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Colin shook his head in disgust. “Is it just me, or do they keep getting bigger?” he snarled. “We emptied an entire clip into the bastard, cut him countless times, used his skull as a punching bag, and the crazy fuckerstillcame back for more.”

Jericho grasped the rogue’s shoulder and rolled it to its back. “I’ve never seen this level of mindless rage from a simple overdose. No way this happened while he was sitting in a club, shooting up with his friends.”

Colin prodded the male’s lip with the edge of his blade. “You see these massive fangs? It’s unnatural, even for a rogue.”

Metal gleamed at the male’s throat. Jericho snagged the chain, snapping it free, then rubbed his thumb over the golden medallion. “Three spinning blades and a pair of wings. Zion’s calling card.”

“What the hell is that?” Colin knelt at the rogue’s side, pushing its torn shirt open. Black veins formed a spider web over the creature’s heart and spread across his chest. Far from simple track marks.

Jericho tucked the medallion into his pocket. “I’d like to have Doc run some labs on this one. We need to understand what we’re dealing with.”

“Agreed,” Colin said, shooting the monstrous beast a dark glare. “It’s mighty convenient he showed up right before our meeting too.”

“Jericho!” A streak of silver shot across the dance floor. Jericho turned and braced for impact.

Alex’s body slammed into his, and he swallowed a grunt of pain. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her high against his chest, lifting her feet from the floor. Given her history with rogues, he was surprised she was willing to come anywhere near the thing.

“What were you thinking? You were supposed to stay out of sight,” he grumbled.

She clasped him in a stranglehold. “Admit it, that fight was not going well. Since this stupid yuppy bar didn’t have a single shotgun hidden behind the counter, I decided a distraction was in order, so I cut my hand with a piece of broken glass.”

And it had worked, not that he dared to encourage her.

Alex’s grip loosened, and he lowered her to the ground.

“Is either of you hurt?” She reached for Colin.

“Don’t.” Colin jerked from her touch. “Trust me, you don’t want to dial into any part of my psyche right now.” He ducked his head. “Get her out of here, Jericho. She shouldn’t have to see this.” His fist tightened on the knife he still held in his hand.

Hurt bled into her look of concern. “But, Colin.”

“Go.” Colin folded his arms. “I’ve got it. Ethan and his team are on their way.”

Jericho threw an appraising glance around the room. The sophisticated club looked like a twister had blown through it. Overturned chairs, spilled drinks, flickering lights. Bodies littered the ground. Colin was right. Alex shouldn’t be here. He slid the cell phone from his pocket and ordered their driver to pick them up a block away, uncertain about the kind of mess he’d find outside.

“Oh, God,” Alex gasped in a horrified whisper.

He turned to find her rooted in place, eyes locked on the fallen rogue. Color washed from her face, and her legs trembled beneath her.

“Shit. Grab her. She’s going down,” Colin shouted as her knees buckled.

Fifteen

Alex trudgedthrough the depths of Claymore at Jericho’s side. An unexpected rainstorm forced them to enter the mansion through the underground garage. Her aching feet protested the longer route, and the hallway stretched out like a carnival funhouse.

She tugged Jericho’s jacket closer around her shoulders, grimacing. Jimmy Choo had an eye for style—not comfort. Her panicked dash had loosened one of the glittery straps, and it slopped along the back of her heel.

“How are you holding up?” Jericho asked, studying her tight expression.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him—for the hundredth time. She noticed he walked closer than necessary, ready to catch her just in case she went swooning-damsel on him again.Yep, that’s me, delicate freaking flower. And in front of Colin, no less. She’d never hear the end of it.

He exhaled. “Alex, you passed out. Perhaps Doc should look you over before we meet with Victor.”

“I already told you,” she said through gritted teeth, “I didnotpass out. I just…got a little woozy.” And the tiny slice she’d made on her palm was hardly worthy of a Band-Aid.

“If bywoozyyou mean you collapsed in my arms and didn’t come to until we were halfway to Claymore, then yes, I suppose you were woozy,” he agreed with a snort.

“Okay, fine. Maybe I passed out for a minute or two. It still doesn’t require a trip to medical.” A shrink possibly, but not a visit to Doc Randall. It wasn’t every day you looked down and found your worst nightmare sprawled at your feet. Even dead, the rogue’s blood-red eyes seemed to burn right through her.