Her pulse raged with horror that this was a battle she could not win. For one second, she accepted defeat and mourned. Mourned not for her life, but for Derek's and Lucas's. They had come here to save her, and now would die for their efforts. And then others would follow. Mario wouldn't stop.

A voice seemed to come with the wind. You are not alone. Ask and you will receive.

Were the death angels here? She focused on Mario, but prayed for assistance. Prayers without faith, her heart seemed to whisper. Doubt filled her and echoed in her soul. If the death angels were going to help her, would they have not already been there? Why would she feel so alone, so unprotected? Would they not have offered her help before she almost killed one of her own?

Like a flash of lightning, she remembered the dead at the gate, and something Holiday once said floated through her mind like a thought she needed to grasp on to. Sometimes I think all the dead are my deathangels.

Kylie drew in a breath of hope. Help me. The plea echoed in her mind. Be my death angels.

A loud, bone-chilling creak echoed in the dark. The gate started to open. The squeal of the rusty metal being forced to move rang in her ears. Then the dead came barreling out by the hundreds. Male, female, young, old, they all came running, their hands outstretched. Their eyes haunted. But their expressions didn't beg for help, they offered it.

The icy feel of their presence burned her skin. The air in her lungs seemed too cold to breathe. But even in her pain, she saw she wasn't alone. And that offered her hope. Hope she clung to.

Mario's face, old and wrinkled, grimaced in anguish. Pain, perhaps the same cold ache filling her body, reflected in his gray eyes. He slung his head back and roared. Steam rose from his mouth and danced above his lips. He caught his breath and bolted backward a good ten feet.

As if the distance offered him a reprieve, his gaze turned to her. Kylie tightened her eyes and saw his pattern. He was for sure a chameleon. Oddly enough, with her vision slightly unfocused there was something about him that felt different. Familiar in a different way. The thought seemed important, but like a storm cloud that promised to return, it blew past.

"You might have won this time, but my moment draws near," he spat out. "You will come to me, Kylie Galen, come to me willing to die, to suffer at my hands for my pleasure, because the price will be too great! Your weakness will take you down."

Her weakness? What was her weakness? Kylie wondered, but with her mind churning with pain and hope at the same time, the question remained unasked, and unanswered.

Instead, she focused on the hope. Hope that she had spared Lucas and Derek. And somewhere in the depth of her soul, she wanted to be spared, too.

The spirits still crowding around rushed at Mario again. Purposefully. Their intent-to protect her- showed in their concerned and ash-colored faces. Holiday had been right. All spirits were in some way death angels-death angels being spirits of supernaturals. Spirits who while known to protect the innocent, were mostly feared for their stern judgment of those misusing their powers. A quick glance at the graveyard gate and Kylie saw even more phantoms stumbling out. Some moved slow and uncertain, as if they had just been awoken from a deep sleep.

"Thank you," Kylie managed to say, even though her teeth chattered and the cold of the presence of too many dead made being alive difficult.

As the spirits re-gathered around the rogue, Mario roared again and the sound of his disappointment and agony was the last thing she heard before the icy throbbing in her body became too much. Her vision blurred, ice coated her lips, and she felt herself being pulled into a dark spiral of nothingness.

Chapter Eight

"We wait on Burnett."

"We get the hell out of here now!"

Kylie slowly became aware of the voices. Who? Wait on Burnett for what? Questions rolled around her confused mind. Where was she? Who was holding her so...?

She heard the sound of a rhythmic thump. A heartbeat? But not her own. The warmth, the heat of someone pressed close felt like heaven. She'd been so cold. Why? If she focused she could figure it out.

But part of her didn't want to focus; part of her wanted to stay just like this. Unaware, warm, and feeling safe in the arms of someone holding her close.

Holding her tenderly.

Holding her as if she were treasured.

"We can't leave," one of the voices said. The voice in the distance. Not the one holding her.

"He could come back. We should leave while the leaving's good." She heard the words vibrate deep in the speaker's chest.

"I don't think so. You said Burnett was on his way. We don't leave."

"Just because you're afraid-"

"I'm not afraid, damn it. I'm being rational. Kylie came here for a reason. The spirits, I'm betting they're the ones who sent that bastard packing."

Kylie recognized Derek's voice.

Everything came rushing back. Her grandfather's betrayal, Jenny's assistance, Derek finding her, Mario showing up, the fight, and Lucas ... The familiar feel of the arms wrapped around her told her who held her, whose warmth she now absorbed. Stiffening, she pushed herself off Lucas's chest. "Put me down."

His dark blue eyes, now glowing light orange, no doubt still sensing danger, shot to her face. "Can you stand on your own?"

"I can," she said, and when she saw the bruising around his neck, her heart clutched. Dear God, she'd almost killed him. She'd had her hands around his neck, squeezing the life out of him, and had almost finished the job.