Page 2 of Of Flame and Fate

Her gaze locks on my arm. She eases away as a spark of blue and white escapes from my fingertips, giving me and my power ample space as the surrounding vamps shower me with alcohol.

“Master,” Agnes says, ignoring us as she concentrates on my thigh. “It’s settling. I need the knife.”

“The wolves are bringing it,” he replies.

“The wolves?” I ask. Okay. Now I’m wide awake.

The doors crash open as a pack ofweresin human form stomp in, the exception being an immense, midnight-black wolf with a white left paw who leads them. His lips peel back, exposing a row of pointy fangs as he growls at the vampires surrounding me. But it’s the man storming forward with dark almond eyes and a six-inch dagger in his hand that gives me pause.

“Hi, honey,” I say, giving him a little wave.

Funny thing, he doesn’t wave back. His gaze swoops over my naked body. “Hold her,” he snarls, ramming the knife into my thigh.

Reality shoves aside the shock of having the man I love stab me in the leg. Like a heated blade through butter, he slices through the skin and muscle, creating a diagonal line and spraying blood across the glass shower walls. I expect pain, scorching white-hot pain, and to lose my blood supply in large volumes. But like the creepy crawly beneath my skin, I just feel that wretched pulling and grabbing.

My bleeding trickles to a stop just as Gemini’s hand plunges deep into the incision. The image is so graphic and brutal my stomach lurches. I’m seconds from passing out. The vamps on either side of me are the only thing keeping me vertical. But when my focus latches onto the hilt of the dagger, and I realize it’s a femur—afreakingfemur! — my body immediately slumps.

Of course, that’s not the worst part.

The tangle of bodies, limbs, and faces, carved around the hilt twitch, as if seizing, breaking free of what’s holding them to slither. Oh, and it gets better. The mouths open, singing one messed up version ofO Fortuna.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, my body trembling violently as their slowly amplifying voices echo across the room.

Agnes grips my jaw, yanking my face toward her. “Taran, get it together before you set this whole place on fire.”

I wrench my head free. “Don’t you think I’m trying?!”

I bite back a curse, and a few more, when something scampers toward my right butt cheek.

It doesn’t get far. Gemini thrusts his hand deep, wrenching a large,screechinglump from my leg, exciting the minute faces continuing to sing and slide along the hilt. Their voices crescendo and their bodies writhe with glee. I don’t get a good look at the demon impaled by the dagger, and I don’t want to. I only see enough to realize I was right about the spindly legs and pinchers.

Gemini carries the shrieking demon to the sink, ignoring the way the long cluster of centipede legs kick out and clutch blindly at the air. I wish I could ignore it. But those things you can’t unsee? I’ve seen plenty in my twisted, messed up life and this is one more to add to my list.

Gemini holds out his free hand. Without asking, a vamp drops an open bottle of vodka into his palm. Gemini pours the vodka over the demon, stunning it and causing the legs to fall open like petals—nasty petals covered with blood, pointy grippy ends, and little bits of me.

With a turn of his wrist, he drops the demon into the sink. It falls with a sick plop.

Agnes’s weight abruptly pulls off me when she stands and hurries to the sink. She flicks a lighter another vamp tossed her and drops it on top of the demon. “Ad infernum,” she tells it, sending it back to hell.

The vamps step away from me as the flames spray up to lick the ceiling. The exception is Edith who remains on her knees, clutching my leg between her breasts and sealing my wound with several fast and enthusiastic strokes of her tongue.

“Get away from her,” Gemini demands. His voice is more beast than human, setting off an orchestra of snarls from the rest of the pack.

Like a very hungry dog with a bone, Edith doesn’t want to let go. Gemini doesn’t give her a choice. From one breath to the next, he rips me from her, wrapping me in a blanket someone hands him and carrying me away.

“Taran,” Misha calls.

Gemini and I glance at him. “I’ll see you soon,” he tells me with a smile and an all-too playful wink.

The midnight wolf at our side answers with a powerful snap of his jaws, not quite loud enough to overshadow the inhuman growl from my mate, nor the choir in the knife, which is evidently having the time of its cringe-worthy existence.

“Babe,” I begin, touching his shoulder.

My touch is usually enough to soothe him, or at the very least keep him from mangling the closest prey. Hey, sometimes that’s the best I can hope for. To his credit, he hasn’t eaten anyone, yet.

He reels, rushing forward, his insane speed and strong movements propelling us down the long hall. I don’t see the splendor of Misha’s estate, and barely feel the bounce of Gemini’s feet as he leaps down the grand staircase. I’m too busy pressing against him and attempting to soothe his livid beast even as I struggle to calm my fragile nerves.

I can feel Gemini fighting not tochange, my fear urging his beast to appear. During times of stress and unparalleled danger, two wolves are better than one. They can protect and fight with graceful lethality. But the danger is over, and right now, I need the man to soothe me, not the wolves who bite.

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