"Shit." Rhage flipped into action, hefting Phury up off the pavement and hustling behind the Dumpster.

Which brought them right next to the desecrated lesser.

"What the fuck?" Rhage breathed while a Lexus with chromed-out twenty-fours eased by them, rap thumping.

When it had passed, Rhage's brilliant teal eyes narrowed. "Did you do that?"

"Bad… fight…'s'all," Phury whispered. "Get me home."

As he closed his eye, he realized he'd learned something tonight. Pain was good, and if garnered under the right circumstances, it was less shameful than heroin. Easier to get, too, as it could be a legitimate by-product of his job.

How perfect.

As Jane sat in the chair across from her patient's bed, her head was down and her eyes were closed. She couldn't stop thinking about what she had done to him… and what he had done as a result. She saw him just as he climaxed, his head kicked back, his fangs gleaming, his erection jerking in her grip, while his breath went in on a gasp and came out on a groan.

She shifted around, feeling hot. And not because the radiator had kicked on.

God, she couldn't stop herself from replaying the scene over and over again, and it got so bad, she had to part her mouth for breath. At one point during the continuous loop she felt a brief sting in her head, like her neck had settled into a bad position, but then she dozed off.

Naturally, her subconscious took over where memory left off.

The dream started when something touched her shoulder, something warm and heavy. She was eased by the feel of it, by the way it slowly went down her arm and over her wrist and to her hand. Her fingers were gathered in a grip and squeezed, then splayed out for a kiss placed on the center of her palm. She felt the soft lips, warm breath, and the velvet brush of… a goatee.

There was a pause, as if permission had been asked.

She knew exactly who she was dreaming about. And she knew exactly what was going to happen in the fantasy if she allowed things to continue.

"Yes," she whispered in her sleep.

Her patient's hands went to her calves and eased her legs off the chair, then something broad and warm moved in, going between her thighs, splaying them wide. His hips and… oh, God, she felt his erection at her core, the rigid length pressing in through the soft pants she had on. The collar of her shirt was dragged aside and his mouth found her neck, his lips latching onto her skin and sucking while his arousal started on a rhythmic push and retreat. A hand found her breast then skirted down to her stomach. Down to her hip. Down farther, replacing the erection.

As Jane cried out and arched, two sharp points ran up the column of her neck to the base of her jaw. Fangs.

Fear flooded her veins. And so did a blast of high-octane sex.

Before she could sort out the two extremes, his mouth left her neck and found her breast through the shirt. As he sucked at her he went after her core, rubbing what was ready for him, hungry for him. She opened her mouth to pant, and something was pushed into it… a thumb. She latched on desperately, nursing him while she imagined what else of his could be between her lips.

He was the master of all of it, the driver, the one operating the machinery. He knew exactly what he was doing to her as his fingers used the soft sweats and her wet panties to push her right up to the cliff.

A voice in her head-his-said, "Come for me, Jane-"

From out of nowhere brilliant light hit her face, and she sprang upright, throwing her arms out to shove the patient away.

Except he wasn't anywhere near her. He was in bed. Asleep.

And as for the light, it came from the hall. Red Sox had opened the bedroom door.

"Sorry to wake you guys," he said. "We have a situation."

As the patient sat up, he glanced at Jane. The moment their eyes met, she flushed and looked away.

"Who?" the patient asked.

"Phury." Red Sox nodded over to the chair. "We need a doctor. Like, ASAP."

Jane cleared her throat. "Why are you looking at-"

"We need you."

Her first thought was, the hell she was getting in deeper with them. But then the physician in her spoke up. "What's going on?"

"Real uglysitch. Run-in with a baseball bat. Can you come with me?"

Her patient's voice got there first, the dead-on growl drawing one hell of a line in the sane: "If she goes anywhere, I'm coming, too. And how bad is it?"

"He got clocked in the face. Bad. Refuses to go to Havers. Said Bella's there about the young, and he doesn't want to upset her by showing up messy."

"Goddamn brother just has to be a hero." V looked at Jane. "Will you help us?"

After a moment, she rubbed her face. Goddamn it. "Yeah. I will."

As John lowered the muzzle of the Glock he'd been given, he stared down the range at a target fifty feet away. Slipping the safety back into place, he was utterly speechless.

"Jesus," Blay said.

In total disbelief, John hit a yellow button to his left and the eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheet of paper whizzed up to him like a dog being called home. In the center, clustered like a daisy, were six perfect shots. Holy shit. After having sucked at everything he'd been taught so far when it came to fighting, he finally excelled at something.

Well, didn't this make him forget about his headache.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and Wrath's voice was proud. "You did good, son. Real good."

John reached out and undipped the target.

"All right," Wrath said. "That's it for today. Check your weapons, boys."

"Yo, Qhuinn," Blay called out. "You see this?"

Qhuinn gave his gun to one of the doggen and came over. "Whoa. That's some real Dirty Harry shit right there."

John folded up the paper and put it in the back of his jeans. As he returned the weapon to the cart, he tried to figure out how to identify it again so he could use it at the next practice. Ah… although the serial numbers had been filed off, there was a faint mark on the barrel, a scratch. He could totally find his gun again.

"Move out," Wrath said as he propped his huge body against the door. "Bus is waiting."

When John looked up from returning the gun, Lash was standing right behind him, all menace and loom. In a smooth move the guy leaned in and put his Glock down with the muzzle aimed at John's chest. To make the point, he lingered with his forefinger on the trigger for a moment.

Blay and Qhuinn fell in tight, blocking the way. The move in was all done real casual, like they were just randomly hanging around, but the message was clear. With a shrug, Lash lifted his hand free of the Glock and clipped Blay shoulder to shoulder as he headed for the door.

"Asshole," Qhuinn muttered.

The three buds left for the locker room, where they picked up their books and headed out together. Because John was going to use the tunnel to head back to the mansion, they stopped at the door to Tohr's old office.

As the other trainees walked by, Qhuinn kept his voice low. "We have to go out tonight. I can't wait." He grimaced and shifted his stance like there was sandpaper in his pants. "I'm half-batshit for a female, if you know what I mean?"

Blay flushed a little. "I'm… ah, yeah, I could deal with some action. John?"

Pumped from his success on the range, John nodded.

"Good." Blay jacked up his jeans. "We got to hit ZeroSum."

Qhuinn frowned. "How about Screamer's?"

"No, I want ZeroSum."

"Fine. And we can go in my car." Qhuinn glanced over. "John, why don't you get on the bus and go to Blay's?"

Shouldn't I change?

"You can borrow some of his clothes. You have to look good for ZeroSum."

Lash came out of nowhere, like a sucker punch. "So you're going downtown, John? Maybe I'll see you there, buddy."