“Not until you promise me you’ll fix her.”
Tynan had no idea what kind of control a promise like that would hold over him, so he refused. “You’re only standing in the way of what you want most. Please, step aside.”
“Is there a problem?” boomed a deep voice from behind Tynan.
Madoc.
Tynan’s neck tensed involuntarily. Madoc had broken it only days earlier, and it was going to take a lot longer than that for Tynan to forget.
He spun around to face the warrior. “Nika has decided I should take her blood rather than go out hunting for it. I was explaining to her that you would not approve.”
“The leech is right,” said Madoc. “He’s not getting another fucking drop of your blood, Nika.”
Nika glared at Tynan. “He’s leaving. Tori is still sick and he’s going to walk away. We can’t let him do that.”
Madoc picked up her jacket and draped it over her slender shoulders. With a touch so gentle that Tynan wasn’t even sure Madoc was capable of it, he lifted Nika’s chin. “He’s been busting his ass, love. I know you’re worried. We all are, but what’s wrong with Tori is going to take time to fix.”
Nika’s eyes flooded with tears. “She’s in pain. I have to find a way to make it stop.”
Madoc pulled her against his body, wrapping his thick arms around her. He held her head against his shoulder, smoothing her hair with comforting strokes.
He looked at Tynan over Nika’s head. “Is there anything else you can do?”
“The only thing left is to put her to sleep while we work on driving the Synestryn blood from her system. I offered her the option and she refused.”
“We’ll talk to her about it. If she agrees, will you do it?”
“As soon as I return,” said Tynan. “But I need to go now.”
“Go,” said Madoc. “We’ll talk to Tori.”
“If anything happens while I’m away, Alexander is here at Dabyr tonight. I’ll try to be back before sunrise.”
“We’re not going to let anything happen,” said Madoc, more to Nika than to Tynan. “We’ll take good care of Tori while you’re gone.”
After dinner, Hacksaw saw the blond woman dart through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. She had her coat on like she was leaving.
He couldn’t let her get away. The master would not be pleased if he failed to bring the woman back. Alive. He had to remind himself of that part so he didn’t accidentally mess up and kill her, no matter how much easier it would be.
He didn’t dare follow her out the back way for fear of being noticed. Instead he hurried through the growing crowd of stinking men, out the front, and ran around the side of the building to intercept her.
She moved between buildings fast, huddled against the cold. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, which meant he had to be cautious of weapons. She didn’t look to be the sort to shoot him, but anything was possible.
The switchblade in his pocket grew cold, reminding him that it was there, waiting to be used. It had been a long time since he’d killed a woman, but he could still remember how easily the knife slid into her soft skin. And that look of fear on her face had been better than any drug he’d ever used.
It wasn’t as good as a word of praise from the master, but it was close.
The woman turned a corner, disappearing from sight. Hacksaw hurried to catch up to her, unwilling to lose sight of her for even a minute.
She was behind buildings now—out of sight of the street and passing cars. It wasn’t dark yet, but that was too bad. He’d have to risk attacking her in what was left of the daylight. No one was out in this cold, anyway. All he had to do was knock her out, tie her up, and drive his car back here and dump her in it. He’d be back to the master in time for him to wake and see the gift Hacksaw had brought him.
The rest of the night he’d spend basking in the master’s praise.
A shiver of anticipation raced down his spine. He couldn’t make that happen fast enough. He had to act. Now. Get the woman and get his reward.
He was only a few yards behind her now. As quietly as he could, he broke into a run.
She glanced over her shoulder. Saw him. Her eyes widened with fear and she froze for a second before she sprinted away.
Hacksaw followed at a dead run.
Cold air sawed in and out of his lungs, but did nothing to cool his blood. He loved the chase. He was going to love catching her even more.
She was fast, but he was gaining on her. He’d have her before she cleared the next corner.
Panic pounded through Hope’s blood. The man chasing her was a killer. She could see it in the bleak, empty spots in his aura. Black surrounded them, like the rotting edge of a wound. He looked human, and maybe he was, but not completely. He’d been touched by something dark and malevolent. Infected.
She sprinted, sucking in huge gulps of frigid air. Her feet slipped on the ice. She cursed herself for not calling Nicholas to come with her. It was an hour until dark. She thought she’d be safe until the sun went down.
The man chasing her proved her wrong.
Hope fumbled for her cell phone. Nicholas’s number was programmed on speed dial as he’d insisted. Her gloves made the phone slippery, but she didn’t dare take the time to strip them off.
She tried to punch Nicholas’s number, but her gloves got in the way and she pressed too many buttons.
The phone bobbed in her vision and she couldn’t focus on it, so she went by the feel of the buttons, hoping she remembered right.
Before she could hit send, something hard slammed into her from behind. The phone spun out of her grasp. She landed hard on the icy pavement, hitting her chin. Her teeth snapped together. Her head spun and confusion swamped her.
She couldn’t figure out what she was doing on the ground, especially in this cold.
Hope was flipped over. A man hovered over her. His teeth were locked together in a snarl. His bottom lip was scarred, as if someone had sliced it open and it had healed crookedly. A scraggly beard hid his jaw and a feral light burned in his gaze.
“Got you,” he growled at her. “The master will be pleased.”
Hope didn’t know who or what he was talking about. She’d never seen this man before. She would have remembered his rotting aura if she had.
Blood seeped from her chin, cooling as it ran along her neck. She tried to say something that would stop him, but her mouth seemed to be frozen shut. Whether from the fall or from fear she wasn’t sure, but nothing was working right. She couldn’t figure out how to fix it.
The man balled up his fist. Hope realized he was going to hit her and she tried to fight him. She shoved with her arms and legs, but not fast enough. That beefy fist flew toward her. The impact registered for a split second and then everything went away.
Logan was jarred from a deep sleep. Something was wrong.
His hand jerked to the dagger sitting next to him as he prepared to defend himself. He surveyed the back of his van, looking for signs of an intruder, but there were none. He was parked inside a locked, rented storage unit, and there were no signs that sunlight had breached his hiding place.
He felt a flash of fear, followed by a sharp pain. Instantly, he knew the sensations weren’t his, but belonged to someone close to him. Someone with whom he’d shared blood.
Tynan? Alexander?
Logan closed his eyes and concentrated. He sought out the source of that fear, hoping to feel it again now that he was alert enough to study it.
He felt nothing.
Perhaps it was a dream? That seemed unlikely. He rarely dreamed, though he had yesterday. He’d dreamed of Hope, of feeling her body tensing beneath his as she climaxed. He’d dreamed of her pleasure, of the soft sounds she made and the way she’d dug her fingernails into his back. He’d dreamed of her taking his blood, of accepting him and claiming him for her own.
Just the memory of that dream was enough to make him painfully hard. He didn’t have time to be distracted by lust. He had to determine what had woken him.
He closed his eyes, pulling his power around him. He let some of it fly out in a wave, like a ripple on a pond.
The magical disturbance bounced some of that energy back, and with it came the scent of Hope’s fear.
She was being attacked.
Rage detonated deep inside him, giving his weak body strength. The sun was still up, but he refused to let that stop him. Hope needed him. He had to go to her.
He shoved his dagger into his coat pocket and briefly considered the folly of his actions. If even a single ray of sunlight touched his skin, he’d summon one of the Solarc’s Wardens—the powerful, deadly warriors that enforced the Solarc’s curse upon the Sanguinar. Not only would the Warden cut Logan down for allowing the sun to touch his skin, but it would take with it anyone else in sight. The Wardens had no emotion. They felt nothing. They were programmed to kill, and would continue to do so until they were destroyed.
He had to be careful. He had to be sure that did not happen.
Logan found his protective clothing. He covered every inch of his skin, donning a mask and gloves, then sped out of the storage facility where he’d parked his van to sleep away the daylight.
The sun glared at him, as if detesting his presence. It was low on the horizon, but even so, Logan felt it draining his strength.
He concentrated on the part of Hope that was inside him, allowing it to lead him toward her. He couldn’t tell how far away she was, but what he did know was she was alive and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she stayed that way.
The van’s engine screamed as he sped through the streets. He’d stayed near Hope’s home, unable to make himself go too far away from her. It was a silly notion to want to sleep near her, but one he’d been unwilling to resist.
Her pull on him intensified, telling him he was getting close. He took a turn too fast, his van lurching over the curb as it hit. A horn behind him blared at his mistake. Not that he cared.
He sped down the side street only blocks from the shelter. This part of town was run-down, having been mostly abandoned for the brighter, cleaner parts of town.
Another hard turn brought him to a private drive that had once been delivery access for several of the surrounding buildings. Now it was a dumping ground for old couches and rusted appliances. A toppled water heater barred his path, forcing him to skid to a stop.
He rushed out of the van, following the delicate connection he had to Hope through her blood.
When he rounded the corner and saw a man loading her limp body into the trunk of a car, he realized he hadn’t considered what he’d do once he found her.
Rage gathered like a storm inside him. He felt it crackle along his skin. Even with the sun weakening him, feral power roared through him.
How dare someone hurt Hope? How dare they touch her, dumping her body in a trunk like so much dirty laundry?
He was silent as he approached. The car was running. The man had accessed this area via another street, giving him the ability to escape by car if Logan didn’t stop him.
Logan was definitely going to stop him.
He gathered up some of his power, waiting for that bastard’s hands to be off of Logan’s woman. As soon as he laid her body down and stood straight, Logan struck.
