Her scent speared into his nose and went directly into his blood.
Physically, she was not all that tall. Five six, maybe five seven. And she had a practical vibe to everything about her, from her flat shoes to the tight ponytail at the base of her neck, from her lack of makeup to her level, hard eyes. And talk about professional clothes. The shield on her dark blue blazer flashed with every breath she took, and her loose slacks gave him no clue as to what her body looked like.
But like that mattered?
It was . . . all of her . . . that got to him.
And that wasn’t the half of it.
As he penetrated her mind so he could shut the present down and patch over her memories, flashes of . . . unspeakable past violence and tragedy popped up. Like even though the images, sights, and sounds were part of her long-term storage, they were always just under the surface for her.
She had faced things that no woman, no man, should ever have to survive.
And yet she was totally unafraid as she stood up to him and Sahvage, two vampires who were heavily armed and outweighed her by four hundred pounds. Then again, considering what she had already lived through? There was going to be little that rattled her.
“What the fuck’s going on here?”
As Sahvage’s impatience cut through the silence, Balz snapped back into action. “I got this. I got her.”
“Do you? ’Cuz from over here, it looks like she got you.”
In spite of the high stakes, Balz needed one more moment—and then he stripped the woman of any recollection of coming and finding them here. After that, he inserted the thought that it was just an alarm malfunction.
Alarms malfunctioned all the time.
Nothing wrong, nothing out of place.
As she pivoted around to leave and put her weapon and those handcuffs away, it was clear that she was comfortable with guns and confident in her ability to use them properly—and what do you know, Balz got hard in his boxer shorts.
He had to see her again.
Somehow—
A bumping sound brought his head around.
Sahvage had removed the display case’s top and was straightening back up, his hands outstretched. As he moved in for the Book, his eyes were locked with total absorption, his body tensed, his—
“Oh, no you don’t,” Balz gritted as he lunged forward as well.
The two of them grabbed hold of the Book at exactly the same time. And as that spoiled-meat stench roiled up in the air, they both started pulling—and Balz felt like he was in a tug-o’-war for his very life. Sure, Sahvage had fronted like he was all go-team, but right now, nothing about the fucker suggested he was on board with the original plan.
He was going to take the fucking thing.
Bearing his fangs, Balz snarled, “You fucking douche.”
“This is evil. This needs to be destroyed!”
“What are you—”
“You don’t want this!”
“I need it to save my life!”
Somehow, in spite of the fact that both of them were leaning back, all their weight put into the pull, all of their muscles engaged . . . the Book was not torn apart. Even though there should have been, there was no ripping release of structural integrity, no break at the spine, no give anywhere.
It was like an I-beam—
Let it go.
From out of nowhere, like it’d been piped into the room—or maybe it was Balz’s skull?—Lassiter’s voice permeated the growling fight.
Let it go.
“No!” Balz barked. “Fucking no way!”
He refused to live with that evil inside of him for the rest of his life—
If you want to live, let it go.
From out of nowhere, the image of that detective he had just sent away came to the forefront of his mind.
But was this the evil talking to him or was this . . . actually Lassiter, trying to save him?
How did he know the difference between the brunette’s seductive misrepresentations and reality?
“Fuck!” he yelled.
There were some battles where losing was not an option. This was one of them.
As Sahvage’s body strained and sweat broke out across his chest and face, he locked his molars and kept pulling. Across the pages of the open Book, the Bastard was doing likewise, every ounce of power in that male’s body and mind determined to take control as well.
There was the temptation to reach for a weapon. One bullet to the other fighter’s head and this physical argument was fucking over.
But Sahvage couldn’t risk having the Book ripped out of a one-handed grip. Without knowing many details about the Bastard, he had a feeling that Balthazar was fully capable of dematerializing at the drop of a hat. And if the male did?
Sahvage was not getting a second chance. In two hundred years, he hadn’t crossed paths with the fucking thing. It was not happening again, and with that summoning spell out there?