Page 38 of The Guardian's Curse

“Sabrina Milan. Hunter for the Shieldsmen,” she said. “I took her driver’s license and told her to leave town. I know where she lives now.”

“We should have killed them all,” he said. “Since when do we catch and release vampire hunters?”

“Since Eduardo told us not to kill them,” she said.

He snarled at her. “I need to get home. Thank you for wasting my time and getting me staked.”

“You got yourself staked,” she snapped. “It’s not my fault you’re slow.” Her tongue darted over her lip, catching a stray drop of blood. “Go home, Alistair. Drop this nonsense, and I won’t tell Paris what you were up to.”

“Are you blackmailing me, Edith?” he asked. Edith Brunner was the vampire Alistair had first known, but she’d changed her name many times over the years to suit her whims.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Don’t be a shit. I’m not going down for you.”

He just growled at her, then retreated the way they’d come. Thankfully, she followed without speaking to him. He was angry and ashamed; he should have known Safira wouldn’t break from the Court. It was easy to underestimate her, but there was a reason she answered only to Paris and Julian.

When they emerged into the open air, he bounded away from her, sprinted to his car, and got on the road back to Midnight Springs. His shoulder ached terribly, and he could feel the poison of the wood still seeping through his body. That was going to hurt for days.

Great.

It was just after four when he arrived home. He parked the car at the grocery store again, then walked home. As he let himself into the house, he carefully stripped off his coat. Dried blood tore at his skin, reawakening the searing pain. “Goddammit,” he swore.

A piercing scream rang out, and he snapped his head up to see Shoshanna in the living room, eyes wide. Then she raised her hand and shouted “Mettrez à feu! “

Her pointed fingers were like a gun shooting pure flame. An arrow of flame punched into his chest and knocked him off his feet. With a deep, rasping breath, she screamed, “Alistair! Get out!” She scrambled for the front door and threw it open, then slammed her hand against the door frame. “Allumez!”

A curtain of blinding light surged into existence in the doorway. “Shoshanna!” he roared. He lunged at the doorway, and the light seared his exposed face. Combined with the burnt wound in the middle of his chest, it was too much. He fell back and watched the guillotine fall on his nascent hope.

She had seen him. She had seen the monster, and now she knew the truth.

10

Holy. Fuck.

Shoshanna’s slippered feet were rooted to the ground as she gaped at the bloody gargoyle-like creature at the threshold. A charred hole ringed in flame pierced its belly. Blood splattered to the floor behind it, and it let out a deafening, wordless roar.

Instead of running out the front door, she sprinted for the garage, grabbing the car keys on her way. Her hand was on the doorknob when she realized her cat was still happily sleeping in her room. She kicked off her slippers and bolted across the house for him.

Despite the chaos, the opportunistic little cat was curled up on her pillow, which had only been vacant for a few minutes. She grabbed him by the scruff, prompting a yowl and a flurry of scratches. With him tucked under her shirt, she ran for the garage.

After sealing the door to the garage with another daylight sigil, she dove into the borrowed Escalade. The garage door was glacially slow, and she stared at the door the entire time. No sign of the monster.

As she squealed out of the private driveway, Magneto leaped into the back seat and let out a loud meow.

“Don’t you dare angry pee in this car,” she hissed.

Her heart thrummed as she sped down the deserted road, toward the faint glow of the suburbs. Out of this dangerous, crazy world of fangs and claws, and into the plain familiarity of humanity.

When that thing burst through the front door, she was certain that she was dreaming. It was a monster from her worst nightmares. Glowing veins like streams of lava glowed amidst stone-like gray skin. Twisted scar tissue overlaid dense muscle. And its face was a demon’s visage, with fiery red eyes and short black horns that curled away from its brow.

But her fingers were singed from the fire spell. And she could smell the burnt flesh. That was no dream. That thing was real.

And she’d just left Alistair there alone with it. Despair washed over her. If he got hurt...

She let out a cry of fear and swerved into a gas station. She fumbled at her phone. In her frantic rush, she accidentally dialed Papa Reynaldo’s for pizza. “Shit,” she swore, hanging up and calling Paris instead.

The phone rang once before he answered. “You’re up late. Feeling lonely or—”

“Something got into the house!” she blurted.

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