This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Earlier that Night
Anthony Burgess crouched outside a circle of flames wondering if anything was worth this much drama. An ally had asked a favor. Could Anthony be persuaded to drink and siphon drugs from the woman he loved? Sure. He wasn't doing anything else exciting that night. Why not?
Between himself and Dayne, they'd killed most of the remaining werecat tribe. Dayne had used magic while Anthony had snapped necks, as well as sampled a few for himself. He listened as Dayne chanted and the sky opened to let rain pour down, dampening the flames and making his passage to the center of the circle safe.
“It's safe now,” Dayne called from inside the circle.
Anthony rolled his eyes. He wanted to say, No shit, but the retort died a quick death on his lips as he took in the dark-haired beauty chained to the stone slab. A feral grin lit his face when he recognized the captive as Greta from the bookstore.
He ignored the bickering between Dayne and the man who'd taken her for sacrifice. The life was slipping from Dayne's true love as Anthony looked on.
She was dressed in a long white gown, though she wasn't a virgin, and they were at least a thousand miles from the nearest convenient volcano. Thin cuts marred her otherwise perfect tan flesh, and he could feel the power pulsing out of her. He'd wanted her blood for a long time now.