The house was quiet as I passed over the threshold. The familiar tension of Jezebeth’s wards wasn’t charging the air. At their kindest, they were meant to set a trespasser’s nerves on edge and encourage them to turn away. At their worst, the intruder was turned into barbecue for the brownies to take out with the trash.

With them gone, my nerves pricked at me.

Someone was in my house.

Someone powerful enough to banish Jezebeth’s wards.

Didn’t matter though. If it could bleed, it could die, and a river of blood would run by night’s end.

I dropped my bag and motorcycle helmet by the door, flexing my fingers after relieving myself of the burden. Acting as if nothing was amiss, I tromped through the house, the sound of my footfalls echoing off the walls. My first stop was always the kitchen, my body craving food nearly as much as it craved clean air at the end of a night at Hell’s Chapel.

Passing through the dining room, I palmed the knife I hid behind the buffet and slid it into place beneath my leather jacket sleeve.

I kept walking, listening for the telltale heartbeat or whisper of breath, something to let me know what hid among my rooms.

I silently toed open the swinging door to the kitchen and flicked on the lights. “Motherfucker.”

At least twenty of the damned things filled my kitchen, gnawing on each other, what food they could find, and my housekeeper, Mrs. Jenkins. Man, I liked Mrs. Jenkins, too. While my brownies kept things clean, Mrs. Jenkins kept things running smoothly. Now she’d become dinner. Dammit.

I hated zombies.

Hated. Them.

Forty-ish eyes (some hanging from their sockets and I’m not sure if they counted) zeroed in on me, their growls transforming into groans as they all turned toward me, shuffling along. Ha! Like I’d let myself become their midnight snack.

I backed from the room, letting the door swing shut before I spun and dashed for the stairs. I had several hideaways filled with things designed to make others bleed. The one I wanted right now was located near the second floor stair landing.

I scaled those stairs with ease and when I reached the top, I slammed my fist against the wall. The wood paneling slid aside to reveal my weapons—my pretties—and I smiled wide. I could have gone to one of the other caches in the house, but the stairs would create a tight channel for them to trudge through, making it easier to slice off their rotted heads. Or shoot them off. I was good with either.

I shoved a Glock into the back of my leathers, a blade in each boot, and snagged my favorite set of swords. They were perfectly balanced and created with my own hands a few hundred years ago. I molded them from hunks of metal with my own fire-coated fingers and had used the pair to slice and dice more than once.

A growl sounded behind me on the steps and I spun, arm outstretched. That simple movement had the zombie’s head rolling away as an eerie groan sounded from its neck.

“One down, nineteen-ish to go.” I slid to the edge of the stairs, swords still in hand, one blade shining and clean, the other dripping wet. “Come on, bad boys. Let’s see what momma’s got for you.”

Quite a few followed the first guy, heads rolling, bodies slumping and tumbling back the way they’d come. Black-as-night blood coated my steel, but I couldn’t clean up just yet. Another ten or so waited for me, staring at me from the first floor.

I kept my gaze focused on them, watching them watching me. I was a morsel, a tasty treat ripe for the plucking and they weren’t doing a fucking thing about it.

“Come on, guys. You want a bit of mutt to snack on?” I twirled my blades, droplets of blood flying in every direction until the tips were mostly clean.

I stuck the tip of one blade into my arm, piercing the flesh, and blood welled to the surface. It’d heal in moments, but this hint of coppery fluid would be enough to get their attention. Zombies shouldn’t need tempting, they craved blood and brains after all, but I was too tired to spend much time on the why.

I focused on the largest of the group. He flared his nostrils and his eyes widened, but not a peep or whisper came from him or his friends. Nope, they simply paced at the base of the stairs, focusing on me but not making any move to come at me.

“Don’t you want a little snack?” I rolled my shoulders and bounced on the balls of my feet. Adrenaline still hummed through my veins, but dissipated with each passing second.

Annoyed, I stepped over a body littering the steps and then another, wanting to see their reaction as I eased closer and thumped down the stairs. I wasn’t a pussy to avoid a fight. If they weren’t coming to me, I’d go to them and finish this bullshit.

The group froze, bodies turning toward me and their eyes blazed an eerie bright green.

Green. Not black from a priestess’ dark magic or red from a dem’s toying with things they didn’t understand. The first group I destroyed had been normal, eyes like midnight, lifeless and hungry.

This group calculated and waited. They eyed me like an adversary and not just a snack. Someone had obviously dipped their hand in the forbidden honey pot.

The wound on my arm had already healed thanks to my inner wolf. Droplets of dried blood marred the pristine white of my skin and the prick of pain was all but forgotten. I was too focused on the zombies now. It had to have taken a hell of a lot of mojo to make a sentient zombie that could resist the temptation of blood. In all honesty, I didn’t even know if a tweener could pull it off.

The leader—big fucking guy wearing combat boots, chest as wide as a freight train and arms thicker than tree trunks—pulled out a blade of his own. He whipped it around with ease, pointed to me, and flicked his fingers in a “come here” motion. The creator of these fuckers obviously had a thing for the Matrix movies.

I continued tromping down the stairs, slowly taking them one at a time. I reached the bottom and I didn’t stop until I stood among the frozen zombies.

I remained still, taking stock of the beings that surrounded me. Three in front, badass in the middle. Two to my right. Another two on the left. That made three behind me.

I kept my attention focused on the leader, the thing taunting me, beckoning me forward while the others were prepped to close in on me. Fuck if I was going to play into their plans.

One of the guys to my right blinked first, stepping forward, getting just close enough to…

A quick dip and slice, and the idiot became a legless idiot. His partner, christened Idiot Two, followed, getting severed in two at the waist. Their comrades down, the rest took that as an invitation to dog pile my ass. Good thing that’s what I wanted.

Milliseconds ticked by and the instant they drew close enough, I stretched out my arms, pulled in a bit of power from my dear old uncle and spun, my heated blades sinking through flesh and bone with ease. Head after head thumped to the ground, bodies immediately after.

Death march complete, I slowed my turn, dropping the tips of my weapons to the floor, using the friction of steel on wood to ease me to a stop. A perfect circle surrounded me.

Raising my stare from the carnage, I met the leader’s gaze. “Still want to play, Papa Bear?” He narrowed his eyes, muscles in his jaw ticking. “Tut, tut. Musn’t let your anger get the best of you.”

The zombie dove for me, leaping across the path of bodies, but I didn’t give him the chance to come closer. A quick push of power and drawing on my physical strength had me airborne, flipping backward and landing six feet away, path clear of debris. “Now, that wasn’t very nice.”

Then again, I wasn’t either.

Leader guy stomped forward, feet moving faster than the other zombies but not quite quickly enough. I blocked his initial strike, deflecting it with ease and taking an opening, sending a blade right through his abdomen.

Fucker didn’t even blink.

Zombie. Right.

He struck again. Block. Deflect. Thrust. Block. Block. Block the mother fucking piece of shit.

On and on it went, ’round and ’round. Dining room, kitchen (where I saw Mrs. Jenkins hadn’t quite been “reborn” yet), living room, and den. He was good with the piece of metal he carried. Wielded it like a pro.

I was better.

Had to be.

Again he came at me, not a bit fatigued, steel against steel, sparks flying as they collided and I pitted my strength against his. Power pulsed and pushed behind my strikes, but he seemed to drink it in and slam it back toward me tenfold.

The pattern of the house flowed through my mind, the placement of the furniture, each twist and turn of the halls, even the type of flooring in the rooms. Any advantage I could get, I’d take.

Around another corner, back in the entryway, front door to my left, which meant the stairway was coming up on my rig—

Fuck.

A damned body part tripped me, sending me to my ass, black blood oozing over my leathers. I didn’t even want to think of the dry cleaning bill.

I almost didn’t get to. A razor sharp blade came flying at me, courtesy of the green-eyed zombie and I crossed my swords, holding him off with all my strength. He inched closer, putting his muscle and weight behind the push, inching the edge closer to my face.

I smelled his breath, the putrid stench mirrored by the black and green teeth he exposed when he smiled. Fucker smiled at me, eyes flashing brighter, glowing neon green in the darkness as if the prospect of killing me got him off.

I pulled and tugged at my power, reaching into Hell and coaxing bits and pieces forward. Except, it seemed Uncle Luc had enough of me stealing from him. Most dems got to pull from the realm as needed. Then again, I wasn’t most dems.

“I’m not gonna let you eat me, motherfucker,” I ground out between clenched teeth, using whatever I had to defeat this piece of garbage. Papa Al was a werewolf and Papa Finn was a unicorn at heart. Those genetics had to give me some extra oomph somewhere, right? And Papa Eron had the whole Father Earth thing going on. Trees were strong. It’d be great to have a little of that right about then.

Muscles bunched, pulse pounding through my temples, veins stretched to the limit and bulging beneath my skin… One of my fathers’ powers had to help me, right? Anytime now, dads…

The razor-honed metal eased closer, aimed for my vulnerable throat and a sting invaded my body, telling me the bastard drew blood. More evil glee slid over his features and his smile grew. His weight seemed to increase, pushing the weapon deeper into my skin and I dug down, fighting for the strength to save my own ass.

Suddenly the pressing hatred vanished, replaced by a headless, lax body as said head smacked me in the face before tumbling away. “What the—”

Dude, zombie blood tasted like shit.

“What about me, baby? Do I get to eat you?” I knew that fucking fuckery voice.

“Fucking gel,” I growled, pushing the lifeless body away. I rolled to my feet, hands still gripping steel and I lunged, pressing the tip of a blade to the angel’s neck. “What the fuck?”

He smiled, a small quirk of his lips, and I swore his eyes managed to sparkle. “No appreciation?”

“Appreciate that I haven’t killed you. Yet.” I eased the blade from his throat and let my gaze travel through the house to survey the damage. The place hadn’t been fancy, but it’d been mine. “I’ll have to pay the brownies a lot for this.”

“True. For now, though, we should go.” He reached for me, fingertips almost connecting, but I stepped out of his reach.

“Fuck you, and where? Better yet, why?”

He didn’t answer right away, and instead, grabbed a handful of my curtains and wiped his steel clean. I had to like a guy who took care of his weapons. Even if he was an angel.

And used my curtains.

“Anytime, baby, anytime. As for where… I’ve got a place to lie low while I do some recon.” He dropped the curtain and sheathed his blade, the silver disappearing behind his back. “And because these guys aren’t the first, won’t be the last, and they were simply a test. I’ve heard things…” He shook his head. “This was a cakewalk, baby. You want the big bad banging down your door right now?”

Really? Not so much. And I did need help. I just hated telling him that. Instead I said, “Whatever. You take down Mrs. Jenkins. I’ll grab my gear and meet you outside.”

I stepped over the torso of Idiot Two and jogged up the stairs. Was it a stupid idea to go with him? Probably. But all that leather… Yum.

Underneath my stash were two bags always ready and waiting. One for weapons and the other for clothes.

I was a fucking boy scout with tits.