Otherworldly strength.
Oh, shit. No.
Was he—?
The terrifying thought didn’t have a chance to settle in her mind before a rusted-out pickup truck rambled in behind her from the main road. The old man behind the wheel honked, impatient to get onto the pass.
“Go around,” ordered the low voice from beside her.
The old man honked some more, middle finger extended as he thrust his arm out the window. Willow stared at him in her rearview mirror, torn between warning him away from the lunatic he was challenging and jumping out of the Jeep to scream for the old man’s help. Yet as desperate as she was to save her sister as well as herself, she couldn’t put anyone else in jeopardy in the process.
Instead, she sat there, shocked further when her vehicle stopped straining in reverse and slipped into neutral all on its own.
No, not on its own.
The man garbed in black had done it. Because he wasn’t just a man . . . he was Breed.
The pickup truck’s horn blared again, a long, ear-splitting peal. Its gray-bearded driver leaned halfway out the driver’s side window. “Get outta the fucking way, you idiots!”
The big vampire took one hand away from the Jeep. As it moved, Willow nearly swore she saw sharp, black talons on the tips of his fingers. He reached up and tore off his helmet, uncovering his face and the long, gleaming white fangs behind the savage curl of his lips.
He unleashed the full force of his menacing expression on the geezer in the pickup.
The horn went silent. Then the old truck shot into reverse and peeled away in the opposite direction.
Willow wanted to do the same thing.
If she thought for a second she’d be able to get away, she would’ve tried.
The Breed male swiveled toward her now. “I’m not going to hurt you, Laurel.”
Scorching golden-brown eyes stared at her from under a tousled mane of caramel-colored hair. His fangs glinted like diamonds behind the lush shape of his lips. His face was hard angles and a squared jaw line, which somehow all worked in harmony. She might have considered him handsome if he wasn’t a blood-drinking monster.
One that was apparently determined to find her sister.
“My name is Razor.”
Fitting, she thought, glancing once more to his hands. There were no talons at the ends of his fingers now, though. They were just big, strong hands—ones that sported a tangle of intriguing Breeddermaglyphson the backs of them.
“What do you want?” Willow demanded, almost afraid to ask.
“Theo Collier sent me.”
She lifted her gaze to his face. “Theo?”
She knew the name of Laurel’s former boyfriend and colleague. He was a good man, from what Willow understood. According to her sister, Theo was one of the few people Laurel trusted. But anyone could be aware of their connection—especially someone like the lethal menace standing outside Willow’s Jeep.
“Where is Theo now?”
“I don’t know. That’s not important.”
“It is to me,” she said, wrangling her courage. “How do you know him? Can you prove it?”
He frowned. “You ask too many questions.”
Willow scoffed in spite of her fear. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t have any believable answers.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” He scowled some more, growing visibly impatient. “There isn’t time for this, Laurel.”
