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She turned, following the woman’s scream and the thickening scent of blood. A house, ranch-style, waited. Dee didn’t bother with the door. She hurtled through the big picture window, and Simon’s curse followed her.
Rolling, she jumped to her feet, claws up, ready for anything, ready for?—
Death. A woman—one with long, dark hair twisted over her face—lay on the bed. The white sheets beneath her were stained red.
More glass shattered behind Dee as Simon fought his way into the room.
Her gaze searched over the area. The odors of sex and blood were everywhere. But that woman wasn’t Nina.
The hair on her nape rose, and Dee spun around.
He stood in the doorway. The bastard who had haunted her nightmares. Tall and lean, his hair streaked with gold and his eyes pitch black. “Been a long time, little Sandra Dee.” Grim paused. “I knew the fools hadn’t managed to take you out.” His dark stare swept over her body, slowly. Not sexually. No interest there. Just an assessment. Thorough. He shrugged. “I thought you’d be easier to kill.”
“Yeah, you’re not the first person to make that mistake.” She’d never forgotten his face and his soulless eyes.
Beside her, Simon stood as still as freaking stone. The bastard was trying to get back in his head. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that was coming.
Even though she was a mind reader now.
Deliberately, Dee stepped in front of Simon. Her turn.
Grim’s lips quirked, but he made no move to attack. “You’re too late to save her.”
Dee’s gaze darted to the bed.
A cold laugh. “Not her. She doesn’t matter.” He smirked. “The witch.”
Her blood iced. No, no, he was just screwing with her. Catalina was long gone. She’d run so she wouldn’t face the fire.
“She had her uses, I’ll give you that.” He lifted his hand, then pointed right over Dee’s shoulder. Straight at Simon. “After all, with just a little fire, she gave me…you.”
Her gut knotted. Why had the fire been in that old stable? If Nina had been attacking, why hadn’t she set her fire here in the main house?
“Can you feel me, bastard?” Grim snarled at Simon, and the smile left his face. “Because I can damn well feel you.”
Dee glanced back. Sweat coated Simon’s face and his eyes flickered back and forth, back and forth, from black to gray. Torment etched deep lines onto his face. “Get…out,” he growled.
He’ll turn on you.
Screw this.
“Witches can burn so fast,” Grim murmured, “but your witch, I made sure she?—”
Dee leapt forward.
“Do you want me to kill them all?” Grim shook his head and lunged to meet her. One hand ripped the stake from her fingers and her wrist cracked beneath his hold. His right hand grabbed her neck, held tight, and he lifted her off the ground. “Do you? Because I can kill every one of those bastards you brought to my land. Your demon, your stinking animals?—”
Zane. Jude. Hell, Erin.
“The witch let me back in.” He brought his face close to hers. “She didn’t want to touch the dark magic, not at first, but when the fire started, she was all too eager.”
Dee couldn’t breathe. If he snapped her neck, she’d be helpless. Paralyzed, but still living, until her body could heal. He wouldn’t give her the time to heal. He’d stake her. Behead her. Burn her?—
Like he’d burned Catalina?
Why wasn’t Simon helping her? Attack. Get the bastard! Her mental cry blasted out, and she tried to reach him desperately on their blood link.
And she slammed into a brick wall. A wall that hadn’t been between their minds before.
