Payback.

Jon stared up at him, eyes wide and lost.

“When you rise,” Dante rasped out, “I will be here. And I will destroy you. You won’t come back ever again.”

The life drained from Jon’s eyes.

Dante grabbed for Cassie. His eyes were burning, but not from the fire. From tears that were coming—coming up from the phoenix who would not let his mate vanish. He would not—

A gunshot blasted.

He felt the bullet tunnel through his back, then it ripped from his chest.

Cassie hadn’t opened her eyes.

He was falling . . . dropping down on top of her because Zura had shot him. Killed him, before he could save Cassie. If he didn’t heal her before he rose, his fire would take her.

And there would be nothing left.

His own eyes closed, and he thought, hoped—fucking prayed—that the tear drop would fall before he died.

Then he felt arms yanking on him, pulling him away from Cassie.

No.

His hands clamped around her, and his face brushed against hers.

She loved him. Screwed up, twisted monster that he was, Cassie loved him.

He wasn’t going to give up on her. Never.

He kicked out, his foot slamming into something soft.

I would cry for you, Cassie. I would bleed, beg, kill, and damn well die for you.

The secret he’d held so long, the one he’d been afraid to reveal—when he feared nothing else—was that he didn’t remember her each time just because they were mates.

It wasn’t about biology. About her being a siren and him being a phoenix.

It was about a man and a woman.

About love.

He’d loved her for years, and the memory of love—that was the only thing that could always get through the fire.

They were both dead.

Cassie. And the big, tough-looking bastard who’d tried to save her.

Dead.

Vaughn craned his neck, trying to see them. They were on the floor. It looked like the one Shaw had called Dante was holding Cassie, even in death.

Shaw was trying to pull Dante’s body off Cassie’s.

Not working. The woman wasn’t physically strong, no matter what crazy mojo she could do with her voice.

Dante made sure he couldn’t hear her. When he couldn’t hear her, she couldn’t control him. That bastard had played hard when he’d driven the scalpel into his own ears.

Smoke began to rise.

Shaw was standing above Vaughn, and she looked . . . scared.

Why? Everyone else was dead. What did she have to fear? Vaughn was strapped. Weak from blood loss, and, unless he missed his guess, about to join all of the others in death.

“When I free you, do exactly as I order. You don’t attack me.”

He hated her voice, even as it seemed to wrap around him like a dark temptation.

She disengaged the straps. Blisters were on her arms. “Drag Dante away from Cassie. If that fool actually cried for her . . . No—no, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”

It looked like the guy had died for her.

Vaughn rolled off the table. Hit the floor. His blood splattered everywhere. But he was helpless to refuse her orders.

When she spoke, she controlled.

So I have to stop her from speaking.

He caught Dante’s leg. Pulled him.

Cassie’s eyes were closed. Her chest didn’t rise.

And the smoke wasn’t coming from Dante. The smoke was coming from the other guy. Jon. Great.

He dropped Dante.

“Now pick up that stake, and stab it in your heart,” Shaw ordered.

He turned toward the stake, the one the bitch had oh, so conveniently left on the table. The lady had planned well, he’d give her that, but from the sound of things, she’d been planning revenge for one very long time.

His gaze slid to Cassie. Had her chest just moved? It looked like her lips had parted, but maybe he’d imagined that.

Then he heard voices. Shouting.

Coming from outside in the hallway.

“I want my son!”

His father’s voice. Breaking with emotion. It had been so long since Vaughn had seen his father.

His last memory of him, the last clear memory was from the night he’d been bitten.

I think I tried to kill him.

“Damn humans,” Shaw muttered. “Time to kill them all. Vampire, let’s have some fun.”

He knew he wasn’t going to like her idea of fun.

“Come with me.”

He turned away from the stake. The room’s doors had been blown away by Dante, and he followed her outside like a damn sheep to the slaughter.

And there was his father. A guard had a gun shoved into his dad’s back. A boy—maybe around fourteen—stood beside him, and there was another man, with thin blond hair, a guy who was trying to shield the boy.