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Behind his Joe Friday glasses, his eyes were lit like torches, and they flicked over for a split second. “Stay out of this. This one’s mine.”

The shit was done faster than you could say, Ninja Dad.

Blay’s father went Ginsu on the slayer, carving the thing up like a turkey, then stabbing it back to the Omega. As the glare from the extermination faded, the male looked up with frantic eyes.

“Your mother—”

“Got away in their van,” Qhuinn answered. “John got her free.”

Both Blay and his father sagged at that news. Which was when Qhuinn noticed Blay was bleeding from a cut on the shoulder and one across his abdomen and another on his back and . . .

His father wiped his brow with his arm. “We’ve got to get ahold of her—”

John held up his phone, a ringing coming out over the speaker.

When Blay’s mother answered, her voice cracked, but not because the connection was bad. “John? John is—”

“We’re all here,” Blay’s father said. “Keep driving, darling—”

John shook his head, handed the phone over, and signed, What if there’s a tracking device in the van?

Blay’s father muttered a curse. “Darling? Pull over. Pull over and get out of the van. Dematerialize up to the safe house, and call me when you’re there.”

“Are you sure—”

“Now, dearest. Now.”

There was the sound of an engine decelerating. The slam of a car door. Then silence.

“Darling?” Blay’s father grabbed for the phone. “Darling? Oh, Jesus . . .”

“I’m here,” came her voice. “Here at the safe house.”

Everyone took a deep breath.

“I’ll be right there.”

Other words were said, but Qhuinn was busy listening for sounds of footsteps up the stairs. What if more lessers came? Blay was injured, and the guy’s father looked wiped.

“We really gotta get out of here,” he said to no one in particular.

They went upstairs, put the suitcases in Blay’s father’s Lexus, and before Qhuinn could count one, two, three, Blay and his father were off into the night.

It all went so fast. The attack, the fighting, the evac . . .the good-bye that was never spoken. Blay just got in the car with his father and took off with their luggage. But what else was going to happen? Now was hardly the time for a long, drawn-out thing, and not just because the lessers had come for a little house tour ten minutes ago.

“I guess we should take off,” he said.

John shook his head. I want to stay here. More are going to come when the ones we killed don’t check in.

Qhuinn looked at the family room, which was now a porch thanks to Blay’s Hollywood-stuntman routine. There was a lot to loot in the house, and the idea that even a box of Kleenex from Blay’s might fall into the Lessening Society ’s hands pissed him off royally.

John started texting. I’m telling Wrath what happened and that we’re hanging here. We trained for this. It’s time we get into the action.

Qhuinn couldn’t agree more, but he was pretty damn sure Wrath wasn’t going to approve.

John’s phone went off a moment later. He read what it was to himself, and then slowly smiled and turned the screen around.

The text was from Wrath. Agreed. Call if you need backup.

Holy shit . . . They’d joined the war.

Chapter Thirty-five

Rehv parked the bentley at the southeast entrance of Black Snake State Park. The gravel lot was small, big enough for only ten cars, and whereas the other lots were chained off after hours, this one was always open because it had trails to the rentable cabins.

As he got out of the car, he took his cane, but not because he needed it for balance. His vision had gone red about halfway through the drive and now his body was alive and humming, warmed up, with sensation everywhere.

Before he locked up the Bentley, he stashed his sable coat in the trunk, because the car was noticeable enough without twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of Russian fur in plain view. He also double-checked that he had the antivenom kit with him and plenty of dopamine.

Yup. Yup.

He shut the trunk, hit the alarm, and turned to the thick line of shorter trees that formed the park’s outer boundaries. For no good reason, the birches and oaks