If I didn’t adore Amun so much, I’d send that female back to the grave—for the last damn time! No one caught Strider’s notice without suffering unbearably.

Maybe before Kaia left for the games she’d ensure the girl acquired a raging case of head lice or something. No one would be hurt, Strider would be repulsed and Kaia would feel like she’d accomplished some sort of revenge. Win-win.

“Are you listening to me or have I lost you to the thought train again?” Bianka asked, exasperated.

She pulled herself out of her head. “Yes, I’m listening. You were talking about something…of great consequence.”

“You were listening,” her sister said, hand fluttering over her heart. “Anyway, thank you for offering to help punish everyone who insults Lysander. You’re my favorite enabler in the world, Kye.”

“You, too, Bee.” Things would work out for Bianka. Lysander would support her no matter what, and the Harpies would see how intractable he could be and back down. Kaia, though… No, things would not be working out for her.

“Mother Dearest is gonna be there,” Bianka said, trying for a casualness neither of them felt for this particular topic, “and she’s gonna hate him, isn’t she?”

“For sure. But then, she has lousy taste in men. Take our father, for instance. A Phoenix shifter, aka the worst of the worst in terms of immortal races. They’re always pillaging and burning stuff to the ground. Seriously, you have to be a real nutbag to hook up with one of them. Which means, what? Mother is a real nutbag. I’d be worried if she liked Lysander.”

What would Tabitha think of Strider, though?

Bianka gave a low, warm chuckle. “You’re right. She does, and she is.”

“And you know what else? She can suck it, for all I care.” Brave words, yet, on the inside Kaia was still a little girl, desperate for her mother’s approval. “But, maybe, I don’t know, maybe she’ll finally bury the hatchet with me.” Gods, was that needy tone really hers?

Bianka leaned across the rack and patted her shoulder. “Hate to break it to you, sister mine, but the only way she’ll bury a hatchet is if she gets to bury it in your back.”

She tried not to sag with regret. “So true.” And she wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t. Really. But why, why, why did no one but her sisters consider her good enough?

One mistake, just one—when she’d been a child, no less—and her mother had written her off. One mistake, just one, and Strider wouldn’t commit to her. Wasn’t like she’d cheated on him. They’d both been single for years, and hadn’t even been on a date together. They hadn’t kissed. Hadn’t really even talked. And the night she slept with Paris? She hadn’t known she would one day want Strider sexually. Or at all.

He should have recognized her appeal from the very beginning and tried to seduce her. So, really, when you thought about it, the blame could totally be laid at his door. Or maybe at his demon’s. Defeat had yet to realize that losing her was far worse than losing a challenge. Otherwise, Strider would suffer without her.

She wanted him to suffer without her.

The demon was bonded to Strider and essential to his survival, so…maybe she could do something to win the evil fiend over. If she decided to make another play for Strider. Which she wouldn’t. As she’d told her sister, he’d lost his chance. Besides, approaching him now would make her seem desperate. Which she was.

Gods, this was depressing. And infuriating! Opposition was to be crushed, always, but how was she to fight a man she also wanted to protect?

“What are you thinking about now?” Bianka asked. “Your eyes are almost completely black, so I know your Harpy is close to taking over and—”

“Hey. Hey, you! What are you doing in here?” someone shouted.

Forcing herself to breathe deep and calm down, she threw a quick look over her shoulder. Great. Mall security had arrived. “I’m fine, swear. Meet you back at the house?” she said, tossing the chosen dress at her sister.

“Yeah,” Bianka said, catching the garment and stuffing it down her T-shirt for safekeeping. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

They sprinted off in different directions.

“Stop! I’ll shoot!”

Kaia’s red hair practically glowed in the dark, making her the easier target, so the guard—who didn’t shoot, the liar—chased after her as he radioed for backup. The fact that she’d flipped him off before taking that first corner had nothing to do with it.

Most of the store lights were switched off, and the rest of the mall offered very little illumination. Not that it mattered to her superior Harpy eyesight. Her gaze expertly cut through the shadows as she dodged and darted her way toward the exit. Unfortunately, the human knew the area better than she did and managed to keep up with her.

Time to kick things to the next level.

Her wings fluttered…readying…but just before she could blaze into hyperspeed, the guard did the unthinkable and tasered her. Tasered. Her. Not a liar, after all. Kaia fell to her face, oxygen instantly turning to lightning in her lungs. She was mere inches from the doorway, yet her spasming muscles prevented her from completing her escape.

She could have jerked the clamps from her back. She could have twisted, pitched one of the many daggers strapped to her and ended her pain. Ended the human. But this was her hometown, and she didn’t like to kill the locals. Or rather, she didn’t like to kill more than one a day and she’d already hit her limit.

A lie, but she’d go with it.

Plus, why kill the guard when she hadn’t truly given the chase her all, knowing deep down that he could provide what she’d secretly craved: a reason to call Strider.

After all, someone would have to bail her out of jail.

CHAPTER TWO

STRIDER WAITED IN THE LOBBY of the Anchorage Police Department, his friend Paris at his side. They’d already posted Kaia’s bail and were now waiting for her to be released into their custody. Come on, Red. Hurry. He was currently on the receiving end of several once-overs from the male cops—fun fact, he’d had less invasive body cavity searches—as well as a few very thorough eye-fuckings from the females. Paris was, too.

They were armed, yeah. Strider wouldn’t visit a church in heaven without a few blades stashed somewhere—especially now that he knew heaven was guarded by freaking giant-ass angels—much less stroll into a building filled to bursting with guns and humans who knew how to use them. But, so far, no one had commented. Not that they could see his arsenal, hidden beneath his jacket, T-shirt and jeans as it was.

“Why did we have to be the ones to do this, again?” Paris asked. At six-foot-eight with an all-muscle frame, the keeper of Promiscuity was, to put it mildly, a big guy. Three inches taller than Strider, the bastard, but—and that was a huge but—not nearly as powerful.

Considering how many times they’d thrown down, the comparison wasn’t merely an opinion but a solid fact.

“I owed her a favor,” he said, careful not to reveal any emotion. Like the fact that he’d rather be locked in his enemy’s dungeon, torture on the day’s menu, than here. Like the fact that he didn’t want to see Kaia again. Ever. Like the fact that he didn’t want Paris to see Kaia again. For way longer than ever. “She called it in.”

“What favor?”

“None of your damn business.” He didn’t even like to think about it. And talk about it? Hell, no. Too embarrassing. Like being caught out in public with your pants down.

Wait. Bad example. “Pants down” was a good look for him. A really good look.

Ego check. He’d told himself he was going to stop patting himself on the back for all his wonderful qualities. After all, it wasn’t fair to the citizens of the world. They couldn’t help being inferior to him in every way.

“Well, I don’t owe her anything.” Paris flicked him a glance, ocean-blue eyes glinting. Tension radiated from him. Tragically, uh, fortunately, that didn’t affect his handsomeness. He had a head of hair most women would kill to own, a mass of differing shades of brown, from the darkest of midnight to the sweetest of honey, and a face most women would kill just to glimpse.