Sin Undone

“What are we gonna do after this?”


A flare of regret jerked in Con’s gut. Eidolon had sent all warg hospital employees into isolation to keep them from contracting the virus that was attacking the werewolf population, and Luc was going stir-crazy. Though Con and Luc had never been friends, exactly—they’d gotten their introduction in a bar fight with each other—they were paramedic partners and they hung out together occasionally, mainly to see who could beat who at whatever they did.

But ever since Luc had gone into isolation, he’d been even more eager to do crazy shit. Con was always game, but he did have a job, and he was working more than ever to make up for Luc’s absence.

“I gotta work. But we’ll go skydiving next week.”

Luc nodded, and though his expression was as stony as ever, Con didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in the guy’s dark hazel eyes.

“When’s the last time you got laid? When you were in Egypt? That Guardian chick?” Con shoved to his feet. “You need a woman.”

Luc snorted. “Women are a pain in the ass,” he said, and wasn’t that the truth. In fact, the biggest pain in the ass female he’d ever met was responsible for the very epidemic that was killing wargs. And Doc E had requested—well, ordered—a meeting with Con this afternoon, and he had a sickening feeling that the pain in the ass female, aka Sin, was going to be there.

Fuck. Once more, Con grabbed the flask from Luc, put it to his lips, and finished it off. Then he punched down the mountain. Oh, yeah. Rum and adrenaline mixed well. Much, much better than he and Sin ever would. Sin had been summoned.

Here she was, the freaking head of an assassin den, master of more than three dozen highly skilled killers, and she’d been summoned like some lowlife imp to an audience with her brother. The great demon doctor. She’d already given him her blood, her DNA, her pee, her spinal fluid… whatever samples the doctor wanted for his research, she’d handed over. Sin was, after all, responsible for the disease that was wiping out the werewolf race.

What a claim to fame.

A couple of days ago, she’d even come into Underworld General to channel her power into an infected male in an attempt to kill the virus, but if anything, she’d only accelerated its spread. And she hadn’t thought it could get any worse. Sin muttered to herself as she traversed UG’s dark hallways on the way to Eidolon’s office. Her boots clacked on black stone floors that were unusually in need of a good sweeping, and the echo bounced in eerie vibrations off the gray walls. She trailed a finger over the writing on said walls— protective antiviolence spells scrawled in blood. She had to give credit to her brothers for that; the hospital serviced nearly all species of demons, many of which were mortal enemies.

She rounded a corner to enter the administrative area, only to curse fiercely. Wraith, the only one of her four brothers with blond hair and blue eyes—neither of which were original parts—stood in the doorway as though he’d been waiting for her. His arms were folded over his broad chest, the dermoire on his right arm blending in with his T-shirt’s Celtic print—Celtic print that was cleverly designed to form the words “Fuck off.”

“Well, if it isn’t Typhoid Mary.”

“Read your shirt.” She pushed past him to enter the office, missing a step when she saw not only Eidolon, MD, but also Conall, SOB. Great. When she’d last seen the vampire-werewolf a few weeks ago, they’d parted on shitty terms. He’d assumed the worst of her, threatened her, had been an utterly unlikable ass. Oh, sure, she’d led him to believe she’d intentionally started the epidemic that was killing his warg relatives, but if he hadn’t been such a jerk, she might have told him the truth.

Not that the truth was much better. “Sin.” Eidolon remained at his desk, his espresso eyes bloodshot and framed by dark circles. His short, nearly black hair was mussed, probably from repeated rakes of his fingers. He pretty much looked like hell itself had beaten the crap out of him. “Sit.”

The command ruffled her feathers, but she hooked a chair with her foot, yanked it as far from Conall as possible, and planted her ass. “What now? I don’t have any blood left, and if you think you’re getting a stool sample, you can—”

“I don’t need a stool sample,” Eidolon interrupted. “I need your help.” She felt Con’s silver eyes boring into her like drill bits, and to her annoyance, her body flushed with warmth as though remembering another drilling he’d given her. That was so not happening again. “Look, you should know that the Assassin Guild has been flooded with requests for hits on wargs. I don’t know if the sudden surge is related, but I figured I’d tell you.”