“Excellent.” He jammed his feet into his boots, grabbed the papers, and considered whipping up a quick meal. He made a killer southwestern omelet.

Sin came up behind him while he was shuffling through the fridge. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what…” The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

“Get down!” Sin dove at him, took him to the floor in a tangle of limbs as the entire world exploded. A massive boom shattered his ears, and a whoosh of searing flame blasted his skin. Rolling, he covered her body with his, clenching his teeth against the torrent of wood and plaster that rained down on his back. Another explosion sent a shock wave of heat and pressure into them both, and almost as if they’d been picked up by a giant, invisible hand, they were lifted and hurled against the stove. Pain wrenched through his shoulder, but he ignored it as he grasped Sin’s hand and dragged her, on his hands and knees, toward the garage.

“I have an escape tunnel,” he shouted, and then hacked up a freaking lung as black smoke filled his chest.

Somewhere in the house, glass shattered, and the rapid pop of automatic gunfire pierced the roar of flames. Someone was very serious about making sure they were dead.

The garage was already burning, but Con shielded his face from the flames as he made his way to the rig. Coughing, he climbed inside and grabbed a jump bag. He leaped out and caught a glimpse of the blackened vehicle through the billowing smoke. Shade was going to be fucking pissed about the brand-new ambulance. It hadn’t even gone on a dozen runs yet.

Sin was crouching where he’d left her, at the fridge-sized gun safe near the back wall. Quickly, he punched in the security code and spun the wheel to open the door. There were no weapons inside, but the bottom was a concealed hatch, which he tugged open.

“Cool,” Sin said between coughs.

“Hurry.” He nudged her to the opening. “There’s a ladder down.”

He cast one last, longing look at his house burning down around him. He’d liked this place, but he supposed there was no sense in mourning, since he would have had to give it all up to join the clan in Scotland anyway. He just hoped he had time to help with the warg disease situation first.

Flames in the shape of a giant hand shot out of the wall, and Con reared back as a piercing, chilling shriek froze the marrow in his bones. “What the fuck is that?”

“Not good, whatever it is!” Sin yelled. “Come on!”

He started down the tunnel, but as he did, something outside the shattered window caught his eye. He blinked, and it was gone.

“Con? What are you doing?”

He shook his head. “I could have sworn I saw a big dude on a horse. And he was wearing a fucking suit of armor.”

Eight

Sin scaled the ladder, her skin feeling singed and sunburned. At the bottom, darkness closed in on her, becoming complete blackness when Con closed the door to the gun safe and the hatch over the hole. She heard his big feet hit the rungs, and then he bumped into her at the base, smelling of a weird combination of smoke, piney soap, and his own natural, dark scent. It was messed up that she noticed, and even more messed up that it stirred her even though they’d just taken the edge off her need.

But then, she’d always been turned on by danger, and they were in it up to their chins.

She heard some scritching noises, and a flashlight lit the darkness.

“Aren’t you the prepared little dhampire. Handy escape route you have here.”

He gestured down the tunnel with the Maglite. “You never know when you’ll need a quick getaway.”

“You make a lot of quick getaways?” She started moving, her feet barely making a whisper on the soft dirt floor.

“Probably no more than you do,” he said dryly.

“Probably.” She was always finagling her way out of tight scrapes. She took an S-curve well ahead of the circle of light behind her, and her handy-dandy demon night vision finally kicked in to help. “Where does it go?”

“Ends near the Harrowgate.” His voice, magnified by the narrow passage, sounded like it was next to her ear, even though he was a few feet behind.

“The gate will be guarded to prevent our escape.”

“No doubt.”

He said nothing more as they scurried like rats to the end of the tunnel, which was cleverly disguised by a large boulder in a tangle of bushes and trees. The sound of rushing water helped mask the noise of their exit as they belly-crawled to the edge of the thicket. They lay in silence for a few moments, feeling out their surroundings, listening for enemies. Sin sensed the Harrowgate to the south, very close.

Once Con was satisfied that they weren’t being watched, he crept out of the foliage and gestured to the stream that snaked through the forest. “The Harrowgate is just around the bend.”

Sin drew a throwing knife from her boot. “Want one?” she whispered.

“Nah. I’m good with my hands,” he said, and her body heated in enthusiastic agreement. “You can do the long-range shit.”

Using the trees and thorny brush as cover, they moved downriver. Near the narrows, where the rapids crashed with increasing violence, the Harrowgate entrance shimmered between two massive oaks. Nearby, partially concealed by shadows and a leafy hedge, was a blond lion-shifter—one of Sin’s own damned assassins.

“Mother. Fuck.” She started toward him, but Con grabbed her arm.

“Let me.”

“Go to hell. He’s mine.”

Con’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl. “Is he the one who wants you to be his mate?”

He’d heard that? “Nah, Marasco already has six females in his pride. He definitely doesn’t need another. Watch my back.” She shrugged out of Con’s grip and sent the throwing knife into the air. Her aim was deadly and perfect… but her assassins were well trained, and Marasco leaped out of the way as the blade zinged past his ear.

Smiling, the squat male wheeled around, drawing his signature weapon, a paralyzing dart, in his right hand and a pistol in his left. He carried the firearm because he hung out with human gangbangers, but few supernatural creatures actually used them. They couldn’t be fired in Sheoul, but more than that, guns were considered human weapons, and most demons despised them.

Also, most demons were no more affected by a bullet than most humans were by bee stings.

Sin was not one of those demons.

“Marasco,” she cooed, with a bat of lashes. “After all we’ve been through, you still want to kill me?”

His broad nose flared, probably seeking the scent of anyone accompanying her. Hopefully Con had gotten downwind. “Nothing personal, love. Though it’s always a pity when succubi die. They’re too rare as it is.”

Laughing, she eased to the right as he eased to the left so they were circling in the thinned-out area between the stream and the Harrowgate. “I’m the rarest of all. One of a kind. Would be a shame to kill me.”

He glanced at the ring on her finger. “I’m sure the trade-off will be worth it.”

“Not for me. I like breathing.” She maintained eye contact, but kept her peripheral vision on his hands. Wisely, he kept them wide apart and always moving, making it difficult to keep track of both at all times. “Who are you working with? I know you aren’t alone, and you haven’t been an assassin long enough to sense my presence.”

“Does it really matter? The entire den wants you dead.”

He lunged, and the silver tip of a dart glinted in the dappled sunlight. She hit the ground and rolled, slid her Gargantua-bone dagger from its sheath at her waist, and popped to her feet. The crack of gunfire deafened her as the whisper of a bullet brushed her shoulder. She slashed out with the dagger, knocking the pistol to the ground. Marasco snarled, and suddenly, a four-hundred-pound lion was coming at her. She blocked with one arm and buried the dagger in his side with the other, but she went down beneath the beast. Her spine cracked hard on a rock and his giant-ass paws pinned her shoulders.