The car turned into an alley. Mr. Money glanced over at him, smiling with too-sharp teeth.
What the hell? The guy couldn’t be a shifter.
“I’m going to rip him apart.”
Mickey blinked. “Good. Good.” He realized he was sweating. It was the teeth. His nostrils quivered. No, no shifter scent. But the guy couldn’t be a vamp because—
“Just like I’m going to rip you open, Mickey.”
“What?” Shit! Mickey scrambled, trying to jerk open the car door.
But it wouldn’t budge. Stupid lock. If he tried hard enough, he’d be able to force it—
Claws came at him. He saw the attack coming from the corner of his eye and he twisted, trying to fight.
Too late.
The claws slashed right across his throat and the scream building in him never broke from his lips.
Blood splashed onto the front windshield.
The claws came at him again.
I’m going to rip him apart.
When he was done, he shoved the body—what was left of it—out of the car. Blood was everywhere. The scent surrounded him. Soaked his clothes.
Perfect.
He brought his fingers to his lips and licked away the sticky liquid. He loved that rich taste.
But the hyena had been too easy. No fight at all. Like killing a human. Really, he’d expected more.
The tiger wouldn’t be such easy prey. He knew that and had prepared appropriately for Donovan.
After all, he liked to hunt. He liked to kill.
But he didn’t believe in taking foolish chances with his own life.
The tiger would die. No question.
He’d be there for the end.
He yanked the car door closed and frowned at the windshield. That wouldn’t do. The last thing he needed was for someone to see that wonderful blood.
Leaning over, he unlocked the glove box and pulled out the cloths he kept for just such an occasion.
Moments later, the glass was clean. He shoved the cloths back in the glove box and turned on the car. Then he took a deep breath, because he did love that sweet smell.
But he couldn’t linger any longer. Not with the body just outside. The area was deserted, for now, but someone would be coming along soon. They always did.
With a flick of his fingers, he punched the button for the radio and the soft strains of Brahms floated to his ears.
A smile curved his lips. Now it was time to go.
Time for the next kill.
As he backed out of the alley, he couldn’t help but wonder, how long will the tiger fight?
And when he died, would Donovan have time to scream? Or would he die like the hyena, choking on his own blood?
“Down there.” The demon, eyes completely black, raised his hand and pointed down the twisting steps.
The first floor of the den had been completely deserted. No big surprise there. Jude knew the demons liked to be prepared, just in case there were any unexpected and unwanted—usually human—visitors.
So the real action was never up front in a den. No, it was always in the back, or in this case, below.
The faint drum of pounding music teased his ears. Jude deliberately relaxed his shoulders, ready for whatever hell he’d find waiting down there. He brushed by the demon, his nostrils flaring as he caught the stale odor of sweat and cigarettes.
Carefully, he eased down the creaking steps. What was this? A basement? Lower level?
The door behind him swung shut.
Jude stiffened.
Then he heard the sound of a bolt sliding into place. Locking me in.
No, locking them in—because he could hear voices from below. Laughter.
He shook his head. Like a lock was going to hold him in this den. When he was ready to leave, he’d just kick the door down. Easy.
His claws broke free, the brief pain making his heart surge. His canines burned as they lengthened, readying him for the fight to come. He’d go in as a man, but if the shit got too bad, he would go out as a tiger.
His claws scraped over the stair railing as he climbed down the rest of the steps. No rush. The bastards weren’t going to get by him.
The room below was bigger than he’d thought. Not a room, more like three rooms. Thick with smoke, from the flickering flames of candles that were the only light and from hell knew what else. The scents in the air had his nose twitching and burning. How the demons could handle that crap…
“Hello, shifter.” The voice was loud, mocking.
The rock music kept pounding in the background.
Jude jumped off the last step.
His gaze swept the area. Demons were lounging against the walls. Some were curled up on the floor. Maybe fifteen of them total. He eyed the dark shadows. More bodies could be in there.
Maybe twenty.
Demons and their addictions.
But the guy who’d called to him, he didn’t have that blank, slack look on his face. No, that guy, the big bastard with his black demon eyes, was planted about fifteen feet away. His legs were braced a shoulder’s length apart. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and the guy was smiling. A come-and-get-me grin.
Never a good sign.
The demon lifted his hand. The minions on the ground didn’t move. Jude figured those guys weren’t gonna be moving anytime soon. But the others, those against the walls and those hiding in the shadows, jerked forward, suddenly appearing way too alert and aware.
Jude rolled his neck, getting loose and ready, and the tiger snarled.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the demon said, that cocky-ass smile still on his face. “Haven’t we, guys?”
A murmur swept through the group. Laughter.
Mickey. Payback would be a bitch. He raised his claws and caught the glint of a knife in the darkness.
Ready for him and armed.
Demons in a den were supposed to be so screwed up on the drugs they couldn’t tell reality from—
“Always hated shifters,” the bastard who had to be the leader muttered. “Fucking animals.”
The demon was trying to piss him off now.
They started to close in, a sea of black eyes.
Stairs behind him. Demons to the front, left, and right. Running wasn’t an option for him. Never had been.
“You’re messing with the wrong guy,” he warned, feeling the burn of the shift pulse through him. It would take a few moments to turn. Vulnerable moments. They’d attack when the shift started. The demons would catch him with their knives and do as much damage as they could.
But once he was in tiger form…
“Oh, no, you’re the right guy, Jude Donovan.” A snap of the demon’s teeth. “You’re the guy we’re gonna carve apart.”
Jude fell to the floor as his bones began to snap and crack.
The demons attacked, knives ready, blades flying. Slashing, stabbing, cutting too deep.
He opened his mouth to scream and the tiger roared.
“Your Honor, I object! This is pure hearsay, the witness has no way to confirm that—” Erin broke off, stumbling. The judge’s face swam before her eyes.
“Ms. Jerome?” Judge Sally Chen called out. “Ms. Jerome, are you all right?”
Erin made a grab for the edge of the jury box. She barely managed to catch herself before she fell face-first onto the gleaming floor. “Ah, yes.” She blinked. The judge’s face sharpened before her, and Erin could see the firm chin and the dark green gaze again. She tried to straighten herself up.
And nearly hit the floor.
“Do you need a recess, ADA?”
She could only manage a faint nod.
“All right, folks. Look, it’s close to quitting time anyway. Let’s resume this case tomorrow morning, eight a.m.” The gavel slammed down.
Erin took a deep breath. Her hand rubbed over her forehead. Her stomach was churning, her knees shaking.
Not good.
“You okay?” Zane’s voice. The guy had fol
lowed her to court and plopped down in the front row.
Right then, she was so glad he was there. Erin shook her head. “No. No, something’s wrong—”
The courtroom disappeared.
“Zane?” This couldn’t be happening.
Black walls. Laughter. Snarls.
Erin jerked her head around, straining to see.
A tiger, with blood matting its white body. Men attacking the beast, slashing and stabbing with knives.
The tiger fell before her. Its head hit the floor. A puddle of blood spread around the fallen animal.
The fur dissolved. Tanned flesh appeared. A man with blond hair, bloody flesh. Not moving. Not breathing.
More laughter.
“Too fucking easy.”
“I thought he wanted the shifter bastard alive.”
“Doesn’t matter—we’ll still get paid.”
“We damn well better.”
The man’s eyes were open—blue and empty. Not like Jude’s at all.
Not like Jude, not anymore.
“Erin!” Her head snapped back. Zane shook her, hard. “Erin, what the hell? Can you hear me?”
She blinked, and the courtroom was back. She was on the floor. Zane’s fingers dug into her arms, and he crouched above her, lines bracketing his mouth. “Jude.”
“No—it’s Zane.” His head lifted and he called out, “Hey, I need some help over here!”
She grabbed his shirt front and jerked him toward her. “Where’s Jude?” Her teeth wanted to chatter, so she clenched them.
Death dreams. She hated them.
Jude.
How long had she been out? “Where is he?” Close to a scream in a courtroom. Like she cared about the rules then.
“Ah…” He glanced down at her white-knuckled grip. “Your claws are cutting me.”
“He’s in trouble.” Absolute certainty. Too late. Always too late. Lee was still in the hospital. Still in a coma because she’d been too late. And her father was in a grave because she’d been too late.
Damn dreams. Why, why did she have them if she couldn’t stop death?
Not Jude. Not him.
“What?” The demon shook his head. “Look, you’re confused. You fell hard.” A wince. “I didn’t catch you before you slammed your head on the floor. Give things a minute, you’ll be fine.”
No, she wouldn’t be. “If you don’t tell me where he is, Jude’s dead.”
Finally, that got his attention. She saw his Adam’s apple bob. “You—you can’t—”
“Psychic, remember?” No time to go into the twisted story of her particular talents.
“Jude’s out hunting.” He rose, jerked her to her feet, and ignored the scrape of her claws over his flesh.
“Hunting where?” Hold on, Jude. Please, hold on. She couldn’t lose him.
Wouldn’t.
Always too late.
Dammit.
Zane jerked out his cell phone and punched in a number. His jaw flexed as he waited. Waited.
Erin rocked forward on her heels. He could be dying.
“Dee! Dee—where’s Jude? What? No, I don’t have time—just tell me which damn den!” His eyes widened and Erin caught “Jamestown? You sure? Fuck.” He ended the call, his fingers whitening around the small phone.
“Zane?” There had been so much blood.
Won’t. Lose. Him.
“He’s in a demons’ den on Jamestown.” He shook his head. “We can’t go there. There’s no way you can—”
Jamestown. Erin spun away from him and ran for the double doors.
“Wait! You won’t find the den. You’ll never be able to—”
She jerked open the courtroom door. Hesitated. Demons’ den. Her neck craned as she glanced back at him. “You can find it.”
His face paled.
“If you don’t, he’s dead.”
“Dammit.” His hands clenched. “Then let’s go to hell.”
“A demons’ den is like a crack house.” Zane stared at the dark building before them. “Only much, much worse.”
Erin didn’t really care how much worse the place was. Yeah, the place looked like some kind of hole in the wall, but if Jude was inside, she was bringing him out. “You sure this is the place?”
“Yeah, yeah. Dee said he was following a lead on your stalker.”
Jude was going to die because of her. The thudding of her heartbeat filled her ears.
No. Not for me.
Erin jumped up the cracking steps.
“Wait. There’ll be a guard, armed. Always is at a place like this. He’ll—”
Erin kicked in the door. The wood exploded under her foot, shattering instantly. She barreled forward, ignoring the scrapes along her arms and face.
“Hey, bitch, what the fu—”
A big, lanky guy with pitch black eyes ran at her, spittle flying.
Erin caught him with her claws, right in the chest, and shoved the bastard back about ten feet. He hit the wall, sent plaster flying, and sank to the floor.
He didn’t get up.
A long whistle behind her. “Yeah, you’re scary,” Zane said. “And someone is stalking you?”
Her gaze snapped to the left, then the right. Old furniture. Freaking rats running around. Enough dust to clog her nose and numb her sense of smell but no Jude. “Where is he? You said this was the right place! Where is he?” So she sounded hysterical. If there was ever a time for a freak-out, it was now.
Zane’s stare swept the room. Then the floor. “What’s that?”
Two deep grooves dug into the old wood. Erin stared at the markings. They’d started next to the far wall and they ended at the big, scarred chest on the other side of the room.
“Something’s behind it, something’s—”
Erin bounded across the room. The chest had to be seven feet high and maybe four feet wide. She rubbed her damp palms on her thighs. Then she grabbed one side of the chest and shoved.
The chest flew out of the way.
“Damn woman.”
A door.
“They must have blocked it off. Doesn’t figure, why would they—”
“Because Jude’s down there!” Erin wrenched the knob. “And they didn’t want him getting out.” Not until they were finished with him.
Erin broke the lock and thrust the door open. A yawning black space stared back at her. The faint thud of drums reached her ears—or, hell, was that her heart? “Jude!”
“No, Erin, you’ve got to be careful,” Zane’s hushed voice. “If somebody’s got Jude down there—”
Screw careful. He needed her.
And she damn well needed him. More than she’d realized.
I didn’t know—didn’t understand—until I saw him die.
Erin ran into the darkness.
He’d better not be dead.
Chapter 18
Dim, sputtering candles lit the basement and revealed the massacre. A trail of broken, bloody bodies littered the floor. The moaning men had claw marks all over their flesh.
But all of the bastards weren’t moaning heaps on the floor. More of the assholes were up and they were still fighting. Five, no six of them were on the tiger. They’d backed the beast up against the far wall and they were punching him, stabbing him—
Killing him.
One blade drove into his side, into the already red fur, and the tiger jerked back, a keening cry on his lips.
Erin growled.
“Oh, no, the hell they aren’t—” Zane’s snarl behind her.
No, they weren’t. She attacked, with Zane charging at the same instant.
Erin grabbed the closest asshole and spun him around.
“What the hell?” Black eyes, darker than night, colder than hell, stared down at her. Demon. They were all demons in this den. “Bitch, what do you want?”
Her claws slashed over his chest. His mouth dropped open as the blood soaked his shirt. He fell to his knees, screaming.
“I want you to get out of my
way,” she gritted and shoved him to the side.
Next. She lifted her claws up, ready to fight.
But Zane grabbed the next demon and broke the jerk’s wrist when the asshole lifted his knife. Smiling, Zane punched him in the face. Blood squirted, there was a sickening squish, and then that demon went down, too.
A scream of pain ripped through the room. Erin’s gaze jerked up. The tiger had caught one demon beneath him. Claws and teeth took him out in seconds.
Another demon launched toward her. Bald head. Soulless eyes and skin too pale. And like the others, this guy was armed. He grinned at her, then whispered, “Come play…”
Like she had to be asked twice. Taking a breath, tasting blood, Erin raced forward.
But this one was fast. In a breath’s time, he’d attacked and the blade of his knife sliced down her arm. Dammit! Fiery pain burned her flesh.
The music pounded around her. Where was it coming from?
“I love to watch a woman bleed.”
Her eyes narrowed. The guy’s breath was a stale wind in her face. He towered over her, grinning and flashing yellowed teeth. Giant, oozing sores covered his face and arms. He looked like some kind of Meth head. Maybe he was.
“I’ll slice you open, carve you up!” He lunged, but, this time, she was ready. When he came at her, her claws caught him, tearing flesh and muscle, cutting to the bone. His bloodshot eyes flared wide and a choked gasp broke from his lips.
“Or maybe I’ll slice you,” she whispered and tried really, really hard not to think about what she was doing. Not killing, no, she wasn’t killing the demons. They were still alive, just out of commission.
Fight.
Save Jude.
Fight.
No, she wasn’t killing them, but if it came to that in order to save Jude, she would.
Her claws jerked free. The demon groaned, then fell.
Another demon landed on top of him. This one was a broken, bleeding mess—courtesy of a knife-wielding Zane.
So many broken bodies surrounded them. And the tiger stood poised for a final attack. His powerful body bunched as his mouth opened over his prey.
“No, no!” Erin lunged for the tiger. “Zane, don’t let him!”
Zane was already there. He grabbed the shuddering demon from the mouth of the tiger and hauled the bastard back by the scruff of his neck.