“He’s good.”

That’s what Niko said in the aftermath of the fight while mopping the small amount of blood from his chest with a washcloth. “He’s good.” Like he’d say, “It’s hot today,” or “Darn, I’m out of tofu.”

He’d tagged Nik during a sword fight. He was more than good. And those three shots I’d put in him weren’t going to slow him down. Vampires healed fast and had an incredible tolerance for pain. All of that made Seamus a problem. Because, hey, the Auphe weren’t enough. Let’s add another goddamned monster gunning for my brother.

The couch had already been tossed over. What was one more kick? I slammed my foot against it. It didn’t make me feel any better, but it didn’t make me feel any worse either. “I told you I didn’t trust him,” I said grimly, as he pulled a new shirt on. “Being followed, my ass. He planned that.”

“No, that was real. Or whoever shot that spear would’ve killed me then. But there’s no denying Seamus used being followed as an opportunity to get closer to Promise.” The meeting she’d had yesterday with him that she hadn’t told Niko about. “And if he killed us both . . .” Niko’s eyes glittered with an anger he normally would’ve kept hidden. Niko didn’t have many buttons, but Seamus was pushing the ones he had—Promise and me. “Who’s to say it couldn’t be blamed on those following him?”

“And how hard could killing us be? Two humans.” I wasn’t really human, though, and Niko was by no means your average one, but Seamus hadn’t known that. He knew now . . . at least when it came to Nik. No matter how long the bastard had been around, Niko was his match—even in an ambush.

So what would he try next time? How much further would he go to get what he wanted?

Far.

“We don’t have time for this. Not now,” Niko said firmly, the anger already squelched under his customary control. “We’ll deal with it later.”

He was right. We didn’t have time for it, but Seamus had plenty of time. All the time in the world. The son of a bitch. “Promise isn’t going to be too happy.” I wasn’t too happy about it myself. Then again, I hadn’t had a secret meeting with the Scottish bastard. Maybe Promise wouldn’t be happy in an entirely different way. Niko said he trusted her, and that should’ve been good enough for me. And for him, I was trying damn hard to make it be. I hefted the duffel bag I’d stuffed with clothes, weapons, and ammunition, my grip tight enough to whiten my knuckles.

“Naivete in you, little brother. I’m surprised.” He lifted his own bag and stepped over the wreckage of our door. The landlord was not going to be pleased, but for a hundred bucks we could get him to nail it shut with plywood before the place was emptied out.

I guess I was naive, because it looked like Niko had been right about her after all. When we made it to her place and told our story, Promise wasn’t unhappy. She was pissed.

“He is dead. Dead.”

Eyes ebony, whiteless, and frozen with rage, Promise was saying all the right things, in my book. Seamus dead. Yep. Totally on board with that. As icy as Niko himself, I hadn’t seen her like this often. It made me wonder what she’d been like back in the blood-drinking days. She might be an omnivore now, but she’d been a carnivore once. Niko said she didn’t talk much about her past, and there was probably good reason for that. To see her sweeping out of the darkness at you—you’d think angel, you’d think demon. And you’d be right on both counts.

“Dead,” she repeated. This time I saw her fangs and I saw them lengthen before my eyes. I’d seen her climb walls, seen her snap necks, but that was a new one for me.

Nik didn’t seem surprised, but when you have a kid brother who’s half monster, not much can shake you. “We’ll take care of it,” he said, catching her wrist lightly as she paced past him. Her hair loose and a mass of motion around her, she was like a wind—the gale-force kind that takes down everything in its path. “After the Auphe, we will deal with Seamus. Together.”

“If Seamus is cooperative enough to not attack you again before then,” Robin added.

“Not helping,” I muttered as I continued to unpack my guns onto Promise’s dining room table—even if I was thinking the same thing.

He drained his wineglass and raised his eyebrows. “Who said I was trying to?” He sighed, green eyes somber. “Helpful or not, it’s the truth. But, really, what’s the difference? We’re already watching for the Auphe. We’ll watch for him as well. When you’re neck-deep in it, what’s one more dollop of manure?”

Maybe the death of Niko, that’s what. Seamus was determined. Then again, I thought as I stared down at my guns, he wasn’t the only one.

Robin’s hand moved past mine into the long bag and pulled out a sword. “Something for every occasion. Except clothes. I hope you don’t expect to wear mine. Your skin would probably melt at the touch of true fashion.”

“I have clothes, jackass.” I pushed his hand away, and looked back at Promise and Niko.

“I brought this on us.” She stood still now, and I could see glints of purple behind the black clouding her eyes. “If I hadn’t suggested we take his case. If I hadn’t let him fool me for an entire century that he had changed his ways.” Her face was stone. “I’ll have his heart, scarlet and still in my hand, and none of you will interfere. He is mine.”

“The challenge was to me,” Niko countered. “We will finish him face-to-face.” Face-to-face. Face-to-goddamn-face, because although he had drilled in me over and over that there was no honor in battle, only survival, Nik did have honor. Maybe the only person in the world who did.

“The challenge may be to you,” Promise argued back, “but the insult is to me, that my affection could be transferred so easily.”

I didn’t know if Niko would’ve gone further with it, or asked about that meeting she hadn’t mentioned yet. Considering Promise’s mood, it probably wouldn’t have done any good. But it didn’t come to that. One phone call ended the topic.

That same one phone call had us sitting at a diner across the street from a church in Brooklyn. There George’s father was having a memorial service on the first anniversary of his death. He’d been sick a long time, George had said, before he died. He’d kicked the drugs, but he hadn’t been able to survive the deadly present a few dirty needles had left behind. We hadn’t been able to go to the funeral, as we were recuperating from some serious wounds at the time, but we could pay our respects now—for George—from a safe distance away. If the Auphe were watching, we were having lunch. Nothing more. I doubted they understood the concept of mourning death anyway. It was a ceremony that escaped or bored them, and they most likely ignored it entirely. Why bury what you can eat? Why mourn a long-gone snack?

As for George, I thought she’d know we were there. She might refuse to look far into the future, but the little things were just there to her. We’d arrived too late to watch her go into the church. I hadn’t seen her dark red cap of hair or deep gold skin. She wouldn’t have worn black. That wasn’t her. Whatever she believed about death—I’d never asked—she wouldn’t honor her father by looking different than she always was. He wouldn’t have wanted that.

Hell, I’d never met the man. How did I know what he would’ve wanted?

I clicked the salt and pepper shakers against each other and looked away from the church. If she’d been there, why would I want to see her anyway? Seeing was just the next best thing to not having. They both sucked, but it was my choice. I would live with it.

“I’m not eating here.” Robin looked at the laminated menu with unadulterated horror. “They think grease is a marinade and that a Band-Aid in your food is à la carte.”