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  The tail continues to cinch like a thick piece of meat wrapping her neck like an abusive scarf, and Julia gags, hands going to her throat.

  Lachlan twists the heavy blade and turns it smoothly against that red rope that’s killing Julia, slicing it cleanly.

  As the thick noose falls away like a dying snake, Julia falls backward, her palms slapping the hot stones that make up the ground.

  Scott, she thinks for the second time in the space of an hour, gasping on the ground.

  The demonic enter the space—Julia can feel their evil pulsing around her.

  With the last of her strength, she sends out a telepathic burst.

  The single word is directed like a broad hammer of death.

  Die.

  She feels something important shift in her mind, a sliding of consciousness.

  Then they fall.

  Hundreds of the demonic drop dead where they stand. Smoldering.

  Just as she’d commanded.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jenni

  J enni awakens with a start, fingertips biting into the mattress of the bed where she lies.

  The first thing she notices is blindness. Actually, it’s more like a loss of peripheral and full vision. One eye aches within its socket like a rotten tooth.

  Swell. Her mind scrambles for a point of reference. What the hell’s happened?

  A void greets her frantic mental exploration.

  She sits silently for a moment, her good eye flashing around the room, waiting for something—anything.

  Jenni’s good eye blinks into the nothingness of her thoughts.

  Then… everything returns. The memories crash into Jenni, and she’s helpless to stop the mudslide of thoughts.

  She covers her mouth as the tide of horror rushes over her consciousness, drowning Jenni, stealing the very air.

  The IV drip snags, arresting the quick motion of her hand, and with a startled yip, Jenni steadies the steel holder with her hand, stopping it from toppling.

  She wanted to smother her fear, the memories, and whatever the hell just happened.

  Bray, she thinks, recalling the subsequent attack and strange rescue from certain death. And exactly how long can I cheat the grim reaper?

  Ella. Devin. Did they escape? Jenni wonders if her cowardice jeopardized the precious girls she’d grown to love in the brief time they’d known each other.

  Yes, loved.

  Jenni wouldn’t attempt to fool herself. No matter how hurt, no matter how stupid things are right now, deluding herself is impossible.

  Jenni’s responsible for Devin and Ella getting nailed by Bray and his crew.

  If I’d just left right away…

  But no. Jenni couldn’t do that. She had to hang around, panting over a guy. Nope. That’s not quite accurate. A male werewolf.

  Jesus, what a mess.

  Jenni’s breath trembles as she inhales, clamping down on the emotion with a vise made by grit alone. Not knowing what happened to Ella and Devin sucks, but crying like a baby isn’t going to help anyone, least of all herself.

  Quillon. Holy hell. He bit me.

  Jenni feels her shoulder where a knot of healing flesh meets her tentative touch.

  Her hand drops to her side as more memories sink their teeth into her tired brain.

  Oh my God. I came when he bit me, Jenni remembers as whatever Quillon injected her with races through her body. And it wasn’t a baby orgasm. Oh no. Jenny came from her toenails, having the mother of all orgasms.

  Heat rushes to her face, the memory blazing like the sun in her mind.

  Now that’s not embarrassing. Not. At. All.

  She almost forgets her wrecked body and vision issue.

  Just as Jenni’s looking for a rock to crawl beneath, the door softly opens, and—speak of the devil—in walks Quillon, looking delectable.

  As he stands there in the flesh, Jenni can forgive herself for hanging around. A little. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip.

  His bright-red hair is lit by the sun pouring through the window, and his dark-green eyes are a sharp contrast to all that burnished hair. His shoulders fill the void of the open door. Black athletic pants like the ones the guys all seem to favor hug his harrow waist.

  Males.

  Jenni swallows. Hard. She could die as the memories of what happened between them weigh on her.

  Oh right—she almost did.

  Though if Jenni gives her odd sexual response to Quillon any weight, she can rationalize the hell out of it all: Werewolf weirdness. Crazy adrenaline spike.

  Impending death.

  That doesn’t matter, though. Jenni orgasmed with a guy she was really hot for and couldn’t have looked and been worse off when it happened. Talk about timing.

  Talk about giving a shit about stuff like that when there’s more important things happening than your wounded ego.

  She gives a mental eyeroll at her own thought processes, thanking God they’re hers alone.

  On top of all of the dying business and worry over Ella and Devin, this extra bit of shame is not something Jenni needs.

  Quillon wipes all her thoughts away with his next phrase. “We’re mated now.”

  Rip off the Band-Aid why don't you. Jenni’s mouth falls open as her mind fills with fog.

  Mate? Mate for what?

  Then Quillon explains, and Jenni’s life goes sideways in the blink of an eye—or the slash of a claw.

  Quill

  This fun convo is going to suck ass.

  Quill can smell when Jenni awakens. Our female, his beast growls, compelling him to ascertain her health.

  Like Quill wouldn’t want to make sure she was okay?

  He doesn’t relish the explanation that she deserves or the fact that he had to bite her twice more to save her life, pumping Jenni so full of his essence that her beast emerged, though she was unconscious and unaware, thank the Moon.

  Now back in human form, Jenni is healing, albeit slowly.

  Quill can barely stand the thought of that thankless fucking rogue roaming the same planet he does. That bastard’s little posse killed one of his scouts, and they couldn’t afford to lose Dunham. Thank Moon Brady is still alive. And Bray and his band of assholes came too close to taking Devin and Ella.

  As a matter of fact, at this exact moment, the females were under semi-constant guard in case that slick fuck returns.

  All that matters now, though, is talking to Jenni. Making her see that his rescue and claiming her was the only way for her to survive.

  At a room that used to be his cousin Adi’s, Quill turns the knob and steps inside.

  The instant his eyes find Jenni, he breathes easier.

  The mating of Were is both a terrible and beautiful thing. The male feels the bond the hardest. The female can actually reject his claim of she wishes. But the male can deny nothing.

  Once mated, Quill is her protector. Her champion. And lover. It’s a true constant within Were biology, where only a few of those hard lines exist within their unique biological system.

  Sometimes, that basic fact sucks, especially the lack of choice. Some males would argue, though, that their beast chose for them.

  Quill’s has.

  Jenni’s gaze is steady as they silently scrutinize each other. And again, he’s taken with how self-contained she is. Jenni must have been a hell of a human being.

  He blurts out that they’re mated—despite having determined an entire speech—ruining all hope of finesse but getting that pink elephant out in the open from get-go. It’s not something he can be subtle about anyway.

  It’s not the Were way.

  Tears brim her eyes, and the first thing she says isn’t “What happened?” or “What did you do?”

  No. Not his Jenni.

  After almost a full minute of silence, she asks, “Are Devin and Ella okay?” Jenni appears to hold her breath, and at his curt nod, she exhales a shuddering breath of relief, which he knows would have held tears had the answer be
en different.

  “We got to them in time,” Quill answers.

  Her fear races through him, causing his adrenaline to spike.

  Quill tenses, eyes flicking around the immediate space, then he flares his nostrils.

  No threat.

  His face whips to hers, eyes narrowed. “Why are you afraid?”

  Jenni’s dark eyes widen like a skittish colt’s. “Bray,” she both says and asks in a low voice.

  The only proof of her anxiety is the tightening of her fingertips as they grip the blanket, though his nose picks up all the varied flavors of her distress easily.

  “He did escape,” Quill admits slowly, shame in his voice. “I couldn’t get him myself.” His hands fist.

  If only Quill could have murdered that son of a bitch. But Jenni came first. She always would now.

  “Because you were saving me,” she states quietly, embarrassment warming her words.

  Fuck. Quill steps closer to the bed. “There was nothing wrong about saving you,” he says, clearing the distance that he maintained until that moment. Looming over her, Quill battens down the hatches of his own impulses. It’s no small fucking thing, given he wants to gather her small body against his and protect her all over again.

  Of course, that’s not possible—nobody can change the past. He controls his shit, instinct and intellect battling.

  “Except it left Devin and Ella more vulnerable.”

  True. His beast doesn’t care about any female as much as the one he has in front of him, though.

  Self-consciously, Jenni smooths the riot of glossy dark-brown hair away from her face.

  Quill takes her hands in his, and she lets him. “I barely saved you,” he says, attempting to capture her gaze with his. “Bray and his rogue pack about killed you.”

  Finally, Jenni meets his eyes and, in an almost inaudible voice, says, “That’s not all they about did.”

  Quill’s hands convulse around hers, remembering the scene he came in on: His mate was beaten so severely, her eye socket was crushed. Three broken ribs, a fractured pelvis, and dislocated arm were the worst of it. So many small injuries peppered her body, Quill searched for half a minute just to find a place to inject his essence.

  Jenni’s broken rib had punctured her lungs, and they were filling with blood even as he pumped her full of his healing essence—a special cocktail produced by the males of his species, made especially for his mate.

  Though she hadn’t been his yet, had she? Not that his biology had given a shit.

  His body had decided for him, and—bang—he had the special sauce to save her.

  And now Jenni was his whether she liked it or not.

  And maybe she wouldn’t like it.

  Quill sucks a bracing inhale. “I would do a lot to kill them. Find them. Avenge you,” he admits in a raw force of words.

  Her eyes meet his like melted chocolate. The single good one pierces to the marrow, undoing him.

  Quill glances away, guarding his expression.

  “Don’t take on the guilt, Quillon. From what I understand, the pack’s in trouble. Low numbers, and another male was killed in this latest coup with that dick, Bray.”

  Quill returns his attention to her, smirking at Jenni’s choice of words. “He’s the brains of their little operation. But they’re just Were who were turned. Most likely as a lesson from a large pack.” Quill squeezes her hands and releases his hold. He lifts a shoulder then lets it drop.

  Jenni frowns, clearly connecting the dots of what he’s saying and going for the jugular. “But Ella is Bray’s daughter. He won’t leave her alone—you said so yourself.”

  Nodding slowly, Quill says, “He will try for her again. You’re right. But the Northwestern will be more prepared. We have a Red with the pack now—”

  “Adi’s mate?” Jenni asks with a lilt in her voice.

  Quill nods. “A Red is a sub-species of Were.” He lets an apology fill his gaze. “It’s hard to lay pack structure out for a newcomer.”

  Jenni leans back against the stacked pillows, assuming a cynical expression, and snorts softly. “Try me.”

  Right. This female was put through tough paces in the human world, and the Lycan one has not been any kinder.

  He sweeps a palm through his bright-red hair and confirms, “Slash. Red Were are just more. More violent, more territorial, physically more imposing, and more sensitized, even betas.” His lips twist. “And Slash is definitely Alpha.” He pauses for half a second. “There is also the Lanarre.”

  Now it’s Jenni’s turn to nod. “I know what they are.”

  Noticing the shiver she represses, he frowns, wanting the back story but leaving it alone for now. Too much to get figured out in too short a span of time—and with her still recovering.

  “So the Lanarre are Were royalty and more refined in their dealings.” He attempts to explain an unspoken fact among all Were. “The Lanarre are just what they are—a species almost unto themselves.” And not a forgiving one, he mentally tacks on.

  Jenni smirks. “Seems like if there’s a female Were within a hundred miles, the men—”

  Quill’s brow hikes.

  “Excuse me, males—lose their brains. Doesn’t matter if they’re just run-of-the-mill Were, Red—or Lanarre.”

  Quill’s grin is instant, and he dips his chin in her direction. “You’re not wrong.”

  Jenni smiles back, but as they stare at each other, a weight of awkwardness descends between them.

  She twists the sheets between her fingers. “I was going to leave, Quillon. I thought if I left, then I’d lead Bray away from Ella and Devin, that they couldn’t use me against your pack.”

  Quill fights his anger, but he is pissed about her grand plan. “Have to say, I wasn’t big on you taking off without a word, Jenni. And I know you weren’t truthful. Adi and I both smelled your fight-or-flight adrenaline. We knew something happened to you on the trail, and it wasn’t just spotting a cougar.”

  Quill flexes his fingers.

  Jenni watches his tension then casts her gaze to her hands. “He put his—I don’t know what it’s called exactly—talon or whatever against my…” Jenni flattens one hand against her sex.

  Quill’s beast rises to the surface of his skin like a lion waking from a nap.

  Jenni’s eyes widen, nervously taking in his struggle, and her nostrils flare. “Holy shit, what’s happening?” Her good eye darts all over the top of him.

  Quill clenches his eyes shut, fists tight, as he fights his beast. So close to the moon, his inner wolf could make an appearance against his will. His emotions are calling his beast more loudly with the growing roundness of the moon.

  His eyes snap open. The war against want and mind grows frantic. Quill’s skin roils. The beast just beneath the surface wants out.

  But one look at Jenni’s pinched, fearful expression smooths out his emotions like nothing else ever could.

  When he can finally speak, Quill says, “My wolf wants to be brought. Hearing about you being threatened”—his eyes drill hers suddenly—“especially in that way, makes me fucking insane.”

  Jenni gives a slow nod of perfect understanding. “Of course. Any good man would feel that way.”

  “That’s the thing, Jenni.” Quill feels his eyes go wolfen, helpless to dampen all of his response to her words. “I’m not a man.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Laz

  H igh demonic do not ignore their instincts. Drinking water from the Dosewallips River with his cupped hands, Laz finds himself suddenly uneasy. His chin jerks up, and he allows his hands to drop. Standing, he scans their environment.

  As though sensing his disquiet, Tessa whips her face in his direction, thick braid flying around to rest between her breasts, the end nearly falling to her waist. Nostrils flaring with alarm, she asks, “What is it?”

  Laz notes the droplets of water sliding down her neck. His lust rises, but he slacks it easily.

  When his Redemptive might be in
danger, lust is a secondary impulse they cannot afford.

  Laz gives a dismissive shake of his head, not wanting to worry her unnecessarily. “Perhaps a disturbance Below.”

  Tessa stands, the breadth of the chilly river water and snow-capped Olympic Mountain range a backdrop behind her.

  Her brows draw together. “What does that mean for us?”

  Nothing. Everything. Aloud, he says, “It might mean nothing.” He gives a small upward shift of his shoulders. “It could simply mean there has been a shift in leadership.” Laz has his doubts, though at this stage, they are too vague to voice.

  Tessa shifts her weight, crossing her arms tightly. “Praile’s dead.”

  Laz doesn’t have to see his face to know he wears a vicious smile. Praile is not the only high demon of Hades. Besides Laz, but there were others to worry Laz. And his mixed heritage certainly has gained him the advantage in Between.

  Not so in Hades, where he scrapped for every ascension, victory, and position.

  Tessa’s not relieved by his words. Her face is set in lines of worry, an expression he does not wish his Redemptive to wear.

  Flinging water droplets off his hands, he strides to his mate. Taking those tight arms she’s wound around her form, he loosens them with gentle fingers. Laz slowly draws Tessa against his body, pressing his hand against the back of her skull and holding her tightly. “If he who shall not be named is distracted by another, we are free of his notice. It is a respite, Tessa.”

  Laz feels her nod; the easing of the stiff posture of her body against him is an improvement. “But…”

  “And in the event of a leadership change or hierarchy shift, then the new leader would have all he or she could do to manage without worrying about one rogue high demon.”

  “That’s the theory.” Arms tight around his waist, Tessa leans back to look at him. The worry is still etched on her face, and the question she doesn’t voice hangs in the air between them.

  He brushes an ebony hair away from the bridge of her nose, loosened from the braid she always keeps. “Theory is all we have. I cannot return to explore what has transpired since my absence, Tessa.”