And there were other faces, too. In the hectic blur, she thought she saw twisted, inhuman visages, the flash of talons, the gleam of fangs. Yet she could never gain a better look, for the crowd would surge, and she saw only more rioters.

God, would she and Leo survive the night?

He cut steady progress down the stairs. When a man stepped into his path, fists swinging, Leo rammed his own fist into the man’s chest, then knocked him back with a blow to the jaw. As Leo shepherded her from one level to the next, he continuously beat away attacks. He moved with lethal grace, swift and clean. No extraneous movement, no attempts at showmanship. His was a violence of intent, of purpose, and it was brutally beautiful to see him fight.

Anne felt a sharp tug on the train of her gown. She staggered backward, and found herself suddenly facing a wall and pinned against it, a man’s hulking form pressed into her back.

“Pretty bird,” he said, his breath rank and hot in her ear. Coarse hands fumbled with her clothing.

She did not have thought to scream. Instead, ferocious instinct gripped her. She took her folded fan and rammed it hard into what she hoped was her attacker’s eye. She must have succeeded, for he howled in agony and released her. Anne pushed back from the wall in time to see her assailant fall to the floor. He disappeared from her sight as panicked audience members scrambled around and on him.

A hand closed around her wrist. She spun, swinging out with her fan. But it was Leo, his face an icy mask. He neatly ducked, avoiding her blow. Before she could apologize, he was pulling her behind him.

“When we get out of here,” he threw over his shoulder, “I’m teaching you how to throw a punch. A fan does no bloody good.”

She might have mentioned that her fan had caused a grown man a good deal of pain. Might have, but she could find no words to speak, no thoughts to think other than they must get out of this place before it was torn to the ground, before the candles were knocked over and the building went up in a curtain of smoke and flame.

At last, they made it down to the ground-floor lobby. Chaos was thick here. Anne had never seen so many people brawling before. She caught glimpses of blood on the floor. Men’s shouts and women’s screams thickened the air. There, on the other side of the lobby, were Bram and John. While John ducked and wove through the crowd, Bram had his rapier out, and he slashed at a group of advancing men. As skilled as Leo was with his fists, so Bram was with his sword, and she understood now how he had survived the long-ago attack in the Colonies. Even to her untrained eyes, she saw few could best him with steel.

There again—strange faces swirled within the crowd. Unearthly faces that came straight from the depths of a nightmare. Yet they vanished before she could verify whether they were real or products of wild imagination.

Leo tugged her forward, carving a route for them both to the doors. Closer and closer they crept, their progress impeded by the hundreds of others all fighting to also get free. There were too many people trying to get through too small a space. Someone cried out as he was trampled in the doorway.

Leo encircled Anne with his arms. His heart beat hard against hers. “Hold tight to me,” he said.

She wrapped her own arms around his waist. Felt the solidness and heat of him through his damp clothing. And she clung to him as he barreled through the door. His arms served as a protective cage, keeping her from being crushed.

Then, at last, they were out. Yet here was little better than inside, for the riot had spread into the streets, drawing in those who had not been in the theater. Those within spilled onto the street in every direction, and those on the outside met them in a fierce clash.

Another surge of people shoved against her and Leo. Her grasp around his waist broke. Suddenly she was alone in the mob. She was caught on a tide of humanity, noise and pandemonium on every side. Perhaps those strange creatures she had thought she saw were truly part of the throng, were moving closer to her. Though she fought against it, shouting for Leo, the flood was too strong. She was borne away, deeper into the storm.

He had to find her. Everywhere was noise, anarchy. Windows shattered and voices shouted. Leo had seen mobs, knew what they were capable of, the sudden violence that razed buildings and caused men to turn to animals. It never took much in London to incite a riot.

Add demons to the mix, and what followed was inevitable.

Demons. Damn him. Demons. Real, and inciting the crowds to violence. He had seen the creatures in the pit. Things with horns and fangs. Yet they were disguised somehow, wearing the clothing of ordinary humans. No one else had noticed, but Leo recognized the beasts for what they were. Part of his bonds with the Devil, he could only assume. It did not matter how he knew the things for what they were. What mattered was getting Anne out of the theater—yet he had been too late.

Now some of the city’s most esteemed residents were brawling in the streets like Saint Giles rowdies, and on the cobbles lay a few insensate people, trampled by the feet of hundreds. Having broken the chain about its neck, humanity went wild.

Leo shoved through the crowd, searching for Anne. He roared her name. The noise was too great to hear if she responded.

Fear unlike anything he’d experienced throbbed through him. Demons were out there. Creatures of darkest magic. They might have her. She could be hurt, or worse ...

No. No. He would find her.

But where the hell was she? He scanned the mob massed on Russell Street outside the theater. There. He caught a flash of light brown hair and ruby silk, before it disappeared into the crowd spilling into other streets.

He plowed through anyone in his path, his gaze fixed on where he’d last seen her. As he did, he cursed his useless gift of foresight, which showed him only financial disasters but could not help him in this, his greatest moment of need.

Nearing where he had spotted her, the rioters still thick around him, he finally heard her, calling his name. He shouted back to her, but could not catch her response or if she even knew he was nearby. But it gave him a sense of where she might be. Off Russell Street, and into the twisting, dark lanes surrounding the theater.

He moved into a narrow, shadowed street, where the crowd thinned. At the farther end of the street, he saw her at last. Three men had her, pulling on her arms as she struggled to break free. They tugged her into an alley.

Rage blackened thought. He bolted down the street, shouldering aside anyone in his way, seeing nothing but where Anne had been a moment ago. He did not pause at the entrance to the alley. It was almost pitch black, and stank of rotting mutton, but he plunged in.

Four darker shapes revealed where Anne battled against her captors. Judging by the sounds of struggle, she was putting up an admirable fight.

“Filthy rogues,” she snarled. “Swine.”

He could not see, but so long as she kept talking, he knew where she was. And his presence had not been noticed by the bastards who had her. That gave him one advantage. His other advantage lay in his coat pocket, but he had only one shot, and in dark, close quarters, he could not run the risk of missing and accidentally hitting her.

He merged with the shadows, slipping forward unseen. Then, at the precise moment, he launched himself into the fray.

Tackling one of the men, Leo grappled with the assailant, getting a sense of the man’s size, his position. Leo rammed his fist into the man’s face, and his opponent went down with a groan.

Anne cried out a warning as two others rushed him. Darkness helped and hindered as he repulsed their attack. He grunted as one man’s fist connected with his shoulder, but Leo knew the ways of street fighting. Long before he began training at the boxing salon, he had been a hot-tempered young man in countless brawls.