Wilder scrabbled to his feet, jaws snapping as he lunged for Archer. The blond hound feinted left and then right, avoiding claws and teeth in a quick, violent dance.

She’d started this by feigning helplessness too well. Perhaps later, when they were all safe, she’d beat Wilder black and blue for underestimating her. For now she had to keep them all alive.

Slipping her hand back into her bag, she slumped forward a little more to cover her movement as she began winding the crank again. Loading the chemicals while Nathaniel struggled to drag her up the stairs as slowly as possible had been a far greater challenge to her dexterity, but the rough sounds of the fight made it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

Instead of giving in to the temptation to peek at Wilder, she chanced a glance at Lowe instead. The vampire had leaned forward slightly in his chair, a look of abject delight on his features as he watched the bloodhounds battle against one another. He’d underestimated her as well—and Nathaniel too.

“He’s summoning me. I’m to bring you to him. Take the gun and shoot me now, Satira, or I’ll have to take you there. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“I’m not shooting you, Nathaniel. I didn’t ride up and down the Deadlands with Wilder fucking Harding so I could shoot you.”

She closed her eyes and blocked out the sounds of the battle, concentrating on the winding mechanism on the sun-sphere. The vampire was strong, so the weapon had to be primed for its highest setting.

Strong, but not smart.

“Damn it, Satira, this isn’t a game.”

“Of course it is. It’s the game I’ve always played best. You watched me do it to Levi for years. Find the loophole, Nathaniel.”

Her fingers trembled. A roar sounded from behind her, Wilder’s roar, with pain and rage mixed into a single, heartrending sound. She should have given him a sign, some indication that she wasn’t hurt. That she had a plan.

“There’s no loophole. I have to bring you upstairs. To him.”

“Did he tell you I couldn’t bring anything with me?”

She tried to twist the crank. It resisted, just enough that she knew much more could damage the coil.

She slid her fingers to the top, where a tiny ring sat between the funnel holes. Pulling it up would collapse the barriers between the chemicals and start the electric current. Sunlight, in the palm of her hand.

If she did it now, Nathaniel would die along with Lowe.

“Once we’re close enough, pull the pin, Satira. Don’t wait.”

“I’ll do it.”

She’d lied.

Easing her hand away from the sphere, she groped for the modified rounds that she’d slipped from her gun and tucked in her bag. They wouldn’t kill Nathaniel, but they’d burn him—and shock his system just long enough to shake his compulsion. I’m sorry, Nathaniel.

She curled her hand around two small glass capsules and pulled them from the bag, then took a deep breath. Before she could second-guess herself, she whipped her body around and slammed the glass against his temple, shattering them both in a flash of artificial light.

He didn’t cry out as he stumbled away, and his silence bought her a single extra second before Lowe’s head swiveled around. Before the frozen and slumbering ghouls surrounding her sprang to life.

“Archer!” It took that precious second to draw her gun. “Get Nathaniel into the hallway. Now.” He ducked under another wild swing from Wilder and dove for Nathaniel. “Hope you know what you’re doing, girl.”

So did she. As soon as Archer had wrestled Nathaniel out of the way, she shot one of the ghouls and unleashed the only weapon that might buy her the time she needed to end this. “Wilder, help!” He faltered and threw a ghoul into the air as he rushed toward her, half loping on all fours across the dusty, littered floor. She caught sight of his eyes, then—yellow. Inhuman.

It took everything in her to hold her ground in the face of his charge. She remembered the words from the new moon— Don’t push me away. A different sort of madness gripped him at the moment, but underneath it he was the same. His basest instincts had been brought to light, and she had to trust that she was at the center of them.

He faced down two more ghouls who were reaching for her, one with a wicked-looking scythe in his hand. Wilder ignored the blade and bit down on the creature’s shoulder, eliciting a howl of pain.

The ghouls were no danger to her. Not with Wilder there. Satira gambled everything on it as she pivoted to face Lowe and dropped the gun. She pulled the sun-sphere out of her bag, one finger already curled through the pin’s copper ring. Archer had dragged Nathaniel halfway across the room, but they weren’t clear. Not yet.

So she stalled. She smiled at the vampire and inched the pin up, just a little. Enough so it would jerk free if anyone jostled her before Nathaniel was safe. “You should be more precise with your orders.” The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “And you, my dear, should watch your pretty little mouth. Someone might—”

Wilder roared again and dove for him, teeth bared.

Adrenaline surged. Time slowed. Some tiny, scientific part of her brain babbled at her in Nathaniel’s driest voice, explaining the physiological reaction that made Wilder’s leap take weeks.

At the far side of the room, Archer all but threw Nathaniel through a doorway and dove after him.

Satira tightened her finger and whispered a prayer to a God her mother hadn’t raised her to believe in.

Lowe flicked his fingers and Wilder stumbled back, clawing at his muzzle as long lines of blood appeared on his fur. The vampire turned—slowly, oh so slowly—toward Satira.

The pin slid free as smooth as one of Ophelia’s silk dresses.

For one moment—a terrifying moment—nothing happened. A gear clicked and something inside the sphere sparked.

Then—light. So much light Satira flinched back instinctively, sure it would sear the flesh from her hands. It took another few seconds for her to realize there was no accompanying heat. Just endless, pure sunlight, growing brighter by the second as Nathaniel’s simple, brilliant plan sprang to glorious life.

Squinting, Satira lifted her precious weapon higher as the ghouls began to scream.

Lowe’s upraised hands started to smoke. His mouth opened impossibly wide, and he let out a scream that sounded like a hundred voices crying out in unison. Sparks jumped from his pale skin, sparks that grew into tiny licking flames and flared up into an inferno that engulfed his entire body.

He was gone in the time it took to lower her hands, the ball of flames imploding in a way that pained her rational mind and stretched the boundaries of physics.

Magic, and a fitting end for a creature borne of dark powers beyond the understanding of men and science. Lowe disappeared as if he’d never been there at all, leaving not even ashes to mark his passing, only angry scorch marks on the floor.

And the lives he’d destroyed.

And Wilder. The violence in him hadn’t subsided. If anything, it seemed to intensify without a focus.

He whirled in a wide circle, seeking foes to vanquish, to feed his frenzy.

The sphere in her hands wouldn’t darken until the energy from the gear mechanism ran low, but tucking it into her bag dimmed it enough to let her blink away tears. “Wilder, it’s all right.” He stopped with a growl and turned.

Crazed yellow eyes fixed on her. She couldn’t help but stare at the sharp teeth filling a mouth large enough to crush her. “Wilder.” Perhaps if she said his name enough times, he’d remember who she was.

Who he was. “I’m safe. The danger’s past. We can go home now.” He didn’t charge, at least. He approached her slowly, almost warily, his claws clicking on the floor.

She’d seen Levi in his other form. Only once, when she’d been barely fourteen, and only for a few moments. When her mother had been alive, Ada had insisted on being the one who dealt with Levi during the full moon. After her mother’s death, he’d forgone the cage in the basement and spent the full moons in the wilderness.

A glimpse of a beast in a cage was far from facing the real thing with nothing to protect her. But Ada had tended to Levi, month after month. Her presence had soothed him…because she’d been his mate.

Satira lifted her hand, proud that it barely trembled. “Thank you for protecting me. Now let me help you.”

After an endless silence, he growled, a sound she probably imagined sounded like her name, and dropped to the floor at her feet, his sides heaving. His gaze darted back and forth, everywhere, still searching for threats.

He was low to the floor, but the tallest part of his shoulder came nearly level with her waist. Satira brushed her fingertips along the coarse fur at the back of his neck. When he didn’t snarl, she stroked his shoulder, awed by the promise of strength in the bunched muscles beneath her hand.

He was the perfect weapon, and he was hers. No matter what the Bloodhound Guild did to them in the days to come, they couldn’t take this from her. They couldn’t steal the perfect peace of knowing where she belonged. With Wilder, always, even if it broke both of their hearts in the end.

Archer crept in, his eyes wide. “What the holy fuck was—”

Wilder stiffened and rose to a crouch, a growl vibrating through him at the intrusion.

Hell. Satira kept her hand where it was, pressed against Wilder’s shoulder. He seemed tense, though he didn’t lunge at Archer. Yet. “Archer? I didn’t know it was possible for a bloodhound to change outside the full moon. How—how do we bring him back?”