It was pretty frickin' obvious that there would be no reasoning with him--even if she took form right next to his ear and screamed into his brain, she knew there was no derailing him. He was all animal as he faced off at his enemy, his fangs bared like a lion's, his body arching forward like he was going to pile-drive the guy.
Pretty good bet that he was going to die if he didn't take cover, but he didn't seem to care and the why was clear: His bonding scent was louder than any noise he could have made with his throat, the dark spice a roar that overcame every other smell, from the city's body odor to the river's sweat to the lesser stench that was wafting up from Lash's rotting body.
Standing in the gritty alley, John was the primordial male protecting his female--and everything she hadn't wanted in this situation for precisely this reason: Clearly, his personal safety meant nothing to him, his objective overriding all his common sense and specific training.
Bottom line? He wasn't going to be able to survive whatever energy ball Lash was palming up . . . and that reality shifted everything in her world.
New plan. No cloaking anymore for her. No disable, disarm, dismember. No extraction of pain for the agony she had been through, no Jack the Ripper routine.
As she took form and lunged at Lash, it was about saving John, not avenging herself. Because when it came down to it? Turned out John was the only thing that mattered to her.
She tackled Lash around the waist at the very moment he started to throw his ball of knock-down, and though she took him to the ground with her, he managed to course-correct his aim . . . and hit John square in the chest.
The impact blew her male off the pavement, sweeping him up and back, all but blowing him out of his boots.
"You fucking bastard!" she screamed into Lash's stripped face.
The son of a bitch's arms snapped around her, locking on with incredible strength. And as he flipped her around and pinned her to the pavement beneath him, his breath was hot and foul on her face.
"Gotcha," he sneered, grinding his hips into hers, his erection enough to make her sick.
"Fuck you!" With a quick jerk, she nailed him right in the . . . well, what passed for a nose . . . with a head butt that had him howling.
Unfortunately, she didn't get another clean shot as they struggled for control, rolling around, their legs intertwining, that horrible arousal of his pushing at her. He managed to snag one of her wrists, but at least she kept the other one out of his way.
Which meant when the time was right, she was able to reach between them, grab his balls, and twist them so hard, if it hadn't been for his pants, she'd have broken the fuckers off.
Lash wheezed out a curse and went rigid, proving that he might have been a demigod on the dark side, but he was pretty fucking mortal when it came to taking a hit in the jewels.
Now she was the one in control of the ground game, spinning him over onto his back and straddling him. "Got you," she snapped at him.
As she held him down, rage got the better of her--instead of stabbing him outright, she gripped him around the neck and squeezed the air out of his throat.
"You don't fuck with what's mine," she growled at him.
Lash's ugly-ass puss went vicious pissed and somehow his voice emanated up even with the lock she had on his larynx. "He's already been fucked good. Or didn't he tell you about that human who--"
Xhex cuffed the SOB so hard, she took a tooth with her on the follow-through. "Don't you dare go there--"
"I'll go anywhere the fuck I want, sweetheart."
With that, he ghosted on her, dissolving into nothing--but that didn't last. An instant later, she was taken from behind, grabbed, and pulled up hard against his body. In the still seconds that followed, she had a brief impression of the humans who were moaning on the asphalt, and then she was swung around and used as a shield as she and Lash faced the Brothers.
Her eyes didn't waste time checking her team's positions behind the Mercedes or measuring what weapons were pointed in her and Lash's direction.
John was the only thing that mattered.
And thank God, the Scribe Virgin . . . or whoever granted mercies . . . that he was sitting up and shaking off whatever strobe-light nightmare had ass-over-elbowed him.
At least he was alive.
She was probably not going to survive this, but John . . . he was going to live. Provided she got herself and Lash out of here.
"Take me," she hissed to the bastard. "Just take me and leave them."
There was a whisper of metal against metal and then a switchblade appeared in front of her face, the blade flashing right next to her eye--so close, she could make out the inscription of the manufacturer's name.
"You like to get real personal with your kills." Lash's voice was so not right, the distortion in it making his words ripple in her ear. "I know this because of what you did to that fool Grady. Gave him one hell of a last meal--wonder if he liked sausage in life as much as he did in death?"