Sin Undone

Oh, God, she’d told him. Her memories churned, and so did her stomach. He’d asked if she was going to kill the baby if it was born human, and his voice had been as cold as the draft blowing across her face. Thing was, the baby probably would be born human—not because the father was turned, but because she was. He believed she was varcolac because he’d seen the mark she’d had tattooed on by a warlock who specialized in mystical markings. Thankfully, during their sex-fest in Egypt, Luc hadn’t questioned how a warg could infiltrate The Aegis, but then, he hadn’t asked anything about her. Not even her name.

Luc shoved his shaggy black hair back from his face and kneeled next to her. “I brought you some stew.” The savory aroma of rabbit filled her nostrils, and though her mouth watered, she didn’t feel like eating. She wanted to go back to sleep, even though pain wracked her and her skin was so sensitive it hurt to lay on the lumpy pallet where she could feel every individual piece of straw. “I’m not very hungry.”

He doubled up the pillow behind her to elevate her head and he put a spoon of stew to her lips. “You need to eat so I can give you some medicine. Don’t worry,” he said, when she opened her mouth to protest, “it won’t hurt the baby.” He took advantage of her open mouth to shove the food inside.

Even though she wasn’t hungry, she moaned at the taste. “That’s good.”

“Isn’t hard to put some meat, water, and potatoes in a pot.” He dipped the spoon in the bowl and caught a large chunk of rabbit. “You’ll eat this entire thing.”

His command rankled, and though she scarcely had the energy, she squirmed into a sit. “I appreciate your saving my life, but you didn’t have to kill the Guardian, and—”

“I haven’t saved it yet.”

A chill washed through her, countering the fever and making her sweat ice. “What are you not telling me?” “You could still die. Probably will.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

His expression was devoid of emotion, reminding her of how coldly efficient he’d been while blackmailing her into sex with him. But that icy demeanor had turned into something hot and passionate once the demon war ended and lust had taken him. “I never do.”

She took the bite he offered, more to give herself a chance to think than anything. “What are my options?” Though she tried to keep her voice level, there was a humiliating tremor hanging on to the end of her question.

“We need to get you to Underworld General.”

The demon hospital? The very idea frightened her more than death did. “I don’t know…”

“There’s no choice. I’ve already rigged a sled to the back of my snowmobile. We’ll leave after midnight when it’s fully dark, and hope there are no Guardians waiting to ambush us.” The spoon clanked in the bowl as he fished for another bite. “If we were closer to the full moon, you could shift. Heal your wounds.”

A curious warmth settled on her skin, and she knew that if she could actually shift during a full moon, they’d either tear each other apart or they’d tear up the night with passion. She’d bet on the latter.

The warmth turned into a tingle, and she gasped. Oh, God, how could she have forgotten? “Luc? What day is it?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because—” She broke off with another gasp. The pain, the tenderness she’d felt… it wasn’t from the wound. Her skin stretched, and her muscles cramped up hard. “Oh, damn.”

Luc’s eyes shot wide. “Kar…” His voice was a low, deadly growl, tainted with just a touch of anxiety. “Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”

“I wish I could,” she whispered.

Snarling, he leaped to his feet and reeled backward. “No.” He shook his head, teeth bared. “You’re not—”

“I am.” Joints began to pop, and muscles ripped off the bone, and she clenched her teeth against the searing agony. “I’m a… Feast warg.”

A Feast warg. Cursing violently, Luc grabbed one of the wall chains and hooked the manacle around Kar’s ankle as she bucked and writhed. The sounds of her bones snapping, her skin splitting, and her fur erupting filled the small space, and he cursed even louder so she could hear every fucking syllable.

A Feast fucking warg! Jesus. He took the stairs three at a time and jogged to his bedroom, where he jerked open his bureau drawer and palmed his Beretta. At the back of the sock drawer was a small, hand-carved wooden box, and inside were six silver bullets.

He’d need only one. Nasty snarls echoed up from below, as well as the sound of claws on the stone. The chains were made to hold him, but she was a different creature. She was stronger, meaner, rabid. Worst of all, a Feast warg’s bite was venomous to other wargs. Just a scrape of their teeth would kill a normal werewolf in seconds.

Feast wargs were the monsters in garden-variety werewolves’ closets. Because of that, both varcolac and pricolici trained special teams of operators to search out Feast wargs during the nights of the new moon, after they’d turned, because they were impossible to detect while in human form. As a result of the merciless execution teams, they’d been hunted nearly to extinction, their bodies just as vulnerable to a silver bullet as any other werewolf. They were so rare, in fact, that Luc had never come across one—that he knew of.

Until now.