After a few minutes and several turns at intersections—the lights leading their way—the tunnel opened up into a room. Roots, as massive as tree trunks, steadied the rounded walls of earth. Here and there, the roots curled into smaller swirls of almost artful delicacy, a natural adornment. In the middle of the room lay a heap of furs and cushions—and on top of it, lounging in languorous predatory ease, loomed a giant black wolf, almost twice the size of a normal canine.  Marga stopped dead, her muscles locked in place, her heart pounding with the rush of fear. “Atticus,” she called out mentally, “please tell me Lucas has ordered that wolf not to eat us.”He squeezed her hand. “That wolf is Lucas.”  Marga blinked, swallowed, dumbstruck for a moment. “But…he’s not a werewolf.” His aura didn’t have the unique traces of shifters, the kind of otherworldly creatures who wer

Marga watched the vibrant colors of the sunset fade into the darkness of the advancing night, her whole body humming with grim excitement. Soon. Soon she’d get to kill the fucking bastard who’d kidnapped and tortured her baby sister, and then this whole nightmare would finally be over. The familial link to Marissa pulsed inside her, weaker than before but not broken. Yet. Her sister was still alive, and Merle would make damn sure they found her in time.  Time. Thinking of which…  She turned around, laid her hand on Atticus cheek and met his eyes. “I don’t know how fast the Elders are going to find us once we’ve rescued Marissa, but I want you to know that I’ll try to convince them that you’re—”  “Atticustastic?” he asked with a grin that could be sold as an aphrodisiac.  She almost choked on the giggle bubbling up. “No. I mean, yes, you are, but—wh

Atticus pressed his lips together, steeled himself, and then ushered in the inevitable end. “I found him.”  Marga froze in the process of pulling on a new sweater. They’d come back to Benjamin’s apartment once more, where he’d peeled her out of her soaked clothes, and, ignoring her protests of I-can-do-that-myself-you-domineering-male, had towel-dried every inch of her until her skin glowed rosy with warmth. Of course, he’d also insisted on kissing any spot looking like it might still be cold—just to be sure—with the result of leaving bright red hickeys in strategic places—and a nice blush of arousal on Marga’s face.  Now she swallowed several times before speaking, sky-blue eyes wide. “You know where he is?” She’d immediately understood whom he was talking about, and all lingering sense of playful exasperation had left her face as if wiped away.  He nodded. “Wh

The bedside lamp bathed Marissa’s face in soft light, her features less haunted in sleep. Atticus had encountered his fair share of gruesome cruelty in his life, and still, what he’d seen in that room in the warehouse…it rivaled his darkest memories, chilled his soul.  Made him want to kill that fucker all over again.  Marga had taken care of Marissa after they’d returned to the old Victorian, had obviously cleaned her up after she’d carried her upstairs by herself, ignoring Atticus offers of help. He understood, though. The only time Marissa had looked at him, her scent had spiked with gut-wrenching terror. He was, after all, a demon of the same species as the one who’d held her captive, and Marissa didn’t know him, didn’t know anything but to fear him. If he touched her, even with the intent to help, it would distress her beyond necessity.  Marissa hadn’t spoken a word since they’d

Darkness. So thick, it penetrated his very being, each and every cell. It coiled around him, within him, through him. The worst part about the Shadows? They were sentient, and they were hungry.  The squirming black ate at his foundations, each bite a sharp sting spearing through him, gnawing at his soul until he wasn’t Atticus anymore.  He was pain.  The starvation had hit him on the heels of the pain, depleting him of all his energy, leaving but a glimmer of life inside him. Enough to feel, while refusing him the mercy of death.  Burning anguish, gut-wrenching hunger, despair beyond hope, and still he held on to the image of sky-blue eyes and flaming hair, to the memory of a love that had broken and steeled him at the same time. Not even the most vicious darkness seeping into his mind could wrench this away from him.  Abruptly, the Shadows roiled as if agitated. If he’d had control over his physical form,