“I haven’t saved it yet.”

A chill washed through her, countering the fever and making her sweat ice. “What are you not telling me?”

“You could still die. Probably will.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

His expression was devoid of emotion, reminding her of how coldly efficient he’d been while blackmailing her into sex with him. But that icy demeanor had turned into something hot and passionate once the demon war ended and lust had taken him. “I never do.”

She took the bite he offered, more to give herself a chance to think than anything. “What are my options?” Though she tried to keep her voice level, there was a humiliating tremor hanging on to the end of her question.

“We need to get you to Underworld General.”

The demon hospital? The very idea frightened her more than death did. “I don’t know…”

“There’s no choice. I’ve already rigged a sled to the back of my snowmobile. We’ll leave after midnight when it’s fully dark, and hope there are no Guardians waiting to ambush us.” The spoon clanked in the bowl as he fished for another bite. “If we were closer to the full moon, you could shift. Heal your wounds.”

A curious warmth settled on her skin, and she knew that if she could actually shift during a full moon, they’d either tear each other apart or they’d tear up the night with passion. She’d bet on the latter.

The warmth turned into a tingle, and she gasped. Oh, God, how could she have forgotten? “Luc? What day is it?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because—” She broke off with another gasp. The pain, the tenderness she’d felt… it wasn’t from the wound. Her skin stretched, and her muscles cramped up hard. “Oh, damn.”

Luc’s eyes shot wide. “Kar…” His voice was a low, deadly growl, tainted with just a touch of anxiety. “Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”

“I wish I could,” she whispered.

Snarling, he leaped to his feet and reeled backward. “No.” He shook his head, teeth bared. “You’re not—”

“I am.” Joints began to pop, and muscles ripped off the bone, and she clenched her teeth against the searing agony. “I’m a… Feast warg.”

A Feast warg.

Cursing violently, Luc grabbed one of the wall chains and hooked the manacle around Kar’s ankle as she bucked and writhed. The sounds of her bones snapping, her skin splitting, and her fur erupting filled the small space, and he cursed even louder so she could hear every fucking syllable.

A Feast fucking warg!

Jesus. He took the stairs three at a time and jogged to his bedroom, where he jerked open his bureau drawer and palmed his Beretta. At the back of the sock drawer was a small, hand-carved wooden box, and inside were six silver bullets.

He’d need only one.

Nasty snarls echoed up from below, as well as the sound of claws on the stone. The chains were made to hold him, but she was a different creature. She was stronger, meaner, rabid. Worst of all, a Feast warg’s bite was venomous to other wargs. Just a scrape of their teeth would kill a normal werewolf in seconds.

Feast wargs were the monsters in garden-variety werewolves’ closets.

Because of that, both varcolacand pricolicitrained special teams of operators to search out Feast wargs during the nights of the new moon, after they’d turned, because they were impossible to detect while in human form. As a result of the merciless execution teams, they’d been hunted nearly to extinction, their bodies just as vulnerable to a silver bullet as any other werewolf. They were so rare, in fact, that Luc had never come across one—that he knew of.

Until now.

Oh, he’d sensed the werewolf in her, but she’d hidden her “special” secret well.

Dammit! Luc’s steps were heavy as he exited his bedroom. Outside, snow roared out of the darkness to slap the window, and the wind howled as though trying to get his attention. Beneath the floorboards, Kar’s howls got what the wind didn’t, and he tightened his grip on the pistol.

She’s pregnant.

Fuck. Didn’t matter. She was a killer.

So are you.

Ignoring his internal voice—what some might call a conscience, but his had taken leave a long time ago—he lifted the hatch. Kar’s snarls grew louder and more violent. He moved carefully down the stairs, weapon at his thigh, finger poised over the trigger guard.

She was in the corner, her red fur gleaming in the light from the fire. She was huge, the largest female he’d ever seen, and as she went up on two sturdy legs, she towered over him. Rarely did he get to see a fully transitioned warg through human eyes, and even when he did, he had little time to admire it since he was always caught up in his own transition.

But now… now he could appreciate Kar’s powerful form, her muscular build and sleek fur. Her massive head hung low, her sharp, intelligent gaze tracking him as he eased to the side, seeking the best angle to get a clean shot. He might be a brutal asshole, but he didn’t want her to suffer.

Without warning, she lunged.

In a single, smooth motion, he swung the pistol up and targeted her broad chest. She drew short in a clank of chains and went down on all fours with a snort. He swore confusion swirled in her blue eyes, turning them murky. Why? She should be furious, trying to rip him limb from limb.

A low, keening whimper came from deep in her chest. As a paramedic, he was used to pained noises from his patients. For the most part, he’d hardened himself, had erected a force field that bounced suffering right off it and kept him suitably neutral. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Hard to tell anymore.

But the sadness in Kar’s mewling cry somehow penetrated his numbness, and as she backed up, he frowned. Then let out a curse on a long exhale.

She’s pregnant. Shit. He had no idea if pregnancy made females more docile, and somehow he doubted it, but one thing was clear: she wasn’t trying to antagonize him. What was her game? Had she come to Canada to kill him but missed her chance when he chained her before she could?

Not wanting to put her down until he got the truth, he lowered the weapon. “You,” he muttered, “are really fucking lucky that I’m in a good mood.”

By the time Con and Sin made it to the safe house, it was fully dark, and nothing was chasing them too closely, though they’d seen a pair of raptor horrors flying overhead, their twelve-foot, leathery wings skimming the treetops as they searched for Sin. Con hated the fucked-up creatures that had given rise to the Mothman legend; they were hard to kill and always reeked of rotting flesh. Probably because they liked to wear the skins of their victims.

Sin was still engaged in iceman assassin mode, but every once in a while, her gaze would grow haunted, and her “don’t fuck with me” mask would slip. The slaughter of a dozen innocent wargs had shaken her, and Con wondered how often that happened.

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. “ Intimatefamily 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 fuck 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.”