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  Demons spun on him and slashed at him with their rusty weapons. He managed to evade two of the blows, but that put him firmly in the way of the third.

  The dull, rusty edge split the skin just below his shoulder. He didn’t notice the pain. He carried around too much of that every day to register a bit more. He did, however, notice the way his left hand numbed almost instantly.

  Morgan ignored it and kept fighting.

  More demons fell at his feet. He climbed over them, careful not to slip on the blood and gore coating their bodies.

  Finally, after what felt like a year, there were no longer any enemies between him and Serena. He was at her side.

  She was in bad shape.

  The leather along her thigh, as well as the flesh under it, gaped open, revealing a deep wound that went all the way to the bone. She was bleeding badly. Her magically enhanced leather armor protected her from some of the lesser hits, but too many blows had powered through her defenses and injured her.

  The sword she wielded was shorter than his, slimmer and lighter. The reduced weight made it faster, but also gave it little mass to block the heavy strikes of the demons’ clunky blades.

  As he watched, another powerhouse of a blow barreled down toward her. She lifted her sword to block it, but she wasn’t strong enough to do more than change its trajectory.

  Morgan shoved his body close to hers and rounded to face the thickest clump of demons.

  They needed to move. Retreat. This cavern was a deathtrap, but if they could make it back to the narrow tunnel, there was no way for the enemy to slip around them if they fought side-by-side. As long as they both stayed standing, they could take on the enemy only one or two at a time.

  The clang of metal on stone was loud, but the thunder of approaching troops eager for Theronai blood was even louder.

  “We have to retreat,” he called to be heard over the fray.

  “Agreed,” she screamed back.

  They began backing into the tunnel, leaving a trail of blood behind her. Two of the gray demons bent to lap up the blood, taking the treasure they had now over the one they had yet to earn.

  After a few yards, Serena’s injured leg buckled and she went down.

  If not for him blocking the sword headed toward her, she would have lost the other leg.

  He reached down with his numb hand and tried to pull her up. He couldn’t feel her touch, but when he felt her weight tugging at his leather jacket, he lifted his arm to bring her to her feet.

  “Lean on me,” he yelled. “We’re almost there.”

  He could feel the roof of the tunnel opening scraping his head and knew they were almost to the narrow spot where he’d had to crawl to pass.

  “Go,” he shouted. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You won’t make it. They’ll kill you before you get through.”

  “Trust me.” There was no time for more words. He needed every bit of concentration to stave off the mass of attacks aimed at him.

  “I’m through!” she yelled, and by the echo of her voice he knew she was telling the truth.

  Morgan was going to have to go through the narrow opening feet first. If he didn’t keep his sword swinging, these fuckers would cut off his legs before he got to the other side.

  The tiny opening was only three feet long, but those three feet were probably going to cost him his life.

  He promised himself that if he made it out of this alive, he was going to start carrying grenades down into these caves with him. Or maybe some C-4.

  Hell, even a gun might have done him some good against these things. They weren’t as hard to kill as the demons he was used to fighting—which took decapitation or fire to kill—but there were so damn many of them, they were still just as deadly.

  “Coming through,” he bellowed, then lashed into a frenzy of attacks meant to drive his enemy back just a few inches. He was going to need every one of those inches if he was to have any chance of making out of this alive.

  At least his carcass would plug the hole and give Serena a chance to make a run for it while the demons feasted on him.

  Not that she was running anywhere very fast on that injured leg of hers.

  As soon as he’d gained a fraction of space, he dropped down and shoved his feet back into the opening.

  The moment he did, the oddest thing happened. First, Serena grabbed his ankle. Her bare, chilly fingers brushed the skin above his sock. He thought she was going to try to pull him through the hole, but that’s not what happened at all. Instead, he felt an intense wash of heat suffuse him, along with a giddy lack of pain as she touched him. All of that was expected. What wasn’t, was a strange sense of vertigo, like his brain had been spun around inside his skull. The air around him shimmered and seemed to shrink in around him. There was a heavy, popping feeling, like he’d broken through the surface of a bubble.

  The demons in front of him went still. Frozen.

  No, not frozen, but they were moving so slowly, it was almost hard to detect movement.

  “Can’t hold it,” Serena said through clenched teeth.

  Morgan didn’t know what she was talking about, but now was not the time for questions. Later, after they got out of this alive, that’s when he’d interrogate her about what was happening, but right now, he was getting them the hell out of here.

  He scrambled through the opening so fast he skinned his knees and shoulders, which were barely able to fit through the space.

  As soon as he was on the other side, he saw Serena’s face.

  She was eerily pale and sweating. Her whole body shook with effort, as if sagging under its own weight.

  Whatever she’d done to slow down those demons was costing her.

  Without hesitation, Morgan swept her up in his arms and raced up the tunnel toward the exit. It was a tight fit and he had to turn sideways more than once to shove through, but he did it, and he did it fast.

  Fresh night air hit his face and cleared his nostrils of demon filth. The winter air was cold and clean, but it carried with it the sound of an army racing toward them. He couldn’t tell if it was coming from outside of the tunnel or an echo from inside, but either way, if he let that army reach them, they were both dead.

  Morgan rushed for his truck. There were at least a hundred yards between this cave opening and the cattle pasture where he’d parked. He and Serena were both bleeding freely. If he didn’t make the run fast enough, nearby demons would smell them and come hunting.

  He spared one quick glance down at her, and knew she wasn’t okay. Her head bounced against his chest as if she had trouble holding it up.

  She was in no shape to stand, much less fight.

  To his left, a piercing howl split the night.

  He’d know that cry anywhere. It was sgath demons signaling they’d caught a scent and were on the hunt.

  They were so screwed.

  He rounded a patch of brush, and in the distance, his truck became visible. He’d left it unlocked with the keys inside, as was his habit. More than one Theronai had died trying to find his keys, and Morgan wasn’t going to add to that statistic.

  A rumbling growl of hunger came from the brush to his left. He couldn’t tell how far away it was, but it was too damn close.

  “Serena?” he whispered.

  Her answer was a weak whisper. “Yes?”

  She was fading fast, bleeding out.

  Fuck.

  Morgan finally reached the truck, ripped the door open and sent her spilling inside as he crawled in behind the wheel.

  Losing contact with her skin made his world light up with agony, but he swallowed it down and forced himself to move. Just fucking move.

  He pushed the ignition button as he undid his belt and jerked it free of his jeans.

  The second the motor started, he hit the accelerator and spewed dirt behind him as he tore out of the field. The field gate to the road was closed, but he didn’t bother to stop and open it. Instead, he powered through, wincing at the
gouges in his new ride.

  “Put this on,” he said as he held his belt out to Serena.

  Her tone was one of weak confusion. “Why?”

  “Tourniquet your leg. Stop the bleeding.”

  She took his belt with shaking hands and looped it around her upper thigh.

  He pushed the hands-free button on his steering wheel and said, “Call Tynan.”

  Tynan was one of the Sanguinar—a race of Sentinels that were more like vampires than not. Of course, they’d punch you in the eye if you called them that, but Morgan never had understood what all the fuss was about.

  They were the healers—healers who fed on blood to fuel their magic. They also didn’t go into the sun and were weak during the day.

  As far as Morgan was concerned, a vampire by any other name was still just as creepy. But they were handy as hell, too, if you could get past the whole moody, dark brooding, living in eternal hunger bullshit.

  Morgan liked Tynan better than the rest of the Sanguinar. He was more pragmatic than most and was almost always willing to come help if there was a payment of blood in the offering. Unlike a lot of Morgan’s brothers, he didn’t begrudge the Sanguinar for the blood they needed to survive. Some of his kind were suspicious of the bloodsuckers, certain that they had ulterior motives to their healing.

  Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. Either way, Morgan would have been dead a dozen times over if not for the aid of a Sanguinar. And he wasn’t alone. Everyone he knew had needed their help at least once.

  Now Serena was the one in need.

  A quick glance at her thigh told Morgan that she hadn’t pulled the belt tight enough to stop the bleeding.

  A quarter mile down the gravel road, he braked, grabbed the leather tongue and pulled it tight enough to make her lever up and punch the side of his head.

  Funny, but that instant of contact with her bare skin against his eased his pain, even though that hadn’t been her aim.

  The effort exhausted her, and she lolled back against the seat, limp and still.

  After several rings Tynan answered with a surly, “I’m neck deep in the injured. What do you need?”

  “Serena is bleeding out.”

  “It’s not that bad,” she said, but her breathless words proved it a lie.

  As soon as Tynan heard her, his tone shifted to all business. “Where are you?”

  “A few miles north of Austin.”

  “That’s too far. Joseph called me back to Dabyr to heal the fighters. We’re being overrun every night. You’re hours away.”

  Morgan saw the flash of creepy green eyes in his rearview and knew he was out of time. The demons were on their tail. While he loved his new truck, it wouldn’t stand a chance against the teeth and claws of hungry sgath.

  With the tongue of the belt in one hand, he drove off as fast as his truck would go.

  “I’ll have to take her to a hospital then. It’s bad, Tynan.”

  “Not that bad,” she argued.

  Morgan ignored her.

  “No. Don’t do that. Human blood won’t help her. I’ll ask Briant to come to you. He’s the only one of us who is near you, in our Texas shelter.”

  “Where is that?” Morgan asked.

  “Just outside of Dallas. South, I believe.”

  “I’ll drive that way, but if he doesn’t hurry, I’m taking her to the human doctors.”

  “How bad is the bleeding?” Tynan asked.

  “Bad enough. We’ve tied a tourniquet around her leg. Should buy us some time, but not much.”

  “If you must, give her your blood, but none from humans. I’ll contact Briant and call back with a meeting location.”

  “How do I give her my blood?”

  “There should be a large syringe in your medical kit. You do know how to hit a vein, don’t you?”

  “I do.” All of the Sentinels had medical training. Morgan couldn’t perform brain surgery, but he knew how to treat most injuries to keep someone alive until help arrived. After hundreds of years in combat, a man picked up the skills necessary to save those he was sworn to protect.

  But he had no magical healing. He couldn’t seal up her severed blood vessels from the inside out the way a Sanguinar could.

  “Then use it if things get desperate,” Tynan said.

  Morgan feared they already were.

  Behind him, more eyes appeared in the darkness.

  “Gotta go. Demons on my back.”

  “I’ll text you in a few minutes.”

  Morgan hung up and concentrated on driving faster than he ever had before in his life.

  ***

  Serena was used to pain, but she far preferred the sharp sting of split skin to the crushing band of Morgan’s belt around her thigh.

  She tried to take over the job of holding the leather tight, but she was too weak to bat his hand away, much less maintain pressure.

  Her heart was racing in an effort to use what little blood she had left to fuel her body. She couldn’t catch her breath, though she was completely still. The world was spinning. Everything around her was turning cold, except Morgan’s big fist around the belt.

  She cupped it like a mug of hot coffee in an effort to warm herself.

  Behind them, she could hear the cry of hungry demons. She’d bled so much, there would be no safe place to stop until sunrise, which was hours away. And even then, there were demons that could withstand sunlight now. Those demons would smell her blood and come for her.

  If Morgan hadn’t come in that cave after her, she never would have made it out alive. She was going to have to repay him the favor, assuming she lived long enough to do so.

  “Sorry for the mess,” she said.

  His truck was meticulously clean. Or it had been before she’d bled all over it. He was bleeding as well, but fortunately, not as much as she was.

  He spared her a quick glance as he careened over the gravel roads. “Live long enough to clean it up and we’ll call it even.”

  She honestly wasn’t sure if that was going to happen.

  She’d never been allowed in combat before her imprisonment. She’d always been good with a sword and had trained to defend herself from the time she was a child, but Mother never would have let her step foot in harm’s way. Since Serena’s release from the prison of her mother’s making, she’d fought dozens of demons. Perhaps hundreds. But her injuries had never been this bad before. She healed fast, but there was no way to know if it would be fast enough.

  Maybe if they survived the night…

  “You’re not giving up on me, are you?” he asked.

  “Never. Not my nature.”

  “Good. Then keep those pretty eyes open and those lovely lips flapping. I need to know you’re still with me.”

  “Too tired,” she whispered. And she was. Even speaking was too much of an effort. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sink down into the soft, leather seat where no pain or fear could reach her.

  “Are you telling me you’re weak?” Morgan asked.

  Anger flared in her chest, strengthening her. “Fuck. You.”

  His cheek lifted in a smile. “That’s my girl.”

  “Not yours.”

  “You could be.”

  Was he really going to talk about this now? While she was bleeding all over the place?

  She let her disbelief color her tone. “As if you could handle me.”

  “Believe me, honey. When I get my hands on you, you won’t question my ability to handle any part of you. You’ll know.”

  Hot, consuming pulses of energy thrummed out of him where her hands met his. She absorbed them eagerly, and with each one, felt a tiny bit stronger. Maybe it was the magic of the luceria flowing through her, giving her strength, or maybe Morgan was somehow lending her some of his. She didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to let go and give up the advantage.

  After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Sorry about that. I know that now isn’t the time to seduce you, but when you put your h
ands on me, all I can think about is getting you naked, and tasting every square inch of that perfect skin of yours.

  She grunted out a bleak laugh. “Not perfect anymore.”

  “A few scars aren’t going to scare me off, Serena, no matter if I can see them or not.”

  She tensed slightly at his insight, then regretted it as her body rebelled with a fresh burst of pain. More injuries were making themselves known as the seconds passed, as if they were all vying for her attention like jealous, little children seeking their mother’s approval.

  Morgan was right. She did have hidden scars. Too many to acknowledge. She hated that he knew it, but she imagined that after living as long as he had, he likely had a few of his own. There was no way to travel through life without taking a few hits along the way, and some were far worse than others.

  She’d been betrayed by the people she loved and trusted most. Maybe those people had their reasons, but the pain they caused her was still real. It still cut her open and made her bleed, far worse than any demon could. There was no tourniquet for those injures. No justification for their actions could ever change how emotionally savaged she’d been by both her mother and Iain.

  Her internal pain wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to share with anyone. All it could do was make others suffer the way she did. Her mother was dead, but Iain wasn’t. Did she really want his new wife to know how much he’d hurt Serena? Did she want his children growing up knowing how much pain their father had caused another?

  She couldn’t do that to them. They were innocents.

  It was better for her to keep her wounds hidden from the world than to let anyone know just how much she suffered. That was the only way to keep her pain from hurting more people. If she did that, then she’d be as much to blame as those who had betrayed her in the first place.

  No, she was the caretaker of this pain. Its keeper. She would hold it within herself so that no one else could ever feel its sting.

  Bottle it up. Hold it tight. Hide it deep.

  She sat in silence, listening for answers, but heard nothing over the crunch of tires on gravel and the howl of the winter wind outside.