Salvatore’s heat blasted through the park, his power a tangible force.

“Being one of the walking dead has obviously putrefied your brain. You will never sit on my throne, and you will never have Harley. The only thing in your future is a long overdue grave.”

“Such brave talk,” Briggs rasped.

“I’m not the one cowering behind illusions.”

“Be thankful you haven’t yet faced me in the flesh. You would be dead.” A sneer curled the pureblood’s mouth. “Just like the worthless king before you.”

Salvatore stiffened.

Dio. His suspicions had been right.

“You killed Mackenzie?”

“Are you just now figuring that out?” Briggs mocked. “God, how could fate ever have thought you worthy of being king?”

Salvatore ignored the insult, his thoughts churning. He was playing a deadly game without knowing the rules or the ultimate goals.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Because he was no longer of use to me.”

“And no longer any use to your master?” Salvatore challenged, sensing the power behind Briggs was the true danger. “Have you considered what will happen to you once you’ve served your purpose?”

“I already know my destiny.”

“Sitting on a throne that doesn’t belong to you? You’re a fool, Briggs. You’ll be betrayed, just like Mackenzie.”

The chill thickened and with a lift of his hands, Briggs struck out, slamming his power into Salvatore.

“You know nothing.”

Salvatore reeled from the blow, but he ignored the broken ribs and squared his shoulders. He’d touched a nerve. Briggs could brag and boast all he wanted, but underneath he feared that he was just more useless fodder.

“I know that a demon doesn’t share his power without expecting something in return,” he ruthlessly pressed. “And that the true cost is always shrouded in lies until it’s too late.”

A tick jerked beneath one sunken eye, but Briggs smiled with that smug superiority that always set Salvatore’s teeth on edge.

There was room for only one arrogant bastard in the pack.

And he was it.

“Don’t tell me you’re concerned for me, Giuliani,” Briggs scoffed. “I’m touched.”

“I’m concerned that your damned greed has condemned the Weres to extinction.”

“You’re the one destroying the Weres. It’s my fate to be their savior.”

“Very noble, but evil can’t create, it can only destroy.”

That disturbing laugh once again echoed through the empty park, sending the handful of dew fairies fleeing in horror. Salvatore wished he could join them.

There was something just…wrong about Briggs.

Beyond the cold, beyond the hideous smell, beyond the black magic was a sense of twisted perversion.

As if the grave still claimed his soul.

“Did you read that in a fortune cookie?” Briggs taunted.

Salvatore shuddered, wondering if there was anything of the Were left inside the decaying shell.

“Have you ever considered that our troubles began with Mackenzie?” He forced himself to meet the disturbing crimson gaze. “His treachery condemned us and your megalomania has only fueled our downfall. You’re like rot that has to be cut away before it can spread further.” He didn’t bother to hide his grimace. “Dio, you even smell like rot.”

The frigid power once again flared out, driving Salvatore to his knees. Grimly, he straightened. Another rib was cracked and his lung was punctured, but he’d rather be skinned alive than be on his knees before this abomination.

“Bastard,” Briggs hissed. “The only rot among the Weres comes from your tainted blood. Mackenzie should have killed you the moment your claim to the throne was sensed.”

Salvatore narrowed his gaze. It was obvious that the mysterious demon had plotted first with Mackenzie and then Briggs to keep Salvatore off the throne. But why? Was there something about him that threatened the creature?

“Is that what your puppet master desires?” he demanded. “My death?”

Briggs snorted. “Who doesn’t?”

Good point. Salvatore had never bothered to win friends and influence people. He didn’t doubt there was a long line of demons who wanted his head on a platter. But this was more than just the regular run-of-the-mill death wish. This was an attack on the entire Were nation.

“What does my death give him?” Salvatore stepped closer to Briggs, one arm wrapped around his injured chest. “And why use you as a flunky, instead of killing me himself? Is he scared of me?”

“Scared?” Briggs made a dismissive motion, but Salvatore sensed the dark thread of doubt that flowed through the Were. Something Salvatore intended to use to his advantage. At least he intended to use it once he could find the damned coward. “You’re nothing more than a mistake that will soon be corrected.”

“Empty promises,” he taunted. “That’s all you can offer.”

The Were snarled. “I’m happy to make it a reality.”

“Let’s do it.”

“As you wish. You can find me here.”

Salvatore swayed as Briggs roughly shoved the image of barren caves directly into his mind. He’d heard of the trick, but he hadn’t realized it burned like a bitch.

“Cristo. You could have just given me the directions,” he growled.

“I wouldn’t want you to get lost.” The demented Were smiled, clearly pleased with his cheesy parlor trick. “This way you have no excuse not to join me.”

“No excuse beyond the fact that it’s an obvious trap,” Salvatore drawled. “When we meet, it will be at a location of my choosing.”

“You’re not making the rules, Giuliani. I am.”

“Have you forgotten who is the King of Weres?”

Briggs took a threatening step forward before making a visible effort to control his temper.

“You will join me, or each passing day I will kill one of your curs,” he warned, his lips curling in a malevolent satisfaction at Salvatore’s growl of shock. “Ah, yes. Did I forget to mention that I’ve arranged for your bodyguards to join me?”

Alarm mixed with impotent fury as Salvatore recalled his futile attempts to reach Hess. Dammit. He’d stayed away from his curs to keep them safe.

“Harm them and I swear I will rip you into so many tiny pieces not even your fairy godfather will be able to put you back together again,” he threatened, his voice thick with the hatred that poured like acid through his veins.

Briggs backed away, his expression hardening as he realized he’d revealed his instinctive fear.

“Don’t tarry, Giuliani,” he snapped. “Our reunion is long overdue.”

Chapter Fifteen

Harley wasn’t entirely surprised when she opened her eyes to discover she was laying in an ivory-and-gold bedroom the size of most apartments. No, scratch that. The size of most family homes with attached garages.

Scooting off the bed drenched in gold satin, she rubbed her butt that was still sore and headed directly to the tray of food that had been left beside a massive fireplace. She didn’t hesitate as she demolished the barbeque chicken, the mound of French fries, and coleslaw. She could smell the combination of vampire and Were without even a hint of bloodshed, which meant she could only be in one place.

The Chicago mansion of the Anasso.

The food had to be safe.

Eager to replenish her strength, Harley polished off the entire plate, ignoring the fine bottle of wine and instead downed the pitcher of water.

Only then did she take time to actually study her surroundings.

Holy crap.

Had there been a fire sale at Big Lots on marble? And crystal chandeliers? And Louis XIV furniture?

Or had her sister been punk’d by the guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?

She was counting the number of sickeningly sweet cupids painted on the vaulted ceiling when she sensed the approach of a vampire. Turning, she squared her shoulders and prepared to meet her brother-in-law.

Or at least, that was the plan.

She wasn’t sure anyone could be prepared for the six-foot-six Aztec warrior with hair braided down his back, dressed in black leather and motorcycle boots. Just for a moment she was speechless as she studied the proud, angular face and dark gold eyes that held the sort of power usually only found at nuclear plants.

He was terrifyingly beautiful.

Then her gaze narrowed and her hands curled into fists.

Dammit. She’d been knocked out for hours and hauled miles from Salvatore’s trail.

Someone was going to pay.

“A dart in the butt?” she gritted. “Really?”

The King of Vampires was trained well enough to hide his amusement and instead managed to look just plain arrogant.

“You left Santiago little choice.” Was this his lame-ass stab at making amends? “He did insist that I offer his apologies.”

“Well, that makes it all better.” She tilted back her head to meet his piercing gaze. “I suppose you must be Styx?”