This was true terror, her body frozen while her enemy hovered over her. Dying like a sheep wasn’t Amaya’s plan, couldn’t be after all that damn training. The pain. Broken bones. Cuts. Recovery. Concussion. Recovery. Coma. Recovery.

I will not die like this.

She had not suffered for it all to end here. Not today. Not now.

Amaya dug deep into the place within her soul, the place she was told not to go because she wasn’t ready for the consequences.

“When will I be ready?” she’d cry as her wounds healed in record time from her latest round of training.

“You will know,” was Braile’s reply.

Well, she was ready now. This was the moment she’d trained for.

Why did he have to dump the contents of her purse? Now, she’d have to scrub her life clean and start over. New city, new job, new identity. That’s if she got out of this room alive.

He yanked the dagger out of her hand and tossed it into the fireplace. Suddenly, her knees buckled and she stumbled to stay upright. She was free, gasping air into her starved lung, but she hadn’t done anything.

“Sit, Amaya.” He pointed to the chair.

Under her own steam, she backed up. Panic kills was the first lesson she learned. For every situation, there is a solution, regardless of how repugnant that solution may be, was the second lesson. There wasn’t much in the hollowed-out house, but she would find a way.

“How do you know about the UnHallowed?” He stood near so she had to strain to meet his eyes. A tactic meant to intimidate. Hard to do with his once orderly hair sticking up like black straw.

She looked away and he dropped to his haunches in front of her.

“How do you know about the UnHallowed?”

Lesson three: plan for every contingency. She was fast. He proved to be faster. She needed a distraction. To do what? Think! She focused on the top of his blue-black hair and said, “Your secret society isn’t so secret.”

“Who told you?”

Her gaze strayed to a muscle ticking in his left temple. “I don’t snitch.”

His brows knitted and red expanded in his eyes. “So, your life means nothing?”

Not if it meant giving him up. “To live, you have to be willing to die for something.”

“And you’re willing to die for him.”

“Or her.” She smirked and met his cold, colder than the Arctic sea, eyes. The rims had shrunk to microscopic rings.

“There are no female UnHallowed.” One lip curled. The crimson rims widened around his eyes. “His name, Amaya.”

She leaned away and gripped the edge of the chair. “What will you do to him if I tell you? Kill him?”

“I don’t kill my kind, unlike humans.”

“Why? You all deserve to die.”

“Who are you to judge?” he snapped.

“I have every right to judge you. You, cast out from Heaven. You, who crawled out of Hell. You, who are no better than Darklings. You, who had the greatest gift of all and threw it away!” She had one more knife inside her boot. If she could reach it.

He sat back on his haunches. His face passive, almost relaxed. His eyes clear of any red. “Is that what he told you? Whoever this UnHallowed is, that’s the story he imparted?”

“I never said it was an UnHallowed.”

He stood and paced the length of the room. His fingers threaded through his hair, straightening the mess into an artful disarray you’d expect from some fancy salon. He stopped, pivoted, and came at her fast.

Bane gripped the arms of the chair, trapping her body and worse, her hands. “The next word out of your mouth will be his name, Amaya, clerk at the DMV.” The red rim had returned.

“No.”

Shadows formed at the corners of the room. They reached forward and crashed back against each other. They frothed, liked the tide meeting a rocky shore, then retracted like a gathering tsunami.

“Tell me who he is!” he shouted into her face, his eyes full red, all traces of civility gone. This was the demon she trained to defeat.

“No!” she screamed just as ferocious.

They were on their feet at the same time, staring each other down. Amaya kicked the chair away and darted back a few feet to give herself room to maneuver. Settled into an attack stance, her knife—freed from her boot—was poised to throw. Bane faced her as if she was a speck blocking his view. Bastard actually had a grin on his face.

“Are you going to use that blade or just point it at me?”

She aimed for his chest, let it fly—and watched the shadows reach out and swallow it.

No weapons left, Amaya rushed forward and clocked him, hard as she could. The cracking sound came from her knuckles, not his jaw, though he did wobble.

She shook off the pain and darted for the door. The shadows cut her off and raced for her. She stumbled back and into a hard chest. He spun her, grabbed her biceps, raised her, and brought her face level to his. The air crackled around them, fueled by the violence pumping through their hearts.

I have a heart. He, he has nothing in that chest of his.

He seemed confused, his gaze darting all over her face. His chest billowed as if he’d run a race, but then so did hers. Held in the air slightly above him, she gripped his forearms. Muscles bulged beneath her hands, yet he wasn’t straining to keep her aloft. None of this was difficult for him, so why was he panting? Why was she?

He brought her closer, his gaze focused on her lips. Her heart banged against her ribs, wanting to be free. She wanted to be free, yet she gripped him tighter, her fingers curled into his leather coat, anchoring them both to the spot.

She inched closer. Now all she could see was his eyes. Hypnotic, aquamarine, crimson-rimmed, predatory eyes. His lips parted. She waited for him to speak, instead he breathed, swallowed, and brought her even closer.

She trembled. Heat flowed beneath her skin. A bead of sweat trickled between her breasts, making her aware of her nipples and a distinct ache down below. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t happen.

A breath away from his lips touching hers she whispered, “Don’t.”

He didn’t. Instead of her lips, he grazed his cheek along hers and then dipped his head to her neck. He breathed her in and shuddered. “You’re afraid.”

Yes. No… Depended on what he referred to. Of fighting him, killing him. No. Of whatever the fuck this was that sprung up between them, hell yes. Is that what turned him on? Her fear?

“I will not hurt you, unless you want it to hurt.” He pulled back and looked at her with clear eyes.

It struck her then how enthralling he was. How easy it would be to submit to the evil. “You should be worried about me hurting you.”

A half smile raised the right side of his lips. The same smile he gave when they’d first met. Kill you or kiss you? For the first time, she realized she was out of her depth. This was the deep end of the pool and she didn’t know how to swim.

“I know a thing or two, or three, about pain.” He set her on her feet and with one hand, he captured her wrists. With the other, he captured her chin. His head dipped to hers. Breath trapped in her lungs, she braced for impact.

He stopped.

Sunlight spilled into the room. Bane released her and surprised Amaya by stepping in front of her, instead of streaking for the shadows to protect his ass from frying. As if she needed his protection, but if he decided to guard her in lieu of getting those lips of his anywhere near her, then she’d count that as a plus.

Amaya peered around him and had to shield her eyes from the glare. She couldn’t see anything, even with the light spilling into the room. When the light faded, Michael stood in the space. He glared at them, a frown creasing his brow as she stepped from the shelter of Bane’s body. “It is noon. I am on time. I see you two have met.”

Amaya’s gaze whipped between Michael and Bane, as Bane’s gaze whipped between her and Michael. Bane’s shock and anger were a mirror of her own.

“You know her?” Bane said to Michael.

“You know him?” she said to Michael.