Piers didn’t know where the word pavement came from and didn’t care. His heart exploded with her scream. He drove into the man like a battering ram, shoulder first, head lowered. They scraped across the pavement. Holy gods! He exhaled sharply.

Piers blocked out the pain of several fresh, raw abrasions and jumped to his feet. So did the ruffian. The man drew a knife. Piers drew his sword.

The other man’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not real.”

“Try it,” Piers growled.

The coward tossed his knife aside and pulled out a smallish black thing Piers could only assume was a better weapon. But what kind? He didn’t see a blade. Was this magic?

“Get down!” Pink screamed.

Piers ducked as she darted in and slammed a wooden plank into the thug’s hand. The man dropped the weapon.

Piers kicked it aside. The black thing slid under a big refuse receptacle that smelled even worse than the rest of Apple. The hired thug leaped for his discarded knife. Faster by two steps, Piers swept it up first, finding himself in the pleasant position of being double-bladed while his enemy had nothing.

“Who the hell are you?” The man’s eyes darted to the alley he’d just popped out of. If he thought Piers was going to let him run back down it, he had another guess coming. “Fucking lunatic.”

“I like that name better than Zorba,” Piers said.

Pink laughed. The sudden burst sounded a bit hysterical, but she still laughed, and Piers’s chest swelled with it.

He glanced at her. “Does he live or die?” Piers figured he should give her the choice, since he didn’t know much about this. He kept his blades pointed in the right direction.

Her frantic laughter abruptly wilted. “Wait? You’re serious?”

Piers didn’t kill for sport or enjoy it, but when it came down to eliminating threats that could come back to haunt him—or her—he was dead serious. He nodded.

“You can’t just kill people,” she whisper-hissed, moving closer to him. She gripped his arm, trying to move him away from the ruffian. Warrior was definitely a stretch, and Piers wouldn’t credit the man with the moniker. Either of his younger sisters could’ve kicked this man’s arse from here to Olympus. As for his brothers… Griffin would’ve snapped his neck, no questions asked. Carver would’ve gutted him.

Something deep inside Piers shifted uncomfortably at the idea of Griffin. But why? He’d been riding toward Griffin and Cat, and then… Nothing. He didn’t remember what happened.

Pink tugged again, but Piers didn’t budge. “Come on,” she said, pulling harder.

“He was going to kill you.” Piers wasn’t the bloodthirsty sort, but he was tempted to make an exception if it meant keeping the woman safe. “He’ll try again.”