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his life force, faint as it was, battling the damage to his body. Watching over him wasn’t going to speed things along. She needed to leave. If she did not, her entire mission would be compromised. She was here to hijack that semi, and its deadly cargo.
    Only she couldn’t leave. Not—quite—yet.
    From the moment she’d seen Johnny magically appear on this lonely stretch of road in Kyrgyzstan, long-suppressed feelings had rushed to the surface: regret, fear, anger, and a longing so deep her heart ached. Memories of their two years together swept through her. It had been eight years since she’d last seen him, but it seemed as if an entire lifetime had passed. She could still see the horrific pain and anger in his eyes when in a fit of rage he had tried to kill her. As far as he and the law knew, he had.
    Now, on her quest for the cask Baphomet had spoken of, she had had a bird’s-eye view when the ambush played out, led by none other than Johnny Cicone.
    Before she could recover from the shock of seeing him, he’d gone down, and she’d had to wait for the trailer to start moving before she could get to him. When she saw the carnage that was his body, she had not given her actions a second thought. She had given him her reserve shot of Revive, a combination of blood serums extracted from donors not of the human world. Then, for safe measure, she had injected him with the individual vampire serums she had just collected in Siberia and St. Petersburg.
    It was his only chance to survive, and she owed him that.
    Revive was illegal. If she was caught with even a drop of it on her person, she would be executed on the spot. Nonetheless, she transported the drug and the serums needed to make it for an important man, one who wouldn’t be pleased when she returned empty-handed.
    Joran Cadiz was not a man you failed. She shrugged off his impending wrath. She could always hunt again. It wasn’t the vampire she feared disappointing, it was Señor Balderama, el patrón.
    The head of Los Cuatro, a man with a mission—a mission Selena shared, one Cadiz knew nothing about.
    Joran was her connection to the immortal world she shunned. Los Cuatro was her human connection, in a world she fought to fit into and a cause she believed in.
    It was funny how fate intervened. While she was hell-bent on hijacking the cask Apollyon was after, so was Los Cuatro, but for different reasons. Humanitarian reasons. As a Los Cuatro agent, Selena had come to Kyrgyzstan to locate it and hijack it. But now, because of Johnny, she’d been waylaid.
    She must go. With her powers, she would easily be able to pick up the trailer’s location and do what she had come to do.
    She looked up at the afternoon sun, then back to Johnny. She could do nothing more for him. He’d either live and thrive thanks to the Rev, or he’d die. … She’d given him a chance. She owed him more—but not in this lifetime.
    Off in the distance, the faint but unmistakable sound of a helicopter disturbed the silence. Johnny’s backup? Selena knelt beside her beloved and touched his cheek. It was cold. Her heart stutter-stepped. She prayed to his God that he survived, then brushed her lips across his cold ones. “Good-bye, Johnny,” she softly said, then stood and turned west.
    She sprinted down the opposite crevice to a sleek, black motocross bike, then roared off after the trailer.

CHAPTER TWO

    N ikko woke to the sting of frigid air slapping his face and full memory of the ambush and his failure. His body felt light, and—tentatively—he touched his chest. Beneath the ravaged body armor and shredded fatigues, smooth skin. What the hell?
    He bolted upright, realizing he was in no pain. Scrambling to the top of the crevice, he surveyed the carnage and destruction that was the roadside. The bodies of the fallen agents, mercs, and commandos littered the scene. Their bodies were still mangled, bloody messes, while his …
    His body-armor vest. It was in pieces, his jacket