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“Your father tells me you have a problem. What can I do to help you out?”

Scott leaned forward. I shoved away the empty feeling when he dropped his arm.

“I know you’re privy to a lot of military intel. Do you know anything about an installation in Western Mass? One concerned with avoiding public scrutiny—especially from arcane surveillance.”

Red swigged from the longneck bottle, chugging half its contents in one swoop. “Whether I do or not, that’s classified information. Could be worth more than just my pension to tell you anything.”

My mouth opened to retort, but Scott’s hand on my knee stopped me. “We’re trying to avoid another war here, Red.”

The other man’s brow furrowed and he tapped the bottle idly. “Like the Gulf Wars, son?”

“No, more like the Great W—Time of Troubles, I guess you call it. Only worse.”

Red snorted. “How could it get worse than that undeclared disaster? Thousands of mortals dead, not to mention hundreds of your people, the complete destruction of the Sidhe…” His voice trailed away when he noticed something in either our postures or expressions. He flattened both palms on the ~ wooden table. “You know.”

“Know what?” Scott’s hand squeezed, but I kept my question short and sweet.

“About the breeding program.”

My boots (no way was I going to wear sneakers to a club, even a honky-tonk joint) slammed against the floor and I was halfway to shifting before Scott’s arm crushed me to his body and he whispered, “Not here!” in an urgent voice. My breath whooshed out as I forced myself to back away from the edge separating mortal form from immortal.

He turned his attention back to Cowboy Curtis. “I think the more interesting thing here is that
you
know. How did your government expect to get away with this bullshit?”

Red waved a hand in the air. “Don’t misunderstand, Scott. When I say you know, I assume you found proof of something most of us in the military only suspect. That a branch of the Forces experimented on arcane prisoners of war some time back.”

I couldn’t hold back my anger this time. “Is .that what they call snatching arcane citizens off the streets these days? Taking prisoners of
war?”

His bottle clinked to the table so hard it almost shattered. “Now hold on here. The program I’m talking about

was launched halfway through the Troubles and disbanded once the Accord was reached. They never had much success anyway. Are you suggesting someone’s still running it?”

“I’m more than suggesting it, cowboy. They abducted a sister Fury of mine as well as a literal sister of Scott’s. Not to mention the Sidhe they’re holding captive.”

“Fuck me.”

“No thanks,” I responded without thinking, then flushed when both men glanced at me. “Sorry. Habit.”

Scott patted my hand. “Spending too much time at the PD, Riss.” His expression grew more serious.

“She’s right, Red. They have Amaya, and we’ve already confirmed they have at least one Fury and an unknown number of Sidhe. And their program isn’t just breeding them.”

Red’s fingers clenched around his bottle.

“They’re cloning them.”

“Jesus.” His voice shook. “That’s wrong on so many levels I can’t even begin to count them.”

“Not to mention illegal,” I added dryly.

“That, too. All right, I’ll help however I can. If word of this gets out . .

“Exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”
For now,
I added under my breath. No telling how long we’d be able to keep the truth buried once we rescued our sisters and the Sidhe.

Scott asked him a few questions, and he launched into a discussion about the potential man-and-firepower we could face if coming up against a rogue group of mortal militants. I listened as raptly as Scott—I had never really gone up against mortal combatants en masse before. My skin tingled as adrenaline washed through me. The challenge of this could actually be fun...

Then I remembered just what was at stake, and my eagerness dampened. People were going to die, no doubt about that. Mortal and immortal alike. Possibly Scott,

possibly me, possibly the very ones we were rushing in to save. Best for everyone if I remembered that and kept a tight grip on my Rage.

Scott excused himself to hit the men’s room. A song more my style—as much rock ‘n’ roll as country

—began blaring from nearby speakers. Red noticed my body bopping to the beat and grinned. He maneuvered himself out
of the booth and held out a hand. “C’mon and dance with me, little darlin’.”

Something reckless flared inside, and I found myself grinning back. No sense wasting the night’s first halfway decent song, especially since it was way too late to start searching for secret mortal military installations. “All right.”

He wrapped his powerful arms around me and whirled us onto the wooden dance floor. Other couples danced in complicated footwork I couldn’t have duplicated without a handbook, but Red started me off with something simpler. After a half minute of paying careful attention to his instructions, I was soon two-stepping well enough to avoid making a fool of myself. And I had to admit, it was actually kind of fun.

“So, you’re the one that got away.”

I blinked. “Ah, sorry?”

He nodded toward the restrooms. “The one who broke my godson’s heart.”

I missed a step, but he made up for it and we didn’t careen into any of the other couples. Crap. I hadn’t realized Red and Scott were so close. “I’m not sure what he told you—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna bite your head off or anything. It takes two to tango—ha—and I’m sure you had good reasons for what you did. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t planning any repeat performances.”

It became easier to move my feet and legs to the beat of the music without conscious thought, so I was able to real]’ think about his words. “I’m not planning to, no. But I can’ guarantee you a happy ending, either.”

His lips spread in a genuine smile. “Nobody can do that darlin’. And long as you’re not playing with my boy over there, that’s just fine with me. ‘Sides, I’m starting to like you, and it’d be a shame to have to kill you.”

I faltered again, but then he winked and my pulse slowed. “You’re a very brave man, Red.”

He arched a brow, revealing where Scott had learned the fine art of brow-raising. “And why is that?”

“Not too many mortals would joke about something like that with a Fury.”

“Who says I’m joking?”

My eyes widened and my mouth opened to speak, but a hand tapped my shoulder insistently. I turned my head and saw a man even taller and burlier than Red, garbed in similar cowboy gear and wearing a smirk every bit as obnoxious as Zalawski’s.

“Take a seat, old man.”

My mouth gaped even farther. Had I walked right into

a country song cliché? Still, I wasn’t worried. Red would tell the punk to move on and then we’d—

“All right. My arthritis is acting up anyway.”

Red spun me into the stranger’s arms before I could

react. I threw a glare over my shoulder, staring at his receding back and trying to figure out what the hell kind of game he was playing. And then I saw Scott approaching from the restroom, and I had to bite back a grin.
Sneaky, sneaky man.
He
wanted
the night to take a spin toward cliché. Earlier recklessness flared anew, and I let the redneck twirl me around the dance floor. He wasn’t nearly as graceful as Red and managed to smash both my feet several times beneath his steel-toed boots. I hadn’t even realized cowboys wore steel-toed boo..

Something about that seemed odd. I sneaked a peek at the goon’s feet, and sure enough. He wasn’t wearing cowboy boots like every other man in the place. His feet were clad in combat boots. Military-issue combat boots. I threw a glance over my shoulder again and caught sight of Red pointing the now-frowning Scott in our direction. And that’s when I noticed the seven men and women wearing combat boots closing in on them.
Shit!
We’d been found.

The fact that they were willing to attack us in a crowded mortal bar spoke of their desperation. And if they were that desperate, people were going to start dying a lot earlier than I’d thought. My mind raced as I sought a course of action that would lead to the least amount of bloodshed.

Since there was only one goon on me, he was obviously intended to serve as a distraction while the bulk of his colleagues took out Red and Scott. I had to act fast.

We spun close .to the ladies’ room, and I stumbled. “Oh, no, I think I’m gonna puke.” I pulled myself from his greasy grasp, and his eyes widened at my display of strength. He’d allowed himself to think I was just another ordinary woman. Idiot.

His eyes followed me like a hawk, but I caught him glancing at his partners before the restroom door swung shut behind me. He let his body relax, no doubt thinking this was even better than him spinning me around the room. Less danger of me catching sight of what they were doing from inside the restroom.

The ladies’ room was fortunately empty. I shifted the moment the door thudded shut, reveling in the play of magic across my skin, smiling when Nemesis and Nike burst into life and wrapped around my arms.

“Ready to dance, ladies?” They hissed in agreement. “First we need to clear the place out.”

A smoke alarm rested in the ceiling just above the middle stall. I called to the magic lying far below, gathered it above my extended palm, and manipulated it into the form I needed it to take: fire. I stretched onto tiptoe, reaching my arm as far as it would go. Not quite far enough. I siphoned magic through the girls and increased the amount of flame. It burned dangerously hot above my hand, but I ignored the pain.

Come
on.
This
has
to work!

One more burst of power, and thick smoke billowed toward the alarm. A few seconds later and the alarm began blaring angrily. Another few seconds, and the club’s outdated sprinkler system kicked into effect.

I couldn’t help a squeal as cold water soaked me immediately. Nemesis and Nike were none too pleased, but they didn’t protest vocally. Screams echoed outside the restroom and I heard the pounding of feet as people stampeded toward the exit. Good. Ass-kicking time.

I fought down the thrill of fear that always preceded my rushing into battle (hey, I’m a Fury, not a moron), allowing Rage to wash it away. A healthy dose of fear might be a good thing in most situations, but too much of it would kill you.

The odor of wet wood and fabric met my nostrils when I burst out Of the ladies’ room~ I wrinkled my nose, eyes zeroing in on Red and Scott. They circled, back to back, at the center of the dance floor, all seven of their opponents darting back and forth, swiping at them with wicked-looking knives. That took care of one worry: no guns. They’d been planning to slit our throats and slip out in the confusion.

My dance partner spun seconds after I emerged, expression darkening when he saw me in Fury form.

His hand flicked toward his waistband but my foot lashed out, connecting against his hand with a loud crunch. He grasped his injured hand with the other and fell to his knees, grunting in pain. Leaving him to writhe wasn’t an option. The moment I passed him to get to the others, he’d be on my back and bringing me down. I channeled a trickle more Rage to do what was necessary. These people were neither innocent nor civilians. They were soldiers.

After breaking his neck cleanly, I jogged toward the

dance floor, slipping and sliding but managing to keep my feet. Scott saw me coming, so he went into berserker mode to keep his opponents distracted. Unfortunately, he was way too successful. All seven goons advanced on him, blades flashing. No way I was gonna get there in—

Red dropped to his feet and rolled, taking out four of

them like bowling pins. Scott closed in with the others, blades whirring and silver flashing as they moved in an intricately deadly dance. His savior was in trouble, however. All four of Red’s attackers were kicking him while he was down. Literally. Red curled his body in a fetal position, hands protecting his face, but he wouldn’t last long.

My heart thudded painfully when two of Scott’s remaining opponents managed to get hold of him and the third, a wild-eyed woman, began beating the shit out of him. I could help either Red or Scott, but not both. Rage grabbed me in a chokehold at the choice forced upon me. Either I could save the man I loved and let the mortal who had tried to rescue him die, or I could save the mortal and watch my ex-lover be killed. Unless...

No more Ms. Nice Fury. I channeled the Rage churning beneath the surface rather than suppressing it as usual. Nemesis and Nike hissed in pleasure. They raised their heads into the air, hoods flared and tongues flickering, and bathed in the hot flood of chaotic magic 1 let loose.

The spell was an ancient one, a terrible one, one we Furies rarely unleashed. A visible line of black energy spread out from my raised arms toward the seven men and women in front of me. They sensed it coming for them and tried to run, but it was too late. They’d sealed their dooms the moment they’d accepted a contract on a Fury.

We called this spell Raging Justice because it was born of both. It spread out from a Fury in a large radius but acted in an extremely specific manner. The only people it would touch were those who had violence on their minds, violence toward a Fury. And it would do to them exactly as they planned to do to her. An eye for an eye.

Invisible blows ripped through their flesh, raining death from the black line of magic that separated them from me. They collapsed, instantly dead, fortunate that the magical death Raging Justice spread was much more merciful than they had any right to expect. Even torturers were spared the agony they inflicted on their victims, because nothing could be gained by visiting onto them what they brought onto their victims. But, oh, sometimes it was tempting...

Of course, one major downside to the spell (other than the inevitable guilt it brought, later if not sooner) was that it not only took an insane amount of magic, but also borrowed from the Fury’s own life essence. If a Fury cast it a second time too close to the first, she would die as surely as those she unleashed it against. It also required active membership in the Sisterhood.