“Indeed. Who knew the bastards could cook.”

Assail made his way slowly toward the kitchen, attempting to make it seem as if he always sauntered thus.

In the galley proper, it was obvious that Ehric and Evale had done their utmost to make their guest feel welcome: setting the table—albeit cockeyed and with the forks on the wrong side of the plates; cooking many things—at which they fared far better; brewing coffee—no, wait, that was instant, but still seemed very viable, going by its aroma.

“Sit,” Ehric said unto Markcus after introductions were made. “We shall serve you—no, no argument, sit.”

Markcus shuffled over, groaning with relief as he took his scant weight off his scrawny legs. As he pushed his long hair back, his face was revealed, the anomaly that had led to him having no beard growth meaning that his cheeks and his jaw, his chin and his throat, were availed to the cousins’ curious eyes.

Indeed, Assail thought to himself, the male was rather something to behold.

“I shall prepare you your Last Meal then,” Markcus said.

“We’ll see about that, mate,” Ehric returned as he put a heaping load of food before their guest.

Out of habit, Assail reached into his suit jacket, grasping his vial—but before he retrieved it, he stopped and glanced at the clock on the microwave. Then he confirmed said time on the stove and upon his Piaget watch.

“Join us, then, cousin,” Ehric said as he and Evale plated themselves and sat down.

Evale picked up his fork and poked it in the direction of Markcus’s plate. “Dug in, yeah?”

“That’s ‘dig’ in,” Assail corrected absently.

“Are you not eating, cousin?” Ehric inquired.

Assail turned toward the sink. With steps that were as halting as Markcus’s had been, he went over, opened the top of the vial, and poured the cocaine out into the drain.

“Downstairs,” he said in a rough voice as he ran a rush of water from the tap. “You know where my blocks are kept.”

Of Coke, that was.

“Aye,” Ehric whispered. “We do.”

“You will get them out of the house.” As his cousins went to jump up, he motioned them to return to their seats. “After your meal is fine. I need you to stay and make him eat. Then take him down to the spare suite downstairs with you all.”

“I do not require luxury,” Markcus said. “Merely a place to lay my head during the day.”

“You have more than earned the respite, my dear male.”

There was a knocking on the door, and Assail glanced over at the threesome. “You will find that I shall be, how shall I put it, indisposed elsewhere for a number of evenings. I know not how long. Take care of him, will you. I shall be most displeased if Markcus is not fatter and steadier upon my return.”

As he lifted his hands, he noted the trembling in them.

This was going to—if he might use a vernacular term—suck ass.

Going to the back door, he opened it wide and felt an absurd urge to bow. Which he promptly followed through on.

In response, Dr. Manello indicated the black Mercedes with the blacked-out windows that was running in the car park. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

“How bad is it? You’re shaking.”

“I fear it shall only get much worse.”

The last thing he did before he left his glass house was glance back at Markcus. The male was eating slowly, his bony, skeletal hands holding the sterling silverware he was using awkwardly, as if he had not put utensils to use in a very long time.

It was going to be a long journey back for him.

But if, after all he had been through, he had the courage to grab for the ring of life . . . then Assail could as well.

Assail?

In his mind, he heard Marisol’s voice on his cell as he stood within the ring of fire he had created. Detoxing was going to be rather like that blaze, he feared.

“Assail?”

“Indeed,” he said to the good doctor. “Let us go.”

SEVENTY

As soon as the brilliant light blinded her attacker, causing him to loosen his grip, Mary broke out of the boy’s hold and elbowed him in the gut.

And while he bent over and dropped his knife, she ran full-tilt for the GTO.

“Get her out of here!” Rhage said. “Fast!”

Those were the last words he spoke.

The beast was already coming out of him as she raced to get behind the wheel, his huge body falling to his knees, his head bowing as he braced his strength against the pavement as if he were trying to give her time to hit the gas before the dragon emerged.

Skidding to a halt by the driver’s door, Mary ripped the thing open just as Bitty scrambled over to the passenger seat.

“Rhage!” the girl screamed. “Rhage . . . ! What’s happening, what’s wrong!”

Rhage somehow had the presence of mind to reach up and shut his door, and Mary didn’t waste a second. “Seat belt! Put your seat belt on!”

“We can’t leave him!”

“Seat belt! He’s going to be fine, but we have to go!”

Mary hit the clutch and the gas at the same time, slamming the gearshift into first before releasing her left foot. Tires squealed as all those horses dug for purchase on the asphalt, and she got ready for the momentum to explode them forward.

Meanwhile, back in the asshole zip code, the group of idiots had decided to rush toward the car.

Yeah, like that was going to last.

Cue the slo-mo.

At the very moment the GTO started to scream forward, as Bitty was yelling and Mary was fighting to stay cool, a great roar lit through the night, so close to them that it actually disturbed the traction of the muscle car.

And even though it was just in her peripheral vision, Mary got a totally clear picture of the second Bitty saw the beast emerge from Rhage’s body.

The girl froze, a slack-jawed expression overtaking her previous fear. “What . . . is that?”

“It won’t hurt us, okay?” Mary said.

And WHEEEEEE, they were off like they were shot out of a cannon, careening forward, getting out of Dodge.

Unfortunately, the humans—a.k.a. the bowling pins with the attitudes—were directly in front of the GTO. Which was how Mary’s dream of not getting into car accident number three was sorely thwarted. Wrenching the wheel to the right, she avoided killing one or more of them—a courtesy none of them deserved—but the bad news was that she hit a Dumpster, crashing into the thing, all that forward momentum turning into totally-going-nowhere in a split second.

As the steering wheel punched her in the chest and a Bad News Bears hissing sound came out of the crumpled hood, she wrenched around in a panic to Bitty.

The girl had managed to put her seat belt on before the impact.

Thank you, God—

Another roar cut through the night, and yup, out the back window she saw that the beast was fully present, not just voicing its opinion. And yup, the humans had changed their minds about their little attack, stumbling over themselves to get headed in the opposite direction.

As if they were very clear that, however improbable it was for a dragon to materialize in the back parking lot of a strip mall, they were not about to argue with what seemed to be happening—

Before she could stop Bitty, the girl was out of the car.

“Damn it! Bitty!”

Mary jumped out, too—and cursed a whole lot more: The beast had curled forward on its powerful legs and was going all Jurassic Park, things-are-closer-than-they-appear, crouching into attack position as it blew the cobwebs out of its lungs.

No, no, not lunch. Nope, not going to happen—

“Get back in the car!” Mary barked as she ran into the beast’s path, putting herself between the retreating fidiots and her darkling husband.

“What is that!” Bitty yelled out. “What happened to him!”

“Hey! Hi!” Waving her hands, Mary caught the beast’s attention. “There you are. Hello, way up there.”