Page 49 of Entangled

Let someone be afraid ofmefor once.

A sharp, piercing whistle shudders me out of my bloodthirsty thoughts.

“Everyonestop!”

I pause, glancing up for just a second, and the woman underneath me twists too.

“I said stop, you fucking morons.Enough! The Sinners are dead.”

Madison strides into view, her foot dragging, and—finally—the shouts and shots begin to die down.

“Sara, Emerson, Jessica, and Patty—you’re on perimeter, set it up. Get help if you need it. I want whistles if there’s movement.”

I let my grip loosen on the woman’s throat, but she doesn’t press her advantage.

She crawls out from under me and runs over to my friend, throwing her arms around her. “Madison!”

But my eyes snap back to the Rangers’ kits. To the men.

Mymen.

Dominic stands tall, blocking out my view of anything else. Anyoneelse.

Tall and dark, angry and auric in the morning light, he looks like some unholy, sin-soaked demon. A vengeful god. Lazarus, rebirthed and blessedly, unexpectedly,vitally... alive.

But my Lazarus isn’t looking at me. His eyes are glued to the tall redhead commanding everyone’s attention.

An odd, distant roaring starts up in my ears.

Madison disentangles herself from the blonde woman, then looks over at Dom. Her brows lift, her lips parting. She takes a step forward, absent, like she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.

The roaring becomes louder. Like the blood in my veins is being whipped into a whirlwind and it’s battering at my ears.

Because I know. There’s no reason I should, except for the truth on their tired faces and a sudden, nihilistic sense of foreboding.

A sense that becomes a crushing reality with Dominic’s one shocked whisper.

“Heather?”

Chapter16

Eden

Survival tip #206

When you try to shoot someone,

make sure the safety is off.

The silence stretches for a tedious eternity, until Madison—Heather—shakes herself. A caustic, self-deprecating smile blossoms on her lips.

I don’t know how I didn’t notice before, how soft and pillowy those lips are.

Under all the blood anyway.

“Heya, Captain Cutie, what are you doing up and about? Thought you were meant to be six feet under,” she drawls, and my fingers become claws. Her face softens, turns serious again. “I’m real glad you’re not.”

He stares at her—at her lips, probably—and I shove to my feet. Finally, they look away from each other.

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