I swung the car into the parking area alongside the sheriff’s office and killed the engine. Sheriff Braeburn climbed out of the cruiser and headed my way with the kind of swagger that made my pulse race.

He was fit, heavy with muscles, and as I stared, all I could think about was Titus, and Gabriel, and Rival.

Thoughts followed by the heat of desire.

Dark eyes, dark hair. Just like the sheriff here. And as the name cut through my mind, the sheriff reached for my driver’s door.

Redemption.

“My office is just in there.”

I flinched at his voice, forced a smile, and then glanced up to the mountain. I could just leave here, try the dark, slippery toads tonight and let what will be happen.

What, you don’t trust yourself?

The question was a slap in the face as I climbed out. Trust myself? With the sheriff, sure…with Redemption? Not a chance in hell.

A pang of loneliness speared through my chest as I followed the sheriff along the side of the building to the path and then inside. For a little one-horse hick town, the place was fairly new.

Steel and chrome…a communications room on the left. I could hear a woman’s voice inside chatting.

“Ms. Payne,” the sheriff stopped beside an open office door and motioned inside.

He reminded me a little too much of Redemption. The subtle cockiness. The muscular body. All that power…all that strength, just waiting for a way to release. Heat flared between my thighs as I gave a nod and stepped inside the office.

“I want to be honest with you,” he started as he closed the door.

I stared at the lock, stared at the wood butting against the jamb. Should’ve left it open.

He missed the cues and just kept on talking. “Marcus is one of my good friends and an invaluable part of the community. And while I’m terribly sorry for whatever reason has brought you to Eytan, I have to ask you to leave…tonight…right now.”

I jerked and whipped my head around to find those dark eyes. “I’m sorry…what?”

He never sat, only splayed those arms wide on the center of his desk and leaned over. It was an act of dominance. Sheriff Braeburn here was feeling threatened.

“You need to leave Eytan tonight. Marcus…or Reginald, or whoever the fuck you traveled all this way to find, simply doesn’t want to be found, and I think it’s in the community’s best interest if you just leave.”

“The community’s best interest? What the fuck do you think I am? A raging psychopath?”

“I don’t know, Ms. Payne. I don’t know you, don’t know where you come from or where you’re going and frankly, I don’t fucking care. I care about this town and I care about these people and their safety is my number one concern.”

Hate flared deep, plunging like the tip of a blade. I watched him…watched the flare of corded muscles along his arm as he clenched the edge of the desk—watched the way he tried to hold my gaze.

I shook my head and rose from the chair. I’d wasted my goddamn time. “Sheriff, as much as I applaud you taking your job seriously, I’m going to have to politely tell you to go fuck yourself.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, like a smile.

Fingers curled, was he itching to draw his gun? I held his gaze. Do it. Fucking do it and see where that gets you.

“Like I said,” he murmured. “Those mountain trails can get dangerous for a woman like you.”

It was my turn to smile. Threats and intimidation I was used to. People had underestimated me my entire fucking life, why start now? I gave the sheriff a slight nod and turned.

I half expected him to launch over the desk and tackle me from behind, but he didn’t…he just let me go. I strode past the comms room and then out into the night.

What the fuck was all that for? I’d hit a nerve, one that seemed to run through this community like a live fucking wire. “Nice one, Lorn. Way to fucking go. This is why you don’t make friends.”

I climbed back into the car and started the engine. As much as I hated to admit it, his threats got under my skin. What if it was dangerous up there? What if this place was something more than the sleepy, sly-as-fuck town it portrayed?

I shoved the car into gear and backed out. Sheriff Braeburn watched me from the open door of the station. I contained the need to flip him the bird as I drove away.

Street lights lit the way, but this place was fucking dead. I searched for an all-night diner, or some kind of restaurant, and found nothing.

One lonely red neon light flashed toward the end of the main street. Heroes Bar. I clenched my jaw and swallowed a snarl. The place looked like a dive, a swing door made of plyboard plastered with graffiti was the grand fucking entrance.

I yanked the wheel, swung the car hard, and nosed into the parking lot. I just needed somewhere quiet, some place I could start up Alma’s laptop and search her files.

There had to be more to this place than overbearing cops with something to prove. I stuffed the maps and journals into the top of my pack and grabbed the laptop.

I wanted a drink to calm my nerves, five of them, if I was fucking honest. I dropped my head to my palm—but since good old dad decided to make an entrance into my life, not even an entire bottle gave me a buzz anymore.

I opened the door and climbed out. The pathetic red neon light buzzed and flickered. The name of the bar was ironic. “Let’s see how many more heroes I can find in this fucking town.”

The hard beat of rock and roll slipped through the cracks of the door to greet me. I gripped the laptop, steadied my bag, and grabbed the punched-in hole that was the door handle.

This was the kind of town where no one locked their doors, the kind of town you never turned your back on…the knives here were damn sharp.

Heads turned as I stepped into the dingy place. Hard stares, filled with hate and desperation. Three guys sat at the bar embracing the glasses in their hands. Humans…every one of them. “Not in Harbor anymore, Dorothy.”

I strode to the last seat at the end of the bar and slid onto the stool. The bartender was tall, male, eyes gravitating to my chest—and not gay. “What can I getcha?”

“Whiskey,” I answered.

I may as well be drinking water for all the good it’d do. But a stranger in the town was one thing…a non-whiskey-drinking stranger was another.

He grabbed a glass and turned to watch me in the reflection of the glass back splash. Subtle.

I pulled out a twenty and slid it across the bar as he turned. “Where are you headed?”

I snatched the glass, downed it in one smooth gulp, and then swiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Eytan Mountain.”

“Then you’ll be wanting another,” he said, grabbing the bottle and pouring two fingers once more. “Those hairpin bends can be mighty tricky for a stranger this time of the night.”

“So I’ve been warned,” I waited for him to finish and then downed the drink once more.

The room was filled with sly gaze after sly gaze. The bartender brought the bottle toward the glass before I waved him away. “One more and those hairpin bends will get the best of me.”

I slipped from the stool and scanned the dark corners, feeling a lot more like prey than I did back home. A dark booth sat near the jukebox. I grabbed the laptop and took the seat.

One of the glass-hugging guys made a move, crossing the room and stepping into my path. “Want to dance, darlin’?”

I shook my head and sidestepped him. “No…thank you.”

But he wasn’t taking no for an answer, following me as I slid into the booth. What the fuck was it with the guys in this town? I spun, held up my hand, and stepped into his path. “Look, I’ve had a long drive and I know I’m probably coming across like a bitch, but please…back the fuck off.”

He flinched, dark eyes brimming with hate, and that pang of loneliness seemed to plunge deeper. I missed my men…all three of them. I missed them like I’d never missed anything before.

I turned my head to the makeshift door and imagined Gabriel striding through the mess. He’d take one look at the guys here and snarl…as snarly as he ever was. Under the flash of anger was a pure heart filled with love.

Still he made me feel safe…he made me feel protected…he made me feel loved. “Where are you, Gabriel? Why aren’t you here with me?”

There was no answer from the heavens. No thud of shitkickers in response. There was nothing but a feeling of emptiness as I slipped into the booth and opened the laptop.

There had to be something in here that explained this town. It wasn’t right. None of it, from the filthy looks, to the outright threats. I waited for the screen to come alive and then clicked on her documents and punched in Eytan. Four hits on three different documents.

I opened the latest…and stared at a running log for a hunt…a hunt of the Nine. I read the document, not once but twice. Eytan was there alright, but only as a marker.

I clicked the next one and scanned the details…it was the same again. No mention of a curse or a protection spell of any kind. No mention of anything other than the supernatural line that ran along the tips of the peaks and trailed back down to the gullies.

The third was a blank folder, just one fucking word, Eytan. I clenched my jaw and typed in the address written in her diary. 564 Hennesy Way and stared at the satellite image.

It was halfway along the first ridge…take me maybe an hour in the dark. I tried to zoom in, but the site refused to budge, flickering three times before it loaded an error. “Jesus Christ, even the damn satellite doesn’t want me here.”

I powered off the laptop and grabbed my stuff. There was a clock ticking in the back of my mind, reminding me I had eight days left. Eight days to save the man I loved. If I even survived this town, it’d be a goddamn miracle.

I left the well-whiskey and outright hostile stares behind, gave the bartender a wave, and strode through the plywood door. Night brought with it the damn cold. I shuddered, and ran to my old car.

The heater only worked sometimes. In Harbor it wasn’t such a big issue—out here, I’d freeze my ass off. I could see it now, they’d find me frozen to goddamn death with a savage snarl on my face, staring up at that damn mountain.

I yanked open the door and climbed in, fingers trembling as I stabbed the ignition and started the car. I punched the buttons and twisted the knob.

The sudden clunk somewhere in the engine gave me pause, before a wave of warmth slipped through the dusty vents. I leaned forward and closed my eyes, feeling the sting on my lips before it climbed into my face.

Eight days.

This ticking of the clock was more than a countdown to death—it was to a rebirth, a soulless version of me. I knew it. I could feel it coming, bearing down on me like one of the heavily loaded logging trucks.

I unzipped my pack and rummaged inside, pulling out one of Alma’s burner phones. I pushed the button and watched it power up. The thing looked like it was ready to go.

I leaned to the side and shoved my fingers into my pocket, pulling out the business card from Dr. Valez, and dialed the number of the hospital ward.

“Harbor Metropolitan Hospital, how can I direct your call?”

I spoke in rushed tones, giving the ward name and then waited. The line rang and rang, until it was finally picked up.

Emily, the nurse, gave her name. I tried to place her as I asked about Titus, and just couldn’t. No change in condition, she answered as though reading from a script, and I hung up the phone feeling lonelier than ever.

No change in condition. I thought of the little creature hovering behind his bed. Was she weaker? Wouldn’t her colors fade? Was she dying, like he was dying?

I tried to shove the thought down. The people of this town didn’t want me up there, not on my own. I backed out of the space and nosed the car toward the mountain. There was a second where I hesitated…and in my profession, that was akin to death. I stared up at that mountain with my finger on the trigger, ready to feel the tension right before the final kick of the shot, and yet all I felt was dread. I gripped the wheel, then forced my foot off the brake and on to the accelerator.

Some places have a magic of their own…Alma’s words broke through. Just like some traditions are steeped in folklore, so are some towns. They harness energy and how they use that energy depends on the secrets they want to keep.

My breath caught as I pulled out onto the street. Energy…that’s what this felt like. Every warning, every stare…like a funnel of power all aimed at one thing…to keep people away from the mountain.

I went into the corner as it bowed away and then came back around. Every hunter knew their own weaknesses and their strengths, and my weakness had always been spells. I knew enough to get me by, but it was nothing compared to Alma. She had an incantation and talisman for almost everything known to man, and then everything else. I jerked the car to a stop in the middle of the road and climbed out. Her go bag was still in the trunk, hidden under the bottles of water and bag of clothes.

I popped the trunk and scanned the murky mess as I reached along the side to where I kept a flashlight. One click, and white light filled the space. The black pack was wedged into the corner. I grabbed the top and yanked it free. Nails skimmed the nylon. This pack was built for the rain and the snow. I lifted the flap and then pulled out the catch, releasing the top.

Something inside jangled. The sound made me think of Christmas for some reason, not that we ever celebrated.

“Come on, Alma. You’ve gotta have something here.”

The white light bounced against something silver and blue. I reached in, fingers slipping on something cold, before the faint touch of warmth. I gripped the amulet and wrenched it free, staring at the palm-shaped Hamsa symbol.

“Nice,” I whispered and dragged the long leather cord with it.

Energy danced like a warm breeze along my arm as I lifted the amulet and slipped it over my head. Goosebumps raced as it touched my chest. “That’s it. Protection.”

I wasn’t naive. Protection was a lot more than a silver amulet around your neck. But like the energy that created this feeling of outright hostility fed on the hostility of others, so did the power to ward it away—and it all started with me.

A different mindset. A different power. My hiking gear sat on top of the mess. I grabbed that and my own go bag, pulling open the top and shoving what I could into Alma’s.

An urgency descended. I wanted to get up there now. I wanted miles under the tires and the valley in my sights. I had the address in my head, now all it took was to get there.

My old Corolla was built for busy city streets, not slippery mountain roads. I scanned the tires as I passed and winced. A beep…beep…beep…chime of a message on my phone cut through the night.

My heart lunged, smashing against the inside of my chest as I scrambled, grabbed the damn thing, and climbed into the car.

My fingers trembled as I pushed the buttons. Please don’t be bad news…please…

You have one new message and one saved message…message today at seven fifteen pm…Hi, Lorn, it’s me, Betty. I wasn’t sure when to contact you. I tried to talk to you at the funeral and I guess it was bad timing on my part. I wanted to talk to you about some information I found in one of Alma’s old vaults, letters from the Convent of Heavenly Christos. Can you call me back when you have the time? Love you, always remember I’m here for you, any time you need, okay?

The call ended with a click. I hit the end button before Alma’s voice filled my ears. I just couldn’t listen to it…not yet…not while the loss was still so fresh, and while my pulse slowed to somewhere in the vicinity of normal, I thought of Betty’s message.

The Convent of Heavenly Christos had come up again, only this time hidden in the basement at The Circle. Betty was now working for me, in a round about kind of way. After Alma had given me the majority share of the multi-million-dollar company, I’d given it all back…to the one man I despised—with conditions. So far he’s lived up to them, making sure all jobs handed to the hunters were paid equally, and every cent that went through the books was declared and honest.

But there was something nagging about the name, Convent of Heavenly Christos. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I climbed back into the car and put it into gear.

The amulet warmed against my skin, sending a tremor of power. I leaned forward and peered at the road ahead as it slowly climbed. The roads were winding, curling around on each other like a snake eating its own tail.

Tires spun as the climb turned treacherous. I gripped the wheel as the tires slipped. The car veered, moving with the slide until it hit the shoulder and stopped. “Oh no you fucking don’t.”

My heart punched into my throat as that dark chasm below became all I could see. I eased down on the accelerator, but the car refused to move. The tires spun, kicking clumps of dirt against the bottom of the car. “Fucking awesome. Looks like I’m on foot.”

I gripped Alma’s pack and grasped the maps. I had a shotgun in the back, and two pistols under the dash. The shotgun meant more to carry. I leaned over, and fumbled underneath, sliding my hands all the way along until I touched steel.

The tearing of velcro filled the car as the weapon came free. I grabbed the torch and left the other pistol behind. I’d be back by morning. Hopefully with the information I needed.

Marcus Banks, my damn ass. It was Titus’s father, there’s no way Alma would’ve written the damn address down without fact checking.

And that means she came here, drove on this same road. Had she spoken with him…the father?

Had she asked all the damn overbearing, pain-in-the-ass questions a grandmother would? Knowing her, she had, and demanded a full medical breakdown, as well. I shoved the car door closed and locked it. Steel scraped skin as I slid the pistol into the waistband at the small of my back and turned toward the mountain.

I shrugged on the thick, warm hiking jacket and pulled the zipper high. Of all the places I’d imagined myself to be, this wasn’t one of them. Except now it was all I could think about.

Henry Mughausser floated in the back of my mind, waiting patiently for the end. I was eager for him to meet his death. I wanted to be there at the place Rival called the Dragon’s Breath when he finally succumbed.

For now, the living were more important. I settled deep into the jacket and turned toward the road. My boots crunched on loose gravel. I aimed the flashlight and hugged the shoulder of the road, pushing off with the balls of my feet as I slowly climbed.

I could still see the damn car behind me when my thighs started to burn, and had barely lost sight of it when they started to scream. I dragged the flashlight higher and snagged the map from the top of the open pack.

Going by the map and the satellite images, Hennesy Way was a tiny inlet about halfway up the mountain trail. I sucked in the bitter air and glanced over my shoulder. The old car had carried me a fair way, but there was still a decent hike left. I turned back, gripped the flashlight, and kept on walking until the burning in my thighs slowly melted away.

The darkness turned even deeper, until I could barely see the road up ahead. I kept the flashlight angled down, occasionally scanning the sheer drop over the side, until in the distance, the faint twinkle of lights came through the trees.

I grabbed the map, searched the markers and then roughly calculated the distance I’d already come. “Could be it.” Jagged breaths were fire in my chest.

I shoved the map into place and kept going, spurred on by the glint of salvation in the distance.

The amulet warmed against my skin, growing hotter as I neared. I shoved my boots into the road, punching out my strides. Desperation was the stars come down to earth and hidden amongst the trees, and the faster I moved, the warmer the Hamsa became until the thing glowed hot against my skin.

And with the heat came a lash of fire across my palm. “Ow, Jesus. Not a good time,” I snarled and stared at the damn glow against my palm.

I lifted the flashlight and angled the beam toward my palm, but then a glint caught the light.

Hennesy Way. Black block letters greeted me. I stole a breath and then another, forgetting about the searing heat across my palm and the scalding metal against my chest, and stumbled forward.

Lights glinted a little more clearly now, spearing off from the thin roadway to fall to the side. I slowed and then stopped, braced my hands on my knees, and sucked in the mountain air. “Come on, Payne, you gotta get fit…next year, yeah? Next fucking year.”

My hands trembled as I straightened, and then kept going step after step until those sparkling lights became reality. The tiny driveway fell behind me. I aimed the flashlight and followed it along, and as the lights in the house flickered and brightened, I knew in my gut I was here.

The place was big and sprawling, thick trunks of trees sawn in half made the walls. It was beautiful and smelled of sweet sap and pine. I stumbled toward the wide verandah and climbed the steps.

I stared at that closed door and raised my hand. My damn fingers were numb, frozen and pulsing from the hike, as I clenched tight and knocked hard.

Someone muttered inside, and then silence. I raised my fist, ready to beat on the door once more before it was yanked open.

A man stood in the doorway, looking somewhere in his sixties, with a receding hairline and a full gray beard. He leaned forward, looked behind me to the empty drive, and muttered, “Everything okay?”

I licked my lips. Heat and cold mingled to sting as I murmured. “Reginald Banks? Are you…are you Reginald Banks?”