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Cold fury washed through Vero as he dropped the gun, his left arm going numb. Snarling, he forced feeling back into his hand and grabbed the attacker, flipping him over onto the hard wooden floor. “Jonathan,” he yelled. He’d put the soldier into the adjoining room on purpose. The g uy could fight.

A grunt of pain came from insi de the bedroom.

Vero punched down and hit the attacker in the nose before yanking off the concealing balaclava. He was one of the new guys. What was his name? Shelton or somet hing like that.

Lyrica, a weapon in her hand, kicked the guy and he snarled, reaching out to grab her ankle.

“Get back ,” Vero roared.

Paling, she stumbled back, her eyes wide.

Shelton punched up, hitting Vero in the nose, and he felt it crack. Damn it. He struck down several times with his bad arm while lifting the knife with his other. He tried to slam it down and Shelton, his purple eyes wide, grabbed his wrist, scissored him around the waist with his legs, and tossed him off.

Vero rolled and came up on his feet, ducking his head and charging as Shelton did the same. He lifted them up and slammed them both down the stairs, where they tumbled end over end. Pain burst in Vero’s hips and shoulders. Several of his ribs cracked, but h e ignored them.

When they reached the bottom, he rolled them again, his knife out, and slammed the sharp blade into Shelton’s neck. The blade split into three almost instantly, and the jerk’s head rolled away from his body.

Vero bounded up, blood flowing from wounds in his face and arm, and yanked his knife free. The weapon snapped back to one blade and he charged up the stairs, running into J onathan’s room.

One male was decapitated on the floor and Jonathan had another male in a headlock. Jonathan’s face was a hard, furious mask, and he choked the other Kurjan out, letting him fall uselessl y to the floor.

Vero ducked down, staring at the unconscious Kurjan. “His face is bloody—do you recognize him?”

Jonathan spit out blood. “He’s one of the newcomers who attended the cocktail party earlier. His name is Geoff.”

Vero squinted. The guy’s face was mangled, but he had arrived with the newest group earlier, and he had attended the cocktail party—without a mate. “How did the y get in here?”

“Window.” Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t know where the guards are. We better find them.” His jaw hardened. “I’m hoping they’re just knocked out and not dead. I can’t live with our own soldiers being killed just while on guard duty.”

“Okay,” Vero said. “I want to take this guy down to the cells and have a little discussion befor e we kill him.”

“Kill him?” Lyrica asked from the doorway, sh aking and pale.

Vero turned. He didn’t have time to argue.

“You can’t just kill him.”

“You’re right,” Vero said. “I’m going to torture him, get the answers I need, then I’m goin g to kill him.”

She took a step back. “You have no judge? You have no jury? You have no legal system?”

“Yeah, we have a system that works,” Vero retorted. “If somebody tries to kill us, we kill them.” It was pretty simple, really. “I told you to sta y in the room.”

Color finally flooded into her face. “Apparently, I didn’t listen.”

“Apparently not,” he said mildly. They would have more than a simple discussion about that later. He looked at Jonathan, who bled from several areas on his chest and neck. “Are you okay?”

Jonathan wiped blood off his neck. “Yeah. You came at a good time, though.” The air started to shimmer around him as he no doubt sent healing cells where the y needed to go.

“Do you have a gu n?” Vero asked.

“I have several.” Jonathan walked to the closet and reached in for jeans that he quickly drew on. He grabbed a gun out of the n earest dresser.

His guards had explaining to do. “All right, stay here,” Vero said. “I’ll go see where t he guards are.”

“Wait a sec.” Jonathan tossed him a faded and ripped pair of jeans. “At least put something on. Also, I’m co ming with you.”

Vero caught them with one hand, his good one, and quickly put them on. “Give me a se cond,” he said.

“All right,” Jonathan murmured, gun in his hand as he reached into his clos et for a shirt.

Vero walked into the hallway, grabbed Lyrica’s arm, and drew her back down to their bedroom. “Shoot anybody not me, but I will have people on the lod ge. Stay here.”

She lifted her chin. “I should come with you. I’m an empath, and I might be able to see if he tells the truth. I’m not good with immortal s yet, though.”

“He’ll tell me the truth,” Vero said griml y. “I promise.”

Her eyes widened and she looked at him. “You might want to consider a prison system and not jus t kill people.”

“We have a system that works for us. I told you what it was. I’m not happy with you right now ,” he muttered.

Her head jerked. “That’s just too bad.”

“It really is,” he agreed. “Now, stay here with the gun. I’ll be back to deal with you later.” With that, he yanked a shirt from the closet to pull over his head, slipping his feet into his boots. He walked down the damaged hallway to find Jonathan already waiting for him with the unconscious attacker ove r his shoulder.

Jonathan gingerly pulled out his front tooth to toss on the ground. “I’ll have the other males who arrived with them pulled in fo r questioning.”

“Put them all in one cell, and let’s leave them there until tomorrow night. No food or water, and I have the cells under surveillance, so we can monitor what they say. The cameras are well hidden.” Vero looked back at Lyrica, hovering in the doorway. “Be here when I return.”

* * * *

Lyrica slept fitfully through the night, her arm still burning. She’d washed the blood off immediately before changing into panties and one of Vero’s overlarge T-shirts. It fel l to her knees.

While she didn’t want to be all girly about it, wearing his shirt made her feel safe. Although he certainly hadn’t seemed happy with her when he’d left.

At some point, soldiers came and removed the decapitated bodies. She heard them but didn’t go out to watch. Instead, she lay in the bed with a gun next to her on the bedside table.

She’d never shot anybody before, and in fact had never fired one of the special green guns that fired lasers that turned into bullets upon hitting immortal flesh. She’d seen them in action, but she’d never thought she’d shoot one. She couldn’t believe how cold Vero had been. Yes, he told her to stay in the room, but she thought she could help. There had to be some sort of judicial system in the Kurjan nation. They couldn’t just go around killing people.

Just before dawn, the door opened and Vero walked in. She was cuddled under the covers, and she sat up, turning on the light. Blood was splattered all over the faded jeans and probably on t he black shirt.

He looked at her and turned to stride into the bathroom, shutting the door. A few minutes later, the shower came on.

She shivered in the cold and ducked back down in the bed, her head feeling thick. She took several deep breaths, then began one of the breathing exercises she had learned to mana ge her anxiety.

All too soon, he walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips, his hair wet and curly around his head. Fresh bruises covered the roped musc le in his body.

Her mouth watered, but she didn’ t say anything.

He went to the dresser across the room and pulled out another pair of black boxers to don before tossing the towel int o the bathroom.

She didn’t protest, although the heavy cotton probably landed on the floor and wouldn’t dry properly. “Did you kill him?”

He didn’t answer her and instead walked around to the other side of the bed, lifted the covers, and settled his bulk underneath. She immediately began to roll toward him as his weight indented the mattress. “I asked y ou a question.”

He turned on his side, facing her, his eyes a midnight blue. “I heard you.”

“So answer me,” she said, also turning on her side to face him, feeling uncertain and a little lost.

“I think that we should keep our relationship on a p ersonal level.”

She blinked as anger coursed through her. “Don’t give me any of that ‘Don’t ask me about my business’ Godfather bullshit ,” she snapped.

“Godfather bullshit?” he asked, one of his e yebrows rising.

She huffed out a breath. “You haven’t seen The Godfather ?”

“No,” he murmured, “but I like the ‘Don’t ask me about my business ,’ part of it.”

She shook her head. “There has to be trust between us if we’re going to fulfill this contract.”

“There’s trust,” he said easily, “but not enough of it. If I tell you to stay out of a fight, next time you do it.” His voice remained level and his gaze sure. “Tell me you understand me.”

She looked at him, but no words came out. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” sh e finally said.

He shrugged. “You signed the contract. We have three months.”

“And if I don’t fulfill it?” she asked, fury competing with the desire running thr ough her blood.

“You’ll fulfill it,” he said. “We’re dating for three months. That can mean whatever you want it to mean, except we will stay in this room.”

An unreasonable fury slammed through her, and she punched him in the shoulder. Her knuckles insta ntly protested.

He grabbed her wrist and drew her hand up to his eyes. “Did you just fract ure your hand?”

“No. I may have bruised my knuckles,” she muttered. “I should’ve hit you on your head, but I’d probably break my whole arm.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “I didn’t think we’d have to add a no-hitting clause into the contract. I’d rather you didn’t damage any of your bones.”

Her ears rang. She was so angry, partly at herself. She gulped, trying to ignore his fingers around her wrist, as he absently rubbed his thumb across her palm. He was going to drive her crazy. “When you got in the fight earlier and you were cut, your blood burned my arm.”

He nodded. “It is known that Kurjan blood burns other species unless you’re a mate. Sometimes it doesn’t burn intended mates, but sometimes it does. We don’t know why.” He released her. “Go to sleep, Lyrica. We only have a couple of hours until dawn, and I want to meet with Fizzlewick about the attackers. Also to see if he has anything more for me about the two fe male victims.”

Vero’s presence was warming the entire bed and her eyelid s became heavy.

The image of him fighting to the death, just wearing his boxers, seared into her brain. He’d been coldly methodical and brutally powerful. She knew the immortals were stronger and faster than humans, but she’d lived with them for months and had seen fights and a deadly battle. Nobody moved as fast as he had. Tingles exploded along her skin, the purely feminine kind, and her mind tried to shut down the sensation. “Vero, I want to know if you ki lled that guy.”

He opened his eyelids again. “I don’t think it’s any of your business. It has nothing to do with your job here or with our relationship.”

She didn’t care. “Don’t make me pu nch you again.”

“Go to sleep, Lyrica.”

“No,” she said, pushing his chest with both hands. “Did you kill him?”

His sigh moved them both. “No. He’s still alive because he hasn’t given me answers. In addition, I’ve had all the males who arrived at the same time as him brought in for questioning, and I’ll release them after a quick discussion. Now. Go. To. Sleep.”

“Stop telling me what to do ,” she snapped.

“Fine,” he said, rolling on top of her and then rolling back over, securing her on top of him. Hard. Muscled. Male. Aroused. “You did give consent.”