Big surprise there.

He’d been caged, pelted with silver shrapnel, attacked by a zombie Were, and forced to discipline the curs chasing after them.

She doubted any other Were would still be on his feet, let alone be fully alert and on guard as he led them northward, choosing a path far enough from the riverbank to avoid the tangled overgrowth, and yet far enough from the farmhouses that dotted the patchwork of fields to avoid being easily spotted by a curious human.

They walked for nearly half an hour, the distant scurrying of animals and whisper of leaves rustling in the wind the only sounds to break the silence. Harley sucked in a deep breath, appreciating the firm ground beneath her. Despite her nasty shoes and unruly underwear, she’d rather hike for hours than spend another minute in the damned water. That’s why she had feet, not fins.

Of course, she’d always wanted to try flying. Now that looked like a fine way to travel.

Private jet, sipping champagne, and relaxing in plush seats, a yummy steward who specialized in introducing a woman into the mile high club.

Her heart skipped a beat as her fantasy of the blond Nordic steward morphed into a dark-haired, golden-eyed Were with a touch that could make a female howl in pleasure.

She sucked her thoughts away from the inevitable flashback. She didn’t need a slow motion replay of Salvatore lying beneath her, his eyes glowing with a searing pleasure and his bronzed skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

Sex, even fantastic oh-my-God-don’t-ever-stop sex, was a complication she didn’t need right now.

Returning her attention to their surroundings, Harley caught sight of the glint of steel beams of a large bridge spanning the river just visible over the top of the trees.

A bridge meant a town, thank God.

She’d kill for dry clothes and something to eat.

A very large something to eat.

A side of beef sounded just about perfect.

Her mouth watered, but her visions of a medium rare sirloin were shattered by the sound of an approaching car. Expecting Salvatore to ease back into the shadows of the trees, Harley lifted her brows as he instead crossed his arms and waited for the elegant black Mercedes to come to a halt in the middle of the dirt road.

“Now what?” she demanded.

Salvatore sniffed the air. “Imp. The scent is familiar.”

“A friend of yours?”

“I make it a rule to spend as little time in the company of imps as possible.” A smile touched Salvatore’s sensuous lips as the door of the car opened, and a tall woman with perfect curves and a stunning mane of shimmering red hair stepped out. “Of course, there’s an exception to every rule.”

“Creep,” Harley muttered, astonished by the pang of envy.

Okay, the woman was drop-dead gorgeous with her pale skin and slanted emerald eyes. But what woman with a brain larger than a pea drove around country back roads in a skimpy black gown that barely covered the essentials and three-inch heels?

Slut shoes out here? Really?

Harley had never fantasized about becoming one of those upmarket women who bartered beauty for wealth. She liked women who kicked ass.

Give her Lara Croft over Cinderella any day.

“Don’t worry, cara,” Salvatore drawled. “I have quite unexpectedly become addicted to one particular female. There’s not another who could possibly tempt me.”

Yeah, right.

She rolled her eyes. No man acquired Salvatore’s talent in bed by reading how-to books.

“Does that bullshit work on your harem?” she mocked.

He managed to look surprised. “I’ll let you know if I ever acquire one.”

“The King of Weres without a harem? I don’t believe it.”

“Being king isn’t just a figurehead position, Harley.” His shoulders lifted in a restless motion, as if in response to the heavy burdens he carried, his expression suddenly bleak. “The entire Were race is depending on me to save them from extinction. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for collecting women.”

Sashaying—yes, she actually sashayed—around the front of the car, the imp tossed her long mane of crimson hair, the scent of plums filling the air.

“Your Majesty?” She dipped her head in an oddly formal manner. “I am Tonya, sister to Troy.”

“Cristo.”

Tonya chuckled at Salvatore’s horror. “I take it that you remember my twin brother?”

“He’s difficult to forget.”

“It’s his gift.”

“Not the word I had in mind.” The golden eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “How did you recognize me?”

Tonya pointed a finger in Harley’s direction. “I recognized her. She’s the spitting image of her sister.”

Harley forgot her unreasonable dislike for the imp. “You know my sisters?”

“I worked in Chicago until last month, when I transferred to Viper’s club here.”

“Viper opened a club in this backwoods?” Salvatore glanced around the quiet farmlands. “It hardly seems a mecca for demons.”

“We have a specialty coffee shop that caters to humans, and a connected building for our more exotic clientele.” The imp sent Salvatore a smoldering smile. Bitch. “You offer the right scratch for someone’s itch and they’ll drive miles to find you.”

“And your job entails roaming the back roads for potential customers?” Harley snapped.

Tonya ran a deliberate hand down the curve of her hip, her eyes holding the knowledge that there wasn’t a woman alive who wasn’t jealous of her outrageous beauty.

“The only thing that would bring me to the back roads is a command from Santiago. Oh, and the promise of some lovely cha-ching, of course.” The imp actually purred at the mention of money. “There’s a cash reward for whoever finds you first.”

A perilous heat blasted through the air as Salvatore grabbed the imp’s arm.

“Who’s offering this reward?”

The imp had enough sense to step back in alarm. “The Anasso. He sent out a BOLO for the King of Weres and his mate’s sister after he received some sort of mental text from a gargoyle. Since it was still daylight, Santiago sent out his nonflammable servants to keep watch.”

Harley licked her lips, bombarded by a muddle of emotions. A growing confidence that her sisters were indeed alive. A relief that Levet had seemingly made it out of the tunnels. And a vague impulse to take off running and never look back.

Her life had always been predictable. Caine might move them from lair to lair, and the curs guarding her had changed throughout the years, but her days were pretty much the same no matter where they were.

Now…not so much.

Amazingly, being thrown into the middle of an adventure wasn’t quite the exciting buzz she’d always assumed it would be.

Salvatore waved a hand toward the waiting car. “Take us to Santiago.”

Tonya pouted. “What about my reward?”

A dangerous smile curved Salvatore’s lips. “I won’t leave you tied to a tree for the hungry pack of curs chasing us. Good enough?”

“Party pooper.” Turning on her heels, an impressive feat considering the rutted dirt road, she returned to the car. “Let’s go.”

Harley lifted her brows as Salvatore led her toward the car. “Charming as always.”

A smile filled with wicked promise shimmered in his eyes. “I need a good woman to teach me manners.”

“Don’t look at me.”

“Oh, I intend to do more than look.”

“Watch it, Salvatore, or I’ll kick your royal ass.”

He reached to pull open the door to the backseat, whispering in her ear as she bent to climb inside.

“Promises, promises.”

Heat swirled in the pit of her stomach, making her stumble and sprawl awkwardly across the leather seat.

Damned Were.

Straightening, she glared as Salvatore slid smoothly beside her, but his attention was on the imp as she turned a wide circle through the field before bouncing them back onto the road.

“Do you have any werewolves as customers?”

Tonya glanced in the rearview mirror. “Those of the furry persuasion tend to avoid vampire establishments. A pity.” Her voice lowered to a husky invitation. “They always make the best strippers.”

Salvatore slid a glance in Harley’s direction. “Stripping is not all we do well.”

“Amen,” Tonya breathed.

Harley could have added a few amens of her own, but instead she gritted her teeth. The imp and her femme fatale act was wearing on her nerves.

“Are you done?”

“Not nearly…” Salvatore began, only to grunt in surprise when she nailed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Ah, I’m done.”

“Good choice,” Harley muttered.

His smile widened. “At least for now.” He returned his attention to the imp. “We need food. Any drive-thru will do.”

“I can prepare you a meal at the club.”

“I prefer my dinner hex-free.”

Harley frowned in confusion. “I thought purebloods were immune to hexes. It was one of the numerous things Caine used to bitch about.”