“Stand back,” he ordered.

The male knew what he was thinking, and the poor guy got his fragile body out of the way as Murhder pointed his gun at the locking mechanism on the cage. The bullet he discharged split the casing, releasing a set of mechanical internal organs onto the floor.

The prisoner pushed the door wide and stumbled out on pin-thin legs that trembled so badly, the knobby knees knocked together. His hair had been shaved and there were electrodes attached to his skull.

Murhder focused on the pregnant female. “We can’t leave her.” The sprinkler system came on, water raining down on them, triggered by the release of smoke. “I need to …”

But he couldn’t carry both of them and still have a hand free for a gun. And it went without saying that in their weakened states, neither one of them could dematerialize.

“I’m going to save her.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. “It is my destiny.”

As Murhder approached the cage, the female dragged herself over to the hinged panel in front. Behind the steel mesh, her hands clenched on the bars, her mouth moving, her voice too weak to register through the alarm, the sprinkler, that internal screaming inside his head.

Her hair had been shaved off, too. She had bruises on her shoulders. To spare her modesty, he didn’t look any further down.

“She won’t make it out alive,” the male said in a voice that cracked. “She’s about to give birth.”

“Fuck that,” Murhder said as he reached for the latch. “I’ll carry her out and then we’ll get her medical attention—”

Security guards skidded into the doorway, three men in blue uniforms who were armed with autoloaders. Murhder shot at them as he pulled the male behind his body and moved for cover. Flipping a worktable over, he yanked a portion of glass-fronted metal shelving on top of the thing, all kinds of beakers and test tubes crashing as the front panels broke open and let loose its contents. Changing clips, he kept shooting, but it was without aim.

The male let out a bark. “I’m hit!”

More security guards at the door. Murhder looked at the other cage, at the female. She had flattened herself in the far corner as best she could, her big belly out to the side, her eyes locked on him as if she knew he was her one chance to get out of a nightmare.

He looked at the male, and did the risk benefit analysis in his head. Twice.

There was no chance of getting her out of that cage safely now, and as long as he was in the lab, bullets were going to continue to fly.

“I’ll come back for her. I’ll bring the brothers with me. I swear on my honor.”

Another lead slug whizzed by his head. Two more went into the table and the shelving, the dull, metallic impacts belying the flimsy nature of their cover.

They both looked over at the female. She hadn’t been hit, yet, and it was clear she could read what was on their faces. That mouth of hers opened wide as she clawed at the bars, at the mesh, her frantic eyes revealing the depths of the hell she was in—

A car horn, set at the precise pitch of that terrified female’s scream, brought him back to the present. He had stopped dead in the middle of the snowy street, and as he turned toward the sound, he was blinded by headlights. His arm went up to shield his eyes, but he didn’t think to move—

The car hit him solidly, its tires locking on the snowpack, its mass times acceleration utterly unabated on the slippery road—and his body slammed into the hood and rolled up the windshield. He caught a quick passing survey of the clear winter sky as he passed over the roof, and then he hit the road on the far side facedown and in a jumble of limbs.

With a curse, he gave his body a second to register any complaints, and besides, the cold snow felt good against his hot cheek. Dimly, he noted the sound of car doors opening—three of them?

“Aw shit, my father’s gonna kill me—”

“You shouldna drive high—”

“What the fuck, Todd—”

Murhder cranked his head around and focused on the three young human boys standing near the back end of a very expensive BMW.

“I’m okay,” he told them. “Just go.”

“You serious?” one of them said.

And that was when he caught a scent he hadn’t smelled in years and years. As tears came to his eyes, he closed his lids.

“If he’s fucking dead,” he heard Xhex say in her hard-ass voice, “I will kill each one of you. Slowly.”

Xhex shouldn’t have been anywhere near this car accident for a whole lot of reasons. First, she was supposed to be down at shAdoWs, keeping the humans in line as the club’s head of security—and considering it was midnight on a Saturday, the fun was just getting rolling down there at work. Second, she didn’t have any invitation to be at the King’s Audience House for this Brotherhood-only business.

And third, she didn’t actually want to see Murhder.

Be all that as it were, however, she was now in this shitshow way too deep to pull out.

Naturally, the trio of stoner idiots who’d gotten out of Daddy’s motherfucking BMW was staring at her like she was their favorite wet dream upright in leathers. Which made her want to slap some sense and manners into them on principle. But there was no time for that. The Brother she’d never thought she’d cross paths with again was lying facedown in the middle of the road like he was paralyzed or had broken something seriously material to ambulation—and considering that the house he was in front of was crawling with vampires and this was a ritzy human neighborhood where people had security guards on their properties and were themselves iPhone’d up the ass, it was more important to clear the scene.

“Get the fuck of here,” she ordered the boys. “Or I’m calling the police.”

Todd I, II, and III looked at each other like they were either communicating telepathically or so stoned and dumbfounded at her appearance, they’d lost the ability to speak.

“Now!” she barked.

The three slipped and slid in their loafers to get back into the car, and whoever was behind the wheel hit the gas so hard, tire treads of snowpack pelted her lower legs.

As she turned back to Murhder, she had hope he’d be getting to his feet. Nope. He was still lying on his stomach with his face turned to the side—and his eyes were closed, his dark lashes low on his prominent cheekbone.

Dropping herself to her haunches, she swallowed hard as she tried to get a read on his condition. Even though it was dark, there were peach-colored streetlights at regular intervals down the lane, the whole neighborhood glowing sure as if the wealth of its homeowners had been brought out to the curbs in gold bars. And she tracked every nuance of him in the man-made gloaming.

At least he was breathing, and as soon as she saw that, she took note of other things: His black hair was still long and streaked with red. He was still a very big male. And his scent hadn’t changed.

God … so much. She and Murhder had been through so much together, too little of it any good.

“Do you require medical attention?” she said hoarsely.

Like she was addressing a stranger who had been struck. Instead of a male she had been to hell and back with.

Well, actually, that hyperbole wasn’t exactly true. She had rejoined life. He had not.