Ryder glanced over at Sabine. “I wanted to change for her.”

Sabine . . . his Sabine . . . she was . . .

Burning?

The scent of ash and fire hadn’t come from Dante. Dante was still lying on the floor, not moving. But Sabine was burning.

We can’t change.

Her eyes had still flickered with flames when she made love with him. When she’d touched the vamp’s chest back at Bran’s Castle, he’d seen smoke drift in the air.

He’d tried to convert Sabine, but the phoenix part of her hadn’t died, not completely. Maybe it could truly never die.

And the phoenix was rising again.

“What the hell . . . ?” Malcolm’s shocked voice cried out.

“Not hell,” Ryder muttered. Sabine was his angel, and she was coming back to him. Yes.

The fire spread over her body. Burning slowly at first, then blazing hotter, higher, until he couldn’t see her at all. Just the flames. Red and gold and beautiful.

“She’s burning.” Malcolm grabbed Ryder and spun him around. He put a gun to Ryder’s chest. Ryder didn’t even bother wondering where the guy had gotten his weapon. “You’ll never have her again!” Malcolm swore.

He’d have her in minutes. Ryder smiled at him. “Wooden bullets?” Because, of course, what else would you use against a vampire?

“They’ll knock you out,” Malcolm said, snapping his teeth. “Then I’ll take your head. I won’t leave it hanging with some tendons and flesh, the way you did with me.”

The smell of smoke filled the room. The crackle of the flames grew louder. Sweet, wonderful fire. “Was that my mistake?” Ryder asked him, holding his body still. He didn’t want Malcolm focusing on Sabine now. He’d heard that the moment of change was the weakest moment for a phoenix. They were vulnerable at that time. According to old whispers he’d heard centuries ago, the only time they could be truly killed was when they burned.

Sabine was vulnerable then. And—

And Dante had wanted to kill Sabine. The phoenixes . . . they kill their own kind.

The cold suspicion iced through him. Dante had come to New Orleans in order to find Sabine. He’d been tracking her. Trying to find the perfect moment to kill her? A moment like . . . now?

But he’d snapped Dante’s neck. Hadn’t he?

“Yes,” Malcolm hissed. “That was your f**king mistake, that was—”

Ryder yanked the gun from him. Fired the wooden bullet straight into Malcolm’s heart. “Good-bye, brother.” He wouldn’t feel the grief or the rage. Not then.

And he would finish the job, but first . . .

Ryder spun around. Dante was on his feet—tricky SOB—and advancing toward the flames that enclosed Sabine. Ryder ran for him and tackled the guy. “Stay away from her!”

Dante shoved him back.

That was when he noticed Cassie was in the corner. She watched them with pain-filled eyes as blood pulsed from her neck. “S-stop,” she whispered.

Dante and Ryder rose to their feet.

“Is this what you wanted?” Ryder demanded. “To attack my woman? To kill her when she was weak?”

Dante craned his neck, popping it as he turned his head to the left and the right. “Had to see . . . wasn’t even sure if she could burn anymore . . .”

She could burn just fine.

“You’re staying away from her,” Ryder said because he wasn’t about to let anyone get close to her when she was weak.

“She’s not even going to know you.” Dante smiled at him. A hard, evil grin. “When the fire dies away, I’d say you’ve got about a five percent shot of her even remembering who you are. Do you know that? The fire can take away our memories. Leave us with nothing but ashes. She’ll see you, see your monster and just want to run from you. That is, if she doesn’t go for your throat first.”

“That’s a chance I’ll take.” Maybe she wouldn’t remember him, then, fine, he’d just make her fall for him again. This time, things would be different. She wouldn’t have to know the pain of their first meeting. She wouldn’t remember the bite or the blood or—

No.

He didn’t want any memories taken from Sabine. She deserved to have every instance in her mind, good and bad and everything in between.

Dante’s eyes narrowed as he studied Ryder. “I don’t understand you.”

Ryder shrugged. “What’s to understand?” Sabine, hurry, come back to me.

“I’ve seen you, over the centuries . . .”