“How you think Sawyer got his first tattoos?”
I hadn’t thought of it. But obviously, since he hadn’t been a sorcerer until he’d killed my mother, someone had given them to him.
“It’s gonna take me a little time to track one down,” Ruthie continued. “You three get back to work. The Grigori have increased the Nephilim tenfold. There are more of them and less of us.”
“What about her?” I jerked my thumb at the fairy.
“Jimmy will keep an eye on her.”
I scowled. “She’s a soulless traitor.”
“She still has her soul and will until Samyaza takes form. Until then, we need her.”
I glared at Summer; she did the same right back.
“If Sanducci’s keeping an eye on her, who am I working with?” I asked.
“Me,” Luther said.
Jimmy and Summer went to her Irish cottage on the other side of the mountain. I called and checked in with Megan. She was fine and still had no clue that Quinn was anything other than a slightly klutzy bartender. She wasn’t catching a hint of his adoration either. Poor guy.
I went to bed early. I hadn’t slept since we’d left Cairo. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Sawyer. Tonight was no different. As soon as I drifted off, there he was.
I chose to leave a child behind.
I sat straight up in bed, heart pounding so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else. What had he meant?
My hand drifted to my stomach, which was rolling and pitching enough to make me sick. “Nah.”
I was on the pill. Had been for years. However, I doubted something as flimsy as 98 percent effectiveness would stop Sawyer’s magic sperm.
Now my heart really started pounding. Which is why it took me a few seconds to hear the knocking at my door.
I tumbled out of bed, stumbled across the floor. Luther stood in the hallway, looking as tired as I felt.
He tapped his head. “We gotta go.”
“We?”
“Take my word for it, you’re gonna need me.”
The Grigori might be confined, but the Nephilim were still here. Not much had changed except there were more of them, less of us. Until we managed to even things out, DKs and seers were going to be interchangeable. Luther and I would go out together and so would Jimmy and Summer, as well as a host of others I hadn’t met yet.
I might be the leader of the light, but there was a lot I didn’t know. What had happened to Sawyer? Who had stolen the Key of Solomon? Would we win or would they? Who would live and who would die?
“We need to get going.” Luther shuffled his big feet, then glanced uneasily over his shoulder. “It’s chaos out there.”
Well, there was one thing I did know. One thing of which I was completely, utterly certain.
“Chaos bites,” I said, and then I followed him into the night.
Read on for an excerpt from the next book
book Lori Handeland
Chaos Bites
Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Being the leader of the supernatural forces of good isn’t as cool as it sounds. For one thing, I had to put the world first. So everything else was second, third, four hundred and fifty-ninth. And we’re talking about important things like love, friendship, family. Which was how I ended up killing the man I loved.
Again.
Oh, I didn’t kill him twice. I killed two separate men. One didn’t stay dead, the other . . . I’m not so sure.
Yes, I’m in love with two different guys. It was news to me, too. Add to that the beginning of the end of the world and you’ve got chaos. As anyone who’s ever experienced it can tell you—chaos bites.
Since the night my foster mother died in my arms, leaving me in charge of the Apocalypse, chaos had been, for me, standard operating procedure.
Several weeks after I’d killed him, Sawyer invaded my dreams. He was a Navajo skinwalker—both witch and shape-shifter, a sorcerer of incredible power. Unfortunately, his power hadn’t kept him from dying. Considering that he’d wanted to, I doubted anything could have. I still felt guilty. Tearing out a guy’s heart with your bare hand can do that.
The dream was a sex dream. With Sawyer they usually were. He was a catalyst telepath—he brought out the supernatural abilities of others through sex. Something about opening yourself to yourself, the universe, the magical possibilities within—yada-yada, blah, blah, blah.
I’d never understood what he did or how. Not that it didn’t work. One night with Sawyer and I’d had more power than I knew what to do with.
In my dream I lay in my bed, in my apartment in Friedenburg, a northern suburb of Milwaukee. Sawyer lay behind me. His hand cupped my hip; he spooned himself around me. Since we were nearly the same height, his breath brushed my neck, his hair—long and black and silky—cascaded over my skin. I covered his hand with mine and began to turn.
Our legs tangled, his tightened, along with his fingers at my hip. “Don’t,” he ordered, his voice forever deep and commanding.