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The fight had gone on for about eight or nine minutes. O had taken on the blond, had punched him a number of times with no measurable effect on the vampire’s stamina or strength. The two of them had been deep in hand-to-hand when one of the other lessers had fired a gun. O had ducked and rolled, nearly getting shot himself. When he’d looked up, the vampire was clutching his shoulder and falling backward.

O had lunged for him, wanting to have the kill, but as he sprang forward, the lesser with the gun had tried to get at the vampire himself. The idiot had tripped on O’s leg and knocked both of them to the ground. Then that light had gone off and the monster had appeared. Was it possible that the thing had come out of the blond warrior somehow? Man, what a secret weapon that would be.

O pictured the warrior, recalling every aspect of the male from his eyes to his face to the clothes he wore and the way he moved. Having a good description of the fair-haired brother was critical for use in the Society’s interrogations. Specific questions posed to captives were more likely to lead to good answers.

And information on the brothers was what they were looking for. After decades of just knocking off civilians, the lessers were now targeting the Brotherhood specifically. Without those warriors, the vampire race would be completely vulnerable, and the slayers could finally finish their job eradicating the species.

O pulled into the parking lot of the local laser-tag place, thinking that the only good thing about the evening had been when he’d killed E slowly. Taking out his irritation on the slayer’s body had been like drinking a cool beer on a hot summer day. Satisfying. Calming.

But what had happened afterward had put him right back on edge.

O flipped open his phone and hit speed dial. There was no reason to wait until he got home to make a report. Mr. X’s reaction was going to be worse if he thought the news had been delayed.

“We’ve had a situation,” he said when the call was answered.

Five minutes later he hung up, turned the truck around, and headed back to the rural part of town.

Mr. X had demanded an audience. At his private cabin in the woods.

Chapter Six

Rhage could see only shadows, as his eyes were incapable of focusing or processing much light. He hated the loss of faculty and did his best to track the two big shapes moving around him. When hands gripped under his armpits and latched onto his ankles, he groaned.

“Easy there, Rhage, we’re just gonna lift you for a sec, true?” V said.

A fireball of pain shot through his body as he was taken up off the ground and carried around to the back of the Escalade. They laid him down. Doors shut. The engine turned over with a low purr.

He was so cold his teeth knocked together, and he tried to draw whatever was across his shoulders closer. He couldn’t make his hands work, but someone pulled what he assumed was a jacket more tightly around him.

“Just hang in there, big guy.”

Butch. It was Butch.

Rhage struggled to speak, hating the foul taste in his mouth.

“Nah, relax, Hollywood. You’re cool. V and I are going to get you home.”

The car started to move, bumping up and down as if it were getting off the shoulder and onto the road. He moaned like a sissy, but he couldn’t help it. His body felt as though it had been beaten all over with a baseball bat. A bat with a spike on the end.

And the bone and muscle aches were a minor problem compared to his stomach. He was praying he’d make it back to the house before he threw up in V’s car, but there was no guarantee he’d hold out that long. His salivary glands were working overtime, so he had to swallow repeatedly. Which made his gag reflex fire up. Which spurred on the churning nausea. Which made him want to…

Trying to pull himself out the spiral, he breathed slowly through his nose.

“How we doing there, Hollywood?”

“Promise me. Shower. First thing.”

“You got it, buddy.”

Rhage figured he must have passed out, because he came awake as he was being hauled from the car. He heard familiar voices. V’s. Butch’s. A deep