It figured the best kisser on the planet would be unexpectedly trying to kill her on a cellular level. Time was not on her side. Adare wouldn’t like it, but she had to finish what she’d started and get some answers in case she soon faced coma or death. Nobody understood how it felt to have blanks in your memory that tortured you every night. If she was going to die anyway, she’d die knowing who she’d been. Maybe who she could’ve been. She couldn’t let Adare stop her. “Thanks, Doc.” She hung up and hustled back outside, ready to say goodbye.

Her car and driver rolled to a stop, its headlights piercing the darkened winter day.

“Let’s go, Grace,” Adare said, reaching to pluck up her camera bag. Did he sound relieved? She could swear he sounded relieved.

With one last fake smile at Jacqueline, Grace stepped out from the protective overhang toward her car, wondering when she’d lost her mind. What did she care that a snotty feline shifter was making the moves on Adare? Would the old her have punched Jacqueline in the nose? It was doubtful.

Suddenly, all four doors of the black sedan opened at once.

“Grace!” Adare bellowed, turning and lunging toward her.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Adare smelled the enemy a split second before the first boot hit the ground. Sour lemons. He dropped the bags and pivoted, manacling one arm around Grace’s waist and twisting to shot-put her over the hood of the SUV. She flew high, her arms windmilling as she disappeared on the other side. Before she hit the ground, he turned and charged, head down, into the chest of the driver, smashing him against the rear door. Glass shattered and metal dented with a loud crunch.

Bullets pinged above his head, and he rolled the soldier over, punching repeatedly toward the bastard’s face. Blood began to blend with his blackish red hair, and the driver struck up, slicing Adare’s neck with a knife.

Blood arced and pain lashed through Adare’s head. He growled, letting his fangs drop low, while sending emergency healing cells to the injury. The Kurjan beneath him, his eyes a swirling purple, struck up again.

Adare blocked the blade and went into a pure fighting state, which was where he belonged.

The Kurjan clapped a hand against Adare’s ear, grabbed his hip, and rolled them across the icy ground. Thunderous pain clashed through Adare’s head, but he reached down and drew his knife from his boot as they moved, slashing up and through the Kurjan’s white skin from beneath his jaw to his brain.