“I said I was sorry,” Kisten said again, not looking from the road as the lit buildings, hazy with snow, passed. There was more than a hint of bother in his tone, and I decided to stop shouting at him even if I was still pissed and shaking. Besides, he wasn’t cowering, begging for forgiveness, and his confident admission of having made a mistake was nice for a change.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said sourly, not yet ready to forgive him, but not wanting to talk about it anymore, either.

“Shit,” he said, his jaw clenching as he watched the rearview mirror instead of the road in front of him. “They’re still following us.”

I twitched, managing to not turn and look, satisfying myself with what I could see in the side mirror. Kisten took a sudden right and my lips parted in disbelief. The road ahead of us was empty, a dark tunnel of nothing compared to the lights and the security of commerce behind us. “What are you doing?” I asked, hearing a tinge of fear in my voice.

His eyes were still on the road behind us when the dark Cadillac jerked out in front of us, blocking the road as it spun sideways.

“Kisten!” I shouted, bracing my arms against the dash. A tiny shriek escaped me as he swore and jerked the wheel. My head smacked the window and I bit back a cry of pain. Breath held, I felt the wheels lose contact with the pavement and we slipped on the ice. Still swearing, Kisten reacted with his vamp reflexes, the car fighting him. The little Corvette gave a final little hiccup of motion as it found the curb and we swayed to a shaken halt.

“Stay in the car.” He reached for the door. Four men in dark suits were getting out of the Cadillac ahead of us. Three were in the BMW behind us. All witches, probably, and here I was, with only a couple of vanity charms. This was going to look really good in the obituaries.

“Kisten, wait!” I said.

Hand on the door, he turned. My chest clenched at the blackness in his eyes. Oh God, he had vamped out.

“It will be okay,” he said, his voice a black-earth, rich rumble that went to my core and gripped my heart.

“How do you know?” I whispered.

A blond-dyed eyebrow shifted up so slightly, I wasn’t sure it even moved. “Because if they kill me, then I’d be dead and I’ll hunt them down. They want to—talk. Stay in the car.”

He got out and shut the door. The car was still running, the thrum of the engine tightening my muscles one by one. Falling snow hit the windshield to melt, and I turned off the wipers. “Stay in the car,” I muttered, fidgeting. I glanced behind me, seeing the three guys from the BMW moving closer. Kisten was lit to a stark severity as he crossed in front of his lights, approaching the four men with his palms forward with a casualness that I knew was false. “Like hell I’m going to stay in the car,” I said, reaching for the handle and lurching into the cold.