Her fangs were out, her claws glinting, and when she rounded on the witch, her eyes were perfect midnight black. “See him.” Grim.
The blood drops splattered onto the ground. The scent drew him and power pulsed in the air.
Simon crossed to the witch.
Catalina’s eyes had been glassy with her magic. A dazed blink seemed to bring her back to them. “I-I didn’t mean—I haven’t even cast my circle—”
No time. The bodies were piling up. The evil closing in.
No more attacks.
Our turn.
Simon swiped his claws over his forearm. He lifted his hand and let the blood drop onto the darkened glass. “See him through me.”
A glow lit her eyes, then she stared down at the glass once more. He couldn’t see a damn thing. Soot. Ash. The red smear of his blood. Darkness. But Catalina stared and stared, and the silence thickened around them.
“Where.” A demand from Dee. He should have known her patience would break first.
“Texas.” Soft, tired. “Waiting, in a place called Heuco, near the Mexican border.”
Hueco. Hollow.
Excitement burned through him. “Cut the link.” She couldn’t look too long. With Grim, there was no telling who he’d forced onto his side. An Ignitor was just the start. He could have a witch or even a warlock. Probably a warlock. When choosing his weapons, Grim would go right for someone who’d stepped onto the dark side of magic. A warlock would be able to sense Catalina’s power if she stayed tuned in too long.
The glass shattered in her hands. “Can’t find me now,” she whispered. “But I found you.”
Hot damn. They’d done it. His gaze met Dee’s. Her lips began to curl, just a bit.
He hurried to her. Kissed her hard and deep. Tasted her.
The end was coming.
Not for them, oh, no. For them, it would be a beginning. They’d have forever.
But for Grim, hell waited.
Simon would get his freedom. Dee would have her revenge, then they’d have each other.
Pretty f**king perfect.
“Is the trap set?” Grim asked, his eyes on the woman who danced before him. Human. He liked the human dancers best. This one—her eyes smiled, flirted. Her heart raced and all that sweet blood pumped with every sway of her body.
“Greg didn’t report in.”
At that, Grim pulled his stare away from the woman. Music beat, a sensual rhythm, and he knew the woman kept on slithering. “How long has he been missing?” He didn’t worry about guarding his words with the dancer. No need with her.
“An hour.” Malik, a vampire who’d been with him since the guy’s first Taken breath five hundred years before, met Grim’s gaze directly.
An hour was plenty of time to die. Grim rubbed his hand over his chin. “The parents are dead?” His Ignitor was such a useful tool. Weak package, but an incredible power inside.
“Their bodies should be found tomorrow.”
A quick tip to the cops, yes, that would do just fine. “And my brother?” Like he didn’t know the ass**le was around. The instant Tore had crossed the ocean, he’d felt the fool. He’d taken steps to prepare for him. Tore wouldn’t have an advantage in this hunt.
“No word yet.”
There wouldn’t be. “He won’t come for me.” Tore had learned his lesson the last time when Grim had left the dead children for him to find.
His brother had always had a soft spot for the kiddies.
When you knew someone so well, it was easy to work their weak spots. He knew just how to make Tore suffer.
His brother had begged him for death over twelve hundred years ago. When he’d seen what Grim had become. When he’d found the bodies and known that he’d be the next to feel Grim’s fangs on his throat.
There’d been no controlling the bloodlust. No stopping the vicious thirst. But he hadn’t wanted to stop it. He’d just wanted to kill.
He’d granted his little brother’s wish. Too bad Tore hadn’t stayed down.
“He’ll be our next project,” Grim said, giving a nod. “It’s time we freed him from his torment.” A gift.
The music ended. He glanced over at the woman. Heaving chest. Glistening lips.
He’d screw her first.
Then kill her.
“It’s a pity. I always loved my brother.”
Malik didn’t speak. Didn’t call him a liar. Or a fool.
And Grim was both. After all, he’d let Tore survive for this long. He should have taken his head long ago.
But when his brother had woken—just like me.
Sentiment. Attachment. So yes, he had a soft spot for the man he’d known as his brother. Tore had tried to save him once, right before his father’s bitch of a new wife had betrayed them all.
Tore had come to him, worked to free him from the chains, but there hadn’t been enough time.
Too many warriors around them. Too much rage.
Blood eagle.
He squeezed his eyes shut but the memory of agony seared his flesh. His hands reached behind him automatically, touching his back.
No wings.
But he’d never forget, never. The snap of his ribs, the jerk backward—
Death had not come fast enough as his blood spilled onto the ground.
The silence hit him then. Thick and complete. His arms still behind him, he looked up at the dancer. Dark skin. Long, supple limbs. Her eyes were on him. Studying. Watching.
Watching like all those others. Watching and laughing as he fell to the ground.
No one had helped him then. No one.
“We’ll kill the Born bitch.” Grim’s voice came out hoarse. He’d screamed that long ago night. Screamed until they took his breath and ripped his lungs out.
Blood eagle. No myth of Viking torture. Real. Real.
He would not die again. The vampiress coming would know the agony. Not him. Not again.
She’d die. He stepped forward. The dancer lifted her chin and asked, “Kill me…or change me?”
Humans were always wanting to live forever. He reached for her and didn’t answer.
Because he’d never wanted to be a liar.
Or a killer.
Such a pity he was both.
Chapter 13
That day Simon dreamed of agony. Of a snow-covered battlefield that turned from white to red beneath him. Simon twisted on the bed, jerking and shuddering, but he couldn’t make his eyes open. Couldn’t escape.
Hands caught his body. Held too tight. Two men. One on each side. Long braids surrounded their faces. Thick helmets sat on top of their heads and some kind of cape or cloak billowed behind them.