And heard Chrysabelle’s voice. Damn it.

He spun out of the alcove and charged through the crowd. Finding her wasn’t difficult. An enormous varcolai held her aloft by her throat and the crisscrossed straps of her sacres. The next few moments seemed trapped in time like insects in amber.

The varcolai roared in fury, the crowd around him calling out encouragements. Chrysabelle snapped a blade from her wrist sheath. He yanked back the hand from her throat, letting her dangle by her straps. Claws sprang out from his fingertips.

Her arm shot forward, her blade burrowing between his ribs. His clawed hand flew toward her, slicing across her throat. He dropped her and reached for the blade in his side. Blood spewed everywhere as she fell. Mal’s beast lifted its head at the familiar scent. Blood. The crowd erupted in a wave of deafening sound.

Mal leaped, kicking time back to its normal speed. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears as her breaths grew shallow and her blood scent overwhelmed his control.

A woman screamed, “Brutus, behind you!”

But Brutus turned too late. Mal landed on top of the varcolai, crumpling him to the ground. He drove his fist into the shifter’s face, breaking his nose. Beside them, Chrysabelle clutched at her throat, her mouth open and gasping. Blood bubbled up from the slices across her neck. “Mal,” she whispered. Her eyes rolled back, the whites showing between her barely open lids.

“Hang on,” he whispered back, struggling to keep the beast controlled. So much blood.

Brutus shifted to his half-form and snarled, showing off prehistoric fangs. He swiped a hand at Mal.

Ducking the claws, Mal blocked the hand with his forearm, then jammed his elbow into Brutus’s stomach.

The shifter exhaled a whoof of air at the same time Chrysabelle’s pulse went silent. Mal froze. He flicked his gaze toward her, afraid of what he’d see. What he already knew.

Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She stared unblinking. Her brilliant comarré glow was gone.

With a roar that shattered glass, Mal set his inner beast free. The inked names spread over him like a rush of water, drowning his humanity until he clung to the last shred with his fingertips. Through his red-tinged vision, he watched fear fill Brutus’s eyes, watched as the beast subdued the varcolai with a fist to the temple, then punched a hole in the shifter’s chest and ripped out his heart. The varcolai reverted to his lion form as he died.

“What the hell is going on here? Mal?”

At the familiar voice, Mal forced the beast back into its chains and found a modicum of control while doing his best to ignore the suffocating pressure of Chrysabelle’s death. He turned to see Doc standing behind him, his face a mask of horrified disbelief. Mal got to his feet as the beast retreated further. He unclenched his hand to point at the dead lion, dropping the heart. It landed with a wet thunk at his feet. Varcolai blood dripped from his fingers. “He killed Chrysabelle.”

Doc’s eyes flickered gold. “Pick her up and bring her to my office now.” Then he gave a few instructions to a man in a shirt marked SECURITY. “Close down this side of the club and get this taken care of.” Finally, he addressed the crowd. “Get the hell over to the other side of the club or go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Reluctantly, the crowd began to move. Mal scooped Chrysabelle’s body into his arms. Dead dead dead. She was warm and redolent with the honey-sweet perfume of blood. He wanted to hold her against him, kiss her forehead and wait for her to return to him, but instead he followed Doc to a nearby elevator. Once the doors closed, Doc spoke.

“Dammit, Mal, I did not need this. Not with everything else going on.” He looked at Chrysabelle and cursed softly. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

“She’s not dead.” Warm blood seeped from her throat through the fabric of his sleeve.

“Bro, she’s dead. Look at her. Listen to her, for Bast’s sake. She’s got no pulse.”

“She’s not permanently dead.” Too bad too bad too bad.

Doc shook his head as if Mal were crazy. “What the hell made you two think coming here was a good idea?”

“Chrysabelle came to warn you that the vamp in the hold escaped. She thought the vampiress might come after you in retaliation. I came after Chrysabelle as soon as I found out. I never would have let her come alone. You think I’m stupid?”

Doc kept shaking his head. “I don’t know what I think anymore.” He glanced down at Chrysabelle and swore again. “For real, man, I don’t hear any breathing.”

“Because there isn’t any. She’s dead.”

Doc lifted an eyebrow. “You just said she wasn’t.”

“I said I didn’t think it was permanent.”

“Maybe you are stupid.”

“Look, the Aurelian killed her and—”

The elevator doors opened into a wide vestibule. Two men guarded a set of double doors.

“Get that office open,” Doc commanded.

The man on the right sprang into action, pulling the door wide. “Should I get Barasa?”

“Don’t get anyone,” Mal answered. “She’s fine.” Finally dead. The men were varcolai; they could sense the lack of life in her as well as he could. He hustled past them into the office.

Doc paused before entering. “We’re not to be bothered.”

“Yes, sir.”

Doc locked the door behind him. “Put her on the couch, then tell me again how her being dead is okay with you?”