years. Jett had revolted, freeing the archangel eleven months ago. Granted, Jett hadn’t embraced the colony or responded to Raphael’s repeated invitations to join the community, but why would he revert his loyalty to the humans?

Beyond the lush branches of the trees, several Guardians knelt near Jett, who lay on his side on the ground in tattered jeans. His black, long-sleeved shirt and jacket set off platinum-blond hair that fell across his face in mismatched angles. He must have hacked it off with a knife. Cuffs bound his hands and ankles.

She arched an eyebrow at Vin.

“We can’t risk him bolting on us when the drug wears off,” Vin said.

Lexine paused and breathed in Jett’s scent: the smoky edge of any demon, plus rich honey and dark tea. She knew it well from the cemetery, which she tended a couple days a week. He’d been visiting the burial ground more and more often, leaving his thick fragrance among the stones.

She’d grown accustomed to his presence in the last couple of months. Though she’d never seen him.

“Do you think he’ll wake up soon?”

A growl drew her gaze to Jett and she stepped back.

“He’s awake,” Vin said. “Just paralyzed. But apparently, he’s coming out of it.”

“He can blink and move his fingers,” another Guardian added. “But mostly he just glares and growls at us.”

“I’d be pissed at you, too.” She folded her arms. “What if he’s done nothing wrong?”

“What if he aided in Bryce’s abduction?”

Lexine scowled at the Guardian and knelt at Jett’s side. Bryce’s scent—light citrus and pine—clung to his shirt. “Jett. I’m Lexine.”

He blinked and stared at her from under thick, blond lashes with eyes the darkest shade of copper she’d ever seen, like rust polished to a crimson shine.

“The boy you tried to help today is my little brother.”

His lips parted and closed.

“When you can speak, will you tell me everything you can that might help us find the humans who took Bryce?”

He blinked, the movement slow.

“I hope that’s a yes.” She stood and rubbed her shaking hands together. She couldn’t chase away the mental image of Raphael in the woods, holding Jac. Forcing back more tears, she bit her lower lip. Keep it together, Lexi, keep it together.

Vin turned to the gathered demons. “The rest of you, spread out and study the scent trails. I want to know every step the humans and Jett took.”

The Guardians dispersed into the darkness, their movements as silent as owls hunting in the forest.

Lexine’s pulse pounded so loudly in her ears, she almost missed Jett whisper, “They won’t hurt Bryce.”

Vin knelt. “Care to elaborate?”

In a sluggish movement, Jett pulled at the handcuffs. The chain links chimed against each other. His voice strengthened and darkened. “Get these off me.”

“The sooner you talk, the sooner I consider taking them off.”

Jett got an elbow under his body and, with far more effort than normally necessary, righted himself into a sitting position. He leaned back against the tree. “I stopped being anyone’s bitch the moment I walked out of Thornton’s little fun house last year. Get these handcuffs off me.”

Vin sat back on his heels. “Well, that’s disappointing. I really thought, considering how you helped Raphael, that there was more to you than a hermit who used to work for poachers. No demon I know would put his own pride over a child’s safety.”

Jett’s voice remained quiet, but filled with threat. “Don’t you dare get all holier-than-thou on me.”

“Hey.” Lexine gave Vin her best back-the-hell-off glare, sat on a large tree root, and put her hand on Jett’s shoulder. He glanced in her direction, more surprise than anger in his expression.

“My older brother was killed tonight. Please, I need to get my younger brother back. You said the humans won’t hurt him. How do you know that?”

“Because they need him alive.” His tone softened. He shifted and faced in her direction, giving Vin his shoulder. “The humans who took Bryce work for Victor Lawrence, a scientist who studies demons. I was his guinea pig for most of my youth. Assuming the nature of his work hasn’t changed, he’ll need Bryce both alive and healthy.”

Lex leaned forward, her mouth dry. “Did you help these humans take Bryce and murder the others?”

“No, and I’m going to tear Lawrence’s throat out with my teeth. I know where to find him.”

“Thank God.” Her eyes burned and a tear ran a hot trail down her skin. “But then, why did they spare your life?” Heat rose to her cheeks. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I don’t know why they left me alive.”

With a muttered curse, Vin pulled a key from his pocket. He bent forward and unlocked Jett’s ankles.

“Change of heart so quickly?”

“My instincts are never wrong, and they insist you didn’t do this,” Vin said. “All I care about right now is getting that child back safely.”

Jett held out his cuffed wrists.

Vin rubbed the key between his thumb and forefinger. “I want to know everything you can tell me about Lawrence.”

“I will deal with Lawrence myself.”

“You will help my Guardians find Lawrence. You don’t want tonight to happen again, do you?”

Tension thickened the air as Vin and Jett stared at each other.

“Please.” Lexine touched Jett’s arm again.

Jett glanced at her. “Your brother will not grow up in that place, I promise you.” He returned his attention to Vin. “If I won’t be restrained we have a deal, Guardian.”

Chapter Three

Jett sat at the base of the tree, staring up at the first hints of a colorful sunrise that filtered through the branches, waiting out the last of the paralytic drug’s effects. He itched to get on his feet and go after Lawrence. The son of a bitch would not live to regret taking the child. Even if the Guardians caught up with the human’s SUV and brought Bryce back, Jett would hunt Lawrence down as soon as he could walk.

He needed a vehicle. It would take days to get to Lawrence on foot. He loathed the idea of working with the Guardians, but what choice did he have? Besides, going after Lawrence and killing him would have been one thing. Jett could have done that alone. Getting out alive with a small child, past Lawrence and his security? Like it or not, he needed the Guardians. Didn’t mean he had to trust them, though.

“Damn me.” He should have gone after Lawrence months ago, as he’d intended to during his first hours of freedom from Thornton, the poacher who’d imprisoned Jett for years. Instead, he’d given in to the damnable urge, the borderline addiction—something he didn’t even understand—to make sure the archangels were indeed safe. If nothing else, he owed Raphael that much for saving his life.

Now, several children and an adult demon were dead, and Bryce kidnapped, because Jett hadn’t stuck to his guns. He’d feel the weight of his screwup in his gut until he made it right.

Vin walked away, ranting into his cell phone, giving orders with military focus and precision.

“What for?” Lexine sat at Jett’s side on the tree’s knotted, exposed roots, her hands clasped between her knees. Bryce’s older sister. How much older? She appeared to be in her midtwenties, but so did all demon adults for hundreds of years of their life.

“Huh?”

“Why should you be damned?”

He shifted his gaze to her face, framed by her black hair, which she’d braided and wrapped around her head. Such an unusual, exotic hair color among the mostly blond and redheaded demon population. “Because I excel at putting others in harm’s way.”

She tilted her head. “Looks to me like you excel at rescuing people. Raphael—”

“Raphael would have died because of me had Wren not shown up with that healing ability of his.”

“At least you didn’t leave him in that miserable place.” Her throat worked. “I know you won’t leave Bryce, either. I’m glad you’re here.”

His jaw slackened, but he covered the reaction with a cough. Had anyone, ever, been glad to have him around? He’d befriended Raphael, but that didn’t count. Jett had simply talked to the archangel to help pass the time, as opposed to taunting him and abusing him like the rest of Thornton’s thugs. It wasn’t as if Raphael had his choice of friends. Now, with all these Guardians around, why was Lexine looking to him?

He changed the subject before, heaven forbid, she made him blush or something equally horrifying. “You take care of the cemetery.”

Her face wrinkled, and she dissolved into sobs.

Okay, wrong thing to say.

“Yes, I do,” she answered, to his surprise. “You’ve been visiting often the last couple of months. And hiding in the woods. I haven’t worked a day recently without catching your scent on the breeze.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“My brothers,” she choked out, and shook her head. “You’re not upsetting me. Please. I need to talk about something, anything, or all I can think about is…” She cried some more, her face in her hands.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched, attempting to awaken his sluggish muscles from the drug. The sooner he got moving, the better. He needed to get on Lawrence’s ass, and out of this situation—what did he know about comforting a female? Nothing, that was what. “When I first saw you working in the cemetery, it was noon on a sunny day, and you had no sunglasses. I thought you were a human, so I stayed downwind and got closer to investigate. How can you see in full daylight?”

Lexine ignited flames on her fingers and held her hand to the side of her tear-reddened face. She lacked eyeshine, a characteristic of demon retinas that reflected light, enabling night vision. “It’s a rare earthborn defect. I can’t see well in the dark, and bright light doesn’t bother me.” She cleared her throat. “You must have realized I wasn’t human, though. Why have you kept coming back?”

“I got close to you that first day, but you didn’t notice me. If I’d been a hostile human, or even another demon with ill intentions, you’d have been caught off guard. You really should be more aware of your surroundings if you’re going to work alone.”

She half sobbed half laughed. “You’ve been protecting me?”

“I’ve been keeping watch.”

“I’m not a silly little girl. If humans came near that cemetery, I’d hear them because they don’t know how to walk quietly in the woods—”

“Never make generalizations and assume you’re safe. Some humans are remarkably well trained, like the ones who took Bryce.” He paused. The cemetery, located on a hillside, had a good view of the archangel house, not that he couldn’t find just as decent a vantage point high in a tree. He’d chosen the cemetery because the illusion of having company had been…nice. “You object to me watching out for you, then?”

“No.” The corners of her mouth curved upward in a hint of a smile. “It’s sweet of you, actually.”

Sweet? He’d been called many things in his life. “Sweet” definitely did not make the list.

“Doesn’t matter.” He stood and tested his balance, but stumbled. He braced himself against the tree. “First, I’ll deal with Lawrence. Then, I’m going to move on from this colony.”

She opened her mouth but Vin returned, pushing a low branch out of this way. “They lost the scent trail on the main road, but they’re going to continue to search the area. I had a brief conversation with our liaison in Montpelier, and an Amber Alert is going to be issued.”

Jett blinked. “An Amber Alert? For a demon?”

“Not every available station will broadcast it, but yes. We do have some supporters out there.”

Lexine stood, maneuvered toward Jett over the sprawling roots of the old tree, and slipped. He caught her arm, but let go as soon as she had her balance. Her gaze lingered on him. “Thanks.”

Vin took a step closer. “I’ve called for cars, weapons, supplies, and my best available Guardians. They’ll be here momentarily. Where are we going?”

“New Hampshire.”

“Care to be more specific?”

“Not really, no. I don’t like you and I don’t trust you.” He sighed. As a youth, everything he’d done had been about self-preservation. As an adult, he’d worked for the poacher, under threat of being returned to the laboratory. His job had been to spy on, and be suspicious of, everyone, all the time.

But what would he do without their vehicle? How would he get Bryce out safety and kill Lawrence, without the other demons to occupy the security personnel and the rest of the staff? “Damn it.”

“We’re on the same side here, Jett,” Vin said, his tone tense.

After muttering more curses, Jett said, “Lawrence’s lab is in the White Mountains region of New Hampshire, a no-stop-light, more-moose-than-people town called Dearly.”

“What kind of security and defenses are we walking into?”

“Lawrence has the financial resources for substantial security, but he is a civilian and his research is a one-man show, so we’re not looking at an impregnable military bunker. Fences, guards, cameras, dogs. Of course, I haven’t been back to Lawrence’s lab in nearly six years. He may have made improvements.”

“We’ll be prepared,” Vin said.

“Is this the part where you tell me to go back to the colony and wait?” Lex moved to stand directly in front of Vin. No way she’d let him leave her behind. “The forecast calls for a sunny day. I can drive and spare someone a migraine.”

Vin’s lips thinned, but he nodded. “I can’t argue with that. This is going to be a bitch of a drive.”

Headlights pierced the foliage. Jett walked next to Lexine out from under the trees onto the logging road. Three black SUVs pulled to a stop. Overhead, the sunrise smeared half the sky with pink and gold, the brightness already uncomfortable. The daylight glinted off specks of gold in Lexine’s pale copper irises. Her eyes were a fraction too big for her face—a beautiful feature on a female. Resisting the urge to stare, Jett pulled his sunglasses from his pocket.

“I’m driving.” Lexine shooed the driver out of the first vehicle. She got behind the wheel and adjusted the mirrors. Vin slid into the backseat.

Jett sat in the front passenger seat. “Do you drive in human traffic often? We need to travel the main roads to save time.”

“Often enough. It’s a good skill to have, so I practice.” She shifted into drive with a shaking hand and hit the gas far too hard.

The force of her sharp U-turn pressed Jett against the passenger door and the tires skidded in the dirt. “Are you sure you’re all right to drive?”

“I’m fine. If I sat around and waited, I’d lose my mind. I need to help. Besides, I know that’s what Jac would want me to do.”

“Okay.” Bravery, a quality even more captivating than her eyes. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze to the windows. The SUVs sported tinted glass, thank goodness, but it would still be difficult to focus on the road for a long period of time in the sunlight. He kept his sunglasses on.

They drove in silence. The logging road met the wider dirt road that connected the colony to the rest of the world. Twenty miles later, unseen Guardians opened the heavy gates that marked the border between Sanctuary’s land and Vermont state land. The scenery remained the same—nothing but trees.

Tears slid down Lexine’s cheek. Jett sighed and the air whistled past his fangs. “If it makes you feel any better, Jac didn’t suffer. Neither did the other children. No one survives wounds like that for more than a few seconds. And I killed the two individuals who wielded the knives against your brother and the children.”

“The only thing that’ll make me feel better is getting Bryce back and seeing Lawrence pay for those murders.”

“I doubt vengeance will truly make either of us feel better,” he muttered. “But vengeance we will have.”

…

Welcome to Dearly, New Hampshire, Established 1761.

Lexine’s fingers hurt. She relaxed her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel and glanced at the clock. They’d been on the road for three hours. The late-morning sun gleamed overhead.

Vin’s men had called a half hour ago. Their search of the area around Sanctuary, where they’d lost the scent trail of the kidnapper’s car, had turned up no leads. No credible responses to the Amber Alert, either.

“Where to now?”

Jett, who’d spent most of the trip in silence, stretched and adjusted his sunglasses. His voice dripped acid. “Home sweet home. Take this left.”

“Here?” Lexine turned. “The Dearly Motel?”

“Yeah. Dearly is a small town, but a tourist trap. Law-rence’s people won’t notice three black SUVs with tinted windows at a place like this, but on the back roads closer to the lab, we’d draw immediate suspicion. We’ll walk the rest of the way through the woods behind the building.”

She parked near the few other cars, and the two other SUVs parked nearby. The motel, a single-story, L-shaped building, lacked the run-down face of similar establishments. White paint gleamed. Hanging pots full of mixed flowers hung every ten feet along the porch that ran the length of the building.

Vin leaned forward between the two seats. “Lex, I need you to stay here. I can’t have you in the middle of this confrontation.”

“I’ll stay,” she muttered. She knew better than to be a distraction for the Guardians or put herself in danger. Bryce had already lost one sibling. So long as she was nearby, she could tolerate waiting on the side.

“Good. Thank you.” Vin turned to Jett. “I’m going to the motel office to book a room, so the humans don’t tow us. I’ll meet you and the others in a moment. They have weapons for you.”

Vin got out and Jett opened his door to follow, but she grasped his arm. “Jett.”

He stared at her hand and gently pulled his arm away. “If Bryce is here, I’ll bring him back. If he’s not here, I’ll find him, and bring him back. I promise you.”

“Thank you.” Her voice trembled. “Be safe, all right?”

He paused, looking for all the world like no one had ever expressed concern for him before, and he didn’t know what to make of it. “I will.”

Chapter Four

After accepting a gun and extra ammunition from the Guardians—though he preferred his knife and his fangs when it came to fighting—Jett led the procession through the woods. They discussed basic strategy as they traversed the undergrowth, quick and silent. One of the Guardians, Vin’s fastest runner and a skilled spy, listened to Jett’s directions and ran ahead to scout, vanishing in seconds.

Jett had been in this section of forest only once before but knew it well. The previous trip—after Lawrence sold Jett to a group of archangel poachers headed by Thornton—played through his memory like a video in reverse.

At that gnarled old maple tree, Thornton had shoved Jett to the ground and smashed his fangs with a rock. At that stream, Jett had tried to run after stopping for a much-needed sip of water, only to get backhanded by his new “owner.” Here, in the section of white pines near the house, Jett had hoped Thornton would be kind, that he’d taken Jett away from Lawrence as a mercy, that a better life awaited.

Jett cursed under his breath and slowed the pace.

Ahead, the trees thinned and the forest brightened with light. An involuntary growl ripped from his throat. Thornton had been dealt with eleven months ago. The poacher had wronged the archangels in far worse ways than he’d hurt Jett, and Wren had finished off the wretched human.

Now, it was Lawrence’s turn to die. Jett’s turn for abso-lution.

A night raid would have been beneficial, but he’d be damned if Bryce would have to wait. Besides, Lawrence wouldn’t expect a noontime assault from demons.

He tracked the scout’s scent and climbed a massive pine tree. Vin followed, and at the top, the three of them had an unobstructed view of the house. The brick colonial sat on the crest of a hill, surrounded by a brick wall.

“There’ll be numerous cameras, and he always kept dogs in the yard…” Jett paused, straining to see the details of the distant building. Even with his sunglasses, the sunlight added a washed-out quality to his vision as it beat down on the scene. The light glinted off haphazard edges of broken glass in a window. A knot formed in his stomach. “That’s not right.”

“What?” The scout glanced at him, then back at the house.

“There’s a broken window. Lawrence never tolerated loose threads on the carpet. The staff should be falling over themselves to fix a broken window.”

The scout nodded. “There’s been no movement.”

Jett scanned the property. One of the apple trees on the hillside had lost a branch, and no one had picked it up. The grass, overgrown.

“No!” Jett hurried down the tree and ran full tilt out of the woods. He traversed the tall grass to the driveway, continued up the hill, and stopped at the gate. The Guardians kept up with him, except for the scout, who ran ahead and climbed the wall. He stood, balanced, with his gun drawn, ready to cover them if need be.

A wasted effort.

The gate, which had begun to rust, stood open a few inches. Jett shoved it inward. The hinges creaked and tall weeds clung to the iron bars, trying to hold the gate in place.

“Son of a bitch,” Jett said through clenched teeth.

The front yard had been taken over by tree saplings and weeds. A doghouse sat rotting and collapsed. Bits of trash dotted the ground. Judging by the size of the young trees, Lawrence had vacated the property not long after Jett had left with Thornton.

However, the faint odors of bitter, human sweat and vehicle exhaust mingled in the air. Jett studied the ground. “It does look like a vehicle pulled up to the gate and turned around. Someone was here.”

Vin sniffed the packed dirt. “Lawrence’s henchmen would’ve had his new address, one would think, but this is the scent of the human who drove off with Bryce. It’s faint, though. He’s long gone.”

“Yes.” Jett inhaled, tasting the familiar odor of leather and cigarettes. “I don’t smell Bryce. However…”

He had to be sure.

Steeling himself against his past, he kicked in the front door. The Guardians spread out, some going around back of the house, some following him inside.

Bare wood floor. Bare white walls. After a quick glance in the empty rooms where Lawrence had dined and slept, he tracked the kidnapper’s scent up the stairs to the laboratory.

The damned place reeked of chemicals as if the foul mix of odors had sunk into the drywall, diluting the human’s trail. He moved further inside.

Dirty walls, black lab benches, dust. The door to the walk-in refrigerator stood open, the fist indentations and fingernail gouges on the inside of the door a lasting testament to how the tiny, freezing space had once been used.

Turned out a demon could ignite fire no matter how cold, unless drenched with water first.

“What the hell?” a Guardian murmured, inspecting the door and glancing in Jett’s direction. Jett turned away. Their concern, after all, came years too late. As a child, what he would’ve given to see one of these demons opening that door…

Bryce. Bryce was still that child. Jett focused on the floor, searching for footsteps in the dust.

Vin stalked around the far side of the room, glancing into the closets. Jett pushed ahead to the rest of the research area. The cell-culture room, empty. The computer and microscope room, empty.

He paused in the entrance to the deserted surgery suite, nausea overpowering him, phantom pains shooting up all over his body. Memories. Nightmares. Too many of them.

A muffled cry drew his attention, breaking the cold grip of the past.

“Bryce?” Jett rushed down the hallway in the direction of the sound, Vin’s footsteps behind him.

The smothered voice called out again.

He reached the door at the end of the white, featureless hallway, and found it open. Inside, floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall bars divided the room in half and simple bedroom furniture occupied the space beyond. Just in front of the bars, a black trash bag lay on the floor, the contents squirming and kicking.

Jett fell to his knees, grasped the heavy-duty plastic, and tore it wide open. Curled up in the bag, Bryce met his gaze with wide eyes. Duct tape secured his mouth.

Cursing, Jett ripped the plastic more. The humans had wrapped the tape around the child’s legs and secured his arms behind his back. But the difference between finding a dead body and a living child was the hole in the plastic Bryce had managed to make with his fingers.

The other Guardians gathered around, silent. Jett shoved the wretched plastic away. Kneeling, Vin freed the child’s arms and legs. Jett eased the tape off the boy’s face. Unlike during the first rescue attempt in the woods, Bryce didn’t scream or cry. Eerily silent, he sat up, leaned against Jett, and shut his eyes. Bruises marked the side of the child’s face and neck, and blood stained his fingernails. He’d gotten a piece of his would-be executioners at some point.

The humans deserved far worse than the death Jett would deliver to them.

He got to his feet, holding Bryce against his chest, and let flames coat his skin to comfort the child. “How would you like to see your sister?”

The corners of Bryce’s mouth twitched and a hint of color returned to his cheeks. He opened his eyes and nodded.

Jett turned and left his old room, Guardians in tow.

…

“Bryce!” Lexine spotted the Guardians—and Bryce in Jett’s arms—as she paced around the motel’s garden. She broke into a run, crossed the lot, and threw her arms around Jett and her brother.

“Lexi,” Bryce murmured, leaning toward her. “I’m tired.”

“You can sleep.” She kissed his forehead. “We’ll be home by the time you wake up.”

“I’m going to stay here,” Jett said. “If Lawrence or his men left any trail at all, I need to find it. I will finish this.”

Her stomach knotted. “The humans who did this are still out there?”

“Yes.” The single word held enough menace to kill. “But I’ll find them.”

He shifted Bryce to her arms, but her brother reached out and grasped Jett’s jacket. Panic filled his voice. “Don’t go!”

Lexine fought back a fresh wave of tears. His whole life, her shy little brother had only reached out to family, never fearful but always cautious and quiet around strangers and acquaintances. Jett couldn’t realize the significance of Bryce’s request. “Jett, please stay with us.”

“Lawrence is a threat to all.” Vin stepped closer. “We’ll search the town and let you know the minute we find something. In the meantime, you’ll do more good staying here.” He bent toward Jett’s ear and dropped his voice to a near-soundless whisper. “Bryce needs you. Don’t make me kick your ass.”

Jett scoffed, but Bryce yanked on the sleeve of Jett’s jacket. “Please?”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “All right, but you have strange taste in security blankets, kid.”

Bryce smiled.

The Guardians dispersed, some by foot and some in the SUVs, as Jett took her brother from her arms so she could dig the room key from her pocket. She unlocked the door and led them inside the motel room.

Jett settled Bryce on the bed. Her brother curled up among all the extra pillows, and Jett sat, his posture stiff, next to him. Bryce picked at a button on the cuff of Jett’s jacket.

“I have to call home and let them know.” She took her cell phone out of her pocket and turned it on, having forgotten she’d switched it off earlier to save the battery. A message waited.

“Lex? The Guardians have told us what’s going on. I’m here if you want to talk.” Ginger, a human-archangel half-breed, had moved into Sanctuary eleven months ago. Not many in Sanctuary spent time out and about during the day, so Lexine deeply valued the other woman’s company. But, she had to call her mother and father first. She dialed.

A high-pitched chime preceded a recording. “The number you have dialed is not in service.”

Frowning, she dialed again, trying Ginger this time. Same message. The phone showed a strong signal, but Sanctuary only had cell coverage thanks to a tower provided by a wealthy human supporter. Maybe the electrical power had gone out for some reason. That happened every now and then. Maybe another thunderstorm went through.

“What’s wrong?”

“The call isn’t connecting. Maybe the power’s down. Or maybe it’s my phone.”

“Try this one.” He freed his wrist from Bryce and pulled a cell from his jacket pocket. “Vin just gave it to me.”

She dialed but got the damned recording again. “Must be the power.”

“That happen often?” Grinning, Jett jerked his arm away as Bryce reached again for the button. Her brother made fists and Jett pretended to fight him. Bryce “fought” back, though his smile didn’t quite reach the shadows in his eyes.

Lexine watched them for a moment before speaking, her tense muscles easing. Her brother would bounce back from this, especially with Jett around. She didn’t dare say it out loud, but quiet, tentative Bryce would be inconsolable after this trauma if not for this stranger he inexplicably trusted. She understood, though. Something about Jett put her at ease, too. “The colony loses power two or three times a year, usually in severe storms.” She sat on her brother’s other side and whispered, “Thank you, Jett.”

Bryce settled down on the pillows and closed his eyes.

Jett met her gaze, all humor gone from his expression. “Don’t thank me. I was wrong.”

“About what?”

He glanced down at Bryce. “Not here. Just…thank God we got there when we did.”

She shuddered. Did Jett mean Bryce’s life had been in danger, even though he’d assured her otherwise? But Jett had brought him back, alive and mostly unharmed. The bruises…what kind of individuals, of any species, could mistreat a child like that? Did they have no hearts at all?

“Without you, we wouldn’t have known where to find him. Thank you.” She got up and moved around the bed. Jett stood and she threw her arms around him.

He lifted a hand and stroked the back of her neck, the skin of his hand warm and rough. She breathed in his scent: dark honey and rich tea. His grip tightened and his other hand settled on the small of her back.

But he pulled away too soon, his eyes hooded. “You should get some rest, too. Are you due for some sleep?”

It had been a week since her last sleep. She nodded.

“I’ll keep you safe. If you want to rest, please do.”

She held his gaze for a moment. Though their kind needed sleep only once a week, and only for a couple hours, nothing could wake them from their coma-deep slumber. When sleeping, demons needed to trust their lives to those around them if an emergency arose.

Sincerity warmed his voice in the same tone he used when he promised her he’d bring Bryce back—so different from his more typical, gruff manner. Though she didn’t know him well, she did trust him enough to close her eyes for a while, even though the men who took her brother were still out there. Would they attack again? She curled up next to Bryce and shut her eyes, trying not to think about it.

Chapter Five

Jett paced around the hotel room for hours. Where the hell were Vin and the others? He opened the curtain an inch so he could survey the parking lot. Deserted. With a sigh, he turned back to the bed.

His thoughts sunk their teeth in Lawrence. Where had the son of a bitch gone? Why attack the colony and kidnap a young demon only to leave that demon to die in the abandoned lab?

He scoffed at his own questions. All that mattered was finding him. And killing him.

Both Lexine and Bryce slept, dead to the world and peaceful. Her mouth curved in a grin that complemented the smooth line of her jaw. She murmured in her sleep, the words unintelligible, and laughed.

Good. She deserved a few nice dreams. He approached the bed and fixed the blanket where it had slipped from her shoulder.

Her smile vanished. “No.”

Had her dreams shifted to nightmares?

She thrashed against the covers and hissed, baring her fangs.

“Whoa.” He sat on the edge of the bed and held her shoulders. What the hell was he supposed to do? A growl ripped from her throat. He touched her hot, sweat-moistened cheek.

She jerked her head to the side and her fangs sank into the base of his thumb—narrowly missing the bone—and her jaw locked in place.

“Fuck!” He stayed still despite the sharp pain. If he pulled away, he’d rip his own flesh. He tried a gentle tug. “Lexine, let go.”

Still lost to sleep, she didn’t move. The venom spread up his arm, its progress marked by tingling heat, harmless thanks to his natural immunity.

The warmth spread across his chest to his other arm, stomach, and legs. His muscles relaxed. His cheeks flushed. The immunity wasn’t news…but why the hell did he feel like he’d just downed a double glass of bourbon?

His gaze settled on her lips. The pain of the bite faded until all he knew was the warmth of the venom in his system and the awareness of her mouth on his skin.

Clenching his teeth, he stroked her hair with his free hand. Her furrowed brow smoothed, and she released him. She collapsed back on her pillow and groaned.

Blood and venom poured from the four little wounds at the base of his thumb. He rushed to the bathroom to minimize spilling blood on the carpet—humans tended to freak out over that kind of thing, one more problem he didn’t need. Holding his bleeding hand under running water, he pulled a wad of tissues from the dispenser. Thankfully, her delicate female fangs had left only tiny—but deep—puncture wounds and the blood clotted after a minute.

He slumped into a chair, languid from whatever her venom had done to him. Lexine settled back into a peaceful sleep. A quiet hour passed. The warmth in his system faded, and he did push-ups and sit-ups to dispel the last of the lazy sensation.

Lexine stirred. She sat up in bed, blinking rapidly. Bryce remained asleep, but Jett didn’t worry. Children slept longer—he remembered from his own youth.

“Welcome back.”

Eyes wide, she licked her fangs and stared at his hand. “Tell me I didn’t—”

“You did. You were having a nightmare.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” She took his hand and inspected the double set of twin punctures.

“I’ll live.” Indeed, he felt a little too alive. Her lips on his skin remained in the forefront of his mind. For the first time, leaving the colony sounded like a bad idea. His gaze lingered on those lips. What would it be like to kiss another demon?

Damn him. How could he consider making a move on her? Her older brother had been murdered before dawn that day and she’d only just gotten her little brother back. A fling had to be the last thing on her mind.

A female like her deserved more than just a fling, anyway. Did he have it within himself to be a decent companion to a female? A day ago, he’d have spat at the idea. Now, hell, he’d go to a damned etiquette class if that’s what it took to feel her mouth on him again.

He wouldn’t be staying in the colony, however, so why was he even considering this?

“Did you dream about Jac?”

“No. I’ve had the same nightmare for years.” She rubbed her forehead. “I wasn’t dreaming about my brothers. I was dreaming about my mate.”

Mate? Well, fuck. Wasn’t that physically permanent or some shit? “You’re mated?”

“No. It’s just a dream. In it, I’m mated.” She studied the floor, apparently oblivious to his reaction.

“That’s a good thing, yes?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Why?”

“Can we drop it, please?”

“You bit me.”

She dug her fingers through her hair. “Fine. He’s a human, okay? A murderer. An archangel poacher!” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t imagine why my subconscious would pair me with someone like him.”

He reached out and brushed her mussed hair from her face. “Like you said, it’s just a dream.”

“Sorry, again. That must have stung.”

His gaze settled again on her mouth, on the white curve of her fangs visible past her parted lips. He freed his hand and brushed her lower lip with the tip of his fingers.

Her large, stunning, copper eyes widened. “Jett?”

Blinking, he realized how close he’d leaned toward her face. Their noses nearly touched. Straightening, he cleared his throat. “Would you like some food or something? I’m going to the vending machine.”

“Just some water, thanks. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

He hesitated. She needed more than water after all that had happened today, but it was a start, and it would give him a minute of fresh air to clear his head.

He took the key, shut the door behind him, and walked to the nearby vending machine. In one of the inner pockets of his jacket, he’s saved a few wrinkled dollars from the day he’d fled Thornton’s hellhole. After flattening a couple ones, he bought a water and a soda. God bless the human who’d invented orange soda.

Sighing, he leaned against the machine. Maybe he didn’t need to be in such a rush to leave the colony. After he dealt with Lawrence, what would be the harm in staying for a short time, if he wanted? And asking Lexine out, if he wanted? Share a meal with her, perhaps?

No. Hell, no. He headed back to the room. Him, get the girl? Ridiculous. It’d be better for both of them, and everyone else, if he left the colony as soon as possible and killed Lawrence. Sounds like a plan.

…

Lexine set her feet on the floor but remained sitting on the bed, her body heavy from sleep, her heart a lead weight after the nightmare. The dream, identical each time, showed her such joy. Laughter. Tender and passionate touches. At no point did her dream self fret over her mate’s identity: a poacher.

His face always remained obscured by shadows, but the tattoo on his arm betrayed the truth. That awful depiction of bloody feathers scattered around a sharp blade covered his skin from his shoulder to his elbow. Not that her dream self cared. She covered his entire body with kisses, even that vile tattoo and the odd scars across it.

Her stomach lurched, and she bolted off the bed. She made it to the bathroom and dry heaved.

“Lexine?” Jett called.

“I’m fine.” She stood and rinsed her face in the sink. Jett waited for her in the bedroom with a bottle of water in his hand.

“You don’t sound fine.”

She accepted the bottle and took a long gulp of the cleansing water. “Don’t worry, really. Just my standard post-nightmare freak-out.”

“Standard? How often does this happen?”

“Every time I sleep.” She sighed and rubbed the spot over her heart. “I don’t know if you know this, but when demons have recurring dreams, they always depict the future.”

He blinked. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s rare.” She took another sip of the water. “But true. I say it’s ‘just a dream,’ but that’s bull. I just don’t understand how I could ever love a heartless killer. I’ll have to turn my back on everyone I care about and leave the colony to have a life with my mate. He’d never be welcome in Sanctuary. Thing is, I do believe love is that powerful. Love overcomes everything.” She drew in a shaky breath. “But right now, I hate him. I hate myself knowing that I’ll one day love him.”

“Lexine.” Jett took a step forward, his gaze steady. “I agree love is powerful. I’ve seen it in action. But nothing trumps free will. If you don’t want him, you can choose.”

“I will love him and be his mate freely. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it.” She sighed. “Sorry. You barely know me, and I’m unloading all of this—”

“It’s fine.” Jett frowned, the expression most intense in his eyes. A shiver ran down her spine. He looked…hurt. She recalled their earlier moment on the bed, when she’d thought he might kiss her. It hadn’t been an accidental lean-in or a trip. He’d seemed entranced. Something deep in her chest clenched. Jett came from a nightmare of a past, but had turned his back on that evil and saved Raphael. He was complicated, but honorable. A good man who would be someone’s loving mate one day.

Lucky tramp.

She worried her lower lip with a fang. After the dreams had started in her late teens, she’d dated with abandon. If she took a demon mate, she’d change her fate, or so she’d hoped. But she hadn’t found love, and though she would have settled for less to escape a future with a poacher, none of the males deserved to be used like that.

But, this male made her heart race and her fingers tremble. Should she give dating another try? Would he be even remotely interested, or would he head back to forest and his hermit ways?

“Hey, Bryce,” Jett said.

Lexine turned to see her little brother rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, Guardian.”

“Call me Jett.” His shoulders visibly stiffened. Lexine sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed Bryce’s hair.

“Vin’s here,” Jett said, staring toward the window.

A black SUV pulled up in front of the motel room and Vin got out of the driver’s seat, a deep frown on his face. Jett went out to meet him. She followed a moment later, holding Bryce’s hand.

“…not a goddamned thing,” Vin was saying to Jett. “No scents, no paper trail. Not even a pencil was left behind in the house. The locals know nothing. It’s like he dropped off the face of the earth.”

Jett swore and shoved a hand through his uneven haircut. He took a deep breath. After a pause, he said, “Okay. So we don’t have a trail. Not an obvious one, anyway.”

Lexine got Bryce settled in the SUV with a pair of sunglasses. She shut the door so he couldn’t hear them talk about the attack.

“Not an obvious one?” Vin echoed.

“Today’s events make no logical sense whatsoever,” Jett said. “They killed three children and an adult and kidnapped a fourth child only to drive him three hours away to kill him, too? At the abandoned lab? What could the humans possibly gain from such a show?”

Lexine shuddered.

“They could have dumped Bryce anywhere,” Vin said. “They meant for us to find him. Here. No wonder they didn’t kill you.”

“Yeah, I’m the only one who knew to come here. But how did Lawrence know I’d be there last night, if my role was so important in his plan? How could he even know I was in Sanctuary? He’s the one who raised me to hate the place.”

Vin’s voice darkened. “I don’t know, but if this is about you, there is something I need you to be very clear about.”

Lexine glanced from one demon to the other, wringing her hands. Shit, Vin wouldn’t kick Jett out, would he?

“And what’s that?” Jett said, his tone dry.

“That we have your back, if you’ll let us.”

Lexine let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Jett paused, glanced at Lexine, then back at Vin. “I…”

“What?”

“Lexine,” Jett said. “Any luck calling the colony?”

“I haven’t tried since I woke up,” she said. “Why?”

Vin pulled out his phone and made a call. He listened for a moment, shook his head, and put the phone away. “Tower’s down, been down for a couple hours…” Vin froze for a long moment and shut his eyes. “Son of a bitch…”

“They murder demons and kidnap a child,” Jett said. “The Guardians, of course, send their best to get him back. I lead them to a location three hours away.”

Lexine opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about when the meaning behind his words hit home.

The colony. This was about the colony. Bryce had been merely a means to weaken Sanctuary’s Guardian protection. This whole thing had been a trap.

Chapter Six

Raphael perched on a narrow, rocky outcrop that jutted out from the lakeshore, unable, unwilling, to move. The midmorning sun reflected off the still water. All around him, Sanctuary sat in withdrawn silence and stillness, the buildings hidden from sight by the deep green, late-summer foliage of the forest.

The attack in the woods had stopped every resident of the colony in their tracks. Jac and three of the children under his supervision: slaughtered. One five-year-old, Jac’s little brother: kidnapped. Human scents all over the scene. Raphael had rushed to them as soon as he’d sensed the injuries, the energy of his healing talent crawling over his skin in warning, but Jac and the children had died during the precious moments it had taken the Guardians to check the area and for Raphael to arrive. Now, his white wings drooped until his flight feathers rested on the surface of the water.

A dark crack rumbled in the distance, shattering the quiet. He glanced toward the sky. Thunder? The few white clouds didn’t hold much threat of a storm. The smaller feathers along the top of his wings stood on end as foreboding filled his gut. Was the tension getting to him, or were his instincts warning him of real trouble?

The shrill cry of an infant pierced the air. A second joined in.

His grandchildren. Raphael’s lips twitched, warmth competing against the ice for room in his chest. He shifted his gaze to the house. Solar lights edged the flight decks, still glowing faintly under the morning shade of the oak tree. The interior of the granite dwelling sat in stillness except for the new fourth-floor addition—his son’s home. His daughter-in-law’s wingless silhouette passed by the open French doors. Though she was half archangel like his son, Ginger took after her human parent.

With a heavy sigh, he got to his feet and extended his wings, seeking the warmth from the sunlight that beat down. Since finding the bodies in the forest, he’d been unable to shed a deep chill that had risen to the surface, unable to banish the old pain from the time when his mate and his young son had been attacked in the woods. Wren had survived and so much had happened since then, but that sort of horror leaves permanent scars on a person’s soul.

He stayed in that position, trying to clear his mind of everything but the sunlight on his body, until a voice pierced the silence.

“Raphael.”

He folded his wings to his back and turned. A redheaded demon emerged from the woods, the way he moved so subtle and deliberate he seemed to take form from the shadows. Lark, his personal Guardian.

“Humans have taken out the cell tower with an explosive,” Lark said quietly.

Poachers. Raphael turned his gaze to the house. Poachers, coming for his family, coming for him.

Not again. Not again!

“Please go inside,” Lark said. “I’ll take care of this.”

He flicked his wings and focused on his old friend. “Bring yourself back safe, too.”

Lark nodded and disappeared into the woods.

Raphael winged himself to the fourth-floor flight deck. Though the French doors stood open, he wouldn’t have called on his newly mated son unannounced if circumstances had been normal. He tapped his knuckles against the door frame.

Wren stepped into view, dressed only in black jeans. His white wings framed his body, the black markings at the tips of his feathers standing out like spilled ink. He held an infant, its tiny head resting against his collarbone. Miniature down-covered wings of black, gray, and traces of white, like a stormy sky, splayed across his chest. The newborn stared at Raphael sidelong with a wide, blue-green eye. Unlike human children, archangel young opened their eyes and explored their surroundings soon after birth, eager to take in the world.

They had no idea what was coming for them.

“Morning.” With a yawn, Wren stepped back, stretched his wings, and invited Raphael inside.

Across the room, Ginger sat on a chaise, smoothing the second twin’s feathers. She glanced up, gathered the young, and got to her feet, every slow movement yelling exhaustion. It seemed they hadn’t gotten any sleep after the murders and the kidnapping, either.

Wren wrapped his mate in the curve of his wing. “Any news of Bryce?”

“Nothing yet.” Raphael shut the French doors behind him. “There’s something else.”

“What?” Unease filled Wren’s voice.

Part of him wanted to keep the information to himself. Silence wouldn’t protect them, though. “The colony is being attacked.”

Wren and Ginger both blanched and stared in silence. Ginger’s arms tightened around the infant she held. The child, oblivious to the situation, reached up and tugged on her hair. Wren tucked his chin and pressed his cheek to the other infant’s head. When he spoke, his tone could have iced over the lake. “I will kill them myself before they lay a finger on my family.”

With his ability to drain life with a mere touch, he wasn’t making an empty threat. As his mate, Ginger also commanded the ability. But even the two of them couldn’t take on too many enemies at once, should the worst come to pass.

“It’s going to be all right,” Ginger said, her tone sur-prisingly calm. “The Guardians will handle it.”

Raphael nodded, but the tension remained. By hitting the cell tower, the humans had given their presence away. Foolish. Why would they do that? More than thirty Guardians protected the colony—even without the small group that had gone with Vin—every one of them skilled enough to take on several humans at once. The last time humans had attacked, so many years ago, they’d exploited the colony’s central weakness: Sanctuary held five thousand acres of wooded land, surrounded by tens of thousands of acres of Vermont state forest. The attack had been mounted by only a handful of mercenaries, but they’d snuck through the woods and made it into the heart of the colony. Today, the fools would be lucky to live long enough to take two steps beyond the tower.

They must know that. What did the humans hope to gain?

Beyond the archway to the master bedroom, Wren and Ginger settled the twins in the double bassinet, a gift from Ginger’s adoptive demon father. Devin had carved the cradle himself from a fallen maple tree over the winter.

Raphael closed the drapes over the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the exterior wall. He glanced over his shoulder. Wren stood with Ginger in an embrace, his wings bent forward to enclose his mate’s body as they kissed. She dropped her head to his shoulder.

His shoulders and wings heavy, Raphael headed for the kitchen. No words could express his happiness for Wren and Ginger—they needed each other’s comfort at a time like this. But seeing them together like that added to the unbearable pain already revived by the murders. The anniversary of his own mate’s death had passed the previous week. While imprisoned, he’d never properly mourned, and now that he was free, he resisted. He couldn’t give in to that much pain.

He leaned forward on the counter. “Nineteen years.”

“Father?”

He jumped, partially extending his wings.

Wren stood at the opposite end of the kitchen area and made no move to come closer. Raphael sighed, realizing just how much space he’d forced between them in the last couple weeks. They saw each other every day, talked about anything and everything except the shadow of Thornton following them around. When the anniversary of Kora’s death had neared, Raphael had dodged the topic like an electrical storm. The accursed day itself, he’d avoided Wren, unable to look into the green eyes Kora had passed to their son, unable to look at his feathers without seeing the blood that had soaked them, one wing so close to having been severed.

Raphael hadn’t been the only one to lose someone that day. He’d lost his mate, but Wren had lost his mother and thought he’d lost his father, too. Raphael had been imprisoned for eighteen years, unable to be there for his son. Now that he was free, why couldn’t he do any better?

“I’m sorry.” Raphael crossed the kitchen and brushed his son’s wing with his own.

“You should go see her. Soon.”

Raphael glanced toward the closed curtains that obscured the view of the gardens where the Guardians had buried Kora. He hadn’t stepped one foot beyond the garden wall once since he’d been freed. He even avoided flying over the area.

“I watched her die, son. I couldn’t help her.” And now, I can’t face her.

“You can’t possibly blame yourself.”

“I know, but…” Raphael flicked and resettled his wings. “After you escaped that night, Thornton buried a dagger in my side and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, Kora and I were in some godforsaken barn, and I was bound. He tortured her only inches from me. But I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t heal her. I’ve used this psychic healing talent to save hundreds of lives, but I couldn’t help my own mate.”

Through the bond they’d shared as mates, he’d felt her pain. All of it. He’d have born that and more if it would have saved her. What destroyed him was the cold numbness left behind after she closed her eyes for the last time, the pain gone, his Kora gone.

“I’m no fighter, but I should have been able to protect her, damn it. And what happened to you, what almost happened—”

“I got out of there alive and with two wings because of you. And I don’t blame you for Mother’s death. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Wren stepped forward and rested a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “You’ve been avoiding the grave, and you’ve been avoiding me. At times, you can’t even look at me.”

Raphael’s wings slumped, his flight feathers dragging on the floor. “How can you not blame—”

“Such a thing has never crossed my mind, not once.”

Raphael shut his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. “Thank you, son.”

Casting a pointed glance toward the bedroom, Wren stepped back. “I understand where you’re coming from. If anything ever happened to Ginger or the twins, I’d never forgive myself.” He paused. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about making some changes.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I trust Lark. I don’t blame him for Mother’s death, either. But, what happened to her showed that having only one dedicated Guardian isn’t enough.”

Nearly twenty years ago a notorious but deceased poacher, Thornton Bailey, had stolen Lark’s body, murdered Kora, attacked Wren, and kidnapped Raphael, imprisoning him until eleven months ago. Even though Lark had ended up a bodiless spirit, entirely helpless, he’d refused to cross over and stood guard over Raphael for the duration. He wasn’t just a dedicated Guardian; he was a friend.

Despite the lengths Lark had proven he’d go to fulfill his duties after reclaiming his body when Thornton abandoned it for another, Wren was right. No individual Guardian could adequately protect a family of five.

A thunderous roar, much closer than the one Raphael had heard from the lakeside, echoed off the hills. The twins screamed in unison and Wren ran back to the bedroom.

Raphael folded a curtain back an inch, looking out toward the colony. Smoke rose through the trees.

Another explosion. More smoke. The energy of his healing ability crawled over his skin like a chill, alerting him to injuries. Injuries to the attackers, hopefully, but his gut told him civilians had been hurt as well. He itched to help, but going too soon would be suicide. He’d be no use to anyone dead. Sanctuary was in the capable hands of the Guardians.

Silence lengthened. The smoke thickened and darkened, but nothing else happened. Five minutes. The twins calmed. Ten minutes. Just when the quiet became too much, a voice came over the intercom from the front door.

“Raphael,” Lark said, his voice rough. “It’s safe.”

“There’re injuries in the colony.”

“Yes.”

Wren stepped out of the bedroom, his feathers ruffled. “Many injuries. You can’t help them all. I’m going, too.”

Raphael frowned but nodded.

“Go,” Lark said. “I’ll meet you there. Devin is on his way and there is a team regrouping here at the house. They’ll guard Ginger and the twins, but I assure you, the attackers have been dealt with.”

“Thank you.” Raphael turned to his son.

Wren’s lips thinned. “No disrespect to Dev and the others, but this is exactly the kind of situation that worries me.”

Devin had the skills, but as Ginger’s father, he couldn’t be on the front lines. The position of a dedicated Guardian was volunteer and never solicited—the Guardian in question had to give up nearly everything else in his or her life to be effective.

“Wren,” Ginger yelled from the bedroom. “The sooner you go, the sooner you get back.”

Raphael opened the French doors and spotted Devin on the ground below. He turned back to his son and said, “I agree with you, but a dedicated Guardian is a tough find. It’s a lot to ask of anyone. Usually, we don’t ask. Such a service can only be offered.”

Wren spread his wings. “I understand, but…”

“When things calm down, I’ll ask Vin for a meeting. He made an offer to you once, I’ve heard.”

“He did, and I refused. Things were different, then. I regret it.”

“Things have changed, of course. We’ll talk to him, soon.”

…

Raphael maneuvered through a small gap in the canopy and landed on the dirt-packed “main street” of the colony, the village reminiscent of New England settlements in the days before cars and electricity, though Sanctuary had the benefit of both. Wren arrived a second later and they hurried down the road toward the waterfront pavilion. Guardians surrounded the structure and civilians crowded inside. Other Guardians, visible in the distance, stood sentinel where the forest met the border of the most distant buildings.

Lark emerged from the trees and fell into step behind Raphael and Wren, no hint of injury in his posture or fatigue in his razor-sharp alertness. Blood splatters stained the Guardian’s face and hands, but his black uniform hid the extent of the gore.

One of the three-story, multifamily residence buildings burned. Smoke hung thick in the air and Raphael’s eyes stung. Wren coughed and swept his wings in a hopeless attempt to clear some breathing room. A group of uninjured civilians pumped water from the lake onto the ruined structure and the neighboring building, The Ninth Circle tavern, to keep the blaze from spreading. On the hill beyond, high above the cemetery, smoke also rose from the town hall.

As much as he abhorred the violence wrought on the colonists, a swell of pride filled Raphael as Wren followed him into the midst of the injured in the pavilion. Never before had Raphael been in a situation where he and his son could work together to ease the wounded. He brushed his wing against Wren’s arm. “I’ll take the left, you take the right.”

Lark stayed between them as they split up, his task to keep them safe above all else, even at the expense of others, including the Guardians running this way and that with injuries of their own. Though he offered his arm to a civilian struggling to stand, his gaze remained on Raphael and Wren, his attention on their surroundings. The depth of his responsibility allowed him to trust no one, not even their injured friends. Raphael met that shrewd copper gaze and nodded, a silent thank-you. The demon certainly knew the extent of Raphael’s gratitude after all those years, but Raphael would never be so callous as to take the Guardian’s service for granted.

Wren moved to the side of an unconscious human female with gut-wrenching burns over her lower body. Her demon mate sobbed by her side, cradling her head, and slumped with relief as Wren lifted his wings, knelt, and placed his hands on the woman’s knees. Her burns faded to scars in the span of two seconds. Permanent scars, but a small price to pay for healing injuries she might not have recovered from even in a human hospital.

Wren moved on to the woman’s mate, who had wooden shrapnel sticking out of his shoulder and some minor burns on his hands. “What happened to you two?”

“We were in there,” the demon said, tilting his head toward the raging structure fire. “Grenade or something smashed through the window into our living room. We bolted, but weren’t fast enough to get all the way out.”

“Get comfortable.” Wren helped the demon get his belt off. The patient sat back against a corner post of the pavilion, his good arm around his mate, and slid the leather belt behind his fangs to bite down on. Wren pulled bits of wood and metal out of his shoulder—one piece stuck out front and back. The demon growled and sweat beaded on his forehead, but Wren covered the wounds with his fingers and the patient fell into a deep sleep.

Raphael tended to a series of wounds, ranging from a broken ankle to a large piece of glass imbedded in a teen’s thigh. The repeated use of his healing ability left him tired. His blood-covered arms shook. He leaned against the wall as Wren walked over, his face pale, blood on his hands and wings. The pavilion had gone quiet, all the wounded now healed and sleeping.

“Let’s go home, son.”

They took flight, though Raphael’s wings felt like lead. The attack was over. His family was safe. No casualties. However, Raphael couldn’t relax, not for a moment. Considering the level of organization of the attack and the value of their feathers on the human market—he shuddered—how long would it be before the next strike?

Chapter Seven

Jett flexed his fingers, using all his willpower to sit still as Lexine drove. He sat in the backseat next to Bryce, and Vin had taken the front passenger seat. Lexine exceeded the speed limit, but an accident wouldn’t get them back any faster. Her hands trembled and her face—visible in the rearview mirror—remained ghostly pale. Jett forced a calm exterior to keep from rattling her or Bryce further.

She kept up the pace through an eternity of dread until they and the two other SUVs turned onto Sanctuary’s dirt access road. Miles of forest passed until they reached the colony’s border where the gate opened and a Guardian rushed into view. Lexine pulled to a stop and Vin jumped out.

Jett stayed with Bryce, but opened his door to listen.

“Sir!” The black-clad Guardian reached Vin. “We’ve tried to reach you, but the cell site has been down. The power was cut with a small explosive. We’ve been attacked.”

“What happened?” Vin grasped the demon by the shoulder and moved to the side of the road into the shade of trees.

“In a nutshell, it was a well-organized plot, but we have the victory. No casualties or missing persons. We sustained a lot of infrastructure damage, however.”

“Any idea of their goal?”

“They wanted the archangel twins, sir. Lark caught and interrogated one of the attackers.”

Jett gripped the edge of his seat and a seam tore. Cursing, he got out of the vehicle. He tried not to shout, but failed. “The archangels, where are they? Are they all right?”

The Guardian arched an eyebrow and looked Jett over in a who-the-hell-are-you manner, but at Vin’s nod, he answered. “They’re all fine. The adults have tended to the colony’s wounded and are now back at the house, recovering from the energy expended on their healing abilities.”

“Good.” Jett doubted he’d remain sane if he’d come back to find them killed—for reasons he still didn’t understand, but couldn’t fight, either. Just the idea of them in danger made sweat break out on the back of his neck, even as he told himself he really shouldn’t give a shit.

The Guardian continued, “The humans came in two waves. The first came at the colony from three different directions and threw grenades all over the place. A fourth snuck in and made a run for the archangel house, but they didn’t get close. Lark is a vicious son of a bitch.”

Vin cocked his head. “They wanted the twins, specifically? Not Wren or Raphael?”

“Yeah, not that they wouldn’t have taken the adults, too, given the opportunity. One of the attackers was very talkative while Lark worked him over.” The Guardian’s nose wrinkled. “The humans were all hired mercenaries with millions promised to whoever delivered the twins alive. Lark didn’t get the name of the rich fucker in charge before the human had a heart attack.”

“Lawrence. Has to be,” Jett said “Are any of the mer-cenaries still alive?”

“Two fled. Lark insisted we let them go—with our best available tracker on their tails.”

Vin thanked the Guardian and waved Jett back to the SUV. Lexine stood by the open door to the backseat, speaking quiet reassurances to Bryce.

“I need to assess the damage to the colony.” Vin got in the car. Lexine got behind the wheel. “Lex, you should get Bryce home or wherever your parents are staying if their residence got hit. Jett…”

Jett settled next to Bryce. “I need to see the archangels.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Lark. And you might want to wait until he’s in a better mood.”

“I have no intention of waiting.”

“Suit yourself. I warned you.”

The last stretch of the trip dragged out. The haze of smoke in the air thickened the closer they got to the colony’s village. Finally, the stone-and-log building that functioned as Sanctuary’s epicenter—the town hall—came into view. A black, smoldering, gaping hole sat where the southern corner of the second floor used to be.

Guardians and civilians labored back and forth between the building and a growing pile of wet debris. Lexine parked. The demons from the other two SUVs scattered, and after a few parting words with Lexine and Bryce, Vin headed for the building.

A female demon burst out of the town hall doors and ran straight at the SUV, her cropped hair the same unusual dark color as Lexine’s. She reached them and scooped up Bryce, tears streaming down her face.

Bryce laughed as she twirled them in circles. They came to a dizzy stop and Lexine joined the embrace.

The female glanced up and met Jett’s gaze. “Thank you.”

Seeing Bryce’s mother and her relief over her son’s safety brought a burden, which he usually kept buried in the deepest recesses of his mind, to the surface like a fresh knife cut across the chest. Jett nodded at the female and turned away, a heavy weight on his shoulders.

Had his own mother really abandoned him, leaving him for the humans to save herself, as Lawrence had alleged? Lawrence had lied about everything else, which opened a vein of hope. But, the few facts that Jett had gathered supported Lawrence’s assertion. Perhaps, in this one instance, the human had given Jett the truth. The question had to be asked soon. He needed to know what really happened the day of his abduction. But, like a coward, he delayed, avoiding the truth that could forever dash the little flicker of hope.

For the first time since returning to Sanctuary after his childhood abduction, he set foot on the colony’s system of groomed, shaded trails. In the eleven months since his return, he had never ventured this close, always watching from a distance. He headed toward the archangel house, setting his personal burden aside and focusing on the need to see for himself that the archangels hadn’t been harmed.

After walking halfway around the lake, the granite-and-glass house came into view, basking in the afternoon sun. Nothing moved and no sound, not even the chirp of birds, reached Jett’s ears. A presence thickened the air with menace. Jett stopped and waited, his arms loose at his sides, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “I’m not here for a fight, Guardian.”

A demon stepped out of the trees, dressed in black, blades gripped in each hand. He blocked the path to the house, his narrowed gaze behind his light shades intense and unblinking. The sunlight that filtered through the canopy accented his close-cut red hair and glinted off small, gold markings on his collar: a cursive G on the left and a pair of wings on the right.

Jett suppressed a growl. Lark, Raphael’s primary Guardian, remained a bitter reminder of the years Jett and Raphael spent under Thornton Bailey’s thumb. But Lark, who had been possessed by Thornton’s vengeful spirit, had been every bit as much a prisoner as Jett and the archangel. This is not my enemy.

“Lark, I’m here to speak with Raphael.” Jett held the other demon’s gaze.

A long pause followed. The threat radiating off Lark remained steady.

“Now is not the best time for a social call, Jett,” the Guar-dian said, his voice flat.

“I have information about the human who organized today’s attack.”

“Then it’s me you need to talk to.”

“I need to see Raphael. Now.” Jett cocked his head and studied the tiny, golden wings on the right of Lark’s collar. All the Guardians wore the golden G to the left of their throats, but only Lark wore the wings, a symbol of his esteemed station as personal bodyguard for Raphael and his family. The cool voice of logic told Jett he had no reason to worry over the archangels’ safety with a predator like Lark on duty.

Raphael doesn’t need me.

But Jett’s need to verify the archangels’ safety remained. Logic be damned. Shoulders squared, he held the Guardian’s gaze, daring him to say no, preparing to fight if need be.

Still gripping the long daggers, Lark lifted one hand and his gaze wandered away. He scanned the trees, looking for all the world like he could see through them and pick out any enemy that dared approach. That gaze resettled on Jett, but Jett didn’t flinch.

“Raphael trusts you, so I’ll bring you inside, if he agrees to see you. But I don’t have the luxury of trusting anyone, even you, right now. Your weapons.” Lark pointed with a blade to the base of a nearby tree.

Jett unhooked the leather belt at his waist that held his daggers and the guns the Guardians had given him, and dropped them between the tree’s roots. “That’s all I have.”

“We’ll see. Jacket. Boots.”

Jett cursed and stripped down to just his jeans and long-sleeved shirt.

“Arms out.” Lark sheathed his blades.

“Why?”

“Just hold still.”

“Fuck you.” Jett backed away.

Lark shrugged. “Fine. Town hall’s that way. See you around.”

Oh, hell. Clenching his teeth, Jett extended his arms and held still as Lark frisked him. He breathed in Lark’s scent and relaxed just a bit. When Thornton had been in possession of Lark’s body, the human’s scent had been noticeable. At the time, Jett had thought Lark some sort of half-breed, but no trace of Thornton’s stench remained.

Still. He fucking hated being touched. Whenever the damned humans had touched him, he’d bled, bruised, or been restrained as a result.

The Guardian straightened and nodded. “This way.”

They approached the house. Lark pressed a button by the door and spoke. “Raphael. Jett is here to see you. It’s about the poachers’ employer.”

“Show him in,” Raphael responded.

Jett waited as Lark entered a series of codes in a keypad mounted into the stone wall. Heavy locks released and the Guardian held the door open. The system reminded Jett of Raphael’s former prison and his skin crawled.

Lark met his gaze and the edge left his tone. “They’re never locked in. They prefer to use the flight decks on the upper floors to come and go. This door is only for those of us who are flight challenged, and it needs to be kept secure in case poachers ever get this far.”

Of course. Jett shook off the memories of that vile underground prison and stepped inside a cavernous, empty space with stone walls and floor. Apparently, the archangels didn’t use the ground level at all. Lark led him up a flight of stairs to a large landing and a second reinforced door. The Guardian entered more codes and the locks released. This time, Lark stepped through first.

Jett followed and entered a large, furnished space filled with sunlight from the wraparound windows. He kept his sunglasses on. When was the last time he’d been in anything that resembled a normal home? Pictures on the wall, blankets tossed over cushy furniture, books, potted plants, the scent of coffee. Never. He’d never experienced such a place outside of the few magazines he’d flipped through over the years.

“Hello, Jett.”

The quiet voice hit him with physical force. He turned and faced Raphael for the first time since the prison. The archangel’s white wings framed his body and brushed the floor. Other than that most distinctive feature, Jett barely recognized Raphael as the prisoner he’d guarded. When Jett arrived there six years ago, Raphael had long since taken to starving himself and was more wraith than man. The creature who stood in this room had muscle on his bones, thick feathers, and a little color to his skin. His silver eyes, no longer sunken, held curiosity.

The archangel took a step closer and held out his hand. “Welcome to my home.”

“Raphael.” After a brief hesitation, Jett stiffly took the offered hand. He’d deliberately kept his distance from the archangel all this time, hoping his preoccupation with protecting him would fade. No such luck. Jett scanned the room, his muscles tense and ready to deal with a threat.

At least Raphael stepped back and got right to the business at hand. “You’re here about the human who put forth a fortune for my grandchildren?”

As Jett explained his history with Lawrence and the details of Bryce’s kidnapping, Raphael settled on a tall, backless chair and partially extended his wings. Lark stood against the wall, arms folded, head down, brow furrowed. Jett paced as he spoke.

“Scientific experimentation,” Raphael said. “This is why he wants the twins alive?”

“Most likely. Regardless of his exact motives, I’m certain he is the one behind this.”

Raphael’s gaze shifted past Jett and his eyebrows lifted.

Jett turned to see Wren on the flight deck, folding his wings, an infant in his arms. Wren paused, his narrowed gaze on Jett. Lark went over and pulled the French doors open. After a muttered exchange, Wren came inside.

“Son, you really should try to sleep,” Raphael said. “You did too much today.”

“Ginger finally nodded off, but Phoenix is fussing. I didn’t want Gin to wake.” Wren stopped near Jett, fatigue evident in his eyes but not in his posture. “Hello.”

So this was the son Raphael had been willing to die for. Prior to meeting Raphael, Jett hadn’t known a parent who gave a shit about his children. The archangel’s willingness to die to prevent his son from being imprisoned or killed had been an eye-opening act for Jett, and the moment he first considered freeing the archangel.

Jett had seen Wren in flight many times, but this was the closest he’d ever been. The resemblance was striking, but his green-blue eyes were so much more…human than his father’s unearthly silver. “Hello, Wren.”

Jett couldn’t help but stare at the miniature archangel in Wren’s arms. From his distant vantage point in the woods, he’d never seen either of the twins. The child—a girl, judging by the little pink hat—gripped the edge of her down-covered wing with her tiny hands and stared back.

Raphael introduced them formally and explained Jett’s purpose. Wren nodded but didn’t offer his hand, using both to clutch the infant to his chest. “Jett, I’ve never had the chance to thank you for helping my father.”

“You don’t have anything to thank me for. I almost got him killed.”

“You made a decision based on the information you had. But it’s the years of kindness you gave him leading up to that day that I want to thank you for. It’s a miracle he left that hole in the ground with his sanity intact. So, thank you.”

Jett cleared his throat. “I know what it’s like to be locked up that long and how much of a difference a little conversation can make,” he said, awkward as hell. “But what kept Raphael together was you, knowing that you had a life outside of that place. He talked about you constantly. It was annoying.”

Raphael chuckled, but the moment of light humor didn’t last. He gazed at the floor.

Wren ran a hand down the child’s wings. “Being hunted is a part of our lives. I’ve long since accepted that for myself.” He glanced at Raphael. “But staring it down from the perspective of a parent…” His voice dripped acid. “Phoenix and Talon have done nothing to deserve all the hate and greed directed at them.” The infant reached out and grasped his thumb with her tiny hand. “It’s unforgivably cruel.”

“I’ll find Lawrence. You have my word.”

“Thank you.” The fury in Wren’s gaze contrasted with his tender hold on his daughter. She curled up in the crook of his arm and covered her face with her down-covered wing. “I’d go out there myself to rip the son of a bitch out of his hole, but I need to stay with my family.”

“Yes. Making an easier target of yourself wouldn’t help anything.” Jett turned to Lark. “What intel do you have? Lawrence’s men left no trail after Bryce’s kidnapping.”

“The cell tower has been hooked up to emergency power, and the tails I put on the fleeing mercenaries have reported in,” Lark said. “They have no information as of yet. The humans are cooling their heels in a motel in a nearby town.”

“They probably know they’re being tailed, or at least expect it.”

“I’m sure. They’re not amateurs.”

Jett cocked his head, considering all he’d found out about Lark in recent months. Lark possessed a psychic talent, rare among demons. “You have the ability to travel outside your body as a spirit.”

Lark’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”

“You could sit in their laps and they wouldn’t know. The quickest way to find Lawrence may be for you—”

“Absolutely not.” Lark paced. “If I tailed the humans, I wouldn’t be here. I will not and cannot leave this family unprotected for that long, even in an offensive maneuver against an enemy.”

Silence lengthened. Jett’s gaze drifted from Raphael, to Wren, and settled on the newborn. He shook his head. “Letting Lawrence escape is not acceptable.”

“Of course not,” Lark said, his voice quiet. “But for now, we have to wait. Hopefully, the Guardians tracking the humans will turn up some useful information.”

“I’m not waiting. Where I can find them?”

Lark paused. “I’m not comfortable with a hothead getting involved with my only lead. If these men get more spooked than they already are, we could lose our chance to confront Lawrence before he attacks Sanctuary again.”

“I’d be a hothead if I simply wanted revenge on the asshole.”

“Don’t you?”

“Yes.” Jett hissed the word through his fangs. “But more than that, I don’t want another child to grow up in the same hell I did. I won’t allow it. I need to be involved because I know more about Lawrence and his habits than your men do, but I will work with them, not against them. Now, are you going to tell me where to look, or shall I search every town in northern Vermont and lose more precious time?”

One side of Lark’s mouth curved upward. “Right answer. Your knowledge of Lawrence is invaluable. I’ll text and tell them to expect you. They’ll contact you with a location to meet them. Did Vin give you a phone?”

“Yeah.” Jett gave Lark the number.

The Guardian entered the digits into his own cell. “You’ll hear from them soon. In the meantime, take a vehicle and head south toward Island Pond. Fuck this up, though, and I’ll snap off every one of your vertebrae.”

“Jett,” Raphael said, rousing from his prolonged silence. “Good luck.”

Wren echoed the sentiment.

“You know,” Jett said to Lark as dryly as he could, “they’re much nicer than you.”

Grinning, Lark motioned Jett toward the door. “Don’t let them fool you. They’re not as angelic as they look.”

“Where’s our demon-smiting heavenly wrath when we need it?” Raphael shook his head and turned to Wren.

“That does sound useful,” Wren said.

“See?” Lark opened the door. “Call me the moment you learn anything.”

Jett’s gaze lingered on the infant a moment before he hurried out. “Will do.”

Chapter Eight

The stink of wet ashes filled the air. Lexine took in the smoldering remains of several of Sanctuary’s buildings as she walked through the center of the colony. Guardians and civilians worked together on either side of the wooded path, removing debris and salvaging belongings from the ruined dwellings.

The brick manse where most of the colony’s oldest demons lived—including her parents—had escaped harm, set farthest back from the main path the humans had taken. Her emotions and stomach churning, she’d left Bryce and their parents to their reunion and went to see the damage caused by the humans.

Alone now, her heart sank deeper into a pit of pain with every step. She’d been sick before, knowing fate had paired her with a poacher, but seeing the fresh carnage brought the horror and shame to an all-new level. As she passed a Guardian, covered in grime and blood, she avoided his gaze.

She stopped in front of the residence where she’d shared an apartment with her brother, Jac, for so many years. A grenade had blown out the windows. Fire and shrapnel gutted most of the interior.

A shudder ripped through her body. No better than a traitor, how could she continue to live here in the colony?

“Lexine—”

She gasped, startled so hard it hurt, and whirled.

“Sorry. Like I said before, you need to be more aware of your surroundings.” Jett approached, but stopped with a wide gap between them and surveyed the smoldering building. “This your place?”

“It was.” She rubbed her arms.

A small group of civilians walked by, some glancing furtively at Jett, some scowling at him, all staying as far away from him as possible, even though they had to walk over debris. Jett didn’t seem to notice—his gaze stayed locked on Lexine.

“Jett, I need to talk to you about something,” she said, ignoring the others.

He hesitated but nodded. “Walk with me. I’m taking a car and going after some of the humans who are responsible for this mess.”

She fell into step at his side, her hands in her pockets. “They were really after the twins?”

“For certain.” Tension filled his voice and stiffened his shoulders.

Acid shot into her mouth. “Ginger has become a good friend of mine.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

She shot him a glare for good measure, but to be honest with herself, she didn’t mind that he’d been watching out for her. It’s what Guardians did, after all, even though he wasn’t officially one of the demon elite. Some things ran stronger in the blood than on paper, despite the fact that he had no idea it was the extra-rare qualities in his family’s bloodline that drove him to protect the archangels, even if that meant sulking on a mountaintop all winter. Would Lark or Raphael explain all that to him, now that he’d finally come into the colony?

She let out a long breath and refocused on what she had to ask of him while she had the chance. “Back in the motel, I told you about my recurring dream. A dream I hope Ginger will never find out about.”

His expression darkened.

“I want to ask for your discretion.”

“You haven’t told anyone else?”

“Never. I was overwhelmed after Jac’s death and Bryce’s kidnapping, so I wasn’t thinking straight. After I bit you, I owed you an explanation. The secret just spilled out.”

They walked in silence until the path meandered up a hill and no one lingered within earshot. Jett stopped and faced her, a deep frown on his face. “You believe the colony will reject you over a dream?”

“More a prophecy than a dream. If the Guardians found out, I’d be branded a traitor. If the dream came to pass, as a poacher’s mate, the Guardians would be within their rights to have me executed.”

“You’re not a poacher’s mate, yet. These types of dreams…they come true, always?”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“I’ve never asked questions about the phenomenon to avoid drawing suspicion, but from what I’ve read, previous dreams haven’t been of such deplorable events. I don’t believe the dreamers tried to change their fates. They had no reason to.”

“So, it might be possible to intervene?”

“I don’t know for certain one way or the other.”

Jett shifted his hands to his hips and shut his eyes.

“I only ask for your silence. The archangels need your help far more than I do. You should hurry.”

“Are you going to try to change your fate, Lexine?” He opened his eyes and lifted his gaze to hers.

“Jett—”

“I’m not going anywhere until you answer me.”

“I doubt I have any real choice. You can’t imagine how strong, how real, the sensations and emotions are in the dreams. I don’t have much hope my fate can be changed, but yes, I have been trying, by dating demons, searching for a mate. I care too much for my family and my friends to walk the path that leads to my dream. But, I fear in the end, the choice won’t be mine to make.”

Frowning, he walked around her, slow, focused. A shiver raced down her spine as he drew near her on purpose for the first time.

“I grew up at best a lab rat, at worst a prisoner without the slightest liberty.” He bent closer to her as he spoke, his words firm, unhesitant, but laced with pain. “Now that I’m out of that hell, I will never be a slave again, in any form. Nor will I tolerate seeing anyone else stripped of their free will, least of all by something as intangible as a dream.”

“This is not the same thing—”

“Do you want to mate with a poacher?”

“No.”

“Then don’t you dare feel like you have no choice. There is always a choice, Lexine.” After a pause, he cocked his head. “You tried dating other demons. That didn’t work out?”

“To put it mildly.”

That close, his scent dominated her lungs. His breath tickled her ear, warming her from the inside out. “And are you seeing anyone right now?”

“No.”

He leaned back just enough to meet her gaze with a sharp frown. “Is that your final answer?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He smoothed his hand over her neck. She blinked. She’d touched him a couple times, but this was the first time he’d touched her.

“Actually,” she whispered, “there is a male I just met.” She swallowed. “I’d like to get to know him better, if he’s interested.”

“Really? I’m glad to hear it. I’ll see you later, Lexine.”

He turned and headed with long strides for the parking area beyond the town hall. Heart racing, she scowled to keep from grinning like a fool.

…

Jett took the SUV Lexine had driven earlier and headed out of Sanctuary. Her scent lingered, adding to his tension. The sun sank toward the western mountains in shades of pink and gold. Though summer hung on by a thread, the days had noticeably shortened. Soon, it would be dark at this hour.

He put the window down to get cool air on his face, still hot from the conversation with Lexine. He understood her conflict all too well.

While living under Thornton’s thumb, Jett had hated everything about his existence, but thought for years he lacked the power to change it. Lexine believed the dream showed her the future, even though she despised the poachers. He saw the torture he’d experienced reflected in her eyes.

But he had changed his future, when the sacrifice Raphael had been prepared to make had given Jett the motivation to fight. At some point, Lexine would also need to make a choice. Hopefully, she wouldn’t bow to the dream.

Jett clenched his teeth. He could always kill the son-of-the-bitch poacher when the opportunity presented itself. But he intended to leave Sanctuary after he killed Lawrence. He didn’t belong here, didn’t know the first thing about living a normal life, least of all one with a female. However, spending time with her, temporarily, could be good for them both.

Dusk descended as he entered human territory, and he turned the headlights on despite his night vision. The last thing he needed was a brush with local law enforcement.

As he entered the village limits of a tiny Vermont town, a text came through, giving him an address. He found the location a minute later and parked along the sidewalk.

Lights illuminated the storefronts, but many Closed signs hung in the windows for the night. A figure stepped toward the vehicle, and Jett reached for the gun at his hip.

“Evening, Jackass.” A smile from the platinum-blond speaker revealed fangs.

Jett blinked. “You?”

Almost a year ago, after Raphael had returned to the colony and Jett had hidden in the forest, Raphael had sent a group of Guardians, led by Devin, the demon who now stared through the open window. Jett had refused the help and sent a pissed-off Devin on his way.

Since then, Jett had figured out Devin was Ginger’s adoptive father, making the Guardian an extension of the archangel family.

“You remember me, then? Good.” Devin opened the door, the smug grin fading from his face. He held out a palm-sized, plastic case. “Put these on.”

Jett extracted the colored contacts, set them into place, and got out of the car. He fell into step at the blond Guardian’s side. Devin had traded the black Guardian uniform for jeans and a Hard Rock Cafe shirt. Contacts colored his eyes plain brown.

Jett mused that an onlooker could mistake them for brothers, both with their light blond hair and brown eyes, the big difference being that Devin had his hair cropped while Jett’s fell to his chin.

“You look almost normal,” Jett muttered, keeping his fangs out of sight in case any humans observed them.

“So do you, amazingly enough.”

Jett ignored the sarcasm. “Do the Guardians frequently slink about in human towns like this?”

“Not on official business, no, not often. Sometimes small groups leave the colony to practice driving, visit museums, that sort of thing. Law enforcement gets bent out of shape when we chase poachers beyond Sanctuary’s borders like this. On our land we can kill because the treaty with United States gave us sovereignty. Out here, the poachers have the right to a trial and don’t legally deserve to die.”

Jett scoffed.

“Yeah,” Devin said. “We’ve been negotiating with the Vermont State Police for about a year now, triggered when they figured out we raided a farm near Burlington to save Raphael. They want to curb poaching, though most of them are more concerned with the assholes getting themselves killed than with the safety of the archangels. If an agreement can be reached, some Guardians and Staties might partner together to deal with poachers’ activities across the state—their legal system combined with our hunting and tracking abilities.”

“Interesting. You expect it’ll work?”

“I’m hopeful, more so than some.”

Jett scanned their dark and quiet surroundings. “Where are the humans you followed here?”

“The inn’s restaurant. Gwyn is keeping watch inside.” Devin tapped his ear, indicating a discreet communication device, and nodded toward a building across the street. Music filled the air as the door opened and a young couple exited. “We can’t do anything in the public eye, even attempt to interrogate them. We have no choice but to wait and drag them into the woods if we get the chance.”

Jett fisted his hands. “I fucking hate waiting.”

“Lark assures me your head is in the right place.”

“It is. Is yours?”

“Excuse me?”

“Lawrence wants your grandchildren. You’re more at risk of making rash, emotional decisions than I am. I’m surprised you’re here.”

“I’ve been a Guardian for over two hundred years. I can keep my shit together even under these circumstances, thank you very much.” Devin paused and his lips twitched into a tight smile.

“Is something funny?”

Devin shrugged. “Lark and I were both students of one of the most revered Guardians in the history of demons on earth, and we are respected for it. Since his death, no one has given me shit. The irony that you are, now, amuses me.”

“I don’t see the irony.”

“My teacher was Dante, Jackass.”

Jett stared. “And?”

Devin’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “I thought Raphael told you about him.”

“He hasn’t mentioned any Dante.”

“Son of a…” Devin folded his arms and shook his head. “But I know he gave you the photo.”

Jett’s hand jerked toward his right jeans pocket, where he kept the wrinkled keepsake. “The photo of my family? He left it for me, but I never asked him about it.”

“And now isn’t the time for the conversation.”

Jett kept his gaze on the restaurant windows. “No, it’s not, but it’s a little late to drop the subject now. You’re saying this teacher of yours…”

“He was your father, though my training was centuries before you were born. Dante was the leader of Sanctuary before Vin. He founded Sanctuary.”

“Bullshit.” His father, the leader and founder of Sanctuary? And Jett got fucking kidnapped and never rescued? He backed away and shoved his shaking hands into his pockets. No, no, hell no. He didn’t lose anything by being kidnapped, least of all a good family. He didn’t want to hear otherwise.

“Raphael didn’t recognize you. Neither did I when I first saw you, and it’s little wonder. You have such a good blend of both your parents’ features you don’t look strongly like either one. But now, the more I look at you, the more of him I see. Your voice, I dare say, is close to identical, especially when you’re giving me shit.”

Jett’s voice came out as dry as his mouth. “I want to think there haven’t been many children kidnapped from Sanctuary to confuse me with.”

“There’s never been a kidnapping other than yours and Bryce’s. Everyone thought you’d been killed along with your father. I lived in Haven at the time, but I’ve been told the humans brought a whole residence building down with a handmade bomb. Dante was identified for certain. He was shot just outside, protecting you after hiding you within. By the time the rubble had been thoroughly searched, there wasn’t much left of those inside to identify. I don’t know how much you know about this, but after death, a demon’s body deteriorates rapidly, even the bone. Combined with the explosion, there wasn’t much more than dust left of the occupants of that building.”

So that’s why the Guardians never rescued him. He’d been so young he didn’t remember much, but he recalled a sense of hope in the early days that someone would come for him. A hope that faded. The disappointment that filled the hole had given fuel to Lawrence’s lies.

“I still can’t imagine how the humans got you out of there in one piece. Do you remember anything?”

“Very little. Lawrence insisted my mother all but threw me at them to secure her own escape, and I do have a vague recollection of a woman who was with me. Who disappeared, leaving me alone.”

Devin’s eyes widened. “Not possible. First, your mother was in a different building at the time, that’s how she survived. Second, she—”

“What’s her name?”

“Amelia. I know her well. She absolutely would have died trying to protect you, as your father did.”

“No. They didn’t protect me. They didn’t care.”

Devin frowned, but kept going. “Amelia never recovered mentally from the loss of you and Dante. Combined with the Decline, an old-age condition that can afflict older demons, she’s completely broken from reality. So much so, that I doubt she’ll comprehend who you are.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”

Jett averted his gaze, his ears and face growing hot. He had been with someone. Abandoned by someone.

Hadn’t he? His head ached. “I can’t tell where the memories end and the lies begin.”

“You should visit her,” Devin said, his voice quieter. “She moved to Eden, the demon colony in Canada, six months ago. Her condition is not something our archangels can heal, and Eden, being a much bigger colony, has a better facility to keep her comfortable.”

Jett hesitated, a weight settling on him. The weight of reality. Lawrence’s lies had been his coping mechanism—he knew that even though he hated to admit it to himself. Even as he’d observed Sanctuary that winter and spring and tasted the truth—that everything Lawrence had taught him had been pure shit—he’d clung to the lies. The truth was simply too painful.

The humans did take me from a good home. From a peaceful community. They took me not from two indifferent demons but from my family, who loved me.

“Why aren’t you listening to a word I’m saying?” Devin’s brow furrowed.

Because I’m about to sit on my ass and bawl, motherfucker. “Just stop talking to me.”

“Fine, Jackass.”

Across the street, a picture window provided a view of part of the restaurant’s dining room. A man wove between the tables. Recognition hit Jett like a punch to the gut.

“That’s one of them,” Devin said.

“Son of a bitch,” Jett said, grateful not just for the good luck presenting itself, but for the end of the other topic. “Finding Lawrence just got easier.”

“How so?”

“That’s Logan Anderson. We’ve met.” Jett pressed his lips together to keep a smile from exposing his fangs and stepped off the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to have a chat with an old friend. Trust me.”

Devin cursed, but didn’t stop him. Jett crossed the street and let himself into the restaurant. Inside, the scent of spices and coffee thickened the air. Jazz music played from hidden speakers.

“Table for one, sir?” The hostess, a teenager in a black suit, smiled.

Jett spotted his target sitting at a table along the back wall, facing a second man over a couple of beers. “Actually, I’m joining friends.” He minded his fangs as he spoke and indicated the table. “I’d like a coffee, please.”

The hostess nodded and stepped aside.

Patrons filled the small dining room. As he passed the bar, a woman in a blue dress pivoted in her swivel chair and leaned toward him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said in a harsh whisper. Her brown eyes, framed by light brown hair, narrowed.

“Gwyn, I assume?”

She lifted a delicate shoulder and turned back to a mug of coffee and a fancy dessert. He had seen a couple female Guardians around Sanctuary, and Gwyn looked familiar if he imagined her with her hair up. The mirror behind the bar provided her a view of the poachers’ table, and their voices carried well. Unfortunately, their conversation focused on the upcoming football season as he approached. Time for a change of topic.

“I might have known you’d show up here, Logan,” Jett said.

“Jett?” Logan looked up from his beer, his mouth open.

Jett helped himself to a chair, planted his elbows on the table, and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper from behind his clasped fingers. “Here for the twins, are you? So am I.”

Logan’s shoulders loosened and he tapped his thumb against the tabletop. “Yeah, Henry and I are here on the job. You working for the old man, too?”

“Victor Lawrence? I’m considering his bid, but I might have a higher bidder in the wings, no pun intended.” The lies rolled easily off his tongue. He’d been forced to be one of them for far too long. At least now, he could put that past to good use.

Henry chuckled and held out his hand. “And you are?”

“This is Jett,” Logan said. “He and I used to work together, but I left a few months before that fucking Guardian raid.” He turned back to Jett. “What happened to Lark, anyway?”

Jett paused. He’d grown unused to hearing Thornton called by the name of the demon he’d possessed. These humans wouldn’t know that piece of trivia, of course. They also didn’t know Jett himself was a demon, so he focused on speaking through tight lips. “Some say he got killed; others say he just disappeared. I haven’t seen or heard from him, myself. I cut my loses and set out on my own. I figure if I can get even one archangel, I’ll be set for life.”

Logan leaned forward, his gaze eager. “And you have a higher bidder than Dr. Lawrence. How much higher?”

You’ve always been a greedy bastard. Lawrence’s millions aren’t enough for you? “High enough. He’s a collector of rare things.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed.” Jett’s coffee arrived and he stirred in a packet of sugar. “But, so is Lawrence’s unusual request.”

“Taking them alive?” Henry shrugged. “Whatever. The customer is always right.”

“Yeah, and in this case, seriously pissed off.” Logan took a sip of his dark beer. “Today was totally fucked. More of the Guardians were supposed to go after the kid.”

Henry nodded, a deep frown on his face as he stared into his own beer.

“A full-on raid on the colony was a shit-poor plan to begin with,” Jett said. “It’s been done before. It’s failed each time.”

Logan muttered a string of curses.

“Have you spoken to Lawrence this evening?”

“Yeah. A meeting has been set up, a few weeks out. New guys, new plan. I’m gonna give it another go. I need the fucking money.” Logan sipped his beer.

Jett nodded. “Maybe I’ll stop by, try to start a bidding war and drive up Lawrence’s price. Got the details of this meeting?”

“We sure do.” Logan’s grin faded. “Not that we’d share such intelligence with a demon.”

Jett paused with his coffee at his lips. “Excuse me?”

Henry’s eyes widened and he looked Jett over. “That’s him?”

A chilly grin stretched across Logan’s face. “You played your part well. Lawrence knew you’d lead the Guardians to the old lab looking for the brat, giving us a good opportunity to strike.”

Suppressing the urge to reach out and crush the poacher’s throat, Jett set the coffee down and smiled, showing his fangs. “I figured Lawrence had used me. I didn’t expect a bottom dweller like yourself to be high enough up the ladder to know about it, though. Color me surprised.”

Logan swept up his tall beer glass and hurled it at Jett’s face. Jett leaped to his feet. The human followed, a switchblade in his hand. The restaurant’s patrons yelled and scattered, tripping over chairs and spilling drinks. A few of the tougher-looking men in the room gathered in a loose semicircle. Henry made a run for the exit along with everyone else, Gwyn in pursuit.

Jett wiped beer from his face, pulled a piece of glass out of his temple, and made no move to fight back. He could kill Logan easily, but doing so in the public eye on human turf would bring a shit storm to the colony’s doorstep. Best to not fight him at all, if possible.

Logan lunged with the knife and slashed at Jett’s throat. Jett dodged, his movements limited by tables and chairs, taking the slice across the shoulder. The wound stung and blood seeped into his shirt, but Jett kept his focus on the poacher and on the exit beyond him.

The gawkers all spoke at once, trying to talk Logan down.

“Demon!” the poacher hollered and pointed at Jett with the knife.

Jett hissed and growled, hoping to clear a path to the door. Getting out was the most important thing. The gathered humans took a collective step back, except for one.

“You’re the one waving a knife.” The human who held his ground wore fatigues with “US Army” and “Emerson” stitched across his chest. He folded his arms and glowered at Logan.

“He bit and killed two of my colleagues last night!” Logan shouted.

Fuck.

Emerson’s gaze narrowed and shifted to Jett.

“Yes, I did, after they killed four of us, and were in the process of kidnapping a five-year-old boy. Your government recognizes the Guardians’ sovereign right on Sanctuary land to defend civilians.” Jett scanned the crowd, hoping these humans had some sense and the facts would turn the tide in his favor. “I only came here for information on his boss.”

Someone in the crowd said, “I heard about the murders on the news. Three were kids.”

“Demons,” Logan snapped. “Who cares?”

“I do.” Emerson took a step forward as sirens wailed in the distance. “Put the knife down.”

Logan spat on the floor at the serviceman’s feet.

Jett cursed under his breath as the sirens grew louder, but the path to the door remained blocked. He couldn’t risk shoving the humans out of his way and get accused of attacking them. Devin appeared in the doorway.

Get out of there, the Guardian mouthed.

Logan pivoted toward Jett, leading with the knife. Jett moved to block, but Emerson grasped the poacher’s arm, twisted him around, and flung him. The crowd parted. Logan landed face first on the floor and the knife flew from his hand.

“Trust me, you want to stay down.” Emerson leaned over the shock-faced poacher.

Jett met Emerson’s blue gaze and nodded, hoping the depth of his gratitude showed on his face. “Thank you.”

The serviceman motioned toward the door and the crowd shuffled out of the way in silence. Jett hurried through and joined Devin, a mix of fury and relief on the Guardian’s face. They hustled out the door and down the street toward the SUV.

“Well, that was fantastic,” Devin snapped as they ran.

“Where’s Gwyn?”

“Henry took off in a car and she’s following him in ours, so I’m riding with you.” Devin pulled the passenger door open and got in. Jett pulled away from the curve just as the police stopped in front of the restaurant down the street.

“Did you get any good info?”

“No.” Jett forced the word through clenched teeth. “Logan knew who I was the whole time. But Lawrence is already planning another attack. Logan made sure to drop that bit of info without adding anything useful.”

Devin cursed. “It was a damn good try.”

“A good try doesn’t put Lawrence in the ground.” The sense of failure sat on Jett’s shoulders like the weight of a dead man.

Chapter Nine

Lexine made her way through the trees toward her parents’ home, hoping to avoid running into anyone, too preoccupied for conversation.

Her heart stung like a raw wound from seeing firsthand the destruction caused by the poachers, but the idea of spending time with Jett quelled her panic. Maybe she had a chance for a future with a demon mate. But she couldn’t get ahead of herself. She’d dated a dozen demons, a range of ages and personalities, to no avail. She had no reason to think it would be any different with Jett.

Except for the way he stole her breath when he stood close. Made her tremble. Turned her heart into a quivering mess. None of the others had prompted such a reaction, least of all just by their presence. But did Jett feel the same way, or was he simply trying to protect her, to help her change her fate? If he only sought to give her a different future, how far would he be willing to go?

To avoid mating with a poacher, would she mate with a demon who didn’t love her? Who she didn’t love?

Hell, yes, because as awful as that would be, it didn’t compare to betraying everyone she cared about. But it hadn’t been fair to ask others for such a mating. They’d been right to resent her for even suggesting it. Granted, she’d told none of them just how much she had at stake—avoiding a poacher—viciously guarding her secret. They’d have more likely turned her over to the Guardians than entered into a pity mating.

The residence building came into view and everything else in her mind quieted and retreated. Her older brother, Jac, was murdered, and her family mourned. She couldn’t avoid that pain any longer.

The scent of baking cookies filled the air as she opened the door and stepped inside the cozy foyer. To her left, her mother huddled in the living room with Bryce over a mess of wooden toys. To her right, her father sat at the kitchen table, staring at the fingerprints in the thin layer of flour on table.

Despite what would be a cheery atmosphere any other day, the smiles that greeted her faltered.

“Hey, sweetie.” Her father dusted off his hands and rose.

“Hi, Dad,” she whispered.

He pulled her into a tight hug, a shake to his breath in her ear. “Jac’s funeral is tomorrow night.”

Her gaze drifted to the small wine rack that rested on the counter, filled with bottles of amber liquid. Jac’s apple wine and hard cider. No words came.

“You can stay here until the rebuilding is done, or for as long as you want.” He released her and stepped back, his expression guarded. Her family knew well her tendency to deal with grief by sticking her head in the sand. By keeping busy. By doing anything but mourning. No doubt he expected her to decline the invitation and distance herself.

She managed a smile. Time to grow a backbone and support her family. “I’ll stay.”

“Good.” His shoulders relaxed.

She did need to keep busy, however. Staring at the wine again, she said, “The market is tonight. Jac wouldn’t want us to miss it.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” He sighed.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Her father nodded and kissed her cheek.

She headed out with a crate of the apple wine on a cart. Darkness had descended and the colony’s businesses had opened for the hours the colonists preferred to be out and about. She made her way to Sanctuary’s market—the spacious pavilion between the grenade-damaged bakery and the tailor shop. Demon-fire lanterns lined the main paths and adorned the buildings, festive decorations as well as necessary illumination for the few humans who lived in Sanctuary, Lexine with her faulty eyes, and the archangels.

She set up at Jac’s usual table, cradled between the jeweler and the poet, who also made chocolate. The romance corner, Jac had called them. Normally bustling with activity, tonight the crowd at the market spoke in dull whispers, their steps slow, wary gazes returning repeatedly to the forest. The market wasn’t as crowded or lively as normal, everyone still wary and weary from the attack. But because of the attack, everyone needed supplies.

No money exchanged hands at the market, not even for the special, limited items—jeans, flour, tools, electronics, etc.—that Sanctuary received from human benefactors or in exchange for exports, such as the hardwood furniture made by the colony’s carpenters. The close-knit, isolated community needed everyone to pitch in, so anyone who provided to the whole received from the whole, not that anyone less physically able to contribute was ever left for want. They’d never survive if they adopted the human system that left some families better off than others. So, she didn’t need to stay at the counter to monitor her stock, but she did, anyway. The market was as much a social event as a means of distribution.

Her supply dwindled fast, the procession past her table steady. Everyone extended their sympathies as Lexine greeted them.

Perhaps she could keep the business going in Jac’s stead. For years, Lexine had maintained the cemetery, a place where demons visited the memorials above the ashes of their loved ones, putting her love of landscaping and her sun-tolerant eyes to work. That didn’t take up all of her time. Recently, she’d taken to helping Jac make the wine. They’d been talking about expanding to grape wine, and Jac would love it if she kept the little winery he’d put so much effort into alive and moving forward.

It would be perfect, so long as she didn’t fall for a poacher in the future. But how could something she resented so much possibly come true? She lifted a hand to her chest. Was she really so weak inside? Her thoughts drifted to Jett and a tremor took over her fingers. She nearly dropped a bottle of wine.

“Klutz. What are you doing? Thinking about boys?”

A laugh mingled with a sob at the memory of Jac taunting her years ago.

“Lex?” Ginger approached, a sack of vegetables in her arms, her shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair framing her face. “Are you all right?”

“Hey, G, I’m…fine.” Setting the bottle down, Lexine leaned over the counter and pulled her friend into a hug. “How are you holding up? I’m surprised they let you out of the house.”

Ginger nodded over her shoulder with a tight smile. A group of Guardians spread out in the crowd. “Some girls get roses. I get an escort of a half-dozen homicidal demons. Wren loves me.”

“Ah, so romantic.” Lexine chuckled and handed the last bottle of wine off to an older demon. She left the counter, setting the cart aside to pick up later, and fell into step next to Ginger. They made their way through the market, more talking than shopping, the Guardian entourage pacing them.

“The funerals are tomorrow night,” Ginger said, touching Lexine’s arm. “Really, how are you doing?”

“You know me. I’m keeping busy, trying not to fall apart.”

“There’s nothing wrong with falling apart for a little while. But I know how you feel. I’m making a dinner tonight that’ll take me hours to prepare, trying to keep my mind off what happened today. Making myself sick with anger won’t help anything, and the twins pick up on it and cry.”

As Lexine browsed soaps and other toiletries to replace the ones she’d lost in her destroyed apartment, she leaned toward the other woman and murmured, “When things settle down, I hope to spend some time with Jett.”

“Jett? Does he talk to you?”

“Yes.” Lexine selected unscented soap. Jett was unconventional, for sure, but most demons hated perfumes that covered an individual’s natural scent, and he certainly didn’t strike her as a lavender-and-rose sort of male.

“You’re blushing!”

Lexine nodded.

“Hmm.” Ginger grinned, pure feminine mischief glinting in her eyes. “Excellent.”

You have no idea, Lexine thought as she steered them toward the tailor shop.

…

Jett turned onto Sanctuary’s access road and pulled over. He got out, tugged off his bloodied shirt, and tore long strips from the unsoiled sleeve. A stream ran along the side of the road. He climbed down, rinsed the blood from his skin, and wrapped the torn cotton around his wounded shoulder. A moderate healing fever would close the injury soon enough.

“Fucking-A.” Devin came around the vehicle.

“What? It won’t kill me.”

“I didn’t realize they tattooed you.”

Oh, shit. Jett hadn’t thought before pulling off his shirt. He growled and climbed back up to the road, speaking to Devin but keeping a wide distance. “Thornton never missed an opportunity to assert his control over me.” He scowled down at the scattered feathers and bloody knife etched into his arm, the poachers’ signature tattoo. Pale scars transected the image, from when he’d tried to claw the damned thing off. “That’s the reason I wear long sleeves.”

“And the scars on your back?”

“That was Lawrence.” Jett willed the memories of the whippings out of his mind. “It’s none of your business.”

Devin frowned and shook his head, but didn’t speak any words of pity. Smart demon.

“Should we go after Gwyn?” Jett moved back to the driver’s side door.

“No. She just texted that Henry disappeared in traffic and she’s on her way back.”

“Great.” He jerked the door open. Can anything go right?

They got back in the SUV and continued toward the colony. Devin called Lark and summed up the evening’s events. When he disconnected, he said, “Lark wants to see us as soon as possible.”

“Oh, goodie. This just keeps getting better.”

Devin leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes, but his face remained tense. They drove the rest of the way in silence. Jett parked near the town hall, surprised at how much those working on the building had accomplished in only a few hours. Piles of debris burned a safe distance from the building and the trees, and plastic sheeting covered the gaping hole in the second floor.

They traveled down the path to the archangel house and found Lark pacing near the edge of the lake.

Jett ground his teeth and approached the Guardian, positioning himself so that neither of the other demons blocked him from leaving if he chose to. “I take full responsibility for what happened tonight, but I don’t answer to you and I won’t tolerate a lecture.”

“You’re under the impression I intend to scold you?”

Jett arched an eyebrow.

“It was a damn good idea and stood a better chance of getting us precious information than anything else the three of you could have done,” Lark said. “But clearly, Lawrence has made your new loyalties public knowledge. From now on, we can’t assume there are any in his circles who don’t know.”

“But how did Lawrence find out?” Devin folded his arms and leaned against a tree. “Have you spoken with anyone since the day you escaped?”

“I’ve spoken to no one,” Jett said.

“I didn’t think so. What the hell?”

Lark drew a blade from a sheath at his hip, tossed it in the air and caught it by the hilt. Toss. Catch. “Lawrence is a scientist, so he is very observant and pays attention to the smallest of details.” He met Jett’s gaze, still catching the blade with ease. “He never completely broke you, and I’m sure he knows it. After the Guardians showed up at Thornton’s and you disappeared, he must have assumed you were brought back into the fold.”

“That’s possible, but there must be more to it,” Jett said. “Anything could have happened to me after that day. I could have died with the others. I could have gone elsewhere. He wouldn’t have written me into his plan to weaken the colony’s defenses unless he was damn certain.”

“Yes.” Lark frowned. Toss. Catch. “However, I think it was more a test than a crucial part of his plan. He couldn’t have seriously believed all or most of the Guardians would have left the entire colony for one child. I bet he simply wanted to see what you would do. He’s been studying you your whole life, after all.”

“I agree, but that doesn’t explain how he knows I’m even alive, let alone here.”

“I’ve been thinking about that all evening, actually, and I keep coming back to one theory.” Lark sheathed his blade. “Will you hold still for a moment?”

“Why?”

“So I can find out if you’re as free as you think you are.”

Jett froze.

Lark pulled a small electronic device that resembled a credit card out of his pocket. He held it an inch above Jett’s skin and moved it over his body, starting at his forehead and working his way down and around to his back. He paused, staring at the tattoo for a moment before moving on. At least he spared Jett any commentary on the damned thing.

“What the hell are you—” A series of high-pitched beeps cut off Jett’s words.

Devin cursed.

Lark pressed his fingers into Jett’s skin below his right shoulder blade. He leaned forward and met Jett’s stare. “You have a computer chip of some sort, probably a tracking device.”

Jett went ridged. “Take it out.”

“Do you want to go to the town hall to get some local anesthetic and a proper doctor?”

“Get the fucking thing out, now!”

“Fine.” Lark extracted a blade and dug into Jett’s back with the tip. Jett fisted his hands at his sides, a growl ripping from his throat, the pain dull in comparison to the realization of what Lawrence had done. A moment later, Lark pressed a cloth against Jett’s skin and held out a blood-covered electronic chip the size of a penny.

“Here’s how he knew,” the Guardian said.

Jett reached for the scanner. “I need to check Bryce. He was alone with them for hours.”

Silent, Lark handed over the device and stepped out of the way. Jett sprinted down the path.

Chapter Ten

Lexine hummed to herself as she arranged her things in the spare bedroom of her parents’ apartment. Jett’s voice carried from the front of the dwelling and she jumped. She hurried down the hall.

In the kitchen, her parents and Jett knelt around Bryce. Jett held a small, black cell phone-like device in his hand and swept it over Bryce’s back, his arms, and legs. Her mother sniffled and her father’s mouth was set in a thin line, but Bryce stared up at Jett with a faint grin.

“What’s going on?” Lexine focused on Jett.

A bandage made of a torn shirt covered Jett’s shoulder, just above a tattoo and a series of scars that covered his upper arm. Her breath deserted her.

She stood, frozen, staring at the poachers’ insignia and the scars that crossed it like claw scratches, the unique markings on the man in her dream. The man she’d assumed was human, considering no demon had ever worn that accursed symbol. In the dream, the man’s face had always been in shadow, but the tattoo and scars had been as clear as day. Her ears rang, and it wasn’t until her mother’s face filled her line of vision that she realized someone had spoken.

“Lexi?” Her mother’s hands gripped her arms. “Don’t worry. Bryce is fine. Are you all right? You’re so pale.”

Lexine eased into a kitchen chair, her fisted hands in her lap. “What’s going on?”

Jett mussed Bryce’s hair and stood. “A tracking device was found under my skin. I had to be sure Lawrence’s men hadn’t implanted one on Bryce.”

“Oh.” She nodded at her mother. “I’m fine.” She got to her feet. “Jett, I need to speak with you for a moment.”

Leading him into the living room, she rubbed her hands together, racking her mind for the right words.

“You’re shaking.” Jett stopped near the fireplace. Covered in a sheen of sweat and sporting the stained, makeshift bandage, he contrasted with the cozy decor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

She reached toward his scarred and inked arm, but stopped an inch from touching him.

“Shit, I didn’t think.” He jerked away. “Right. I should have found a new shirt. This was not something I ever asked for, I promise you.” He lifted his opposite hand to the tattoo. His fingers lined up with the clawlike scars.

She forced her mind and mouth to work. “Lawrence did that to you?”

“Thornton.”

“And the scars?”

“I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, anger and perhaps the lingering effects of the drugs, overrode my reason and I tried to scratch the thing off.” He traced the scars. “I’ve been through worse things. This is just the most visual.”

She got to her feet, her lips parted to tell him she’d seen the scarred tattoo before and where she’d seen it. But his words from that afternoon ghosted through her mind:

“Now that I’m out of that hell, I will never be a slave again, in any form. Nor will I tolerate seeing anyone else stripped of their free will,” he’d said.

She’d told him she doubted she could change her future, even though she wanted to, and he’d likened that to the deprivation of freedom he’d experienced in the hands of his captors. Her lack of choice had drawn a stronger reaction from him than the fact that it was a poacher she faced—or thought she’d faced.

Being the destined mate in her dreams would not go over well with him. He was right: there were right and wrong reasons to be with someone, and believing she had no choice in the matter was definitely a wrong reason. But she wanted to see where things would go between them. She’d wanted to get to know Jett before she saw that tattoo. The tattoo didn’t change that, but unless she chose her words with extreme care when she explained, he’d bolt.

“You’re bleeding.” She stepped closer. He’d turned away from her, revealing blood dripping down his back from a fresh cut below his shoulder blade. She gently took his wrist. “Come with me.”

In silence, he offered no resistance as she guided him to the bathroom, but he watched her. His unrelenting gaze tracked her as she soaked a washcloth in warm water. As she used the cloth to wipe away the blood that had dripped down his back, he continued to stare at her in the mirror.

“What are you doing?”

At the raw shock in his voice, she paused, the cooling cloth pressed against the wound. “Has no one taken care of you before?”

He pulled away, but she gripped his arm.

“Hold still.”

“It’ll heal soon,” he said, his tone full of typical macho dismissal. “You don’t need to—”

“I want to. It’ll leave less of a scar this way.” She rinsed the cloth. So many scars covered him already, his back marred from what had to have been whippings. Many whippings. One more tiny mark would make no difference, but maybe a little tenderness would.

She applied cream and an adhesive bandage to the cut, then began to unravel the strips of cotton from his shoulder.

“Lexine—”

“Jett.” Leaving no room for argument in her tone, she held his gaze in the mirror.

He shook his head, but she ignored him and kept going, cleaning and medicating the gash across the front of his shoulder. She applied a real bandage. Instead of setting the tense male free, she soaked the washcloth again.

She pressed the cloth between his shoulders. He shuddered. Tending to the older wounds, she treated them with gentle care, as if the whip had sliced his skin only yesterday. His hands trembled a second before he curled his fingers around the edge of the sink.

Biting her lower lip, she moved to his sides and stomach, where the marks were thinner and strategically located. Surgical scars. An inner fire filled her. She would have ripped out Lawrence’s throat herself had the miserable excuse for a man been in the room.

Clusters of faint scars marked the back of his hand and inside of his wrists. She ran a fingertip over them. “What caused this?”

He answered in an even, controlled tone. “Needles and IVs.”

She swallowed against a rush of nausea.

Pulling his hand away, he sighed. He lifted his fingers to his face. She noticed for the first time a line of tiny needle scars on his cheeks, right over the venom glands. A whimper escaped her lips—heavens, considering the nerves associated with the venom system, needles must have caused him so much pain, comparable even to the whippings.

His eyes widened and he dropped his hand, as if just realizing he was touching his face. He cleared his throat and spoke, his voice thick and haunted. “There was a lab assistant who tried to be more humane about it, once. Against Lawrence’s instructions, she tried to take venom directly from my fangs, using a film-covered cup, like they do with snakes. But, I bit her. I was young and I didn’t understand it would kill her.”

Lexine ignited flames and pressed herself against his chest. “Biting when threatened is instinctive. The reaction is especially strong in children. Even in the best of circumstances, humans should never handle demon young.”

He tensed under her hold and took a step back, but she tightened her arms. She refused to let him distance himself, not at this moment. Perhaps no one had held him since his kidnapping, but he was so close to letting his guard down, she could sense it—she felt it in the slight tremor of his arms. If she let him run now, would they ever get to this place again, or would he build his walls even stronger and higher?

He sighed.

He wrapped his arms round her.

He slumped.

Lexine almost had to hold him up.

“I know.” He sighed, his warm breath on her forehead. “But of all the people I’ve killed in my lifetime, she’s the only one I regret.”

He settled his hand on her jawline and coaxed her to lift her face.

A voice in her mind persisted that Jett wasn’t interested in her romantically and would never be. He might only be interested in helping her salvage her ability to choose her own mate. However, now that she knew he was the mate in her dream, that fear dwindled and courage rose in its place. She straightened and parted her lips as Jett dug his fingers into her hair.

She wasn’t about to risk scaring him off before she had the chance to see if the spark between them could indeed be something more. If he developed feelings for her before she told him about the tattoo and scars in her dream, maybe he wouldn’t view her announcement as a leash and collar to be slipped at all costs.

And if he left, anyway? Or if nothing grew between them? Well, then she’d have proved choice remained despite the dream, after all. Either way, she no longer had to fear a future of sharing a bed with a poacher, forsaking everyone she knew and loved. She would never have walked that path.

She wanted to dance and laugh her throat sore. But all thought faded as his mouth covered hers, leaving only awareness of his lips, his heavy arms, and his heady scent of tea and honey. He broke the kiss, but lingered close.

“You’re grieving. Now is not the time to try all the things I want to try with you.”

Breath deserted her.

“You have my cell number. Call me for anything.” He stepped back, but held her gaze before turning for the door. “Good night, Lexine.”

She stared after him, certain she’d just seen a side of him no one else had ever witnessed, the male he would have been if he’d never been kidnapped—who he still was, buried beneath his antisocial armor. “’Night, Jett. Stay safe.”

…

Jett stalked through the woods, unable to calm his breathing.

He desired that female more than he’d realized.

Such a foreign thing, desire. Sexual desire, and the desire for company and companionship. His guarded friendship with the archangel in the basement prison took years to develop, and the dedication that resulted from that relationship still possessed him as strongly as his own need to survive. He didn’t feel any particular need to spend time with Raphael—he did so in the prison only to ease the archangel’s anguish. Lexine, though, Jett longed to stretch out at her side and bury his face in her hair, to walk with her in the morning for the simple joy of the shared moment with another person.

He passed the night in the woods, the solitude familiar but unwelcome. He thought about Lawrence’s plans and about Lexine, but came to no conclusions about either. Though he only slept once a week like any demon, he couldn’t remember the last time he spent the entire night on his feet, pacing, snapping dead branches off trees, practicing with his throwing knives, anything for an outlet.

When dawn arrived, a shadow shifted among the other dark corners of the woods. Lark stepped out from behind a pine tree. “Raphael would like to see you.”

Jett shoved Lexine from his mind as best he could and focused on the grim-faced Guardian. Though not in the mood for conversation, he’d yet to talk to the archangel after the failure in town. Lawrence remained a threat, the trail nonexistent.

Unacceptable.

Lark turned and Jett fell into step next to him. They reached the house and proceeded inside. This time, Lark made no attempt to take his weapons.

“No pat down?”

“Enjoy the first one that much, did you?”

“Fuck off.”

Raphael stood by the windows on the far side of the second-floor room, a steaming mug in his hands. He turned and smiled. “Morning.”

“Morning, Lark. Jett.” Wren’s voice carried from the kitchen. The archangel with black-speckled wings appeared a moment later and settled on one of the tall, backless chairs.

Raphael took a step closer to Jett. “I have something I need to ask you, Guardian.”

The word, aimed at him for the second time in recent memory, hit him like a bullet to the chest. “I’m not—”

Movement and the glint of a polished blade caught Jett’s attention. He growled and threw his body between the archangels and the wielder of the weapon.

Lark stepped back, grinned, and sheathed the blade.

“What the hell was that?” Jett, crouched and ready to fight, locked eyes with him.

“You’re not a Guardian? Could have fooled me.”

Jett straightened. “Do not test me. Next time I might rip your throat out.”

Lark’s shrewd gaze held steady. “You couldn’t so much as scratch me.”

“The fuck I couldn’t—”

Lark drew his blade again and landed a punishing kick to Jett’s chest. As Jett fell, he twisted, craned his neck, and grazed Lark’s ankle with his fangs. He hit the floor, got his feet under himself, and prepared to spring at the other demon.

Lark stood at Raphael’s side, a dagger poised at the archangel’s throat. He held the blade in his fingers, the harm-less hilt against Raphael’s skin.

“Your father was a Guardian and you inherited that legacy,” Lark said. “The humans trained you to the best of their ability. The Guardians could train you to use your superior senses and reflexes to their full potential.”

Raphael lifted his hand and shoved Lark’s dagger away. “Jett is a guest in my home.”

“Just making a point.” Lark sheathed the blade.

Jett, kneeling on the floor, held a hand to his chest where Lark had kicked him. Breath sawed in and out of his lungs. Blood mixed with the too-sweet venom in his mouth—not his blood. He glanced down at Lark’s ankle and grinned. “Might want to bandage that.”

Lark lifted his knee and pulled up his torn pant leg. He inspected the twin scrapes left by Jett’s fangs. “You bastard.” He straightened. “I hope you come to your senses. There’s nothing I’d like more than to train your ass. I haven’t had a student move that fast in a century.”

“I know your weakness, and I exploited it. You have a great deal of pain in your left hip from an old injury that didn’t heal correctly. Thornton limped on occasion because of it. You hide it without flaw, except that kick just now was a little low for your height.”

“Regardless, you wouldn’t have saved Raphael if this had been a real fight. If you trained, you could do a hell of a lot more for this family than take out Lawrence. He’s just one of many enemies.”

Jett’s ears rang. Become a Guardian? Could he take that step? “I won’t enter another form of slavery.”

“Is that what you think I am?” Lark’s eyes widened. “A slave? I made a vow to protect Raphael and his family with my life, but I’m free to leave anytime, a far cry from slavery. I serve a purpose that I feel is worth putting my life down for. I endured training that pushed me to my knees and within an inch of the grave to earn the right to be here.”

Raphael touched Lark’s shoulder for a brief moment. “Lark has been by my side for over a hundred years, but there are five of us now. A second dedicated Guardian would go a long way toward keeping my family safe, but there are few I trust enough.” He paused and held Jett’s gaze. “I’m asking you to consider the position.”

Ah, shit. Even a bastard like himself couldn’t say no to that. He paced.

He’d always longed for freedom, but freedom to do what? Open a fucking pizza place?

“You would need to complete the training successfully first, of course,” Lark said. “There’s plenty of time to decide.”

“Why do you trust me?” Jett asked Raphael. “I helped keep you imprisoned for years.”

“You freed me.”

“Which I could have done much sooner, but I didn’t.”

“When the time came, you offered me a way to protect my son. To me, that outweighs everything else.”

Jett blew out a heavy breath. Last year, Thornton had gotten Wren on the phone and broken Raphael’s wing, intent on luring and killing the young archangel by using his father as bait. Raphael had cared only for his son’s safety, and the force of that love had shaken Jett to the core. Having grown up in the lab, Jett couldn’t remember experiencing the love of a parent.

If he joined the Guardians, and it didn’t work out, he could walk away—if Lark spoke the truth. Otherwise, God help the demon. He wouldn’t be a slave at their hands.

What did he have to lose?

He wandered to the windows and stared out at the lake for a long moment. “I’m in.”

Raphael stood and joined him by the glass.

What the hell did one say to someone you were promising to protect with your life? Jett lowered his head in silence. He’d promised himself he’d never bend in supplication of any kind ever again, so he had no greater way to show his respect and intent.

“I can’t express what this means to me, Guardian.” Raphael extended a wing and touched Jett’s arm with his flight feathers. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you’re dying of old age.”

Raphael reached his other wing toward Wren, who got to his feet. “Your oath extends to my family. They mean more to me than my own safety. I ask that you remember that. If the worst should happen one day and you can’t save us all, do not put me before them.”

Wren shot his father a withering glare and flicked his wings. “Ignore that, Jett.”

Jett nodded. He’d be damned if it ever came to such a moment, so no need to argue. “I understand your concern, Raphael.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Wren offered his hand. As they shook, he brushed Jett’s arm with his feathers as Raphael had done.

“What does that mean?” Jett had grown accustomed to Raphael avoiding wing contact. Even after Raphael’s imprisonment ended, Jett had observed the physical distance the archangels kept between themselves and others.

“Just our way of showing how much we trust you.” A hint of warning filled Wren’s voice. Jett held his gaze and nodded in understanding. Despite the gesture, Wren’s full trust still needed to be earned.

Jett took Lark’s hand in a firm shake. “I’m honored to work with you.”

“Likewise. Let’s get you orientated.” He motioned for Jett to follow and headed for the door.

Chapter Eleven

Jett followed Lark outside and around the back of the house, where an acre of trees had been cleared. A ten-foot granite wall surrounded an expansive garden: flowers and fruit trees, a fountain and marble statues, manicured lawn and meandering stone paths. He preferred the disorganized beauty of the untamed forest, but whoever did all this work had his respect.

“Kora, Raphael’s mate, did all of this herself.” Lark pointed toward a pristine reflecting pool at the base of a marble monument, rose bushes on either side. “She’s buried here, too.”

They followed the granite wall to the rear of the garden, where a wooden door and a security panel interrupted the smooth stonework.

“Tool shed?”

Lark scowled. “Bachelor pad.”

“You live here?”

Lark released the locks by entering a code in the security panel, opened the door, and went inside. “Home sweet home.”

Jett stepped through the door into a simple room with a bed and dresser on the left and a kitchenette and woodstove on the right. The stone floor, walls, and ceiling were blackened in many places. The scent of charred wood filled Jett’s nose. “Fire?”

Lark pressed a palm against the rough stone wall. “After Kora’s murder, the Guardians burned this place. Rightfully so, of course. I chose to leave the scorch marks when I moved back in. One can never have too many reminders of their single biggest failure in two hundred and fifty years of life. But, we’re not here to talk about my shoddy taste in decorating. Here.” Lark selected a box from a closet and pushed it into Jett’s hands. “Clothes I picked up the other day.” His mouth curved in a conspiratorial grin. “They should be your size.”

“I’m fine as I am, thanks.”

“A Guardian holds a position of respect in the colony. Especially an archangel’s Guardian. I can almost see your ass, those jeans are so threadbare.”

The redhead had a point. Living in the woods, he’d kept himself clean, but the rips and tears in his clothing hadn’t mattered. “Where can I change?”

“Through there.” Lark pointed to a door.

In the bathroom, Jett changed into the black combat pants and muscle shirt, and studied himself in the mirror. Damn, he needed a pair of scissors. He preferred his hair a little too long—mainly because Lawrence had kept it skull trimmed—but the uneven mess left after he’d used his knife for a haircutting tool was far from presentable, especially against the black uniform.

He tilted his head and ran his fingers over the tiny Guardian emblem, a cursive, gold G no bigger than a thumbnail, stitched on the left of his neckline. Simple, but proud.

So unlike the gaudy tattoo on his arm. He pulled on the black jacket to cover the appalling artwork. Shit, the look Lexine had given him.

Rolling his shoulders to adjust the new garments, he returned to the main room. Lark stood in the open doorway of a gun closet, flipping a blade end over end with one hand.

“You clean up nice.” A taunting grin.

“Fuck you.” Jett took in the something-for-everyone display of guns, knives, and…was that a samurai sword? “Tell me something. Do you trust me as much as Raphael does?”

Lark sheathed the blade. “I trust that you belong here, not with the humans, and you know it. For the eighteen years of Raphael’s imprisonment, I haunted Thornton’s stronghold, so you’re not a stranger to me. At the time, I had no reason or desire to respect your privacy.”

Jett’s muscles stiffened to the point that pain shot up his neck. “How much did you see?”

“Enough.” The tone in which Lark spoke that one word carried the weight of a hundred of Jett’s worst memories. Lark had been there, had witnessed the degradation. The older demon held his gaze without even a smattering of pity, the muscles around his jaw flexing as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. “At your age, I doubt I would have handled such treatment half as well. You have my respect.”

Lark offered his hand, and Jett shook it. Like it or not, Lark knew things no other living person knew. Jett wouldn’t allow that to undermine him. It was over. Thornton was dead, and this was his new life.

“However,” Lark said, “not everyone in Sanctuary will be as certain about you. Be prepared, and be patient.”

“Speaking of that. Does Sanctuary have any tattoo-removal equipment?”

“Lasers? No, but…” He held up a knife. “I could carve it off and the archangels could heal your arm. That would leave a nasty scar, though.”

“Better scar tissue than this tattoo.”

“I’d consider leaving it alone.”

“What the hell for?”

“Because the scar would be just as much a reminder as the tattoo itself, and if you ask me, those fingernail marks send a clear message of where your loyalty is and is not. Think about it while you train. If you still want to be carved up later, we’ll get it done.”

They spent an hour selecting just the right weapons for Jett’s tastes. New combat blades hugged his thighs. Eight throwing knives, two sets of four, clung to his sides. Daggers nestled into his boots and sheaths on his arms. A strap held a gun at his back.

Lark showed him to a spare room. “You can come here when you need to sleep, for now, and you can leave the weapons here. You won’t need them during the early phase of your training, which starts tomorrow at dawn. But first, you need to be presentable and armed when we appear with the family at the memorial for Jac and the children, which begins at dusk.”

Jett’s mouth went dry. A group funeral, courtesy of Law-rence.

Never again.

His thoughts shifted to large amber eyes and dark hair. Despite the grim occasion, his body hummed at the prospect of seeing her again.

“If you successfully complete the training,” Lark continued, “you and I will be equal partners. We’ll know each other well enough to work together during an emergency when we can’t stop and plan. However, for the time being, you’re required to heed any and all instructions I give you. In a situation where the family is at risk, my attention cannot be divided between them and wondering what the hell you’re doing.”

He bit back a “fuck off.” Taking orders would be the hardest part of this training, he had no doubt. “Understood.”

“Good.” Lark flipped and caught his blade again. “This afternoon, we’ll get some necessary evils out of the way. All the other Guardians need to meet you, and the more the civilians see you, the more at ease with your presence they’ll become. I’ve called Devin. He’ll take you around. I need to stay near the archangels.”

Sunglasses in place, they stepped out of the dwelling into the harsh, late-morning sun. Devin waited in the garden, dressed in Guardian black, minus the jacket. A long, thin scar wound across his left forearm. Wraparound sunglasses covered his eyes, but his lips curved in a smug grin. “I have much to teach you,” Lark said, “but the basis of your training will be physical conditioning. Devin will oversee those festivities.”

Devin’s grin broadened.

“You can’t be serious.” Jett folded his arms. “Running laps and push-ups?”

Lark laughed and glanced over his sunglasses, his crimson irises harsh red in the daylight. “Five minutes into the program originally designed by your father, you’ll wish it were that easy.”

“Before we do anything else,” Jett said, “we need to discuss Lawrence. He’s still out there, and we have no leads.”

“We know he’s planning another attack,” Devin said, all humor vanishing. “I think our best option is to wait for Lawrence to make another move. He has no chance of surprising us again.”

“Not my first choice,” Lark muttered, “but you’re right, we’re out of offensive options.”

“We could confide in the Vermont State Police,” Devin said. “We know his name. They should be able to track him down quite easily, even if he uses aliases, which I bet he does.”

“No,” Lark said, his tone icy. “They won’t let us kill him, and if he hasn’t done anything against human laws, he won’t even go to jail. I want this threat eliminated.”

“This could damage our fragile relationship with the VSP. Just saying. It’s worth considering.”

“The archangels are our first priority,” Jett said. “Period.”

Lark nodded. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We will involve the state police, but only concerning the threat of another attack on the colony by poachers, and we’ll prepare colony-wide for that attack. Vin is already planning as much.

“We won’t confide in the VSP about Lawrence, but any poachers they unearth may provide us with valuable leads. We’ll wait him out. Bastard has to make a mistake eventually Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Devin said.

“Fine,” Jett said.

Damn it. He fucking hated waiting.

…

Dressed in a heavy mourning robe, Lexine approached Sanctuary’s mausoleum—an edifice of granite and stained glass. She paused at the stone steps and glanced back at the gathering on the lawn. As with every death, the colonists had gathered together in silence, dressed in gray, their candles like stars that had sunk beneath the navy-blue, late-evening sky.

The archangels stood near the front of the crowd but off to the side, the white of their wings stark in the low light. They wore gray, just like all the demons, the traditional mourning color. Catching Ginger’s gaze, Lexine strayed from the mausoleum procession to embrace her friend. Holding the sleeping twins, Raphael and Wren whispered their condolences, followed by Lark and Devin. When the scent of rich tea and honey filled her nose and a fourth voice murmured in her ear, Lexine shivered under the verbal caress and glanced up.

Jett had traded his jeans and shirt for Guardian black, the distinctive golden G embroidered into the collar of both his jacket and the shirt underneath.

Her lungs deflated, and she tried to speak, but no sound came out. A Guardian? What? How?

“Lexi?” Her mother’s voice pulled her attention back to the open doors of the mausoleum, but Lexine’s feet remained frozen in place.

Jett lifted a hand to her arm.

She yanked free and shoved him in the chest, a fierce heat rising within her blood. His lips parted in surprise, revealing a hint of fangs longer and thicker than her own—typical of the male half of the species. The sight accelerated her heart rate along with her burst of temper. How dare he do this?

Hissing through her own fangs, she whispered, “Your life wasn’t dangerous enough? You had to go and paint a bigger target on your back?”

Being a Guardian put him on the front lines when dangerous humans attacked. He was significantly upping his chances of getting killed.

Dream or no dream, relationship or no relationship—after rescuing Bryce, Jett would always be a treasured part of her and her little brother’s life. To ever see him laid out in the mausoleum would chip off a piece of her heart, and under the crushing pain of her older brother’s death, the image was too much to bear.

She pivoted on her heel and hurried under the stone archway, joining her family.

The parents and siblings of the murdered children also occupied the grand room with its cathedral ceiling. The four urns sat under white veils, the moonlight from the stained-glass windows adding a shadow of color, a whisper of the lives that had once been.

She held her mother as the time-weathered demon collapsed to her knees and sobbed, the sounds cutting in the acoustic space, joining the weeping of the other mourners. Though aging, as humans would recognize it, had just started to kick in for the five-hundred-year-old, giving her hair gray streaks, the stress of the last couple days had taken all the color from her skin and left her thin and brittle in Lexine’s arms.

Lexine held her own tears back. She stepped aside so her father could hold her mother. Sitting next to the largest veil-covered urn, she pulled Bryce into her lap and hummed in his ear.

Gradually, the room grew quiet, the steady decrescendo the only mark of passing time. Her mother took Bryce, and Lexine leaned against the wall. Pain filled her body, but she could not, would not, let it out.

“It’s okay to cry, sweetie,” her father whispered.

“I can’t. It’s too…final.”

He took her hand. “Jac’s gone.”

She squeezed his hand, but pulled away and ran out the back door of the mausoleum. In the cool night air, her knees gave out and tears broke free.

So much for being strong.

Warm weight settled against her side and over her shoulders. Jett sat in the grass with her, flames licking down his arms. He lifted her and resettled them in a private corner created by the stone steps and the wall, and she didn’t protest. She gave in to the hypnotic comfort of the fire and leaned against him.

“You are strong, Lexine.”

Had she expressed that doubt out loud? She wiped at her face and held her breath in an attempt to dam the sobs.

He shook his head, his chin rubbing against her hair. “Let it out. You won’t feel better until you do.”

God help her, she did as he said. She gripped his jacket and set her grief free. Sobs shook her body, choked her throat, and continued until the sodden place they seeped from ran dry. She pulled away long enough to clean her face with tissues from her pockets. Steadied by Jett’s embrace, she shut her eyes and breathed in his scent. His flames caressed her cheek.

An owl lifted off from the mausoleum roof and disappeared over the trees in startled flight. Much larger silhouettes followed a moment later as the archangels headed home, the rustle of their feathers a harsh sound in the still night. She’d lost all track of time, but the colony’s vigil traditionally broke up at one in the morning.

Lexine leaned away. “Shouldn’t you be following them?”

“Lark cut me loose for the rest of the evening. My pre-sence with the family tonight was more ceremonial than anything else. My training starts at dawn.”

“Well, congratulations.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Why does my decision upset you?”

“Because you seem intent on getting yourself killed.”

“They offered me a purpose that will outlast Lawrence. I accepted.”

“After not even speaking to anyone for months?” She sighed, gripping his shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled you’re joining the community, but a Guardian?”

“For the archangels.”

“That’s worse.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s nothing more dangerous.”

“I’m in training. If it will work out remains to be seen. I want more in my future than brook trout, wild berries, and no one but the squirrels to talk to. I’m not trying to get myself killed. I’m trying to start living.”

She rubbed her face. She’d be selfish to argue that point.

“You should go back inside.”

“I’d like to head home, actually.” She shivered and pulled the robe tight. “I could use some extra sleep.”

“I’ll walk you, then.”

“All right.” After ducking inside to check in with her family, she fell into step at his side, her arms folded.

“Do you give all new Guardians the same reception?” he murmured as the path curved around a large boulder in the forest, bringing them closer to the lakeshore. Intermittent lanterns hung from the trees, providing a reddish-orange glow.

“No. The Guardians have my respect. You’re no exception, especially after all you’ve done for Bryce. I just…”

“What?”

The words rushed out of her mouth. “One of my brothers was just murdered. The other, kidnapped. Poachers attacked the colony. Ginger is a dear friend and the constant threat that hangs over her family haunts me. It’s too much for me to see another person I care about added to the boiling water!”

He arched an eyebrow. “I’m a person you care about?”

“Of course. You saved my little brother.”

“Ah, so you’re just grateful.”

“I’m very grateful, but it’s more than that.”

He stopped. Unmoving, he stared at her, those eyes of deepest crimson richer in the darkness lit only by the lantern hanging above his head. “How so?”

“I want to kiss you again, Jett.” She pressed her palms to his chest, stood on her toes, and tasted his lips.

His arms anchored her waist to his and he parted her lips with his tongue. The sweet taste of his venom—more honey-like in flavor than her own—filled her mouth as his tongue slid against hers. She sucked on one of his fangs, drawing out more of the nectar. A tremor ran down her body.

One of his hands lifted and tangled in her hair; the other dropped and squeezed her ass. Despite his passionate grip, he eased off, kissing her with leisurely strokes of his lips. His tender caress eased the tension out of her muscles.

She ran her hands down his arms, over the unmistakable lumps of knives under his jacket. A Guardian for the archangels, but how could that be? In her dream, he’d been her mate. Lark had never taken a mate, had never even indulged in courtship as far as she knew. Most of the Guardians had families, but Lark, and now Jett, had a responsibility that owned and defined their lives.

Certainly he wouldn’t fail the training, would he? Knowing what he’d done for Raphael in the past and feeling the coiled strength beneath her hands, the idea that he’d fail seemed absurd.

The future in the dream was easily changed, after all. The thought left her with an ache in her chest. She’d barely started getting to know him, had gotten just a taste of where things could go between them. Now the potential was gone, snuffed out like a tiny flame.

But, he deserved to do well. He’d been through so much.

She broke the kiss, her fingers lingering on his shoulders. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” He offered her his arm and resumed walking. “As soon as I have time, I want to see you again.”

She bit her lip. He’d have no such time. “I look forward to it.”

Chapter Twelve

“Savages,” Jett said, coughing on water as he threw his bound hands over the edge of the large canoe. Three weeks had passed since the funeral—one continuous training session except for a few precious hours of sleep. “Vicious, evil degenerates—”

“Hold that thought.” His blond head haloed by the first colors of dawn, Devin lifted Jett by the arms and shoved him down. Again.

Jett had been in the water long enough that the cold no longer bothered him—he’d gone numb. His lungs and muscles burned. Using a whole-body writhing motion that he’d perfected since the moment Devin had first tossed him overboard with hands and ankles bound, he propelled himself back to the surface. This time, he stayed the hell away from the boat, so he’d have a moment to catch his breath.

Devin grinned with satisfaction, as if he’d been waiting for Jett to make that move. “You’ve shaved off half your time. Excellent.”

Fighting to keep his head above the surface with his hands and feet bound, Jett heard a different voice.

“Start the fire now,” Lawrence insisted.

Shivering, thirteen-year-old Jett tried to climb out of the icy bath. Hands grasped his shoulders from behind and pushed him back down, chin-deep in the water. Answering from behind the metal gag that clamped around his head, he managed, “I c-can’t.”

Oh, he wanted to. Wanted to light up the entire room, especially his keepers. But the water left his ability useless, as the scientists apparently wanted to prove.

Lawrence and the two men in white coats murmured to each other in low voices. One of them, the balding one with the mustache the size of a rat, shook his head. “Make sure.”

Firm hands pushed Jett’s head beneath the surface.

“Still with me?” Devin’s brow furrowed.

“I fucking hate water.”

“Of course you do,” Devin said. “We all do. But not as much as the archangels hate it.”

Jett coughed, focusing on the here and now. If he told Devin to fuck off and swam to shore, no one would stop him. So, he didn’t. The freedom made all the difference. “Why the archangels?”

“Imagine one of them face down in the water.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold lake ran down Jett’s spine. With their wings, it’d be impossible to right themselves. “I’d hope they’d stay away from water at all costs.”

“Yes. They avoid it with as much enthusiasm as they avoid lightning storms. But, a few decades ago, an archangel in Canada’s demon colony tried to rescue a civilian demon caught in a flash flood and ended up in the water herself. The archangel’s Guardian wouldn’t have been able to haul her out of there if he’d been only a mediocre swimmer.”

Jett shut his eyes and nodded.

“Also, we can’t put it past poachers to use water to their advantage. Anyone seeking to harm archangels or demons will utilize water if they have the opportunity. It’s an element you need to master.” Devin bent and retrieved an object from the floor of the boat. The small, round capsule lit up with blue light. He tossed it into the water, and it sank. “Fetch!”

After hours in the lake, Jett sat on the rocks high above the shore, naked to the waist, toweling himself. The sun had risen high, warming his skin, necessitating sunglasses. Devin had disappeared into the archangel house after announcing that Vin was on his way to lead a session.

He stared at his hand, where Lexine had bitten him weeks before. The marks had faded, but like their kiss, he still felt the moist heat of her. Felt her both shudder and hold him tight.

He had to touch her again. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself. The sooner the better, if he wanted any level of control at all.

“Morning, Guardian.” Footsteps on the rocks accompanied the rustle of feathers.

Jett ran the towel over his hair. “Never, ever, go near the water for any reason.”

Raphael laughed. “Have fun this morning?”

“Devin sure knows how to have a good time.”

“Once in the water was enough for me, don’t worry. Years ago, Lark insisted on a water lesson to learn some tricks to help keep myself alive if a real situation arose.”

“Where is Lark?” Jett scanned the trees.

“He’s never far, but he keeps as much distance as he can, as often as he can. As grateful as I am for the Guardians, twenty-four-hour protection can be a difficult thing.”

“I know what it’s like to always have someone watching.” Jett fought the deep urge to cover himself with the towel, the memories crawling over his skin like insects. “I don’t think a single second of my life in the lab wasn’t monitored and recorded.”

Raphael flicked his wings. After a pause, he said, “When you have a break in your training, you should go to the town hall, second floor. You’ll find an office on the far side of the atrium. The guard knows to let you in.”

Jett cocked his head. “Whose office?”

“Dante’s.”

“My father’s?” He wiped his clammy hands on the towel.

“It’s there whenever you’re ready. He founded Sanctuary and personally trained all the Guardians who protected it until his death. He wrote everything down, and as part of your training, you need to read his original words. His journals and other personal effects are there, too.”

Jett chewed the tip of his tongue between his incisors, making his mouth moist enough to speak. “Thank you—”

A feminine shriek split the air and grew louder. A shadow shot across the ground, accompanied by wind. Wren careened overhead. The pseudoterrified scream from the woman in his arms broke up into laughter as they disappeared over the trees.

“Is that safe?” Jett got to his feet, staring in the direction the young couple had disappeared. The worst-case scenario played through his mind. If poachers invaded the forest, both Wren and Ginger could be killed with one well-aimed bullet. So quick. “Where are the twins?”

Raphael stretched his wings, the pure-white feathers blinding in the sunlight. “Devin is upstairs with the twins, and Wren is a strong flier. What good is flight if you only use it to go from point A to point B?”

“If poachers—”

“Lark is in the forest. He has our trust, as do you.”

With that, the archangel beat his wings in furious movement and leaped off the rocks. He skimmed the water before rising into the air and vanishing over the opposite side of the lake.

Jett shook his head, his chest constricting, the tightness suffocating. The archangels would be safest inside, but what were they fighting for, if not the freedom to live, really live? Jett would be the last person to force them into another prison.

Perhaps the hardest part of being their Guardian would be accepting that he couldn’t protect them from everything.

…

Lexine wandered through the winery, a glorified barn on the edge of the apple orchard. Clean and weather-tight, the scent of apples permeated the small building. The heirloom varieties used for winemaking had ripened the week before, and she had occupied her time picking. Crates of the fruit lined the wall, ready to go.

She climbed the stairs to the second level, a single space like the first floor. The wine bottles that Jac reused every year were reposed in boxes.

Hmm. If she relocated the glassware, this would make an elegant studio apartment. The construction on the new residence building was underway, and she wasn’t impatient. This place, however, suited her better than the communal residences. Quiet. Sunshine. Located on a hilltop, the view from one window looked out over the orchard while the other showcased a sweeping panorama of the lake. As she stared, the white wings of one of the archangels streaked beneath the morning clouds.

Thanks to the winemaking needs, the building had plumbing and a small bathroom on the first floor. Not very girl friendly, but she could make it work.

Staring out the window, her fingers idly tracing a knot in the wood, she spotted Jett walking on the path below. What was he doing here? She lifted her fingertips to her lips.

She knew the expectations of a Guardian in training—total focus and almost impossible physical tasks—so she’d kept her distance. As she’d expected, he hadn’t sought her out, either. When she’d glimpsed him now and then, he was either in the lake, high in the trees, or covered in mud and bleeding, Devin nipping at his heels.

Jett stopped at the edge of the lawn and glanced up. He wore sunglasses against the bright morning glare, but with a shiver, she felt his gaze connect with hers. After a moment of stillness, he headed for the entry.

Cursing the lack of a mirror, she smoothed her hair and rushed downstairs.

Jett entered the winery, shutting the door behind himself. Clean and dressed in Guardian black, he removed his sunglasses. “Good morning, Lexine. I was told I’d find you up here.”

Casual words, but a far from casual tone. He spoke in a voice most would reserve for candlelit bedrooms.

She licked her lips. “I was getting a look at my new place.”

“You’re going to stay here?” He leaned against the lacquered pine wall, feet crossed at the ankles, hands in his pockets, staring at her. She caught a glimpse of the twin blades strapped to his waist, the idea of how dangerous and capable he was, an unusual thrill. She’d only ever dated civilians, and even the one who thought he was all big and bad lacked the power Jett commanded in his gaze alone.

“Yes. So,” she said, unsure what to do under the intensity of his stare, “they gave you a break?”

“Yes, but with an ulterior motive. Sometime tonight I start sparring with Lark.” His gaze stayed locked on her, traveling down her body and up again ever so slowly, his tone disinterested in his words.

“Sometime?” She wiped her clammy palms on her jeans.

“The point is to try to catch me off guard.”

Lexine shivered and glanced around.

“I was promised the daylight hours to myself.” His lips twitched. “There’re a few things I’ve been meaning to do.”

“Oh?” She knew her nonchalant attempt failed when his smile broadened, the expression sinful and full of promise.

She gave herself a mental slap. The raw, sexual vibe coming off him promised that this could get out of hand. Far out of hand. She needed to rein this in. Despite her desperate dating habits in the past, she’d never gotten sexually involved with a male without the hope of a committed relationship.

Since he’d started training, she’d slept without the recurring the dream. His decision to become a Guardian to the archangels must have changed their future.

But what was the harm? Her previous relationships hadn’t worked out, despite all their sweet promises. Once, she’d been flat-out used and left, after all the empty words he’d sung to get her naked. She would have picked up on his game sooner, but she’d been blinded by the fear of her then-recently-begun nightmares and the need to cling to a demon male. Any demon male. At least she knew where she stood with Jett. No promises, just the present. And the heat in his gaze was no lie.

She hadn’t been able to put their first kisses out of her mind.

Her hesitation must have shown on her face. His voice quiet, but no less intense, he said, “You set the pace, Lex. But not seeing you for two weeks might have driven me mad.”

She flushed at his first use of her shortened name.

“May I call you Lex?”

“Absolutely.”

He stalked forward and took her hand. His intensely sexual tone persisted as he murmured, “May I be blunt?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve lost weight these past two weeks. Have you been well?”

“I haven’t had much of an appetite. But I’m fine. It’s getting better as time passes.”

“That’s good.” He cocked his head. “I was on my way to find something to eat. Will you join me?”

Perfect. A way to keep this under control but still share his company. “Absolutely.”

They made their way down the path to the village. Around the cluster of wood-and-stone buildings in the center of the colony, nothing moved except for the two of them, most of the residents inside for the daylight hours. The scent of baking bread and seasonings drifted through the air from the tavern—which the owner, her cousin, Gregory, had named The Ninth Circle. Smartass. Lexine smiled whenever she saw the sign, which hung above the door, complete with a little red devil and pitchfork.

Jett led her inside, a hand on her lower back.

Gory lounged behind the bar, watching a human news program on the wall-mounted television. The bald demon grinned and lifted his fingers in greeting. “Help yourselves. Got your favorite out today, Lexi.”

“Thanks. What’s going on in the world?” Steam rose from a mug in front of a Guardian, the only individual at the bar. Though most of the colonists stayed in their homes during the day, the Guardians on day shifts frequented The Ninth Circle. Since she also worked during the day, Lexine stopped by often, as did many single demons, and the archangels. Today was quieter than usual, the colony still adjusting after the recent attacks.

Gory shook his head. “War, bad politics, and celebrity scandals. What else?”On the serving counter, the small daytime spread included soups and warm breads. A cooler offered sandwiches and pasta salads. Lexine took a bowl of corn chowder and a wheat roll to a table that had a chair in a beam of sunlight. Jett settled opposite her with the potato bisque, a turkey sandwich, and two rolls. They ate for a moment in comfortable silence.

She chewed her lower lip. “Hmm.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. This is just so…normal. Seeing you makes me feel like we should be rushing off on some emergency.”

He grinned, though his eyes seemed sad. “I’m sorry we met under extreme circumstances. How’s Bryce?”

“He’s had a few nightmares, but otherwise, he’s doing well.”

“Good.” He leaned back in the chair and leveled his dark crimson gaze on her. “How have your dreams been, Lexine?”

“Um…” She shoveled some chowder into her mouth to buy a moment to choose her words. She settled on the simple truth: “I’ve had no dreams these last two weeks, at least, none that I remembered when I woke.”

“No poacher?”

“No poacher.” She kept her gaze on the soup, hoping she didn’t look too guilty.

“Excellent.” He reached across the table and rested his fingers on hers. “I’m sorry I disappeared for two weeks. This training—”

“Don’t worry. I understand, and I respect what you’re doing. Mostly, I’m glad you’re not going back to the woods.”

He scoffed. “I wouldn’t have gone back to the woods after meeting you.”

Her heart hammered.

“I still want to get to know you, whether the time is easily won or not.” He drew circles on the back of her hand. “I agreed to train on the condition that my life was still my own and my personal decisions still mine to make. It’s not fair of me to ask, considering how little time I’ll have to offer, but I want to spend my free moments with you. Are you willing to give it a try?”

She smiled and grasped his hand, but cautioned herself. Just a try. In all reality, seeing him only once in a while wasn’t something she wanted. She craved companionship, and despite the way she responded to Jett’s every touch and glance, she wouldn’t be happy with this arrangement long term. Also, as a Guardian standing directly between poachers and the archangels, she’d worry. And worry and worry. Perhaps telling him no would be smart, but the word refused to form on her lips.

Try.

“I’d love to.”

He kissed her fingers, stood, and made quick work of clearing the table. “The day’s wasting.”

“Yes. Can I make a request?”

“Sure.”

“You lived all these months in the woods. Show me where?”

He glanced away. “Why?”

“Because it was your home.”

“I suppose it was.”

“More of a home than you’ve had in a long time.”

“True enough.” He didn’t sound convinced. “It’s nothing worth seeing, though.”

“I want to see what you did with the freedom you’re always griping about,” she said, smiling. “I want to know more about you, not what others forced you to be.”

“It’s not far from the scene of the murders.”

“Oh.” She should have realized that—how else had Jett found the humans faster than the Guardians? She’d been hoping to never venture into that area—Jett read her well. But she refused to back down. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“I prefer ‘determined,’ and don’t be a hypocrite. It doesn’t suit you.”

He smiled, the effect so bright it reminded her of sunshine glinting on the lake after the ice finally breaks in the spring. “Okay, Lexine, let’s go for a walk. Just remember it was your idea.”

Chapter Thirteen

Abandoning Sanctuary’s groomed trails just beyond the cemetery, Jett led Lexine through the forest, the elevation steadily climbing. Neither of them said much—their first priority was listening for unwelcome company as they ventured farther out. As he’d observed the colony that year, he noted that Guardians and civilians alike treated the woods with respectful caution, the way a human would walk into a large, silent cathedral that might be empty or might not, and any sound would fill the space. Even children fell silent without being told.

Never before had he observed his own kind. Lawrence had described aggressive, hot-tempered beasts. In reality, most were like Jett: they preferred quiet and peace to disruption of any kind.

“Did my father have trouble getting demons to form a colony?”

“No, why?”

He stepped over a fallen, broken branch, making no sound. “It seems to me being out here, alone, is more natural for us.”

“Devin and Lark haven’t taught you any history?”

“Not yet.”

She ran her fingers over the bark of a thick pine. “Demons have been on earth for thousands of years, mostly in North America because there were far fewer humans here at the time, plenty of uninterrupted forest. We had no trouble with the Native Americans and rarely interacted with the archangels. You’re right, we weren’t as sociable a society then, but we weren’t loners, either. Young adult demons left their parents and searched the woods until they found mates. Couples were then as they are now—bonded for life and inseparable. Adult demons who didn’t find mates eventually died, the loneliness the root of a physical disease that hasn’t been seen since the colonies formed.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“How did they find one another? The forest was a lot bigger then than it is now.”

“An ability that has all but disappeared in generations like mine, but it’s said to remain strong in those with a Guardian bloodline. I bet you had little trouble finding us even though you were on foot in the woods, right?”

He paused, recalling the turmoil of his thoughts during that trip. Free for the first time, but with no place to go. Hatred for Lawrence, concern and loyalty toward Raphael. Despite everything, he’d crossed the state and gone directly to the colony, never once losing his way. “I sensed it, somehow.”

“Exactly, and I’m sure Lark or Devin will explain it better. Anyway, the growing number of human European settlers drove us to work together as a community. The violence aside, it’s been a good thing and everyone agrees.”

“Why not form communities long before that?”

“Change needed the catalyst. Like you said, it’s in our nature to be out here, alone—well, almost alone.” She brushed her fingers over his arm, the fleeting contact a tease that made him reach out. She hooked her arm around his and they kept walking.

Jett breathed easier than he ever had before.

He avoided the easiest route—the rough path which Jac had taken the kids along—and followed a small brook. When the terrain leveled off he turned south, along the mountain instead of up it. After an hour, they passed above the murder scene, hidden beyond the trees, though the faint scent of blood lingered when the breeze blew just right. Lexine’s shoulders stiffened and she gripped his arm tighter.

“Just a little farther,” Jett said. “Have you been up here before?”

“Not since I was little, like Bryce, when they first start teaching us tracking and other forest skills.”

Tension filled her voice. Why had she insisted on coming to this place? What was she expecting to find at his camp? At least there was one thing worth the trip. “Wait till you see the view.”

The murder scene disappeared behind them, and they climbed one last rise to a small, natural clearing—most of the trees forced back by the granite ledge and crisscrossing springs.

“Here we are. There, look.” The gap in the forest framed a view of the colony and the lake below them, and of the sky, where an archangel surfed the vast stretch of blue. “It’s Raphael.”

“How can you tell?”

“They have different flying styles.”

“I’ve never noticed that.”

“It’s subtle. He favors the wing that was broken.”

“I thought it was perfectly healed,” she said, concern in her voice.

“I don’t know if something like that can ever be perfectly healed, mentally if not physically.”

She leaned against him and they watched in silence for a few minutes. “I like watching them fly, even though it makes me a little jealous. Can you imagine it?”

“No, I can’t, but I’m not sure the ability to fly would be worth the consequences.”

“The poachers?” She shook her head. “Horrible, but worth it. Definitely. When I watch them long enough, I can almost feel the force of it on my body. Even though it’s my imagination, it’s exhilarating.”

“Freedom, in any form, is exhilarating.”

Lexine turned away from the gliding archangel and faced him. “True. So you do know what it’s like to fly. You and Raphael both have been airborne since you escaped Thornton.”

“I suppose…”

She laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t figure you for the poetic type.” She walked past him, toward the shelter he’d built for himself at the edge of the clearing.

His home, as Lexine had pointed out. Why hadn’t he thought of it that way?

“You did this without tools or equipment?”

“At first I spent most of my time exploring the land around the colony. When I noticed something that would fit, I brought it back. It wasn’t as much work as it appears.” He’d stacked large rocks to waist-height in the middle of a hemlock grove, connecting four of the old trees that formed a nearly perfect square. To make an A-shaped roof, he’d tied branches together with the sturdy grape vines that grew on the trees near the river, topping it off with hemlock and pine foliage. By winter, he’d added deer skins, tanned with demon fire, to make the shelter water and windproof. “I just needed a place to sleep and wait out storms.”

“May I?” She lifted a hand to the deer-skin door.

“Sure.”

She vanished inside, and he followed her. He’d padded the ground first with pine needles, then with skins: deer near the door, rabbit and fox where he slept.

“Well, I guess I know what you ate.”

“I’ll be happy never to eat wild game again in my life.” Hunting and catching animals had been easy, none of the creatures able to outmaneuver a demon. He considered the food chain perfectly natural, but he’d have gladly traded a few salads to break fewer necks.

She sat on his bed and studied the stone portion of the wall he’d carefully constructed to form a shelf. He’d whittled bowls, forks, and spoons from pine. “You did make yourself at home.”

“During the cold snap that refused to give up, the archangels spent more time inside. Made me crazy, so I had to keep busy.”

“You really worried about them.”

“I, well…” He ground his teeth and sat on the bed next to her. “I had no reason to worry, but I couldn’t stop making it my business. I had to be here, just in case.”

“It’s in your blood.”

“I don’t believe in that kind of thing.”

“Silly.” She pressed her palm to the center of her chest. “Being a Guardian takes a certain kind of heart. Whether you think of yours as entirely your own or as something your father passed on to you, you have it.”

“I make my own decisions.”

“But you can’t change who you are on that level.”

He nodded, conceding, but he half wanted to push the subject to see the flare of pink in her cheeks and the way her chin stuck out ever so slightly when she argued a point.

Her attention shifted back to the shelf where there was also a pen he’d had on him when he’d fled Thornton’s farmhouse and a stack of birch bark he’d cut into squares.

“What are these?” She reached a hand toward the birch.

“I, uh, wanted to write down my thoughts. I’ve never had enough privacy before.”

“Oh.” She withdrew her hand.

“You can read them if you want.”

“That defeats the purpose of privacy.”

“Perhaps, but you came here, despite having to walk near the place where your brother died, to see this side of me. I wrote down things I’ll never say out loud, so if you want to know my thoughts, this is your chance.”

Instead of picking up his makeshift journal, she leaned over and kissed him.

Unable to help himself, he lifted a hand to her nape to discourage her from ending the kiss and pulling away. Her sugary venom coated his tongue, the heat of her a pleasure itself. Nerves as distant as his toes came alive with the need for more of her touch. He indulged, wrapping his other arm around her lower back and pulling her closer. Not that she needed the encouragement. She ran her hands over his head and across his shoulders. Her fingers tickled down his sides to his waist, a gesture he mimicked, drawing a whimper from her throat.

As she reached under his shirt and caressed his skin, he clamped his hands over her wrists and broke the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” A blush rose to her cheeks.

Oh, how he loathed to admit the reason for his hesitation. “I want more.”

“So do I.”

“But…”

“But?”

He searched for words. Came up dry.

“If you’re worried about your scars—”

“I’m not.” He removed the leather straps holding his knives to his torso, gripped the bottom of his shirt, and pulled the black material over his head.

“Fair is fair.” She lifted her own shirt over her head.

A dark red bra enclosed the swells of her breasts.

“You’re staring,” she said, a smile in her voice, and leaned forward. “Feel free to take it off.”

He ran his hands over the silky material, her body heat soaking into his skin. “Show me how.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “You’ve never…?”

“No,” he said, his mouth dry.

To his surprise, her smile widened. “Good.”

“Not the reaction I expected.”

“I admit, I wondered, considering your life up to this point.” She reached behind her back and the bra loosened. Leaving the garment in place, she lifted a hand and cupped his neck. “Better to have a clean slate than one with more bad memories.”

“Do you have some bad memories, Lex?”

Her smile faded. “Yes.”

Eyes closed, he turned his face toward her hand and kissed her palm. “How am I doing so far?”

“Nothing like the others.”

“I’ll take that as a good thing.”

“Most definitely.”

Easing the silk straps off her shoulders, he pulled the bra free of her body. He paused, bent, and smothered her breasts with kisses. She dug her fingers into her hair.

He scraped her skin with his fangs, remembering the liquid heat of her venom when she bit him at the motel. If biting wasn’t a part of demon sex play, he’d be surprised. The only thing that had ever brought him half as much bliss was her mouth on his.

She stiffened. “Jett.”

He removed his face and hands from her body. Had he screwed up that quickly? No, he doubted that. What, then? Did she harbor some pain from her past experiences? “I love touching you.”

“There’s something I may need to tell you. I’m not sure if you know.”

“I’m listening.” He pressed his lips to her throat.

“No, you’re not.”

“Sure I am.” He nibbled.

Her words came out breathless and he held her tighter in satisfaction. She said, “In Dearly, I bit you during my nightmare.”

“Yes. I was just thinking about that.”

“Love biting is common, and isn’t supposed to hurt when done right—”

“Excellent.” He brushed his lips along the length of her throat to her shoulder.

“You can’t bite me.”

He met her gaze. “Why not?”

“Mutual biting is how the permanent mating bond is formed between demons. It’s a chemical and psychic reaction caused by the mixing of venom and blood.”

“What?”

“My bite by itself did nothing.” She took his hand and ran her fingers over the spot she’d bitten. “And I can bite you again. Most courting couples engage in one-sided bite play. Just don’t return the favor unless you want to be stuck with me.”

“Lexine.” He grasped the back of her neck and pulled her to him. “Message received—don’t worry. But I could never be stuck with you. I can only dream of being so fortunate.”

He kissed her, easing her onto her back. Of course, if he did bite her, that would take care of her poacher prophecy once and for all, saving her from that fate and selfishly claiming her from all others in one quick bite. Would she hate him if he dropped his mouth to her shoulder that very moment and…?

“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” she murmured.

“Oh?”

“Don’t, Jett. You’ve only just started your training, and—”

“That’s not for you to worry about.”

“It would be if I was your mate, and besides, I don’t want a pity mating because of a dream, especially from you.”

“Pity? No. Don’t think for a moment I’m here, at all, out of pity.”

“What, then? Lust?”

He grinned. “Only partly.”

“And the other part?”

“Maybe I’m simply an arrogant oaf who thinks he deserves the chance to treat you better than the so-called males you’ve been with before, even though I don’t know how to take off a bra.”

She pushed him over onto his back and trailed kisses down his chest and stomach. Her thighs pressed against the weapons around his waist and he removed the guns, leaving only the twin blades he never wanted out of arm’s reach.

He kissed and touched every part of her, taking his time as she explored him in return, but he left her jeans in place, the restraint making his hands shake. This moment, by itself, was too much, too warm, too perfect, to rush past.

However, the sun eventually sunk lower behind the mountain, demanding his attention. He groaned.

“Hmm?”

“We should head back. I don’t want to say good night to you in a rush when Lark shows up.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder. “When will I see you again?”

“I’m not certain.”

The acceptance on her face went straight to his chest. “Lex, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’ll be waiting. Tell Lark he better not make me wait too long, or I’ll have to hurt him.”

“I bet you would.” He took her mouth in a long, deep kiss. When would he see her again? It would probably be weeks. Would she really wait for him?

He had no choice but to wait and find out.

Chapter Fourteen

Jett rolled to avoid Lark’s blade, grasped a low pine limb, and swung himself into the tree. He expected Lark to follow, but the Guardian took off running in the other direction through the dark forest.

“What the hell?” Jett leaped to the ground and gave chase. He caught up with the other demon after a hundred feet and shoved him against an oak. “You’re dead. What kind of a move was that?”

“A poacher’s move. What human will fight you in a tree?” Lark shoved Jett’s hands away. “Some humans will be dumb enough to fight you, thinking they have a shot in hell of winning. They do, if there are enough of them. But their goal is to get by you. If I’d been a poacher, you would’ve just given me a shot at the archangels, and look how far I got.”

Damn it.

“Your role is defensive. You’re a shield, an impenetrable wall. You do not let them get by you. Period.”

“I get it.”

Lark nodded, tossed his blade in the air, and caught it, as he often did in thought. “We’ll drill hand to hand again tomorrow night.” He checked the time on his cell. “I’m going back to patrol now, and you’re coming with me.”

They made their way through the woods. When they neared the archangel house, Lark let out a series of shrill whistles. Devin jumped down from a tree, nodded, and left.

“I don’t understand why Devin isn’t the family’s second dedicated Guardian,” Jett said.

“As Ginger’s adoptive father, Devin is in a difficult, unprecedented position.” Lark led them toward a towering oak tree behind the house. “He’s capable and he’s trusted. Unofficially, he guards the family with as much care as I do. He’s an extra set of eyes and ears, greatly adding to the family’s security. But, realistically, he needs to be kept out of harm’s way. He’s supposed to stay inside with the rest of them in an emergency.”

“Not to be cold, but he isn’t an archangel. We protect them because the species has been nearly wiped out, yes?”

“Yes, but Devin’s death would cause them—particularly Ginger—grief. Unacceptable.”

“Our job is to keep them safe,” Jett said.

“It’s more than that.”

“They’d also grieve for you.”

“True enough.” Lark paused at the base of the tree, his hand on the thick bark. “For decades after I became Raphael’s Guardian, I keep my distance for that reason. I rarely spoke to him. I didn’t want to be anything more to him than a bodyguard. But Raphael doesn’t trust easily. He needed to know me to trust me, and the unease I caused him was intolerable.”

Jett scoffed. “At least I’m not alone in being too damned sentimental. I never expected it from you.”

Lark frowned and stared at the sky. “Have you asked yourself why you came here? Why you couldn’t just leave Raphael in our hands and go on about your business? Why you’re ‘too damned sentimental’?”

“Every fucking day.”

Lark got out his cell and asked Devin to come back. After hanging up, he said, “To explain properly, I need to take you to meet someone. It’s not what I had planned for tonight, but it’s as good a time as any.”

Post-midnight darkness enriched the forest as they traversed the main path. Lark took them all the way into the center of the colony and knocked on the door of one of the residence buildings.

As they waited, Jett stared over his shoulder, every muscle in his body tense. Dozens of demons congregated outside the buildings, the red demon-fire lanterns giving the scene a festive appearance. One group of demons clustered around a food-covered table. Another group played a rough version of football. In front of the residence buildings, some demons gardened, some stood around and chatted, and some tended to repairs on a roof. More gathered farther down the path at the market.

“I don’t belong here.” The words slipped before Jett could stop them.

Lark had lifted his hand to knock again, but paused. “Beg pardon?”

Shaking his head, Jett swept his hand out to indicate the bustling colony. “Lawrence spent a lot of time schooling me, all subjects, because he assessed my intelligence as part of his studies. He insisted he provided me with a better home than my parents would have because demons were ‘vicious animals.’”

Lark smiled, the expression savage, showing off his fangs. “Oh, but we are! I slaughtered six human men a couple weeks ago when the colony was attacked. I tortured one for information. I’m a vicious beast.”

“He described demons as most humans would recognize them. Hell, Satan, all that crap. He said my parents would have eventually eaten me.”

“Eaten you?” Lark leaned against the door and laughed.

“I’m serious.”

All humor gone from his tone, Lark said, “Clearly you know every word was bullshit.”

“Raphael was my first insight into reality, and I’ve been observing the truth for the last eleven months. But, for most of my life, my reality was that I was a thing of evil. These civilians were raised by nice parents in nice homes. I don’t belong with them. It’s like I carry a taint with me, an ugliness that I don’t want anywhere near them.”

“Those are your protective instincts talking, the very ones we’re here to discuss. Don’t confuse that with thinking there is actually anything wrong with you. What about Lexine?”

Jett met the other male’s gaze. “Part of me thinks I should stay away from her, too. But I just can’t help myself.”

Lark’s lips twitched. “You’re not going to taint her, idiot. But if she taints you, you’ll be better for it.” A pause. “You do realize, as a Guardian to the archangels, you’re not going to have much time to offer her. We don’t make good mates.”

“What the fuck?” Jett stared. “Your voice just hitched.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“It certainly did! You had a girl?”

“Fuck off.” Lark knocked on the door a second time. “It’s none of your damned business.”

“But—”

Lark hissed.

The door opened, spilling the crimson light of a lantern at their feet. A demon female with red braided hair stepped back, inviting them inside.

“Hello, Cinnamon,” Lark said. They settled in a tiny living room, and Lark made the introductions.

“Please, call me Minnie.” The female shook Jett’s hand. She sat, stiff, clutching a steaming mug.

“We won’t stay long, Minnie,” Lark said. “When we spoke the other day, you agreed to give Jett a demonstration. Are you still okay with that?”

“It’s no problem.” A tiny smile lit her face.

“Thank you.” Lark turned to Jett. “You’re aware, of course, that the majority of the demons alive today were born on earth, but we originally came here from someplace else?”

“Yes. Like the archangels, they seemed to fall from the sky.”

“Exactly. Minnie is the only demon currently living in Sanctuary who wasn’t born on earth. She fell.”

Minnie fidgeted. “I woke up in the forest that day. I don’t remember anything from before that. I knew things, though. I could speak. I used a fork as if I’d done it before. And, of course, I could do this.”

She set her mug down, leaned forward, and leveled an unfocused gaze on Jett.

“What—” His question died on his lips as a profound sense of calm washed over him, like those few blissful seconds after waking from a deep sleep in a comfortable bed. He stretched and leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes.

Ah, yes. He had to get one of these chairs. He could fall asleep right here, or read a good book. Better yet, he could pull Lexine into his lap and make love to her. Leisurely, thoroughly. They could fall asleep together, curled up in this chair.

It seemed like he was forgetting something important, something urgent. Did he have something to be angry about? He’d be damned if he could think of what it was. Oh, well. First a nap.

Wait, was someone crying? He opened his eyes. The girl, Minnie, held her head in her hands, her body shuddering with sobs.

“Enough, Minnie,” Lark said.

Between one blink and the next, Jett crashed back into himself and leaped to his feet. His heart hammered in his chest. Lawrence. Thornton. Bryce’s kidnapping. The attack on the colony and the archangels. Anger. Bitterness. Regret. Fear.

“What the hell just happened to me?”

Lark got to his feet. “She took your emotional pain away.”

“She what?”

Minnie cleaned her face with a tissue and took a deep breath. “I can sense all the hurt you carry, and I can absorb it into myself. For a few minutes, anyway. What happened to you? How did you even survive whatever it was you’ve been through?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Rare demons have psychic talents like the archangels have, but every demon who has ever fallen to earth has been an empath,” Lark said. “Like our ability to produce demon fire, the empathic skills require no energy, unlike typical psychic talents.”

“Negative and painful emotions have a much stronger signal than anything else,” Minnie added.

“Mind readers?” Jett eyed the female. “You took my memories away?”

“No,” Minnie said. “I can only sense and manipulate the emotional pain associated with the memories. Without the lingering pain to tie you to them, they slipped into the back of your mind.”

Jett scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Okay. Damn. You shouldn’t do that. You were crying.”

She smiled. “I took for two minutes what you’re no doubt holding like a torch day in and day out. I can’t stand to see anyone in such pain. I want to ease others when I can.”

“What is the point of this?” He got in Lark’s face.

“I needed you to experience that so you’d know exactly what your heritage is. Your parents fell to earth hundreds of years ago. Unlike the ability to produce demon fire, the empathic ability is never passed on full strength to the earthborn. However, some children inherit stronger skills than others. Those with the most pronounced empathic traits usually become Guardians. Like you and me.”

“I have no such talent.”

“No, you can’t manipulate emotions the way Minnie can, the way your parents could. But, to use your words, you’re ‘damned sentimental.’ You have a strong empathic trait that makes you much more than a deadly bodyguard. Though you may not be consciously aware of it, you’re responding to the archangels’ emotional state and trying to ease them, like Minnie just did for you. You’ve been doing that from the moment Thornton tasked you to monitor Raphael in his prison.”

“I don’t know… Any decent person would have…”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t want to claw your own skin off in frustration when Ginger went into labor.”

“I had no way to know she’d gone into labor.”

“But you did know.”

“Yes.”

“Did the delivery go smoothly?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

“You do know. Trust your instincts. What do you think happened that night?”

Jett ground his teeth. “Something went wrong around sundown. My pulse started pounding. I was sweating and I couldn’t sit still.”

“A physical reaction? You may be even stronger than I thought. What else?”

Jett focused on the memory, on the peculiar thoughts that had entered his head. “Panic. Fear.” He’d blamed the episode on a dinner of bad meat. “Wren.”

“Correct.” Lark arched an eyebrow. “Phoenix wasn’t breathing. Wren’s healing talent didn’t help because her condition wasn’t caused by an injury. Thankfully, a couple good smacks between the wings did the trick. How did you know it was Wren, specifically?”

“I don’t—”

“Trust your instincts. Tell me. You’re not imagining things.”

“Fine. I sense that Wren and Raphael deal with emotions very differently. Raphael keeps everything under heavy layers of false calm. With Wren, everything comes to the surface. During the birth, I think Raphael wasn’t with them. He was worried, expectant. He must have been waiting for news at a different location.”

“Right again.”

“Okay…so if I’m such a strong empath, why don’t I respond to everyone in the colony? Even Lexine at the funeral didn’t affect me as much.”

“You’ll learn to use your skill more effectively in time. You’ve been watching over Raphael for years. A bond develops between a Guardian and his charges. You’re more in tune, so to speak, with Raphael and, as his blood relative, with Wren. If you stay with Lexine, a bond with her will grow in time.”

“Like with Caza,” Minnie whispered.

The Guardian stiffened. “Indeed. Thank you for your help, Minnie. Jett, let’s go.”

…

Lexine made her way along Sanctuary’s main path, the negligee she’d found at the market wrapped discreetly in a sheet of tissue paper. Pleased with the wicked scrap of lace, she headed for her new apartment. After she and Jett had parted, she’d used the night hours to move her things. Her parents and some of the demons who worked the orchard had helped lug the stored bottles to the first floor and carry the bedroom furniture up the stairs. She didn’t have much, so the move hadn’t taken long.

Her new place gave her a sense of forward motion and purpose that she’d been lacking while under her parents’ roof. Tomorrow, she’d start the first batch of wine.

She rubbed the tissue paper between her fingers. When would she see Jett again? A few days? A few weeks? Would he like how she looked in the dainty lace? Did she even dare wear it for him? She’d never been sexually shy, but Jett was working his way under her skin in a way no one had before. Sitting in the home he’d made for himself, the first home he’d had since his childhood kidnapping, she’d known he was showing her something he’d share with no one else, and the intimacy left a lasting warmth around her heart.

She didn’t welcome the sensation. The closer she got to him, the more it would hurt later. Yet, she’d taken the negligee and couldn’t wait to try it on.

Foolish girl.

“Lex.”

She stopped walking at the sound of Jett’s voice and turned. He stood a few yards away, with Lark, outside of Cinnamon’s residence. Lark said something to Jett that she couldn’t hear, and he headed off on the path that led to the archangel house. Jett approached her.

“Hi.” The tissue paper crinkled under her tightening grip.

He didn’t speak for a moment, his head tilted to the side as he looked her over. Strain showed in the ridged set of his shoulders. “Hi.”

“How’d it go tonight?”

He shook his head and shot a narrowed-eyed stare toward Minnie’s place.

“Now you know how demons used to find mates in the forest, I take it.”

“Yes.” He ran his fingers along her jaw. “I’d just figured I was some sort of ridiculous sap. I did my best to keep it hidden.”

She laughed, more from warmth than amusement. “Empathic traits are a strength, not a weakness. If anything, to be honest, it scares me.”

“Why?”

“If we spend enough time together, you’ll be able to read every emotion I have. I won’t be able to hide anything from you.”

“And what would you hide from me, Lexine?”

That I want you even though I know I can’t keep you.

He let her off the hook. “I’m off training until noon today, and there’s something I need to do. I’d love some company, if you’d be willing to join me.”

“Of course.” She couldn’t suppress a wide smile. “I just need to stop by my apartment first.”

“Sure.” He offered his elbow.

She threaded her arm through his with a shiver. The solid feel of him—compounded by the Guardian black and the distinct feel of a concealed blade above his wrist—invited her to melt into his touch. And she happily did so.

Lexine, this is very, very bad.

Chapter Fifteen

Jett wandered around the winery building. The place wasn’t the best choice for Lexine, away from the rest of the colony and so near the woods humans could sneak through. Granted, the archangels were just as isolated, but they had twenty-four-hour protection. Lexine did not.

He suppressed a growl. The place made her smile and lightened her step. Her excitement as she’d spoken about winemaking had been infectious. Instead of dragging her back to a safer place, he’d find a way to make the location more secure.

A hundred security cameras, a twenty-foot wall, and a moat would be a good start.

As Lexine rushed up the stairs, the paper around the bundle in her arms shifted, revealing black lace that, if worn, wouldn’t conceal a damned thing. She paused, met his gaze, and grinned before disappearing. He stared after her, frozen in place.

Suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do was go out. He didn’t want to dive any deeper into his past for now. He wanted Lexine his arms.

Would she be willing to go further than they had yes-terday?

He climbed the stairs, but before the room above came into view, he tapped his knuckles against the wall. “May I see?”

Part of him meant the room. Most of him meant the black lace.

“One second.”

He stood on the stairs, listening as her footsteps padded across the floor, then silence. What was she doing? Agonizing seconds turned into minutes of torture, until finally she called out again. “Okay.”

He climbed the remaining stairs. Light from a golden sunrise invaded through the picture window and spilled across the floor. Lexine stood in the middle of the room, her near-black hair loose from her usual braid, brushed to a shine, and pulled forward over her right shoulder, leaving a view of the tantalizing curve of her neck. Thin black lace veiled her body, revealing more than it concealed, tinged with gold from the sunrise.

“What do you think?” Though her fingers curled in nervous fists, she twisted at the waist, making the lace ripple around her hips.

“I’m afraid I can’t think at all.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“Debatable.” He halved the distance between them and circled her. Taking in the view from behind, which featured the bare skin of her back and only the thinnest scrap of lace over her bottom, he said, his voice thick, “I think it’s a very bad thing. I’m not going to be able to behave myself.”

“Well, I didn’t put this on to encourage you to behave.”

He strode forward and kissed her nape, his hands closing over her hips. The heat of her skin through the thin veil seared his hands, driving him to get closer. He reached around and touched her belly, molding himself to her back.

Her head tipped to rest on his shoulder, and he kissed the exposed side of her neck. He squeezed her body, needing her closer, needing to have her the way he’d envisioned when Minnie had taken away all his worries, all his baggage. He wanted to love her until the world faded away with his own actions.

She turned around in his arms, unzipped his jacket, and stripped him down to his skintight black shirt. Her face paled as her gaze wandered over him. Unlike when they’d hiked out to his camp in the woods, when he’d only taken a few items, his full arsenal of weaponry clung to his body. Blades on his arms and hips. Throwing knives sheathed around his chest and his middle. A gun strapped to his back.

A protector and a killer. She knew that, but what did she really think, seeing him this way? Her pulse ticked at a rapid pace at the base of her throat. Did she fear him? He shut his eyes, seeking out the place in his mind that he so often tried to ignore.

There. The intrusive sense of emotions in his head that weren’t his own. Not as strong as with the archangels, but discernible.

No fear, not even a hint of it. Instead, a thrill. A shadow of guilt.

“You like seeing me decked out like this.” He opened his eyes and studied her face. “But you don’t think you should.”

A blush rose to her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze.

“Too late to be shy.”

She lifted her chin. “I respect what you do.”

“I appreciate that, but tell me all of it, Lex.”

Her lips compressed into a scowl. He lowered his head and kissed her, forcing those lips open again with his tongue. “Tell me.”

“You make me feel safe.”

“And?”

She squirmed. “And it’s an insane turn-on, okay?”

He chuckled. “Good.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“It would bother me if I had to worry about frightening you. This is what I’m trying to become, after all.”

She put her hands on him then, her fingers making hot trails down his chest, between the throwing blades to the hem of his pants. “It’s not the weapons. It’s the wielder.”

He lifted her at the waist and set her down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling before her, he unfastened the throwing blades first, then the gun, then the fighting knives, and set them all on the floor. He removed the smaller blades from his arms last.

“That all of it?” Her voice held false shock as she smiled at him.

He scratched his chin in mock consideration, stood, and pulled the additional set of throwing blades from his boots. “I think that about covers it.”

She laughed.

He pulled off his shirt, watching her watch him. Leaning back on her elbows, she rubbed her legs together and fidgeted with the blanket. Her large amber eyes dominated her face and wisps of her black hair fell across her cheek. He couldn’t imagine a more beautiful female.

Plenty of striking women lived in the colony. None of them drew him in as Lexine did.

Flames coating her hands, she sat up and pulled him forward to stand between her knees. The additional heat from the fire sank into his skin as she touched him. She added her lips to the caress as she worked over his chest and stomach.

He’d been touched a hell of a lot in his life. Never before Lex had he enjoyed it. A light growl filled his throat as her hands traveled lower.

She got to her feet, one hand at the button of his pants, the other at the small of his back.

A belated thought invaded the moment. “I don’t have any protection.”

“There are no diseases in the demon population, and I can’t get pregnant unless you bite me. A male’s venom in the bloodstream is needed to make a female fertile.” She arched an eyebrow. “And you can’t bite me, anyway, remember?”

“I see.” The words escaped his lips in a heavy sigh as she released the button and the zipper.

Her lips curved in a wicked smile. “I might bite you, however.”

He kicked off his boots, shoved his pants and boxers off. Pulling the black lace over her head and seeing her body fully revealed, he could barely breathe. He guided her down onto the bed with him.

…

Lexine’s back hit the cool quilt as Jett straddled her. He bent, licking and kissing her throat, working his way down to her breasts. When he covered her left nipple with his mouth, she cried out.

He’d admitted yesterday that he was a virgin, but he certainly didn’t fumble around like one. No surprise. He wasn’t the fumbling sort, not in any aspect of his life that she’d seen.

He switched to the other breast and his fingers found her most sensitive flesh. She arched against him when he found the right spot, and he teased her until she struggled. He chuckled, a deep, husky sound, but otherwise ignored her protests and continued with his ministrations. With his knees on either side of her hips and his free hand on her shoulder, he held her down without effort.

Well, he’d asked for it. She lifted her head. Kissing him halfway between his wrist and his elbow, she scraped her fangs over the tender underside of his arm. She increased the pressure, piercing the skin the slightest bit. Pausing, she waited a moment for the venom to numb the spot. Then, she bit down, delivering what she knew to be a heady buzz, like the glow after doing shots of fine alcohol.

His body relaxed against hers and a flush rose to his cheeks, framed by his mussed, blond hair. She loved his hair, the way he wore it longer than most males. She released his arm and snatched a tissue from the bedside table to dab at the wound.

Jett planted his hands on either side of her head and kissed her. The sweet taste and scent of him consumed her senses. As he lingered at her mouth, she reached between them and stroked him. He sucked in a sharp breath, but she wove her fingers into his hair with her free hand to keep him near, returning his kisses, unable to get enough.

When he did lean away, her protest died on her lips. He repositioned himself between her thighs, explored her again for a moment with his fingers, and pushed himself into her center. He made love to her with deep strokes, each one deliberately drawn out. Holding her gaze, he drove her, slow and relentless. Speeding up would have been a mercy, but he gave her no break from the intensity. The muscles of his back flexed under her hands as he moved.

Savoring being pinned under him, surrounded by his warmth and weight and scent, she nipped at his shoulders.

He arched his back and tucked his head, taking her right nipple into his mouth, teasing the left with his fingers. He continued to move within her, and the combined sensations compounded the ache low in her belly. The perfect combi-nation of torments sent her over the edge, the orgasm ripping through her body until tears formed at the corners of her eyes and she fought to calm her breath.

Jett grinned down at her. Smug. Sinful. Pleased. And, even more handsome for it. She could live twenty demon lifetimes and not tire of that face and expression.

He claimed her mouth in another deep kiss and assumed a faster pace. Finishing, he wrapped his arms around her. After a moment, he lifted her, settling on his knees with her in his lap.

Holding her face in his hands, he stared at her and assumed a stern expression. “That’s what happens when I can’t think.”

“Mmm.” She kissed him. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“You better.”

“I’m thinking…red lace next time.”

He growled. “You’re going to get it.”

“Excellent.”

“Temptress.” He gave her tush a light smack.

She sucked in a sharp breath and did her best to look offended, but her laughter ruined the effect.

“Wait here.” He eased her back to the bed and got to his feet. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Chapter Sixteen

Jett dressed, tucked his weapons back into place, and bolted. He ran as fast as he could, which wasn’t much faster than before his training had begun. The lingering venom in his blood tempted him to lie down and nap, but first things first. Ignoring the paths, he traveled in a straight line through the forest to The Ninth Circle.

He’d never been intimate with a woman before, and he refused to leave it at the act. He needed to draw the encounter out, make sure she knew he hadn’t just needed an itch scratched, that they were just getting started.

The tavern he’d frequented since he’d started training had food out twenty-four hours a day and damned good food at that. He might not have survived Devin’s training, and the awful protein bars the Guardian seemed to live on, without the occasional couple minutes of respite he found inside.

“Morning, Guardian.” Gory, the proprietor, glanced up from filling the display of muffins. The redhead wore jeans and a bright red shirt with a grinning devil cartoon on the back. The elaborate art depicted a massive horned beast with salvia dripping from its jowls.

“Morning. Nice shirt.”

“Isn’t it awesome? Dana’s human mate went to Burlington last week and picked it out for me.”

Jett shook his head chuckled. After listening for years to Lawrence’s preaching, Gory’s humor over the demon stereotype was a welcome change of pace.

“Any chance you have a box I can use?”

“To carry food?”

“Yeah.” Jett scratched behind his ear. “Big enough for two portions.”

A knowing grin stretched across Glory’s face. “Ah, yes. Lexine. You two looked cozy in here the other day. Now, breakfast delivery? Man, you’re whipped.”

“Box, Gory.”

Laughing, the other demon headed through an archway into the back room. Jett filled two plates with scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon.

“Here.” Gory came back with a tray-like box and a mason jar full of orange juice. “Don’t have any cups with lids.”

“This is perfect. Thank you much.” Jett tucked the plates, jar, two glasses, and forks into the box.

“You take care of that female now. She deserves someone decent, especially after last time.”

“Last time?” Jett paused at the door.

Gory shoved his hands in his pockets. “She got quite serious with a male about a year back. She’s always seemed overeager for a mate, but that’s none of my business. Anyway, the guy is one of those charming dicks who gets bored with a female before long and moves on to the next. And the next and the next. I don’t know why the girls didn’t get together and throw him in the lake.”

“His name?”

Gory smiled, showing his fangs. “While I would sanction his bloody murder at your hands, sorry, Leigh moved to Eden after he ditched Lexine. Guess he ran out of willing females here.” He wrinkled his nose. “He had the gall to tell Lexine her eyes made her unworthy of being anyone’s mate.”

Jett nearly dropped the box. “Her eyes?”

“Her lack of night vision. He said she should be cast out of the gene pool. Lexi isn’t a victim-minded female, however. Leigh walked away from that conversation with a bloodied nose and she walked away with her chin high.”

“How do you know about this?”

“I’m her cousin, and The Ninth Circle tends to be a gossip hub, for better or for worse. So, you see, you need to treat her good. If you hurt her, cliché dictates that I’ll have to attempt to kick your ass. Since you’d crush me into a bloody pulp, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Jett smiled. “Noted. See you around, Gory.”

“And remember to bring those dishes back!”

Jett balanced the food and hurried back to the orchard, the flood of anger in his system powering him up the hill in stride. How dare that son-of-a-bitch Leigh treat Lexine that way? Lexine was smart enough to see a bastard like that coming. Why had she dated him in the first place?

Lexine had said she’d tried to dodge the fate in her recurring dreams by dating. He couldn’t fault her. Even a less-than-perfect mating to a demon would’ve been preferable to a mating with a poacher. Jett had nearly bitten her with that in mind. However, Lexine deserved a good mate. It was everyone else who didn’t deserve her.

If anyone was worthy of her, Jett was not among their number. He wouldn’t kid himself. If he completed the training and officially became a dedicated Guardian to Raphael’s family, he wouldn’t have time for more than an occasional fling. If that. To be deserving of that female, he’d have to set Raphael’s request aside and put Lexine first.

Did he want that? The idea of becoming a Guardian gave him purpose, filled a need he barely understood. Lexine gave him…she gave him the enjoyment of living in a given moment.

He paused outside the winery, his head resting against the wooden door. Perhaps free will wasn’t so wonderful, after all. Being free to choose didn’t make the choices easy.

Balancing the food with one arm, he lifted his fingers to the gold G on his collar. He’d hate to back out now, but he couldn’t allow Lex to end up with a poacher. What sort of Guardian would he be if he allowed such a thing, anyway?

He wouldn’t tolerate her mating someone like Leigh, either.

On one hand, it wasn’t a decision to make hastily. On the other hand, he couldn’t waste Lark’s time when he carried a reservation like this. He’d talk to the Guardian that afternoon, get a feel for his opinion. Jett couldn’t disclose Lexine’s dreams and betray her trust, but taking or not taking a mate was no small issue itself. Hopefully, Lark would be willing to discuss the topic. Something had happened between him and a female at some point, and he clearly carried a lingering wound associated with her.

Jett opened the door and went upstairs.

Eyes closed, Lexine lay in bed, the embroidered blanket covering her lower half. Her head rested on her outstretched arm and her loose hair draped over the edge of the bed.

He ran his tongue over his fangs. “Hello, beauty.”

“Hey.” She opened her eyes and sat up. “Is that bacon?”

“You bet.”

He joined her on the bed, smoothed the blanket, and laid out the plates. Drawn in, he caught her mouth in kiss.

“Where was it you wanted to take me this morning? Before we got sidetracked.” Lexine went for the bacon first, shutting her eyes as she bit off a piece.

“My father’s office in the town hall. It’ll be my first time there.”

Her eyes widened.

“I don’t need company. But, I do want yours. If you don’t mind.”

“I’m glad that you want me with you.”

Tension eased from his shoulders. “Good.” He con-centrated on her emotions, letting his mind open to them. “We’ll go another day, though. I need to get back to training in a couple hours.”

Disappointment radiated off her, as well as bitter accept-ance.

“I won’t let training keep me from seeing you, Lex.”

Her smile at odds with her emotions, she shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to give you drama.”

“I’d rather have drama and honesty than no drama and you keeping things from me.”

She glowered and folded her arms. “My thoughts are my own, Jett.”

“I can’t read your thoughts. Just your emotions.”

“Already?”

“I need to concentrate, but, yes.”

She set her empty plate on a table and curled up on her side, her head in his lap. “Honestly? I want to keep you here, all to myself. But I’d never want you to change, either.”

“And that’s exactly why I think this will work.” He hoped it would work, but a nagging knot in his gut reminded him that nothing beyond their growing connection and friendship was stacked in their favor.

…

“It’s the job of the other Guardians to detect intruders crossing onto Sanctuary’s land. Keeping the colony safe is not our job. We are the last line of defense for the archangels.”

Jett followed Lark through the woods in a circle around the archangel house. Lark alternated between lecturing and lapsing into silence, turning his full attention to his surroundings, always alert. After five total weeks of training, Jett grew more accustomed to the same behavior with each passing day. He listened to his partner’s words but always focused first and foremost on any potential threat from the sounds, scents, and shadows of the forest.

“Sanctuary has thousands of acres of land and miles of border, outside of which is nothing but tens of thousands of acres of Vermont state forest. Monitoring every foot of the colony’s border at any given moment is impossible, even with the security cameras we’ve acquired. It’s imperative that I, soon you and I, keep a secure perimeter in close proximity to the family. While I prefer to find and fight any threat out here, I—we—need to be close enough to be at the archangels’ sides at a moment’s notice.”

They completed the trip around the house and came out of the woods at the lakeshore, the stone house towering to their left. Raphael flew overhead, high enough to be a white smudge against the dark blue, early evening sky.

“Our proximity to the house is a moot point when they’re up there,” Jett said. At least no human would be able to shoot a target that high.

“They can’t be one hundred percent safe all the time, as aggravating as that is. It’s important to remember that the archangels aren’t helpless, other than the infants, and don’t appreciate being treated as such. I’ve never seen Raphael act like a victim, and I expect no different from Wren from what I’ve seen. When Kora and young Wren were in danger, Raphael took matters into his own hands with a pair of combat knives. He’s not bad at hand-to-hand fighting. I taught him myself. Wren and Ginger have the ability to kill with just skin contact and they’ve both used that psychic talent without hesitation. That said, they aren’t battle-hardened warriors, and wings make for large, clumsy targets on the ground. We’re here to keep them out of fights they cannot hope to win.”

Lark climbed the gnarled, massive oak tree that dominated the property, its crown wider and taller than the house. Jett followed, and they crouched on thick branches halfway up the tree’s height.

“I often watch from here at night,” Lark said. “It’s the best view from any one spot, and the acoustics are just right to hear anyone approach from any direction. Ideally, though, we should split up and take opposite ends of the property. At night—when the archangels are all inside, sleeping—is a good time for you to exercise that free will you’re always bellyaching about, and do other things. Scrapbooking, perhaps?”

“Fuck off.” Jett grinned and turned his attention to the house. Illumination spilled out from the fourth-floor windows—Wren and Ginger’s rooms. Raphael landed on the third-floor flight deck and went inside. More lights came on.

“That’s the second time he’s gone for a lengthy flight today. He does that when he’s stressed.”

Jett focused on that inner place in his mind that never seemed to be his own. There, he found emotions that weren’t his, like voices from dreams. Indeed, some days finding them was like trying to remember the details of a dream, but now that he understood the ability, every day showed improvement.

Yes, Raphael had something on his mind. But the sensation of intense worry gave no clue as to the cause. “Should we go inside and talk to him?”

Lark shook his head, but frowned deeply. “Not everything that goes on in that house concerns us. If it’s relevant to their safety, he’ll confide in us.”

“But—”

“I know it’s frustrating, but this level of security would make them miserable if we didn’t respect their privacy as much as possible.” The frown lifted in a slow grin. “Kora threw a shoe at me once.”

Jett chuckled. “I’m sure you deserved it.”

“Certainly not!” A pause. “Maybe a little bit. Raphael, the bastard, thought it was pretty damned funny. The second shoe went in his direction. Justice.”

Movement drew Jett’s gaze to the single door on the ground level of the house. Lexine stepped outside, spoke for a moment with Ginger, who stood smiling in the doorway, then headed down the path.

“Tell me the honest truth.”

Lark cocked his head.

“With a job like this, would I be able to carve out enough time to devote to her?”

Lark didn’t answer for a minute. “We could work something out. It wouldn’t be perfect or consistent, but if she’s the right girl, she’d be understanding. It’s a lot of ask of a female.”

“Yeah. Was it too much to ask of yours?”

With a low curse, Lark shifted out of his crouch on the branch and sat on his butt, letting his legs dangle. “You’re not going to let that drop.”

“Nope. I need to decide how to handle this, and I can tell you have experience. A bad one, I’m guessing.”

“Point taken. It is a lesson I need to teach you.” Lark pulled a dagger from a sheath on his ankle, the hilt more ornate than his typical weapons. An engraving on the blade read Never Fail. “Her name was Caza, and we courted a century ago, not long after Raphael and I moved here at Dante’s invitation. Caza was a dependent sort of female. Timid. Frail. She had many strengths, but independence was not one of them.”

“So, she had a hell of a time with you constantly working.”

“She handled that well, actually. At the time, I split some hours with Dante so I could spend time with her each day. At that point, Raphael lived in an apartment on the second floor of the town hall. The arrangement was easy to manage, and Raphael encouraged me when I would have hesitated. He worried about me not having anything else in my life.”

Lark dropped his head back and stared at the sky, now covered with stars. The cords of his neck grew taut. “About a year in, a group of humans attacked the colony. They weren’t poachers, just religious extremists hoping to rid the earth of a few demons. ‘God’s work,’ blah-blah. It was late fall. No leaves on the trees. Raphael flew over—low, because a storm was coming in—as they were sneaking through the woods, and they shot at him. They missed him, but he had to dodge. He side swept a tall tree fast enough to break the outermost flight feathers of one wing. The imbalance forced him to land.

“I was elsewhere in the woods on a picnic with Caza when I sensed his distress. I told her to get inside and I rushed into the forest to get to Raphael. Three humans had him cornered. I dispatched them.” Lark dropped his gaze from the stars and looked Jett in the eye. “The rest of the human group had proceeded to the colony. They didn’t get two steps into the residential area before the Guardians took them all down. However, the humans had happened upon Caza, who’d been too scared to move from the spot where I’d left her, and…”

Jett swallowed. “They killed her?”

“Yes.”

As Lark lapsed into silence, Jett stared hard at the ground. He nodded in grim understanding. “Even if you’d known she wouldn’t go…”

“I would’ve had to leave her. Hell, at the time, I suspected she wouldn’t go. I saw the fear in her eyes and felt it in my mind. But, I didn’t take the oath to Raphael with reservations or conditions. He comes first. Period. If you go through with this, you’ll take the same oath.”

“She knew that, though.”

“Yes. We’d discussed it at length. But I got to tell you, the oath doesn’t justify her death here.” He pressed his palm to his chest. “I still feel the sting of her emotions during her final moments. Think about it long and hard, Jett. No matter the circumstances, you’ll have to turn your back on Lexine if the archangels are in even a small amount of danger. If I could go back, I never would have dated Caza in the first place.”

At a loss, Jett simply said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Think about it. Remember that it’s a very different situation for the other Guardians. They take mates on a regular basis. We don’t. If you want to become a regular Guardian, neither Raphael nor I will begrudge you. I’ll train you either way.”

Lark got to his feet, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Keep watch. I’m going to check the perimeter again.”

…

When Lark didn’t return right away, Jett climbed down from the oak tree and began to walk around the house, first across the lawns, then farther out in the woods.

Where had the demon gone? Everywhere Jett went, he detected Lark’s scent, a result of his constant presence. Jett returned to the house and stepped into the garden. Light spilled from the half-open door of Lark’s little home in the back corner.

Jett left him alone, certain that Guardian didn’t break down easily or often. If he needed a couple minutes to himself, he wouldn’t take them unless he trusted Jett.

Returning to the tree, he focused his senses on his surroundings, but his thoughts went to Lexine. Any hope that he could have both Lexine and the position of a dedicated Guardian had been erased. He’d have to choose.

The idea of giving up either grated on his skin.

Sure, there’d be nothing shameful about becoming an average Guardian for the colony. Raphael could find someone else. But, the archangel had asked Jett. That trust meant too much to turn away from. Besides, the empath in Jett wouldn’t be able to tolerate such a thing. He hadn’t been able to walk away during the long, harsh winter. He certainly wasn’t leaving now, in any form.

But Lexine…

He could feel her warm skin, her breath on his neck, and the contentment of sitting across from her over a plate of food. Such simple things, but nevertheless, he’d been changed by them. The sense of companionship and closeness was unlike anything he’d ever known. On a deep level, he knew that not every female could touch him so.

Lark said Jett didn’t need to jump to a decision. Months of training remained before he had to decide to take the oath or not.

That left time to get to know Lexine better, make sure he wasn’t misreading what was growing between them.

With this much on the line, he had to be damned certain. And so did she.

Chapter Seventeen

Staring at herself in the new bathroom mirror, Lexine said, “You know he’s not going to have time for you. Why are you getting attached?”

After dressing and braiding her hair, she headed for the graveyard. With autumn making itself at home, it was time to cut back the spent flowerbeds. She needed to stay busy, not think about Jett, not sit around and consider how much their intimate encounter two weeks ago had affected her. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

She worked well into the afternoon, doing more than was needed, even digging a new flowerbed near the gate to plant in the spring.

Distraction? Who had she been kidding? Jett’s hands might as well have never left her body. She kept reliving the kisses. The touches.

“Hello, beauty.” His tone when he’d greeted her, returning with food, had turned those two simple, unoriginal words into her complete undoing.

She’d been on the edge as it was. Though the act had been simple, a virgin had made love to her with more intensity and focus than any of her previous partners. At the time, with those demons, she’d had no cause to complain. Compared to Jett, it was as if those demons hadn’t even been looking at her while they’d been dating her.

Her phone chirped, her ringtone set to singing birds, and a welcome name graced the screen. “Hey there.”

“Hey. Feel like being bad?” Fatigue dulled Ginger’s voice.

“Define, ‘bad.’”

“Painting our nails in the garden while I let my mate fend for himself with twins for a couple hours?”

Lexine laughed. Nail painting? She was no tomboy, but she hadn’t painted her nails in a decade. “Sure.”

After stopping to rinse off the dirt and change into simple cotton pants and a tank top, Lexine wandered into the garden behind the archangel house. Ginger sat on the patio adjacent to the building, staring into the goldfish pond.

“Needed a break?” Lexine settled at her friend’s side. “Everything’s okay, right?”

“Oh, everything’s fine.” Ginger smiled. “The twins are out cold, I wanted some sun, and I haven’t seen you much lately. Besides, this might be the last truly warm day of summer. It’s supposed to pour for the next week.”

Lexine perused shades of nail polish in a small basket as they chatted.

“I took these pictures earlier.” Ginger handed over her cell phone.

Baby pictures never got old, and Lexine flipped through the latest with one hand while absently mixing the polish with the other. In one, the twins slept in the double bassinet at the foot of the bed, and Wren lay facedown on the mattress with mussed hair and closed eyes, his wing fanned out, partially hiding the infants. In another picture, a close-up of the twins, they lay on their father’s outstretched wing.

“Nothing gets them to sleep faster,” Ginger said. “Makes me insanely jealous.” She took the phone back, a slow smile forming. “So, how are things going with Jett?”

Lexine paused and gazed at their surroundings. “Is he here?”

“Somewhere. He’s training with Lark, as far as I know. They don’t go far.”

“Any chance of eavesdropping?”

“No. I wouldn’t be able to stand being watched over so closely if we didn’t have our privacy.” She winked. “Just don’t raise your voice too loud.”

“Things are…great. I like him. But, I don’t see him all that much. Naturally.”

“Mmm.”

“No man is perfect, but I don’t see how this is going to work.”

“Do you want it to work?”

Lexine stared at the little bottle of red polish as if it held all the answers. “More so every time I see him.”

Ginger spread pink polish on her toenails, grinning. “Wonderful!”

“Has Lark ever dated?”

“There was someone, a century ago. I don’t know any details, though.”

“Didn’t work out, obviously.”

“This doom-and-gloom mood isn’t like you.”

“Sorry. It’s just that Jett’s job is going to be his life, and I’m trying to keep myself from falling for him too hard. It’ll hurt less later.”

“Good luck with that. You can’t will yourself to or not to fall for someone. But, you’re right. You’re not walking into domesticville.”

“Do you think it’s even possible that the two of us…?”

“Always.” Ginger capped the nail polish and held her gaze with a grin.

Lexine blew out a heavy sigh.

“Maybe things will be different with the two of them as partners.” Ginger leaned back on her elbows. “Maybe they’ll trade off and each get more time for themselves.”

“Just how much time does Lark take for himself now?”

“Pretty much zip. He sleeps, he eats, bathes and exercises, all as efficiently as possible. The only time I’ve seen him do anything else besides stand guard is when he comes into the house. Raphael invites him in frequently. Trouble, the two of them. They almost burned the house down a month ago trying to fry fish.”

Lexine laughed. “I can’t imagine that.”

“Lark is stoic in public, and not just because he has to be constantly on alert. If he wasn’t what he is, I think he’d be shy. Watching him and Raphael pass an evening together, it’s easy to see that they’re friends, and that theirs is a friendship hard-won over decades. Devin says he can’t get Lark to so much as crack a smile.”

“But, there was a girl, once?”

“Yes. I only know that much because, trying to break through his shell myself, I asked him these sorts of questions. But, the expression on his face… I’ve only seen it once before, when he woke up for the first time after being returned to his own body last year and explained Kora’s death. Whatever happened, it still causes him pain to this day. I let the subject drop.”

A shadow passed over them. Raphael flew in and landed on the flight deck overhead. Though she’d seen the archangels out around the colony every day since their return nearly a year ago, she still watched, fascinated, as Raphael stretched that twenty-foot expanse of pure white and folded his wings back.

Ginger called out.

Raphael glanced down. He stepped off the edge and swept his wings out, parachuting to the patio with only a couple of circular wing beats to slow his descent. He landed as if he weighed nothing at all.

Lexine clasped her hands between her knees. Though she’d known the archangel when she was a little girl, she’d only come face-to-face with Raphael a couple times since he’d returned from imprisonment. Hundreds of years old and possessing the silver eyes of one of the original fallen, he never failed to leave her at loss for words. Wren, Ginger, herself… they were all earthborn, their lives an open book. But, Raphael…just what sort of creature was he, really? What life had he led before he came to earth?

She could never shake the sense that if he’d wanted to crack the earth in half, he probably would’ve been powerful enough to do so. Even Cinnamon, one of the original fallen demons, didn’t put off as strong a vibe.

Whatever he’d been, she reminded herself, he was flesh and blood now, like everyone else in the colony. She stood. “Hi.”

“Hello, Lexine.”

Ginger got to her feet and faced her father-in-law. “Is Jett’s training still going well?”

“Quite. Something on your mind?”

“I’m curious how this will work. Will they both be on twenty-four-hour duty?”

He shifted his wings as if one of them caused him pain. “Yes.”

Lexine’s heart sank.

“The idea,” Raphael continued, “is to have security that can’t be provided by one individual, no matter how skilled. It’s a problem, for example, when you and Wren go into the colony, and I’m here at the house, or vice versa. Lark can’t be in two places at once. As the twins get older, it will get even more complicated.”

“I always have Guardians with me,” Ginger said.

“Yes, and as much as I appreciate their help, what they offer is not the same as a dedicated Guardian. If the colony were attacked while you were with them, they would be obligated to protect you and everyone else in harm’s way. Lark or Jett would be concerned with you and only you. I’m not comfortable with anything less.” Raphael turned his gaze to Lexine. “I think I know what this question’s really about.”

“I…”

“You’d be good for Jett. Especially after all he’s been through.”

Her face heated.

“But I don’t think he’d be good for you. Not if he goes through with this.”

“There’s no way we could make it work?”

“The schedule could be tweaked, though not as much as most females would be able to live with. That’s not the biggest issue. Like I just said, in an emergency, his concern will be this family. Bar none.”

The weight of that settled on her shoulders. “Even me.”

“Exactly.”

She took in Raphael’s haunted expression and guessed, “That’s what happened to Lark.”

“Yes.” He flicked his wings. “Lark had to make a terrible choice, once. He made the decision expected of a dedicated Guardian. Now, I think Jett would be very happy with you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. But I don’t want to ever see him in the situation Lark had to face.”

“Neither do I,” Lexine said.

Raphael explained what had happened to Caza, a female Lark had loved. Lexine absorbed the information in silence, but found it difficult not to protest. She wasn’t Caza. This situation was different. When the archangel finished, she said, “It doesn’t have to be this way. An idea took form in her head. “What if you helped me?”

“Helped you how?”

“Rumor has it you’re very good at hand-to-hand fighting. I would never let fear get in the way of my own survival, and if I was a good fighter, Jett wouldn’t need to leave me to the wolves. There’s no reason I can’t take care of myself.”

“This means that much too you?”

“Yes. I dare you to prove me wrong.”

“Please?” Ginger spoke up. “I think it’s a great idea. Why give up when this is an option?”

He stared them for a moment, apparently lost in thought. “Okay, Lexine. While he’s training, you’ll meet me here. It’ll be our secret for now.”

“Thank you, Raphael.”

…

Lexine pressed apples all night, enjoying the exercise and delicious scents. Some of the cider she sealed into large mason jars and refrigerated to pass out at the market. Most she added to barrels for wine. Several barrels of straight up apple wine. Several with spices. By the time the sun rose, her whole body felt like the mashed remains of the fruit.

Time for a swim. She needed to be ready for the training to come. There’d be no point if Raphael went easy on her.

She changed and made her way through the morning quiet of the colony until she reached the lake. She dove in, the cold water drawing a scream from her throat as she returned to the surface. A V of Canadian geese flew overhead, headed south, only to scatter as an archangel shot right at them. She laughed.

The archangel flew low enough that she could make out the black markings on his wings. Wren tipped sideways, a familiar greeting, and flew higher until he disappeared into the clouds beyond the lake.

Floating on her back, she relaxed, letting the water support weary body.

“Hey, Lex.”

She maneuvered herself upright in the water and followed the sound of Jett’s voice. He stood on the shore, leaning against a tree.

“What are you doing?” he called out.

“Swimming, of course.”

“Why?”

“It’s fun.”

He made a face.

She swam to the shore but stayed in the water. “All demon kids are taught to swim before they grow old enough to spark fire and develop a dislike of water. I loved swimming lessons, and I never outgrew finding enjoyment in the water.”

Jett made a dramatic show of cringing.

She laughed. Such a rare sight to see him act silly. “They let you off again so soon?”

“Yes and no. Remember I said I meant to take you with me to my father’s office?”

She nodded, pushed her wet hair back from her face, and draped her arms over a rock near where Jett stood.

“The trip is both personal and business.” He knelt and touched her cheek, his fingers hot after the cold water. “As part of my training, I need to read the material Dante put together for Guardians in training. Lark insisted I not put it off any longer and sent me on my way. I also look forward to seeing my father’s space and getting to know him a little bit. Are you still willing to accompany me?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll have a lot of reading to do. I don’t want to bore you, but your presence would mean a lot to me.”

“I’m sure I’ll also be able to find something to read. I spent all night pressing apples and am exhausted, so this sounds perfect.”

“Thank you.”

She climbed out of the lake, the tank top and shorts she’d worn plastered to her skin. Jett whistled.

“I need to change first.”

“Hmm.” He folded his arms, his gaze blazing a hot trail down to her feet and back up. “We tried this yesterday and never made it to the town hall.”

“Are you going to behave this time?” she teased, looking up at him from under her lashes.

“Doubtful.”

“Well then, how about I go change, you get us some food, and we meet at the town hall?”

“We have a plan. See you then.”

Chapter Eighteen

After eating breakfast on the lawn, Jett climbed the town hall’s central staircase and let Lexine guide him down the hallway to the right. At the end of the short walkway, the hall opened into an atrium—a compact but striking space with a glass ceiling and exterior wall. Only a few plants filled the space, but one was a tree, situated in the center of the room. Among the thick, green foliage, splashes of orange caught Jett’s eye. “An orange tree?”

“Yes. Do you remember it?”

“No. Should I?”

She bit her lip.

He stared at the tree for a moment longer and rubbed a leaf between his fingers. No memories came to him, but, “For some reason, I’m relieved to see it. It must be difficult to keep a tropical tree alive so far north, even inside.”

“There is a special light used in the winter.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and a moment later, a Guardian appeared. He nodded in silent greeting, crossed the atrium, and entered a series of codes into a panel to unlock a set of double doors. After propping the doors open, he retreated without a word.

“After you.” Lexine lingered by the tree.

Jett stepped to the threshold. The scent of leather and old books wafted from the room. Thick curtains covered the windows, but Jett’s eyes adjusted to the dim light in a second. He lit the demon fire lantern on his left for Lexine’s benefit.

“Have you ever been in here?”

She joined him and brushed his shoulder. “No.”

Jett stepped further into the room. Like with the tree, no memories came, but a heady sense of belonging did. The scent. So familiar. “I know this room. I must have spent a lot of time here.”

He approached the desk, the dark surface covered with neatly arranged odds and ends. Beyond, books and journals lined floor-to-ceiling shelves. “I was old enough to remember. Why don’t I?” He lifted a leather journal from the center of the desk and smoothed his hand over the cover. “Lawrence spent a lot of time with me the first few years, teaching me about the ‘evils’ of demons. His words made no sense to me, and I kept trying to correct him. He punished me for that. Over time, he convinced me the life I thought I remembered was only a dream, and like dreams, the memories faded. It was when I killed the lab assistant that I finally broke and the memories vanished entirely, leaving me with only Lawrence’s version of the truth.”

“Lawrence didn’t break you. You wouldn’t be here now if he had.” She encircled her arms around him from behind and a soft, feminine body pressed against his back. He turned his head and kissed her.

“Go on,” she said, a solemn curve to her lips. She stepped away, gazing out the window.

He sat in one of the room’s thick leather chairs and opened the journal. Plain, neat script filled the pages, but Jett stopped at the first words.

Today, my son, Juneau, was born.

Lawrence’s brainwashing had gone far enough to erase his name? Elbow on his knee, Jett rested his face in his hand. But as he sat there, his body processing dry, soundless sobs, a memory from the lab surfaced.

Lawrence hadn’t renamed him. The human never called him anything at all, except for “the demon” or “the subject” or, when he was angry, “boy.”

“The lab assistant kept asking for my name, but I didn’t want to tell her about my ‘dreams.’ I made a name up. Why didn’t anyone say anything?”

“Raphael thought you should hear it from Dante.” She dropped her gaze to the journal. “Um, what would you like to be called?”

He ran a fingertip over the handwritten sentence, the letters faintly indented in the page from the heavy hand of the writer. “‘Jett,’ at least for now. It was a survival tool, a way to keep the part of me who answered to Juneau away from that tiny prison. I don’t think I’ll be able to step all the way back into Juneau’s shoes. Not any time soon.”

Lex returned to his side and ran her fingers through his hair. Arching under her touch, he tilted his head back and stared up at her. “That drives me crazy.”

“In a good way?” She scratched her nails over his scalp.

“Definitely.”

He set the journal aside and turned around in the chair, getting up to his knees. Holding her head in his hands, he kissed her, focusing on reading her reaction. Her skin warmed with a faint flush and her hands on his back trembled ever so slightly. The brush of her emotions against his mind spoke of a longing as deep as the one that swelled in his chest.

“Maybe just once,” he murmured against her skin. “Call me my real name.”

“Juneau.”

The foreign, yet somehow familiar, name sent his heart off at a hammering pace. He clutched Lex close, burying his face in her neck.

“I’m distracting you.” She withdrew slowly and sat on the windowsill, folding her legs under herself.

Jett went back to reading, selecting a journal from the shelf a couple years more recent, and devoured page after page. The demon had written mostly short, terse entries, but the words flowed differently when the topic switched from work to family.

I carved a sanctuary out of this valley, but I have never cared for anything as much as I do for the—a line of ink smeared across the page—little monster trying to steal my pen.

He laughed and kept reading. Curious, he skipped ahead to the last volume on the shelf to browse entries closer to the last time they would have seen each other. Holding the heavy, red-dyed leather book, his hands shook. Not only had Juneau been kidnapped that day, Dante had been killed. The journal ended less than halfway through.

My son planted an orange seed last spring and now has a tiny sapling in a flowerpot.

He lifted his gaze to the tree in the atrium. “No shit?”

Lexine grinned from her position on the windowsill. “The tree is infamous. No one thought it would grow, except you and Dante. Everyone in the colony knows the story.”

Jett paused, a new thought occurring to him. “Did we know each other when we were kids? This is a small place.”

“I’m a year or so younger than you. I remember your family, but like most memories from that age, nothing but vague snippets. I think we saw each other from time to time, but I don’t think we knew each other.”

He rubbed his brow, his head aching from trying to remember anything at all. He lifted a white drape from a small table beside the desk, revealing a dozen framed photos of his family. He was perched on his father’s shoulders more often than not, he and his smiling, blond mother an odd contrast to the heavily armed Guardian. Although, upon closer inspection, his mother had carried weapons of her own. What appeared to be an unusual walking stick at first was in fact a long bow. The feathered ends of arrows stuck out from behind her shoulder.

“My mother was an archer.”

“A good one, too,” Lex said. “She looks innocent enough, but rumor has it she took out her fair share of humans when the colony was attacked. Want to hear the rumor of how she and Dante met?”

“Please.”

“This is just what I heard. When Amelia moved to Sanctuary, she wanted to train to be a Guardian, but Dante was resistant to the idea—this was the midnineteenth century and he didn’t want a female getting hurt. They fought about it for months, your mother refusing to back down. Finally, when he walked away from her one day, she waited until he’d reached the tavern and with a few quick, perfect shots, pinned him to the door by his clothes.”

“You must be joking.”

“Nope. You’ll have to check those journals to see if it’s true or not, but it was a Guardian who told me the story. Apparently Dante and Amelia hunted each other for days after that moment and were mated soon after.”

Jett turned back to the photos. His mother, beautiful and deceptively delicate. She and his father made sense together. In a fight with humans, she could protect herself, and then some.

“Now, this,” Lexine said, coming over with a book in her hands, “you should remember. He’s a couple years older, so I bet he does.”

“What? Who?”

She handed over the book, which turned out to be a photo album, the date on the cover corresponding with the year before the kidnapping. The first pages held photos of Jett and Wren, mostly outside the archangel house. In one, they were covered in mud, even Wren’s wings. They grinned like lunatics.

“I don’t remember this at all.” He stared. He and Wren had been friends?

“It makes sense,” Lex said. “Dante invited Raphael to Sanctuary in the first place, if I recall my colony history correctly. Your families were close. This I do remember well, because it was a big deal. Wren couldn’t spend much time with the other kids. He’s half human, so there was concern he’d be susceptible to demon venom. And demon kids can be very nippy.”

“Really? What happens if two demon children bite each other? You said mutual biting led to a mating bond.”

“The venom doesn’t gain that characteristic until well after puberty.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, I remember being constantly reminded by my mom to stay away from Wren. The kids played in groups, and I recall Wren getting frustrated when he couldn’t join us.”

“Why me, then? Being Dante’s son couldn’t have made me less dangerous.”

She stared at him, ghosts of memories in her eyes. “I think you were naturally calmer than most, and mature for your age. Because of your strong empathic trait, perhaps.”

“Still, he was older than me.” Jett grinned, looking at the photo of them covered in mud. “He was a very bad influence, it seems.”

Lex laughed.

Jett checked the date below the photo and turned to the corresponding entry in the journals.

My son is turning into a remarkable empath, for an earthborn. I can’t express my pride in words. Last night, Juneau protected Wren, with a stick and a rock as weapons, from an imaginary monster in the woods. They’d ventured quite a ways out. Lark was with them, of course, but he kept out of sight. Juneau, who loves playing in the woods at night, dropped the game and brought Wren home. This despite Wren being the older of the two and not the least bit afraid. I’ve never seen Juneau look so serious and focused as when they returned to the house. I have no doubt my son will become a Guardian one day. Perhaps, even, a dedicated Guardian to the archangels.

“Working on that, Dad,” he whispered. The written words branded into his mind’s eye, he replaced the album and journals, the burden of his lost past heavy enough for one day. He turned to the far left of the shelf, where he’d been told he’d find the official documents Dante had meant for Guardians in training, along with books of demon and archangel history. He took the first leather-bound book to the desk and settled down. He began to read, a smile stretching his lips as Lexine curled up in the chair next to him with a book of her own.

How did she warm his whole body simply with her presence?

Chapter Nineteen

Jett reached the archangel house just as the last of the colorful sunset faded. It’d been over two weeks since he’d last seen Lexine and her absence distracted him. He’d been spending too much time thinking about her instead of focusing on his tasks. Forcing her from his mind by remembering Raphael in the underground prison, he prepared himself for whatever trial Lark would launch at him tonight. The Guardian emerged from the woods and stepped in Jett’s path.

“Wren is missing.”

The words struck like a bullet. “What?”

Lark held up a hand. “This is an exercise.”

“Damn you!” Jett took a deep breath, a hand over his thudding heart. Tempted to beat Lark’s face into a bloody pulp, he ground out, “Start with that fact next time.”

“And miss the chance to keep you on your toes? Never. Tonight your goal is to find Wren and bring him back to the house using only your empathic skill. You never know when technology will fail you, so you can’t rely on it in emergencies.”

“I understand.”

“Humans have been spotted in the woods and they’ve taken down the cell tower. I’m guarding the house with Raphael, Ginger, and the twins inside. Wren hasn’t returned from his flight and gunshots have been heard to the south. Guardians in the woods represent poachers and they have dart guns. If Wren gets hit, you lose the exercise. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“The ‘poachers’ have a head start on you. Begin.” Lark turned away and vanished into the forest.

Jett resisted the urge to sprint into the woods and head south. Wren would get as far away from the shooters as he could, leaving too much land search for his scent. Without cell phones, that left the empathic skill as Jett’s only tool.

In a real situation, Wren would be angry or scared or both, a beacon of emotion in the woods, making this exercise harder. Jett closed his eyes.

Raphael and Ginger were truly in the house, their nervous anticipation raising the hairs on his arms. He searched for Wren’s emotional voice. While Raphael kept his emotions buried deep under a facade of calm, like a whisper in the back of Jett’s mind, Wren’s mental voice often came through with more clarity. Indeed, now that Jett practiced every day, fine-tuning his mental connection to the family, Wren’s clearer signal provided a constant reminder that the archangel’s trust in Jett was at best tentative.

Jett couldn’t afford to lose this exercise. He needed to build Wren’s trust, not weaken it.

There. Wren’s emotional voice, a mix of worry and tension, a long distance away to the southwest. Jett ran in that direction.

He hadn’t gotten far when a scream split the air. Male, but not Wren.

“Help! Please!”

Jett veered to the left and took cover behind a large pine trunk. Beyond, two Guardians held a teenaged civilian. The boy stared toward Jett and yelled again. “Help me! Jett, please!”

“Lark, you sick son of a bitch,” Jett muttered, but he understood what this was: a test. His responsibility was the archangels. No one else, not even Lexine, not even kids in danger. Moments spent here could be moments poachers found Wren. Being a Guardian dedicated to the archangels meant honoring that responsibility without fail. Otherwise, there’d be no point.

“Help!”

The Guardians hauled the teen away through the trees.

Jett clenched his teeth and continued southwest. The teen is the Guardians’ responsibility; Wren is mine.

What if that had been Lexine or Bryce? His body wanted to be sick, but he forced control and pressed on. There’d be plenty of time later to question if he could really do this.

He sprinted, sacrificing silence for speed. A Guardian leaped at him from behind a boulder and after precious moments spent wrestling, the other demon put up his hands, acknowledging a killing strike from Jett.

Wren’s mental signal grew louder—a spike of anxiety that sent Jett’s heart rate sky-high. Jett tore in that direction, sweat beading on the back of his neck. This was supposed to be an exercise, but that level of emotion from the archangel couldn’t be faked.

In reality, his cell phone worked fine. Should he call Lark? No, in a legitimate emergency like this, Lark needed to stay at the house with the others and Jett would be entrusted with Wren’s life. He pressed on, not risking calling Wren either. The ring could alert poachers to the archangel’s location.

Wren came into view at the same time Jett picked up on his scent, his wings like ghosts among the trees. He stood in front of an old, twisted maple. Jett scanned the area with all his senses as he ran over. “Wren.”

The archangel jumped.

“What’s wrong?” Jett grasped Wren’s shoulder with one hand and drew a blade with the other, still focused on the forest around them. Nothing moved except for a squirrel; no human or Guardian scents carried on the breeze.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t give me bull.”

“Really.” Wren shuddered and shivered, though the evening temperature hadn’t dropped much. “There’s nothing dangerous going on, I promise. There’s a spirit here.”

“A what?”

“A ghost. As Ginger’s mate, I gained her psychic talent to see spirits.”

Lark had said as much. He also said that ghosts were rare but potentially a major concern. Psychic talents drained energy from the archangels, so if a ghost refused to leave, Wren and Ginger’s lives would be threatened. “Better be Casper the friendly ghost.”

Wren shivered again. “Not how I would describe Dante.”

“D—” Jett’s mind went utterly blank for moment, until the fatigue radiating off Wren broke through.

“Demons,” Wren said, struggling for breath, “are nothing like human spirits.” He spoke, it seemed, to the maple tree. “We’ll need to try this again later.” A pause. “Yes, I’ll tell him.”

“What’s happening?”

Wren’s shivers stopped. “Your father has come to see you.”

Jett stared at the tree.

“He’s gone, for now. Human spirits are waifs, drawing small amounts of energy from sources around them, especially me. But a demon manifestation…” He nodded at the tree. “Lark is nothing like this when he steps out of his body—the difference, I suppose, between a psychic talent like his and true death. Dante was a concentrated mass of amber light. The entire tree flamed around him. I felt like I was bleeding to death, he drained so much energy from me so fast.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’ll live.” He stretched his wings and arched his back. “We need to get back, though.”

“Yes,” Jett murmured, still trying to get his mind around the idea his father had been here, just now.

“Lark told me to make like I’ve been shot out of the sky. No flying, no running. Of course, now I don’t have to fake being that out of it. And I can’t see in the dark like you can.”

“Good times. All right, I’ll get you home.”

“Thank you, Guardian,” Wren said, his tone sincere.

As they began walking through an area thick with maple trees, soggy forest peat underfoot, Jett stayed close to Wren to keep him from tripping in the darkness, despite the wing contact. He said quietly, “He came to see me?”

“There’s a lot he wants to tell you.”

Jett focused first and foremost on their surroundings, letting it sink in that his father had returned from wherever it was the dead “lived.” If “dead” was correct word for a demon who, like the fallen archangels, came to this earth from someplace else in the first place.

Wren stopped. “First, he said to tell you, he’s sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything you’ve been through.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t kill him every damned day he watched it play out. He was dead, but he didn’t walk away. You weren’t alone at any point in that hell.”

“Is that supposed to make some sort of difference now? It’s over. I survived.”

“Yes. And he’s proud of you. As a new father, let me suggest, it’s not supposed to change the past. It’s just supposed to matter.”

Jett caught the scent of another demon, turned, and disarmed the clever, young Guardian who’d snuck on up them in his distraction. He paused, facing a tree, and rubbed moisture from his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, forcing control and returning to Wren’s side. “It matters. Thank you.”

They kept walking, Jet trying in vain to keep Wren from being such a visible target. Thankfully, the humans would have a harder time spotting him in the dark than the Guardians who tracked them now.

“Branch.”

Wren ducked under the low tree limb. At the same moment, a Guardian “poacher” jumped down from the tree.

Jett fought him off, plus a half-dozen other attackers, then took a less direct path to the house over more difficult terrain. Many more scents carried on the wind. By himself, he’d have opted to fight his way through the “poachers’” dragnet but keeping Wren out of their crosshairs was priority one.

“Tell me something, archangel,” Jett prompted as the lights from the stone house finally came into view. “How much trouble did you get into for getting caked in mud when we were little?”

Wren laughed. “I didn’t—my father was too amused. Mother wouldn’t let me in the house until I’d cleaned every last speck off, though, and the hose water was cold. You remember now?”

“No. I saw the picture.”

“Oh. Well, you started the mud brawl that got us both so filthy.”

“What! I did not. You’re the older one—”

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t the troublemaker.”

“Ridiculous. The only reason I was allowed near you—”

“Angel.” Wren pointed at his own chest, then at Jett. “Demon. Angel. Demon.”

“Oh, hell no! You wanted to go down to the lake, even though you weren’t allowed near the water. We ended up in the mud when I tried to drag you back.”

Stepping into the light that spilled across the front lawn, Wren smiled. “You remember.”

Jett shoved a hand through his hair. Images and voices from that part of childhood played in his mind for the first time in his adult life. “Yes, I do.”

“I’m glad.”

“Son.” Raphael met them on the lawn, his face pale and his worry over Wren evident in the emotions that bled into the back of Jett’s mind. The archangel brushed his son’s wing with his own and held out a hand to Jett. “Good work, Guardian, and thank you for not bringing him back covered in mud this time.”

Wren scoffed, grinned, and flew up to the fourth-floor flight deck, the force of the takeoff kicking dirt into the air. He called down, “We’ll talk soon about Dante.”

“Dante?” Raphael cocked his head.

“My father appeared to Wren in the woods.”

The archangel’s silver eyes widened.

“I don’t know much more than that.”

Raphael tilted his head back, angling his face to the sky. “I’d do the same thing in his position.” He glanced toward Lark, who approached from the direction of the lake. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Good night, Jett. And thank you again.” Raphael took flight.

Lark walked a slow circle around Jett. “Good job not rescuing the teen.”

Jett cursed.

“If it was easy, anyone could be a dedicated Guardian,” Lark said. “It goes against our instincts to ignore someone in trouble. But, the archangels are the humans’ real targets more often than not, and they need this level of protection. In reality, there would have been other Guardians rushing to rescue that teen. To do this job, you need to trust them to do theirs, and focus on yours.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

Lark arched an eyebrow.

“I can trust the civilians to the other Guardians, but if that had been Lexine, I wouldn’t have been able to leave her. No way.”

“Even if, through your empathic skill, you could tell Wren was dying?”

“I don’t know.” He truly didn’t.

“Hesitation could cost the life of an archangel. Not acceptable from one of their dedicated Guardians. There is no room for flexibility here, Jett.” He sighed. “This is crucial. Do some soul-searching. We’ll talk again in a few days. Now, go run laps around the colony’s border.”

…

After the first full week of being separated from Jett, Lexine hurried out of the orchard and across the colony with a plan and a basket.

Dawn broke overhead in a dazzling display of blue and gold. Praying for good timing, she hurried around the archangel house to the garden, where Lark had a peculiar home hidden within the garden walls.

Jett sat on the grass among fallen yellow oak leaves, stretching. He wore black workout pants. Nothing else. Lexine licked her lips and made her way around the flowerbeds to get to him.

He looked her over. “Lex. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“You don’t look fine, and your emotions have been all over the place this week. I almost came looking for you.”

“I’ve been harvesting late-season apples and making wine. It’s a lot of work.” True, but far from the whole truth. Her sessions with Raphael had begun and the archangel was taking her request seriously. Thank goodness demons healed fast—there’d be no hiding some of her injuries from Jett’s observant gaze. “I brought you breakfast. One cannot survive harsh training only on the protein bars and granola Lark likes to eat.”

Jett smiled. “You just saved my life. No lie.”

She laughed and handed him the basket.

He surveyed the contents—apple slices with honey, boiled eggs, and warm rolls—and shook his head. “I’ve never received such a gift. Thank you. Sit.”

She knelt, and he seized her in a searing kiss that curled her toes.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted. Lexine glanced up into Lark’s scowling face.

“Good morning, Lexine.”

“Morning, Lark. I’m keeping your trainee well fed.”

“So I see.” His lips twitched, and he shifted his gaze to Jett. “Ten minutes. Meet me at the lakeshore. There’s something we need to talk about.”

Tension filled the air and Lexine glanced from one Guardian to the other.

When Lark had gone, Jett kissed her again.

“Eat,” she said.

He kept her close, one arm around her waist, and ate with his free hand.

“Will this work most mornings? They must allow you time to eat.”

That deep crimson stare burned into her. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to! I want to see you, and I want you to do well. The first step to success is a good breakfast.”

His throat worked. He ran a fingertip over a honey-coated apple slice and wiped the sweet goo on her lips. He kissed her, licking her clean. “Yes, I get a few minutes in the morning to stretch after a quick breakfast of granola inside.”

“Excellent. Forget the granola and meet me out here.”

He stared at her for a long moment, adoration in his gaze. “You’re perfect.”

“Eat!”

He obliged, finishing every crumb.

“It’s not too much? I know they push you. A full stomach might not be the best idea.”

“It’s perfect. We start with target practice in the morning.”

“Oh, good.”

“Today is the first day he’s going to blindfold me and give me earplugs. Using the dart gun, I’ll need to find my targets with my empath sense alone. I’m nervous.”

“You’ll do great.”

“I’ll do better now that I’ve been fed.” He claimed her mouth, kissing her hard enough to force her down to the grass on her back.

She tasted the honey and tart apple on his lips, which mingled with the sweet venom. His scent, honey and tea, overwhelmed her senses and left her dizzy.

He pulled back, his hands lingering on either side of her face. “I have to go.”

“Wait, one more thing.” She folded back the terry cloth on the bottom of the basket and extracted the present she’d wrapped in simple, dark green rice paper.

“What’s this?”

“Happy Birthday. I checked the date in your father’s journal.”

He blinked.

She set the gift into his hands.

“I…” He stared down at the present. “No one’s ever…”

“Happy Birthday, Juneau.”

He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

“Well? Open it!”

The shock faded from his eyes, and he tore the paper, revealing the leather-bound journal she’d had made by the colony’s book craftsman. The dark cover had a border of inlaid white birch bark, sealed behind glass. She’d requested that embellishment with Jett’s early journaling efforts in mind.

“This will be a bit sturdier than your birch bark paper,” she said.

“Yes. Yes, it will. Thank you, Lex.”

He kissed her again, his arms around her, his grip tight enough to hurt. She squirmed and he eased off, finishing the kiss with a tender brush of his lips against hers.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, getting to her feet.

“I can’t wait.”

…

After bringing Jett a breakfast of maple oatmeal and stealing several minutes of kisses as she had for the last month, Lexine climbed into bed for her weekly sleep. Her body ached from that day’s session with Raphael, but she’d gotten better, so much better, in a month’s time. She’d even landed a strike to the back of his wings today, an accomplishment mixed with thrill and horror. But of course, her teacher had been pleased, not offended. She shut her eyes and drifted, her slumber peaceful.

Until the dream.

It started the same as it had in the past. A strong sense of love and happiness. Her mate, with the tattoo and claw marks, at her side. From there, the scene took a devastating turn. Between one breath and the next, Jett fell to the ground. Blood drenched his clothes. He held her until he lost consciousness, his hands falling from her shoulders.

Nothing could wake a demon from sleep. Even though she knew, somehow, that she was dreaming. She remained trapped in the nightmare, crying and screaming at Jett’s side as his blood spread out over an unusual mosaic floor of orange fish on a blue, green, and brown background constructed of tiny glass tiles.

When she woke, she screamed some more.

No.

No!

She fought free of her tangled sheets only to collapse to her knees on the floor. No, she vowed. This future would not become reality. She didn’t care what she had to do. She would stop this.

Chapter Twenty

“Dr. Lawrence? Are you all right?”

Victor Lawrence opened his eyes, lifted his forehead from the wall, and forced a smile for the nurse. “Fine, Alice. Is he resting comfortably?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Good. Will you call me if anything changes?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Victor left the ICU and headed for the discrete elevators tucked behind the vending machines. He swiped his key card, pressed a button, and waited until the doors opened on the research lab floor. Technicians and graduate students crowded the lounge, coffee cups in hand, arguing over the best growth medium for cell culture, or who would come in to count cells for the 1:00 a.m. time point.

If only basic experiments where his biggest problem. Victor rubbed his temples, hurried through his lab and into his office. He shut the door behind him.

He threw his marble paperweight against the wall.

He slumped into his desk chair and his fingers brushed beads of sweat on his brow. Over twenty years of research, massive amounts of groundbreaking data, yet nothing close to a treatment for the broken young man in the ICU.

If a demon had suffered such injuries, he’d be well on his way to being healed by now, twelve hours after a vicious motor vehicle accident. A high fever, a significant amount of pain, and he’d have walked out the hospital the next day. As it was, the human kid would never walk again, if he lived at all.

The rapid healing inherent in demon biology couldn’t be replicated or harnessed. He’d finally come to accept that. Indeed, there was a better way. The golden egg. The ace. The miracle.

But, it’d been fucking stolen! He slammed his fist on the desk. The damned demons had taken the archangel right before Victor’s experiments were to begin. It had been such a perfect plan. Thornton Bailey would get the son. Victor would get the father. However, the demons had taken both archangels back to that colony in Vermont.

Granted, the opportunity for newborns now presented itself. Far more preferable than an adult. The young ones could be raised to comply. They’d be much easier to handle than Raphael ever would have been. And twins, no less. Perfect for scientific study.

But, could he get them in time to help the teen and the other patients in ICU? Every day, he watched people die, people who could have been saved so easily. His own daughter-in-law was losing her fight with cancer. That such a simple cure existed, so far out of his reach…

He couldn’t stand it. He had to find a way into that colony.

The phone on his desk rang. Speak of the devil, and all that. “Hello, Miriam. How are you?”

“Andrew is missing,” his daughter-in-law said, her voice thin and raspy from months of sickness.

“What?” Lawrence got to his feet, stretching the phone cord.

“He’s been gone since this morning! He left a note saying he was going to find help for me.”

“Find help?” Lawrence paced as best he could with the infuriating landline. “What did he mean?”

“I have no idea. The counselor at his school said he’s been increasingly obsessed with cancer, reading books that are far over his head.”

Sweat beaded on Lawrence’s forehead. Miriam had been diagnosed with cancer a decade ago, then gone into remission. The cancer came back recently, not long after the car accident that killed Andrew’s dad. His grandson had taken the double blows like a rock, but recently, it looked more and more like the boy had kept the true extent of devastation hidden. Twelve-year-old Andrew wouldn’t do anything foolish, not when he still had his mother. “Well then, perhaps he came here, to the medical center. I’ll call security and go downstairs to have a look myself.”

“What should I do? Should I call the police?”

“Not yet. Let me see if he’s here. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

…

Jett patrolled the grounds around the archangel house—the first time doing so, solo, for an appreciable amount of time—as Lark spent the evening inside with Raphael. His skin prickled. Nerves, or something more?

He shut his eyes and inhaled through his nose and his mouth, tasting the scents of the forest on his tongue. The scent of pine overpowered everything else. Damn, are those trees always so strong?

They sure as hell hadn’t been that potent every other time he’d been at the house, he decided. Or even five minutes ago.

“Scent is your best tool,” Lark had lectured. “No matter how skilled a human is, they leave a trail. They’ve tried to mask their scent. Never assume unusual odors in the woods are benign.”

Keeping to the darkest shadows, Jett closed the distance to the stand of young, puffy pines that hugged the lawn below the west-facing flight decks. Light spilled from the wraparound windows of the house. Anyone hiding in the trees would have a clear shot if one of the archangels came out. Hell, with an excellent weapon and aim, they could try to shoot through the windows.

He drew his combat knives. Damn it, he should have scented them before they got this close. Should have heard something.

Pausing at the base of the first balsam tree, he heard breathing. Rapid, shallow panting. Not a calm professional, then. Interesting. An amateur with enough dumb luck to get this far?

Guided by the sound, Jett sprang ahead. The human, who lay on his stomach between two trees, dressed in green camouflage, rolled over just in time for Jett to bring the blade down toward his throat.

The human screamed. The honest-to-God terror in the sound brought Jett’s hand to a halt, the blade an inch from the jumping pulse in the poacher’s throat.

No, not a poacher. A kid. A short, bright-eyed, human kid, the ample freckles and reasonable build marking him as the bike-riding, baseball-playing variety of human child. Jett withdrew the blade. “What the fuck are you?”

The human teen—he couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen—tried to scramble backward. Jett pulled the kid to his feet by his collar. He reeked. He must have rubbed pine oil all over himself.

“I-I’m not armed! I surrender!”

Lark arrived then, two blades drawn. He cocked his head when he saw the kid.

“This happen often?” Still holding the child by the shirt, Jett arched an eyebrow at the other demon.

“This is a first.” Lark stepped closer and lifted the boy’s chin with the tip of a blade. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Drew.” His face had paled at the touch of the weapon and he spoke in a whisper.

“Short for Andrew?”

“Yeah.”

“You stink, Andrew. Like one of those nasty car air fresh-eners.”

“Drew. And everyone knows demons can smell a human a mile away.”

“Everyone?”

“The older kids at school.”

Jett surveyed the ground where the human had been lying. One candy bar, one empty wrapper, and binoculars. He held Drew in place as Lark frisked him. Another candy bar. Two more wrappers.

Lark shook his head. “Human nutrition at its best.”

“It was a long walk,” the boy muttered.

“Bring any friends, Drew?”

“No.”

“We’ll see.” Lark turned to Jett. “You got him?”

“We’re fine.”

“I’ll check the woods.” Lark disappeared.

Jett assessed the child. Though he looked pale enough to faint, determination filled his eyes. “What brings you out here, kid?”

His hands trembling, Drew lifted his hands to his neck. He pulled a gold necklace with a large, clear diamond surround by a bunch of smaller diamonds out from under his camouflage jacket. “I brought this to give to the archangel Raphael.”

What the fuck? “Not his style.”

Drew’s chin jutted out. “It’s worth a lot. He has to take it.”

“Why?”

“Can I talk to him?”

“No.” Jett got onto his knees to look the kid in the eye. “Why are you here, Andrew?”

“My mom’s dying. They said it’s an inoperable tumor.” The kid’s hands balled into fists, and he spoke in a rush. “My pastor says Raphael the archangel is a healer, but this Raphael isn’t the same one as in the Bible. I don’t believe that. He has to be. He has to help my mom.”

Well, shit. Jett had experienced Raphael’s healing talent firsthand the day they’d escaped Thornton. The archangel had healed the gunshot, even in the near-death condition he’d been in himself.

But humans died every day, and healing took energy from Raphael, limiting how much he could do in a given period of time. Even if most humans didn’t want him dead, he’d never be able to save humanity from the ways of nature. Armies of healing archangels would be needed for such a Herculean task.

If Raphael helped this woman, word would spread, and before long, the colony would be fighting to keep out poachers and hordes of people looking for a miracle. Fuck.

But Jett couldn’t make this decision. “Stay right here. Do not move.”

Drew nodded, chewing on his lower lip.

Jett stepped a few yards away, keeping the kid in sight, and flipped open his cell phone. Keeping his voice low, he relayed the kid’s words to Raphael. “What do you want me to do?”

Moments ticked by before Raphael answered. “Take him to the patio.”

“Are you sure—”

“Yes. I’ll talk to him.” The archangel disconnected.

Sensing Lark’s presence, Jett sought out the other demon’s gaze among the trees.

“I heard,” Lark said. “Go ahead. I’ll keep watch out here.”

Jett returned to the boy and led him across the lawn.

“Really?” The word came out of the human’s mouth as a squeak.

“He’ll see you. I can make no other promises.”

They entered the garden gate and the boy tried to run ahead. Jett held him back by the sleeve. Spunky little shit. “Please take off your shoes and your jacket.” Though Lark had searched the kid, he had to check and recheck. “I need to search you again.”

That done and the kid baring nothing more dangerous than the coating of balsam oil, Jett led him to the patio at the back of the house that overlooked the garden. Raphael waited under the exterior lights, dressed in jeans and a gray sweater that would have given him a casual appearance, but his wings ruined that effect.

Drew came to a dead halt, his eyes wide.

“Something wrong, kid?” Jett rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Um…” Drew remained a statue.

Raphael crossed the stone patio and knelt, lifting his wings off the ground. “Hello.”

Andrew’s voice squeaked more than not, but he stam-mered out his request.

“Is this your mother’s?” Raphael lifted the diamond pendant with his fingers.

“It was. It’s for you.”

Raphael shook his head. “You need to keep this safe. Perhaps give it to your wife one day.”

“But—”

“Even if I could help you, I wouldn’t accept something with this much personal value.”

Drew’s breath hitched.

Raphael continued, “I am not capable of the miracle you seek.”

Tears fell down the boy’s cheeks.

Jett cocked his head, surprised Raphael chose to lie. But, it probably was the least hurtful way to let the kid down.

The archangel met Jett’s gaze with a brief shake of his head before he returned his attention to Andrew. “I’m sorry. You should go home and be with your family. That is the best thing you can do for her and your father.”

“My father’s dead.” The spark left Drew’s voice. “I’m going to end up living with his father. Grandfather’s the one who told me my pastor was right, that you’re a healer.”

“Did he, now?”

“Yes. He’s a scientist. He knows stuff.”

Jett tensed and studied Andrew’s face, never one to believe in coincidence. How many scientists talked to their family about healing archangels? “What’s your full name, kid?”

“Andrew Lawrence.” He wiped his eyes.

Damn.

“Did your grandfather send you here?” Raphael whispered.

“No. I asked him if we could come here together, and he got mad. Told me it wasn’t safe and you wouldn’t help.” Accusation filled Andrew’s eyes.

“I am truly unable to help you, child. I can heal certain things. Cuts, sprains, even severe injuries. I’m simply able to speed up the body’s natural healing ability. Cancer and other conditions the body is not capable of healing on its own are out of my reach.”

Ah, so that explained it. Interesting. Lawrence more than likely believed Raphael was a walking miracle. Jett spotted Lark among the shadows of the garden and crossed the clipped flowerbeds to join him.

“Victor Lawrence’s grandson,” Jett said, keeping his voice low.

Lark nodded. On the patio, Raphael continued to speak with the child, their voices plenty loud enough for Jett’s keen hearing. The conversation turned to the dying mother, Raphael offering comforting words and encouragement.

“We’ll have to make sure the kid gets home safely,” Lark said.

“Which means we’ll get an address out of this,” Jett said. “From there, we’ll be able to find Lawrence.”

“And put that kid in foster care?”

Jett stared at Lark, gaping. “Certainly you’re not suggesting we let Lawrence live.”

“I’m only saying we need to take a step back and take a deep breath here. Lawrence is the only family Andrew will have left.”

“Maybe there’s other family.”

“Perhaps.” Lark flipped a throwing knife into the air and caught the blade behind his back. “Regardless, he’ll have to deal with the premature deaths of both parents and the murder of his grandfather.”

“Children survive worse.” Jett’s words came out with more bite than he intended. He felt for the kid and wouldn’t wish this situation on anyone, but that didn’t change the reality of Lawrence. “And our responsibility is the archangels, yes? Above all else, even Lexine and Caza. Lawrence wants the twins. What we have to do is nonnegotiable.”

“I agree entirely. Let’s proceed with caution is all I’m saying. He doesn’t die in front of Drew or where the kid could find the body. If it can be made to look like an accident, all the better.”

“You think I’d just haul ass in there and slaughter the man on sight, whether the kid was there or not?”

Lark only stared, one red eyebrow cocked.

“Point taken.” Jett rolled his shoulders, trying to force himself to calm. “I’ll behave. Course, we could also explain to Andrew the truth of the situation. Make him understand exactly what kind of monster his grandfather is.”

“He’s not a day older than thirteen.”

“So? When I was that age, I…” Jett paused. Shit. He didn’t know much about kids, but he knew better than to think his own childhood was anything to draw comparisons against. The worst injury Andrew had probably ever known was a scraped knee, his father’s death and his mother’s sickness the only taste of how cold the world could be. Significant, but no reason to justify shoving his grandfather’s crimes in his face. “Never mind.”

“Timing is going to be crucial. Lawrence will run as soon as he realizes we’re on his trail. And, of course, we can’t both go.”

“I’m going. I need to see that son of a bitch die.”

Chapter Twenty-One

After her nightmare, Lexine spent a couple hours sitting on the top of a ladder in the orchard, staring at the stars. The evening air turned cold, but was warm compared to the chill inside her body. The nightmare had been so real, so potent, she could still smell the blood. Even the sharp odor of the rotting apples on the ground didn’t overpower it.

“Lex.”

She caught her breath as she spotted Jett approaching between the trees. He moved like a shadow in the darkness, his eyes reflecting the moon. If she’d had normal demon eyes, she’d have been able to see him clearly in the moonlight.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice held cutting disapproval. “It’s cold, and it’s dark. You can’t see—”

“I have a flashlight. I’ve lived with this disability for twenty-six years.” She didn’t mean to snap, but the turmoil in her mind made it impossible be calm.

“Sorry. I worry. It’s in the genes.”

She climbed down the ladder. Her feet hit the ground at the same moment his arms—so warm—came around her.

“I have to talk to you,” he said.

She missed a beat. She’d been about to say the exact same thing to him. “Is something wrong? You’re not supposed to have any time off training.”

“We have a lead on Lawrence’s whereabouts. I’m going to be leaving in a couple hours. He’ll be dead as soon as I find him.”

She should have felt relieved. Lawrence, after all he’d done to Jett and Bryce, and intended to do to the archangel infants, would meet justice. Everyone would be a little safer in a world that was anything but. However, at that moment, she only cared about the safety of one person. “Please be careful. Very careful.”

“I will be.”

She nodded. After all, the dream had shown him as her mate. That event hadn’t come to pass. With that horrible future foretold, he’d be safe this night.

Bittersweet comfort.

“That’s not what I came to talk to you about. Let’s go inside. You’re freezing.”

They made their way into her apartment. He ignited a demon-fire lantern, set her on the bed, and wrapped a blanket around her. In the flickering crimson light, he knelt on the floor in front of her, his hands on her hips.

She had to tell him about her dream, but he started speaking first.

“Lark and I have come to an impasse.”

She frowned, waiting.

“My position as a dedicated Guardian to the archangels would require me to forsake everyone else in an emergency. Including you.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I cannot accept that. To me, your safety is every bit as important as the archangels’. The very idea that I wouldn’t be able to keep you safe if this colony came under attack again makes me ill.”

“But—”

“I’ve discussed it with Lark at length. I’ve given the subject a lot of thought. Now, I need your thoughts, before I decide to take the oath to the archangels or not.” He folded the soft blanket closer to her neck and rubbed her arms.

She swallowed. Hard. “Why?”

“Because I would have you as my mate one day, Lex. If you’ll have me.”

She froze. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The scent of blood filled her nose, the nightmare still lingering.

“I would become a regular Guardian.” He lowered his hands along her arms and gripped her fingers. “Perhaps it’s too soon to ask, but waiting until after I take the oath to at least talk to you about this would be a mistake.”

She swallowed. Swallowed. Swallowed.

“Lex?”

She sobbed and dropped her face into her hands.

“Beauty?” he whispered, touching the side of her face.

“I want to, but I can’t.”

“What?” He leaned closer to her, tensing. His breath brushed her cheek. “I don’t understand.”

Words spilled from her mouth in a rush, punctuated by sobs and chokes. She explained her original dream—how she realized what it really meant when she saw his tattoo and scars for the first time. How she’d kept that truth to herself, afraid of scaring him off when she wanted to get to know him better. How the dreams had stopped, and she’d abandoned hope that they had a future. He listened in absolute stillness, his hands clamped over hers.

She told him how the dream had come back, changed. How he’d died in her arms.

“That dream can’t come true. You’ll die.” Her throat stung. “We need to stay away from each other. If we’re not mated, the dream can’t come true! You’ll be safe—”

“Nonsense.” His dark crimson gaze burned into her. “Consider the life I lead, Lexine. Staying away from you is not going to keep me out of harm’s way. Staying safe is not my goal. Killing my enemies is my goal.”

“But—”

He covered her lips with a finger. “Dream or no dream, my fate is not in your hands, and I need you to stop thinking that way. If I get hurt or killed, it’ll be the result of my own damned mistakes.”

She shoved his hand away. “These sorts of dreams are rare, Jett. They’re a legitimate glimpse into the future, not a goddamned a horoscope!”

Fisting one hand at his side, he reached up with the other and grasped her chin, his grip firm but not enough to hurt to her. “No dream is going to dictate my fate, tell me how I will or will not die, or who I will or will not be with. My future is for me to decide.”

“And for me to decide, in this case.”

“Lex…”

“I won’t be your mate, Jett.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, which he didn’t return. “I’ve fallen in love with you. I won’t put your life at risk if there is anything I can do to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“Yes. I’m a female, but I’m nothing like Caza.”

He leaned back. “You know what happened to Caza?”

“Raphael told me.” She got to her feet, holding the blanket around herself. Now that her distress over the dream had been vented, another emotion hit her. Jett took a step back. He must have sensed her anger. “I’m not Caza. I’m not a delicate flower. Instead of just sitting there a frightened idiot—not to disrespect the dead—I’d have gotten on my damn feet and found a safe place. If I’d come across humans, I’d have fought back. I’ve been training with Raphael to develop my hand-to-hand skills, and I’m not afraid to use what I’ve learned. Or this.” She held up her hands and lit them with flames. “Or these.” She hissed, baring her fangs.

“Lex—”

“If it weren’t for this dream, the horrible future I saw, I’d be perfectly capable of being a mate to an archangel’s Guardian. You wouldn’t have had to give that up for me. In an emergency, while you did your job, I’d have taken care of myself like a big girl and been waiting for you afterward!”

He stared at her in silence for a moment that stretched out until the pulse in Lexine’s ears deafened her.

“In that case, you really are perfect, Lex,” he said, his tone sad enough to twist her stomach. “And I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”

He turned and left without another word.

…

Jett rushed back to the archangel house. He forced his mind to process only thoughts of the mission ahead, refusing to see Lexine’s face in his mind’s eye, refusing to let her tremulous emotions reach him through his empathic skill. He realized the effort was wasted when he couldn’t enter the security codes to unlock the door. His hands shook too hard.

He paused, braced himself on the door frame, his mind swimming from all Lexine had told him. His tattoo. He’d been the “poacher” in her dream from the beginning. The scars from when he’d shredded his own skin proved it.

But then the dream had ceased. Why? Because of his decision to become a dedicated Guardian? Her new dream came that afternoon, when he’d decided to ask her to be his mate. After so many weeks of her bringing him breakfast and putting up with his absence as he trained, nothing in her emotions but determination, pride, concern, and aching loneliness—never the resentment he deserved—he’d had to tell her she meant more to him than just a girl on the side. And she deserved to have a say in his future, because he wanted it to be their future.

She’d turned him down.

He laughed into the door to vent the emotion that threatened to drop him to his knees. She’d turned him down because she loved him. He’d been studying her emotions. She’d spoken the absolute truth. She loved him, but she feared the dream foretold his death. Taking a cue from his insistence, weeks ago, that she could change her future, she’d turned him down to keep his ass alive.

Jett could love her for that. If he didn’t love her already.

He refused to believe his future could be dictated by a dream, and Lexine’s story proved him right. Her dream had changed. It had even stopped for a period of time after he took a different path. But the fact that she’d seen his scars and tattoo years before they’d met proved that the dream was far from inaccurate.

He counted back the years. Yes. About the time he started to befriend Raphael, starting down the road that would eventually lead to freeing the archangel and himself, Lexine’s dreams had begun.

Fate?

He shuddered. The idea of fate, to any degree, scared the shit out him.

I am in control. I am in control. I am in control.

Maybe he was a fool. The future wasn’t set in stone, but he had no real control. After all, Lexine had just turned him down. He’d sought her out that evening certain she wouldn’t. If Fate had tried to push them together, the act had backfired. Or, perhaps Fate had simply meant from the beginning to torture them. A little sick fun to help Her pass the time.

Lexine’s determination had been as profound as a slap. There’d be no changing her mind. It was over between them—he’d never be able to have a casual relationship with someone he felt so strongly for. The truth of it burned in the center of his chest.

He shook himself, awareness of the archangels inside the house growing, breaking through his personal crap. There’d be time for his issues later. Now, he had a job to do.

He turned his thoughts to Lawrence. Deliberately recalled his childhood. The bone-deep fury that built up all those years granted him a deadly calm and focus. For now.

He opened the door and went inside. On the second floor, he found Lark, Raphael, Ginger, Wren, and the twins.

“Where’s Andrew?”

Lark said, “He’s at the town hall, getting a lecture from Vin on running away and responsibility. Poor kid.” The Guardian sat with a laptop computer on his knees. “I have Drew’s home address. He lives with his mother in Morgan, Vermont. It’s not far.”

“And his grandfather?”

“Victor Lawrence, MD, PhD, runs a small research lab at a medical center in Massachusetts, according to Andrew.” Lark turned the screen, showing Jett a website with smiling doctors and flowering trees. “He’s not listed online, though. Assuming Andrew’s telling the truth, Lawrence must keep a very low profile, which isn’t a surprise. We’d have found him by now, otherwise. Anyway, I estimate a six-hour drive from Morgan to the medical center. If you’d rather, the Guardians can take the kid home so you can go straight after Lawrence.”

“No. I’ll take Andrew. If Lawrence’s daughter-in-law is sick and her son is missing, he may be visiting. I can’t risk missing him.”

“Indeed,” Lark said.

“Is something wrong?”

Jett blinked at Wren’s question and realized he’d been staring at the archangel and Ginger. The pair sat on a backless couch while Raphael held both of the twins. Their knees pointed toward each other. Ginger rested her head against his wing. Wren drew circles on her knee with his fingertips.

“Nothing,” Jett said, noting the gruffness in his own voice. He moved closer to Raphael and the twins, the little innocents that Lawrence wanted to get his harsh claws into. Jett needed to focus on keeping this family safe, needed to get his head in the right place for the fight to come.

“May I?”

Raphael glanced at Wren, who nodded. “Of course.”

Jett took Talon in his arms, uncertain and awkward as he tried not to handle the child’s wings.

Wren grinned. “At that age, it’s all good. Think of them as built-in blankets.”

Jett held Talon close, the mottled gray wings naturally wrapped around the tiny body. The infant made cooing noises in his sleep, his face turned into his feathers.

Reaching out with his empathic gift, Jett marveled at the absolute serenity that radiated from the child. He couldn’t imagine that kind of peace. Wait, yes he could. Those few moments when he’d visited Cinnamon and she’d absorbed all his emotional baggage, he’d experienced such a state of calm.

Talon squirmed and pulled at a handful of his feathers. Jett gently pushed the tiny hand away and scratched the spot on the infant’s wing. The child settled down.

There’d be no safeguarding such innocence forever. The twins had a merciless world to grow up in, but, damn it, they’d have one less thing to worry about when Jett was done with Lawrence.

He shifted his attention to Wren’s emotions, relieved and humbled to find, when it came to holding the infant, Jett had Wren’s unhesitant trust.

Jett resettled Talon next to Phoenix on Raphael’s lap, stroking each infant’s cheek in turn. Phoenix smiled and wiggled closer to her brother. If Jett hadn’t known better, considering their age, he’d have sworn Talon scowled at her.

“Be nice to your sister,” Jett scolded and tapped the kid lightly on the nose.

Raphael laughed. “One minute, you can’t separate them without defending screams, the next, they’re in a mini-fistfight. This will be a very interesting household when they get older.”

Jett took a chair at the table next to Lark and studied the computer screen. Time to learn the neighborhood around the house in Morgan, as well as the medical center, develop a plan, and get on the road.

Heads up, Lawrence, you fucker. I’m coming for you.

…

Lawrence drove north through Vermont to Morgan, the little town where his daughter-in-law had lived before she’d met his son. Why she insisted on living all the way out here when she had a perfectly good home near the medical center still escaped him. She went on about the fresh air and the joy her family property gave her. Frustrating woman.

After her death, he’d sell the lakefront home and put the money toward Andrew’s college tuition.

He arrived at Miriam’s just after sunset and rushed up to the covered porch of the old, white-clapboard house.

The wooden door opened, followed by the noisy screen door, as Miriam stepped outside.

“Miriam, you shouldn’t be out here. It’s chilly.”

Her lips pursed in a hard expression she’d used often as a lawyer before she’d gotten sick. “Don’t coddle me, Victor. My son is missing.”

“Let’s go inside and talk.”

She huffed and turned on her heel, her gray skirt twirling around her ankles, her pale curls bouncing on her shoulders. Even in the crisp and bland outfits she wore—an ever-present symptom of her lawyer persona—and after her long illness, she was lovely. His son had been a lucky man.

If only she’d listen to reason to move closer to the hospital.

In the living room, Pastor Richard Elks rose from the sofa. “Victor.”

“Richard.”

Miriam settled, her back stiff, in an antique, wooden-legged chair. “Andrew had an interesting conversation with Pastor Elks recently.”

“Oh?”

Richard stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “He asked me about my sermon last week, about the archangel Raphael and the healing power of God.”

“What sort of questions?”

“How to pray to the angels to help his mother. How to approach the ‘Raphael’ who lives in Sanctuary.”

“What?”

“I made it very clear that Sanctuary had no help to offer, and that the archangels cast from Heaven were not to be sought out. He appeared convinced when he left my office. But now that he’s missing…”

Lawrence leaned against the hearth. “Oh, God.” He swallowed. “Andrew was in my office at the lab a few weeks ago. He must have seen.”

“Seen what?” Miriam pulled a knit blanket over her lap, her hands shaking.

“The fallen archangel Raphael does have the power to heal. The phenomenon was observed a year ago. I saw it myself. I have a video on the computer in my office.”

Miriam’s lips thinned. “What have you gotten into?”

“A business associate of mine had Raphael captive. The archangel escaped with the help of one of the guards. The guard was shot, a severe wound to the abdomen. Raphael healed him with a moment’s touch. I saw the whole thing on security footage. The guard got up and walked away a short while later after a period of unconsciousness.”

“The archangel is fallen. Such a thing must be the devil’s work.” Fury filled Richard’s voice. “I didn’t realize you planned to do anything but kill them.”

Victor suppressed a curse. Perhaps getting the Pastor involved in his work had been a mistake after all. “He could bring miracles to the suffering.”

“Never accept gifts from the devil, Victor.”

“Damn it! You don’t walk through the ICU every day!” Victor glowered at the pastor. “I was to have the archangel for research. Since his escape, I’ve been seeking to recapture him, or better even, to attain his newborn grandchildren. They can be raised to serve humanity—”

“What does this have to do with Andrew’s disappear-ance?” Miriam wailed.

“Jesus, if he went to Sanctuary…those demons…”

The pastor, paled faced, shook his head. “That is no place for a child to wander.”

“No shit.” Lawrence placed his hand on Miriam’s shoulder. “I’ll get him back. Don’t worry. I’ll get Drew back.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

After hours of trying to pull herself together after Jett left and unable to stand the silence in her apartment a moment longer, Lexine debated going out into the colony and being social, just for the sake of being around others. No, bad idea. Anyone who saw her red, puffy face would ask what was wrong, and the last thing she wanted was to be a spectacle—it would bother her if no one else. She did need to talk to someone, though.

She sent Ginger a text message. She never called this late in deference to the fact that her friend needed to sleep every night, but Lexine desperately needed an ear and a shoulder.

And chocolate and wine. A punching bag would be nice.

Her phone chirped a second later. Wide awake. Come on over.

She texted back. Has Jett left? Despite how they’d left things between them, he’d called, told her they had a lead on Lawrence, and he was leaving immediately to follow through.

Yes…

I’ll be right there.

Lexine pulled on a sweater and headed out. The brisk walk around the lake did nothing to calm her. When she reached the house, Devin let her in and escorted her to the fourth floor, where he entered another series of codes to unlock the door before returning to his post. The brand-new apartment still smelled of freshly cut wood. She took a deep breath as she removed her sweater and hung it on a hook.

Ginger leaned into view from the kitchen. “I’m making tea. Do you need something stronger?”

“I want something stronger, but I better not. I need to clear my head, not muddle it more.”

“How about cookies?”

“Perfect.” She kept her voice down and glanced toward the master bedroom as she joined Ginger in the kitchen. “Is Wren sleeping?”

“No. He’s downstairs with Raphael. They were putting a movie on when I left. This development with Lawrence has everyone on edge, waiting to hear what happens.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Ginger flicked her hand. “Let the boys watch the movie. You look like hell. What’s wrong?”

Lexine accepted a mug of tea and added honey, the combination reminding her of Jett’s scent. She told the whole story, the words rushing out. Ginger listened with a furrowed brow, staring into her tea.

“You could have told us, sweetie. We wouldn’t have judged you. You, with a poacher?” Ginger shook her head. “I would’ve suspected, above all else, that something wasn’t as it appeared.”

“It was too horrible a possibility to admit to.”

“Well, it’s off the table now.” Ginger covered Lexine’s hand with her own. “Demon premonition dreams fascinated me as a teen, so I read a lot on the subject. They aren’t exact depictions of the future, necessarily. They’re dreams, so they’re liable to have a ten-foot ice-cream cone walking around in them, even when such a fabulous thing isn’t a part of the future.”

Lexine managed a smile and took a cookie from the plate in the center of the counter.

“Maybe the dream will change again,” Ginger said. “Perhaps you and Jett can wait it out. Every little thing can change the future.”

Lexine sipped her tea to moisten her dry mouth. “You didn’t see the look he gave me. I really hurt him tonight. I may have killed any chance of a future for us.”

“He’s made of tough stuff, and I’m sure he understands your intentions. He’ll get over the blow to his ego if he’s worth keeping in the first place.” Ginger winked and sipped from her mug. She jerked, spilling tea. “Ouch—hot—shit!” She shoved the laptop computer, sitting open on the counter, away from the mess.

Lexine grabbed the computer, and Ginger reached for a towel.

The screensaver disappeared, revealing pictures of the exterior and interior of a house. Lexine stared, her mouth open, holding on to the counter to keep from pitching off the stool. One picture showed, in marvelous detail, the colorful, fish-themed mosaic floor from her dream. The one on which Jett had died.

“What the hell is this?”

Ginger glanced at the screen. “Oh. That’s the house where Lawrence’s daughter-in-law and grandson live. It was for sale briefly before the mother changed her mind, apparently, so Lark found those shots on a realtor’s website. Jett was looking at them to get familiar with the layout before he went in.”

“This is where Jett has gone?”

“Yeah.” Ginger tucked her hair behind her ears. “What’s wrong?”

“That floor was in my dream. That’s where…” Lexine held either side of the laptop screen in a white-knuckle grip. It couldn’t be, yet there it was. Never had she seen an uglier kitchen floor, even if she hadn’t first seen it covered with blood.

She shuddered and the back of her neck prickled. They weren’t mated, but now, seeing that floor, she knew that the future hadn’t been altered entirely. Knew it with a cold certainty that went straight to her bones. Mating or no mating, Jett was going to die on that floor. The only difference she’d made? Now, he’d die alone, or with his killer.

But it didn’t make sense. How could the dream have occurred? If she’d accepted Jett’s proposal, would he have bitten her right then and there? Such a moment could have gotten out of hand, perhaps. They could have gone from proposal to sex, his mouth against her skin, the temptation too much. Yes, it was possible.

However, he would never have brought her on the hunt for Lawrence, so how was she with him, in the dream? She scrubbed her face with her hands. Because, whether she’d accepted his proposal or not, she’d have sought Ginger out to confide in, and she’d have seen the computer and the accursed floor.

Holy shit.

She had to go after him.

“Ginger, I need to get there. Where is this house?”

“You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can!” Lexine flipped through the browser tabs on the Internet browser and found a map with the address marked. She scribbled the info down on a piece of paper, studied the roads, and headed for the door. “How long ago did he leave?”

“Over two hours ago.”

“Damn it! I—” She paused with her hands on the doorknob. With his head start, he could already be hurt. No. Oh, no, she was not going to walk into the future the dream had shown her. She was not going to drive out there just to see him die.

She had a much better idea. Jett would need a healer.

She opened the door and rushed down the stairs, Ginger right behind. She stopped at the second floor and pounded on the locked door. Ginger reached over Lexine’s shoulder and entered the security codes. Rushing inside, Lexine headed straight for Raphael, who got to his feet, his feathers bristling.

Lexine swallowed. She had no right to ask the archangel put himself at this much risk—flying into a human town, an enemy like Lawrence and who knows who else in the area—but she was going to, anyway. She summed everything up: “Raphael, I’ve been having prophetic dreams and I need you to go to Morgan, or Jett is going to die.”

…

Jett drove Andrew into Morgan, wishing there was some other place to leave the kid. But, even though it was best that Andrew wasn’t around when Jett made minced meat out of Victor Lawrence, the colony couldn’t hold on to the kid and risk backlash from the human authorities.

“My grandfather is a bad person, isn’t he?” Drew stared out the passenger window.

“What makes you say that?”

“I saw a video on his computer.” Drew turned. “I think you were in it.”

“Me?”

“And Raphael. He healed you. Raphael’s wing was covered in blood.”

Jett tensed. Security footage from Thornton’s prison? Had to be. “Yeah, that was me.”

“Raphael was a prisoner, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was.”

Drew fell silent as another mile of road passed. “My grandfather did that?”

“No. That was someone else.”

“But my grandfather knew about it,” Drew whispered.

“Yes.”

“He did nothing to help.”

“No, he didn’t.”

Drew fidgeted. “My grandfather helps people. He researches diseases like my mom’s. He does surgery on people who’ve been in accidents. Why didn’t he help the archangel?”

Jett gripped the steering wheel. He wasn’t about to lie to the kid. “Your grandfather wanted Raphael to cure the sick and injured.”

“Raphael said he can’t help everyone.”

“That’s right.”

“But my grandfather wanted to force him? Hold him against his will?”

“Yes. When that didn’t work, he tried to kidnap Raphael’s infant grandchildren. He murdered three demons and kidnapped a five-year-old to try to achieve his goals.”

Drew sniffed. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry, kid.”

“That’s all right,” Drew whispered. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone. But do you have to kill him?”

Ah, shit.

Drew stared, his eyes wide. “Please, don’t.”

“I have no choice.” Even if Jett could forgive the past, Lawrence would be a continuing threat in the future. There was no reasoning with the man. Jett had tried that many times, only to secure additional beatings. “I need to keep the archangels safe. It’s my job.”

A mailbox with the reflective numbers Jett had been watching for came into view. He turned onto a gravel driveway. A little black sedan and a fancy white sports car sat in front of the garage.

“That your grandfather’s car?”

Drew said nothing.

“Why don’t you go find your mother, kid. She must be worried about you.”

Drew opened the door, jumped out, and ran toward the house.

Jett sighed and rubbed his forehead. Nothing better than an innocent child to take the buzz out of a justified revenge killing. Damn it. He got out of the SUV and followed Drew to the front door.

He picked up Lawrence’s scent. His blood ran cold and he growled.

“Mom! I’m home!” Drew hurried inside.

Jett eased into the mudroom, alert to every sound, scent, and movement. The kitchen—which had an astoundingly ugly tile floor with orange fish—was empty. Drew ran down a hallway.

A scent neither Drew’s nor Lawrence’s nor the woman’s gave Jett pause. Leather and cigarettes. The scent of the man who’d shot Jett full of tranquilizer, taken Bryce, and abandoned the child in a garbage bag.

Jett grinned. Excellent. Another asshole who deserved to die. This would be a fruitful night.

“Jett!” Drew screamed, horror in the boy’s voice.

Jett ran down the narrow hall to a bedroom. A woman and Lawrence lay on the bed, bound. Andrew stood, gaping, his eyes wide.

Lawrence looked up and blanched.

Jett heard the floor creak behind him. The stench of leather and cigarettes strengthened.

“Andrew, get out of here!” Lawrence struggled.

Jett whirled to face a gun leveled at his chest. The wielder wore a black suit and the white collar of a pastor.

“Finally.” Leather and Cigarettes smiled. “I get to kill another demon.”

He pulled the trigger, but Jett anticipated and jerked out of the way. He pulled his own gun, but froze. The pastor grasped Andrew by the arm and pointed the gun at the child’s head.

“Richard! Please, don’t!” Lawrence lurched into a sitting position. Blood ran from his shoulder. He’d been hit by the bullet intended for Jett. The woman sobbed.

“Consorting with demons?” Richard sneered at Drew. “Unforgivable.”

Jett exploded into a demon-fire torch, successfully distracting Richard. Jett leaped on the human. A gunshot went off and pain exploded from Jett’s leg. The agony brought relief: Drew hadn’t been hit. Jett sank his fangs into Richard’s neck.

Jett straightened when Richard stopped writhing and twitching. Extinguishing his flames, he turned his head to find Lawrence, free, Richard’s gun aimed steady in Jett’s direction. Andrew had freed his grandfather. The kid knelt by his mother, working on the cord around her ankles with a pair of scissors.

“Demon. I never dreamed I’d see you again.”

“I brought your grandson home,” Jett said, forcing a calm voice. He could leap on Lawrence and tear out his throat. In that moment, he didn’t give a damn if Lawrence managed to shoot him in the process. He did care that the woman and Drew would see. It was bad enough he’d killed the pastor in front of them.

The woman had fainted.

“Yes, you did. Thank you for that.” Lawrence scratched his chin with his free hand. “So unpredictable. I doubt I’ll ever understand demons.”

“Because you’re blinded by your bigotry.”

Lawrence turned deep red. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way.”

For a moment, time seemed to reverse and Jett felt the cold air of the lab on his skin, felt the sting of the leather from the whippings he’d receive after speaking out of place. A hard blink brought Jett back to reality. Lawrence no longer held any power over him, even with that gun.

“What the hell was that?” Jett jerked his chin toward the body.

“That was Richard Elks. Pastor. Demon hunter. Poacher, though his religion motivated him, not money. I hired him for his skills and enthusiasm. But he turned on me when he figured out I wasn’t in it to kill the archangels but to use them to heal the sick. He accused me of doing the devil’s work.”

“Well, you’re no saint, that’s for certain.”

“You’re just a demon, what do you know?” Lawrence’s eyes narrowed. “The only goal I ever had was to ease human suffering. I failed to find a way to harness the rapid healing ability you, as a demon, possessed, so I turned to the archangels. When I learned of Raphael, I knew I’d found the answer.”

“Raphael is not a tool to be used. Neither are the infants. You’re a murderer and a monster, everything you accuse demons of being.”

“You do not talk back to me, demon. Remember your place.”

“I’ll talk to you however I damn well please, and you deserve a far more violent death than the one I can give you in front of your grandson.” Jett leaped off the floor.

Lawrence fired the gun.

Ignoring the pain that exploded from his leg, the same leg that had already been shot once, Jett grabbed the human by the shirt and hauled him out of the room. He dragged the struggling piece of shit down the hall and into the kitchen.

“You had me kidnapped during an attack that killed my father. My mother has never recovered from her grief. You treated me like animal. You sent more men to the colony recently, murdering and kidnapping again. If there is a hell, there is a special place in it for you.” Trusting that Andrew hadn’t followed, Jett made a fist and struck Lawrence in the jaw.

And struck him again.

And again.

“I can’t even begin to make you suffer the way you deserve.” Jett delivered another satisfying punch. “I just want to be done with you. I’m going to kill you and move on with my life. You never broke me.” One last punch.

Lawrence slumped against the wall and sank to his ass on the floor.

Jett, not wanting him to die quickly from a bite, grasped the bastard’s neck and squeezed.

The skin on Jett’s arms prickled. He must have stepped too close to a mental edge, facing Lawrence like this, because he had the distinct sensation of heavy hands on his shoulders. Warm, comforting hands.

“Juneau.”

Jett released Lawrence’s neck and spun around, searching for the source of that voice, as the human gasped and choked.

“Jett.” Drew stood in the little archway between the kitchen and hallway.

Jett forced back a string of profanity. “Go help your mother.”

Drew’s lip trembled.

“Drew. Go.”

“No!” Drew shouted, staring beyond Jett. “Grandfather, don’t!”

Jett turned back to Lawrence. The bastard had a small gun in his hand. He pointed it at his own head, not Jett.

“If I’m going to hell, I’ll see you there, demon. But you don’t get to kill me.”

He pulled the trigger.

Jett dove for Drew, shielding the child’s view. Drew wailed. Jett held him, carefully keeping his body between the boy and the corpse.

His vision swam and the floor tilted. What the hell?

He leaned back, blinking, shivering. He sat in a pool of blood. The bullets he’d taken to the thigh must have clipped an artery.

The sensation of heavy hands on his shoulders returned. The lights flickered. Or was that his vision? He couldn’t tell.

“Juneau,” a voice said. Deep, male, familiar.

Impossible.

“It’s not impossible. I’m here, son. You can hear me, this close to death.”

Was he hallucinating? He removed his jacket and tore his shirt, unable to shake the strange presence. Had to be a side effect of bleeding to death. He tied the fabric around the top of his leg, as tight as he could. “I’ve been this close to death before.”

“And I was waiting for you to join me. But you survived, and you will survive again.”

Jett pulled out his cell phone but paused. What was the point? No one from Sanctuary would get to him in time.

A dry laugh escaped his lips. Well, Lexine’s dream had been wrong.

What he would give to hold her one more time.

“Jett?”

In his daze, he’d nearly forgotten the kid was there. “Go to your mother.”

Drew shook his head. He grabbed Jett’s jacket and pressed it against the wounds.

“You’re a good kid.” Jett leaned back against the kitchen island. He sent a text message to Lark as the invisible grip on his shoulders tightened.

“Lawrence is dead. I’m not going to make it back. Give Raphael my apologies, and send Lexine my love.”

“Juneau,” his father said again. “In my office, there is a safe behind my journals. The code is your birthday and the contents are intended for you. I love you, son.”

Jett shuddered, the cold overpowering. “I love you, too. Sorry, but I think I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lexine held her breath, waiting for Raphael to speak.

“There isn’t time to tell the whole story, but I’ve seen it,” she insisted. “He’ll die on that godforsaken mosaic floor.”

Raphael shut his eyes.

“Please.”

Wren came over. He whispered, “We can’t.”

“But—”

“I don’t wish Jett ill, at all, but his job…”

Lexine’s heart hammered. Yes, his job was to die for them if need be, not the other way around, and he was on a mission meant to protect them. But that didn’t mean they shouldn’t do every possible thing to keep that from happening. Right? She covered her mouth with her hand.

Raphael opened his eyes, his silver gaze sharp. “He’s not just our Guardian. He’s a friend.”

“I know,” Wren said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s dark. It’s a rural area. It’s a manageable risk.”

“All right,” Wren said. “I’ll go. I’m faster.”

“Absolutely not. You’ll stay here with your mate and your children.”

“Father—”

Raphael flicked his wings. “I can fly damned fast when I need to.”

“That’s not what I’m really worried about.”

“This is dangerous.” Raphael nodded. “But we must help, and I’ll be the one go.”

Wren’s feathers stood on end, but he nodded. “Be damned careful.”

“Thank you,” Lexine said.

Raphael headed for the flight deck.

“What about Lark?” Wren brushed his wing against Raphael’s.

“No time to argue something he’ll never agree to. I’ll apologize to him later.”

Lexine shivered and clasped her shaking hands together. “I can’t just wait. I’m going to get a car and—”

Raphael turned and cocked his head. “You’re coming with me.”

“Here.” Ginger held out a jacket. “This will fit you. You’ll need it.”

“You’re serious?”

Raphael returned and took her arm. “I can only carry so much weight. I won’t be able to fly Jett back. He’ll be unconscious from being healed. You’ll need to drive him, and it’s better if we don’t have to wait for you to get there by car. I won’t drop you. I promise.”

“I’m not worried about that.” How many times had she wished for a chance to be carried by one of the archangels? She could have asked, but she didn’t, it seemed too personal a thing when Wren carried Ginger. Now she had the chance, but not for enjoyment—to save the life of the male she loved. “Yes, I’ll come.”

“Good luck.” Ginger hugged her.

Raphael led her outside as she pulled on the jacket and secured the hood over her head.

Lexine clung to Raphael as he spread his wings, massive and stark white under the exterior lights. Her stomach flipped and crawled up her throat as he dove off, dropping ever so slightly at first, then rising. Fast. Faster. The beat of his wings filled her ears, the noise as loud as the air roaring over them.

Darkness surrounded them. How high were they? Specks of light dotted the ground, but blackness dominated the rural, nighttime landscape. She shook so hard her teeth rattled, nothing to do with the cold. She shouted over the noise. “Raphael, how can you tell where we’re going?”

“I can sense what direction I’m headed in, and how high I am. Other than that, I’m blind in the dark.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get us there. I saw the house’s location on the computer. Easy to find. You’ll see.”

She closed her eyes, forcing out of her mind the fact that they careened high over the earth in the middle of the night and focused on Jett. His honey-and-tea scent. His dark crimson eyes. The sexy way his voice changed when there was no one else to overhear them.

“We’re nearly over Morgan,” Raphael said after a short while. “Those lights must be it. See the moon reflected below? That’s Lake Seymour.”

“Already?”

“We’re going that fast.”

She didn’t doubt it. The force of the air hurt her skin even through the ankle-length jacket.

“I’m bringing us lower,” he said. “The house is on the northern end of the lake, on the shore.”

The lurch of the sudden descent nearly made Lexine heave.

Raphael banked. “I see lights. That’s the place, where the shore juts out into the lake.”

The wind prevented her from looking over her shoulder, but a gut feeling told her Jett was near. “Yes!”

Raphael reversed the pattern of his wing beats, slowing them as a gravel driveway rose up to meet them. He landed and set her on her feet. Trees shielded them on either side, the lake spread out behind the house, a back road with no traffic crossed in front. No visible neighbors. Thank goodness for small towns.

Lights shone from every window of the farmhouse. Nothing moved. No sound.

Struck with dread, she ran toward the door, Raphael on her heels.

She ignited fire on her skin, ready to block Raphael from any human who posed a threat, and threw open the door. The scent of blood hit her hard.

“Jett!” She froze, facing the kitchen. That horrible floor, a pool of blood. A human missing part of his head from an apparent gunshot wound slumped against the far wall. A little boy knelt by Jett, stanching a leg wound.

Jett, his face so, so pale, glanced up, astonishment and disbelief on his face. “Lex?”

She dropped to her knees as the boy scurried away. Jett’s arms wrapped around her body.

“Lex.”

“You’re going to be all right.”

Déjà vu overtook her as the moment from the dream played out. Jett’s hands slipped from her shoulders and his eyes closed.

“Jett?”

A wing brushed her arm. Raphael knelt in the blood, the liquid staining his flight feathers. He grasped Jett by the shoulder with one hand and covered the bleeding wound on Jett’s leg with his other hand.

Lexine squeezed her eyes shut.

“He’s going to be fine, Lex.”

At the words, she slumped and cried into Jett’s chest.

…

Raphael carried Jett, unconscious from the healing, out to the SUV. When Lexine had calmed, she got in the driver’s seat and headed out.

Instead of taking flight, Raphael went back into the house. He ignored the body in the kitchen—Lawrence deserved no mercy or even a second thought from him—and squeezed down the narrow hall, his wings tight to his body.

Drew sobbed at the side of an unconscious woman on the bed. Raw skin on her wrists and ankles indicated she’d been bound recently.

Another body lay on the floor, dressed in a pastor’s uniform.

He kept his questions to himself. No need to make Drew repeat the gruesome events. Jett would explain, later.

“Andrew, is this your mother?”

Drew nodded, tears dripping off his chin.

“She’s going to be all right. She’s fainted.” Raphael leaned over the frail human woman. His healing talent prickled his skin. “Interesting.”

“What?”

Raphael pressed his palm to the woman’s forehead and released his healing talent. Color returned to her cheeks and her breathing deepened.

Drew’s eyes brightened. “Did you just heal her?”

Raphael shook his head. “I cannot cure her cancer. But yes, I healed some of the damage her body of sustained from her disease and her treatments.” Raphael touched her again, reading her body. “I cannot prevent her death, but I promise you, I have set her disease progression back a few years. When she wakes later on, she’ll feel much better.”

Drew began to cry again, the tears falling around a wide smile. Raphael stroked the child’s hair.

“Be good to your mother, and use the time you have well.”

“Yes, sir.” Drew wiped at his eyes.

“I have to go.” He noted the phone on the nightstand. “Call 911 and stay out of the kitchen. In fact, stay on this side of the bed. Don’t look at the body.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll be okay. I wish you well, Andrew.”

Raphael left the house and perched in the tree, waiting, making sure help arrived for Andrew and his mother. A couple minutes passed. Sirens wailed. Police cruisers and an ambulance arrived.

Drew and his mother would be okay, despite this wretched night. Drew would grow up strong. He had that indomitable spirit. Sneaking into the colony to get help for his mother was just the beginning of a life that would make a real difference in the world.

Raphael spread his wings and flew into the sea of stars overhead, eager to get home.

Chapter Twenty-Four

With the help of two Guardians, Lexine brought Jett to her apartment. After they left, she stripped him of his blood-soaked clothes and sponge bathed him. She arranged his weapons carefully on the couch.

As Raphael had warned her, Jett slept for hours. She lay down next to him on the bed. When he finally stirred, the sun hung high in the sky.

His fingers brushed her hair. “Lex?”

She propped herself up on her elbow and kissed him. Light. Tender.

He lifted the blanket and looked under it. “I’m nude.”

“Yes.”

“I’m healed.”

“Yes.”

“But I lost too much blood to survive the healing fever. How…?”

“Raphael.”

“Raphael went to the lake house?”

“He’s fine. He’s back at home.” She bit her lip. “I think I heard Lark yelling from here, though.”

Jett sat up. The ivory sheet pooled around his waist. “Why did Raphael go after me?”

“Because I asked him to.”

“You what?”

She lifted her chin. “After you left, I went to see Ginger. I saw her computer and the pictures of the lake house. That kitchen floor was in my dream. I saw you die on that floor. I had to do something. I asked for help the only place I could think of.”

He glowered at her. “Lexine.”

She folded her arms and stared right back.

“I love you.”

The tension eased from her body, and she took his face in her hands. “I love you, too.”

He pulled her down to the pillows with him. An arm over her chest and a leg over her thighs, he held her, his eyes closed.

“Lawrence is dead,” he said after a while. “So is the accomplice who kidnapped Bryce.”

She nodded. “I’m not glad for death, but I’m glad we’re all a little safer.”

“Yes.”

“Raphael called a little while ago. He said to tell you Drew will be fine.”

“I’m glad. You’ll never believe who I talked to.”

“Who?”

“My father. While I was bleeding out on the floor, I heard his voice.”

She held him tighter. “What did he say?”

“That he loved me, and that he left something for me in his office.”

“Then we better go see, shouldn’t we? How are you feeling?”

He kissed her lips and worked his way down to her throat. “I feel fine, but we’ll go out later. First, we have a problem. Two problems, actually.”

“Oh?”

“First, I’m nude, but you’re not.” He eased her sweater over her head. He unhooked her bra and flung it across the room. He kissed her stomach and worked her jeans free of her hips, tossing them away, as well. Her panties followed.

“Second.” He knelt between her legs, his hands flat on her belly. “I still want you. I still love you.”

She bit her lower lip.

“Lex, there is a job I have to do, and a strong female I want by my side. I’ll have long hours, grave responsibilities, and my life will be in immediate danger at times. We won’t always be able to protect each other. But, if you’re willing, I want to love you and have you as my mate.”

She sat up and laced her fingers into his hair. “Yes.”

She’d barely gotten the word out when he seized her mouth in a fierce kiss. He ran his tongue over her fangs and sucked her lower lip into his mouth as his hands smoothed over her body. When his mouth followed his hands, he teased her with his fangs and she cried out.

They made love, their union both a relief and an additional torment. He stilled, pinning her beneath his weight. He lifted her left hand and kissed her fingers. The back of her hand. Her palm. Her wrist. He kissed his way up the tender skin to just below the crook of her elbow, pressed down with his fangs, and met her gaze.

She rubbed his nape with her free hand. “Yes, Juneau.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not yet.” He nibbled her skin. “Not until after I’ve told Lark and Raphael we’ll be taking at least a few days to be alone.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “Good plan.”

…

That evening, Jett returned to the office where his father had worked for so many years. He lit the demon fire lantern on the desk. Jett pulled the journals from the shelf and set them carefully on the table. He opened the safe. Inside, a set of gold wings—fascinating in their intricacy for their inch width—rested in a box on a piece of black velvet. A note in his father’s handwriting stated that he’d made them himself, just in case his son took the path of an archangel’s Guardian.

Jett couldn’t sense anything unusual, but he knew his father stood at his side at that moment. “Thank you, Dad. I haven’t earned these yet, but I will. I promise.”

Jett closed the safe and replaced the journals, leaving the wings for safekeeping, and left the office. No rest for Guardian trainees, especially if he wanted to earn the time to properly make Lexine his mate.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Another month of training passed before Jett took Lexine out of the colony in a black SUV fitted with a standard Vermont plate on the back and the “I am Vermont Strong” plate on the front. A trip like this would be next to impossible after he became an official Guardian to Raphael’s family, so as irregular as it was, he insisted on the plan and the colony provided the funds as a mating gift. They packed for a week, including everything they needed to pass off as humans. He’d had plenty of experience with that, after all. They’d only need to mind their fangs.

Niagara Falls, not because it was a popular wedding destination, but to take Lexine to the plethora of wineries in the area. He’d hoped the trip would make her happy, and sure enough, they went all day and most of the night, nonstop, so she could see everything she wanted to see.

Well, almost nonstop. On their second night, after viewing the falls, they returned to their room, bathed together, and curled up in bed.

“You’re sure you don’t want something more fancy?”

“I just want you,” she said.

He cradled her in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers, taking his time, just savoring her presence, her skin, her scent. Kissing his way down her throat and arm, he pinched her skin with his teeth, teasing her. She shivered.

“Jett,” she said. “Please.”

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and lifted her left arm—the traditional choice—to his lips. He kissed the soft skin just below her elbow and pressed his fangs in just hard to break the surface, numbing the spot with venom. Pausing, he let the full weight of what he was doing wash over him. He trembled and his heart flailed, unable to maintain a steady rhythm. “I love you,” he whispered.

He tightened his embrace and bit harder. He targeted muscle, aiming to infuse her body with venom without spilling any more of her blood than necessary—he’d been man enough to get some advice on technique, though the conversation had been uncomfortable as hell. For Lexine, it was worth it. He wanted this done right. Within seconds, pain coursed through his body, an effect of the forming mating bond, which he’d been warned about.

Her body tensed as the same unusual pleasure-pain rocked through her, her fingers fisted in his hair. After she relaxed with a contented sigh, and his own discomfort gave way to pleasant warmth, he withdrew his fangs. He licked her wound and held a white cloth to her skin until the bleeding stopped. All the while, she gazed up at him, her head resting on his shoulder.

She kissed him. “I love you.”

He opened his eyes wide at the sound of her voice in his mind. “I thought they were joking.”

“Someone told you?” She scowled. “I wanted to surprise you.”

He held her face in his hands, parted her lips with his tongue, and kissed her deeply. “We can truly hear each other’s thoughts?”

“Only when we’re touching.”

He held her close and lightly bit her shoulder. “I’ve never been happier than I am right now. Can you “hear” how much?”

“Yes.” She leaned away, tears in her eyes. “Yes, I can.”

As the weight of her joy flooded him—through the mating bond and his empathy talent—he lay down on his back and pulled her over his chest.

They passed the night in bed, even though they didn’t sleep, making love and watching movies, eating popcorn.

“Lexine?”

“Yes?”

“You know why you make me happy, right?”

“Tell me.”

“I could list numerous reasons, of course, ranging from your tenacity to learn to fight with Raphael, to the way you smile in your sleep, but you were the first demon in Sanctuary to trust me and to care what path I took. You gave me the strength to do what I’ve done, Lex. I owe it all to you.”

“No.” She kissed him. “You’ve earned your own success, won your own battles.”

“You saved my life. And I don’t mean in Morgan. I mean the first moment I saw you.”

“Then to be fair, you saved me. Even though there was never a real poacher in my nightmare, I thought the worst of myself. Before I realized the truth of the lover in my dream, you gave me hope. You gave me faith in myself. So we’re even.”

“We’re more than even.” Warmth filled his chest. “We’re mates.”

She kissed his neck. “Yes.”

“And I’m going to make sure it only gets better from here.”

“Tall order.”

“Just wait and see, beauty.”

…

On a crisp November morning, Jett walked through the first snowfall of the season to the garden behind the archangel house, his mouth dry, his legs unsteady from adrenaline. Several inches of heavy, wet snow clung to every surface, every branch and evergreen plant in the garden and forest beyond. Fat flakes drifted through the air and one landed on Jett’s nose, melting on contact.

Beneath the snow-frosted pear trees, Raphael waited with Wren, Ginger, and the twins—the infants bundled in blankets. Opposite them stood Devin, Lark, Vin, and a dozen of Sanctuary’s eldest Guardians. Lexine graced the garden as well, standing between the two groups, dressed in an ankle-length red coat. Her smile could have stilled his heart.

Jett stopped in front of Lex and knelt in the snow, the snowflakes landing and melting on his black uniform. His weapons, all cleaned, sharpened, and polished, clung to his body, their weight and the weight of the ceremony a welcome burden.

Repeating after Lexine—whom Raphael had elected to give the ceremony—Jett took the oath to protect the lives of Raphael’s family with his own, naming them in turn. He meant every word, focusing on the core of his being as he spoke them. He hadn’t just earned this position, he’d gained friends, and he’d do right by them.

For the second time in his life—the first being his recent mating—he’d gained something invaluable: a place to belong.

“You may stand,” Lex said, a smile in her voice and tears on her cheeks. She took a step forward and opened her fisted hand, revealing tiny wings forged from gold—the ones his father had made. He’d finally earned the right to wear them, finally found his place in Sanctuary.

Jett stood and tilted his head. His mate pinned the wings to his collar and threw her arms around him in an embrace so tight, his spine popped.

“Ow,” he whispered in her ear.

I love you.

I love you, too. He gave her a light kiss before he released her, a quick brush of lips that warmed his entire body and his soul.

Lexine backed away and all the demons in attendance approached one at a time, shaking his hand before departing in silence. The second to last Guardian, Devin, whispered threats of creative bodily harm if anything ever happened to his daughter. He smiled and moved on, letting Lark step forward.

“It’s been a honor kicking your ass,” he said.

The archangels approached last and they each thanked him for his commitment, formal words accompanied by brushed from their wings. Ginger gave him a kiss on the cheek. With the ceremony over, Jett turned to go and take up watch in the woods.

“Join us for dinner and wine tonight, both of you,” Raphael said. “We need to do some real celebrating.”

“We will.”

Jett pulled Lex close and escorted her to the house behind the archangels, as happy as he’d ever been and looking forward to much more of their new life.

Did you love Jett? Check out the rest of Sarah Gilman’s Return to Sanctuary series, beginning with Wren’s story in Out in Blue!

Acknowledgments

As always, I must thank all the editors at Entangled Publishing, especially Kaleen Harding, Liz Pelletier, Heather Howland, and Marie Loggia-Kee, who all contributed to making this book possible.

About the Author

Sarah Gilman writes paranormal romance. Her fascination with all things winged extends back to childhood, when images of the ancient Egyptian goddess Isis captured her imagination and never let go. She lives in Vermont with her supportive husband and two spoiled cats.

www.sarahgilmanbooks.com

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Discover the Return to Sanctuary novels…

Out in Blue

In a violent world where fallen archangels are hunted for their valuable plumage, Wren knows that the human woman who saved him from a poacher attack will die if she stays with him. But Ginger lingers, and when an unusual talent of hers reveals the location of Wren’s father, Wren’s isolated world implodes. He risks everything to rescue his father, confront the demon who stalks his and Ginger’s every step, and claim his eternity with the most courageous woman he’s ever known.…

Wings of Redemption

Other books by Sarah Gilman

Ashes

Ghosts of the Falls