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Death. Violent and bloody and fucking satisfying. There was a certain pleasure in fulfilling one’s purpose.

Bloodsuckers stained the concrete with careless drips like a child with a jolly popsicle on a summer afternoon. Indulging in more blood than they could lap up, the vampires inside the club had grown from complacent to careless. They didn’t seem to realize that “immortality” did not equate to invulnerability.

In the narrow alley, Vann held his post. He cast a glance across the street. “Report?”

“Five hostiles in the alley.” Archer’s voice resonated through the com with the military precision the newest teammate had learned as a special forces operator.

The bass-heavy techno of the club came through before Bennett’s voice. “Four clustered near the entrance. A few dozen with food coma around the club.”

“Survivors?”

“Civilians all dead or nearly so, so kill anything that moves.”

Vann’s stomach churned at the image. The fucking reason they were here. If they’d been there sooner, those people might still be alive. But the vampires wouldn’t be satisfied and sluggish. “Backdoor?”

“I’ve got it covered,” Bennett answered, thrill radiating into his arrogant tone.

One wrong move, and the club would seal up tight.

Engines screamed as a pair of sleek, exhaust-puffing cars soared past. Late-night roadwork glowed at the bottom of the hill. San Francisco was wide awake tonight.

Bodie’s voice cracked with a throaty gag. “This whole block smells like a damn butcher’s shop.”

Laughter danced over the empty street—an enticement for vampires craving dessert. Lana’s heeled boots tapped toward them, echoing louder on the street than through the com. “All I smell is victory.”

The vampires in the alley perked up at the sound of humans approaching. Not that Lana and Bodie were human, but the vampires didn’t know that.

Vann stayed in the shadows and watched the three loitering vampires smiling over the approaching snack.

A vampire pushed off from the wall and flicked a sharp canine hungrily.

Another rolled her shoulders and adjusted her top to show more skin.

The third closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Ryan’s rusty laugh came quietly through the com, the hunter watching from the neighboring roof. “Hey Bodie, I think they like your human scent. They’re drooling.”

“I smell delicious,” the werewolf answered in his normal speaking voice, with an added slur for the vampires listening in. “It’s my first night out since the baby, so I slapped on a little cologne.”

Music boomed under Bennett’s voice. “Not even that expensive cologne can cover your wet dog smell.” Inside, the singular demon hunter changed by a vampire made for a handy infiltrator, although the scent of so many human victims inside the club had to be messing with him.

“Screw you, you confused bloodsucker,” Bodie fired back, ornery laced in his laugh.

Vann watched it all come together like pieces on a chessboard. The team was ready, veterans from the toughest fights in the world. Tonight wouldn’t be one of those.

He glanced across the street.

Archer hadn’t started his descent. He should be scaling down the wall, ready to block the door from closing—and the bouncers from raising the alarm.

“Archer? Talk to me.”

Nothing but silence.

Fuck.

Vann leaned forward to see the top of the building.