Thank you to my wonderful agent, Caitlin Blasdell, and to Liza Dawson and the entire Liza Dawson Agency.
Thank you to my awesome assistant, Anissa Beatty, for her excellent social media work as well as the fun with the Rebels.
Thank you to Writer Space and Fresh Fiction PR for all the hard work.
Thanks also to my constant support system: Gail and Jim English, Kathy and Herb Zanetti, Debbie and Travis Smith, Stephanie and Don West, Jessica and Jonah Namson, Chelli and Jason Younker, Liz and Steve Berry, and Jillian and Benji Stein.
Chapter One
Sam was so fucking finished with having no control. He looked at his right hand. Well, to be exact, he looked through his hand to see the ground wavering beneath his feet. His body was once again caught between dimensions, and the pain was starting to shred his self-control.
“It’s only getting worse,” Garrett Kayrs said, standing beside their motorcycles.
“No kidding.” Sam coughed, blood dribbling down his chin. He tried to pull away from the vortex, shredding the skin on his arm. Bellowing, he broke all the way free and flopped on the torn cement.
Garrett sighed. “Here it comes.”
Sam rolled to his feet and stared at the abandoned buildings around them. They’d barely made it to a safe place this time. Several crumbling apartment complexes seemed to hold their breath in an old, long-forgotten area about two hours out of Seattle. Someday the place would be revitalized, but right now, only rats and other vermin inhabited the condemned buildings. Heat rose in him, turning his veins red enough to glow beneath his skin.
“Shit,” Garrett said, taking several steps back.
The fire rose through Sam’s head, and he dropped to his knees. The building to the right exploded, shattering what was left of its glass windows. Smoke billowed an ominous gray, spiraling into the blue skies. The structure across the forlorn street detonated, throwing debris toward them.
Garrett ducked his head and crouched low.
Sam just watched. He felt the ripples from the explosions as if they came from inside him, which they had. They were part of him.
Sirens sounded, high and fierce.
He jerked his head and jumped to his feet. “What the hell?”
Out of nowhere, police cars and two SWAT vans roared into the vacant area. Helicopters hovered into view as well.
“Humans?” Garrett eyed several of the officers who jumped from their vehicles, took cover, and pointed weapons at them.
Sam’s hand slid through the concrete to another place, and he grimaced as the pain pierced his brain. He struggled to free his hand before the humans witnessed the anomaly. This was crazy.
“Get down! Flat on the ground, arms spread,” a male voice bellowed.
Sam tilted his head to meet Garrett’s gaze. “I’m stuck at the moment, but you need to get out of here.” God, he missed the days when he could teleport. “Go, G.”
Garrett twisted his lip. “How bad?” He bent to look at Sam’s arm, which was buried to the wrist.
“It’ll take a few minutes. I’ll have to go with them.” He couldn’t let humans see that he wasn’t one of them. “We can’t allow them to take us both. Go to the right of the metal building and get out of here.” His friend would be burned, but the humans wouldn’t be able to follow. As a vampire-demon, Garrett would heal soon enough. “I might need a lawyer. Keep your ear to the ground and track where they take my bike.” He loved that bike.
“Down, now. We will shoot!” yelled a man from behind the SWAT van.
Garrett leaped for his motorcycle, jumped on, and spun away toward the burning building.
The humans launched themselves into action but weren’t fast enough to stop him. Soon he looked as if he’d driven right into the flames. Sometimes Sam thought that was exactly what he wanted to do, but that was a concern for another day. “Don’t come any closer,” he yelled. Damn it. He had to free himself before they got close enough to see.
Grunting, he ripped his arm through dimensions, nearly puking from the pain. The world swirled around him, and he inhaled burning smoke.
Unconsciousness tried to possess him. He took a quick inventory, head to toe. The vibrations had subsided, so it should be safe for humans to be around him for a little while.
“Get down!” the same male voice yelled. “Now, or we will shoot.”
Sighing, he shifted to his knees and then followed directions until he was flat on the crumbly cement, his arms out. His head rang and he longed for a beer. Or a keg.
The officials were quick and efficient in cuffing him and dragging him to his feet, even though he stood at least four or more inches taller than the biggest guy. They read him his rights, and he blocked them out as the helicopters flew away.
Then the blackness took him.
Hard and fast.
The last thought that filtered through his mushy brain before his body went limp was that control really was an illusion.
* * * *
Dr. Honor McDoval watched the interrogation through the one-way mirror.
“Is it just me, or is he the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in real life?” DHS Agent Bill Smith said by her side, file folders in his good hand.
“If you like the desperately wounded and pissed off type,” Honor murmured, studying the subject. He sat facing them, lounging in the interrogation chair, his expression bored and his body apparently relaxed. She knew better. Even through the cement wall and reinforced glass between them, she could feel his pain. His fury. This was something new.
Her interest was piqued against her will.
“I do like that type. Joe was often cranky, although I don’t miss him as much as I thought I would when he ditched me for that foot doctor,” Bill muttered, saying the word “foot” with a slight sneer.
“You’re better off without him,” Honor said, patting his arm.
Bill nodded. “Thank you for coming in on this.” He was short and blond with a wrestler’s body. Strong and sturdy. “I know you’re taking a break from consulting with DHS, but this guy…”
Yeah. This guy. “How’s your arm?” Honor asked, keeping her focus on the man in the interrogation room, who was currently ignoring the agent yelling for him to cooperate.
Bill glanced at the sling on his left arm. “Healing. I start physical therapy next week. Have I thanked you for saving my life?”
“About a million times.” Honor shook her head. “I didn’t save your life.”
“You got intel from the coconspirator that stopped me from running into a building set with bombs.” He looked at his sling. “Almost in time.” His grin was contagious.