Rise of the Dark Alpha

Chapter 1

"…the killer is believed to have murdered five men in the past two years. He remains unidentified, but his work has baffled detectives. He appears to corner his victims in their homes, or other urban settings, yet all five victims have reportedly died as a result of animal bites, earning him the nickname, "The Wolf." The coroner cites undeniable evidence of predatory feeding behaviors, however—"

Rob clicked the remote and the widescreen television went black. Sasha shuddered.

"Well that sounds… horrible," she said with a nervous laugh.

But Rob wasn't looking at the television. He was staring at her with concern… and a little bit of pleading. When she didn't meet his eyes, he leaned forward to put the remote on the coffee table, but rested his elbows on his knees. It made his shoulder blades stretch against his shirt.

"This Wolf guy is starting to make a habit of it." He was still in his collared shirt from work, but the top two buttons were open and he'd rolled the sleeves halfway up his forearms, revealing the tight lines of muscle and scattering of golden hair.

For a split second, Sasha saw him as other women must—handsome, with sandy-brown hair that stood just a little too tall. Broad shoulders that let his shirts hang just right. A smile that could light a room.

She wished she felt that delicious tension with him.

It wasn't his fault he wasn't Zev.

"You know… you don't have to go," Rob said softly, putting a hand to her arm. "It's freezing outside and it's supposed to snow. You could stay here—"

Sasha pushed out of the couch like she'd been launched and picked up her shoulder bag from the floor, not quite meeting his eyes as she smiled and made a show of digging through it for her phone.

"Thank you, Rob. Seriously. But I need to sleep in my own bed. And a little cold won't hurt me," she said.

Rob opened his mouth like he might say something, but Sasha turned, pretending she hadn't noticed. With a sigh, he got to his feet to follow after her through the living room and kitchen, to the little entryway at the front door.

Her heavy winter coat was on the line of hooks just inside the door, and she paused to put it on. He was right about one thing, it was bitterly cold outside. Sasha had a seven block walk.

Rob appeared in the open doorway behind her as she got her hand into the sleeve. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked quietly, reaching out to hold the coat for her as she shrugged it on.

"I'm fine," she sighed. "I'm just tired." Then she grimaced, because she wasn't in need of more sleep. Sasha was tired of pretending not to notice how her best friend's feelings for her had changed. She was tired of not being interested in him—or anyone else—because of a man who'd betrayed her almost five years ago, and of having a heart that refused to open to anyone but the guy she hadn't seen in so long.

She was tired of being alone.

Rob waited until she had her jacket on and her bag slung over her shoulder, then pulled her into a hug. She held his trim waist and sighed, her head against his chest.

He wrapped an arm around her head, pulling her in tight. "He doesn't deserve what you give him, Sash." His voice rumbled under her cheek. She knew he was right. But that didn't change anything.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

They broke apart and Rob raked a hand through his hair. "Don't be. You're leaving early enough that I'll actually get enough sleep tonight. You're doing me a favor. I'll see you at work in the morning. My turn to bring the coffee, right?" He smiled tightly and she made herself hold his eyes and let him see that she wished things were different.

But, just like always, because Rob's eyes were bright blue and striking, and his hair was long enough to fall over his forehead, instead of seeing him, her mind turned back to a different man: Taller. Broader. With eyes that were ice-blue and startling and that never seemed to leave her face for more than a second. Dark hair that was almost black. Shoulders so broad she couldn't circle them in her arms. A square jaw that twitched when he was irritated. And a smile that made her blood heat and left lines in his cheeks—

Groaning in frustration at her own, pathetic mind, Sasha turned for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you home—or at least call a cab?" Rob asked, holding the door open as she was about to step through.

She shook her head, embarrassed to be blinking back tears. "I'm sure. Thanks for hanging with me again. I'm sorry I'm so boring to be around right now. It'll get better. It always does," she lied.

As her best friend, Rob knew the story about Zev's sudden disappearance just days after Sasha gave him her virginity. She'd met Rob two years later when they both started working as interns at the same security company. That was back when Sasha had still been convinced something had happened to Zev. But just a few weeks later she learned that no, Zev hadn't been killed or hit by a train and left in a coma somewhere.

He just… left.

Rob had been listening to her whine about her heartbreak and trust issues ever since. He knew she was trying to move on. Now he wanted to be the one she moved on with.

"But haven't you heard?" he said, trying too hard to smile, "There's a killer wolf loose in the city. It's my duty to make sure you get home safe."

Sasha rolled her eyes.

"Luckily he only kills men. I think I'm good." She shifted the bag on her shoulder and smiled as she stepped through the door and waved goodbye. But as Rob closed the door behind her and she reached the top of the steps down to the sidewalk, she suddenly felt very, very tired. With a heavy sigh, she trotted down the steps of the brownstone, gasping at the frigid air as her breath made a steam cloud in front of her.

Sasha flipped up the collar on her jacket, then buried her hands in her pockets and turned right to head for the crosswalk on the corner that would take her a block out of her way, but keep her on well-lit streets.

Except, two steps later another wave of that weariness hit her—and on a whim she turned on her heel, to walk in the opposite direction. There were no streetlights for three blocks this way, but it was a safe neighborhood and she'd get home several minutes faster. She was just too damn tired to stay in the cold a moment longer than she needed to.

Lifting her eyes off the sidewalk in front of her, she caught sight of the form of a man silhouetted by one of the townhouse porch lights—tall, broad, and moving silently towards her further down the block. A jolt of adrenaline clenched her stomach and made her heart pound.

She stopped walking, sucking in a breath to scream for help when the guy stepped back and began to turn away, but for a split second he was caught in the golden cone of light and her breath stopped.

Sasha had a fleeting impression of dark, unruly hair punching out from under a black beanie, high cheekbones, a square jaw that was even heavier than the last time she'd seen it five years ago and shadowed by stubble because of the late hour. But it was the thick rounds of his shoulders, and those eyes—deep set and so bright they almost glowed even in the dim light... those eyes widened with recognition when they caught on hers.

Quick as a flash, he turned on his heel and darted back the way he'd come.

Sasha's breath whooshed out like she'd been punched.

 

Chapter 2

He tore his eyes away from the startled look on her face and darted back down the side-street, his feet making no sound on the cobbled sidewalk, as he sprinted for the alley he knew she'd never brave in the dark. She hated the stink of garbage, and wet patches she couldn't identify. Especially at night.

At least, she used to.

Shit.

Why was she walking this way? The lit streets were in the other direction. Did she have a fucking death wish?

Then he heard his name whispered on the frozen street behind him and his eyes closed without his permission as he was taken back, five years, to the days when Sasha's entire face lit up when he walked into a room. The days when he knew the taste of her skin, and when, if she whispered his name, it was with a happy sigh.

His steps faltered and he almost turned.

But he'd reached the alley. He forced himself to dart into it, immediately turning to hide in the shadowed doorway at the back of one of the apartment buildings.

Above him fire-escape ladders and curtained windows glinted in the dark—at least, to his eyes they did. He knew when she turned down here from the street she'd see nothing but pitch black. He was banking on it.

She didn't like the dark any more than she liked the smell of garage.

Zev stood in the dark shadow, hands clenched at his side against the temptation to reach for her when he heard her footsteps clip along the sidewalk to the open mouth of the alley, then hesitate. He knew she couldn't see him, but he pressed himself deeper into the doorway anyway, cursing himself for his weakness.

He shouldn't have followed her. If she didn't turn around now, it was going to drop them both in deep shit.

Shit.

He waited for her to turn and keep walking and forced himself not to breath. Removing his sense of smell felt like blinding himself. But he didn't think he could bear to take in her scent and not touch her.

He waited, listening. The hairs on his arms standing up. There was no sound on the cobbled sidewalk. Sasha wasn't breathing either.

Fuck.

Was she okay? Had Nick been following him and—?

"Zev?" she whispered and adrenalin shot through him, crackling like lightning through his chest and out into his limbs. For a second he thought she'd seen him and knew he was there, but then he heard her swallow. "Stop being crazy," she muttered at herself. "He isn't here. He's never here."

His heart died at that and his instincts pressed at him, his weight shifting, so strong was the urge to step out and reassure her that he'd never left her any longer than he had to. That he'd always kept his promise to keep her safe.

Always.

Then she cursed and he heard the hitch in her whispered voice and now he was the asshole who'd made her cry.

He dropped his face in his hands and prayed for strength not to give in, prayed for peace for her—for the willingness to move on and forget about him. To be happy.

Then every hair on his body stood up as he heard the distinctive motor of one of the agency cars rolling along the street. The lights rolled across the doorway—casting him in deeper shadow, thank God, then disappeared again as it passed. But the noise of the engine didn't fade. Instead, the growl of it slowed, deepened to an idle.

They were going to stop? He wavered on the edge of leaping out of the dark. If they thought they were going to take Sasha—

"Are you okay, Ma'am?" a polite, deceptively friendly voice called out from the street. "Do you need a ride?"

Zev froze. He knew that voice. Harry. The sleaze. Zev imagined castrating him. With his teeth. A growl began to roll in his throat before he could stop it, but she didn't hear because she was too busy answering in that strong-but-too-high voice she got when she was scared and trying to pretend that she wasn't.

"I'm fine! My apartment's right around the corner! I was just looking for my phone in my purse, that's all."

Smart girl, letting him know she had her phone in her hand. He prayed she did. He didn't think she'd been holding it when she was on the street outside her friend's apartment.

"Are you sure? I don't mind, I have a driver and we can—"

"I'm fine!" she said and started walking back towards the street.

Zev breathed a little easier then. She'd go back to Rob's house—fucking Rob—and Zev's 'colleagues' would leave her alone with witnesses around. Once she was off the street, Zev would call Nick and… he'd figure it out.

"Well, okay. Be safe and get home. It's cold tonight!"

"I will, thank you!"

Her heels clipped along the sidewalk as the car pulled around the corner in the direction opposite her friend's apartment. That was good, she'd—

Then he heard the sound of her footsteps change as she trotted off the sidewalk and onto the cement of the street. She was crossing the street. Still heading for her own apartment? What the fuck was she thinking?

Stifling an audible growl, he leapt out of the shadow of the doorway and darted into the street, racing up behind her silently.

He held his breath to avoid her scent, but his heart raced—not from the running. But because he was finally going to do more than see her from around a corner or through a curtain. He was going to talk to her. Touch her. There was no choice. He had to get her out of here because he knew what was about to happen.

That car would take approximately sixty seconds to circle the block and come up behind her. They'd barely slow it down when they caught back up to her, just open the door and clap a hand over her mouth and pull her in, closing those soundproof doors with their black-tinted windows while the street's residents slept on, and no one would be the wiser—except Sasha, who would be dragged into an interrogation room and asked how she knew the name of a man who no one was supposed to know existed.

SHIT.

She didn't hear him coming.

As he ran up behind her, her hair swinging in the breeze of her passage across the street, he sucked in a breath and with it came her scent, strong and pure, apples and vanilla, and rolling around in his nose, twisting him up inside with an intoxicating mix of memories, stifled love, and fear for her safety.

She'd crossed the street and stepped into the shadows of the buildings on the other side when she likely felt the vibration of his approaching steps. She turned with a gasp as he wrapped her in one arm, clapped the other hand over her mouth and tugged her down the steps to a basement entrance of one of the brownstones, just as the sound of a car engine reached them—driving much faster this time—up the street around the corner they'd just come from.

She screamed into his palm.

"Sash, please, you have to be quiet," he whispered.

She sucked in a breath through her nose and froze, his scent no doubt triggering memories for her just as hers did for him, though she'd be far less aware of it.

"Zev?" she said, her voice high and quavering, though it sounded like a muffled "Eehm?" behind his hand.

The car turned up the street and slowed, the lights making a wide arc along the buildings across from where they hid.

Zev pulled her harder against his chest and leaned back, praying the lights wouldn't reach through the small hedge that lined the walk down to where they stood. That he'd gotten her off the street fast enough that no one in the car had seen them. That they didn't already have anyone on foot in the area.

And while he prayed, he inhaled again and again, his nose conveniently buried in her soft, mahogany colored hair.

Heart racing, he wondered how he was ever going to let her go again.

 

Chapter 3

"Sash, please, you have to be quiet."

Sasha had known it couldn't be him. That just wasn't possible. But that flash of a face so much like his—heavier, harder than his had been five years ago, but unmistakably familiar—and his tall, muscular build…

But that voice… that voice she knew from those years—the happiest of her life.

Her mind's eye flashed with the face of the Zev of five years ago, his burnished skin glowing in the late afternoon light, his dark hair rumpled and cheeks warm as he leaned over her, taking her mouth so slowly desire had literally sizzled down her spine to light up low in her belly.

But those arms weren't braced on either side of her head anymore, covering her with his strength.

That strength was being used against her as she was dragged from the sidewalk, down a small flight of stairs and into the shadows under one of the front-door staircases.

Her body tingled with remembered heat, but her heart raced with fear.

She'd been reaching into her bag for the small gun she'd recently bought after the stories of the murderer in the city. Some unformed instinct had warned her someone was behind her. But she hadn't heard a thing. She hadn't even have time to turn completely, to gain more than a glance of a tall, wide shadow in her peripheral vision, before a hand clapped over her mouth, while a steel-bar of an arm wrapped around her middle and yanked her off her feet.

Now he was here and whispering her name…

She sucked in through her nose to scream again and began to drum her heels against his legs, when the smell of him hit her nostrils and she froze.

No.

It just couldn't be.

He'd gone very, very still, pulling her deeper into the shadows against the wall when a car pulled into the street above them. But all she could do was breathe and blink, try to convince herself that she was dreaming. That this was impossible.

The thing was, a voice could be mimicked. But no one had smelled like Zev. Ever. Not even close.

In high school, while other boys doused themselves in spicy chemical deodorants and mostly unnecessary aftershaves, Zev had always smelled… real.

His smell had had reminded her of thick grass after a summer rain shower, or walking through a park in late autumn when the ground stayed wet. He smelled like the bark of a tree, or the wind before a storm. And underneath it all there was something just him. Something she couldn't identify, but it made her smile.

But after hearing the honeyed gravel of his voice, when all those scents hit the back of her nose, she froze again, telling herself it was impossible. She'd probably subconsciously caught a whiff of this mugger and her mind had put Zev's face on his body and…

"Zev?" she said, her voice high and broken and muffled by his hand. The lights of the car swept across the building opposite and he pulled her even tighter against his chest and that was when she knew.

It had been something between them from the very first day they'd met—the way she fit against him.

She'd been seventeen and in the lunch line at the high school cafeteria when he came up behind her and asked if he could reach past her for a tray. She'd blushed—he was new and gorgeous. The whole school was whispering about him, and he'd never spoken to her before. She'd mumbled something like, "Sure!" and he'd thanked her, then curled himself over her to stretch one of those long, strong arms for the trays on her other side.

Despite his much greater height and width, his body curved around her, holding her in place—and she molded into him, like two spoons fit together.

She'd stopped breathing for a second and he'd frozen in place. Then his fingers closed on the tray so tight his knuckles went white and he pulled it back, much more slowly than was strictly necessary.

But he didn't step away immediately. And she couldn't move. Couldn't turn around. Like a rabbit under the eyes of a fox, she'd just stood there, heart racing and cheeks heating.

His breath fluttered in her hair, then he murmured, "What's your name?"

"Sasha," she'd whispered.

"Sasha… I'm Zev." That's how she heard his name the first time. She'd nodded, because she didn't trust her voice.

Then one of the guys called him from further ahead in the line and he'd tensed, like he would put his arms around her or… or something. But he just blew out a breath, then stepped away, muttering a thank you.

And she'd stood there, knowing it hadn't been a dream, because the girl behind her in line was gaping at her, with a not entirely flattering look of disbelief at the Adonis that had just… embraced her with his body.

For the next eighteen months it had been a joke between them. He would sneak up behind her—she could never hear him coming when he snuck, which was so frustrating—and he'd slip his arms around her, burying his face in her neck or the hollow of her shoulder. And she'd always lean back into him and just breathe him in for a moment when he couldn't see the goofy bliss on her face.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, and that was exactly how she thought about him: He was the thing she needed to fit in this world. Though she hadn't admitted that to him for a long time. For months she'd been convinced that one day he'd wake up and look at her and wonder to himself what the hell he'd been thinking. But it never happened.

Until it did.

Sasha blinked back to the present, as Zev pressed them both deeper into the shadows and pulled her against his body, and she felt the puzzle pieces snap into place.

Both of them let out a heavy breath as he let her down so her feet found the ground, but he held her there, steadying her to make sure she had her balance… and suddenly they were there again…

She was home. In his arms was home.

She shook her head in disbelief. Zev was here. After five years and no word, no sign of him, he was here. And he was holding her in the dark and breathing in her hair.

She began to tremble, shaking like a leaf from head to toe as, above them on the street level, the car slowly rolled past, its tires hissing on the damp road, taking the glaring light with it.

 

Chapter 4

They needed to move, now. But she'd leaned herself back into him in just the way she used to, and in a blink the last five years and every sick thing he'd done fell away. His body tightened and his breath caught.

The car had passed, turning onto the next block to circle again. They would have only seconds until it was back and he needed to move her out of here because the team would be searching soon.

Yet, he still didn't move.

He'd already dropped his hand from her mouth and loosened his grip, but now he let his hands fall to his sides. He waited, but she didn't move away. They stood there, as they always had, fitting together like they were made from the same mold.

"Zev?" she whispered his name this time, her soft voice a caress. He felt it like her fingers drawn up his spine and his breath shuddered out of him.

"We have to move, now. They'll be back in a minute." It was the first words he'd said to her in years and the effort of fighting all his emotion, along with the fear he felt for her, made his deep voice sharper than he'd intended.

She tensed, then slowly looked up at him, her hair wafting with her scent, brushing his against chest as she turned between his feet.

"It's really you?" she breathed.

"It's really me."

The urge to take her face in his hands, to take her mouth with his, to press their bodies together again was so strong, he shivered. But he forced himself to restraint. They had to move. But first he had to break the spell of having her eyes on him.

How much of his face could she see in this light? Not much he would have bet.

But his cursed sight… she was crystal clear to him, her blue eyes wide and disbelieving, her mouth just slightly open, that pillow of a bottom lip slack and soft, just waiting for him to—

It was a mark of how off-balance he was that he didn't see her hand coming.

When her palm cracked across his cheek, it rang in his head, but he took it. Didn't move. Just clenched his teeth against the sting and stared at her, pleading with her to understand, though he knew she couldn't possibly.

An entire lifetime had passed in the last five years. She couldn't even begin to—

She pulled her hand back to swing at him again, but he caught her wrist effortlessly this time and it woke him up.

They were wasting time.

Her eyes widened further—in anger or fear, he wasn't sure. Probably both.

"You can slap me later. We have to move," he growled, then without letting go of her wrist, tugged her towards the stairs.

"What? What are you—"

He whirled and clapped his free hand over her mouth again.

Her eyes went so wide he could see the whites all the way around. "Hate me if you want to," he whispered. "But if the men in that car find us, you're dead and I'm locked up. So please… please, Sasha, walk. Follow me, and don't question. I'll get us somewhere safe then… then you can slap me all you want."

He didn't wait for an answer, just started up the stairs in quick efficient steps, pulling her behind him.

She couldn't move as quickly or as quietly as him, he had to remember that. He had to get them out of here in a way that she could handle.

But just as they reached the street he caught the sound of the car coming around again—already in the side street where he'd first hid. They would there in seconds, and he still had her out in the open.

Without thought, he yanked Sasha up the street towards where the car would emerge, two more doors, whispering an apology when she yelped, but still dragging her, then down again into the next basement entry.

Sliding an arm around her waist, he practically threw her into the tight little doorway, overshadowed by stairs leading to the front door of the apartment above, then put himself between her and the street, his arms wide so she couldn't get past him and he turned to face the street praying they'd do one more circuit.

Her friend's apartment was three doors in on the other side of the street. They needed at least thirty seconds to get there.

"Do you have the door code to Rob's place?" he whispered.

Her breath stopped. "How do you know about—"

"Sasha! Just tell me, quickly! Can you get in without ringing the bell?"

She blinked. "Yes. But there's—"

"Doesn't matter," he rasped. "As soon as they turn off the block, we're running, you understand me? As fast as your legs can carry you. Straight to his house and you get inside, even if I'm not there."

"What?! Where are you going?"

"I'm going with you," he hissed, "But if something happens, you get into the house and you don't leave no matter who comes to the door—you understand? I have to—"

"No, Zev, I don't understand!" she whisper-screamed. "Where did you come from? How did you know I was here? How do you know about Rob?"

"I'll explain everything later," he said as the lights from the car passed them again, much more slowly this time. He followed their progress with his eyes, urging them to keep going, to be talking or distracted, or… something. And for once, it looked like God was listening, because the car flashed a turn signal, then slowly eased on to the next street again.

"But—"

He didn't give her the chance to argue, just tore out of the doorway—her hand in his again—and up the stairs to the street side. She tripped on the way up, but he swung her effortlessly back to her feet and they were running, him urging her forward, slowing his pace to match hers, one hand at her back, twisting to look behind them—and cursing, when he saw the car nose up from the street they'd just turned into. They'd turned around and were coming back!

Her footsteps slapped on the cement of the road, then onto the opposite sidewalk and he was right on her heels.

The car engine growled in the distance and he swore, practically throwing her up the stairs to Rob's apartment door, then standing over her, watching the car speed towards them, nearly silent, like a black panther on prey.

 

Chapter 5

His hands were at her hips and shoving her up the stairs, back to Rob's front door. Despite the apparent danger, internally she screamed with thrill—Zev was here! He was HERE. But there was clearly something going on—something very scary. And even though she wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms—and to curse him to the flames of hell—something in his tone and tension demanded that she listen to him, and run.

As they reached the top of the stairs, a car sped up the street behind them, its tires hissing on the cement. Her fingers shook as she punched the code for Rob's apartment into the little pad. But the little light turned green and it beeped, and before she could even grasp the handle, Zev's hand shot past her, shoved the door open and bundled her inside.

The relief she felt when he scrambled in after her was embarrassing in its intensity. Then they were standing in the same entryway where she'd hugged Rob just a few minutes ago.

Was it really only a few minutes ago?

She blinked in the shadows of the now-dark entryway, gaping at Zev who loomed over her, his eyes hunted and stark, searching the walls around them, scanning the open doorway into the kitchen. Rob was in the next room, but she his feet hit the carpet.

"Is that you, Sash?" Rob asked from around the corner. "I'm so glad you came back."

Oh no. Rob thought she'd come back to him. This was the last thing she needed. Rob didn't seem like the type to get aggressive, but Zev tensed at his voice and the creak of the couch in the living room meant Rob was getting up. If he decided Zev was a problem—

"I just need the bathroom!" she called as brightly as she could. Zev frowned at her, then turned his head and glared towards the kitchen, where Rob's lengthening shadow was trotting towards them in the large rectangle of light on the floor.

She was struck for a moment by the shock of Zev in more light—all heavy brows and square jaw shadowed by a day's growth, his hair splaying out from underneath the black beanie pulled down tight across his forehead, like it was trying to escape.

When she looked at him like someone she didn't know, she wasn't sure whether to weep or call the Police.

Zev at nineteen had been stunning, all lithe, athletic strength and eyes that called you from across a room.

Zev now was… a presence.

As tall as the door he stood in front of, his shoulders almost filled the width of it, his arms and chest plastered in a black leather jacket—the type that opened on an angle and was actually for riding motorcycles. Tight sleeves peeked out from under the jacket at the wrist—which meant he still favored those thin, tight shirts that let her see every ripple in his torso.

Zev's broad chest and shoulders tapered to a trim waist, strong thighs gripped in near-black denim, and long, long legs that ended in thick boots.

He could have graced the cover of a magazine, or headlined a movie. But that wasn't what made Sasha's mouth go dry.

He'd seen Rob coming and his entire body was poised for action. And not the kind that Sasha had been missing for five years.

Standing in front of Zev just then gave Sasha the same feeling she had the day she'd stood on the other side of Plexiglass from one of the huge alpine wolves at the nature reserve. The long, knowing stare and barely hidden fangs… the body rigid and held ready, utterly confident in its own ability to take down prey.

She'd been in the presence of death that day, and her body had known it. It had raised the shorthairs on the back of her neck and made her feel small, and powerless.

As Rob stepped into the other end of the kitchen, Zev scanned the space, grunting and settling his weight on the balls of his feet as if he might need to spar when he found no rooms leading away except the kitchen and the adjoining doorway.

The flash in his eyes gave Sasha that feeling of being in the presence of death again. But colored this time with something else. Something solid.

Zev was deadly—she'd always known it, even back then. Despite his tenderness, he'd always carried an edge. And the few times she'd seen him pushed, she'd been torn between salivating at the raw confidence and strength he displayed when another guy challenged him, and disgust at the thuggish power he was willing to unleash.

The only time they'd really fought was after her eighteenth birthday party, at which he had literally beaten a drunk guy up for calling her slut under his breath when he'd flirted and she'd told him to leave.

He hadn't understood why she thought he shouldn't have gone so far. And she'd been scared in his presence for the first time. Just not for herself.

Which was the tension she felt now. It had been five years. She had no right to the confidence she felt that Zev would only ever use his power to protect her. Yet, there it was. He'd vowed that to her years ago and impossibly, when Rob's shadow shortened and he appeared in the dimly lit kitchen ahead of them, their eyes locked for a brief second, she saw him remembering those times as well… and reassuring her again that he would never hurt her.

She nodded and he opened his hand for hers. But he didn't take her wrist this time, or pull her along. Just left his palm there, waiting for hers.

She wanted to cry.

He was here. He was fucking here. After all these years. And she was so confused. She wanted nothing more than to put her hand in his and let him take her away from… whatever was out there. Away from all these people. Away from this life—as long as he took her with him this time.

And yet—

"What's going on, Sash?" Rob asked, forcing his voice deeper than it naturally went. He caught sight of Zev and flipped a switch so the kitchen was suddenly bathed in fluorescent light and harsh shadows.

Shivering at the glare Zev swept over Rob as he turned to face him, Sasha instinctively stepped past him, out of the dark and into the light to put herself between them, her hands up to stop Rob coming closer.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," she said with a nervous laugh. "There was a creepy guy in a car on the street and I just… I ran into Zev outside so we decided to come in here—"

"Wait… what?" Rob's voice was hard and dark.

Shit.

He started towards them, his face thunderous. "Sasha, what are you—"

She felt Zev put himself at her back. Right at her back, so close her butt brushed his… thighs. It was definitely his thighs.

Coming so close to her had moved him out of the darkened entryway and into the light because Rob's eyes snapped up and his mouth dropped open.

"That's… holy shit… that's… Zev?"

Sasha giggled nervously, then wanted to slap herself.

She could feel the tension in Zev and remembered that they were in the process of fleeing… someone. But her friend didn't know that, and something told her that it would be better for everyone involved if he didn't find out.

So she swallowed hard and half-turned towards Zev. "Zev, this is my friend, Rob."

Zev muttered a hello, but she could feel the tension wafting off of him, and Rob bristled under whatever gaze it was that Zev gave him.

She opened her mouth to say something to distract all the testosterone in the room, but then Rob turned his head to address her directly.

"What the fuck is he doing here?"

 

Chapter 6

When the male first appeared in the kitchen, it was a mere second, a scan from head to toe, and Zev had him measured and evaluated. The male was almost of a size with him—but only almost—and as they were introduced, Rob tensed, immediately sensing Zev's strength.

From behind Sasha's back, Zev gave him the smile he usually saved for prey.

Rob bristled.

It wasn't uncommon for males to respond to him this way. Usually they tensed instinctively, but stared at him with admiration, or caution. But this guy looked like he knew him. Sasha had spoken about him to this dude?

Then the male's face hardened and he settled himself on the balls of his feet, his shoulders and arms loosened and at the ready in a manner that Zev recognized.

This male had trained.

That didn't make him a threat—but it did make him a potential delay they didn't have time for.

Then the male glared directly at Sasha and snapped, "What the fuck is he doing here?"

Every hair on Zev's body stood straight up and he swallowed a growl.

Shifting his weight and preparing to launch at the male that would speak to her like she was his to command, Zev smiled. This male might have trained to fight, but Zev would have bet everything that he would win. And had a much more powerful weapon in his arsenal than his fists.

As Sasha hissed a warning at the guy, Zev let himself feel his power and strength. He stared the male down, feeling his certainty of winning battle, feeling the deadly strength of his fangs, his claws, reminding himself with certainty that he was not only stronger, but far, far more willing to kill.

As his Alpha power filled the room, the male instinctively shrank back, his confidence beginning to waver. Then Zev put a hand to Sasha's back, owning her in the presence of this challenger who was looked like he did indeed have the balls to attack, but he might wet himself before they were done.

The guy's eyes—almost as light as his own, which made Zev wonder if he had dormant wolf-blood in his veins—sparked like rock on flint when they followed his arm to Sasha's back.

But he was smart enough not to push forward. Trained or not, his strength was in body, not mind. Instinctively, he knew when he was beaten.

Zev smiled the menacing smile again. "Smart guy."

"Zev! Don't start!"

He didn't take his eyes off Rob—Sasha's closest friend since she had moved to this city—as Sasha cleared her throat and turned to the male with an apology on her face.

He hated the way she always said sorry for someone else's discomfort.

"Like I said, I just ran into Zev outside and… We were just wondering if we could… use the bathroom?" she said quickly.

"Tarzan wants to take a piss… at my house?" Rob asked, anger and disbelief in every syllable.

Sasha flushed and Zev tensed again.

"We just… we got a little… we just need a second," she said, putting a hand back to Zev's chest including him in the 'we'… then swallowing when she found his pulse hammering. She turned, as if surprised, glancing down where her hand rested, right over his heart, then up to search his face quickly.

She'd realized his heart was pounding just as hard as hers.

He held her gaze for half a breath, then looked at Rob. "Sorry to interrupt your night," he muttered politely.

Rob looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or throw a punch, but before he answered, a car door slammed outside on the street. He tensed, taking Sasha's hand. "We just need a moment," he said, then pulled her through the living room, cutting a glare over his shoulder to warn the male from coming close behind her.

Then, ridiculously, all three of them stalked quickly into the short, wide hallway from the living room. Zev didn't waste any more time being polite. Sasha had given him her hand, and so he pulled her down the hall, looking for the emergency exit—either through a stairwell, or fire escape—that would lead them to the roof.

Sasha opened her mouth to question him when he led her directly past the bathroom, but he shook his head then stopped where the hallway met another staircase going up. "We need to get out of here. Do you know where the fire escape is?" he asked quietly, his eyes on hers which made his breath shorten.

"There's a door at the other end of the hall," she said, a little breathless herself, nodding towards it.

He turned and tugged her in that direction just as Rob caught up from behind them. "Wait a minute, you aren't taking her out of here."

Zev swallowed back a growl. This guy had no clue. But he remembered what had happened after her eighteenth birthday party. Zev knew if he hurt Rob, Sasha would ever forgive him.

He ground his teeth in impatience, desperately aware of his "colleagues" outside, and possibly already surrounding the building. But he forced himself to soften. If another male took Sasha from his home, he would be taking pains to protect her also.

Zev took an impatient breath and squeezed Sasha's hand. He would be polite to this male. "Look, you aren't a part of this and trust me, you don't want to be. Don't open your door, no matter what. If they claim to be law enforcement, tell them to come with a search warrant. And whatever you do, no matter what, you don't tell them where she went, or with who."

Rob frowned, his hands balled to fists at his sides. "You don't come into my house and take my friend and just start—"

"Rob, it's fine. He's right," Sasha said. "There's some really creepy shit going down out there and you don't want to get mixed up in it, okay?"

Rob stared back and forth between them. "So, you're just going to leave with him? After all this time?"

Sasha looked up at Zev uncertainly then. Her scent was strange, hope and fear threaded through with something spikey he didn't recognize in her.

But before he could reassure her, she'd already turned back to her friend. "I have to," she said simply. "I can't… I need to know."

Rob sighed, then looked at Zev. A moment of understanding crackled between them.

"If you hurt her, I will hunt you down," Rob growled.

Zev almost laughed at the irony of the threat, but he nodded as submissively as he was able. "I am trying to keep her safe and happy."

"Then you shouldn't have left," Rob said shortly.

The blow landed.

But the doorbell rang then and Rob turned his head.

"Go!" Sasha whispered. "But don't let them in. Please!"

Rob took a deep breath, but then he squeezed Sasha's hand, and ran off back down the hallway.. And with a surprising amount of relief, Zev tugged her towards the door at the end of the apartment hallway, praying that Nick hadn't had time to get anyone to the roof yet.

 

Chapter 7

A heavy pounding at the front door of the apartment chased them out the locked door at the end of the hall to a central stairwell that serviced apartments on all levels. Zev didn't even hesitate, just ran through the door and started up the staircase that hit a landing then doubled back on itself again and again.

Her heart was singing—and pounding far too hard.

Zev was here! And he was touching her. And… and someone was chasing them. Someone he was afraid of. Concentrating on not tripping on the stairs, she glanced at him from the side of her eye and her stomach flipped over.

He'd yanked off the beanie and shoved it into his back pocket so his hair had fallen over his forehead in tousled waves that bounced and waved merrily at her, as if celebrating their freedom from the hat. But his face… his face was a mask of intense concentration. Tension drew lines at the side of his beautiful mouth and pulled his eyes tight. His jaw thrust forward slightly like he was resisting something—or someone—and his eyes darted up and down, left and right, as if he scanned, measured, and discounted every inch of what he saw in a heartbeat.

He took the stairs two at a time with an easy grace that, in other circumstances would have stolen her breath.

Sasha was grateful that part of her resolution to get over him and return to dating had been to exercise regularly. While she'd been diligent at the gym, she hadn't been able to venture into the dating part yet. But it looked like that was going to work out.

Zev was a fast and strong—even bigger than he'd been five years ago, heavier, thicker, and yet… somehow even more graceful, as well. He moved like a cat, though he'd hate the comparison. He'd always hated cats.

At least he used to. He was so much darker, and colder than he'd been the last time she saw him. What else might have changed about him?

He held her elbow and helped propel her up the stairs. Yet, even when she quickly started panting, his breathing remained even and his forehead didn't sweat.

Damn him.

Within half a dozen flights of stairs Sasha was beginning to feel sticky and her breath echoed heavily in the tall stairwell that was utterly quiet except for their footsteps and her breath.

Correction: Her footsteps.

How did he run like that without making noise? Those boots must have special soles on them.

"W-who are we running from?" she panted as they darted across yet another landing.

"My colleagues," he said darkly.

As they began up the next flight of stairs, he leaned over the railing without slowing, then cursed.

"What is—"

A strange noise, a pop and a ping, and the wooden railing splintered right where he'd leaned over a second earlier.

It took a step for Sasha to realize that someone had just shot at him.

She sucked in a breath to scream and without slowing, he clapped his free hand over her mouth, pressed his lips to her ear and muttered, "I won't lean over again. They won't catch up. Keep running."

She nodded sharply and kept running, but her mouth was wide and her breath tearing in and out of her throat as much with fear as the exertion. People were shooting?

"Zev!" she gasped. "Did they hurt Rob? What is going on?!"

"Rob's fine. That guy got in from somewhere else, I'll explain everything when you're safe," he hissed as they rounded the final landing and she could see the grey wall, with a thick door at the top, which had to be the entrance to the roof.

Zev released her to keep going on her own and darted ahead, hitting the door at a full run. Sasha gasped when the door seemed to absorb his impact for a moment, then flung open, one of the hinges tearing out of the wall as it whipped out and slammed against the wall outside. He caught it effortlessly with one hand when it bounced back, and shoved it back again so that it swung, vibrating, then hung drunkenly.

He waited for her on the other side, the wind—stronger and colder here at the top of the building—whipping his hair into his eyes. But he ignored it, taking her hand again as soon as she was through and running around the built-up shelter in the center that housed the stairwell and some kind of maintenance room.

When they'd circled the small, flat roof, he let her go and walked to the edge, looking down and cursing when there was no fire escape ladder. The closest building was twenty feet away to their right, with a fall to cracked cement and dumpsters. Zev turned to look at her, as if measuring her for the fall.

"What are we doing up here?" Her voice was too high, too strained and the wind wanted to steal the words, tear them away even as she spoke them. But he heard, his eyes locked on hers and her stomach flipped again.

There was no time to appreciate the figure he cut in the half-dark, the way the moonlight and shadows played across his face, casting him in sharp relief. Because they were cornered. Trapped. This building was far too high to jump from safely and apparently there was a man with a gun sprinting up the stairs behind them.

Gun.

Sasha remembered the little handgun in her shoulder bag that she'd been practicing with and, with shaking hands, pulled the flap open so she could dig into it. But just at that moment, Zev caught her other elbow and tugged her towards the edge of the building. "Come here."

"What—what are you doing?"

"We have to get out of here."

"How?"

"I can get you out of here, Sasha, you have to trust me."

He pulled up just short of the edge of the building, where the roof jutted out a small square suspended high above the alley below. Did he think they could climb down here?

She peered over the edge, then scrambled back.. "No. Hell no!"

 

Chapter 8

"You don't trust me?" He sounded pained. It was the first emotion he'd shown beyond irritation or sheer intensity and she turned away from the drop to gape at him.

For half a breath they just stared at each other.

"You're serious?" she breathed.

"Of course I'm serious," he said, then stepped right up to her. Her breath got faster when he positioned himself toe-to-toe, looming over her, inches taller than he had been when they were young, his light eyes so bright they almost seemed to glow in the strange light of the moon. "I will get you out of here, Sasha. You know I will. But you have to trust me."

Trust me. Those words echoed with so many images of him in different light, different clothing, different places… a different time. A time when he could have asked anything of her and she would have said yes without hesitation.

Even here and now the words, "I do," were on the tip of her tongue. Right there. They wanted to flow out of her like the air she breathed. She had to catch them, pull them back, make her face hard. "Zev, it's been five years—"

"You know me," he growled, leaning right in until he filled her vision. "You know me! I promised you. I promised, Sasha."

She nodded. "And then you left."

A strange, low growl started in his throat, but he huffed and shook his head. "We don't have time for this right now. They'll be here in a minute. I have to get you out of here. Please, Sasha. Please." He opened his palm and offered it to her, then, with his chin still down, he lifted his eyes to meet hers, pleading with them.

It was so unfair! An assault on her tender heart and he knew it!

That sight of him, in exactly that position pulled her down, down, down into the happiest memories of her life…

She was seventeen and they'd only been together a month the first time. He took her walking through the city, showing her all the areas she'd always been too scared to explore. The abandoned rail yards, the culvert that ran the eastern side of the industrial district, and on that day, the deepest part of the forest that butted up to the parkland on the southern edge of the city.

She was a city girl. She'd never known quite what to do when there wasn't cement or steel nearby, the sound of rushing cars.

But he'd grown up in the country—in the mountains, he said. Hours away. A tiny town, less than a thousand people.

He'd sworn he'd take her there someday.

But that day he was taking her somewhere he liked to go because it reminded him of home. "It's quiet and you can't see the road, or the buildings," he'd said, excited.

She'd been uneasy, but she wanted to be with him more than she wanted to stay comfortable. So she'd worn her jeans and boots like he'd told her to, and let him drive her out there.

Now they were deep enough into the forest that even though she could see the light from the sun overhead, when she looked around it was only trees. Trees and shadows, bushes and dirt. She couldn't hear anything except birds and, somewhere nearby, water.

He was smiling broadly, his shoulders low and relaxed and he breathed deep, like he liked the smell of the air.

While she enjoyed the pine and wet earth smells—because they reminded her of him—there was also something that she didn't want to investigate further.

But he held her hand and he talked excitedly about the strange little things he noticed—the bird in the tree that watched them pass, the insects that climbed the trunks, the tiny flower pushing between the roots of a big tree.

Then they reached a little gully—a stream had cut through the earth and eroded the banks. It was probably only six or eight feet across, but the earth was soft and she was nervous. She didn't think she could make the jump and was afraid of landing in the water.

He'd stood on the edge, grinning at her. "Get on my back," he said easily. "I'll carry you across."

Her mouth dropped open. "You aren't making that jump with me on your back!"

"Sure I am."

"Zev—"

"I'm serious, Sasha. Easy… Don't you trust me?"

He smiled easily, but his eyes locked on hers and the words fell between them like a grenade, hitting the ground and ticking down to the moment it would explode, or not.

She'd swallowed hard. The truth was, she trusted him far too much. He made her feel safe. She couldn't explain it. But when he was close she just wasn't afraid.

"I… I do," she'd said, knowing she was saying so much more than that.

He nodded seriously. "Good." And he'd opened his hand to her, palm up, left it there, waiting for her to slide her fingers over his until he gripped her arm and stooped and swung her onto his back.

And he'd made the jump, of course, even carrying her. He hadn't even grunted with the effort.

And he hadn't put her down right after either, but cradled her thighs, holding her to his back, his thumbs stroking the sides of her jeans in a way that made her breath come faster.

Trust me? It had become a thing between them. And whenever he said it, it was always with that open hand—giving her the choice. She didn't have to put herself in his hands, but he would take care of her if she did.

That day in the forest was the first time he'd given her that choice. The first time he'd let her know that he wanted her trust. The first time of many.

For the next year and half, he offered himself that way more and more, until she didn't even hesitate. Until the moment he opened his palm and gave her his eyes, she'd slide her much smaller hand into his and she'd follow without fear. Every time.

Every time.

Except the last time.

She blinked back to the present and Zev standing in front of her, his hand out again, waiting.

"I'd never let you fall," he breathed.

She felt her face fall, then. "But you already did," she insisted.

His throat bobbed and he lifted his hand—the first time she'd ever left it empty—to rub his stubbled jaw. Then he raked that hand through his hair and shook his head. "I have to get you out of here, Sasha. Whether you trust me or not, I can't leave you here for them. They're ruthless."

"What—"

"So, forgive me," he said, gruffly. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

She blinked, frowning. "What?"

Then he moved so fast she didn't even see it happen.

 

Chapter 9

He'd kept her eyes on his face by touching his jaw, raking a hand through his hair—something she'd always liked—while with the other, he got the beanie out of his back pocket.

He apologized because he wasn't giving her a choice, and he'd always given her a choice before. But she hadn't yet realized that she would likely die if they didn't get away. So… he prayed she'd forgive him later.

She peered at him, unafraid, but wary. Then he moved.

Faster than she could see, he whipped the hat out and over her head, down over her eyes, her nose, until her entire face was covered by the thick, black, clinging fabric. She squeaked, but she couldn't grab it because he'd taken both her hands and held them as he turned, stooping, to pull her onto his back and lock her hands on his chest, under his throat.

She was the only human being he'd ever allowed to touch his throat and there was a flash in his gut—a spear of fear that if she didn't trust, she couldn't be trusted. But he shook it off. This was Sasha.

He trusted no one the way he trusted Sasha.

There was a dark, heavy weight in his chest—even darker and heavier now that she had admitted she didn't trust him. But there was nothing he could do about it right then except prove to her that he was still the male she knew—and he would keep her safe. No matter what. So he stood and was running, forcing her to hold on or fall, blind.

"Zev, what are you doing?!"

"Hold on, Sasha," he muttered. "Just hold… on."

He launched them off the side of the roof and she sucked in to scream as her stomach went into free-fall. But by the time she'd got her voice, he'd already caught the edge of the parking garage on the other side of the alley and was crawling them over the wall and swinging them both over, safely onto the cement of the parking lot.

But he couldn't stop, because he heard the footsteps on the roof they'd just left and he had to get her out of sight before they made it to this side and figured out which floor he'd jumped to.

Had he been alone he wouldn't have taken such an obvious route—and that might work in his favor. Nick would assume he was smarter than that. At least for a minute or two.

But carrying her and without her knowing everything… he was on the back foot. Just not as badly as they would expect. Because he'd planned for this. Just in case. He'd always planned ahead—and now he was grateful that he hadn't been strong enough to stop himself.

Over the past two years he'd slowly, step by laborious step, placed an escape within two blocks of all her most frequents haunts—her own apartment, Rob's, her office, and even near the university where she'd graduated but still met friends occasionally.

He'd told himself it was just habit. That he was only taking precautions for the day that Nick decided to use her as leverage. But now he could see… he'd been protecting himself. Deep down he'd known he wouldn't stay away. He'd known the day would come when he had to be near her again. And that they'd likely have to flee when that happened.

He just prayed the car hadn't been stolen. He hadn't checked it in a couple of weeks.

With a glance up to the roof to make sure the Handlers hadn't seen him yet, and with Sasha still on his back, he sprinted across the parking level, then shoved through a door and into the stairwell to pound as fast as he was able, thanking God that Sasha was still blinded, to the lowest level—one below the street, where there was no natural light, and several dark alcoves and unused maintenance closets and rooms.

He kept one hand locked around her wrists in case she got the idea to throw herself off his back, but she didn't. She made squeaking noises whenever he took a corner fast, but other than that she just clung and buried her face where his neck met his shoulder.

It wasn't until he made it to the shadowed corner at the back of the parking lot, the narrow space between the old van and the stairwell maintenance closet that he slowed and let go of her hands.

She slid down his back and he shivered feeling her softness plastered against his body for a moment before she stumbled back and yanked the beanie off of her face and glared at him—but even as she opened her mouth, her eyes went wide and she looked around, taking in the dark parking lot, and the tangy smell of gasoline.

"How—"

"Not now," he said. "They know we're here, so we have to leave. Now." Ignoring the shock and disbelief on her face, he turned and yanked the van door open, revealing an interior that defied its dirty, industrial body.

She squawked when he hurried her into the back, but she didn't fight him, letting him strap her into the only seat, right next to the door and slamming the door closed while she looked around the back of the van, her mouth making a little "o."

He opened the driver's door and yanked off his leather jacket, throwing it to the floor on the passenger side, then digging around for the gray work overalls with the nametag "Dave" stitched on it in red, and pulled them on over his jeans and tight, long-sleeved shirt.

His eyes hooked on hers through the window before he clambered in and heat sizzled down his spine, but he ignored it, pulling himself into the seat and starting the engine with a roar.

This would be the test of his planning and the intelligence of the men following him.

If Nick was physically here, he was screwed.

"Hold on," he said quietly, his voice deeper and darker than it had been since his last job.. "This could get hairy."

 

Chapter 10

The van was a marvel. Like something out of the bat cave. Behind her seat a platform was raised to the ceiling that she suspected was a bed. But that was where any kind of normal upgrades ended.

The outside of the windows had been sprayed with logos and signage, like it was a real maintenance vehicle. But that only stopped the interior from being visible to anyone looking in from the outside. And this interior needed to be hidden.

The entire opposite wall was little more than a bank of computer screens and technology, with a tablet slipped into a holder alongside headphones and several pieces of technology that she couldn't identify. There were small grips and hinges at various spots that told her this was more than just a vehicle wall. And at either end, secure lockers almost big enough for her to crawl into were welded in, with number pads to open.

What was inside those?

The floor was some kind of laminate, that reminded her of her kitchen, and a rolling desk chair was strapped to the back door

For the first time it was coming home to Sasha that Zev might not have left her just because he wanted to. That he might not have left to go live a normal life somewhere else.

That he might be dangerous—even to her.

"Zev—"

"Just stay quiet, Sash," he muttered. "If we can get out of here without them knowing, we'll be safer. Then I can talk. Keep your head down and pray." The van lurched forward and he cursed, but then continued at a sedate pace, though he was looking high and low through the parking garage as he drove.

She held her breath.

There were men chasing them—him? Her? Both of them? Men who, presumably, also had vans with computers and…

"What are you involved in, Zev?" she murmured under her breath. She didn't think he would have been able to hear her over the roar of the van. But his shoulders tensed.

"I will explain, I promise. Just be patient."

She stared at the back of his head. Patient? She'd waited five years! But she swallowed the protest back. If these men were as dangerous as he said, she didn't want to distract him.

They rolled through the garage and up the winding ramp to the street level where there was a line of two cars waiting to get through the barrier to the street.

She didn't speak and neither did Zev, though he scanned every inch of the parking garage—and checked her in the rearview mirror.

For a split-second their eyes locked again, and her breath whooshed out of her. There was pleading in his gaze. Pleading, and warning, and fear and… heat. The soft, warm heat she recognized, that he'd always had when he looked at her before.

That gaze hit her low in her belly, and made her heart race even faster. But he tore his eyes away and went back to scanning the dark garage around them. Then the car ahead of them went through the barrier arm and he pulled up to the little hut and rolled down his window, slinging his arm over the door casually and handing a ticket through it.

Sasha looked back. There was no one waiting behind them.

"Hey," a male voice said out of Sasha's sight.

Zev tipped his head. "Where's Patrick?" he said, friendly, unthreatening. "He sick? He seemed fine yesterday?"

"Nah, his wife's having a baby," the guy responded.

"Oh?" Then Sasha felt it, that strange tension, pressure in the air—power. Just like back at the apartment, something emanated off of Zev that made her squirm in her seat. He still had his arm over the open window of the van, but she saw the muscles at the back of his jaw twitch. "Patrick doesn't have a wife. He's gay."

There was a cold second where Sasha's heart leaped into her throat, then all hell broke loose.

He was so fast. So incredibly fast. And strong.

Impossibly strong.

Zev flowed through the window and half out of the van, a guttural snarl erupting from his throat. The guy shouted something and Zev's body jolted, then, impossibly, he was pulling back into the car, his shoulders barely straining as he dragged the top half of the guy with him, leaving the stranger's legs still in the kiosk, his body half-in and half-out of the van window, but pinned because the window was too small for him to do more than twist.

Fists flew, and the van shook. Sasha tried to leap out of her seat, but was held in by the seatbelt. She unclipped it and scrambled forward.

"Get back!" Zev snarled at her as he twisted the guy's neck up in his own shirt.

The strange noises were coming from the guy's throat and his face was beet-red, turning purple. He slammed fists into Zev, or tried to, but in the tight confines of the van, he couldn't wind up—and apparently, given the way his face was swelling and veins were beginning to stand proud on his forehead, he couldn't breathe either.

The man began to wriggle like a fish, reaching for Zev's neck, his fingers digging into Zev's windpipe until he was forced to let go of the shirt he was using to strangle the man with one hand, to grab and twist the guy's wrist.

Sasha heard a sickening snap.