“A torn T-shirt was found in the alley with his body. It had your scent all over it.”

Oh. Well, that was a little more damning than he wanted. Her words also brought back a flash of someone going for him out of the shadows. Of his shirt being ripped off while he fought them, but he couldn’t remember anything more than that.

Why had they been fighting?

Swallowing hard, Fang clutched the phone in his hand. “What do you think?”

“I… I don’t know. You were really out of control when I was with you last night.”

Killer. She didn’t say the actual word, but then she didn’t have to. Her tone more than implied it and it cut through him that she could doubt him even a little after all they’d gone through together. Why couldn’t one person, just once, have faith in him?

But no. They always thought the worst where he was concerned.

That was okay, he was used to animals and people not having faith in him. Why should she? His own brother had thought him weak and selfish. Why should Aimee be any different? “Where were they murdered?”

“The humans on Exchange Place and Greg in an alley on Royal.”

Fang looked up at the sign he could see from his own alley.

Royal.

“Shit,” he breathed.

“What?”

Fang hung his head as fear went through him. Maybe he’d done it after all. He couldn’t remember not doing it and obviously he’d fought with someone over something potent. And someone other than him had been hemorrhaging badly. Bad enough, blood had been in his mouth and all over his fur.

Just like he’d bitten into someone’s jugular…

Oh, shit, shit, shit. He was guilty. He had to be.

No, you’d never do something like that.

Or would he? With the demon inside him, he was capable of anything, and last night that demon had been out of control. And it had been blood hungry.

But he didn’t want to tell any of that to Aimee. “Nothing. Do you know what time the murders took place?”

“The humans no. Greg died about two A.M.”

Images of an Arcadian panther flashed as he saw himself attacking one. The guy had been human, then panther, then human again as they clashed. “What was Greg?”

“Panthiras Arcadius.”

Double shit.

Maybe her doubt about his innocence wasn’t so misplaced after all. It was beginning to look like he was guilty. “I gotta go.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Fang. Be careful. Please.” That was sincere and it touched him deep.

She might have doubts about his moral fiber, but she still cared about him. “You too.”

He hung up and slid the phone into his pocket. Leaning back against the redbrick wall behind him, he raked his hands through his hair as he tried to sort out what had happened. Nothing was clear. All he could remember were the emotions. The rage. The hunger.

What have I done?

Suddenly, he felt as if someone or something was watching him… looking around, he saw nothing out of place. Either with his eyes or his senses. At least not until a large raven landed on the black wrought-iron door gate catercorner to him. It angled its head as if watching him intently.

Yeah… a bird. A friggin’ bird was putting him on edge.

I am definitely losing my mind. And still the feeling of being watched persisted while there was nothing around him to warrant the sensation. The rising sun had even banished the shadows that had been there when he awoke. No one could be watching him from where he sat. Not without being someplace he could see them too.

Except for the bird.

But for the fact there were no Were-Hunters of that species, he’d think it sentient the way it watched him. Gah, how pathetic am I that a bird is unsettling me?

Then he heard the sound of a loud bike thundering out on the street. It had a hell of an engine and he could hear the quickness of the gears changing as the rider accelerated. Someone knew how to drive. The sound grew louder and louder, until it was almost deafening.

Damn, dude, get a new muffler.

At least that was his thought until it came screaming into the alley in front of him. A gleaming 2000 Honda F6C Valkyrie, it had a throaty sound of pure raw power and a customized paint job of flames painted over the glossy factory black.

The rider wore a solid black Aerostitch-armored suit with a jet-black helmet. The only color on his body came from silver vambraces that ran from wrist to elbow and matching silver panels on his biker boots.

He looked at Fang as he shifted into neutral and the engine went into idle. “You might want to run.”

“I don’t run from shit.”

The man shook his head as he turned the bike off, put it on its stand and swung one long leg over it. “Suit yourself.”

Then Fang heard it…

A sound that had haunted him every minute of his time spent in the Nether Realm. One that had made his blood run cold. It was unmistakable and clear, and it brought out the rage that was boiling inside of him now.

The sound of a Reaper…

No, not one.

Many.

That sick tug of dread filled his stomach. He’d thought those battles were behind him. But it was obvious this newcomer not only knew of them. He was getting ready to fight them. “Who are you?”

“Zeke.” He held his hand out and his motorcycle transformed into a bright oversized sword unlike anything Fang had ever seen before.

The raven flew from the fence. As soon as it reached Zeke’s back, it turned into a woman dressed in a tight leather catsuit, corset, and a long black coat. Her short black hair fell in a sleek bob that framed perfect features and coal-black eyes. Sleek and deadly, she was stunningly beautiful.

She snapped her arms down and as she did so, claws and armor covered her hands.

Zeke looked at her over his shoulder. “She’s Ravenna and this is your last shot to get out while you can.”

Fang shook his head. “I’m in.”

Ravenna raked him with a disbelieving stare. “You a fool, wolf. I’d run if I could.”

Then all hell, literally, broke loose as the Reapers arrived. Out of the brick walls and street below their feet, they came out en masse. At least two dozen, though it was hard to differentiate among them. They fought as a cohesive unit and their typical strategy was to overwhelm their opponent, knock him to the ground, and then rip him to shreds.

Fang manifested a sword, not the one Thorn had given him, but another. “Can I kill these?”

Zeke ran one through, then kicked another back. He swung a wide arc, beheading a third one in a single stroke. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”

Fang caught the first Reaper to reach him and sliced it open. It screamed, collapsing on the ground as another came for his back.

Ravenna caught it from behind. “Don’t shift forms,” she warned before she swung around to confront another.

Fang hadn’t planned on it. As a wolf, he was no match for these. He couldn’t bite into them and it left him with nothing else to do except run.

And this time, he wanted them dead. All the months of being locked in hell with them and of being bitten and clawed came boiling up through his body. He wanted vengeance and he was taking it out on every Reaper he could reach.

He slung his hand out intending to blast a demon, but Ravenna caught his wrist.

“That will only make them stronger. Reapers are special. Hand-to-hand only.”

At least she told him the rules before he made the mistake. Thanks, Thorn, you bastard. Fang kicked the next one back as Zeke stabbed another. Their numbers seemed to double for a few minutes, as if they were calling in reinforcement.

At least until Ravenna made a high-pitched screech. Wanting to howl, Fang hit the deck as pain tore through his head. It was excruciating. But he wasn’t the only one who felt it. The Reapers shrank back, screaming until they finally vanished.