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voice called. “We’re ready.”
    He reached out and motioned the girl over with a wave of his fingers. “Come.”
    But his redhead had backed herself against the far wall, her body trembling in renewed fear. He’d expected her to beat feet, despite his warning of the consequences. He hadn’t expected this…terror.
    â€œI told you,” he said gently. “We mean you no harm.”
    Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. And as he watched, the golden glow of her eyes deepened, darkened, black bleeding into the whites.
    â€œWhat the hell is—”
    One minute she was before him, the next she wasn’t, gone as if she’d never been. He spun, gaze scanning. Didn’t see her. But the only Hunter still standing suddenly belted out an agonized scream—a scream that halted abruptly as his body sagged, collapsing on the sandy floor, blood pooling around him.
    â€œThe girl,” Sabin said, palming a blade, determined to protect her from whatever force had just slain the Hunter he’d planned to interrogate. Still he did not see her. If she could disappear with only a thought like Lucien, she would be safe. Out of his reach forevermore, but safe. But could she? Had she?
    â€œBehind you,” Cameo said, and for once she sounded more shocked than miserable.
    â€œMy gods,” Paris breathed. “I never saw her move, yet…”
    â€œShe didn’t…did she…how could she have…” Maddox scrubbed a hand down his face, as though he didn’t believe what he was seeing.
    Again, Sabin spun. And there she was, back inside her cell, sitting, knees drawn to her chest, mouth dripping with blood, a…trachea?…clutched in one of her hands. She’d ripped—or bitten?—the man’s throat out.
    Her eyes were a normal color again, gold with gray striations, but they were completely devoid of emotion and so faraway he suspected the shock of what she’d done had numbed her mind. Her expression was blank, too. Her skin was now so pallid he could see the blue veins underneath. And she was shaking, rocking back and forth and mumbling incoherently under her breath. What. The. Hell?
    The Hunter had called her a monster. Sabin hadn’t believed it. Then.
    Sabin stepped inside the cell, unsure of what to do but knowing he could neither leave her like this nor lock her back up. One, she hadn’t attacked his friends. Two, swift as she was, she could escape before the window closed and do serious damage to him for breaking his word.
    â€œSabin, man,” Gideon said, grim. “You might not want to rethink going in there. For once, a Hunter was lying.”
    For once. Try once more . “Know what we’re dealing with here?”
    â€œNo.” Yes. “She’s not a Harpy, the spawn of Lucifer who did not spend a year unfettered on earth. I haven’t dealt with them before and I don’t know that they can kill an army of immortals in mere seconds.”
    As Gideon couldn’t tell a single truth without soon wishing he were dead, his entire body wrapped in agonyand riddled with suffering, Sabin knew everything he said was a lie. Therefore, the warrior had encountered a Harpy before—and he clearly didn’t mean the word in a derogatory sense—and those Harpies were the spawn of Lucifer and could destroy even a brute like himself in a blink.
    â€œWhen?” he asked.
    Gideon understood his meaning. “Remember when I wasn’t imprisoned?”
    Ah. Gideon had once endured three months of torture at Hunter hands.
    â€œOne didn’t destroy half the camp before a single alarm could be sounded. She didn’t take off, for whatever reason, and the remaining Hunters didn’t spend the next few days cursing the entire race.”
    â€œHold on. Harpy? I don’t think so. She isn’t hideous.” That little nugget came from Strider, the king of stating the obvious. “How can