Once Bitten, Twice Burned

His hand tightened around her wrist. “Don’t ever cry for me again. Don’t ever f**king cry for anyone.”

His words hurt. She’d helped him. Why was he so angry with her?

Then the werewolf in the hallway growled again. Ryder’s head jerked as he glanced at the battle in progress. The werewolf was leaping forward to attack.

Ryder tore away from Sabine. He rushed down that hallway and grabbed the guy’s feet, sending the attacker falling face-first onto the floor.

The guy turned with a snarl, his features tight, animalistic, as he prepared, no doubt, to go for Ryder’s throat again.

Sabine raised her hand and sent a blast of fire out from her fingertips. The fire came to her so much easier now. As if it were always waiting, just beneath her skin.

Ryder leapt back, avoiding the blast of those flames. The fire circled the now howling werewolf, closing in on him. The guy swiped out with his claws, then whimpered when the fire bit into him.

He would soon be doing more than just whimpering. Sabine focused on her flames and prepared to tighten the net.

“No!” a woman shouted as she rushed from an open door. The same office that Cain had exited. The woman was slender, with long, dark hair, too pale skin, and desperate eyes. The woman from the photo. Eve Bradley. I’m supposed to let her live. The woman’s eyes were on Cain O’Connor. “You can’t do this to him!”

Cain grabbed her arm. “It’s not my fire,” he said.

No, it wasn’t. The flames are all mine. Sabine slowly walked around the beast and stalked toward Ryder. He was close to the other phoenix, too close for her peace of mind. So she headed for them, and, within her circle of fire, the man’s head jerked up. He snarled—a true animal cry—and just . . . charged at the fire.

Fine, if you want to die, then be my guest.

But the werewolf leapt right over the flames. Flames that had to be at least six feet high. He jumped right over them.

“Get out of the way!” Ryder yelled at her.

Sabine realized she’d made a mistake. She’d tried to move closer in order to protect Ryder, but she’d just put herself right in the path of the beast-man.

Maybe she could send her fire—

Claws sliced into her stomach. Deep. Brutal.

She fell, slamming into the floor and feeling the wet warmth of her blood soak the tile beneath her. For a moment, the entire world seemed to stop. Or maybe that was just her heart.

“Sabine.” Ryder rolled her over. This time, he was the one who gasped. She didn’t need to see the damage to know that her wound was fatal. She could already feel death coming for her. After dying so many times, she recognized death’s touch. Recognized it and hated it.

Her lips trembled. Sabine shook her head. “Don’t . . . want to die again.” It hurt too much. When she came back, what then? Would she be lost once more? Would she wake with no memory? Knowing only the taste of fire on her tongue? She didn’t want to be lost again.

She didn’t want to be dead.

I don’t want to be a monster.

“Help . . . me,” Sabine whispered.

Ryder pulled her into his arms. Her blood soaked him, too. “I will. I swear, I will.”

Her gaze slid to the left. There was fire. Shattering glass. The werewolf had just jumped through a window. Good. She hoped he broke his neck when he fell. If he didn’t . . . “Kill him,” Sabine whispered.

Ryder pulled her tighter against him. “We can stop the blood. You’ll be fine.”

No, she wouldn’t be fine. Neither would Rhett. What if I forget him?

She could hear that cold, female voice telling her . . . I’ll make sure that a bullet finds its way into your brother’s head.

“Kill the phoenix,” Sabine whispered. Her hands grabbed Ryder’s shirt. “Kill him for me.”

Ryder frowned down at her.

“Wyatt—”

His nostrils flared. “That bastard is already dead.”

Then so was Rhett. She’d failed.

Her lashes started to sag. She struggled to keep them open, for just a few moments more. The world spun around her. Ryder—he’d lifted her up, stood, had her cradled in his arms. “Hold on,” he told her. “You’ll be okay.”

“Can you handle her?” a deep voice called out. She forced her eyes to focus. Cain. He was staring at them. Frowning at the gaping wounds on her stomach.

You know I’m dying, don’t you?

Ryder turned away from Cain and headed back toward the stairs. “Always,” he said.

A lump rose in her throat. “Don’t want to . . . forget you . . .”