Julius pulled the bandage from his eyes, gripped his Guardian blade, and stepped out onto the porch. That the Nephilim were here, now, wasn’t an accident. It couldn’t be. They were here for him like Frankenstein’s monster returning to destroy the man who’d created him.

Nothing shifted in the surrounding darkness. No crickets chirped. No frogs croaked. The night had a pregnant, expectant quality. In the distance, a scream tore through the silence.

Closer, someone leaned on a car horn.

Part of him itched to head off in the direction of the commotion, but he didn’t dare leave the house unprotected.

A wind kicked up, almost masking the crack of branches and rustle of leaves indicating an interloper. Not human. The hurried steps were mated with animalistic grunts and snarls.

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. For the first time in the last week, he felt somewhat like himself. This was what he did. This was what he knew.

Seven of the creatures burst through the forest surrounding the property. Unlike humans, none hung back. None hesitated. They all rushed in at once, uncoordinated in their attack but focused solely on him. They were larger than humans. Unnatural muscle-mass bulked and twisted their forms. Their teeth and nails were longer, sharper.

Julius stepped off the porch. Bent his knees and raised his hands in a fighter’s stance, the knife held in his right.

One by one, he met the yellowed gaze of each creature. “Stop.”

They kept coming.

Hell, had he lost his Vampiric talent when he’d fucked up his eyes? “Freeze!”

He could smell them now, unchecked body odor and dried, rotten blood. He couldn’t mesmerize them.

The first reached him, swiped wildly with its oversized claws.

Julius ducked. Spun. Sank his blade into its abdomen. Like any daemon, the creature crumbled to ash.

Six now, but he was surrounded. None hung back in fear of his blade; they crowded in around him, slashing with their claws, trying to drag him closer to their mouths.

He stabbed the closest. Cut deep across another’s arm as he punched a third. Four now, and he had a bit of breathing room. He backed away. Bleeding. Itching like mad where they’d scratched him.

They followed, leaping and grabbing for him. He used his blade to slash and stick their hands, but they were learning, they weren’t letting him close enough to sink his blade deep enough to destroy them.

Two came at him, the third circled around. He didn’t remember them being this smart last time he’d seen them.

If he remained on the defensive, they’d have him in no time. He turned and ran at the one trying to sneak up behind him. Head on, blade raised. It grabbed him as he rammed into it, his blade sinking deep into its chest. He stumbled as the creature poofed to dust. Tripped. Dropped to his knees.

One of the others jerked him back by the throat.

He swung the knife back behind him. Felt the resistance as the blade met flesh, then nothingness as the creature disintegrated.

Jesus, the only thing these things had going for them was shock value and sheer numbers. The daemons would have them under control in no time as long as the humans stayed out of the fight.

He turned to the last creature. Grabbed the thing by its neck. The claws of both its hands sank into his arm, trying to dislodge him as he lifted his blade—

A flash of light made him flinch. He turned toward the source, three men . . . no, two male daemons and a human man. His gaze shot to the biggest of the lot.

The male met his gaze. His eyes widened in surprise and his gaze darted away. “Shite.”

Duncan Samael Sinclair. Born in Cheapside, London in 1865. His father beat him and his mother. His father killed her and Duncan killed him. He’d become a fighter and a thief. Married a woman of a higher station he’d knocked up during a one-night stand. He’d loved his baby, hated the woman. She used to beat the fuck out of him, so he spent most of his time with a mistress. Leopold set up his transformation and killed his family while Duncan underwent Guardian training. The mistress died at Roanoke.

He’d been at Roanoke. He’d killed Duncan’s mistress—Satrina. What the hell was that? After one look he knew Duncan’s entire life. How?

Duncan took a step toward him. “What’re you doing here, Crowley? Where’s—?”

Julius held his hand up. “You can’t move.” Your whole body is encased in cement. You can’t move at all.

The Nephilim’s claws hurt like hell, but he didn’t dare look away from the bigger threat of the newcomers.

“Let him go.” The human lifted a gun, pointing it at him.

His gaze flicked to the next threat. Older—white streaked through his dark hair. His blue eyes narrowed as he met Julius’ gaze. Scott Mason. He’d grown up in a boring town in Idaho, with dull parents, and duller friends. As soon as he turned eighteen, he’d signed up with the Navy. Married young, had a baby girl, divorced young. He still wore his wedding band though the wife and child had nothing to do with him. He’d been on the naval ship at Smyrna and watched his whole damn crew die at the hands of the Nephilim. He’d signed up as the new director of the DDC because he hated Julius. He wanted to watch him go down.

Julius cleared his throat. “You can’t move.” You’ll die if you move, if you so much as blink. Trust us. Stay perfectly still.

The encounter was over in a few seconds—two lifetimes downloaded to his brain, two mesmerism—and he still had the Nephilim by the neck, still held the Guardian blade ready for the death blow. He stabbed the knife into the creature’s cheek and—poof—it dissolved into ash.

He glanced around, he didn’t see any more Nephilim. The night had gone silent. Where’d the other guy go?

He turned to go back into the house and froze.

The second male daemon stood there, blocking his way. The small black and white minion perched on his shoulder hissed.

His gaze narrowed and even though this daemon didn’t meet his gaze, the memories came. Harrison Cayce Sinclair, formerly Harrison Cayce of Arizona, transformed five years ago by a female named Adia who’d held him against his will and tortured him. His Vampiric talent was Splitter. He feared women. Had been stuck in his underdeveloped sixteen-year-old body until last week when the coven aged his body to match his adult mind.

Julius winced as memories of Harrison flooded through him. The kid had had a rough life. It was about to get a hell of a lot rougher if he wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Release them.” Harrison kept his gaze locked below Julius’ face. Smart guy.

Julius bent his knees, tipped his face to the side. “Look at me.”

Harrison’s gaze flicked away. “Yeah, not happening.”

He didn’t like how close the kid was to the front door. He circled around, hoping to draw him out away from the house. Away from Kat. “Harry, right?”

Harry jerked a little at the sound of his name. “Where’s Kat? What’d you do to her?”

“You prefer Harrison, because she used to call you Harry.” Adia. The woman who’d kidnapped him. Transformed him. Did horrible things to him.

Harry almost looked up. Caught himself.

Damn, so close! “I don’t want to hurt you, pup.” He used the nickname Duncan had given him. “Want to get my mate somewhere safe. That’s all.”

Harrison’s brows furrowed, then smoothed out as his eyes widened. Again, he almost looked up. He shook his head. He grinned. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you? She’s working for us. Playing you. Trying to see if you know anything useful.”

A chill spider-walked across his back. She worked for them? This week . . . everything that happened had been an effort to get information?

“She’s been holding you here until we were ready to hand you over to the humans.”

He’d already had that thought and discarded it. She wouldn’t do that. She didn’t have it in her to be so fucking cold. What he was implying didn’t come close to meshing with what Kat or Trina had told him. He glanced at Duncan and Scott. No. Duncan hadn’t been expecting him to be here. If he hadn’t caught the Guardian by surprise, Duncan never would’ve looked him in the eyes. The kid was lying. “You’re trying to rattle me. Won’t work. I know my mate too well.”

As if summoned, she appeared in the doorway, stumbling to a halt, out of breath, tears in her eyes and took in the scene. All the color fled her cheeks. “Jules—”

“Go back inside.”

Harrison backed up the porch steps, his hand held out, motioning Kat to come to him.

She took a step closer to Harrison. “What are you doing here?”

“We heard Nephilim were in the area.” He edged closer to Kat. “Brenda sent us to check on you.”

“Brenda? This wasn’t part of the plan.”

Harrison’s sharp gaze zeroed in her. “What plan?”

Shit. “Kat, don’t say anything. Don’t—”

Harrison grabbed her hand and pulled her to his side. “Did she tell you she let me kiss her the other day?”

Julius gaze shot from Harrison’s smug expression to Kat. Her color came back in a fierce blush. She shoved away from Harrison. “Jules, it’s not as bad—”

“Don’t.” She looked guilty as hell. She wasn’t denying it. Half an hour ago he’d been so sure she’d never betray him. Now. . . . What if everything Harrison had said was true? “You set me up. All this time I thought . . . .” He took a step back. Jesus, this was Katherine the Great all over again. When would he quit being so fucking stupid?

She shook her head. “You need to listen to me—”

“I’ve been worrying they’d find you guilty of aiding and abetting, or co-conspiracy or some nonsense. I should have known you’d cover your own ass. Guess it’s a fair exchange on what I did to you centuries ago. Karmic retribution. A life for a life.”

She kept edging closer, Harrison staying right at her back. “Julius—”

No. She didn’t get to talk. Not now. “God, I’m a sucker. I’ve been worrying about who would take care of you. How you would handle watching me turn myself in.” He snorted. “You’ll do fine, won’t you?” He threw his hand out toward Harrison. “You have someone to watch out for you.”

“You’re being an ass.” She stabbed him in the chest with her finger. “You told me I could kiss anyone and feel the way I felt when I kissed you. I wanted to see if you were right.”

“You picked him?” His gaze shot to the kid. Why not? He was handsome, whole, sane.

“George, down.” Harrison was closing in behind her, his blade out. The little shit was using her to distract him. The minion leapt to the ground, pacing around Harrison’s feet.

“You gonna give me a hard time, Crowley?”

Kat’s wide-eyed gaze whipped to Harrison.

His lips quirked as his gaze toggled between the two. “I’m thinking I’m going to redefine hard.” He stepped back away from Kat and motioned Harrison forward.

He’d give himself up, he had to, but he’d make this fucker hurt first.