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with naught but a bottle in her hand, her violet eyes ablaze. Springing to her aid, he’d slain the fiend with his sword. To his surprise, she had chastised him most roundly for it. Then she’d shocked him further by removing a demon from a possessed human, like a physic lancing a boil.
    Rebekah Damian was stubborn, independent, and reckless. She was magnificent.
    She was also half demon.
    He’d discovered her true nature the night of the demon attack and had been repelled and disgusted . . . and strangely fascinated. She represented a dichotomy, this new creature, this child of the djegrali.
    His attraction to a by-blow of his enemy bewildered and disturbed him. She’d been quick to notice his reaction and had angrily ordered him from her bar.
    He’d left, returning a few days later, telling himself ’twas his duty to discover what he could about this new race called demonoids. Having parted from Rebekah on bad terms, he’d made himself invisible, studying her, unseen, for weeks, searching for signs of corruption. How could strength, beauty, and goodness spring from evil?
    To his frustration, he was unable to detect any wickedness in her, or the taint of the djegrali’s influence, in spite of her accursed demon blood.
    He had soon grown impatient with his guise. She was too interesting, too intriguing a puzzle. He wanted her gaze upon him, her notice. It was most unsettling, this unseemly attraction. No doubt it was the result of unslaked lust and the lure of forbidden fruit.
    He’d told himself to put her from his mind and focus instead on the disturbance in the ranks of the Dalvahni. Three of his finest warriors had fallen in recent months—not to death or djegrali treachery, but to a foe more insidious and subversive.
    They had fallen in love. Conall had seen the evidence with his own eyes, though he still found it hard to grasp. Dalvahni warriors did not love. Battle rage and lust, these sentiments were known to them and easily remedied by a visit to the House of Thralls and the emptying clasp of a sexual companion. The thralls, in turn, fed on Dalvahni emotion. ’Twas a relationship that had served both races well for eons.
    Until now.
    Something was afoot here, some kind of strange dark magic. This place, this Han-nah-a-lah was to blame. Deep mischief was at work here, and the djegrali lay at the root of it. He would discover their twisted scheme and foil it.
    And Rebekah would help him. What better place to unravel the enemy’s latest ploy than a beer hall that serviced nonhumans? Rebekah and her little place on the river suited his purpose exactly. He would linger here and listen. He would learn what he needed to know to defeat the djegrali. It was his duty.
    Rebekah’s low, sultry drawl teased him from across the room. Her voice was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. Warm and husky, it whispered along his senses and invariably turned his thoughts to sex—with her. He had never been with anyone but a thrall, and then but seldom. He disliked the loss of control.
    What would it be like to lose control with Rebekah? he wondered.
    He took a steadying breath; best to keep his thoughts away from such things. Rebekah was conversing with the zombie. Perhaps the ghoul would reveal something important. He would join them and find out.
    Rebekah was but another weapon to be used in the fight against the djegrali. He must remember that.

Chapter Four
    “I can cook,” Tommy said in response to Beck’s question regarding his skills. He clutched the scrawny young cat to his chest. “I was saving up for culinary school before . . .” He swallowed hard. “You know.”
    “Already got a cook,” Beck said. “There’s only one rooster on that dunghill, and his name’s Hank.”
    “A zombie got no business being around food anyways,” Toby said. “He’s bound to start losing things, sooner or later. I don’t care what kinda spell that voodoo dude put on him. Zombie parts in the vittles are gonna