“What happened to me in the alley?”

Okay, if she was going to get his trust, she was obviously going to have to share with him. “I think you died.”

He laughed. The sound was bitter and hard, just like the laughter she’d heard from him a dozen times. She’d tried for years to get a real laugh from him. That hadn’t happened.

“If I died,” he asked, “then how am I breathing now?”

That was the tricky-to-explain part. “Look, Dante—”

Shouts erupted from the other room. High-pitched, desperate screams that were immediately followed by the rat-a-tat of gunfire.

They found me. Cassie’s heartbeat froze in her chest then she was the one leaping forward and grabbing Dante’s hand. “We have to go. Now.”

She yanked him, hoping he’d follow with her.

He didn’t move. Not even an inch. “I don’t run from anyone.”

Well, yes, that was true. He didn’t.

She did. When you weren’t a paranormal powerhouse, you learned to flee pretty quickly.

More screams. More blasts from guns. “If they catch me,” Cassie said, voice soft, “they won’t let me get away.”

His gaze held hers.

“If they catch you, they’re going to toss you back in a cage, and you won’t see daylight again anytime soon.” Her heartbeat seemed to thunder as loud as the gunshots. He had to believe her. “They’ll keep you in that cage, and they’ll torture you again and again.”

“How do you know this?”

She licked her dry lips. “Because that’s what they did to you before.”

His jaw hardened. “Then I think it’s time I faced these bastards.”

Wait—what? Hadn’t she been trying to sell the guy on running?

He pulled from her and rushed toward the broken door, heading right toward the sound of gunshots and screams.

As she watched him run away, her heart iced. She’d followed Dante to Chicago because she’d needed him. She’d hunted for him, searching desperately . . . and she’d led his enemies right to his side.

Dante, I’m sorry.

But he wouldn’t believe that apology. He never did.

Men wearing black ski masks had rushed inside of Taboo. The drumming music had died away, and only the screams of those still trapped in the club remained.

Most of the patrons had run away. Those wounded on the floor appeared to be mostly vampires. It seemed they were fine with walking amongst the humans these days. There were shifters, too.

Dante hadn’t felt even mild surprise when he’d seen a man shift into the form of a fox just the night before. Maybe it was because his memories were gone that he felt no surprise. It seemed that vampires and shifters were a normal part of the world.

Or at least, they felt normal to him.

“You there!” A male’s voice called out. “Stop!”

A big, black gun was pointing at his chest.

Dante. She’d said my name was Dante. The name had felt right in his mind. Just as the sexy brunette had felt right in his hands.

“Are you a human?” the voice snapped out from behind a mask. “Or a Para?”

He’d learned yesterday that Para was the slang for a paranormal being. He didn’t quite know what he was, so he just stared back at the man, not particularly feeling the urge to answer him.

“What are you?” the man demanded as he came closer.

“I’m someone you don’t want to piss off,” Dante said. A fair warning.

“That’s him,” another masked man said, his voice breaking with excitement. “The one from the video feed. He’s the one who torched that den of vampires in the alley!”

Dante stiffened.

“Holy hell,” said the fool who still had his gun pointed at Dante. “It looks like we’ve got big game today.”

“No,” Dante said very definitely. “You don’t.” He let his gaze sweep the club. Men and women were cowering under the upturned tables . . . but Paras were supposed to be stronger than that.

No one makes me cower. The knowledge was there, pushing inside him. He feared no one and nothing.

I make others fear.

“Get out of here now,” Dante told the men. “While you still have a chance at life.” He counted a dozen men in the black clothing, complete with heavy, thick vests that covered their chests. They were all armed to the teeth. He didn’t care about their weapons. He’d learned that he had a weapon of his own. One that always seemed to be at the ready.