Kiera screamed like there was no tomorrow as the vampire-hunters strapped her to the cold, stainless-steel table, looped her wrists through the metallic cuffs at the top, and secured her feet with the leather straps. She tried to plead for mercy, but Owen stuffed a cloth inside her mouth and pressed the archaic dagger to her throat.

“Shh,” he whispered maniacally, sliding the flat length of the smelted iron against her convulsing esophagus. “You wouldn’t want me to slip and slit your throat.”

She gasped, taking in a mouthful of the dirty cloth, her eyes growing wide as saucers in fright. Her arms, stomach, thighs, and calves stiffened in revulsion as he sliced the damp T-shirt and sweats off her body, leaving her clad in her rain-soaked panties.

The vile, abrasive music streamed through the speakers all around her, even as the incense assailed her flared nostrils. When, at last, Owen retrieved the ancient clay basin from the tabletop and rotated it so the bloodred cross was facing forward, she closed her eyes and prayed for death. She heard him snap a pair of latex gloves onto his hands, and her terror gave way to panic.

She bucked and writhed against the table.

She tugged at her arms and twisted her legs, desperately trying to break free.

She didn’t care if she broke her wrists and her ankles—it would be a small price to pay for her freedom.

The chains, attached to the cuffs, moaned like they were being rattled by ghosts; the leather would not give way. And then Owen began to carve a treble clef into her right, trembling thigh—she knew because he was narrating his sadism—and her eyes flooded with tears.

She was helpless.

Unable to move, unable to scream, and unable to stop the torture.

As sound and smell and pain came together in a morose, inevitable dance, Kiera rocked back and forth on the table, giving way to the rhythm of despair.

This was real.

It was happening.

And she could do nothing to stop it.

Her mind searched for an escape, clinging to a twofold image: a bright white light and a dark, embracing tunnel—the moment when her spirit would release from her body.

With all her will and desire, she beckoned to death: Come quickly.

* * *

Kyla Sparrow placed the heels of both hands over the heel of the shoe, locked her elbows in place, and leaned forward into the thrust.

And that’s when everything happened at once…

Ciopori screamed in the doorway, like the devil had just assailed her.

An invisible battering ram drove the air from Kyla’s lungs.

And the sharp, pointed spike of the heel skittered to the left before lodging into the child’s pectoralis, rather than his heart.

The baby came awake with a squeal and a howl, and his sharp, tiny fangs latched onto Kyla’s fingers, even as Marquis Silivasi flashed into view, his eyes ablaze with rage-induced crimson. He snatched Kyla by the throat with a powerful, unyielding hand, hauled her off the carpet, and Nikolai’s teeth tore through her flesh.

Ciopori was there in an instant, lifting the babe from the crib and passing him swiftly to Kagen Silivasi, who immediately began to check his injury.

Kyla didn’t have time to watch.

The infuriated Ancient Master Warrior tossed her across the room, slamming her into the wall, and then he lunged like a dark archangel, using a pair of raven-black wings to propel him. His fangs were protruding from his gums; his claws were lethal and extended; and his enormous, muscular body was quaking with the need to…annihilate.

Kyla screamed in abject terror, shielding her neck with her arms, as the feral vampire sprang at her throat, prepared to tear out her jugular.

And then, just like that, Saxson was there, wrapping his powerful arms around Marquis’s shoulders and yanking backward for all he was worth. “No, Master Warrior!” he shouted. “Do not!”

Marquis broke free from Saxson’s grasp, spun around in a whirlwind, and dove at Kyla again.

This time, Ramsey Olaru intercepted the murderous vampire. “Marquis! Snap out of it!” His voice detonated through the room like a hammer striking an anvil, but Marquis could not be restrained. He tossed the powerful sentinel to the side as if he were nothing but a ragdoll and gnashed his canines at Kyla.

She backpedaled into the corner, relieved to see Saxson, Ramsey, Santos, Nathaniel, and Saber all surround the homicidal beast at once.

“Stop!” Saxson grunted, trying to wrench Marquis’s arm behind his back. “She is the only link to my true destiny—if you kill her, my female’s life will be lost.”

“If you kill her,” Ramsey snarled, “Saxson’s life will be lost. Damnit, warrior, stop!”

Kyla’s throat convulsed in terror.

She is the only link to my true destiny…

Oh, shit…

Holy shit!

Saxson knew.

But how?

Yes, she had just attacked a baby, but as long as Saxson believed Kyla was his destiny, his only means of fulfilling the Curse, she did not believe he would kill her—he couldn’t.

But now?

Her mouth grew suddenly dry, and her stomach heaved with the need to retch.

Marquis could not be restrained.

He fought all the other vampires like he was a drowning man and they were the crashing waves standing between his lungs and fresh air.

And then a singular, bone-chilling voice penetrated the mayhem. “Warrior, cease!”

Ciopori Demir-Silivasi sauntering forward, her pupils blazing as if on fire. She raised a trembling, elegant hand and stared daggers through the feral vampire. “As long as you are a son in the hallowed house of Jadon, my brother’s hallowed namesake”—her, sweet lyrical voice became frigid—“you will submit to the laws of your king. You will honor the ancients and obey your elders, and I am the eldest living monarch in this valley.” She paused to take a deep, calming breath. “Lest there be any confusion from any male here—and that includes the three of you: Saxson, Ramsey, and Santos,” she eyed each vampire in turn before focusing her icy glare on Kyla, “then I shall say this once, loud and clear: I claim the right to Blood Vengeance.” She allowed the words to resonate throughout the frenetic space, and Kyla slumped on the floor. “Do whatever you must to retrieve whatever information you wish, but you will not kill her. None of you. That honor will be mine.” Raising her chin, she turned her attention to Saxson and spoke regally. “Sentinel, when you are through with this human excrement, whenever that is, you will deliver her to me: conscious and alert. Is that understood?” Without awaiting an answer, she softened her gaze and appraised her mate, yet again. “My love, I must go with Kagen, Arielle, and Nikolai to the clinic now—I would appreciate it if you would accompany me.”

That seemed to do the trick.

Marquis snapped out of it.

He drew back his shoulders, stretched his neck, and rolled his jaw from side to side, retracting his wings and his fangs. The bulging muscles in his arms pulsed in multiple rippling spasms before growing slack, and he backed away from Kyla. But not before staring her down and growling. “You are going to wish I had been the one to end your existence in this bedroom,” he taunted, and then he turned his back, strolled to Ciopori’s side, and left the bedroom with Kagen, Arielle, and Nikolai.

The vampire-warriors parted like the biblical Red Sea, allowing Saxson to approach Kyla directly, and she knew it was time to face the music.

Still, she had no intentions of giving up that easily. “Saxson!” she cried in desperation, trying to circumvent his anger before he unleashed it. “It’s not what you think. I swear! I’m not sure what you believe—or what you’ve been told—but I—”

He snatched her by the hair, hauled her off the ground, and slammed her against the wall. “I may not have the right to kill you, but I won’t hesitate to cut out your tongue. Speak one more lie to me, Kyla…just one.” He bent so close that the tip of his nose brushed against her forehead. “Just. One.”

She shivered, averting her eyes.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

She didn’t know this vampire.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he thrust into her mind and began to retrieve her recent memories. She knew because it felt like an icepick bayonetting her skull, shredding the fragile gray matter, and she could see—she could actually feel—the memories replaying against her frontal lobe. Like weeds being plucked from a garden, wrenched out by the roots, Saxson began at the present day and worked methodically backward, stopping at the night of the Cetus Blood Moon.

“Son of a bitch!” he finally snarled, releasing his hand and dropping her to the ground. He turned to regard his brothers. “Her sister’s name is Kiera. My destiny’s name is Kiera, and they were together that night at the bar. Kyla belongs to a vampire-hunting society, and she took Kiera’s place.” His voice dropped to a low, threatening purr. “She had the markings of Cetus tattooed onto her wrist, and then she gave Kiera—she offered her twin—to a couple of humans in a dark blue van.” He scoffed in disgust. “She doesn’t know where they took her sister—whether Kiera is dead or alive—because she never cared enough to ask.” He shut his eyes, slowly shook his head, and whispered: “Nachari…wizard, you need to summon your father because this shit just gets better and better. The Head Hunter, the leader of Kyla’s militia, goes by a familiar name: Xavier Matista.”

A collective gasp reverberated across the room, followed by several strings of Romanian curses, but Saxson didn’t have time to react. He didn’t have time to go into detail or to offer any further explanations. His brow was creased with worry, and his pupils were dilated with focus as he prowled across the floor, bent to retrieve Kyla’s dainty red purse, and withdrew her cell phone from the center velvet-lined pocket, tossing it to Santos. “Brother, I need you to dissect this shit. Get everything off this phone: photographs, passwords, addresses; texts, emails, social media accounts; and most important, recover anything that has been deleted in the last seven days. Can you do that?”

Santos nodded, his complexion noticeably pale, and Kyla couldn’t help but read his mind, even from her human perspective: He had to be wondering if it wasn’t too late—if he was staring at his brother’s corpse—if Kiera was already dead, then Saxson was already lost.

But to his credit, he opened Kyla’s phone and swiped along the bottom. “That’s gonna take me a little time, especially the recovery piece,” he informed Saxson. “Can’t just pull the memories out of a piece of metal and plastic like a human mind. I’m going to need to take this home where I can access my tools and equipment.” And then he paused. “What’s the password for the phone?”

Kyla pursed her lips together, and Saxson flew across the space, squatted in front of her, and slapped her so hard, her right molars came loose.

She spit out a wad of bloody drool. “Five. Seven. Six. Six. Six.”

There was no point in lying.

Saxson would either beat it out of her or take it from her mind.

Besides, she couldn’t imagine anything in there that would lead them to Kiera—she honestly didn’t know where her sister was, and she didn’t keep any vampire-hunting contacts stored in her phone…at least not by their real first and last names, and not with any data other than phone numbers. She wasn’t that stupid.

Saxson stood up and faced the room, dismissing Kyla like so much garbage, like the two of them had never made love…like he’d never even known her. And his calloused, cold indifference was more cutting than any words of condemnation—or acts of retribution—could ever have been.

“Ramsey,” he said with unerring purpose, “you and Saber take the female to Napolean’s manse, lock her in the holding cell, and interrogate her.”

The female? Kyla gulped.

“I’d rather go with you, brother,” Ramsey said resolutely.

“I know,” Saxson replied, “but no one will be more motivated to get answers than you. You’re my twin. I need you to do this for me, Ramsey.” He raised one shoulder in a compromising shrug. “You can meet up with me when you’re done, if the need still exists. Santos can do the same, once he’s evaluated the phone. I need as much information as I can get, warriors. We may not have much time.” He didn’t wait for a reply—the last sentence was too heavy, too ominous, too loaded with implications…it could already be too late. “Oh,” Saxson pressed on, clearly ignoring the elephant in the room, “and you might want Keitaro and Nachari with you—in case there’s any more information about Xavier—or you require the intervention of magic.”

His eyes scanned the room, searching for another familiar face, and halted in the crowded doorway. “Dario: You, Conrad, and Lily, stay with Braden—sit down and go over those visions with a fine-tooth comb. Braden may have more knowledge of people, places, and events locked inside that psyche than any of us. And Nathaniel.” He waited for the devilish vampire to step forward and inclined his head with respect. “You’re coming with me and the tracker.” With that, he finally revealed his frustration: His hands pumped nervously, clenching into fists, and he grit his teeth in anger. “Just where the hell is Julien, anyway!”

“Right behind you, sentinel.” A deep, raspy brogue echoed in the room as a monstrously large vampire shimmered into view, his short, mahogany hair cut in an angular taper; his moonstone-gray eyes brimming with singular purpose; his harsh, unyielding countenance filling the crowded space like vapor. Beneath the breast of his black leather trench coat, Kyla could see the head of a battle-axe sheathed below one armpit, and what appeared to be an M4 carbine strapped underneath the other.

She shuddered.

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Saxson growled.

As the dark, merciless vampire, with black-and-red banded hair, palmed the back of Kyla’s neck and scooped her off the floor, her knees finally buckled, and she vomited.

Saxson had totally abandoned her.

Nothing—and no one—could help her now.

And the nightmare was only beginning.