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“Althea” was Anita Barrington, a renowned immortality quester and Giles’s partner. She’d died escaping the blast.

Roni continued. “Then we heard about the subway and the wedding, and Giles said it was a sign that we needed to act faster. But hearing about people dying because of supernaturals made some members think the
opposite
.”

“That revealing ourselves might be a bad idea.”

“At least we should slow down. Then Thomas Nast died and people were talking about angels and demons and … it just …”

“The liberation movement imploded,” I said. “Too much pressure from too many sources. Members bailed. Outside support dried up. Giles went ballistic and swore to show them all the error of their ways by launching the first wave of infections. With a virus that still hadn’t been proven. Am I close?”

She nodded. “He said it worked. That they’d finished trials and Bryce Nast was an immortal, superhuman warrior. He even showed us pictures. That’s why Dave drank the water.”

“Photoshop is a marvelous thing,” I said. “My brother is lying in a hospital bed in Miami.”

Her gaze dropped, and I knew that whatever she’d been telling herself, she’d still hoped she was wrong.

“Are there two strains of the virus?” Adam said. He’d come back partway through the conversation. “The one in Austin seemed different.”

She nodded. “That one has to be injected. The other can be spread through water or food, which is easier, but the chances of it working aren’t as high.”

“So what’s the plan now?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Giles stopped talking to me. He just gives orders through Severin and Sierra. I know he was trying to contact Lucifer. He says Lucifer holds the key. Lucifer can make this work.”

“Where is he?”

“I—I don’t know.” She started to shake. “I want to help, but I don’t know. No one does.”

“The place where they were holding me. Where is it?”

“In Indiana.”

“Where in Indiana?”

“N-near Indianapolis. B-but not too near. It isn’t in a city. I’ve never gone there by myself. We just get in the van and Severin or Sierra drives.”

I tried to get more—landmarks, distance from the airport, anything. I kept the grilling as gentle as I could, reassuring her that it was okay, no pressure, but of course there was pressure and she knew it, and it wasn’t long before she began hyperventilating. Then the medic intervened and said he had to sedate her for the rest of the trip. Whatever else she could share, she’d need to do it in Miami.

Veronica Tucker died before we landed. There was no agonizing, dramatic exit. We weren’t even sure exactly when she passed. We were sitting there, talking among ourselves as she slept. Then the medic came in to check on her and said she was gone.

Her injuries had been severe. He told me he’d doubted she’d make it through the trip. He kept reassuring me until Adam told him to shut the fuck up. I hadn’t asked him if my interrogation
led to her death. I understood that it may not have helped, but we needed that information.

I hadn’t liked Roni. She’d gotten me kidnapped and could have gotten my friends killed, all because she wanted supernatural powers so she could be “special.”

A silly, selfish twit. Not the best epitaph. I hadn’t wanted her dead, but I wouldn’t lie awake at night thinking of how it could have been different. She’d done us wrong and then she’d helped us. The slate was clean.

The jet landed right after that. We were getting off when I stopped and hurried back on, Adam behind me. The medic popped his head into the main cabin as I headed for Roni’s body.

“I need to grab something from her,” I said. “Does she have any rings?”

The medic stared at me.

“It’s a personal item,” Adam snapped. “In case a necromancer needs to contact her spirit to ask more questions.”

The medic mumbled something about tending to the living and withdrew. I folded back Roni’s covers. She was indeed wearing rings.

I was tugging one off when Roni tugged back, her arm jerking.

Adam yanked me away. “She’s infected.”

Roni’s eyes opened. They stared at the ceiling. Then her lips parted. They stayed like that for a moment, then she whispered, “Child of Asmondai. Is that you?”

“Who are you?” Adam said.

The corpse didn’t move. It just stared blankly at the ceiling. After at least ten seconds, we heard another whisper from the corpse. “Kimerion. I am Kimerion.”

“Yeah?” Adam said, stepping forward. “You’re no demi-demon if you can’t move that body.”

“Weak,” the voice rasped. “I got too close to de Rais and Balaam’s demons found me. Haven’t been able to contact you.”

That part was true—Kimerion had been out of contact for days.

“Lucifer,” Kimerion said. “De Rais needs to summon Lucifer. His only chance.”

I sighed. “We know that.”

“Like your grandsire, you have no patience,” the demi-demon hissed. “Yes, de Rais has long wished to summon Lucifer. That wish is now an obsession. He is desperate. He thinks he knows the key. He no longer waits and plots to obtain it.”

“And that key is … ?”

“The blood of Lucifer.”

“Hope,” I said. “He thinks her blood will open the lines of communication with Lucifer. Let Giles offer his allegiance. Cut a deal.”

“No deal. No allegiance. A threat.”

“What?”

Adam answered. “He’ll threaten to kill Hope and her baby.”

“Threatening a lord demon? Is he crazy?”

“I believe we’ve already established that,” Cassandra said, coming up behind me.

“But that won’t work. Lucifer may take an interest in his children, but not enough to save her.”

“Lucifer is diff—” Kimerion began.

A long, exhaled hiss of breath. Roni’s eyes closed.

HOPE

Karl was prowling. From one side of the bed to the other, into the hall, down the hall, up the hall, back to the bedroom, pacing like a caged lion. Or caged wolf, Hope supposed she should say.

She could stop him. Tell him he was making her dizzy and keeping her from getting some rest. But she was enjoying watching him pace. He was wearing only sweat pants and the sight was very nice indeed, muscles rippling under scarred skin. It was not a sight she got to see outside the bedroom—he was too self-conscious about those scars.

He paced back into the room and stopped at the foot of the bed.

“You should be sleeping.”

“Mmm. Later. Not tired yet.”

Hope gave him a once-over. He chuckled and bent forward, hands on the end of the bed.

“I could help with that,” he said.

“You could …”

“I will.”

He crawled across the bed and tugged down the sheet over her, his hand sliding down her thigh. She considered the offer.
Not sex, sadly. That had gotten unwieldy a couple of weeks ago, and they’d switched to backup plans. Karl’s backup plan was nice. Very nice. However …

“Not tonight,” she said, moving his hand away before she changed her mind.

His brows shot up and she sputtered a laugh.

“Never thought you’d hear those words from me? Sorry. But you’re distracted and I’d rather wait until you’re not. Otherwise …” She lowered her voice. “It’s less than perfect.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. That was the thing about Karl that others didn’t understand. His ego might barely fit in a room, but he knew it. It was like that muscular body, developed as a way to deal with his world, so much a part of him that it didn’t take much to maintain. Karl knew what he was. A first-rate fighter. A peerless jewel thief. A wealthy, cultured, powerful, handsome man. Not a bad catch, really. If you could get past the ego part.

Hope told him so as he slipped under the sheet and lay down beside her. He only laughed and tugged her against him, head on his arm.

“If you were concerned about my ego, you shouldn’t have agreed to marry me,” he said. “Or have my baby. Beautiful young wife. Beautiful baby on the way. Two more reasons for me to be very, very pleased with myself.”

“She might not be beautiful.”

His brows shot up again. “Genetically impossible.”

Hope laughed and moved closer, closing her eyes to luxuriate in the heat of his body. His hand moved to her stomach.

“How is she?” he murmured.

“Sleeping, I think. I haven’t felt her move in a while.”

His hand massaged her stomach.

“Are you trying to wake her up?”

“No, of course—”

The sheet bobbed as the baby kicked. She glared over at him. “Happy?”

“Sorry.”

He rubbed the spot. She sighed, but only to be dramatic. These days, she should know better than to tell him when their daughter had gone quiet. It only worried him, and he had enough to worry about.

Hope thought back to the first time she’d met Karl Marsten. At a museum fund-raiser where he’d been determined to steal something and she’d been determined to stop him. Had someone told her that she’d be married to Karl Marsten one day, she’d have laughed herself to tears. She might have grown up as a socialite, but Karl was exactly the kind of man she’d spent her life avoiding. Even after they became friends, the thought of winding up here, in his bed, wearing his ring wouldn’t have occurred to her. Okay, maybe the “in his bed” part. But definitely not the ring. And the baby? Unfathomable. Karl Marsten was not the kind of man to be tied down with a wife and child.

On their wedding night Hope had raised the issue of children. She’d done it jokingly—
okay, we’re married now, so when do we take the next step
? She could still remember his face when she said it. His expression. Not shock. Not horror. Longing, quickly hidden as he stammered and mumbled. Yes, stammered and mumbled, two things she would have insisted were beyond Karl Marsten’s capabilities.

When would they start a family? Well, he wanted one. That is, if she wanted one. He hoped she wanted one. But there was no rush. Not really. She had her career, and of course, when she was ready, he’d take his share of responsibilities. More than his share, if that helped. But it really was up to her. Entirely up to her. So … when did she want to start a family?

Now. That’s what she’d said. Now. And while there was no way of knowing for sure, no one would ever convince her that their daughter was
not
conceived that night. Their wedding night.

“You should sleep,” Karl said, pulling her from her thoughts.

“I know. I’m just … I guess you’re not the only one who’s distracted.”

“I’m less distracted now,” he murmured, his fingers dropping between her thighs. “Why don’t you let me see if I can help with—”

A cell phone rang. Karl leaped up—one second she was resting against him, the next he was standing beside the bed, having somehow managed to not even get tangled in the bedsheets. She rose to say that it was just one of the guard’s phones—theirs were on the bedside table, silent. But when she opened her mouth, he motioned her to stay quiet.

She sighed and lay back on the bed. And just when she’d been about to take him up on that offer. The truth was that Karl wasn’t going to be any less distracted until every member of the reveal movement was dead or locked in a Cabal prison.

Hope sighed again. She supposed that protective streak was the price you paid for being with a werewolf, but even Clayton seemed positively nonchalant about his family compared to Karl. She didn’t even want to think what it would be like when their daughter was old enough to date. It might be wise to fit her for a nun’s habit at birth.

Karl was now standing in the hall, leaning over the stair railing, straining to hear the conversation. He didn’t need to strain. The guard was one of those guys, usually encountered on public transit, who doesn’t quite trust the amplification qualities of modern technology and practically shouts into the receiver.

Even Hope could hear him say “What?” into the phone.

Karl tensed, but the guard’s tone didn’t give any cause for alarm and she wasn’t picking up any chaos waves.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Come back to—”

He lifted a finger, still asking her to be quiet.

“Sure,” the guard said. “Bring it over.”

“What’s going on?” Karl called down when the guard rang off.

“Nothing, sir. Peters next door offered to bring over some pizza. He has extra.” A pause. “Would you like some?”

The guard seemed relieved when Karl said no. She didn’t blame him. While Karl was careful not to eat too much in public—even with those who knew he was a werewolf, he considered it uncouth—the night guards had arrived to find the fridge bare. As high as a normal werewolf’s metabolism runs, it has nothing on a stressed-out one.

Karl retreated to the bedroom, closed and locked the door. She pulled back the sheet and he climbed in, pulling her into a kiss that made her decide maybe he wasn’t as distracted as she feared and—

The doorbell rang. Karl growled at the interruption. Hope laughed, wrapped her hands in his hair, and pulled him back down—

The room swirled into a dark vision. A flash of light. A voice said, “What the hell?” There was the soft whistle of a silenced gunshot. Another flash. A man lying on the floor, eyes open and unseeing, beside his head a pizza box, slices spilling out.

Hope jerked upright. Karl swore and reached for her shoulders, massaging.

“Relax,” he murmured. “Just relax. It’ll pass—”

“No.” She wrenched away from him and scrambled up, words tumbling out. “It’s real-time. A chaos vision. Downstairs. The guard. He’s—”

Karl was off the bed before she could get out another syllable. A split-second pause while he listened. Then he grabbed her, fingers digging into her arm, hauling her out of the bed even as
he murmured apologies. He threw open the sliding closet door and pushed her inside.

“Do not come out,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, Hope, do not come out. Do you understand me?”

She wanted to say
No, don’t go. Come with me. Hide in the closet. Lock the door and hide, just hide, please hide.
She knew it would do no good. As she blinked back chaos flashes from downstairs, she knew what was happening. The guard from next door had betrayed them and they were under attack and it didn’t matter how many guards were on their side, how well trained they were, Karl had to go down there and he had to fight.