All I saw was the flash.

All I heard was the pop.

All I felt was the reflex as the shotgun kicked in my hand.

The bullet from his pistol spun in midair an inch from the middle of my forehead. I reached out and plucked the hot metal from the space as Henry gasped and then lunged, leaving a bloody trail behind.

“The answers, Henry!” I racked the chamber, ejecting the rounds, and then reached for my pocket.

Pellets had shredded his crisp white shirt, leaving strips to flap as he scurried.

Desperation filled him now, I could smell it thick and foul.

“What is Titus Banks, and who are the other members of the Nine?”

The woman’s screams outside turned guttural as Henry crawled across broken glass and then stumbled to his feet.

I could see her standing just outside the doorway, her hand over her wide-open mouth. There were shouts of the police are coming, as I stepped closer to the guards and knelt. Fear filled their gaze, until one closed his eyes tight.

“They’re coming, but they’re not here, are they?” I murmured.

One shook his head, the other stayed perfectly still.

“You know what I am?” There was a tremble, I took that for a nod. “Shoot me again and you won’t have time to take your last fucking breath. You got me?”

I didn’t wait, only shoved to a stand as I grabbed their guns. Henry was all the way into the foyer by the time I reached the screaming woman. I lifted a hand, finger poised in the air, and strode closer.

Black flames danced like a flamethrower. “Shut it.”

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. Strands of perfect hair fell to her shoulders. I saw myself now, in the reflection of those tear-filled eyes.

I saw the thing I’d hunted.

The thing I swore I’d never be.

I saw a monster.

I jerked my gaze from her to the gutless bastard that hurled himself onto the reception desk. Others were cowering behind it. I could hear them…I could smell them.

I could sense them…panic…terror…pain.

“Give me the fucking answers, Henry.”

Rage spilled free. He was making me do this, making me be this…

He was doing this all to himself.

“Fuck you!” he screamed and then turned, shoving his back against the edge of the counter. A woman cowered at the edge, young, pretty, blue eyes trained on me.

I knew what was in his head the moment he saw her, and I knew how this would all end.

“Don’t,” I snarled as he lunged for her.

She punched and screamed, but he caught her fist midair and wrenched her upwards.

“Let her go, you piece of shit,” I lifted the muzzle and aimed in the middle of his forehead.

It was wrong.

Wrong for me to care about her life and not his.

I knew that, and still it was his vile soul I wanted. His dark eyes glinted, salvation only one innocent life away. He glanced toward the door a second before he made his move.

“Fuck you, stupid fucking cunt!” he roared and then shoved her.

The young girl stumbled forward, arms out, gaze glued to the gun in my hand. But it wasn’t the gun she needed to be worried about.

Henry lunged for the open door at the same time I opened my hand and poured hellfire through the air.

Midnight flames rolled onto themselves, creating a ball of fire. It hit him one step away from those open glass doors. His feet were lifted as the fire consumed cloth and flesh…

Unmerciful screams followed as he dropped to the ground and rolled. But there was no saving him, not now, not ever. The sickening stench of burning flesh filled the room. A fine mist of water shot down from the sprinkler system overhead as outside, sirens wailed.

He was a ball of fat, burning in the middle of the room. I lifted my head to the young woman. She just stared, first at me, and then at him. For some reason, a need to explain overwhelmed me. “He was a bad man, a really bad man, and he got what he deserved.”

She nodded so sweetly, wide eyes following me as I crossed the room, stepped over his burning corpse, and went through the open doors.

They’d never put out the flames, not these.

These had a purpose.

Jerry…the name rang in my head as I went to the elevators. Cries and whimpers filled the space, but I could barely hear them, caught in the vacuum of what I’d done.

Blood, and fire…

They haunted me as I hit the button and waited for the elevator doors to open. Lights flicked from the fifth floor to the sixth, before they opened with a ping. I thought of the elevator at The Circle, and then of Redemption.

The doors opened, panicked people screamed. I lifted my hand, flames still dancing from my fingers. “Please stop, I have a headache.”

Wide eyes…open mouths. I hugged the doors, with the muzzle pointed to the floor, as we rode all the way to the first floor.

Chaos descended as the door opened. The bank of elevators to my right opened at the same time and sobbing humans spilled out. I stepped forward, glanced left, and continued to the service door marked Private at the far side of the room.

Flames poured from the sigil across my palm, folding back on themselves as I clenched my fist and reached for the doorknob. Screams erupted behind me as the metal lock gave way, and then I was striding back into the gloom of the service hall once more.

I sucked in a shuddering breath and slowed my steps, then glanced to the shotgun. It’d been a miracle I’d gotten this far. I lifted the weapon and clenched my jaw. I’d had it my entire hunting career. I’d shot demons, wolves, even a pissed off vampire or two—but never a mortal…not until today.

I opened the chamber, yanked the shells free, and then grasped the muzzle and broke the weapon in two. It was done, that part of my life was over. The broken shotgun slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground with a thud. I punched the exit door and stepped into the filthy alley once more.

My car waited across the street. The windows were down, ready to get out of this place and on to the next. A scream ripped through the air. I glanced over my shoulder as I crossed the street and approached my car.

The wailing woman from the hallway ran from the building as though her life depended on it.

She didn’t realize the moment was over…the deal all done.

Henry Mughausser gave me a name and that was all. But it was a start.

Someone knew something. I yanked open the door as the sound of police sirens filled the air.

The old Corolla started with a growl. She had a purpose, too…

I put the car in gear and eased out into the trickle of traffic. I leaned close to the open window and caught the warmth of the sun on my cheek.

It was a perfect day…

Apart from the fucking agony in my thigh. I glanced down to the spreading stain of blood as it seeped from my jeans. Pain roared now, tearing and gnawing, desperate to be heard.

My fingers trembled, hands shuddering as I gripped the wheel, turned right and then right again…

I needed somewhere quiet…

Agony sank fangs into my thigh. I swallowed a whimper and scanned the mess of cars and buildings as panic slowly stalked into my mind.

Sun glinted off windows to pierce my eyes…blinding.

I winced and turned my head. It was all starting to set in now, all starting to become real. Flashes filled my head. Blood…screams…a monster carrying a shotgun…

Tires screeched as I yanked the wheel. There had to be a place…had to be some kind of hideout. Tall buildings gave way to darkened streets. These were the places in the shadows…the places filled with foreboding alleys and haunted whispers.

These were my kind of streets, where the supes hid away from the mortal spotlight. I drew in the sickly smell of old blood…vampire…and then looked down to the blood seeping through my jeans.

It was too much…too much blood…too much trust.

I needed a place the humans would think twice before they tackled the front door. Neon lights flickered along the darkened alley. I slowed, catching the name Biters, and then kept on going.

Not so flashy…not so in your face.

I turned the corner again, leaving the traffic behind. There were no cars parked along this street, no people walking along the pavement…no graffiti on the doors.

There was a butcher shop…no, no a butcher…but three of them. An unseen blade plunged deep as I tapped the brakes and slowed the old car.

There…a bloody handprint marred the corner of a building. I pulled over to the side and stared down the dark, filthy alley. Water pooled on the concave street, reflecting the blue sky above as though somehow it needed just a glimmer of beauty in such a shitty place.

It was fucking perfect.

I killed the engine and then scanned the passenger’s seat. All I needed was a basin, a toilet…someplace to scream when I dug this fucking thing out of my thigh. Someplace I could hide…even for just a little while.

I grabbed the pack and heaved, dragging it onto the seat. “Come on, Alma. Have some kind of first aid kit.”

I yanked open the top and thrust my hand inside, past the boxes of cartridges and talismans that clinked and jangled…down deep to the bottom, until I skimmed a soft pouch.

I gripped and pulled, and then stilled as the inside of the car turned gray…everything turned gray.

My pulse thundered in my ears, filling me with that hollow sound…filling me with fear. I moved slower now, no sudden movements, and eased the small pack free.

A white cross printed on green nylon. The old thing was as familiar as the woman herself. I’d reached for this many times, bandaging every gash from a claw and every puncture from a bite, and now the thing needed to pack a goddamn bullet wound.

I pulled open the zipper and rifled through the packets of pads and bandages to the single-use swabs and solutions at the bottom. I needed pliers—I gripped the wheel and shifted on the seat.

Pain roared like hate and rage all mingled in one. No…nope…nope. I eased back against the seat and gripped the wheel. Not doing that…not yet. I pulled the zipper, closing the kit halfway, and shoved it back into the top of the pack.

I turned my head toward the alley…all I had to do was get there, bluff my way inside, and find a bathroom. And what if I can’t trust them? What if they call dear old dad?

The question lingered. I couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t fight a battle not yet drawn. Right now, all I could think about was getting there. I stared at that bloody hand print…it was more than a mess on the wall.

It was a marker.

Stay out. No mortals here.

We’re dangerous…

Shifters. I could smell the thick, heady scent from here. They won’t like me being here, but that’s the point, right?

Hide someplace no one will look. I reached out, gripped the straps of the pack, and dragged it across my lap.

My right hand wouldn’t work, fingers wouldn’t curl, grip wouldn’t hold. And that alley felt like a world away. The tremble had grown now as I reached for the keys, the tremble had turned into a quake.

I curled my fingers, tried to snag the door handle, and slipped.

Come on, Lorn…get your shit together. Karma was riding this moment, laughing all the way from the dark corners of my mind.

I tried again, sliding my fingers underneath the latch, and then yanked. I can do this…I can do this. I dragged the pack with me, until my right hand closed around the strap and held. Twenty steps…twenty steps until I hit that alley.

I closed my eyes, then inhaled hard and held it. My leg wouldn’t move, just bounced and jittered in place. I shifted the straps of my pack higher on my arm and then gripped the front of my jeans.

I wanted Titus…or Rival, or even Gabriel, with the sadness and aching in his eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until now.

Come on, Lorn. Get your shit together, Rival’s growl filed my mind.

Get the fuck out of the way, hellhound, Titus would bark, and then yank open my door.

He’d be there, like the knight in battle-scarred armor…I never trusted the ones without a scratch. Those knights were the ones you were wary of.

And yet he’d move in with those perfect blue eyes. I got you…hold on to me, Lorn, I’ve got you.

I gripped the door through the one window and heaved my leg out. Bombs detonated in my eyes and the world swam. I could feel the heat leaving me…seeping out of the wound in my leg.

Movement was lost on me now…as was the pain. I don’t know how I walked, I don’t remember stepping. I just held on…held on to the strap of my pack, held on to the scream in my throat, and forced myself to move.

The bright morning sun slipped away as I made it halfway across the road and then to the edge of the alley. There was a door about halfway…and no neon sign to light the way.

Stagnant water splashed, and the buzzing of flies followed. I swallowed the rancid scent of old blood and rotting meat and stepped closer.

The Den…a sign was stuck against the dirty brick wall, and underneath it written in black marker, Stay the fuck out.

“Perfect,” the word was warped and strange, slipping from my lips to fall into the air. I stumbled, slapped my hand to the cold bricks, and kept moving.

Something scurried across an overturned trash can, squeaking and squealing. I flinched with the sound and then tried to breathe. It’s okay…it’s okay…it’s just a rat…

“You smell like trouble, Hunter.”

I swallowed a tremble and lifted my gaze to the darkened doorway.

Silver eyes glinted in the dark a second before the shifter stepped forward. He was older, with silver hair along his temples and hard, stony eyes. He closed his mouth, inhaled, and then dropped his gaze to the pack covering the wound.

“We don’t want no trouble here, go away.”

I shook my head, “I just need…”

“You just need?” White teeth shone in the gloom. He took another step, striding down from the doorway to meet me face to face. “You just fucking need? You know what kind of place this is? This ain’t your town…and these ain’t your friends. Fuck off, while you can still fuck off. You understand me?”

Not my shifters. Not my friends. Pleading would get me nowhere…

There was only one thing I had left.

I raised my hand, the sigil still carving a black line across my palm. It was the mark of my father…a mark that not only warned…but threatened.

The old shifter stared at my palm and then lifted his gaze. Pale lips curled into a snarl.

“I don’t want any trouble. Just a bathroom and a little time. That’s all I need, do you understand me…that’s all I fucking need.”

I was backing him into a corner. I knew that. And a beast with no way out was a dangerous one. He glanced at my pack and then my hand.

Please…come on…

“A bathroom and an hour. That’s all I’m giving you and then I don’t want to see your fucking face again…ever.”

My leg shuddered and shook as I nodded. The shifter inhaled, took one look behind me to the street, and then gave a nod. “At the back of the bar and to the right. You shoot anyone in my goddamn place and you’re out…”

“I won’t,” I murmured.

Promises were so easy now, and they were all just words—just lies. Move my lips and they all spilled out. Maybe I was more like my father than I realized.

I heaved forward, gripped the doorway, and dragged my foot forward. A wave of agony hit. I pinned my lip with my teeth and forced myself to move.

The smell was vile, worse than the alley, the odor of rotting meat smothered me like a shroud as I stepped inside and stared into the darkness. Soft white lights were aimed against the walls, illuminating the way.

The door closed behind me, and was then locked with a snap. Fear gripped me, twisting and turning like a serpent trapped inside.

Movement at my right, something big and powerful.

“She’s okay,” the shifter behind me muttered. “Don’t get yourself worked up. Get back to your drinks…”

There was a growl and then a snarl. Silver eyes flashed in the dark on one side, and soft gold on the other. Not just wolves…I inhaled the heady scent of dirt and pine.

One of them stepped closer to the light. Tall, and built. Long obsidian hair cascaded over his shoulders as he turned to me. “Hello there, beautiful.”

“She’s a hunter, Fang. Those are out of bounds, remember?”

Distrust and then fear filled the shifter’s eyes. Panther. I’d seen two or three before, not many came to Harbor…

“He’s new. Keep walking, Hunter. Clock’s ticking.”

I nodded and kept on moving, past the hardened stares of those who knew what I was, to the ones who looked at me with awe.

I wrenched away from the sight. I wasn’t to be admired, I wasn’t even to be trusted.

I had a job, same as them, only our version of ‘live in peace’ was different.

Had been different, remember?

You’re one of them now.

I scanned rows of glistening glasses and amber-filled bottles along the bar and jerked my gaze to the bartender. “Can I have one of those?”

A guttural growl vibrated from the old shifter’s chest behind me before he barked, “Give her the damn bottle.”

A woman slipped off a stool at the edge of the bar. She was short and stocky, With chocolate-brown hair set in bangs around her face, hiding deep-set eyes. She wore black leather pants and a torn sleeveless shirt that read, fangs for the memories underneath splotches of bright red blood.

I stared far too long, trying to figure out if the gruesome detail was real. The grate of glass on steel drew my gaze. Everything moved in slow motion as the bartender slid a bottle of Jack along the stainless-steel counter toward her.

“Here…you…go…sweetheart.” She took a step and lifted the alcohol toward me.

Her gaze skimmed my breasts, my belly, and lingered on my pack. Nostrils flared, drawing the thick, warm scent of fresh blood deep.

Be polite…be fucking polite, the words played over and over in my head. “Thank…you…I’m…going…to…need…the…bathhhhrooooom.”

“Take all the time you need, precious,” she smiled.

I missed the words, caught on the curl of her lips. But my fingers grasped the bottle as I lifted my gaze to the far wall.

Bitches…was etched with gold into the door.

I lifted the bottle to my lips and forced my feet to move. Heat slid down the back of my throat to well in my belly as I crossed the floor and then shoved the bathroom door.

Pitch black. I couldn’t see a damn thing. Fingers danced over cold concrete beside me before I found the switch. I clawed, flicking the button, before the overhead lights blinked and buzzed, filling the bathroom with the harsh glare.

The bitter stench of bleach and old blood carved through my nostrils like a line of cocaine. I stumbled inside, and then shoved the door closed behind me.

Not a good place…not a good place at all.

But it was what I needed. A place where the mortals would tread carefully…a place where they knew they were prey.

Just like I was right now.

The lock was small and flimsy. My fingers trembled as I twisted the catch and then glanced around the room. Three stalls and two basins. The walls were black and stainless, easier to hide the blood. I staggered to the counter, set the bottle and the pack beside the basin, and then lifted my gaze.

I looked bad…real bad. Fluorescent lights glinted against shards of glass embedded in my cheek. I winced at the sight and leaned closer to the mirror.

My fingers trembled as I pinched and then yanked, tearing sliver after sliver free. Tiny beads of blood took their place, welling before they fell. But it was the bullet wound that scared me…and the squish of blood.

I lifted my shirt and stared at my jeans. The mess was heading south, sticking denim to my skin. I gripped the edge of the basin and lifted my foot, kicking one boot free before the other.

My gut clenched with the wave of agony. My knees locked and then buckled. I lunged, grabbing hold of the chrome faucets, and held on. A whimper slipped free, long and pathetic. I trembled, sucked in a breath, and the reached for the bottle.

Agony ebbed a bit, leaving me washed out and weak. Cold seeped through my filthy socks to gnaw my toes. I slipped one hand free from my grip on the faucet and worked my way to the button of my jeans and then the zipper.

The sopping sound of blood-soaked denim was sickening. I shoved one side of my jeans down and then the other, pushing until the denim slipped down my thighs to fall in a heap at my feet.

The wound was small, barely noticeable. Fresh blood spilled free when I moved. I closed my eyes for a second before I reached for my pack.

“Hey, you okay in there?” The woman from the bar called through the door.

I nodded, and held on. “I’m fine.”

Silence followed as I pulled the flap and then the opening. The kit was already open, packets of gauze had spilled free.

I grasped one, held it between my teeth, and yanked. Plastic tore, and the contents dropped, hitting the ceramic rim of the sink. I gripped the cotton and then reached for the bottle of Jack. One swig, and then a splash against the dressing, and I focussed on the wound.

The damn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. I closed my eyes, steeled my will, and then pushed the gauze to the wound.

Pain roared, like a beast that screamed my name. White flashes detonated in my eyes. A scream ripped free to bounce against the walls.

Thunder followed.

Boom…boom…boom…

Voices pushed in…but I was too far gone, leaving my washed-out world far behind. My knees buckled, cold air buffeted my face.

An hour…I’ll be out of here in an hour…

The words slipped through my mind as darkness rushed in and I knew no more.