She had work to do. People who were counting on her down in Mississippi. Cassie knew that if she didn’t get back to them, they’d die.

Or . . . they’d kill.

“Let me go!”

But Jon didn’t let her go. “Couldn’t do this the easy way, could you? Sorry, baby, but I don’t have any drugs to give you.”

Good. That would mean that she could keep fighting him. She punched him.

He punched her right back with a punch that had a whole lot more strength than hers. The blow staggered her. When she stumbled, Jon lifted her into his arms. “Get that chopper moving!” he yelled.

The wind beat against her. The whoop-whoop-whoop filled the air again.

But she still heard the roar of fury quite clearly. They all did. As that roar shook the night, everyone seemed to freeze for a moment.

She lifted her head, fighting to see Dante. She knew that roar had come from him.

She’d heard him make the same sound before. Or, rather, she’d heard the phoenix make that sound.

But Jon was shoving her into the helicopter. Holding her down.

“Get us out of here!” he snarled to the pilot.

Her gaze flew over his shoulder.

The flames had died down, fallen just enough for her to see that Dante was standing strong. His shoulders were bare—the fire always burned away his clothes—and he was striding forward.

He was looking at the helicopter.

At her.

“Dante!” She had to get to him. If she didn’t stop him, he’d rage out of control.

But Jon’s hold on her wasn’t loosening.

“Dammit, he’ll kill them!” Cassie cried.

Dante’s fire was racing out and following the fleeing men in their not-so-phoenix-proof suits.

Jon frowned. “You’re the mission, not them.”

The helicopter was rising into the air.

Dante ran toward her. Faster.

“Don’t kill them!” she screamed. “Dante, pull the fire back! Pull it back!”

He was still running. The flames were burning.

She had to get out of that helicopter.

“Hold her!” Jon snapped.

Hard hands grabbed her—one of his men? She was shoved against one of the helicopter’s seats. Held down.

Jon lifted his gun and fired. Six shots. In fast succession. “That’ll buy the men on the ground some time.”

She knew what he’d done.

Six shots. Jon had always been such a damn fine shot.

“Three to the heart,” Jon said. “Three to the head.”

Her lips trembled, but she lifted her chin. “He’ll come back.”

“Doesn’t he always?” Jon glanced down at her. “But he won’t be able to find you. Hell, maybe we’ll be lucky, and he won’t remember you at all.”

She was buckled into a seat then. Jon was beside her. Her body ached and throbbed, but that pain didn’t matter.

The thing that hurt the worst?

Her heart seemed to have been carved right out of her chest.

She was afraid that he was right. Dante wouldn’t find her. Despite her hopes, hell, he probably wouldn’t remember her at all.

While she could never forget him.

The helicopter turned, circling around, and she stared down below. A circle of fire surrounded him, showing his splayed body. He’d fallen so that he stared straight up at the sky. He wasn’t moving at all.

But she knew that, soon enough, he would be.

Please, please, remember me.

Without him, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to escape.

The fire swept around him. The flames were like voices. Laughing. Mocking. Burning.

He felt claws dig into his skin. White-hot knives that cut and tore as he fought his way out of hell.

He couldn’t stay in the fire. There was something he needed.

Something he had to have.

He shouted as the flames spun around him. Dante fought his way through that fire, determined to get to—

Her.

The flames flickered, and he rose to his feet. The fire was burning beneath his skin, clawing him from the inside, but he took a step forward.

Another.

He could hear the distant whir of a helicopter.

They’d taken her on the helicopter.

The memories were there. Strong and sharp. He could see her face. The delicate beauty. The stark fear that she’d felt as that bastard had taken her away.

A fatal mistake.

The man would die for that.

Dante looked up into the air and saw only the stars. The helicopter was gone.

His Cassandra was gone.

But every memory that he’d ever had—so many lifetimes—those memories were back.