Tempting Evil

Chapter Eleven

I woke with a start, and to the realization I was not alone. I twisted around sharply. Quinn sat two feet away, his expression thoughtful as he leaned back against the gnarled trunk of an old pine, his arms crossed across his chest and long legs stretched out in front of him. He seemed little more than a shadow of the pine, even though the sun was still too low to cast such things this deep in the trees.

I rubbed my eyes and struggled into a sitting position. "What time is it?"

He glanced down at his watch. "Just after seven."

No wonder I felt like shit. I'd only had five hours' sleep, and after the last few fun-filled days, that just wasn't enough. "Why did you wake me?"

"I didn't. I was merely watching you."

Something had woken me, but I let the matter slip and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not that interesting when I sleep."

"Perhaps not, but you were at least quiet. A rare thing, I'm discovering."

I picked up a twig and flicked it at him. He smiled, and it rose to his eyes, briefly warming the night dark depths. Something deep inside sighed in pleasure. "Did you uncover anything interesting last night while following Moss?"

"Nothing other than the fact that he and Merle do not see eye to eye. You?"

I shrugged and told him about Nerida's mad quest.

"So you've warned her off?"

"Yes." I hesitated, then added, "But there's still a problem."

"What?"

"The dead want revenge." I paused again, mainly because I didn't want to sound like an idiot. But if there was one person who could help me understand what was going on, then surely it was Quinn. He was an empath and one of the dead. "I could feel them all around me last night, feel their anger and their need to get back at her."

He raised an eyebrow. "Empathy with the truly dead? An interesting path for a developing talent to take."

"It's not interesting, it's freaky." I drew my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. "How is something like that even possible?"

"Many clairvoyants are able to see, and converse, with shades or spirits."

"But I didn't converse with them or see them. I could just feel them—or rather, their emotions."

"Maybe the rest is yet to come. But you have always had empathy with the dead—how else would you have been able to sense my emotions so often?"

I wanted to argue that that was different, because he had flesh and a heartbeat—however slow it might be—so, technically, he wasn't dead dead. But what was the point? I had always been able to sense his emotions. And sometimes even Jack's. How else would that have been possible if it wasn't some twisted form of empathy with the dead? And surely it wasn't a huge step from reading the undead to reading the dead.

I rubbed my arms lightly against a sudden chill. Trust me to develop a talent that held no earthly value and was as scary as hell. "Thing is, this empathy is extending. I'm beginning to sense the emotions of some flesh and blood people."

"If that's the case, and this is the first sign that the ARC 1-23 is having an effect, then you should not be here. You should be back at the Directorate, being tested and watched."

My gaze met his. "I'm not walking away from this mission. I want to be a part of Starr's downfall."

"Why? What is so important about it that you risk your life, or at the very least, your future?"

"Starr kidnapped me, abused me, and most importantly, he murdered a friend. And for all that, he will pay."

"So this Nerida is not the only one on a quest for revenge?"

I smiled grimly. "This question coming from a man who has spent how many years and wasted how many lives seeking his own revenge?"

He smiled his sexy smile, and desire prickled across my skin. The moon heat might be a few weeks off yet, but being in the presence of this vampire always made me feel like the moon was full and ripe. I wanted him, always wanted him, no matter how angry or just plain pissed off with him I might be. And in a totally different way to how I wanted Kellen or even Kade. This was deeper. Way deeper.

How much deeper was something I might never find out, given his problems with the werewolf lifestyle, and my own determination to find my werewolf soul mate.

"I guess I should not throw stones," he agreed.

"No, you should not." I stretched out my legs. "So why are you here? Really?"

"I want you to show me the section of the forest where Moss disappeared. I'll try and find the tunnel entrance, if there is one."

I frowned. "Your infrared can't sec past soil, can it?"

"No, but if there is an entrance, there will be other indicators, even if it is something as simple as an area of grass trampled down."

I nodded. "Jack knows you're here. He isn't happy." Which was the understatement of the century. After he'd spent ten minutes telling me off for continuing to ignore direct orders, I'd innocently mentioned Quinn and had learned the hard way my dear brother hadn't gotten around to telling Jack about his presence here. Meaning I'd been on the receiving end of yet another tirade. Was it any wonder I still had a headache?

What I needed was coffee. Buckets of it. And a big, hearty breakfast. Both of which might be difficult to get considering Nerida blew the kitchen apart last night.

"I'm here to help, not hinder, your mission," Quinn said. "I will not take out Starr until you have all the information you require about his organization and the labs."

"Well, actions speak louder than words, so I'm not believing until I actually start seeing evidence of your restraint." I pushed to my feet. "I'll take you to the place Moss disappeared. They want us to do some fight training this morning, then I have a brunch meeting with Starr."

He fell in step beside me. "Why do have you a meeting with Starr?"

"Because he's fascinated with my unusual beauty." Just saying those words had me grinning. Anyone who knew me would certainly class me as unusual—or, more likely, just plain weird. But men usually only considered me a beauty after the intake of several glasses of booze. Not that I was ugly by any stretch—just an ordinary girl with a good figure and big tits.

Which I supposed was the only thing some guys worried about.

"Well, it was your hair I noticed first." His fingers briefly touched my hair—a feather light caress that shimmered right down to my toes. "It was so long, and such a glorious color. It's a shame you cut it so short, even if it suits you."

I raised an eyebrow. "I cut it to shoulder length only a few months ago. You said you liked it. Or was that another lie?"

"No lie. But this is even shorter. It's a shame."

Hard to disagree when he was basically echoing my own comments to Liander. "So that comment you made about me not being as flat as most werewolves did not come from observation?"

He smiled. "Okay, so maybe there was just a little observation. But I'm hetero and Starr is not." Despite the amusement touching his lips, concern gleamed in the dark depths of his eyes—which shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did. I knew he cared, but it was often hard to remember when he was continually stabbing away at my heritage. "We are talking about a man who has made a concerted effort to get you into his labs. Is it wise to get so close? I thought that was Rhoan's job?"

"It is, but saying no wasn't an option."

He glanced at me again, and the worry was deeper. My daft hormones did an excited little shuffle. Nothing like a man worrying about my safety to get them zooming along excitedly.

"I have noticed this place is run like a dictatorship."

"You should have seen last night's dinner entertainment. If that didn't turn people off thoughts of rebellion, I don't know what would." I hesitated. "What do you plan to do if you find the tunnel?"

"Explore it, of course."

"It might have infrared sensors."

"It might, it might not." He shrugged.

Meaning, of course, he was well able to take care of any resulting guard dispatch. Given the little I'd seen of his skills, he was probably right. "And if you can't find the tunnel?"

"Then I shall dig myself a nice little ditch, cover myself in soil, and wait out the noon hours."

I raised my eyebrows. "Is that where the legend of vampires and coffins comes from?"

A smile touched his lips. "In itself, no. The world was not always as densely populated as it is today, and protection in the form of housing was not always easy to find. Soil, on the other hand, is readily available in all lands, at all times."

"Does it have to be a particular depth?"

"No. One or two inches is sufficient. Though it is not unusual for the newly turned to panic and go as deep as they can. And, of course, the tombs and graves of the recently dead are often the easiest place to borrow."

I chuckled softly. "Hence the legend."

"Yes."

The brief spark of amusement in his eyes died a little, replaced by the thoughtfulness I'd seen earlier. But again, whatever his thoughts were, he was keeping them well and truly to himself. Which was a nice change, and yet also a little alarming. I had a feeling those thoughts were about me—us—and part of me itched to ask. But the sane part knew it was better not to. However much this vampire irritated the hell out of me, he was at least still in my life, still by my side. No matter how much I might have told him to leave if he could not accept my nature and beliefs, I didn't actually want him to go.

Because he was right. There was something good between us, something that was worth taking the time to explore. I was willing, as long as it was an open relationship. Maybe he was beginning to see the benefits of such a deal, as well.

Besides, it wasn't as if we actually knew much of each other beyond the realms of sex. It might actually turn out that we were totally incompatible outside the bedroom. Hell, I hadn't wanted Talon in my life on a regular basis, but we sure as hell had a good time sexually. Of course, he'd turned out to be a sick psycho. Maybe Quinn would, too. Who really knew?

Only time would tell and the reality was, we hadn't had a lot of that so far.

I glanced ahead and saw that we were near the clearing where Moss had done his invisible trick. I stopped in the shadows of some gum trees and waved a hand around. "It happened here, somewhere."

His gaze scanned the area, then came back to mine. "You be careful."

"You, too." I paused, suddenly feeling awkward and having no idea why. "I'll talk to you tonight."

He nodded. But as I turned to retreat, his fingers slipped down my arm and caught my wrist. "Make sure you use full shields," he said softly. "Remember what Misha said about Starr. If I can read your surface thoughts, then it is most likely Starr can. You cannot afford the slightest mistake while in his presence, or the game will be up and we'll all be in danger."

God, didn't he think I knew that already? Stating the obvious would only succeed in making me even more jittery.

He released my hand, his fingers sliding over mine almost sensually. I turned and walked away. But I could feel his gaze, a heat that was centered in the middle of my back before flooding across my skin in waves. The vampire wanted me, and his desire was every bit as powerful, every bit as alluring, as a wolf.

Which he wasn't, so I shouldn't be feeling what I was feeling. Unless I'd somehow become even more attuned to him.

But I resisted the temptation to turn around and ask him what the hell was going on—or more precisely, what he'd done. I had training and a brunch to attend, and right now, they had to take precedence over emerging metaphysical and sexual connections.

Training for Starr's arena was a whole lot easier than training with my brother. Most of the women who'd been brought in were shifters of some variety, and therefore had strength and speed. While many didn't have any actual fighting skills, it really didn't matter because it was mainly wrestling, and in mud at that.

Skill wasn't a prerequisite. Good balance and intuitive-ness was. The trainers matched us according to weight and height, which meant that at least in the initial rounds, I avoided both Berna and Nerida—who still managed to scowl at me down the length of the arena.

We practiced for two hours, and damn if it wasn't fun. In fact, if I'd been training with men rather than women, it could have been erotic. I've never mucked around in mud before, but the sensation of hands and bodies sliding across mud-lathered skin was sensual, to say the least. I made a mental note to try this with a more suitable partner, and kept on fighting and following instructions. Afterward, we were escorted to the showers. The rest of the women were then taken to breakfast, while I was herded from the pack and escorted to the private elevator.

Which was more than enough time to realize my guard definitely didn't believe in regular showers. Needing something to distract my nose from the overwhelming odor of stale, sweaty human, I lowered my shields a little and tried reading him. His thoughts were all over the place—one minute he was thinking about his night with one of the hookers, the next wondering what the powers-that-be were going to do about breakfast, because he was mighty hungry and hadn't signed on to this crummy outfit to starve. And in between, he admired my tits and wondered if it was the red hair that was turning him off.

Not one of Starr's great thinkers, obviously.

I re-shielded and glanced up at the ceiling. There were definitely monitors up there, and I had no doubt the psi-deadeners were present, too. So how come I was slipping past them ?

Granted, it wasn't as if there weren't precedents for such events—Jack had proven it was more than possible a few days ago when he'd stopped Gautier's attack on me. I wouldn't have put my developing talent in the same league as Jack's, let alone Quinn's, but maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't just the onset of menstruation affecting my telepathy, but the ARC 1-23 drug as well.

So what else was happening inside of me?

Part of me thought it might be better if I didn't know. Because in not knowing, I could still believe there was the chance of a normal life—even if that chance was disappearing faster than water down a drain.

Yet I had to acknowledge that ignorance wasn't bliss. I had to know what was going on, if only so I could plan a new future. To do that, I had to tell Jack everything. He needed to know, because I needed to learn control. I'd been at the Directorate long enough to know that anything else could be dangerous.

The elevator finally arrived and the guard shuffled me inside. I watched the numbers slide by, wondering who would meet me—Moss or Merle.

It turned out to be neither.

As the elevator bumped to a halt and the doors slid open, Starr himself was standing there.

Again the sense of something depraved, something so evil it was beyond contemplation, swamped me. My insides froze in terror, and for several seconds, even breathing had become a luxury I couldn't afford. Because to breathe, I'd have to inhale the scent of him, and even that felt like poison.

"Sir," the guard said, as he straightened slightly. "Poppy Burns, as you requested, sir."

"Thank you, Tarrent." Though Starr spoke to the guard, his gaze was on mine. In those bloodshot blue depths, I saw my death. Or at least, the specter of it if I twitched so much as a fingertip the wrong way. "Follow me, my dear."

He turned around and walked across to the other doorway, providing me with the perfect target, the perfect moment. And it was tempting, so very tempting. My fingers twitched, and the urge to grab the guard's gun and shoot the hell out of Starr, to splatter his brains across the walls and bring to an end his bloody reign, was fierce. But the mere fact that he'd offered such a target had warning bells ringing.

Only a man who felt very secure about his safety measures would do such a thing. I flexed my fingers, vaguely hoping it would ease some of the tension running through my limbs, and forced my feet forward, past the guard and into the hall.

Only to discover Moss and Merle waiting in the shadows, both of them armed. I wouldn't have gotten past cocking the weapon, let alone firing a shot. They would have splattered me across the walls, not the other way around.

I stopped. The elevator doors closed and darkness settled in. I didn't bother switching to infrared. Moss's and Merle's inherent corruption stung the air, and though their scents paled compared to the man in front of us, the smell of them was still so thick and foul it quickly seemed to clog my throat. I certainly didn't need to see them to know where they were.

The doors to the second elevator swished open. Starr stepped inside and we followed. It wasn't a tight squeeze and yet, as the doors slid closed again, panic surged. Suddenly I felt caged. Trapped.

Sweat began to trickle down my forehead. I licked my lips and tried to get a grip. I'd been in far worse situations—though right now, I was hard pressed to think of one of them.

I glanced around. Met Merle's gaze, and saw the heat there. Iktar was right—Merle hadn't yet finished with me. I wasn't sure whether to be happy or sad about that, though he was definitely the safer option of the two hetero men. The vibes I was picking up from Moss suggested anger—deep anger—over the events of the previous night.

I swiped at the moisture running down my hairline and silently prayed Starr would either open the second door or get this elevator moving.

He did the former rather than the latter, and as the metal doors swished open, I got my first glimpse of the room beyond. It was like stepping back into time and coming out in the Middle Ages, in one of those vast, lush banquet halls so often seen in movies. A large wooden table, complete with rough hewn, high backed wooden chairs, dominated the far end, and behind that, lush wall hangings that depicted images of beauty and brutality. The rest of the concrete walls were brown, painted so that they resembled wood planking. A small arena of sorts lay in the middle of the room, though its base was rushes rather than the sand of the bigger arena upstairs. Scattered cushions and heavily padded benches were strewn haphazardly around the rest of the room. Heavy metal sconces lined the painted walls, these so laden with wax it was easy to believe centuries of candlesticks might have burned there. The candles were the only source of light, and the flickering amber glow added to the brooding, old style atmosphere.

It should have been inviting, if perhaps a little mysterious, but it was neither. The smell of death rode the air and, as my gaze skirted the room, the faces of those who had died here seemed to step out of the shadows, filling me with their despair, their anger.

I stumbled under the weight of it, and would have fallen if Merle hadn't grabbed my arm. The sick heat of him ran across my skin, overrunning all other sensation. When I looked up, the wraiths had gone. Maybe they were never there. Maybe it was just my imagination, my fear.

Maybe.

I swallowed heavily and wrenched my arm from Merle's grasp. He chuckled, a heavy sound that itched at my skin. "You won't be pulling away like that later. You'll be begging."

"Yeah, that you've somehow learned some technique overnight." The words were out before I could stop them, and Merle's face darkened. Even more so when Moss chuckled softly.

"The wolf has spunk," he said. "Perhaps I might have to steal her back. Sounds as if she'd appreciate a man with a little more style."

"What I have claimed you cannot have," Merle growled. "You had your opportunity. You were too busy looking for new talent in the recruits."

Moss's face went red, and little veins began to stand out in his forehead. "I am not the ass-lover amongst us—"

"No," Starr interrupted calmly, "I am. And if you two can't shut up, kindly remember that I am not overly fussy about my partners being willing and that I am more than ready to try someone I have until now considered off-limits."

As threats went, it was pretty darn efficient. The two men continued to scowl at each other, but otherwise fell silent. But they'd obviously been around Starr a long time, and would have had plenty of firsthand experience about how ugly he could get. And how far he would go.

Starr walked across to the table and took the middle seat. Moss headed left, while Merle motioned me to the right. Lucky me got to sit between death and his right-hand man. Not a place someone with a stomach as fragile as mine was feeling right now should really be.

As I pulled the chair up closer to the table, I looked up at the ceiling then around the walls again. There were no monitors to be seen, but there were guards hiding in the shadows. Surprisingly, there weren't Iktar's kin, but gray things with scaly skin and human extremities. They were armed—candlelight flickered across the barrels of the guns they held inhumanly still.

And they were watching me with that same unnerving stillness. One wrong move, one nod from Starr, and I was one splattered puppy, of that I had no doubt.

Starr clapped his hands, the sudden sound making me jump. Well-built men wearing skimpy thongs and little else appeared, all carrying either wine or food. It was a decadence I would normally have enjoyed, except for the fact Starr was so close. He watched them appreciatively for several seconds, then turned in his seat so he could look at me. And he wasn't looking at me appreciatively—far from it.

A chill ran down my spine. This man suspected I was not who I was pretending to be, and I had no idea why.

"So tell me a little more about yourself."

I shrugged, wishing like hell I had a coffee to hang on to, and yet at the same time, glad I didn't. My hands were trembling so much I probably would have scalded myself. "I'm sure you've read my file."

"I have, but it's all dry details. I'm sure there is more to you than that."

"And I assure you, there's not." I shoved my hands under my knees and let my gaze drift to the nearest waiter. I just couldn't look at Starr for very long without my stomach turning at the vileness of his aura. At the deadness in his eyes. "The life of a thief is not very exciting."

"These people you stole the jewelry off—Jamieson was their name, wasn't it?"

I shrugged again, and did my best to ignore the sick trembling in my limbs. Sitting on my hands helped them, but it didn't do much for the rest of me. "I have no idea. I don't study the people before a job. I just study the house."

"And the jewels? Who was your fence?"

Fucked if I knew. If it had been in the files, then I'd managed to skip that section of it. I glanced at him briefly. "Who said I've fenced them yet? Maybe they're a little too hot right now."

He grinned. He had an awful lot of teeth, many of them pointy. And not just the canines. "A nice safe answer."

"The truth always is." I thanked a dark skinned man as he placed a platter of meats and bread in front of me. His gaze met mine, and the warm brown depths were haunted. This man might not be physically dead, but deep down where it really counted, only ice existed. Everything else had been ripped away by the perversity of the man beside me.

I blinked at the sudden insight, and had to clench my hands against the urge to reach out and touch him—reassure him—either physically or psychically. There was nothing I could do tor this man, nothing I could do for the others in this room. Nothing other than destroy the foul thing who had ripped away their self-respect. Their humanity.

"But how do I know you are telling the truth?" Starr said.

My nerves were so bad I jumped at the sudden sound of his voice.

"You don't." I reached forward and plucked a slice of beef from the platter. "I don't have the jewels with me, so there is no way I can prove anything right now."

The beef was butter-tender, but it tasted as dry as sawdust. I swallowed with some difficulty, and reached for a glass of wine to wash the taste away.

"How very true. Unless, of course, you have a psychic at your disposal."

He clapped his hands a second time. The elevator doors slid open, revealing Dia and a guard. At least she hadn't lied about that. Which maybe meant she was playing this whole thing completely straight. Maybe it was just my suspicious nature suggesting otherwise.

She stopped in front of the table. Her stance was neither compliant or aggressive, but somewhere between the two. "You called for me?"

She wasn't looking at me, wasn't looking at anyone except Starr. Never turn your back on a tiger snake in mating season, my brother had once warned me. Obviously, someone had told Dia the same thing.

"I want you to read this woman." Starr's hand came down on my forearm. It was only a brief touch, but even so, his flesh burned mine, leaving red marks long after his fingers had gone.

Dia nodded and glanced at me. Despite her stance, her expression was serene, businesslike. "Hold out your hand."

Given I had little other choice, I obeyed. Her cool fingers wrapped around mine, and electricity leapt from her fingers to mine, tingling warmly across my skin. Something flickered in her unseeing eyes, and just for a moment, there was a tightening around her eyes and mouth. What that meant I had no idea, but I sure as hell planned to ask her later.

"I see much anger in this one." She hesitated. "She has already fought with several of the women. She will fight with others before her time here is over. Rebellion is part of her nature."

"A given, seeing she's here as an arena whore," Starr snapped. "Tell me who and what she is."

Tension ran through me. If his instincts were suggesting I was a fake, why wasn't he just getting rid of me? Doing this made no sense. But then, when did psychos ever play by the rules of the sane?

Dia's finger's briefly tightened against mine, as if in reassurance, then she said, "She is a wolf who has been rejected by kin. She has fought to survive, and will continue to fight through the many life changes that are on the horizon. Her path will not be easy."

"The who, Dia. Stop hedging."

Dia hesitated, and for a moment I was so sure she was going to give me up that my heart lodged somewhere in my throat and every muscle twitched with readiness to leap from the chair.

"She is who she says she is," Dia said softly. "A no-good lying thief. Lock up your valuables, Merle. She has already noted the gold watch resting on your side table."

Starr laughed. It was an uncomfortable sound that itched at my ears. "Then the thief has taste problems. That watch is gaudiness at its worse."

"But it would have a good street value." Dia dropped my hand and stepped back. With her touch gone, the tingling sensation of electricity quickly died. I wasn't sure whether to be happy or sorry about that. At least her touch offered warmth in a room that was so, so cold.

She rubbed her forehead wearily and looked at Starr. "Is that all?"

"For now. I will have my reading later. After we go for our little walk."

Though her expression didn't change, a wave of anger and hatred rolled across my skin, drowning my senses for too many seconds. Dia wasn't playing games—not with me, anyway. And she would do anything to get her child free and destroy this man.

She nodded and walked back to the door. Once she'd gone, Starr looked my way. "Perhaps we should have some entertainment while we eat?"

Though it was phrased as a question, he didn't wait for an answer, simply clapped his hands again. Talk about taking the role of a king to the extreme. The curtains on the door to our left swept open and two men entered. The first was a black giant, so tall he had to bend almost at the waist to get through the doorway. And he was big width-wise, too, with hands and feet the size of paddles, thighs thick enough to support a jetty, and shoulders that just seemed endless. Unfortunately, the old saying of big hands, big dick didn't apply here. My thumb would have been bigger than his appendage. Maybe that was the reason for all the muscles—maybe he got tired of the jokes.

The second man, though not small, almost seemed dwarfed by comparison. He was lean but muscular, a man who walked light and with understated power, like that of a predator on the hunt. His brown skin glowed like dark honey in the subdued lighting, and his expression was that of a man confident in his own strength, his own power… Shock rolled through me as he drew closer.

This wasn't a stranger. It was my brother.

My stomach sunk to a new low, and fear—sick fear—ran through me. Why was he here? Was it merely a coincidence, or did Starr suspect not only who I was, but who Rhoan was? If so, how? Who was this man in our lives that he suspected us instantly?

And if he did suspect us, why the hell was he stringing this out?

Did he want to see how far he could push it before we broke cover?

I tore my gaze away from Rhoan to look at Starr. The hints of self-satisfaction and anticipation in his expression suggested the answer to that particular question was yes. He intended to push and push and push until one of us broke and admitted the truth he suspected. Which meant, from here on in, we would be totally supervised.

Or maybe we had always been supervised. Maybe that was the only reason Moss had made his appearance in the forest in the first place.

We had to get out. Somehow, we had to get out of here. The mission and revenge and jack's plans could be damned. None of those were worth the weight of Rhoan's death or mine.

My gaze went back to my brother as he and the giant walked closer. Sitting there, doing nothing, holding in my reaction, my dread, was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life. I'd been trained to fight and defend, not sit around and role-play. And while I could sometimes act with the best of them, this was different. This was our lives. And I was afraid that I would be the first to give something away, that I'd betray Rhoan and get us both killed.

My brother stepped out of the giant's shadow, and his gaze met mine briefly. Though his expression didn't flicker, I felt his unease like it was my own. Rhoan might be mind-blind, and therefore unreadable via psychic means, but that had never stopped me from sensing his presence or knowing what he was feeling. Or him sensing the same in me. We were twins. Our bond went deeper than mere flesh and bone and mind. We were two halves of a whole.

And any man who took me on as a life-mate would have to accept that my brother would always be an intense part of my life. Though that would only matter if we both survived this hellhole.

The two of them stopped in front of the table, but only the black man bowed. Now that he was closer, I could see the scars littering his arms, chest, and stomach. This man was a veteran of the arena. Which, in turn, meant he was an extremely good fighter.

So was my brother, but this giant had the advantage of reach and sheer damn size. And those would matter, as Rhoan couldn't afford to use his vampire-gifted strengths. He had to play it strictly as a wolf.

I pushed my plate away and leaned back in my seat. If I ate any more I'd lose my stomach. Which might delay things for a minute or two, but not stop. The gleam in Starr's eyes suggested nothing short of his death would stop this game unfolding.

And if not for the guns trained on me, and the closeness of Merle, I might have considered that option.

Starr looked at me, eyebrow raised. "Lost your appetite for any reason, my dear?"

"Yeah. I saw your idea of entertainment last night. I'm not up to seeing someone else beaten up and then butt-fucked until they're almost dead." I let my gaze roll down the giant's body. "Though one of them doesn't look as if he's got a dick, let alone spines."

The giant snarled, and Starr laughed. "Perhaps I should let him show you just how well a little man can use his weapon."

I met Starr's gaze evenly. "You let him anywhere near me, and I'll kick him in his unseen goolies, bring him back to a manageable height, then take him out."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression mocking. "I know wolves—or even part wolves—are strong, but are you seriously trying to tell me you think you could take the giant out?"

"Have you ever been kicked in the goolies?"

"No, but—"

"Would you like to be? Just to experience how well it can nullify a man?"

He laughed again. The sound sent another round of chills down my spine. "You have attitude. I like that."

So if he was liking it so much, why was he looking at me like a cat who'd just spotted a tasty mouse? And why did all the sickos of this world always have to look at me like that? First Gautier, now Starr. Or was it simply an inherited look? After all, they did share the same gene pool, even if Gautier was conceived in a tube and Starr in the womb.

"Would you like to fight him, then?"

"I may have a big mouth, but I am not a fool." Sarcasm edged my voice. "So no. Especially when he's been warned of my intentions."

"Shame." Starr glanced at the two men. "Proceed."

And just like that, the fight began. The black giant was fast, his huge fists a blur of power that could easily have smashed Rhoan across the room if they'd gotten anywhere near him. Which they didn't. Even relying only on wolf skills, my brother was fast enough to avoid the blows. He wasn't replying with any of his own just yet, merely sitting back, watching the giant and biding his time.

A tingle ran across my skin, and I knew without looking that Starr was watching me again. I forced myself to lean back, to pretend disinterest when all I wanted to do was cheer Rhoan on. I picked up my glass, and slowly sipped at the cool, bitter wine. Or maybe it was sweet, and it was just my taste buds that were off, frozen by the fear that was continuously building deep inside. "If this is your idea of breakfast entertainment, I sure as hell don't want a dinner invitation."

"If I want you here, you will be here." Starr's voice was mild, and yet still managed to be menacing. "Just as if I wanted you to watch that fight, you would."

I looked at him. "Short of hog-tying me and forcing my eyelids open, that's not possible."

"Anything is possible when you put your mind to it, my dear."

Even as he said the words, a scratchy, burning tingle began to buzz the edges of my thoughts and his bloodshot gaze seemed to grow, until it consumed my entire vision.

He was trying to get a mind-lock on me, trying to read me.

I threw as much energy as I could into my mind-shields, and tried to ignore the terror threatening to swamp me. Luckily, he wasn't a vampire, and wouldn't hear the rapid pounding of my pulse. But he—or the man who'd taken over Starr's identity—was a wolf. And he would smell my fear, if nothing else.

But maybe that was a good thing. Only a fool wouldn't be afraid in this sort of situation, no matter how big a front they were putting on.

The buzzing got stronger, sending tiny reverberations of sick-feeling energy down my spine. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have worried—I worked with vampires, and knew from experience they couldn't break my barriers. But this situation—and this man—wasn't normal by any standards. I had no idea if my shields were strong enough to stand up to such a concerted assault, simply because I'd never really been tested that way. Gautier tried just about every time he saw me, but it was almost a habit these days—something he did more to piss me off. He didn't have the strength of mind to get past my shields and we both knew it.

Starr, however, was an entirely different matter.

The assault continued to grow, until my entire body seemed to hum with the force of his energy. It was a horrible sensation—like having my hand wrapped around an electric fence, only the energy flowing through muscle and nerve was fetid rather than clean. Sweat began to dribble down my hairline, and deep behind my eyes, an ache began.

A grunt broke the tableau, and a second later, the giant crashed into the table, his head hitting the wood with a sharp crack as his flailing arms sent glass and plates flying.

Starr cursed, his chair crashing backward as he jumped up to avoid the red wine, food, and shards of glass. The buzz of energy snapped away, the shock of it making me gasp softly. My gaze met Rhoan's. He raised an eyebrow, and I nodded, just enough to let him know I was okay.

For now, at least.

The giant righted himself, and with a roar, charged back into the fight. Rhoan sidestepped neatly and gave the giant a passing punch for his troubles. That punch sent the giant flailing again. I frowned, hoping like hell my brother didn't use his vampire strength too much.

"For a scrawny piece of wolf, he sure has some power in him," Merle drawled. "There's not many who could throw Middy like that."

"No." Starr wiped spots of red from his shirt, then righted his chair and sat back down. Surprisingly, no one came running to clean up all the mess. Not until Starr clicked his fingers, anyway. As the loin-clothed waiters hurried to the table, Starr continued, "Hasn't he had military training, though?"

"Yeah, but I haven't seen many military men move like that wolf moves."

"And you spend a lot of time around wolves, do you?" I asked mildly.

Merle's grin was all anticipation as he briefly dragged his gaze away from the fight. "No, but I'm intending to."

My gaze slipped down his body. The fighting had aroused him—which undoubtedly meant another session of uninspired sex coming up. Oh, joy.

Though I'd take a weekend of uninspired, boring sex over spending five minutes more in Starr's company, any day.

"There are two types of males in the wolf world—those who are alphas—pack leaders or would-be pack leaders—and those who are betas—pack followers. Alphas lead not just because they are fast and strong, but because they are willing to go to extreme lengths to protect pack and kin. I'm betting that wolf there is an alpha."

"But he's not protecting pack here," Starr said.

I glanced at him. His expression might be giving little away, but his suspicion was just about drowning my "other" senses. I forced a smile. "You can protect a pack of one, you know."

"Does that mean you consider yourself an alpha female?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I've never really thought about it, but maybe I am."

"Then perhaps we should let you fight this wolf and see what happens."

I couldn't help the glance I cast Rhoan's way. Nor could I help another surge of worry and fear. Rhoan must have felt it, because he stumbled briefly—for no reason—and barely righted himself to avoid another blow. "He's military. I'm only street trained. I hardly think that's a fair match, do you?"

His grin was another one of those chill-inducing things. "One thing you have to learn, little girl, is that what I want, I get."

Most little dictators thought that—right until the moment death looked them in the eye and ripped out their stinking, rotten hearts. And more and more, I wanted to be there to see that. If not do it. I might not want to kill on a long-term basis, but on a short-term, one-off basis, yeah, I could handle it.

But why did he want to see us fight? What was the point of it, beyond seeing if we were willing to bash the crap out of each other… my thoughts stilled.

That was it exactly.

It was just another test. Just another way to check his suspicions.

Shit, shit, shit.

He clapped his hands, and the giant stopped instantly. Rhoan was a little slower on the uptake, dropping the suddenly still giant with a kick to the back of the knee, The sound of bone snapping seemed to echo around the room. The giant dropped like a stone and grabbed his leg, and though he made no sound, the look he cast Rhoan's way suggested my brother wouldn't want to go near him anytime soon.

And I very much suspected it wasn't so much that Rhoan hadn't heard the signal, but rather, had wanted to ensure the giant could play no further part in proceedings. For which I was extremely grateful. After my comments about the giant's lack of assets, I'm sure Starr would have allowed him into the fray. And that wouldn't have been pleasant in any way.

"Change of plans, gentlemen," Starr said. "The lady to my right has mentioned her interest in entering the fray."

"The lady in question said no such thing." Which Starr knew. I was just reiterating it for Rhoan's sake, lest he think me a complete moron.

"A moot point, considering it is what I desire. Merle, escort her to the arena, please."

Well, fuck. What the hell was I going to do now? Logically I might be able to hold my own against my brother, but I wasn't playing myself here. And Poppy was a street scrapper who wouldn't last three minutes with a fighter of Rhoan's ilk. I was going to go down, and I was going to get bloody. There was no other choice—for either of us.

And the bleakness in my brother's eyes as his gaze briefly met mine suggested he'd reached the exact same conclusion.

"Now this is going to be fun," Merle said, grabbing my arm and forcing me upright. "Nothing like a bit of bloodshed to get a man going."

I let my gaze drift down the length of him casually. "Looks as if you need it, because there certainly doesn't seem to be much happening there now."

His grip tightened and he all but tugged me off my feet as he pulled me roughly around the table. "I'll make you eat those words later, little wolf. Be sure of it."

"Can't wait."

I forced a dry note into my voice, and he snarled—a sound that was half human, half cat, and totally unpleasant.

"Good, because you won't be waiting long. And I shall enjoy licking the blood from your skin as I fuck you."

And I'd enjoy raiding his mind and trying to get the information we needed so we could get the hell out of this insane asylum.

He all but threw me into the arena. I stumbled a few paces before catching my balance, then turned to face Rhoan. "Do your worst, wolf."

A slight smile that only I could see touched his lips. "I promise not to hurt your pretty face too much, but I give no such promises to the rest of you."

"Like I can believe any promise made in this place." I shifted my feet, trying to acclimatize to the reeds under my feet. It was slipperier than the sand I was used to training on, holding far less grip. I'd have to be careful.

"Five bucks on the bitch," Moss called. "And ownership for the night if she wins."

Which was an incentive to lose if ever I'd heard one.

"Done deal." Merle was standing at the sidelines, his arms crossed and expression avid. "But this blood is mine to lap, I can assure you."

"The winner is mine," Starr said quietly. "I shall find either one entertaining."

If I ever needed another reason to lose, then that was it. Starr's evil was soul wearying enough now—I couldn't stand it one on one, for hours on end. I'd die—maybe not physically but probably psychically. I wasn't a trained empath and my growing talent was too raw, too untrained, to survive the vile outpourings from Starr's aura for very long.

Not that I wanted my brother to face him, either, but at least he wasn't psychic and he did have the advantage of years of training behind him. At the very least, he'd give away less than I would.

"Let the fight begin."

The words were barely out of Starr's mouth and my brother was attacking, a whir of arms and legs and vicious, deadly blows. I backed away, ducking and weaving and generally avoiding each attack the best I could. The force of each one blew across my skin like a cyclone, sending chills down my spine. And yet, having seen my brother in action before, I knew he was nowhere near fighting speed.

Which was scary, considering how fast he was.

My foot slipped on the reeds, and as I struggled to catch my balance, the air screamed yet another warning. I twisted away from the blow, felt a slither of pain along my side as my muscles protested the sudden movement, then yelped as a blow skimmed past my cheek, drawing blood. Even so, the blow wasn't at full wolf force. Rhoan was holding back, keeping his promise. And that was dangerous.

I dropped and spun, kicking his legs out from underneath him. As his rump hit the floor, amusement briefly lit his eyes, then he was up and at me in one smooth movement. In the following few minutes, he let me know just how much he had been holding back.

If I'd been me, not Poppy, I could have let rip and at least held my own. But that wasn't an option here. Poppy was part human, not part vampire, and the time had come to get bloody.

I avoided one more blow, then let his roundhouse kick hit me in the side. The force of the blow hit like a red wave, a shudder of pain that went from my hip to the end of every hair follicle. The sheer power behind it sent me flying across the arena. I stumbled, fighting to keep my balance before going down on all fours. The vibration of Rhoan's approach ran through the reeds. I grabbed a handful before twisting around and lashing out as hard as I could. The straw whipped across his chest, drawing a thin line of blood. He laughed, a cold, harsh sound I'd never heard from him before, then he bent and grabbed a handful of straw himself. I jumped to my feet and backed away. He followed, the thick slithers of golden reeds creating a whooshing sound as he whipped them back and forth.

I ducked several slashing blows, then lunged forward, attempting an inside punch at his solar plexus. It was a stupid move and we both knew it. He dropped the straw as he sidestepped, then grabbed my arm and twisted it. Hard. Bone snapped and a scream ripped up my throat. As the red tide of pain welled, another blow came, not to my body but to my chin, snapping my head back and sending me flying. Stars danced in front of my eyes, and my mind briefly flirted with unconsciousness.

Then my back hit the floor, my head something solid, and the flirtation became cold hard fact.