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Winded, stricken to his knees by debilitating pain, Strider gripped the Paring Rod. Harpies, consorts and slaves raced in every direction, trying to get away before the cops arrived. And they would, bringing reporters with them. Countless laws had been broken and a national treasure desecrated. Even now, blood soaked the ground, pooling around Strider’s feet.

What the hell should he do? And why was his demon so agonized, moaning and writhing inside his head? They’d won. Hadn’t they?

The moment Lazarus lost his head, the artifact had appeared. Something shimmery had risen from his body and been sucked into the tip of the Rod as if a vacuum switch had been thrown. The warrior’s soul, probably, the rest joining the piece inside.

No longer able to hold the illusion, the world had returned to normal. Strider hadn’t thought of that little complication, and therefore hadn’t prepared for it. Had only considered at last acquiring the Rod. Now he had it, but few options for successfully hiding it.

Juliette knew her man was dead, knew he wouldn’t have disobeyed her otherwise. That scream… She would be searching for the body. Would learn who was responsible. There’d be no covering up the truth. Not now. Too many people had seen Strider hovering over the lifeless body, a bloody sword in hand. Not that he would have tried to cover up the truth. He’d done the crime, the consequences his to bear.

Now, though, he’d brought evil to Kaia’s door. Juliette would no longer be content to humiliate her. Juliette would want to punish her. Hurt her. Destroy her.

The truth struck him and he wanted to vomit. What the hell had he done?

Strider lumbered to his feet, his head swimming. He swayed, comprehension a bitch slap of truth. He had challenged Kaia to win the game; she must have lost. Shit. Shit! Was she okay?

Someone slammed into him and he stumbled, his pain intensifying. His grip tightened on the Rod. He had to keep it safe; he also had to reach Kaia. Sabin and Lysander were probably looking for their women, so they would be no help.

With his free hand, Strider jerked his cell phone out of his pocket. He needed Lucien.

His vision was too blurry to see the numbers. He tried to call the keeper of Death, anyway. The warrior was on speed dial, so all Strider had to do was press three numbers—just three—then utter one word—help—and his friend would appear.

Someone else bumped into him and he stumbled more forcefully. The phone fell from his hand, clattering to the pavement. Shit! He bent down, his bones and joints protesting as he patted the area around him. Finally his fingers closed around the plastic.

Multiple pairs of booted feet stomped all over his hand, crushing the bone—and the cell. Those same feet dug into his back, breaking his ribs and stabbing the jagged shards into his lungs, deflating them. Next, his face was shoved into the dirt.

Stampeded, he thought, dazed. How humiliating. He jerked the Rod underneath his body, hoping to shelter it. He doubted anything could break it, despite its fragile appearance. There was an hourglass on each end, the staff itself thin and wooden, but the thing had been made by the gods. And he was living proof that the gods didn’t make inferior products. But the Rod could be stolen and that he wouldn’t allow.

He almost couldn’t believe that he was holding the fourth artifact. After all this time, the final piece of the puzzle had fallen straight into his lap. At a terrible price, yes, but he had it.

Eventually the footsteps let up and Strider forced his battered body to stand. He wheezed, swayed. A few more Harpies ran into him as they raced past, but they failed to knock him down. Maybe because they weren’t trying. They were just in a hurry.

Another feminine scream rent the air, closer this time. The agony in that scream…agony and rage, blending together in a vicious harmony.

“I. Will. Kill. You.” Juliette’s words reverberated, each one a lash of hatred.

Even though he couldn’t see shit, he turned and let the momentum of the thinning crowd lead him away. A few times, his knees threatened to buckle, but he used the Rod as a walking stick and kept going.

How close was Juliette on his heels?

Kaia! he mentally shouted. They’d never spoken telepathically, but he’d never been this desperate to reach her before. He could only hope their marriage had enhanced their connection. Where are you?

“I’m here.” A familiar fragrance filled his nose a split second before a warm arm snaked around his waist, jerking him to the left. “Is that what I think it is?”