Not in that alley. That attack truly hadn’t been her. She’d gone after the shifters weeks before.

But her touch hadn’t worked on them. She couldn’t kill.

She might as well be . . . human.

Emotions and needs battered her all the time. They clawed at her, threatening to rip her apart. She just wanted it all to stop.

Wanted to go back to her old life.

Not going to happen. Stop mourning, move the f**k on. Not her words. The words of another Fallen in the city, Sammael. He wasn’t exactly the comforting type. When he’d come to see her just days before, he hadn’t wasted time with false sympathy. This is your life now. Adjust or die.

Cody opened a closet and pulled out some green scrubs. She was rather surprised that he hadn’t already snuck out. He lifted the scrubs and said, “You’ll need these.”

She took the scrubs. Fine. She’d go with the shifter cop . . . for now. At the first chance she had, Marna would slip away. It was past time to leave this city. She’d go somewhere new—preferably some place that wasn’t soaked in blood. There, she’d be able to start over.

“Won’t someone notice,” she asked the question that had to be obvious, “when my body disappears?”

But Tanner just laughed. “This is New Orleans. Do you know how many bodies disappear from morgues here every day?”

And what? Cops just turned blind eyes?

So much madness. This city wasn’t for her. This life wasn’t for her.

Maybe it was time for a new life.

But first, she had to get away.

“They saw you die. You’ll have a death certificate on file,” Tanner continued. “For now, that’s all we need.”

Because the city was used to such madness. No body, no worries.

Swallowing, Marna turned away to pull on the scrubs, and she began to plan her escape.

From the shadows, he stared up at the hospital. The stark walls were bathed in the flashing lights of nearby ambulances. She was inside.

Dead?

Not her.

His hands were shoved deep in his pockets. No one glanced his way, certainly not the handful of cops who milled around the entranceway.

They all bought the story that was circulating among the ranks. A killer . . . taken out by one of their own.

According to the PD grapevine, the lady had gotten violent and attacked two officers. Only she’d been the one to end up on a stretcher as she was rushed to St. Mary’s.

Word had trickled down thirty minutes before that their suspect had died on the operating room table. Cops sure liked to gossip with anyone and everyone.

Tanner Chance hadn’t come out yet. Chance had rushed to the hospital with Marna and stood guard over her like some protective giant. Despite the news of her death, he still hadn’t shown his face.

When he’d first rushed to the hospital, the cop’s fingers had been covered in her blood. Fitting, since Tanner Chance and his brothers had always shown such a taste for violence.

He turned away from the scene. Chance wouldn’t be coming out that front exit. The cop wasn’t exactly new to this game. It didn’t matter, though. Chance wasn’t going to stop him.

Slowly, carefully, he made his way toward the small employee entrance on the far left of the building. An entrance that had stairs that led up to the general floors of the hospital, as well as a stairwell that snaked down to the morgue.

As he approached, he finally caught sight of Chance. Climbing into a black SUV, with a small figure beside him. A figure who’d tried to shove her blond hair under one of those white, cloth caps that doctors wore in operating rooms.

The vehicle’s engine growled to life and it shot out of the lot before he could even take a few steps toward them.

Escape.

Laughter slipped from him. Oh, this was going to be good.

Just how long would it be before Chance’s taste for violence showed itself again? Just how long did the lost angel have before the shifter turned on her?

Not long at all.

Pretty soon, Marna would be exactly where he wanted her, and Chance would be the one growing ice cold in a morgue. Only the shifter wouldn’t be playing some kind of possum like Marna had obviously been doing.

He’d be on his way to hell.

Streaks of dawn’s light were sliding across the sky when Tanner opened the door to his home for Marna. She hadn’t spoken much during the ride over, but once they got inside, he had a feeling the fireworks would be erupting.

He could practically feel the lady’s rage.

And her kind wasn’t exactly supposed to feel much.

The door clicked closed behind them. She walked around the foyer—okay, what would one day be the foyer. Right then, the house was a piece of crap. He knew it. The antebellum had barely survived the last storm, and the ex-owners had been more than ready to dump the place into his hands.