“Can you draw him?” Riley asked. “If you can do a solid sketch, I can tug some lines. I’ve got a contact or two who could run face recognition. We could get lucky.”

“I can draw him, the bird, the room, all of it. Believe me, it’s imprinted.”

“I’ll get your sketchbook.”

When Sawyer started to get up, Bran waved a hand. Sasha’s sketchbook and pencils appeared on the table.

“Saves time.”

“Yeah, it does.” Sawyer sat again.

“He looked successful, sophisticated.” Steadier now, Sasha began to sketch. “Innocent isn’t the word that comes to mind, though Annika has a strong point. About six feet, I’d say, athletic build. Not like Doyle, but fit. Even before he drank, there was an edge about him, a calculation, a hard look in his eyes.”

Strong cheekbones, straight jaw, a narrow blade of nose, a sharply defined mouth. A rich wave of hair.

Even before she’d finished, Riley looked up from the sketch, met Sawyer’s eyes. Saw the same recognition.

“Fucking Malmon,” she said.

“Andre fucking Malmon, and he’s no innocent bystander.” Sawyer pushed to his feet.

He remembered, too well, the near miss in Morocco. If he hadn’t been quick enough, he’d be dead, his throat slit ear to ear.

“How the hell did she hit on him? On Malmon?”

Though Riley shrugged, her gaze went hard. “Like calls to like.”

“You’re sure?” Doyle demanded.

“Dead sure. Screw coffee. Get us a beer, Sawyer. Malmon hooked up with the queen of the damned. Yeah, she forged a weapon, as prophesied.”

“Whatever she made him, I don’t see how it can be much worse than the original.” Sawyer set beers on the table.

“But he was human—” Annika began.

“Depends on your definition.” Riley grabbed a beer. “He’s cold-blooded as a snake, kills for sport and profit, steals for the hell of it. And he hunts any kind of game there is. Including human.”

“I thought that was urban legend.”

Riley shook her head at Sawyer. “Don’t count on it. My intel is, every three years he holds a tournament. His own Most Dangerous Game. People cruel enough, bored enough, rich enough, pay him five mil to hunt for a week on some island he has off the coast of Africa. A dozen people as prey. At the end of the week, the one with the most kills gets a trophy. A freaking trophy.”

“But this isn’t . . . human.”

“That’s right.” In agreement, Riley lifted her beer toward Annika. “So let’s not worry about helping him out of his contract. He’ll come for us, and he’s smart, he’s skilled. He won’t come alone.”

“He has his own team of mercenaries,” Sawyer confirmed. “The kind who’d gut a baby for pay. Sorry,” he said immediately when Annika gasped. “We all need to know what’s coming.”

“He’s got mercs. We’ve got more.” Doyle opted for a beer after all. “We took out what she threw at us on Corfu. We’ll take out what comes now.”

“But . . .” Sasha set down her pencil, picked it up again. “It’s different, isn’t it? We killed creatures, things she’d created, unnatural things. We’re talking about people.”

“You’re going to have to get over that. An enemy’s an enemy.”

“Doyle’s right.” Bran laid a hand over Sasha’s. “We have no choice in this. He knows what Riley is, and Annika. He wouldn’t kill them, not at first, it seems to me.”

“Sold to the highest bidder.” Voice sharp, Riley took a long drink. “Same with Doyle, most likely. Think of the hours of fun he’d have with someone who can’t die. That’s a sadist’s dream date.”

“I don’t understand,” Annika began, but Sasha stood.

“Dark called to dark, and it answered. Promises given, taken, in blood. What she made him gives him more, and gives her more. He is her creature now, the man and the beast. The hunt begins and ends with human blood. Black magicks drink, white magicks burn. Between, the star waits to gather and light in the hands of the pure. Through the battle and the pain, through the water, of the water. Courage, sons and daughters, though the snake strikes. Risk all for all, and prevail.”

Sasha sat again, caught her breath. “Wow.”

“I’ll say. Want that something stronger now?” Riley asked her.

“No, that was strong enough.”

“Seems like the seer has spoken.” Riley lifted her beer again. “Buck up, team. Bran’s going to make us some fire, and we’re going to burn Nerezza’s ass again, and that bastard Malmon’s while we’re at it.”

“Then I’d suggest everyone get some sleep.” Doyle stood up. “We start combat training at dawn. It may take him a few days to select his own team, to get here and set up, to come at us. We’ll bloody well be ready.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Annika didn’t like the new training. It held a meanness, like the guns. Striking each other, throwing each other to the ground. How to slash or stab someone with a knife.

She wanted to say no, as she had with the gun, no, she would not. But she knew she must. Bran couldn’t make her a magick weapon for this.