The Thief

It was the hole-in-one kill shot, the one-in-a-million, the if-it-ever-was-going-to-go-like-that-tonight-is-the-night shot.

No need to double tap that shit.

The woman pinwheeled her arms, dropping the porcelain cup, stumbling, falling…grabbing on to the nearest thing she could.

Which happened to be the bronze statue of a ballet dancer done by Degas.

The very statue that Sola had shifted one inch out of position on its base, as payback for Ricardo stiffing her for what she’d been owed for watching Assail.

It seemed like poetic justice that the sister took that piece of art down with her—right on top of her, as a matter of fact. So if she hadn’t already been in the process of dying, the impact would surely have killed her.

As the clatter rang out, Sola took off, her gun by her side, head ducked. Now, if her good luck streak held, she’d make it down to the car without trouble and head back to Caldwell.

But no matter what happened, she had made sure her male was safe. Because that was what real women did.

Real women didn’t wait for their dragon slayers to come save them.

They were true partners—and good with a gun on their own.

Booyah.

SIXTY-FOUR

As dawn arrived, Jane came back to the Pit and found her hellren at his computers. The instant V sensed her, he looked up and held his arms wide.

“There she is,” he said.

She went to him with light feet and a lighter heart. “Soooooo, I guess Sola and Assail worked things out, huh?”

“Yeah.” He reached up and threaded his fingers through her short hair. “You were great in the OR with him. Real mastery. I was so fucking impressed.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“Sit in my lap?”

“Always—” She frowned as she moved around and caught sight of a video on one of his monitors. “What is that—wait…that’s you!”

“I know.” V shook his head and toggled the mouse so it replayed the clip. “We got problems.”

Jane leaned in closer and watched as the images that were dark and fuzzy—but not that dark and fuzzy—moved around: two males fighting something that…didn’t seem there at all; one falling to the ground as the shadow disappeared; V and Rhage appearing out of thin air; V crouching down by the civilian injured on the ground.

He paused the thing. “I don’t want you to see what happens after the civilian dies. I already told you.”

Yes, she thought. V had had to kill him. Just as the poor male was turning into whatever they turned into.

“This footage is on the Web,” he said with resignation. “And it’s going viral.”

“How can you stop it?”

“I’m working on that right now.” He cursed. “Which reminds me. I didn’t want to get involved, but we got a half-breed out there who’s about to go through the change. I’m no Good Samaritan, but it’s dawning on me—as I watch this—that the last thing we need is her showing up in a medical crisis because she’s going through her transition. I think we’re going to have to go get her.”

“Oh, God. The poor thing. Of course, bring her here.” Jane shook her head. “She may not live.”

“But at least we won’t have more documentation. We don’t need that shit. And I already stripped her memories—she was on to us, posting on this blog of hers. It’s supposed to be all taken down now, but yeah, she’s still doing it. At least I know where she lives. There isn’t time before sunlight comes, but at nightfall, I’ll go get her, even if she doesn’t like it.”

Jane traced the tattoos on his temple with her fingertips. “Good. I’ll help in any way I can.”

“You always do.” He smiled a little—which for her Vishous was like anybody else breaking out into a clown grin. “Hey. You wanna go have sex.”

Jane laughed. “Yes. I do.”

“OhmyfuckingGodthatisSOtherightanswer.”

As he stood up, he took her with him, carrying her down the hall as if she weighed nothing—except then he stopped for some reason.

Turning in his arms, she smiled and looked at the floor. “Hey, Boo. What are you doing here?”

The household’s black cat meowed up to her, as if in greeting, and then pawed like it wanted to be let into the tunnel.

“I think he wants to go down into—”

“I got it,” V said tightly as he leaned to the wall and released the lock on the door. “Go on, there—that’s it.”

As the cat disappeared, he shut things up and refocused. “Now. Where were we?”

“How’d Boo get in here?”

“I, ah…I let it in.”

“You don’t like cats.”

“I know.” He kept going. “Now let’s concentrate on us.”

When they got to their room, he kicked the door shut and threw her on the bed. Then he loomed over her like he wanted to eat her.

“You are so fucking hot,” he growled.

She eyed the enormous bulge in his leathers. “You are not so bad yourself.”

Except he stayed where he was. Clearing his throat, he said, “I think I’m going to get rid of the penthouse. You know, too many bad memories there.”

Jane stared up at him for a moment. “You love it there.”

“With you, yeah. But whatever. I don’t want you to ever wonder, you know. Ever.”

Her smile was slow and she held her arms out to him. “Come here.”

Vishous joined her, lying half on and half off her body. As his diamond eyes met hers, she felt no hesitation at all.

“I trust you,” she said.

V blinked a number of times—as if he were having a moment—and then he pressed his lips to her own with a smile.

“I love you, too, Jane Whitcomb. Forevermore.”

SIXTY-FIVE

Assail did not sleep. At all. Even as the post-feeding loginess settled in, he was wide fucking awake.

Because he figured out what Marisol and Vishous had been arguing about. He knew exactly what the subject had been, and why V had been so cranked off, and why his Marisol had, as always, absolutely refused to budge.

He looked across the wall at the clock and tried not to freak out that she had been gone nearly two hours. “Goddamn it—”

The door opened, and as his female stood between the jambs, he was at once overjoyed and ready to yell at her.

“I know what you did,” he said sharply. “You went to Benloise’s house, didn’t you. You went to see his sister.”

Marisol at least had the grace to look sheepish. “Now, Assail—”

“Don’t you ‘now, Assail’ me! You could have gotten yourself killed!”

“Didn’t we just do this, with different pronouns,” she muttered as she forced the door closed faster than its hinges appreciated. “And she was going to kill you—if we stay in Caldwell, she would have found you and—”

“Is she dead,” he demanded tightly.

“Yes. Someone is going to find her with a bronze statue on her head and a shattered teacup about six feet from the body in the rear promenade of her brother’s house.” Marisol put her hand up. “And, I was a good little assassin—I didn’t go in. I had a clean shot and I took it and made it count. Then I left and now I’m home, and we are never speaking of this again. You took care of Ricardo for me, I took care of his sister for you, and now we are both out of that life for good. Vishous and his people are going to have to buy all those bullets from somebody else. They’re not stupid. They’ll figure it out.”

Assail crossed his arms over his chest. “I do not approve.”

“Which was why I didn’t ask you.”

She sidled up to the bed, taking off her parka. Then her fleece. Then her…

As her naked breasts made a stunning appearance, and his sex punched out in an erection that could have jacked up the back of a car, he forgot all about being upset.

Which was not fair.

“You’re trying to distract me,” he complained as she started to take off her pants. “You’re…oh, God…”