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The wizard’s voice cut into the anticipation, as if the excitment had drawn the wraith like spoiled meat. This butchering thing is one bloody way to distinguish yourself, but then, being a mere rank failure is a bit pedestrian, isn’t it. And you were from a noble family until you ruined them. So bash on, mate.

Phury focused on the undulating skin he’d revealed and let the feel of the dagger in his hand and the paralytic, bracing terror of the lesser seep into him. As his mind calmed, Phury smiled. This time was his. He owned this. There would be, for however long it took him to do what he wanted to this evil, peace from the chaos of the wizard’s voice.

In doing this damage, he healed himself. If only for a short while.

He brought the black dagger to the lesser’s skin and—

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Phury looked over his shoulder. His twin was standing in the mouth of the alley, a big black shadow with a skull trim. Zsadist’s face wasn’t visible, but you didn’t need to eyeball a furrowed brow to know the drill. The pissed-off came off him in waves.

Phury closed his eyes and fought a vicious anger. Goddamn it, he was being robbed. He was absolutely being robbed.

In a quick flash, he thought of the number of times Zsadist had demanded that he beat him, beat him until Z’s face ran with blood. And the brother thought this shit with a lesser was wrong? What the fuck? The slayer had no doubt killed his fair share of innocent vampires. How was this worse than asking your blooded brother to pound you to a pulp, even though you knew it made him sick to his stomach and it scrambled his brains for days afterward?

“Get out of here,” Phury said, tightening his hold on the lesser as it squirmed. “This is my biz. Not yours.”

“The fuck it’s not my biz. And you told me you would stop.”

“Turn around and walk away, Z.”

“So you can get cracked when backup comes?”

The slayer in Phury’s grip heaved to get free, and he was so small and wiry it almost worked. Oh, hell no, Phury thought, he wasn’t losing his prize. Before he knew what he was doing, he plowed the dagger into the thing’s belly and dragged the blade through its intestinal playing field.

The lesser screamed louder than Zsadist cursed, and in that moment, Phury didn’t feel bad about either noise. He was sick to fucking death of everything, including himself.

Attaboy, the wizard whispered. Just where I like you.

Zsadist was on him in the next breath, yanking the dagger out of his hand and throwing it across the alley. While the lesser passed out cold, Phury shot to his feet to confront his twin.

Problem was, he didn’t have his lower leg.

As he fell hard against the bricks, he knew he must look like a drunk, and that pissed him off even more.

Z picked up his prosthesis and tossed it across the alley. “Put that the fuck back on.”

Phury caught the thing with one hand and let himself slide down the cool, raspy exterior of the dry cleaner’s building.

Shit. Busted. So fucking busted, he thought. And now he was going to have to deal with his brothers crawling all over him.

Why couldn’t Z have just gone down another alley? Or this one at another time?

Damn it, he needed this, Phury thought. Because if he didn’t let out some of his rage, he was going to go fucking mad, and if Z, after all his masochistic bullshit, couldn’t understand that? Fuck. Him.

Zsadist unsheathed his dagger, stabbed the first lesser back to the Omega, and then just stood over the burn spot.

“Shit of ten horses,” his twin said in the Old Language.

“The new aftershave of the lessers,” Phury muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“I think y’all need to think ’bout this here,” a strangled Texas twang pronounced.

As Z spun around, Phury lifted his head. The little lesser had his gun again and was pointing it at Phury while staring at Z.

Z’s response was to level his SIG at the slayer.

"W’all are in some bind,” the thing said as it bent down with a groan and picked up a cowboy hat. It arranged the Stetson on its head, then went back to holding its stomach in. “See, if you shoot me,