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  Tires squealed as rubber skidded against concrete, creating clouds of smoke. The vans veered from side to side—left first and then right—until they jerked onto the shoulder of the road. Aldon brought his hand to the side, rotating his wrist. The vehicles jerked left, returned to the proper lane and began coasting.

  “Now,” Diskant snarled.

  The wolves revealed themselves as they barreled from the dense shelter of trees, moving faster than a man but slower than a wolf. Two Shepherds leapt from the front of the first van, covered from chest to thigh with holstered weapons, guns in hand. The pack made it to the open road and Aldon vanished. The message from the vampire was clear—his obligation was done and he wasn’t sticking around for the show.

  Bullets soared across the distance before hitting or missing intended targets as the Shepherds moved to the front of the vehicles. The scent of blood didn’t stop the pack, it enraged them, driving them forward as the Shepherds threw away the empty weapons and replaced them with ones strapped to their bodies.

  Trey made it to the shooter nearest him and took two shots to the chest before he disarmed the Shepherd with a quick swipe of his claws that severed the man’s hand at the wrist. The Shepherd screamed and Trey snagged him by the back of his neck, grasped his uninjured arm and shoved him into the ground.

  One of the pack leapt over Trey and his prize, completed his shift to wolf and jumped into the open door of the van. The vehicle rattled from side to side as the crazed beast searched for danger inside. Within moments the wolf reappeared. While Trey’s pack mate couldn’t convey the absence of others in the van through words, he managed to do so with impressions and feelings.

  Another scream ripped through the night, only this one was followed by the distinct gurgles of a death rattle. Trey lowered his head and glanced to the right, watching in satisfaction as his pack mates tore into the body with lethal teeth and claws, shredding the Shepherd to pieces.

  Then an unexpected yelp of pain—one that could only come from a shifter in animal form—came from behind him.

  “Brian!” Trey called to the closest half-shifted werewolf, grasped the Shepherd with the missing hand and thrust the staggering man to his pack mate. “Take him!”

  Trey had pivoted toward the sounds of combat when a fully shifted wolf flew through the air and collapsed in a heap on the ground. The wolf struggled to find his feet, legs unsteady as he rose. Trey stepped past his pack mate just in time to see Diskant arrive on the scene. The Omega hadn’t shifted, though his eyes changed colors, flickering like a miniature rainbow.

  “Time to dance,” Diskant growled and advanced on the man who stood near the back of the van, covered in black leather.

  “Bring it, bitch.”

  Trey turned toward the massive motherfucker who embraced his own death and was standing to the left, legs apart, hands held up. His face was heavily shadowed with bristles, harsh lines and a wicked-looking scar that ran along his chin. Clenched in each fist were curved daggers, the blade on one side serrated, the other smooth. If the foul language, unusual attire and facial piercings—in his nose, brow and ears—weren’t a dead giveaway that they weren’t dealing with a Shepherd, the sleeve tattoos running up each arm were a testament to it.

  Diskant lunged and the man moved in a graceful arc to avoid collision, gliding out of the way as he brought the dagger within inches of the Omega’s departing back. He spun in a motion that looked oddly coordinated considering his size and stood ready once again in the exact same position.

  The crisp melody of glass shattering captured Trey’s attention. He watched pack members as they took out the windows to get inside the second van, which had stopped several yards away from the first. Gunshots sounded when one went through each window, creating more frenzied snarls, and the van started to rock.

  “Son of a bitch!” Diskant thundered and Trey returned his focus to the fight taking place in front of him.

  Diskant was standing with a hand clasped to his chest as he gazed down at the bloody gash over his heart. The man with the knives was standing across from them grinning from ear to ear.

  “Is that the best you got?” the man taunted but remained as he was: still, focused and alert.

  Diskant didn’t respond as he lifted his head and sized up his opponent. Slowly Diskant started to move to the left. The distinct scent of tiger tickled Trey’s nose, informing him Diskant was well and truly pissed. The wolf lived to track with a pack. Not so the lone, hunting cat.

  Once the man slipped, Diskant would rip his throat out.

  “Trey!” a loud, concerned voice yelled from the van.

  Never had Trey felt compelled to protect Diskant from harm. Even as a boy the future Omega had been sturdy and more than capable of holding his own. However, there was something dangerous about the human standing before the fully grown shifter, unafraid and unfazed. Trey had seen the expression before, when Alphas battled it out until one stood alive and the other lay dead.

  “Damn it, Trey!” another voice growled. “Get the fuck over here!”

  “Fuck!” he snarled and hauled ass to the van.

  “Don’t fucking touch it!” Trey recognized Brian’s deep voice. “Get Emory out of those cuffs and get him out of here.”

  Trey rounded the corner, shoulder brushing the now-opened door in the back. His brother stood at the back of the van and appeared to be unharmed with the exception of bloodied wrists. Then Trey got an eyeful of what his pack mates had found.

  The enormity of what he was seeing slowly computed until a cold numbness swept through him. The device was large enough to have taken all of them out, with enough C4 to leave behind a nice, fat hole in the ground.

  Quickly he slid the pieces together.

  There were only three Shepherds. Too few to defend themselves against an attack.

  As if they hadn’t planned for a battle but a sacrifice.

  Fucking shit.

  He ripped the Shepherd with the missing hand from Brian, who stood just inches away, and demanded, “Where are they?”

  The Shepherd didn’t answer, though his eyes did widen.

  “I’ll torture you slowly.” Trey growled a low, menacing warning. “And I’ll make sure to keep you alive for a long fucking time. You’ll be praying to that god of yours on a regular basis.”

  “It’s a trap.” Zack leapt from the van, totally nude as he’d shifted during the scuffle. “He was trying to set the damn thing off when we made it to him. Chris is still looking but he thinks the detonator didn’t engage.” Zach’s gaze lifted and met Trey’s. “We have to call Dougan. Now.”

  Trey yanked the cell from his pocket, hit the number on speed dial and placed the phone to his ear. Seconds passed like the sands through an hourglass—painfully slow. Trey didn’t meet Zach’s terrified stare as he ended the call.

  “They’re not answering.”

  “Why aren’t they answering?” Zach asked in panic.

  Trey shook his head, shoved the Shepherd toward Emory whose hands were now free, and moved from the back of the van toward the sounds of flesh meeting flesh. When they made it around the vehicle Trey discovered the man who faced off against Diskant was still alive but hadn’t survived the minutes unscathed. The human’s daggers were gone—but that hadn’t slowed him down. He was going toe-to-toe with Diskant now, fists raised, face bloody. A large cut over his right brow was swelling, the heavy pooling of blood covering the eye beneath.

  A circle had formed around them, cheering Diskant on, clamoring for blood.

  Trey dialed Dougan’s again, listening as he watched Diskant take advantage of the human’s injury and toyed with him. The shoe was on the other foot now. It was only a matter of time before Diskant got bored and took him down. Each time Diskant feigned a strike the man reacted, until he was wobbling on his feet like a broken tinker toy.

  Diskant’s next punch wasn’t for show. When he clocked the man in the chin the big bastard went down. His legs continued to move but he remained immo
bile on the concrete, eyes closed, chest heaving.

  “D—” Trey started to speak when a crushing vise of emptiness gripped his heart and rent it in two.

  He watched, dazed and openmouthed, as Diskant sank to his knees at the exact same moment, their motions mirroring each other’s. The ground rose up to greet their knees, the hardness of the earth nothing in comparison to the agony that washed through them.

  “Ava,” Diskant gasped, clutching his chest.

  Trey didn’t attempt to move, too broken by the knowledge of what he knew to be true in his soul, and turned his head.

  The Shepherd Emory held by the throat stared Trey in the eye, cradling his bloody stump of a wrist. “You’re too late,” he informed him. “The Lord’s will be done.”

  A few minutes before…

  The street was empty as Paul crossed it, only a few pedestrians standing along the darkened sidewalk. The wind caressed his cheek, scattering his neatly combed hair across his forehead. He closed his eyes as he continued forward, basking in the feel of the tepid autumn air. The mugginess that came from the city was washed away by the cleansing breeze, allowing him to pretend he wasn’t standing on a gritty street but a gorgeous stretch of pasture as far as the eye could see.

  As if it were preordained, the vision of the farm he’d been raised on reminded him of his place in this world, providing strength and fortitude where a man’s fear of death threatened to destroy hours of planning and preparation. This was what he was born for, what he was meant to do.

  There was no death when you were promised eternal life in heaven.

  Opening his eyes, he weaved around a motorcycle parked along the side of the bar. There were several of them lined along the road, which didn’t surprise him. The devil’s hands enjoyed fast and dangerous recreations. It was ingrained in them at birth, just one of many attributes that revealed the demon lingering within.

  Directly ahead was his goal—a tavern of the damned, consisting of those tainted by Lucifer, the most unclean wreaking havoc on earth. There were several inhabitants inside, all of whom were seated at the bar or at tables along the wall. A large television flashed blue against the glass, causing the concrete outside to appear an indigo shade of neon.

  Stopping as he came to the sidewalk just outside the entrance, he lifted the cross hanging from his neck and brought it to his lips. He needed the reminder that this wasn’t for naught, that he was intended for a greater purpose. The Lord would protect him and keep him and into His arms he would surrender.

  Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done, in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.

  Releasing the blessed piece of silver, he reached into his duster and activated the switch against his sternum as he pressed his thumb to the device in his left hand. The corresponding beep and sounds of chemicals mixing told him everything was ready.

  A haze of shame assailed him as the fear returned, making his palms sweat and his hands shake. While he was proud to serve his brethren, he wasn’t ready to leave this plane behind. It was mortal vanity and weakness, wanting to live in a world such as this when it offered but a glimpse of what he would receive upon the reckoning. When the Christian souls were given eternal life in the final days, his would be called upon to reap unending happiness and love.

  Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, he mentally repeated The Lord’s Prayer and began walking toward the crystal-clear glass door to the bar. Right now his kinsmen would be doing their part to abolish the filth that had trespassed into their home, even at the cost of their own lives. That was why he had been sent to the den of the damned, to make certain that no matter what occurred a price was paid and an unforgettable mark was left.

  Heads turned as he entered. Bright, luminous eyes inside faces that weren’t wholly human rested upon him. The tall male behind the bar growled and started to walk from behind the counter as the rest rose from their seats and created a circle around him. Unperturbed, he continued walking into the room, watching as the men and women clothed in snug leather rose from their seats and advanced.

  A phone started ringing. It shrilled over and over, in harmony with the approaching shifters, their combined steps—both his and theirs—bringing them closer to each other until the high-pitched blaring stopped.

  He stopped when he reached the middle of the room, ever silent as they neared. Their glowing eyes proclaimed the demon beneath their skin sought to take control.

  The phone started ringing again. A high-pitched buzz filled his ears and his heart started to race. He absorbed those final moments magnified by fear and finality.

  Everything came into focus—those around him, the colors inside the room, the smells of alcohol, cigarettes and cigars, his childhood, his favorite pet, his parents, what could have been his future—until the weight in his hand was almost too heavy.

  Slowly, he lifted his arm and revealed the device cradled inside his fingers. The shifters watched the movement with their opalescent eyes narrowed and unnaturally muscular bodies tense. It wasn’t until he pulled his jacket aside with his free hand and revealed the intricate wires and liquid compounds affixed to his chest that he saw recognition, comprehension and alarm cross their faces.

  Before they could react, he whispered, “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

  Then he lifted his thumb.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ava was walking from the living room to the kitchen when what felt like an explosion tore through the lower portion of the building. The back of her head hit the edge of the counter and a dull, stabbing sensation followed, causing her vision to blur as a deafening roar burned her ears until all she could hear was a high-pitched ringing. She fell to the floor, landing on her stomach. The ground beneath her seemed to roll and rumble, as if a stampede were occurring downstairs.

  Clumsy and dazed, she braced on hands and knees. The floor shook and swayed as she tried to stand. Pictures flew from the walls and landed inches from her hands, mixing with pots, pans and portions of the ceiling that crashed to the floor. Each time she tried to rise her feet slipped from beneath her, as if her brain were sending the signals but her limbs refused to function properly.

  A strange wailing sound seemed far away, as if a siren or alarm was crying in the distance. She shook her head, blinking back tears as she struggled to focus. The room was suddenly hot, the floor beneath her hands going uncomfortably warm. She groaned when she lifted her fingers to the liquid seeping down her neck, the warm pool soaking into her shirt, and tried to comprehend why there was a massive, gaping hole where solid bone should have been.

  Hands grasped her shoulders and she lifted her head.

  Nathan’s concerned face came into view, his lips moving, but she couldn’t hear anything he said. He touched the throbbing ache at the back of her skull and his eyes widened in alarm, the pupils erasing the amber portion of his irises. An unexpected surge of nausea overtook her, causing her to choke, making the pain in her head so much worse. Her stomach heaved and lurched, the dryness in her mouth nearly unbearable as her nose filled with the acrid stench of smoke and some other odor she couldn’t define.

  Nathan lifted her and she watched the ground sway back and forth. He carried her into the bedroom and walked past the bed. With a firm kick, he took out the only window on the floor. The dizziness was worse, the throbbing in her head intensifying. Smoke billowed, carrying through the window, and as she turned her head she saw flames were engulfing the room.

  “Diskant,” she whispered but couldn’t hear herself. Her ears continued to hum, the only sound she could perceive the steady, shrilling drone that went on and on and on.

  Nathan smoothed a hand over her forehead and his lips moved again, as if he were trying to comfort her. Keeping her close, he climbed from the window on
to a fire escape. She focused on the interlocking iron, mesmerized by the clouds of steam and smoke that rose to the sky.

  A sharp, unexpected burning in her leg caused her to cry out and Nathan whipped around. She couldn’t see anything but knew from his expression that something was wrong, something he hadn’t anticipated. Her stomach barreled into her throat as he leapt from the fire escape to the ground, keeping her snug against his chest as he landed.

  Several of the same men who had approached her and Diskant outside her building blocked the alleyway, their guns leveled. Nathan didn’t move but remained as he was, his arms around her, the heat from his body considerably less than that coming from the building alongside them. As they all said something, lips moving in perfect harmony, she felt Nathan brace himself and the world spun as he turned, shielding her with his body.

  She felt each bullet that tore through his back, the accompanying jerks against her too violent to be anything else. She expected to fall to the ground but as he sank to his knees he kept her in the secure cradle of his arms. Her head fell back and her gaze rested on the blood forming at the corner of his mouth. His expression was one of sorrow and regret and she tried to reassure him but discovered that she was unable to speak, her tongue suddenly heavy and uncoordinated.

  An image of Diskant seated on his bike earlier that afternoon, uncertain and hesitant, flashed before her eyes. She’d felt the same thing he had in that moment, that something was about to go horribly wrong. Blaming it on her raging hormones and newfound feelings, she’d forced her intuition aside. It was a shame that she hadn’t listened to her instincts.

  Her gut reactions had never steered her wrong.

  A shadow appeared, blocking out the light of the moon over Nathan’s shoulder. Ava lifted her gaze, expecting to see the barrel of a gun, only to meet a pair of large, violet-hued eyes. She studied the beautiful face framed by illuminating white, entranced by the way her blonde hair appeared to glow. She’d seen her before at Liminality, always on her own, seated in the back where no one would notice her.