He tried not to think about it as he studied the two-story log cabin that nestled into the banks of a mountain lake. “Doesn’t look like Rivesta is home.” Then again, the half-breed Nightlash sorceress rarely was. She had a dozen homes, spread out all over the world and Sheoul, and she preferred the warmer climates. For June, it was strangely cold.

“How do you know her?”

“Family friend,” he replied.

Sin raised a black eyebrow. “Intimate family friend?”

“Once.” Rivesta wasn’t your average Nightlash. She’d inherited their streak of cruelty, but her human side tempered it and made her fragile enough to know who she should and shouldn’t f**k with. Which meant that sleeping with her wasn’t nearly as dangerous as bedding a purebred Nightlash. He found one of Rivesta’s charms hanging from the bough of a fir tree. He gestured to Sin. “Give me your hand.” Sin did so, without argument, which told him more about her mental state than anything, and his gut knotted. Not long ago, he’d have been glad for her silence and her cooperation. Now he wanted the feisty little demon back.

Cursing to himself, he gripped her wrist. His pulse raced as he lifted her hand to his mouth and took her finger between his lips. Her dark eyes flared as he pierced the pad with his fang. Her blood hit his tongue, and he nearly groaned. Quickly, before he lost himself to lust, he opened up his own finger and touched them both to the muslin bag above their heads. Their blood seeped into the charm, and there was a pop, a flash, and they had five seconds to cross the invisible threshold.

They darted onto the front porch, and a pop behind them let him know that the barrier was once again closed. Cautiously, he pushed open the door. Rivesta’s spell worked against supernatural creatures, but not humans, which meant hunters or burglars or squatters could have broken in. “I’ll clear the upstairs if you do the down,” he said, and Sin slipped away like a phantom.

Damn, she was amazing, and he found himself staring after her, his heart racing more than it should. Calling himself all kinds of stupid, and a couple extra types of moron, he willed his pulse to throttle down and mounted the spiral staircase. He cleared the bedroom and bathroom and met Sin downstairs, where she was standing in the center of the great room, gazing into the cold fireplace and hugging herself as though chilled.

On the floor were the smashed remains of her cell phone. “Battery’s dead. Case was cracked.” “So you punished it,” he said wryly, but the dead battery was not good news. They now had no way to get help. “Hey.” He reached for her, and, as usual, she stepped away, and he let his arm drop. “We’ll be fine. Nothing is getting past Rivesta’s barrier.” At least, not until the assassins after her realized they could send in humans. “Why don’t you get some rest, and I’ll come up with a plan to get us out of here.”

“Sleep is for the weak, and you can stop treating me like I’m a child.” She wheeled away and produced a dagger from out of nowhere, as far as he could tell. “I’m going outside to patrol the area.” “Sin,” he said wearily. “Stop. You said you’re drained. You need to rest.” She stopped, but she was facing the door. At some point, she’d tied her hair up in a messy knot so the ends were dangling over a spiky, tribal tattoo on the back of her neck, and he suddenly wanted to free those wild tresses and bury his face in them. In her. “I need to do something.”

“Going outside and getting yourself killed isn’t that something.” She rounded on him, all spitfire and hell on legs, and yeah, be careful what you wish for. “Did you see those people, Con?” She gestured to the window and the wilderness outside. “Are you forgetting that butchered child? Who cares about me? Who gives a crap if I live or die? It’s those people who matter!”

“Dammit, Sin. Yes, they matter. But so do you. People care.” She snorted, and he grabbed her, used every ounce of restraint he had not to shake her. “Your brothers care—”

“They want to care, but they don’t. How can they?” She batted his hands away and stepped back. “All I’ve done is cause them trouble. Okay, there’s Lore. He might give a shit, but he’s mated now and he doesn’t need me.”

“Trust me,” Con said. “They do care, and they do need you.” Doubt burned in her eyes, but abruptly, the light flickered out, and he knew she was thinking about the warg child again. “Doesn’t matter.” She dug the map out of her pocket. “Let’s go to Germany. There was an outbreak near Berlin.”

“We can’t just waltz out the front door. We need a plan. Rivesta has hidden exits. We’ll find them and come up with a way to get us out of here. Just take a breather first. It’s best if we can wait for first light.” Too many demons could see better at night than in the day, and the time when they were most blinded was as the sun was just breaking over the horizon.

She glared at him, one finger caressing the hilt of her blade, and he wondered if she was considering stabbing him with it. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, she made the blade and map disappear, and the anger drained from her expression. She was the most mercurial female he’d ever known.

“I need a minute,” she said crisply. “Alone.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll raid the kitchen and see what we’ve got. Stay in the house.” When she stiffened at his command, he added, “I mean it, Sin. If you try to leave, I will give you that spanking I talked about at the hospital.”

The light of battle sparked in her eyes, triggering a primitive response inside him, one that demanded her capitulation… beneath him. He should never have threatened a spanking, because now his hand tingled with anticipation and his c*ck hardened and his entire body primed for sex.

“I’d like to see you try.” Sin’s husky voice shot straight to his groin, and so had all his blood, because his brain was flipping through a lot of spanking scenarios now.

“I don’t try, Sin. I do. Remember that.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, as she did a crisp about-face and strode out of the kitchen. He watched her swaying retreat, which did nothing to cool the heat in his veins. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he turned away and started pawing through the cupboards, which were crammed with canned and boxed goods. The freezer was nearly as packed, but mostly with unidentifiable raw meat. Grimacing, he closed the door. He’d eaten some questionable things in his life, but you never knew what demons considered to be food.

The fridge contained mostly bottles of water, soda, and beer. Con grabbed two Cokes and went back into the living room, where Sin was sitting on the couch.

The scent of blood was thick in the air. Her dermoire was writhing, and a thin laceration in the perfect shape of a Z split a circular symbol at her shoulder in half. Blood beaded along the seam, but it was the six-inch gash just below in her biceps that had his attention.

He dropped the sodas on the massive dining room table and crossed to her. “What did you do?” “Leave me alone.”

Ignoring her, he grabbed her arm and applied pressure. “You’ve got to stop this, Sin. Where’s the knife?” When she didn’t say anything, he barked, “Where’s the f**king knife?”

“There isn’t one!” she shouted, jerking away from him. The laceration grew another inch and widened more, as though it were being cut from the inside. Holy shit. Before she could stop him, he swiped his tongue along the wound, and instantly, it sealed. “You a**hole!” Sin shoved to her feet, looked at her arm, and just beneath where the cut had been, another started, growing quickly from a tiny quarter-inch line to a good two inches in length in a matter of seconds.

“What are you doing?” Con grabbed for her, but she sidestepped like a dancer.

“I said, leave me alone.”

Idle down. Just back off. The taste of her was still on his tongue, heightening every one of his senses and emotions, which included anger, and she didn’t need him lashing out. Her stubborn ass would clam up tighter than, well, a clam. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

She looked up at the thick log rafters for a long time before saying softly, “It’s my guilt.” “Your what?”

“It’s how most of my guilt comes out.” She dropped her gaze back to him. “I’ve trained myself not to feel it. Guilt, sorrow, regret. But they need to be released, so they present as pain.” Con drew a sharp breath. He’d heard of that before—manifestation of certain emotions as physical symptoms instead of as true emotion. And if that was what was going on, she was feeling a lot of guilt. Blood streamed down her arm and dripped to the floor, yet she didn’t seem to notice. When he reached for her, she skirted away from him.

Fed up and frustrated, he dove for her, took her down to the couch cushions, yanked her arm up, and once again licked the wound closed.

“Stop it!” She wriggled, jerking her leg up to cause some damage in his fun parts, but he was ready, and he pinned her legs down with his weight.

“Dammit, Sin, you need to feel.” “No, I don’t.” She rocked her head up, trying to bite his arm, but he shifted, and her teeth snapped on empty air. “Do you think I could do my job if I broke down in tears every time I killed someone?”

Fury ripped through him. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—judge her for the job she did. He hadn’t been an angel himself. But she was cheating herself, and cheating all the victims of the epidemic she’d started.

“So everyone who’s died because of the disease you caused gets nothing?”

“Nothing?” she asked, incredulous. “I bleed for them.”

“Really?” He looked at her arm, which had cut open again. “Do you think there’s enough blood to cover the deaths of all the wargs who have come through the hospital? How about the child we just saw slaughtered?”

“Shut up,” she rasped.