A sudden change in tempo told her he was gearing up for another orgasm, and she needed it from—

Wrath reared his head back, and her fangs ripped his neck, but he didn’t seem to care.

Didn’t seem to even notice.

Jesus, he was magnificent: Through the haze of the sex, she watched him strain, his lips curling back, his own fangs getting exposed, his hair flowing away from its widow’s peak as his sightless, pale green eyes flared wide and then squeezed shut.

And then it was her turn, her core grabbing at his arousal, greedy for what he ejaculated into her, the pleasure so acute that it was a kind of agony.

Just as the contractions were beginning to slow, she braced herself for the next wave, preparing for yet another next round of the bone-crushing urge to take over …

When it didn’t immediately come, she looked around, as if the needing were a third party that just might have left the—

Oh, wow. They were still in the bathroom. On the floor.

Wrath collapsed against her, his head falling so far, so hard that she heard his forehead knock against the marble.

As the respite grew longer, she probably should have started to go cold, but the inferno in her body kept both of them plenty warm—

A whirring sound from over the tub brought her head around. The shutters were going down for the day, the panels locking into place at the sills.

So this had been going on for … eight hours? Nine?

There were no sounds from downstairs, but then the Brothers had probably all been affected by her hormones. The females as well.

Wrath lifted himself up, his muscles straining, his arms trembling. “How are you?”

Beth opened her mouth to answer, but only a croak came out.

“You’re going to want my vein still,” he said, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. “You need it.”

“What about—” As her voice cracked, she cleared her throat. “What about you?”

He looked gaunt, his cheeks hollowed out as if he’d lost twenty-five pounds—but he shook his head. “My only concern is you.”

The image of him grew wavy as tears speared.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Oh, God … I’m so sorry.”

“About what?”

“This … whole thing.”

He shook his head. “This would have happened sooner or later.”

“But I—”

Wrath dropped his mouth to hers and kissed her softly. “No more of that. We go forward from tonight. Whatever happens … we f**king deal, okay?”

There was no time for her to reply. Abruptly, the needing geared up once again, that tide rising, the heat uncoiling in her sex and driving right into her heart.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, “I thought it was over.”

“Not yet.” He didn’t seem surprised at all. “We’re not finished…”

iAm was standing over the stove down in the kitchen when he sensed his brother’s appearance. He didn’t even need to turn around from the pot of stew he’d thrown together: the air in the room changed—and not in a good way.

Trez was also not alone. And he knew that not because he caught Selena’s scent … but because he caught his brother’s.

iAm cursed under his breath as he stirred. The motherfucker had bonded.

Fantastic.

Hell, iAm had had some hope that, with all the hormones flooding the household, whatever sex those two had gotten down with had been the result of someone else’s needing.

Great theory. Except Shadows were immune to that kind of shit.

“You weren’t supposed to be the one who serviced him,” iAm muttered as he put more sea salt into the mix.

“Watch your tone.”

iAm pivoted around and glared at the dumb-ass. “I have an idea. How about you—for once—make a good decision about a female. Then I won’t have to get pissy.”

The Chosen standing beside Trez kicked her chin up. “If you want to blame someone, do not address him. I chose to go unto him even though you asked for another.”

iAm turned back to his pot. “Great. Congratulations and welcome to the family.”

His brother materialized over to him, spun him around and grabbed him by the throat. “Apologize to her—”

iAm leaned into the iron grip, baring his fangs. “Fuck you, Trez.”

“You want a piece?” his brother growled. “You want a f**king—”

“Do it. I f**king dare you—”

“Don’t push me—”

“I’m trying to save your ass! You f**king—”

As the pair of them escalated toward an implosion to rival Wrath’s from the night before, the Chosen walked over and spoke evenly.

“He told me,” she cut in. “Everything. And it strikes me that the two of you are alone in this situation. So mayhap Last Meal instead of fisticuffs, shall we.”

iAm turned his head at the same time Trez did.

As the pair of them faced off at the totally calm and controlled Chosen, Trez did the unheard-of—and dropped his hand. Stepped off. Crossed his arms over his chest.

He was still furious to the core, but the call to heel was obeyed with such ease, you had to wonder if maybe the bonding bullshit might not be useful—to a point.

iAm glared at his brother. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Selena, will you give us a sec?”

The Chosen nodded. “Mayhap I’ll just return up north. And give you two plenty of space.”

Trez frowned. “You don’t have to go.”

Selena’s eyes went back and forth. “Actually, I think I do. You know where I’ll be—and please. Do not tear each other asunder. It will only make all of this worse.”

iAm braced himself for a gag-worthy display of good-byeing, but the female further impressed him by bowing slightly and taking off. No muss, no fuss.

Shit, he could almost like her. If he weren’t so angry at his idiot brother—

“I want to meet with s’Ex. Today.”

iAm crossed his own arms and leaned back against the stove. “Because you think you’re going to talk sense into him? I already got real with the bastard—and he’s more than ready to do his job.”

“Can you reach him?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell him to meet me at noon at our apartment.”

“That’s the deadline for you to show at the s’Hisbe.” When his brother didn’t reply, iAm lifted his brows. “You aren’t turning yourself in, are you?”

“Set up the meeting.”

iAm cursed long and low. Yeah, he wanted to kick his brother’s ass—but absolutely, positively didn’t want anyone else to. “Trez.”

“Do it.”

“Not unless you tell me where you’re at.”

“I thought you wanted me to go back.”

“So that’s what you’re doing? Tell me something, you planning on bringing your Chosen with you—make a happy little family or some shit?”

“She’s not mine.”

“Have you told your hormones that?”

Trez slashed his hand through the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“And that’s your f**king problem.”

“Just call the executioner. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

As Trez turned on his heel, iAm spoke sharply. “I can’t let you go back there.”

Trez stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

“What,” iAm groused.

“I just … I don’t know. I guess I didn’t expect that.”

Time to go back to the sauce. Stew. What the f**k was he making again?

Popping the lid off, he remanned his spoon and stirred slowly. He’d handmade everything from the chicken stock to the spice satchels that were floating on the surface of the fragrant mélange.

“iAm?”

“I don’t care if they die.” He watched slices of carrots and squares of onions surface in the thick base. “I know I’m supposed to, because they’re my parents, but I’ve thought about it and I’m sorry—if they can be selfish, so can I. My family is you and me, and I will choose us over anyone.”

“God … I think I needed you to say that.”

He shot another glare over. “You doubted it? Like, ever?”

Trez went across and parked it on one of the stools at the counter. “There are limits.”

iAm had to laugh. “You don’t say.”

Going to the cabinets on the left, he took out two deep-bellied bowls, then sprang one of the drawers and got some soup spoons. Ladling the stew in, he served his brother first.

Trez tried some and moaned. “This is amazing.”

When iAm gave the shit a taste, he had to agree, but he kept that to himself. Pride was an unattractive trait, even if it was well-placed.

“What are you going to do about the Chosen?” iAm asked.

Trez’s shrug was just a liiiiiittle too nonchalant. “Nothing.”

“Not sure it’s going to work out like that for you.”

Trez stared into the stew. “She’s just one more reason to stay on the outside. Not that I needed it.”

“She says you told her everything. That right?”

It was a long while before Trez nodded slowly. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“What exactly did you keep to yourself.”

Those black eyes lifted after a while. “Seconds?”

iAm snagged the now-empty bowl and brought it over for a redo.

“I didn’t tell her how bad it’s going to get,” Trez said softly as more stew was delivered.

“So you lied.”

There was another long silence. “Yeah. I did.”

Because after the queen was done eliminating their parents? The tribe was going to come after iAm. He was the next rung on the ladder of coercion because they couldn’t touch Trez, after all. He had to be in one piece.

iAm found himself nodding. “Probably a good move.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

It was easy to think of God while watching the sun rise over the Hudson River.

As Sola sat on the empty terrace of Assail’s glass house, she stared across the cold, sluggish water. Little flashes of peach and yellow skimmed over the icy expanse as, across the way, that great orange orb crested over the skyscrapers of downtown.

She had made it out of that prison, she thought for the hundredth time. And whatever scars might have formed on the inside of her, her body was intact, her mind functional, and her safety, at least in the short term, assured.

Thinking back to all those prayers, she couldn’t believe they’d been granted. Desperation had made her utter the words, but she hadn’t really expected anyone to be listening.

The question now was … did she keep her side of the bargain?

Man, it would have been so much easier if an angel with wings had come down and freed her, magically depositing her here. Instead, she’d done the dirty work herself, Assail had been on cleanup, and one of those fierce cousins of his had been a chauffeur for the five-hour trip back to sanity. Oh, and then there had been all those people in that facility.

Mere mortals touched by the hand of God? Or a series of random events that just happened to roll out as they did? Was the fact that her life had been saved a case of divine intervention … or of no more significance than one bingo ball getting picked over another?

A shallow fishing boat puttered into view, its sole passenger steering the outboard motor from the back, controlling speed and direction.

Pulling the heavy duvet even closer around her body, she thought about all the things she’d done, starting when she was just nine or ten. She’d begun picking pockets, trained by her father, and moved up to more complex theft with his help. Then, after he’d gone to prison and she and her grandmother had moved here to the States, she’d gotten a cashier’s job at a restaurant and tried to support them both. When that had proved too difficult, she’d put her experience to good use and survived.

Her grandmother had never asked any questions, but that had always been the way—her mother had been the same, except when it came to Sola’s involvement in the life. Unfortunately, the woman hadn’t lived long enough to make much of an impact, and after she was gone, the husband and daughter she had left behind had become thick as thieves.

Natch.

Sooner or later, she’d been bound to get caught. Hell, her father had been even better at it than she was, and he’d died in prison.

Picturing him the last time she’d seen him, she remembered him at his trial, dressed in prison garb, handcuffed. He had barely looked at her, and not because he was ashamed or worried about getting emotional.

She’d been no longer useful to him at that point.

Rubbing her eyes, she thought it was asinine to still be hurt by that. But after spending all her time trying to make him proud, get some approval, find any kind of connection, she had realized that to him, she was just another tool in his black-market workplace.

She had left the courtroom before knowing whether he was found guilty or not—and she had gone directly to his apartment. Breaking in, she’d found the stash of cash he kept in a crawl space cut into the wall behind the shower in the bathroom—and used that shit to get her and her grandmother free of his legacy.

The papers to enter into the U.S. had been falsified. The news they’d received about three weeks later from relations had been real: Her father had gotten life.

And then he’d been murdered behind bars.

With her grandmother not just a widower, but childless, Sola had stepped into the role of provider the only way she knew how, the only way that worked.