And she sure as hell was staring up at him with totally clear, direct eyes.

That were actually . . . pretty damn attractive. He’d never thought about what color iris he preferred in a female. Attributes below the neck had been his sole focus when he’d been so inclined. But now?

He liked hazel eyes best. Unwavering, intelligent . . . hazel eyes that looked up at him like she was expecting him to justify the space he took up and the air he breathed by being a stand-up guy. Rather than a coldblooded killer.

“Are you okay?” the female repeated as she waved her arms in front of him like she was in a crowd and trying to get his attention.

No worries there, sweetheart, he thought as he reclosed the shutter. You could be standing in the back of a hundred thousand and I’d find you.

“Everything’s great.” He nodded around the dusty room. “All locked into place.”

The female hesitated in the doorway. Her blond-and-brown hair had frizzed up out of the ponytail she had it in, and her cheeks were flushed. Her hands were also shaking, and the instant he noticed, she crossed her arms and tucked them away.

And he wasn’t surprised as she lifted her chin.

“Downstairs, too,” she announced. “We’re fine there as well.”

Sahvage would have smiled. Under different circumstances. “Just curious. What exactly is your definition of ‘not fine.’”

“None of your business—”

“I just realized something. I don’t even know your name. Considering we’ve been all about the life and death for two nights in a row, don’t you think it’s time we make a formal acquaintance? Or are you going to tell me that’s none of my business, either.”

“Bingo.”

“I didn’t figure a strong, independent female such as yourself to be so petty.”

“I’m not—”

“So prove you can rise above me,” he drawled. “What’s your name.”

The female looked away. Looked back.

“Quite a quandary, isn’t it,” Sahvage murmured. “And you screw yourself either way, don’t you—”

“Mae,” she snapped. “My name is Mae.”

Focusing on the female’s mouth, he was tempted to ask her to say it again. Just so he could watch her lips purse.

“Now, now,” he said softly. “Was that so bad, Mae?”

As she flushed and seemed to retreat into her head, no doubt to rustle up some truly creative uses of the words “fuck” and “off,” he jumped into the tense quiet first.

“Is this where you tell me to go? Because I’m not leaving.”

Man, he liked the way her eyes sparked. “This isn’t your house.”

“Yup. I know. It’s why I knocked.”

“This isn’t your problem—”

“Oh, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” He pointed to the window he’d just looked out of. “That thing nearly killed me, too. So you’re crazy if you think I’m not involved now.”

“It’s gone. It’s . . . dead.”

“You think that entity was alive. Really.” He leaned forward. “And how do you know so much about it? I sure as shit haven’t seen a shadow like that before, and I’ve fought a lot of things—almost all of which were living, at least until I was done with them. Never faced off the likes of that. But you’ve, what, shaken its hand and introduced yourself? Traded phone numbers? Do tell.”

“We’re fine, okay. Tallah and I are fine here, together. Alone.”

“You’re willing to bet your life on that? And hers?”

The female tossed her hair over her shoulder, even though it was all pulled back. “You think you’re the only one who can save us? Thanks, I’ll pass.”

Sahvage jabbed a thumb toward the windows that faced out front. “You couldn’t hold that gun up without me—”

“You couldn’t see to shoot—”

“So we make a perfect pair.” As she huffed, he had to smile. “Now how ’bout that coffee? Great, thanks. I take mine black.”

“Just like your soul, right.”

Levity lost, Sahvage lowered his chin and stared out at her from under heavy brows. “Here’s a little tip for you.” As her hand went to the base of her throat, he thought of everything he had done in the past. “When your enemy is evil, you don’t want your shield worrying about virtue. You and that old female are not going to survive this without the likes of me.”

• • •

Two hundred years in the past, and some indeterminate time following his demise from the penetrations of many arrows, Sahvage kindled back into consciousness, the gathering of his wits calling unto him an awareness that was gradual, yet irrevocable upon its arrival: The meadow was gone, replaced with a mist that was so thick, he felt as though he was floating, even as the weight of his body registered. The scent of his fresh blood was likewise no more, and the same was true of his righteous foes with their cries of judgment and vengeance.

The one thing he cared about, the only thing that mattered . . . Rahvyn . . . was as well nowhere to be seen, heard, or sensed—

Was this a dream? Had he lived? No, that could not be true.

With confusion, he regarded the front of himself. He was in a loose white garb that he neither owned nor had any memory of dressing himself in, yet did that truly matter? What was more germane was that no shafts protruded from his chest, and, placing his hand over his heart, he breathed in and felt no congestion, no struggle for draw. There was no pain, either.

Looking about, a shiver of awareness licked down his spine as he noted the white landscape that was nothing earthly-bound. Mist . . . only mist as far as he could see. Indeed, there was no division betwixt sky and ground, no structures, no flora or fauna, and no one else around him. It was as if this odd, troubling environ had been created for him and him alone.

Following a moment of collection, he turned to the left as if called to do so.

And when he saw what was before him, dread flowed throughout his body, replacing the blood in his veins.

The door unto the Fade presented itself just as it had been described unto him by a wahlker, and he recalled the male’s words, spoken in a haunting voice: From out of the fog shall appear before you a door, and should you desire to proceed unto the other side, then open it. If you wish to stay among the living, do not lay your palm upon the latch. Once contact be made, your choice is ratified fore’ermore.

Sahvage wrapped his arms around himself, in the event his hand acted on its own provocation, without his consent or prompting. Rahvyn was down below, undefended, in the midst of a sea of males with cruelty in their hearts. She needed him to keep her safe—

The latch depressed of its own volition, and there was the unmistakable click of a lock disengaging. The portal unhinged from its jambs, opening with an inexorable force and a manner that recalled the departure of his life force down upon that meadow’s soft bed of flowers, neither volunteered for nor deniable.

“No!” he called out to the milky sky. “I shall not proceed! I refuse—”

All at once, a swirling o’ertook him, the indistinct landscape casing ’round, or mayhap it was he who was turning and churning within it. And then there was a pulling, as if he had returned unto the birthing canal, his body sucked through a narrow aperture that he could not see, but most certainly sensed, the compression squeezing the air from his lungs and compressing his ribs such that his heart could no longer beat.