Sin Undone

“Release her,” he roared. Enric stepped back, but the other, Baine, gripped her tighter. Sin took instant advantage of having a free arm and decked him with a right hook and a knee to the groin. Baine fell to the ground, one hand clutching his face, the other cupping his balls. Enric struck out at Sin, but Con, his blood still running hot, tackled him, knocked him clean out with a flurry of blows. He was going to kill Enric for touching Sin. He was going to rip his—


“Con!” Sin grabbed his arm, halting his attack as the Council members from all three societies came running. Body still wired for battle and clamoring to turn his fellow dhampires into mulch, Con lurched to his feet, hoping someone made a move on him or Sin. She stood in front him, her raven tresses spilling over her shoulders and onto the black leather sleeveless top she wore. A savage light glinted in her equally black eyes, as well as something just as primal, something that called to the male animal in him: desire. And, when he caught the scent of her blood, hunger.

He should have stepped away from her. Instead, he closed the distance between them. “You shouldn’t be here.” “I had to find you.” She licked her lips, the pink tip of her tongue catching the blood in the corner of her mouth. His gaze zeroed in on the action, and his loins filled with heat and his fangs pulsed, and he felt himself fuzzing out, leaning toward her, mouth watering, cock hardening.

He barely managed a grunted “Why?” “I couldn’t let you do the oath thingie.” She spoke on a whispered breath, her face tilted upward, and he wanted to kiss her, claim her, right there against the rugged backdrop where his people had been mating for centuries. “I can’t stand the thought of you losing your freedom.”

Bran clapped his hands, the harsh crack drawing Con’s attention. “Get her out of here.” Raynor reached for Sin, and oh, hell no. Con put himself between them, fangs bared. He didn’t say a damned word. Didn’t need to. Raynor backed off, but hatred blazed in his eyes. Icy, ancient hatred that Con had no explanation for, but right now he didn’t give a shit.

Wheeling around, he gripped Sin’s arm and marched her away from the group. Gods, her skin was hot in his palm, and it radiated right to his groin. “You need to leave.” His voice was guttural, barely controlled. “Now.”

“No.” She dug in her heels and jerked them both to a halt.

He blinked. “No?”

“I…” Her gaze dropped to the ground and she shifted her weight, and suddenly he was struck by a blast of need that came off her in an atomic shock wave. “It’s time. I… I need you.” Fierce male pride made him puff up like a rooster. “You don’t need me.” He clenched his fists to keep from grabbing, kissing, doing that public thing he said he’d never do. “You could have anyone if that were the case. You want me.”

She snorted, an automatic response no doubt, but then her chin trembled, softening her appearance, and once again, he felt like a bastard. “Yes, okay? I want you. I know you have that”—she lowered her voice—“issue, but we can find a way around it. You don’t have to bite me…” His mind whacked out at the mere thought, and suddenly he could hear the pump of her heart, the swish of her blood running like raging rapids through her vessels, and, around him, he sensed Bran and several other dhampires closing in.

“Back away from her, Con,” Bran barked. There was a dagger in his hand, and he was focused on Sin. The icy fingers of déjà vu wrapped around Con, strangling him. Following Con’s mother’s death at the fangs of his father, the Dhampire Council had taken a hard stand on addiction.

No more attempts at rehabilitation.

They killed the source, which killed the cravings. Con hadn’t lied when he’d told Sin he was responsible for Eleanor’s death. He just hadn’t killed the leopard-shifter female himself. Bran had done it with a blade through the brain stem. They hadn’t even given Con a chance at bonding with her.

Con pushed Sin behind him and backed them both up toward the Harrowgate. “I’ll handle this, Bran.” “You know the law,” the big male said.

“I will handle this.”

“See that you do,” Bran said, as he ran his finger along the edge of the blade. “Or I will.”

Sin had no clue what that craziness had been all about, but she kept her mouth shut as she and Con entered the Harrowgate, kept her mouth shut as he tapped out the map until the gate opened up into London’s east end, kept her mouth shut as he stiffly led her to a flat half a block away.

As he closed the door behind him, she studied his tense demeanor, the way his chiseled features sharpened even more when he was angry. But she couldn’t tell if his anger was directed at her or not.