It was better than sex.
Well, the meh sex she’d been having lately, at any rate. And she had the Book.
“Although you and I are going to have words,” she muttered at the thing. “Bad Book. You are a very, very bad Book.”
Out in the cramped hallway, the female vampire was gently rolling her stud over, the male’s loosey-goosey head flopping around, his sightless eyes staring at the floor, the wall—oh, and now the ceiling.
“You could try mouth-to-mouth,” Devina suggested, “but I don’t think it’s going to help.”
The female collapsed on that big, immobile chest, and positively wailed. And for a moment, Devina thought about making some wisecracks, just to cut the tension. ’Cuz this was getting a little intense.
And then it dawned on her.
No one was ever going to mourn her like this. No one was ever going to care whether she lived or died. Nobody was ever going to . . . love her like this.
Just as the pain shot through her chest, the female wrenched around.
With a gun in her hand.
As a wobbly red dot skated into her eyes, Devina recoiled—
The female screamed in fury as she pulled the trigger over and over again, the sound of the gun going off competing for airtime over the roaring grief.
And Devina had to give the bitch credit. She was a helluva shot.
The bullets ripped through flesh and bone, blowing chunks out on the tile, the floor, even into the tub with the female’s dead brother, all kinds of perfect features getting ruined as Devina was thrown back—
Click. Click. Click.
Devina opened the one eye that was still working. The female still had the gun straight out in front of her, and she was compulsively squeezing the trigger, even though nothing was coming out.
Lunging forward, she grabbed the female by the throat with one hand and took her careening down the hall into a pathetic little kitchen. As the vampire tripped and started falling, Devina gave her a shove—and a table with a cereal box and a bowl full of milk caught the scramble, everything splintering, chairs knocking over.
Devina kept the Book in her other hand as she went over and dragged the female up again and then pitched her against the counter. Against the cupboards. Against the stove.
And in proof that she was the superior entity, she managed to do all of that ping-pong’ing while she reknitted the gunshot injuries.
By the time the female slumped to the floor, things were back to rights.
Devina took the front of that throat one last time and tossed the piece of unresisting meat back against the empty wall by the door into what had to be the garage.
Holding the female in place with a spell, Devina fluffed her hair. “Well. That happened. And I’m going to settle a score now. You ruined my bag by fire. So I’m going to burn this piece-of-shit house down with you and your corpse boyfriend and your soggy, dead-ass, motherfucking thief of a brother in it.” She glanced around. And then stamped a heel with frustration. “Damn it, I don’t have marshmallows. Do you have—oh, never mind.”
She walked in a little circle and wondered where to start. “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my Oprah moment. Here it is! You have a flame . . . and you have a flame . . . and you have a flame.”
All around, little bursts of yellow and orange appeared on things: The back of the sofa and the corner of the carpet in the living room. The cupboard over the refrigerator. The archway into the hall. And there were more in the back bedrooms, too. Down in the basement as well.
“Phew.” She took a break and fanned herself. “Is it me or am I hot in here. And by the way, you still owe me at least two hundred grand. There’s no way this hovel is anywhere close to the cost of my bag.”
• • •
Up against the wall, Mae was losing consciousness—at least until the house burst into flames around her. As smoke and heat began to thicken the air, and her skin prickled in warning at the flames, a wave of adrenaline whipped her brain back in order.
But there was nothing to be done. Just as Sahvage had been held in place before—
Moaning in her throat, Mae squeezed her eyes closed. She had killed him. Not intentionally, but her actions had created the situation that had led to his demise.
This was all her fault. And she’d never had a chance to apologize . . . or tell him that she loved him. She had ruined his life all because of her selfish quest for power over death.
Lifting her lids, she focused on the demon. The brunette was smiling as the smoke swirled around her, the Book that had started it all clasped against her—