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Would what he was doing even work?

It didn’t matter, because this was all that he had.

Matt’s hand trembled. Precious droplets of blood ran down his arm, fell to the floor. But there was more pouring from his leg—so much that the dirt beneath his feet had gone dark and muddy.

“Shouldn’t have made the damn vista so big,” he muttered.

His teeth were beginning to chatter or perhaps just to change. They seemed too big for his mouth. They kept clacking together, distracting him.

Snarls, growls, the rending of flesh, the thud of bodies, continued behind him. Matt ignored it all. It was when the sounds stopped that he needed to worry.

Then, suddenly, they did.

Matt risked a glance. Gina lay on the ground, broken, bleeding, breathing, but barely. He had to force himself not to run to her. There was nothing he could do, and she wouldn’t know him anyway.

A rumble trilled across the damp air. Matt lifted his gaze from Gina’s inert form to the Nahual’s eyes. They were still Jase McCord’s eyes, and they hated Matt.

The creature stalked forward, tongue lolling, fangs dripping. He made sure Matt had time to see his coming bloody, painful death—and to be afraid.

Instead, Matt brushed his fingers over his leg one last time and sealed the circle.

The sleek black wolf’s ruff lifted. He turned his head, tilted it in confusion; then, an instant too late, he knew.

A single yelp escaped, and then an unseen force drew him backward, claws digging into the dirt, making furrows all the way into the crypt. The door slammed shut, cutting off his desperate howl. The silence that followed was both eerie and welcome. Then a low growl rumbled through the gloom as Gina rolled to her feet, ravenous eyes fixed on Matt.

Matt didn’t move. He had nowhere to go, even if he could take a step without falling. However, she lifted her nose, sniffed once, snarled, and turned away.

He was like her now, or near enough, and she needed human blood.

Gina had taken a single step toward the opening when a figure staggered from the shadows.

She leaped; a gun fired. She fell.

Matt lifted his gaze to Edward Mandenauer, and the old man shot him, too.

CHAPTER 27

Gina awoke in her own bed. She hurt all over, especially her head. When she tried to remember what had happened, the headache bloomed toward migraine.

“Shit,” she muttered, and pulled the covers over her face.

However, with the darkness came flickering images of blood and death and mayhem. They scared her so much she yanked the covers back down.

A gorgeous blond woman stood at the foot of Gina’s bed.

“You remember me?” the woman asked.

“Dr. Hanover.”

“Elise.”

“What kind of doctor are you?” Some kind of “ologist,” but Gina didn’t think it was psychologist. Which, considering what was in her head, was the only kind of doctor she needed.

“Virologist.” Elise sat on the side of the bed. She didn’t appear afraid that Gina might grow fangs and tear out her throat.

Maybe those thoughts, which had seemed like memories, were only dreams after all.

“I cured you,” Elise continued.

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