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“No!” Oh god, is this it? Is he going to kill me now? I barely take in the rest of the house, desperately scrambling for a way to stall him as I trip twice on the stairs he hauls me up. Were we in a basement? We go down a corridor with a stupid number of doorways leading off it, and then Geoffrey shoves me into another room. This one has a wall of windows through which I can see the inky darkness outside—whatever time it is, it’s still night. There’s a huge sectional couch and an ultramodern coffee table, and the wall-mounted TV is so big that I want to make a dick joke about overcompensating. Though also, would a TV that big fit in my living room back at Tristan’s house in Canterbury?

“Are you ready to scream?” Geoffrey asks, lifting his phone.

“Y—”

The windows blow in.

Instinctively, I drop, covering my head with my arms and biting back a scream as my already abused body hits the goddamn polished concrete floor. Whoever came up with the idea of putting concrete in houses instead of nice soft carpet is going on my enemies list.

With my head down, I can’t see what’s happening, but I hear shouts, snarls, and bodies colliding. It’s Tristan—I’m sure it is—so all I need to do is stay out of the way and wait for him to deal with Geoffrey. How close was that couch? I could hid⁠—

Hands grab my upper arms and haul me upright, and even as my ribs scream at the sudden movement, I lash out, desperate to get away.

“It’s Pierce,” a familiar voice says into my ear. “Adam, it’s Pierce.”

I stop kicking and turn my head to look at him even as he carries me dizzyingly fast across the room toward the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Wait, no! We can’t leave without Tristan.”

Despite my protest, Pierce doesn’t stop until we’re clear of the house and off the deck that was outside the windows. Standing on the grass a good four metres away from the house, he sets me down—but keeps hold of my arm.

“Don’t even think of going back in there,” he warns. “My orders were to get you safe, and he’ll already be pissed that I let you stay this close.”

“I’ll stay with you,” I promise, my gaze locked onto the brightly lit room I just left. “Thank you.” It’s hard for me to tell exactly what’s going on because of motherfucking vampire speed, but they’re definitely still fighting. Two other vampires—one of whom was our driver earlier tonight—are there as well, one by the windows, the other by the door into the corridor. They’re watching the fight with their fangs out and an intensity that makes my balls try to crawl back into my body. “Tristan’s winning, right?”

Pierce scoffs. “Of course. He’s playing with him.” He hesitates, then leans close and whispers very softly, “Are you hurt?”

I know why he’s being sneaky—if Tristan hears that I’m hurt, it could distract him. Or he could go completely ape-shit on Geoffrey, though as far as I’m concerned, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Not taking my eyes off the blurred fight, I nod slowly, and Pierce swears. “Hospital?” he whispers.

I want to say no, but I probably should check if I have a concussion. Plus, I’d really appreciate some painkillers. I don’t think Panadol and Nurofen are going to do the trick. “Probably.”

“Tristan, get it done,” he calls, as calmly as if Tristan’s filing paperwork. Not that I think Tristan’s ever filed paperwork a day in his life. Even when he was working with the Council, I’m pretty sure he had a lackey.

What the fuck am I thinking?

“Can I sit down?” My knees really don’t want to hold me up anymore, and I don’t love the idea of dangling from where Pierce is still holding my arm.

“Fuck,” he mutters, lowering me to sit on the grass. I sway a little, then lie back, turning my head so I can still see what’s happening in the house.

They’ve stopped racing around now, and Tristan has Geoffrey pressed up against a wall. There’s blood all over Geoffrey’s face, and his left arm is hanging awkwardly at his side—dislocated shoulder, probably. Those hurt like a bitch, and I smile.

Geoffrey’s shaking his head, his expression twisted—with fear? Hatred? Both? Tristan must be talking, but I’m too far to hear what he’s saying with my regular human hearing. Plus, my ears are ringing a bit. Maybe I do have a concussion. Or I could just be exhausted.

“Got time for a nap?” I ask Pierce, surprised when it comes out slurred.

“Stay awake,” he says sharply. “Tristan.”

As if in response, Tristan lifts a hand and rips out Geoffrey’s throat. Blood sprays as he tosses aside the chunk of gory flesh and steps back, and Geoffrey’s body collapses to the floor.

“Hah! See how he likes concrete.”

Tristan’s head turns our way, and even with blood splattered across his face, I can see his brows drawing together. He bends, hauls Geoffrey’s body up, and then twists his head around, yanking at the same time until it separates from his body.

Bile fills my mouth. As much as I hated Geoffrey, I didn’t need to watch that.

Tristan tosses the head to one of the other vampires and gives some orders, then grabs a blanket from the back of the couch and wipes the blood off his face and hands as he walks toward us.