“It’s served me well so far.”

“True. You’re very good at what you do. And what is that, again? Right, you’re a biker. The bar isn’t set too high there, is it? A pretty face and false charm. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.”

“But he’s Arawn,” one of the women whispered. “He doesn’t need power. He is power.”

Fingers slid across his thigh and stroked him. He held his ground and met Beau’s gaze. “Tell me where she is.”

“Mmm, what’s the rush? She’s safe. I promise you that. Relax.” Beau grinned. “Enjoy yourself.”

More fingers touched him. More hands fondled him. Beau leaned in, lips coming to Ricky’s, chuckling when Ricky tensed. Beau kissed him. Ricky let him. He parted his lips, and when Beau’s tongue slid in, he chomped down. Beau screamed. It wasn’t a man’s scream—not even a human scream. It sounded like the wail of some creature flying overhead.

Beau fell back, but Ricky didn’t let him go, just kept biting down. Beau flailed and shrieked, his eyes rounding and bugging. Blood filled Ricky’s mouth and he kept biting down until, at last, Beau pulled free, and Ricky spat out the bit of flesh in his mouth.

“Arawn,” one of the women whispered. “He is Arawn.”

“Lord of the Underworld?” Beau snarled, his face barely human now, barely bothering to keep it human, blood dripping from his mouth, spattering as he spoke. “No. This is a boy. A foolish, stupid boy. Not a king. Not even a prince. Page of the Underworld. A pretty page boy, suited only for getting on his knees and wrapping his pretty lips—”

Ricky grabbed Beau, again by the throat. There was no rage in it. No surprise. Just cold resolve. His fingers wrapped around Beau’s throat, and he concentrated on holding on to him, willing him to stay where he was, not to disappear. And he did. Beau hung there, suspended by the throat, eyes rolling. Then whatever held him broke, and he flashed away, gasping and growling like a wounded animal.

Beau railed at Ricky, his insults tinged with fear now, coming fast and hard. The women cooed and flattered him, whispering in his ears, stroking him, fingers everywhere.

Distracting me. Whatever works. Insults or fawning. Threats or come-ons. Distracting me from finding Liv. From . . .

He tensed and looked around.

Distracting me from figuring out what the hell is going on. From realizing she’s not gone—I am.

He looked around the clearing. He couldn’t tell whether it was where they’d fallen asleep. When he’d caught Liv, he’d been so intent on claiming his reward that they could have been in an ice-cold stream and he wouldn’t have noticed. Not before. Certainly not during. And even afterward, when he’d collapsed beside her, thinking of nothing but her and them, and how good it felt being with her.

He hadn’t even taken a look around before dropping into sleep. But one thing was certain: when he’d caught her, he’d still been dressed. In his jeans, at least, the jacket and shirt coming off as he’d gotten close, not wanting to waste a second once he had her. But his jeans and boxers should be here. And they were not. Which meant he hadn’t woken up to find her gone. He’d sleepwalked away from her, lost in his dream.

Lured away.

“Liv!” he shouted, as loud as he could. “Olivia!”

“Calling for your girlfriend’s help? That’s very sweet in a modern-guy kind of way. Not exactly manly, though.”

“Liv! Stay where you are.”

“Oh, you were warning her. My mistake. If you honestly think she won’t come to your rescue—”

Ricky pounced. He caught Beau around the neck again and concentrated as he squeezed. His fingers dug in, blood flecking him as Beau coughed and sputtered.

Can I choke him? Do they breathe?

It was only a momentary thought, but the doubt was enough to break whatever mental hold he had. Beau vanished. This time, he reappeared behind Ricky, leaping on his back. Teeth dug into Ricky’s neck. Ricky bit off his howl mid-note and flipped Beau. Blood sprayed. His blood. Streaming down his neck.

Don’t worry about that.

Beau sprang at him. Ricky slammed him in the gut, but it seemed to have no more effect than if he’d hit him in the ribs, and he jumped on Ricky again. Ricky caught him by the hair and wrenched him off. He was throwing him down when Liv came at a run, dressed only in her shirt, half on and unbuttoned. She skidded to a stop as she saw Beau. Her hand flew out and light seemed to flash from it. It was the switchblade, moonlight striking the blade as it flicked out.

She ran at Beau. He disappeared.

“Not human,” Ricky said, clamping a hand to the side of his neck.

“So I see.” Her eyes widened when she saw the blood. “You’re—”

“Watch—!”

He didn’t have time to say more. She was already spinning.

Beau rushed her and Ricky was too far away. Liv’s hand swung back. The blade flashed as she drove it into Beau’s gut. Then Ricky was on him, Beau screaming that nightmare scream as he fell, the blade stuck in his gut. Ricky grabbed the handle and wrenched it up, blood spraying, Beau screaming. Around them, the forest seemed to erupt. Dark shapes poured out, shadowy wraiths, flying at them, shrieking.

Ricky knocked Liv down and fell overtop her. The things struck him, battered him, claws ripping into his back. He tried to grab one, but his fingers passed through it.

Then hooves thundered. A dozen hooves, pounding the dirt, coming so fast the horses were almost upon them as soon as Ricky heard the sound. Then the forest erupted from the other side, huge black dogs barreling out of the trees, charging at the wraiths as the creatures screamed in terror and the hounds snarled. There was one moment of sheer deafening sound, driving into Ricky’s skull, the shrieks and the growls crescendoing and then . . .