He jerked a hand over his face. “The cabin’s isolated,” he said as he paced to the window. The isolation would work against them now that they’d been found.

One road in.

One road out.

They wouldn’t be able to use the Jeep to escape. And with a helicopter watching from above, it would be even harder to ditch their pursuers.

He turned toward Cassie. “They’re closing us in.”

She hurried toward him. “There’s supposed to be a motorcycle hidden in the shed behind the cabin. We can get it, then cut across the mountain.” She hesitated, then muttered, “Or we can try to. I don’t actually know how to drive a motorcycle.”

Didn’t matter. They’d figure out the how—hell, maybe it would be one of those things that he “knew” how to do. The bike was an escape option. He caught her hand, and they flew down the stairs to the back door.

The beat of the helicopter’s blades grew louder. The flash of lights lit up the cabin.

Dante yanked open the door and saw the helicopter touching down. Air rushed against him, blowing hard as the blades whipped around. It looked like half a dozen SUVs were driving into the area, too.

He ducked, held tight to Cassie, and ran as fast as he could. They hadn’t been spotted. Not yet. Not—

Dante lifted his leg and kicked open the shed door. They hurried inside. Cassie grabbed a tarp and tossed it to the ground. He saw the long, hard lines of the motorcycle then, and climbed on. Cassie jumped on behind him.

They were pinned in the lights before he could even start the cycle. Lights that were too bright as they focused right on him and Cassie, nearly blinding him for a moment.

“Get off the motorcycle!” a voice shouted.

Dante felt Cassie tense behind him.

“Get off the bike and get away from the woman!” the same voice ordered.

Screw that. “Get out of my way.” Dante had the motorcycle growling and lunging forward.

Huh, so he did know how to drive a motorcycle.

There were more shouts then a hail of bullets slammed into the motorcycle. It looked like those guys weren’t in the mood to play nice.

Fine. He wasn’t exactly in a nice mood, either.

As the motorcycle flew out of the shed, Dante let his rage build. The fire crackled through his veins and burst from his fingertips. It was a round swirling ball that grew and grew. He lifted his hand, ready to toss the flames at their attackers.

He got his first look at the line of men who’d come out to surround the shed. They were all wearing heavy, white uniforms and masks—they almost looked like they were astronauts as they lifted their weapons and took aim.

I’ll take aim, too.

But he heard Cassie whisper, “Fireproof,” right before his flames flew toward the men.

They didn’t burn.

Hell.

He revved the engine. If his flames wouldn’t push them back, he’d drive right over the jerks.

“If you don’t stop, we’ll shoot you both!” It was that same voice, calling out from the line of men in white. “You’ll come back, but will the woman be so lucky?”

He counted a dozen guns aimed at him.

Cassie’s hold tightened on him. “Go, Dante. Don’t worry about me, just . . . go.”

Because she could heal? She had healed before, but what if a bullet hit her in the head? The heart? Would she—could she—heal from an injury like that?

“Go!” Cassie yelled. “They’re not going to shoot me!”

But she was wrong. They were firing at them. He bent low and chose the weakest link he could find in that sea of white then drove forward fast and hard.

The man screamed as Dante bore down on him. Screamed and shot. A bullet drove into Dante’s chest. One ricocheted off the motorcycle. Another sank into his shoulder.

Dirt flew up around the motorcycle. People were yelling. The helicopter’s blades were spinning and sending the air rushing against him.

“Aim for the motorcycle!” It was that same shouting voice. The man who had to be in charge. The man that Dante wanted to rip apart.

Instead . . . he sent a ball of flames flying back at their attackers as the motorcycle raced toward the trees. They were close. Once they made it inside that sweeping band of trees, their pursuers would have a hard time catching up to them.

He tightened his hold on the handlebars, fighting to keep the bike steady.

A bullet sank into the front tire.

Then another hit the back.

The motorcycle spun out of control. Cassie’s arms weren’t around him anymore. He tried to grab for her, but was thrown from the bike, too. His body flew through the air even as Cassie’s scream seemed to echo in his ears.