This was a werewolf containment lair. She knew because she had one.
Her memory came back in a series of slaps against her brain. She’d been running from The Aegis. Looking for Luc. She’d been caught. Shot. And then Luc was there. They’d actually held a conversation, though the details were a little hazy.
She sniffed the air, got a lungful of burning hardwood mingled with the musky scent of warg, and the very male scent of Luc.
Something thumped above her, followed by the creak of a door opening. Groaning, she rolled onto her back, clenching her teeth at the wash of pain through her right side. Luc, wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt, clomped down the stairs with a steaming bowl of what smelled like rich, meaty soup in his hands.
“You’re awake.” His words came out as a grunt.
“Yeah,” she said hoarsely.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes.”
Oh, God, she’d told him. Her memories churned, and so did her stomach. He’d asked if she was going to kill the baby if it was born human, and his voice had been as cold as the draft blowing across her face. Thing was, the baby probably would be born human—not because the father was turned, but because she was. He believed she was varcolac because he’d seen the mark she’d had tattooed on by a warlock who specialized in mystical markings. Thankfully, during their sex-fest in Egypt, Luc hadn’t questioned how a warg could infiltrate The Aegis, but then, he hadn’t asked anything about her. Not even her name.
Luc shoved his shaggy black hair back from his face and kneeled next to her. “I brought you some stew.”
The savory aroma of rabbit filled her nostrils, and though her mouth watered, she didn’t feel like eating. She wanted to go back to sleep, even though pain wracked her and her skin was so sensitive it hurt to lay on the lumpy pallet where she could feel every individual piece of straw. “I’m not very hungry.”
He doubled up the pillow behind her to elevate her head and he put a spoon of stew to her lips. “You need to eat so I can give you some medicine. Don’t worry,” he said, when she opened her mouth to protest, “it won’t hurt the baby.” He took advantage of her open mouth to shove the food inside.
Even though she wasn’t hungry, she moaned at the taste. “That’s good.”
“Isn’t hard to put some meat, water, and potatoes in a pot.” He dipped the spoon in the bowl and caught a large chunk of rabbit. “You’ll eat this entire thing.”
His command rankled, and though she scarcely had the energy, she squirmed into a sit. “I appreciate your saving my life, but you didn’t have to kill the Guardian, and—”
“I haven’t saved it yet.”
A chill washed through her, countering the fever and making her sweat ice. “What are you not telling me?”
“You could still die. Probably will.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”
His expression was devoid of emotion, reminding her of how coldly efficient he’d been while blackmailing her into sex with him. But that icy demeanor had turned into something hot and passionate once the demon war ended and lust had taken him. “I never do.”
She took the bite he offered, more to give herself a chance to think than anything. “What are my options?” Though she tried to keep her voice level, there was a humiliating tremor hanging on to the end of her question.
“We need to get you to Underworld General.”
The demon hospital? The very idea frightened her more than death did. “I don’t know…”
“There’s no choice. I’ve already rigged a sled to the back of my snowmobile. We’ll leave after midnight when it’s fully dark, and hope there are no Guardians waiting to ambush us.” The spoon clanked in the bowl as he fished for another bite. “If we were closer to the full moon, you could shift. Heal your wounds.”
A curious warmth settled on her skin, and she knew that if she could actually shift during a full moon, they’d either tear each other apart or they’d tear up the night with passion. She’d bet on the latter.
The warmth turned into a tingle, and she gasped. Oh, God, how could she have forgotten? “Luc? What day is it?”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because—” She broke off with another gasp. The pain, the tenderness she’d felt… it wasn’t from the wound. Her skin stretched, and her muscles cramped up hard. “Oh, damn.”
Luc’s eyes shot wide. “Kar…” His voice was a low, deadly growl, tainted with just a touch of anxiety. “Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”
“I wish I could,” she whispered.
Snarling, he leaped to his feet and reeled backward. “No.” He shook his head, teeth bared. “You’re not—”
“I am.” Joints began to pop, and muscles ripped off the bone, and she clenched her teeth against the searing agony. “I’m a… Feast warg.”
A Feast warg.
Cursing violently, Luc grabbed one of the wall chains and hooked the manacle around Kar’s ankle as she bucked and writhed. The sounds of her bones snapping, her skin splitting, and her fur erupting filled the small space, and he cursed even louder so she could hear every fucking syllable.
A Feast fucking warg!
Jesus. He took the stairs three at a time and jogged to his bedroom, where he jerked open his bureau drawer and palmed his Beretta. At the back of the sock drawer was a small, hand-carved wooden box, and inside were six silver bullets.
He’d need only one.
Nasty snarls echoed up from below, as well as the sound of claws on the stone. The chains were made to hold him, but she was a different creature. She was stronger, meaner, rabid. Worst of all, a Feast warg’s bite was venomous to other wargs. Just a scrape of their teeth would kill a normal werewolf in seconds.
Feast wargs were the monsters in garden-variety werewolves’ closets.
Because of that, both varcolac and pricolici trained special teams of operators to search out Feast wargs during the nights of the new moon, after they’d turned, because they were impossible to detect while in human form. As a result of the merciless execution teams, they’d been hunted nearly to extinction, their bodies just as vulnerable to a silver bullet as any other werewolf. They were so rare, in fact, that Luc had never come across one—that he knew of.
Until now.
Oh, he’d sensed the werewolf in her, but she’d hidden her “special” secret well.
Dammit! Luc’s steps were heavy as he exited his bedroom. Outside, snow roared out of the darkness to slap the window, and the wind howled as though trying to get his attention. Beneath the floorboards, Kar’s howls got what the wind didn’t, and he tightened his grip on the pistol.
She’s pregnant.
Fuck. Didn’t matter. She was a killer.
So are you.
Ignoring his internal voice—what some might call a conscience, but his had taken leave a long time ago—he lifted the hatch. Kar’s snarls grew louder and more violent. He moved carefully down the stairs, weapon at his thigh, finger poised over the trigger guard.
She was in the corner, her red fur gleaming in the light from the fire. She was huge, the largest female he’d ever seen, and as she went up on two sturdy legs, she towered over him. Rarely did he get to see a fully transitioned warg through human eyes, and even when he did, he had little time to admire it since he was always caught up in his own transition.
But now… now he could appreciate Kar’s powerful form, her muscular build and sleek fur. Her massive head hung low, her sharp, intelligent gaze tracking him as he eased to the side, seeking the best angle to get a clean shot. He might be a brutal asshole, but he didn’t want her to suffer.
Without warning, she lunged.
In a single, smooth motion, he swung the pistol up and targeted her broad chest. She drew short in a clank of chains and went down on all fours with a snort. He swore confusion swirled in her blue eyes, turning them murky. Why? She should be furious, trying to rip him limb from limb.
A low, keening whim
per came from deep in her chest. As a paramedic, he was used to pained noises from his patients. For the most part, he’d hardened himself, had erected a force field that bounced suffering right off it and kept him suitably neutral. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Hard to tell anymore.
But the sadness in Kar’s mewling cry somehow penetrated his numbness, and as she backed up, he frowned. Then let out a curse on a long exhale.
She’s pregnant. Shit. He had no idea if pregnancy made females more docile, and somehow he doubted it, but one thing was clear: she wasn’t trying to antagonize him. What was her game? Had she come to Canada to kill him but missed her chance when he chained her before she could?
Not wanting to put her down until he got the truth, he lowered the weapon. “You,” he muttered, “are really fucking lucky that I’m in a good mood.”
Twelve
By the time Con and Sin made it to the safe house, it was fully dark, and nothing was chasing them too closely, though they’d seen a pair of raptor horrors flying overhead, their twelve-foot, leathery wings skimming the treetops as they searched for Sin. Con hated the fucked-up creatures that had given rise to the Mothman legend; they were hard to kill and always reeked of rotting flesh. Probably because they liked to wear the skins of their victims.
Sin was still engaged in iceman assassin mode, but every once in a while, her gaze would grow haunted, and her “don’t fuck with me” mask would slip. The slaughter of a dozen innocent wargs had shaken her, and Con wondered how often that happened.
He tried not to think about it as he studied the two-story log cabin that nestled into the banks of a mountain lake. “Doesn’t look like Rivesta is home.” Then again, the half-breed Nightlash sorceress rarely was. She had a dozen homes, spread out all over the world and Sheoul, and she preferred the warmer climates. For June, it was strangely cold.
“How do you know her?”
“Family friend,” he replied.
Sin raised a black eyebrow. “Intimate family friend?”
“Once.” Rivesta wasn’t your average Nightlash. She’d inherited their streak of cruelty, but her human side tempered it and made her fragile enough to know who she should and shouldn’t fuck with.
Which meant that sleeping with her wasn’t nearly as dangerous as bedding a purebred Nightlash.
He found one of Rivesta’s charms hanging from the bough of a fir tree. He gestured to Sin. “Give me your hand.”
Sin did so, without argument, which told him more about her mental state than anything, and his gut knotted. Not long ago, he’d have been glad for her silence and her cooperation. Now he wanted the feisty little demon back.
Cursing to himself, he gripped her wrist. His pulse raced as he lifted her hand to his mouth and took her finger between his lips. Her dark eyes flared as he pierced the pad with his fang. Her blood hit his tongue, and he nearly groaned. Quickly, before he lost himself to lust, he opened up his own finger and touched them both to the muslin bag above their heads. Their blood seeped into the charm, and there was a pop, a flash, and they had five seconds to cross the invisible threshold.
They darted onto the front porch, and a pop behind them let him know that the barrier was once again closed.
Cautiously, he pushed open the door. Rivesta’s spell worked against supernatural creatures, but not humans, which meant hunters or burglars or squatters could have broken in. “I’ll clear the upstairs if you do the down,” he said, and Sin slipped away like a phantom.
Damn, she was amazing, and he found himself staring after her, his heart racing more than it should.
Calling himself all kinds of stupid, and a couple extra types of moron, he willed his pulse to throttle down and mounted the spiral staircase. He cleared the bedroom and bathroom and met Sin downstairs, where she was standing in the center of the great room, gazing into the cold fireplace and hugging herself as though chilled.
On the floor were the smashed remains of her cell phone. “Battery’s dead. Case was cracked.”
“So you punished it,” he said wryly, but the dead battery was not good news. They now had no way to get help.
“Hey.” He reached for her, and, as usual, she stepped away, and he let his arm drop. “We’ll be fine. Nothing is getting past Rivesta’s barrier.” At least, not until the assassins after her realized they could send in humans. “Why don’t you get some rest, and I’ll come up with a plan to get us out of here.”
“Sleep is for the weak, and you can stop treating me like I’m a child.” She wheeled away and produced a dagger from out of nowhere, as far as he could tell. “I’m going outside to patrol the area.”
“Sin,” he said wearily. “Stop. You said you’re drained. You need to rest.”
She stopped, but she was facing the door. At some point, she’d tied her hair up in a messy knot so the ends were dangling over a spiky, tribal tattoo on the back of her neck, and he suddenly wanted to free those wild tresses and bury his face in them. In her. “I need to do something.”
“Going outside and getting yourself killed isn’t that something.”
She rounded on him, all spitfire and hell on legs, and yeah, be careful what you wish for. “Did you see those people, Con?” She gestured to the window and the wilderness outside. “Are you forgetting that butchered child? Who cares about me? Who gives a crap if I live or die? It’s those people who matter!”
“Dammit, Sin. Yes, they matter. But so do you. People care.” She snorted, and he grabbed her, used every ounce of restraint he had not to shake her. “Your brothers care—”
“They want to care, but they don’t. How can they?” She batted his hands away and stepped back. “All I’ve done is cause them trouble. Okay, there’s Lore. He might give a shit, but he’s mated now and he doesn’t need me.”
“Trust me,” Con said. “They do care, and they do need you.”
Doubt burned in her eyes, but abruptly, the light flickered out, and he knew she was thinking about the warg child again. “Doesn’t matter.” She dug the map out of her pocket. “Let’s go to Germany. There was an outbreak near Berlin.”
“We can’t just waltz out the front door. We need a plan. Rivesta has hidden exits. We’ll find them and come up with a way to get us out of here. Just take a breather first. It’s best if we can wait for first light.” Too many demons could see better at night than in the day, and the time when they were most blinded was as the sun was just breaking over the horizon.
She glared at him, one finger caressing the hilt of her blade, and he wondered if she was considering stabbing him with it. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, she made the blade and map disappear, and the anger drained from her expression. She was the most mercurial female he’d ever known.
“I need a minute,” she said crisply. “Alone.”
He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll raid the kitchen and see what we’ve got. Stay in the house.” When she stiffened at his command, he added, “I mean it, Sin. If you try to leave, I will give you that spanking I talked about at the hospital.”
The light of battle sparked in her eyes, triggering a primitive response inside him, one that demanded her capitulation… beneath him. He should never have threatened a spanking, because now his hand tingled with anticipation and his cock hardened and his entire body primed for sex.
“I’d like to see you try.” Sin’s husky voice shot straight to his groin, and so had all his blood, because his brain was flipping through a lot of spanking scenarios now.
“I don’t try, Sin. I do. Remember that.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, as she did a crisp about-face and strode out of the kitchen. He watched her swaying retreat, which did nothing to cool the heat in his veins.
Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he turned away and started pawing through the cupboards, which were crammed with canned and boxed goods. The freezer was nearly as packed, but mostly with unidentifiable raw meat. Grimacing, he closed the door. He’d eaten some questionable things in his life, but y
ou never knew what demons considered to be food.
The fridge contained mostly bottles of water, soda, and beer. Con grabbed two Cokes and went back into the living room, where Sin was sitting on the couch.
The scent of blood was thick in the air.
Her dermoire was writhing, and a thin laceration in the perfect shape of a Z split a circular symbol at her shoulder in half. Blood beaded along the seam, but it was the six-inch gash just below in her biceps that had his attention.
He dropped the sodas on the massive dining room table and crossed to her. “What did you do?”
“Leave me alone.”
Ignoring her, he grabbed her arm and applied pressure. “You’ve got to stop this, Sin. Where’s the knife?” When she didn’t say anything, he barked, “Where’s the fucking knife?”
“There isn’t one!” she shouted, jerking away from him. The laceration grew another inch and widened more, as though it were being cut from the inside. Holy shit.
Before she could stop him, he swiped his tongue along the wound, and instantly, it sealed.
“You asshole!” Sin shoved to her feet, looked at her arm, and just beneath where the cut had been, another started, growing quickly from a tiny quarter-inch line to a good two inches in length in a matter of seconds.
“What are you doing?” Con grabbed for her, but she sidestepped like a dancer.
“I said, leave me alone.”
Idle down. Just back off. The taste of her was still on his tongue, heightening every one of his senses and emotions, which included anger, and she didn’t need him lashing out. Her stubborn ass would clam up tighter than, well, a clam. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
She looked up at the thick log rafters for a long time before saying softly, “It’s my guilt.”
“Your what?”
“It’s how most of my guilt comes out.” She dropped her gaze back to him. “I’ve trained myself not to feel it. Guilt, sorrow, regret. But they need to be released, so they present as pain.”