In the aftermath, there was only the woman left in the alley. The woman… and the bodies of Butch’s brothers and his fellow fighters. And his sister, Jo Early.

The woman looked at him over her shoulder. Then she turned around.

“Who are you?” Butch said hoarsely. “Really.”

“I did a good job with your sister’s friend, didn’t I?” She smiled in an almost shy way. “I got into your mind and looked around. I figured it was my best shot.”

“Tell me.”

“I have been known by many names, but I have always been female so it would be rude of you to ask my age. I am the Omega’s little sister. I am Devina.”

Butch weaved on his feet as he tried to understand what she was saying. But then things came back. “That night of Throe’s party. When the shadows attacked the guests… something left the house from the upstairs window…”

“And walked through the snow, leaving glowing tracks.” Devina smiled. “That was me. Poor Throe. He was no match for me. I needed a soul to switch places with and he made himself available.”

“Why did you save me?” Butch asked.

Devina smoothed her perfectly beautiful brunette hair. “I was lost until I saw you sucking back one of those lessers. I was just walking around this city, miserable and dejected, night after night. And then you talked to me about the nature of love and the female you fell for. You made me feel like that could happen to anyone. Including a demon like me. So I owe you.”

She glanced around. “So these are your people, huh? Don’t worry, they’re not dead. Just stunned. They’ll come to, and you should probably clear out. There’s a hush over this city, but it won’t last. It never does.”

The relief was so tremendous, Butch nearly fell over. “Thank you.”

Devina shook her head in a regretful way. “We’re even now. So after tonight? We’re on different sides. You need to know this.”

“So the war is going to restart with you?”

“In a manner of speaking. But I don’t discriminate like my brother did. I’m an equal opportunity killer, humans, vampires, wolven. I don’t give a shit as long as it’s fun.”

“Fair enough.”

The demon stared at him for a long time. “That shellan of yours is a lucky female for sure.”

With that, she turned away. And that was when Butch was able to properly focus on the cropped jacket she had paired with her micro-mini and her sheer black hose and her Louboutins with the red soles.

On the back of the black fabric, chunky crystals had been mounted and sewed in a pattern… that formed a perfect Georgian cross.

“Holy shit… Lacroix,” Butch stammered.

She paused and twisted around. “My jacket?”

“That’s Christian Lacroix, isn’t it. Vintage. From the nineties.”

The demon smiled so widely she became resplendent. “You know your fashion. And yes, I bought it new thirty years ago. Isn’t it just stunning?”

“Absolutely beautiful. A real showstopper.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“And Vishous is never wrong.”

Devina seemed confused at that. But then she shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll be seeing you around—oh, and there’s one left. You better go take care of it. And somebody is coming, one of yours. Goodbye, Brian O’Neal.”

“Goodbye… Devina.”

The demon nodded once and then lingered a moment longer.

After that, she was gone.

But certainly not forgotten.

* * *

Mr. F watched the entity dematerialize from the shadows he’d been hiding in since he’d sent those three lessers down to their immortal deaths. And for a split second, he toyed with the idea of trying to run. He had a bunch of fully loaded guns on him, and except for the Dhestroyer, all the other vampires were still in a stupor. So it wouldn’t be hard to make a getaway.

But no. This was what he had engineered.

Taking all his weapons in hand, he stepped out from the doorway. The Dhestroyer noticed him instantly and went for his gun, but Mr. F called out to his enemy.

“I’m putting everything I have on me down.”

Mr. F dropped the guns on the asphalt and kicked them away. Then he took his jacket off and let it fall to the ground. As he put his hands up and did a slow turn so that the Dhestroyer would know he presented no harm, the cold of the spring night bit into his unholy flesh and he shivered.

When he finished his full circle, he faced the Brother. “Please…” he said in a voice that cracked. “Take me now. You’re the only way out. Please, I’m begging. End this for me. End this… for all of us.”

Mr. F was the last lesser.

After centuries of warfare, he was the last of his breed, and he didn’t want to go out in a blaze of glory. He just wanted to go out.

The Brother frowned and seemed to breathe in the air, his nostrils flaring. And then he limped forward.

“I only want this to end.” Mr. F knew he’d already said that, but what did it matter. “I’ve wanted my life to be over for quite some time now. Please… let it be here. Let it be now.”

The addiction. The Omega. The war he had been drafted into without his consent.

The Brother stopped and leaned down to the pavement, his narrowed eyes never leaving Mr. F. When he straightened, he’d picked up something, there was something in his hand.

Even in the darkness, Mr. F knew what it was.

A black dagger.

Mr. F closed his eyes and let his head fall back. As the Brother resumed his approach, and the heavy footfalls grew closer, Mr. F got calmer, especially as the scent of the vampire became loud in his nose and he could feel the heat coming off of the male’s massive, deadly body.

“It ends here,” the Dhestroyer said.

“Thank you,” Mr. F whispered.

The strike did not come through the heart. Instead, the blade streaked across the front of Mr. F’s throat. As black blood bubbled up, he started to choke, fluid entering his lungs.

Giving himself up to the death he had begged for, he let himself go loose, but he didn’t fall to the ground. The vampire caught him before he hit the pavement, and Mr. F opened his eyes.

The Dhestroyer lowered his face down and the two of them looked at each other.

Then the vampire opened his mouth… and began to inhale.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Syn pounded down Market Street in the darkness, following the scent of lesser. The sheer amount of the stench made him throw some more power into his legs. It was as if an entire army of the enemy had shown up in the field from out of nowhere—and what the fuck was up with the lights? Caldwell’s power had been cut for some reason, only the anemic glow from fixtures powered by emergency generators giving distant stars to some of the skyscrapers.

Not that he gave a fuck.

He re-formed downtown in the quadrant he was usually given, over by the meatpacking district, but as soon as his nose had caught a whiff of this? Cue the running—and he would have dematerialized, but he didn’t know exactly where he was going.

Besides, it was only a matter of a couple of blocks—