Sin Undone

He’d become a paramedic in part because Eidolon had forced his hand, but there was also an allure to doing something he’d never done. He’d been partnered with Luc, who was as eager to risk his neck as Con was, and who had instigated the bet that had gotten Con into Sin’s pants. Gods, life took some strange, bumpy turns.

Con palmed the map of North America, and Sin crowded close. He could smell the damned male warg on her, and his muscles twitched with the need to hightail it back to town to kill him. “Where to now?” she asked, as he tapped out the map. “Montana. The northern Rockies,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended. “It was one of the places Lore indicated on his outbreak chart.” “Well.” She gave him a fierce poke in the shoulder. “Aren’t you a grumpalufagus?” The door shimmered open, and cool air that smelled of pine trees flooded the small space. He practically leaped out into the twilight-drenched forest, needing to get away from her. “You nearly got us killed,” he said, knowing it wasn’t fair to blame her, but the image of her kissing that bastard wouldn’t go away.

“I also got the gate opened,” she pointed out, and he clenched his fists. “We could have gotten out of the town even without your Council leader buddy.” “It was reckless and stupid, and you won’t do it again.”

“Won’t?” She jammed her fists on her hips. “Won’t? You have no say in anything I do.”

His jaw tightened. “When it comes to wargs, you will listen to me. I know them. I know how they react, I know how they fight, and I know how they lust—” “Oh, for the love of God, put a butt plug in the male tough-guy crap. I know what I’m doing. I’m damned good at killing and fucking, and I’ll use either of those weapons—”

Blinded by fury, he gripped her by the arms, hauled her up against him, and took her mouth. There was nothing gentle about the kiss at all. It was about wiping the other male out of the picture. It was about dominance and all that male tough-guy crap. It was about making sure that all his intimacies with her were about anger or pure lust, because he couldn’t afford to soften.

Not that she’d allow that to happen. She squealed in outrage and stomped on his foot. Pounded against his chest. Then she bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. When the blood hit her tongue, she jerked, but the sharp pleasure-pain drove him harder, and he thrust his tongue against hers, stroking, licking, forcing her to taste him.

And then she wasn’t fighting anymore. She didn’t need to. The razor edge of a blade was biting into his groin, and he froze as solidly as an ice sculpture. “Kiss me again without my permission,” she whispered against his lips, “and I’ll geld you and sell your balls to a Ruthanian specialty meats shop. Understood?” “You won’t do that,” he whispered back. “You’d miss them too much.” Sin snorted and made the blade disappear into her pocket as she stepped back. “Men are always overestimating the worth of their genitals.” That fast, his anger was gone, and he threw back his head and laughed. “Come on,” he said. “We have work to do.” Sin Undone





Ten


They hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards along a worn game trail when a shot rang out, silencing the crickets and sending the squirrels that had come out for their last foray before nightfall skittering into their holes in the trees. Sin and Con ran toward the sound, and in just a few yards they were following more violent battle noises and the stench of blood.

A lot of blood.

The scent grew stronger as they rounded an outcrop of rock and found two dead people, probably werewolves, beneath a bush.

“Wargs,” Con whispered, confirming her suspicions.

“Born or turned?” She didn’t see any telltale marks to indicate that they were pricolici, but the marks could be covered by their clothing. Or blood.

“Don’t know.”

A scream tore through the air, and they crashed through the brush, not bothering with stealth, not even as they broke onto a trail and into the middle of a slaughter. “Oh, God.” Sin skidded to a halt. There were two small cabins tucked away in the forest, but they must have housed several families. They were battling, some in warg form, and some still in human, using axes and knives. One male was firing a shotgun at a leaping werewolf.

The ground was soaked with blood, and a child lay dead on a porch. A child. A big male swung his arm, severing a female’s head with his claws as she pleaded for mercy. “Diseased varcolac scum.” The words were warped by his animal muzzle, but the hatred was as clear as the sky above.

Rabid fury exploded in Sin, and she launched at the born wargs, whose battle gear set them apart from the others. Her throwing knives took out one, and her Gargantua dagger ended another. She lost track of time, of control, and though she knew Con was tearing through the pricolici like a tornado through a trailer park, her concentration was fully centered on causing pain.