“I’m glad it didn’t turn out that way. Thanks, Ronan.”

He lifted his head, and his face was starkly pale and gaunt, like a starving prisoner of war. Deep, bruised grooves were etched beneath his eyes, and his whole body appeared almost skeletal.

She couldn’t hold back her shocked gasp. “What the hell?”

“I will be fine. I must go and feed. The demon still lurks within me, and I must not be too weak to fight it.”

Cain nodded. “We will head back to Dabyr.”

Ronan gave a weak shake of his head. “You cannot go there.”

“Why not?”

“The Synestryn lurking within Rory will not stay contained for long. The only way to free her is to find it and kill it. If you take her back to Dabyr, she could draw it there.”

“Isn’t that the place where you said hundreds of people lived?”

Cain didn’t have to say anything. She could see the truth in his frustration. “We can’t stay here.”

“Sounds like we can’t stay anywhere. Ronan said we need to go hunting.”

“I’m not taking you to hunt a powerful demon that may or may not have some control over your actions.”

Ronan pushed to his feet, wobbling slightly. She didn’t know how he was going to drive in this condition.

Rory remembered what Cain had done for Ronan in that basement—how he’d fed him blood. That’s what the vampire needed now. And after what he’d just done for her, it seemed that a small donation was the least she could do.

“You can have some of my blood,” she offered.

Cain’s body vibrated with instant tension. “No.”

Ronan’s eyes brightened with an eerie, silvery light. He was completely still, staring at her like she’d just handed him something too good to be true.

“Why not?” she asked.

“He’s too hungry. He’ll lose control and take too much, leaving you weak and vulnerable.”

“I would be careful, maintain control.”

Rory glared at Cain for thinking he had any say in what she did with her own blood. “If he goes too far, you can thwack him in the head. Until then, let him have a snack. Poor man’s about to fall over.”

Cain’s mouth went flat and hard, not at all like it had been when he’d kissed her. “I’ll call some Gerai to come and donate.”

Ronan swallowed hard. He was breathing too fast, and his pulse fluttered in his temple. “It would take ten of them to give me what she could.”

Rory went to where Ronan stood and lifted her arm in offering. Her gaze stayed fixed on Cain, daring him to try to stop her.

Ronan grabbed her wrist. She felt that fleeting pain again, gone before it could even register. A sleepy calm filled her, washing away all traces of anger she’d felt a moment ago.

“That’s enough,” barked Cain. One hand was at his belt, gripping his invisible sword, like he thought he may need to use it.

Ronan’s cool mouth grudgingly left her skin. She looked at her wrist for signs of damage and saw nothing but a slight pink flush. “I’m fine. Stop glowering.”

“I don’t glower,” said Cain.

A slight smile lifted Ronan’s pretty mouth. “She’s right, you know.” He looked better now than he had a moment ago. Still flimsy, but no longer like he was at death’s door.

Cain growled.

Rory opened her mouth to say something, but she stalled out as a vision hit her hard. She saw the outside of Nana’s house in the distance. In the foreground were several rust-colored, furry monsters charging closer. A length of delicate silver chain flicked through the air, over and over, snapping at the backs of the demons to spur them on. Little tufts of fur caught fire wherever the chain touched.

And then another angle appeared, along with another fiery chain. And another.

Fear sprang up through her bones, driving a yelp from her lips. An instant later, she felt Cain touch her thoughts, seeking the source of her terror.

She showed him what she saw and watched as those images were superimposed upon the sight of him pulling his sword.

“Handlers,” he said. “Moving in fast.”

Chapter 18

Cain pushed Rory toward the back door. The Handlers were approaching from the front, cutting off their escape.

Ronan had already started moving, taking Rory by the arm. “We have to get to my van. We’ll never outrun them on foot.”

“What are they?” asked Rory.

There was no time for detailed explanations—for laying out their strengths and weaknesses. All of his focus now had to be on getting them out of the house alive. So, he settled for, “Deadly.”

Before they reached the kitchen, the front wall of her house began to smoke. A thin, silver chain—the whips the Handlers used—cut right through the wall. Glass shattered, and a heartbeat later, three of the Handlers’ pets crashed into her living room. The burned-out holes that had once been their eyes angled toward Rory and Ronan.

“The exit is blocked,” said Ronan.

Cain looked over Ronan’s shoulder and saw flames licking up along the wooden door.

Rory’s voice was squeaky with fear. “We’re trapped.”

“No, we’re not.” Cain kicked the table over, sending her computer and papers flying. He shoved it with his boot, sliding it a few feet forward as he closed the distance.

A Handler appeared behind its pets, a red-hot poker in its spindly hand. The chain extending from its whip sizzled and sparked as it flew through the air, burning through yet another section of wall.

The thing’s oddly jointed legs bent backward as it came closer. It was the pale color of deep-sea creatures, and delicate for one of the Synestryn. Cutting it down would be easy. Getting close enough to do so was the hard part. One single touch of that whip would cook flesh down to the bone.

But before Cain could even reach the Handler, he had to get through the smaller demons it controlled.

He charged, keeping track of the reach of the Handler’s whip. Centuries of fighting guided his sword as he lopped off paws and snouts. The demons screamed and snapped, but every inch he gained, he shoved the table toward them, keeping the barrier in place.

He was making good ground, but it wasn’t fast enough. The whole front wall of Rory’s house was consumed by fire. Thick black smoke poured along the ceiling, billowing out in a choking cloud.

Even with his attention on the task at hand, Cain still felt Rory’s keen sense of loss as she watched her childhood home go up in flames. The fear and grief plowing through her were nearly overwhelming. He tried to offer some sense of comfort, but his attention was already split too many ways. He wasn’t used to being connected to her. He wasn’t used to the additional emotional input. As he continued to fight, it was becoming hard to tell where she stopped and he began. His attacks became sloppy as the onslaught continued. He tried to get a grip, but Rory was such a potent force. She could not be ignored.

Cain’s sword dipped too low, missing its mark. One of the furry demons lunged over the table and clamped on to his left arm.

Pain shot through him as the teeth dug deep. His bone snapped. A searing cold swept through him as poison entered his bloodstream.

“No!” shouted Rory, fear and fury resonating in her voice.

A second later, the demon’s teeth ripped free. It flew across the room, into the wall of flames. Cain had no idea if it had been Rory or Ronan who’d freed him.

Another demon snarled and bounded toward him. Cain kept fighting. Rory was behind him, and he couldn’t let any of these things get past.

His shoulder was consumed by frigid agony as the poison crept over his skin. His eyelids became heavy, and his vision spun for a second. Only instinct allowed him to lift his sword in time to stop the next set of jaws from reaching him.

“We need a way out,” called Ronan.

Cain tried to tell him that he was working on it, but there was no air to spare for words. Every ounce of effort was going into staying on his feet.

He was completely on the defensive now, making no ground toward the gaping hole in the front wall.

Rory was right. They weren’t going to make it. He wasn’t strong enough to hold all the demons back—not now that he was poisoned and bleeding. More demons would smell the blood and come. It was only a matter of time.

“Like fucking hell,” snarled Rory.

A huge wash of power gushed out of him as she drew it into herself. The side wall of her house burst open. Wooden splinters and glass spewed out onto the lawn. The explosion was deafening. The rush of cold air solidified in his lungs.

A strong hand grabbed him by the arm and bodily hauled him out of the house. They dropped down three feet, and by the time they hit the ground, there were demons chomping at their heels.

A Handler’s whip whizzed by Cain’s ear. The smell of burned hair gagged him, but he kept moving.

Ronan had one hand on Cain’s arm and another on Rory’s. His face was furrowed in determination, his eyes burning bright.

Cain’s vision faltered, tunneling out so that everything looked too far away. His whole back was numb with cold, and it was sinking into his legs fast. A few more seconds was all he had until he was no longer able to run.

Rory brushed his mind, her ferocity so brilliant he couldn’t help but be drawn to it. He felt her pull on his power, and blue light splashed out, protecting their flank.

Cain stumbled, but Ronan kept him on his feet. The black van appeared as a speck in the distance. Ronan’s arm reached out, looking freakishly long. The door slid open. Cain was pushed inside, headfirst. He had no choice but to tumble where he was sent.

Numbness inched up his neck. The van’s engine started.

“Go,” said Rory, her voice shaking with strain. “I don’t know how long I can hold them off.”

Cain’s body lurched to the side as the van sloshed over the gravel road. A body collided with his, and he knew instantly that it was Rory. He tried to open his mouth to ask her if she was okay, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t move.

“He’s bleeding bad,” she said.

Ronan’s voice was calm. “There is duct tape in the blue box.”

Cain heard the sound of tape ripping, but he couldn’t feel what she was doing. All he could see was a faint, distant blob of blurry shadows he thought had to be her.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Cain,” she growled at him. “Not you, too.”

He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but it was no use. His body shut down and he slipped away.

* * *

“It wasn’t suicide,” said Ella, her face stained with tears. “My sister would never have killed herself—not now that we were finally free.”

Joseph stared at the weeping woman, his heart breaking for her. She’d already been through so much, and now this.

Nicholas and Tynan were in the bathroom where Beth’s body had been found, trying to determine cause of death. It all seemed pretty cut-and-dried to Joseph—dead, bloodless woman in the tub with her wrist slashed—but if Ella needed them to be thorough, then that’s what they’d be. Whatever he could do to ease her in her time of need.