Fucking now.

One ring. Two. There was only one guy who could help him. Provided, of course, that the bastard wasn’t just in the mood to stand back and watch him die. After their last encounter—one that had ended in fists and fire—there was really no telling.

But then Sammael answered his phone.

“Sam! I’m in trouble . . .” Not that Sam usually cared about that, not for anyone, but . . .

I’ll make a deal with him.

“Tomas?” There was a murmur in the background. Sounded like a woman’s voice. It figured the Fallen would be f**king.

I’d be screwing, too, if I didn’t have someone aiming for my head.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me . . .” He glanced out of the blinds again. He didn’t see anyone, yet. But he probably wouldn’t see them coming. Good hunters never showed themselves until they were ready to make the kill. “I’ve got a problem, and I don’t really care how much I have to pay, but I need some help.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I-I’m being hunted.”

There’d been some coyote shifters who’d gone after Fallen before, or, more specifically, after their angel blood. Because it was so pure, their blood was very, very powerful.

But this was different. He’d caught the scent, and he knew. “It’s one of our own,” he snapped at Sam. “One of our own is gunning for me.”

“Where are you?” Sam didn’t sound surprised or worried. Nothing new there. Emotions were supposed to hit angels when they fell to earth, but Tomas hadn’t noticed that Sam ever felt much of anything—other than boredom.

“Anahuac.” He’d been sinning his way through most of Mexico. What was the point of falling if you couldn’t enjoy some sin? “At a rundown dump of a motel three miles from the main cantina. Are you in New Orleans? Are you—”

“I’m in Laredo. I can be there to meet you in a few hours.”

Something thudded into his door. Something very hard and very big.

His hand clenched around the phone. “I don’t think I’ve got that long.”

The door began to splitter apart.

I don’t have any time at all. The devil was already at his door.

The line went dead. Sam stared down at his phone. He’d known Tomas was in Mexico, but the Fallen didn’t exactly move with the times. Having a cell phone would have been too much to ask of Tomas . . . Maybe next time you’ll buy a phone so I can warn you when a psychotic bastard is picking us off.

If there was a next time.

He glanced at Seline. “We’ve got to go.”

Seline’s delicate face was tense. “Another Fallen?”

Sam nodded. “And Tomas knows that he’s being hunted.” Which meant they didn’t have much time. Judging by the way that call had ended—not much time at all.

They dressed and ran for the door. Sam spared only one glance for the heavens above him. Blood-red.

Sailors thought that sign mistakenly meant a storm was coming.

It really meant an angel was dying. You could always see the blood in the sky before it hit the ground.

He jumped on the motorcycle. Seline wrapped her arms around him.

I’m coming, Tomas.

But he was afraid he wouldn’t be fast enough.

CHAPTER TEN

More demons met them in Anahuac. One man, one woman—both with matching grim expressions carved on their faces.

Sam pulled into the dusty motel parking lot. The guy seemed to have connections all over Mexico, connections that he used without even the slightest hesitation. The demons had guided them to the motel. It seemed they’d heard screams but had arrived too late.

Too late.

The place appeared deserted, probably not a good sign. No other cars were in the lot, and the door to the motel’s main entrance swayed drunkenly in the breeze. It looked like even the desk clerk had cut and run.

Seline walked slowly toward room 12. The door had been busted down. Shards of wood littered the ground. She stepped over the wood and crept just inside the entranceway. The room itself was a total wreck. Furniture smashed. Bed overturned. Mattress slashed.

But no dead Fallen.

No Fallen at all.

“You think he left willingly?” One of the demons asked from behind her.

Seline’s gaze darted around the chaos of the room. “Doubtful,” she muttered. But this wasn’t like the other scenes. The victims hadn’t been taken away. They’d been slaughtered where they stood.

Sam had entered the room seconds before her, and now he crouched near the window. His fingers were smoothing over what looked like deep grooves in the floor.