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Chapter One
It was a damn sorry night to die, but then, Zane Wynter didn’t plan on dying. Killing, yeah, that was a possibility, but not dying.
Fire exploded in the night. A white-hot mountain of flames burned right through the roof of the three-story antebellum house on Francis Street and shot toward the sky, its greedy claws a bright orange in the darkness.
“Sonofabitch.” The breath of the flames scorched Zane’s skin. This was supposed to have been an easy collar. Go in, knock out the demon waiting inside, claim his bounty. A simple night’s work for a Night Watch hunter. After the collar, he’d planned to get a beer and maybe a fuck.
He took off his jacket and tossed it onto the ground. No sense getting ash on it.
A scream burst from inside the house. He stilled at the sound because that—that was a woman’s scream. And his prey was male.
Victim inside. Not just the killer he wanted, but maybe an innocent trapped in that inferno, too.
Shit. It really was a piss-poor night. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and knew that he had to go into that damn house. Sometimes, it just sucked to be him.
Zane raced forward even as the windows of the antebellum exploded, sending glass raining down on him. One kick and he knocked down the front door. Smoke rose, a thick gray fog. The flames crackled, and the house fell around him.
“Jacobson!” Zane yelled the bastard’s name. Henry Jacobson. A demon who’d been hunting and killing for the vampires in Baton Rouge. A vamp’s bitch. Seriously, what was worse? “Jacobson, where are you?” The smoke stung his nose and made his eyes water as he thundered through the rooms, searching through the smoke and flames.
Another scream. He ran for the stairs, a long, curving staircase that ended in fire and fury. Someone was on the steps. He saw a shadow in the smoke, someone hunched over, holding tight to the railing.
Too small to be his prey.
Victim. Had Jacobson been getting ready for another kill?
Zane took the stairs three at a time. Chunks of the ceiling fell, hitting close to him, and the heat scorched his skin. He coughed and choked on the smoke that thickened the air.
Zane reached out and grabbed?—
“Help me!” Desperate blue eyes met his. Wide and dark. So dark. A deep, dark blue. They reflected the flames and her fear.
The woman—small, curvy, shaking—threw her body against his and held on with all her strength. “K-kill…m-me…he was…g-gonna…” She broke off, coughing, choking, just like him.
The roof groaned above them. A long, low rumble that couldn’t be a good sign. He glanced up and saw the cracks and rolling fire in what was left of the ceiling. Fuck.
“H-help…m-me…” She shuddered again, her body rubbing against his.
The devil could take Jacobson. Zane grabbed the woman, lifting her high into his arms. He held her close against his chest and ran back down the stairs. The flames were everywhere. The fire was so damn hot that for an instant, he thought about death.
Nah, not fucking tonight.
He concentrated, calling up the power that lurked inside of him, the darkness that was never far away, and those flames didn’t touch him. Couldn’t.
The woman’s lips pressed against the base of his throat. Soft lips. A delicate touch in hell.
For an instant, one reckless instant, his concentration wavered and those flames surged forward.
Cursing, he dove for the door. They flew into the night, and he turned his body, protecting hers, as they slammed onto the porch. Sirens wailed. The cavalry was coming. Always a bit late in this town.
Her fingers fluttered on his face. “Are you”—a cough—“okay?” A light voice, Southern and soft. Husky. She’d raised her body up, and now she peered at his face with worry in those big, bedroom eyes.
He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at her. The woman was something else. Her skin was a pale ivory, but her high cheekbones and her straight, sharp nose were currently stained with soot. Her lips—damn—were full, sexy. The kind of lips a man fantasized about. A lot. And she had a thick, tumbling mass of black hair. Hair that made her skin look even paler.
“You saved me.” She shook her head and sent those long locks swaying. “Th-thank you.”
A crash shook the house. “Baby, I haven’t saved our asses yet,” he said. Then Zane grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. This was no place for a pit stop. They shot down the curving porch steps, running fast from those flames.
Jacobson.
