Once Bitten, Twice Burned

“I-I don’t want to be your enemy.” She just wanted to be far away from him.

“So little can truly kill us,” he said, as if he hadn’t even heard her words. “The death blow has to come through the fire.” His gaze narrowed. “We are the only ones who can reach through that fire.”

So, um, was he saying that only a phoenix could ever really kill another phoenix? “I’m not interested in killing you.” Just so they could be clear.

“But maybe I’m interested in killing you.”

Hell. She’d hoped he wouldn’t say that.

“I knew you’d be here.” His gaze raked her. “If they haven’t already, others will figure it out, too.”

Others? “Genesis is dead and gone.” Since that stop at the diner, she’d managed to pick up other news stories about Genesis. A reporter had been undercover at Genesis. Every time Daisy had made a pit stop, Sabine had made a point of trying to learn more of the stories circulating about Genesis.

From what she could tell, it looked like the tide was turning for the paranormals in the world. The media was giving them the sympathy, showing outrage for the suffering they’d been through at Genesis.

The government was promising a full investigation. She’d seen that particular headline on the cover of a New Orleans paper right after Daisy had driven away. Big, bold, in your face, the headline had eased some of the battle-tight tension from Sabine’s body.

But that tension was back now, full-force.

The man smiled at her. “You honestly believe that crock of bull? Two labs are down, but the humans aren’t going to stop. We’re too powerful for them to ever just stop and leave us alone.”

She held her body perfectly still. “I don’t know you,” Sabine said carefully. Escape. That was her only priority. “And I don’t want to know you. So why don’t you just go your way, I’ll go mine, and we never, ever have to see each other again.”

He shook his head and sighed. “That’s not how this is going to work.”

Why not? She managed to bite the words back, barely.

Footsteps shuffled in the distance. The crowd was so close. It actually seemed as if some of those folks might be coming even closer. Stepping into the alley. She thought about calling out to them, but she didn’t want to risk any innocent lives. Too many had been risked already.

“You’re too dangerous to be left alone,” he told her, voice flat. “You’re so new, I can tell.”

New? She didn’t exactly feel shiny and bright and new. More like beat down. Used. Abused. “I just want to see my family.” No, she wanted her life back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Did he actually sound like he meant the words? Um, no. Not even a little bit. She’d definitely imagined that flash of pity earlier. “That’s not going to happen.” Then he reached for her again.

“Buddy, you need to step the hell away from my sister.” The words were low, snarled, and coming from right behind the tall, deadly stranger.

The stranger’s eyes met hers. His gaze was steady and dark. The flames were banked, for the moment. “I was hoping that he’d just keep walking.”

So he’d heard the rustle of footsteps, too.

Sabine’s heart ached. She couldn’t see around the man—he seemed to block everything else out, but that voice . . . that deep, rich voice, roughened by the slightest New Orleans drawl. She knew that voice. Her brother. Rhett.

“Don’t hurt him,” she whispered to the dangerous man before her.

The stranger didn’t answer.

Then there were more footsteps. Not rustling any longer. Racing toward them. And the stranger whirled to face the threat. He, wait, was he putting his body in front of her? Like he was about to protect her?

She peered over his shoulder. As soon as Sabine saw her brother’s handsome but tense face, it was like a punch right to her chest. She’d missed him so much.

He had a baseball bat in his hands. The trusty bat that she knew he usually kept behind his bar. He’d been all-state, too. He’d taught her everything she knew about swinging a bat. And Rhett wasn’t alone. A crowd of men had formed behind him. Men she recognized.

Louis Marchand. Vaughn Adams. Douglas Pierce. All of the guys were regulars at Rhett’s bar—and they were her brother’s closest friends. The men looked pissed, and they were all armed.

Louis had a knife in his hand. A knife? Vaughn had a gun—well, okay, she wasn’t even going to wonder how the guy had gotten that, and Douglas . . . the guy gripped a broken whiskey bottle in his fist.