And, even though he’d tried to push her back, Sabine was there. Fighting at his side. Snatching up a gun when it fell from another guard’s hands, and then whirling to fire—because they had more company coming at them from the south.
A quick glance showed Ryder that Wyatt had sent a heavy force outside. He easily counted ten guards—and there, in the middle was Richard Fucking Wyatt himself. “Shoot the prick,” Wyatt snarled at Sabine.
And damn if she didn’t.
Sabine raised her gun. Aimed. Fired.
Richard tried to dodge at the last minute, but the bullet still ripped deep into his chest.
The woman was one very fine shot.
But when she fired, all of the guards lifted their weapons.
Ryder snarled. He grabbed Sabine and turned, cradling her in his arms.
A hail of bullets hit him. Thudding hard into his back. Some even ripped out of his chest as they tunneled all the way through him. He held his body steady, refusing to buckle as the agony burned through him. So many bullets.
Keep her safe. Keep her—
Sabine gasped and her body jerked within his arms.
“Stop! Stop! Dammit, put down your weapons!”
That voice. No way. It couldn’t be . . .
Footsteps pounded toward him. Ryder didn’t turn, not yet. He’d wait, let them think he was weak, then he’d whirl and attack.
“Ry-Ryder . . .” Sabine shuddered against him. “H-help . . .”
His gaze dropped to her. Her face was so pale in the bright sunlight. Her eyes too dark. And . . .
He eased his body away from hers. Blood soaked her shirt.
His blood. It had to be his blood. He’d taken the bullets to protect her.
Her body sagged.
It . . . wasn’t just his blood.
Her blood.
The guards were surrounding him then. He didn’t give a f**k. Carefully, Ryder lowered Sabine to the ground. The grass was green and soft—and already getting soaked with her blood.
There were bullet holes in her chest. He’d tried so hard to shield her but the bullets went through me and into her.
“You’re dead,” he promised, savagery rising in him, a dark force that he didn’t try to control.
Sabine’s eyes widened. She tried to speak.
No, not you . . . Not. You.
His fingers were so gentle as he stroked her cheek.
The guards were dead. They were the ones he was sending to hell. He bit his wrist. Let the blood flow. Brought the wound to her mouth. He wasn’t letting her die. Wasn’t going to watch her burn.
“Are we really doing this again?” that familiar voice drawled. A voice that should belong to a dead man.
Sabine’s lips feathered over his wrist. She was drinking. Good. Yes.
But his head turned and—sure enough—Richard Wyatt was striding toward him. Wyatt’s shirt was red with blood, the guy’s face appeared strained, but he was advancing just fine.
She hit him in the heart. I know she did. Even if she hadn’t, no human could be up and walking after a hit like that.
Not human.
Wyatt’s lips quirked a bit as he met Ryder’s stare. “Move away from Twenty-Nine, and let’s get back inside.”
Twenty-nine? What the hell?
One of the guards sprang at Ryder.
Enough.
Ryder surged to his feet and broke the guard’s neck. Shattered the collarbone of another and grabbed the bastard’s gun. Fired—
Fire?
“I don’t believe your blood can stop her death this time,” Richard murmured as he cocked his head to the side.
Ryder whirled back around. Sabine had taken his blood. She should have been all right. She should have been—
No heartbeat. He didn’t hear Sabine’s heart.
And he could already smell smoke.
“No!” He fell to the ground beside her. More guards were coming. Screw them. He’d told Sabine that he’d get her out of that hell, but she was about to burn anyway.
“It’s easier to contain her before the shift.” Richard’s voice. “Dose them both. Keep firing at her until she begins to rise. You’ll have to time the attack just right.”
Her skin was heating beneath his touch.
He felt sharp pricks on his back. Harder punches, too. The backup guards were dosing him with that SP tranq. Right then, he didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t moving from her side.
Not until she was back with him.
She rose once. She’ll rise again. “Come on,” he whispered to her. “Come back!” Because he didn’t know exactly where Sabine went when she died and part of him was afraid to find out.
Afraid . . . when he hadn’t feared anything in the last thousand years. Not since he’d put the last of his family in the ground.
Not until now. Until her.
“Sabine!” Her name was a roar. A desperate order. The SP tranq was already flooding through his body. How much of the drug had they pumped into him?
Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her.
“Sabine.” Softer now. More of a plea.
Her lashes began to flutter.
Yes. She was coming back to him. As soon as her eyes opened—
Her lashes opened. Her eyes were so dark and deep when they met his. Dark . . . at first.
Then a ring of red appeared in her eyes. A red that looked like fire. The ring spread. Flared hotter. The red expanded until flames consumed her eyes.
“Now you”—he had to lean forward to hear her whispered words—“run . . .”
Beneath his hands, her skin continued to warm as the fire flickered higher in her eyes.
Run.
He tried to stand, but the SP tranqs had numbed his body. He fell to the ground beside her. That was where he wanted to be. Close to her. Close.
Flames erupted, covering her flesh. The heat blasted across his skin. Several of the guards cried out, and he saw them, burning. How does it feel?
The guards hit the ground and tried to roll in an attempt to put out the fire.
But that fire wasn’t dying.
Neither was Sabine.
As he watched, she rose. Covered in those flames, she rose. The fire was flying out from her body, hitting guards, seeming to deliberately attack them while none of those red-orange streaks were coming at him.
Because his phoenix was controlling her fire.
He’d never see anything more beautiful or more deadly, and he knew that he never would again.
“Shoot her!” Wyatt screamed. “Shoot her until she goes down!”
The remaining guards were trying to shoot, but the SP tranq couldn’t penetrate the wall of fire around her.
Ryder’s eyes wanted to sag closed, but he forced his gaze to stay open. Sabine had the strength right then. This was her moment. She could . . . “Get . . . away.”