So many emotions gripped Dale.

Guilt because he’d left Brenda. Left her not just tied and defenseless but also aroused.

So very, very aroused and wet.

Having lately been the recipient of blue balls, he could well imagine her annoyance at that cruel trick.

However, what choice did he have? If he had sex with her, knowing he and his friends still hadn’t made a decision, what kind of rift would he cause?

Best to leave when sanity in the form of a text message slapped him, reminding him to grab six coffees and some donuts. Was that Sebastian’s subtle way of ensuring Dale didn’t do something he shouldn’t but wanted?

He wished he didn’t have to leave Brenda tied up. But she’d proven herself too reckless to leave alone.

Dale didn’t leave her completely unprotected, though. He called in some favors and had two pack members watching the house. If she managed to free herself from cuffs—which Dale didn’t put past her—and left, they had orders to let him know and follow.

Dale wasn’t about to give anyone orders to lay hands on her because if they accidentally harmed her, he’d have to kill them.

No one is allowed to touch her but me. And Mike. And Sebastian.

Funny how more and more the thought of them sharing Brenda didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to rip off their faces and stomp on their heads.

Could a foursome work?

Returning to the Peabody house, loaded with coffee and pastries, and with a text message from the guys watching his house informing him that, “Some hillbilly chick is cursing up a storm in your place,” he tried to focus on the case at hand.

While Anthony had slyly suggested them calling in a fake report to give themselves entry into the house, it proved quickly apparent, once dispatch finally got its thumb out of its ass, that something very wrong had happened at the Peabody house. Dale could smell, it, the thick aroma of decay and earth. Feel it in the way the air grew still and heavy in and around the house.

Sense it with the hackles rising all over his body.

He could see why Peabody wanted to burn it down. Hell, give him a match, and he’d finish the job.

But his commanding officer might not like that.

How would the report read?

It was evil. I torched it.

Clang, the sound of the bars slamming shut behind him.

Probably best he refrained.

Knowing about the infection causing possession, Dale and those of the crypto community working at the police department had to carefully ensure that no humans were sent out to the house. It took a bit of figuring it out, but the TDCM scientists discovered why some showed signs of infection and others didn’t.

At first, the collective tried to hide the news, but it leaked out. Essentially, shifters were immune to possession, as were pure-blooded elves and most higher castes in the cryptozoid world. Even some humans were immune if they had significant amounts of magic in their system. However, magic imbued humans, even non-practicing ones, weren’t entirely safe because whatever happened to the infected bodies made them hungry for anyone with an ounce of magic in their blood.

Since no humans could be sent to the Peabody house, it caused a delay on the 911 reply, as the pack had to ensure all other working cops on shift were occupied elsewhere.

There was much howling that night, and many, many calls to 911.

It took until the morning shift before Dale and his partner, Willy—a bear shifter who mostly spoke in grunts—got dispatched to the call for 999 Cloven Hoof Lane. Arriving just past 8 a.m., and totally finding cause to kick in the door when no one answered, the sight inside meant they’d been here ever since.

Hours of looking, though, hadn’t turned up shit other than a case of the heebie-jeebies.

Inside the house, everything looked old and gray. As if the color and life had been sucked out of every inch.

The parquet floors heaved and buckled, damp with moisture and mildew. The walls bore heavy stains and peeling paper while parts of the ceiling had collapsed, raining plaster and dull pink insulation.

Everywhere Dale looked, he saw signs of a house severely neglected, and yet he’d read the reports when they arrested Peabody just over a week ago.

None of them spoke of a house in major need of renovation.

They did mention the wife, Mrs. Peabody, looking calmer than you’d expect after calling the cops and fire department for aid.

She’d stood with her arms around the two children while they led her husband away. The next day, she’d come to the station to give her statement, a mousy woman with nondescript kids.

A woman not seen since, except by Brenda.

He had to wonder why Brenda would have eaten anything in this dump. What person in their right mind would have even entered?

And where were Mrs. Peabody and the kids?

Alfred, that possessed shell of a man, remained locked up at the asylum. The grand Whizziar and a contingent of wizards had been to visit and managed to eject the thing possessing him. To no avail. Even with the parasitic force gone, nothing remained of the man. Whatever had attached itself to Peabody’s mind and soul had eaten whatever personality he had. According to Mike, Peabody sat in an almost comatose state, wearing a bib to catch the drool, unresponsive to anything, even the color red.

Apparently, the wizards had seen some success with other cases, some of the cops and firemen cleansed, but those caught feasting seemed to be more firmly entrenched with the parasitic infection the more blood they imbibed.

Feeding made them gain strength, and their attacks were no longer just witches. Ordinary people with even a smidgen of talent were victims.

The collective seemed to think they’d contained the problem by quarantining those who came in contact with the house, but Dale had to wonder. They’d only cloistered those they knew about. Were there others walking around infected?

Handing out coffee, he caught snippets of what they’d found or, more specifically, not found. Still no sign of any bodies.

Nor any signs of life.

Food rotted in the sink. Dirty dishes were on the table. Everything in the fridge was moldy and gross.

That was just what they could see on the surface.

The wizards, including the pompous Morfeus, muttered excitedly amongst themselves and, par for the course, didn’t share with those they considered lesser beings.

Only Willow, her red hair a vibrant contrast in the house, seemed amenable to talking. She left the wizards and came to him, her eyes rolling.

“What’s up?” Dale asked, handing her the coffee meant for Sebastian.

“These idiots can’t agree on anything.”

“Because they’re idiots.” Wizards might go to a prestigious magical university, but as with many scholars, they let it go to their heads.

“This place is wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

She hugged herself. “I can’t explain it except that it feels wrong.”

“So I’m not alone in wanting to light a match?”

Her lips quirked. “Match. Blowtorch. Whatever happened here is still ongoing.”

“Are we safe?”

She frowned. “I hope so. But whatever is in this house keeps trying to get past my defenses.” She touched an amulet hanging from her neck.

“Can you be infected?”

Her lips twisted. “I guess we’ll find out. I am, after all, mostly human, as his grand assholeness keeps reminding me.”

“What’s causing the infection?” he asked.

“Demons.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?” Couldn’t it be a moldy spore? Even some new type of avian flu?

“I can’t be sure of anything, but the pattern fits what I’ve been able to discover.”

“There’s a record of this happening before?”

She nodded. “I found a few references to it, enough to make me believe it’s happening again. See, demons exist on another dimension, one that rarely aligns with our own. When it does, most of them cannot exist on our plane, not unless they possess someone first. And even then, they can’t hold on to that possession unless they feed on blood.”

“Witch blood.”

“Witch. Half-breed elf. Pure-blood elves are like poison to them, and humans without any magic are just empty nutrition.”

“What happens if they drink enough magical blood?”

“They evolve. Their host creature can then transform, much like a Lycan can, swapping into their demon form without coming to harm.”

“I thought demons couldn’t exist in our world without some ritual.”

She shrugged. “This is all new to me, too, and I only accidentally learned by the snippets I’ve overheard. Needless to say, the wizards are nervous and guarding themselves carefully.”

“Would a person know if they were possessed?”

“Maybe, but I doubt the demon possessing would let you tell.”

“This doesn’t sound good for the family,” Dale remarked.

“I am fairly certain that if they’re not dead, then they are beyond saving, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are you sure Lycans can’t catch it?” He’d hate to turn into a raving lunatic like Peabody or end up like meat slurry.

“I’m not sure of anything anymore. I’ve never encountered or heard of anything like this.” She leaned closer. “And while the twat waffles with their fancy words won’t admit it, they’ve never seen the likes of it either.”

“So how do we know their information is accurate?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell. “We don’t, which is why I’m hoping the spell in this amulet, and my great-great-grandmother’s elven blood, will make me immune to whatever is happening.”

Dale went to lean against a wall in the house, felt it ripple, and moved away. “I’m surprised to see you still working with the wizards. I’d have thought Morfeus would have bumped you off by now.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “They threatened to, and then I told them if they didn’t keep me in the loop, I’d make sure the world knew about their snotty college and everyone who’s ever graduated from it.”

“And you’re still alive?”

Her grin widened. “I also told them if I died, the information would release within minutes of my passing, so they were better off tolerating a hearth witch. It might have helped that I asked Morfeus if he was threatened by me.”

“I’ll bet he liked that.” Dale snorted.

“The man is a pompous fool enamored with himself. But in spite of that, he is powerful.”

“Powerful enough to contain what’s happening here?”

Again, she shrugged. “You’d better hope he can.”

Ominous words that followed Dale back to the station, where he filed his report, which, in a nutshell, amounted to: found nothing.

He had Mike grab him at the station rather than wait for Sebastian to snare a ride. Going back to the Peabodys’ place, he hopped into Brenda’s truck, intending to drive it back to his house, only the damned thing wouldn’t start. Just a clicking sound every time he turned the key.

“Sounds like the starter’s gone,” Mike remarked when Dale jumped out.

“No shit. We’ll have to get it towed.”

“Towed where? I hear you left Brenda at our place.”

“I did.”

“We have to make a decision,” Mike remarked.

“I know.”

He’d also have to beg for forgiveness because he doubted Brenda would be too happy about the way he left her.

Which was why, when they got back, they initially left her tied as they entered the bedroom, all three of them, ready to face the future.

And her wrath.