“We have to talk,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

She shook her head, leaning so close he could feel the heat from her skin. A scalding promise of lavender temptation. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Cassie, listen to me.” He reached to grasp her shoulders, hanging on to the last shreds of coherent thought. “I can’t protect you from the vampire.”

“You already did.”

“We both know that was nothing but shithouse luck.” His lips twisted with regret. Some hero he was turning out to be. “Christ, I led you straight into the trap.”

“We couldn’t possibly have known that the vampire could shape-shift.” She lifted her hands to skim them down the bare skin of his arms in a soothing motion. “Or appear and disappear.”

“All the more reason for you to be protected by your sister and their mates,” he forced himself to admit, trying to disguise his bitterness. What did it matter if he couldn’t be the one to protect her? So long as she was safe, he should be satisfied. “They could make sure that you’re surrounded by enough guards to keep away any danger.”

She shook off his hands, which held her at a crucial distance, leaning forward until they were nose to nose. “No.”

He shuddered, becoming lost in the drowning emerald of her eyes. “Dammit, why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“I’m not being stubborn, Caine,” she said softly, her hands shifting to frame his face. “I had a foretelling.”

And that was that.

He bit back his protest as his heart sank to his toes. Did he want to be the one protecting Cassie? Hell, yeah. Was the future of the world more important than his pride? Hell, yeah.

How was he supposed to keep her safe when he didn’t have a clue how to stop the vampire and his trio of doom from attacking whenever they felt the urge?

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Did this foretelling happen to mention some magical means to keep us from becoming leech food?”

She brushed her lips over his mouth. “No. But we have to return to your lair in Chicago.”

As far as foretellings went, it could be worse, he wryly conceded. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he were expected to haul her to the nearest hell dimension and fight off an entire army of demons.

An unnerving shiver of premonition inched down his spine and with a curse, Caine shoved aside all thoughts of looming foretellings, of vamps with crazy-ass abilities, and traitorous curs.

Just for a few minutes he wanted to be a man alone with the female who set him on fire.

“Now?” he rasped, spanning her waist with his hands.

“No.” She gave a small shriek as he lifted her to set her on the edge of the bar. Then a slow smile of anticipation curled her lips. “Soon, but not tonight.”

Rising to his feet, he stepped between her legs and skimmed his hands beneath her shirt.

“Good.”

Chapter 8

Gaius’s lair in Louisiana

Arriving back at his private lair, Gaius dumped the two unconscious curs on the porch. Then, ignoring the witch’s demands that he wait and listen to her babbling, he headed up the stairs and into the cell holding the human female.

Still under his enthrallment, she willingly went into his arms, tilting her head to offer her throat for his hungry fangs.

He drank deeply, desperate to regain his strength. He wasn’t going to share his lair with his unwelcomed comrades while he was on the point of collapse. Which, of course, meant that he was forced to drain the female until she was nothing more than an empty shell that would have to be dumped in the swamps.

Damn the idiots.

Dropping the dead female on the floor, Gaius retraced his steps. Someone was going to pay for this screwup. And it wasn’t going to be him.

Although dawn was nearing, he followed the scents of the curs to the kitchen. He intended to vent his displeasure before seeking his bed for the day.

Punishment was like a soufflé. If not served immediately, they both fell flat.

He entered the kitchen, taking a moment to glance around the narrow room. At one end the walls were lined with a tiled countertop and white painted cabinets. An ancient fridge hummed in the corner and a matching stove was set under a window that overlooked the dilapidated chicken coop.

At the other end was a small wooden table with matching chairs. Not that there was much to see of the table beneath the huge slab of raw meat the two curs were consuming with gusto. In the corner the witch was perched on a stool, reading from a battered, leather-bound book.

At his entrance the three froze, smart enough to comprehend that their lives hung in the balance.

He concentrated on the dim-witted duo. He would have to take greater care with the witch.

“I trust that the two of you are proud of yourselves?”

Ingrid flinched, lowering her head in a gesture of subservience. “Caine was a lot stronger than we expected him to be.”

Gaius moved to stand in the center of the tiled floor. “You knew he’d become a pureblooded Were.”

Dolf shifted closer to his sister, his hand lifting to touch the crystal hung around his neck. “Yes, but his power isn’t just that of a Were,” he tried to bluff. “I doubt there’s anyone but Salvatore who could beat him in a head-to-head fight.”

“A convenient excuse for your failure,” Gaius said, his voice soft. Lethally soft.

“A convenient excuse?” Dolf ’s fingers tightened on the crystal, no doubt wishing he had the nerve to lob a spell in Gaius’s direction. “That bastard almost killed me.”

“Hardly a great loss,” Gaius drawled.

“Yeah?” Dolf scowled. “Well, where were you during the battle? I didn’t see you doing anything to help.”

“A good commander directs his troops. He doesn’t waste his talent by becoming a foot soldier.”

“Talk about convenient,” Ingrid muttered beneath her breath.

The bitch was dead.

Her and her perverted brother.

Gaius clenched his fists, his power slamming through the room with enough force to overturn the table and shatter the overhead light.

“Do you dare imply that I—”

“Wait.” The witch was abruptly standing directly in front of him, her hands held up in a gesture of peace. “Squabbling among ourselves isn’t going to help. What we need is a new plan.”

Utterly unaware of how close he came to death, Dolf turned the table upright and continued chewing on the bloody slab of meat. “What kind of plan?” he demanded between bites. “There’s no way in hell we’re going to be able to lure the seer and her protector into another trap.”

Sally shrugged, looking worse for the wear with her black eyeliner smeared and her pigtails drooping. “There’s no need for a trap.”

“No?” With an effort, Gaius regained command of his temper and regarded the tiny female with a mocking smile. “Do you intend to wiggle your nose and make them appear?”

“Something like that.” She reached into her bustier to pull out several golden strands of hair. “Abracadabra.”

“Hair?” Gaius rasped.

“Not just hair. The prophet’s hair.”

Gaius frowned, recalling Sally’s insane charge toward Cassandra in the cellar. Was that what she’d been doing? Yanking out the female’s hair?

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

Sally smiled. “I can use this to track her.”

Suddenly Dolf was at the witch’s side, his face filled with awe. “You can scry?”

“Yes.”

Annoyed at being left out of the conversation when he should be in control of it, Gaius pointed a finger toward the witch. “Explain.”

She paled, swallowing heavily as his displeasure was focused on her. “Having a part of Cassandra means I can use a spell to locate her.”

A portion of Gaius’s fury eased. As much as he wanted an excuse to kill his bumbling companions and lay the blame on them for allowing the prophet and her protector to escape, he understood that the Dark Lord might not be in a forgiving frame of mind. In fact, he might just kill Gaius before he could convince him that the fiasco wasn’t his fault.

“You can locate her now?” Dolf growled, his eyes glowing crimson.

“Don’t be any more of an idiot than you have to be, cur,” Gaius snapped.

The stupid creature scowled. “What?”

Gaius waved a hand to slam shut the heavy shutters over the window. “It’s nearly dawn.”

“So . . .” Realization at last managed to penetrate his thick skull. “Oh.”

“Precisely.” Dismissing the fool, Gaius turned his attention to the witch, moving with blinding speed to grab her by the throat and lift her off the floor. “You will perform this scrying at nightfall,” he commanded, his glare warning that he would rip out her heart if she tried to find the prophet while he was imprisoned by daylight. “Not a moment before, capisce?”

She struggled to breathe, her eyes wide with fear. “Of course.”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh, and I’ll need a new female. Order one off the computer.”