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long enough to rethink it.” With one hand, he threw Alan into the street like a rag dol .
    In a swirl of black and a flash of silver, the man turned to face Nick. He didn’t know why, but the guy reminded him more of a rich stockbroker than someone able to take down street-hardened gangbangers. And he wasn’t al that old either.
    Maybe his late twenties.
    Maybe.
    Nick could barely draw his breath as the man came forward with the walk of a vicious predator. He was dressed al in black. An expensive leather coat draped around a body that was lethal. But it was the flash of silver on a pair of black boots that caught his attention.
    One of them had a knife protruding from the toe. A knife that retracted as he came closer. The man knelt down, his brow furrowed into a deep frown. “They made a mess of you, kid.
    Can you stand?”
    Nick slapped at his hand as the man reached out to touch him. He didn’t need help from anyone. Especial y not a stranger.
    He tried to push himself to his feet, then everything went black.
    Kyrian Hunter barely caught the skinny kid dressed in a foul y orange Hawaiian shirt before he hit the street. That hideous thing had saved his life. So bright it practical y glowed, it’d cal ed out to him as he’d been walking by and had alerted him to the fight.
    From what he’d seen, the kid was a tough little scrapper.
    He’d give him that. And the boy could take a vicious beating without begging for mercy. There weren’t many adults who could have gone through what he had without crying.
    That alone made him respect the kid.
    He glared at the other punks, who were running down the street as fast as they could. The ancient warrior and predator inside him wanted to hunt them down and kil them for what they’d done.
    But the man in him knew this one, the one who’d put his life on the line to save the elderly couple, wouldn’t live if he did.
    The cowards could unfortunately wait for another butt-whipping.
    He tilted the kid’s face so that he could see his features.
    The short brown hair was saturated with blood, and a huge cut would most likely leave a scar right above his left eyebrow. His nose was broken and by the looks of it, his jaw might be too. If not broken, they’d pounded it real good. Blood poured from his shoulder where he’d been shot.
    Poor kid.
    Picking him up, Kyrian carried him to his car so that he could get him to the hospital before he bled out and died.
    Kyrian paced the waiting room, where several dozen other people sat in various states of agitation and il ness. It’d been almost two hours since he’d handed the teenager over to the staff and stil no word about the kid he’d found.
    Was he even stil alive?

    Was he even stil alive?
    Checking his watch, he growled. He real y didn’t have the time to stay here, waiting. …
    He had important duties to attend to and, with luck, more lives to save before dawn.
    “What are you doing here, General?”
    He froze at the deep, thickly accented voice. Since Acheron was an eleven-thousand-year-old omnipotent immortal, he was the last person Kyrian had expected to find in a hospital.
    Not like the man could ever break a bone or get sick.
    He turned around slowly to find Acheron just inside the doorway. At six foot eight with dark green hair and dressed in black Goth gear complete with a spiked leather motorcycle jacket, he was an impressive sight that made everyone who saw him swal ow in fear. But it wasn’t just his height that gave people pause. It was the lethal aura of I’l -kick-your-butt-so-hard-your-ancestors’-ears-wil -ring. Anyone who came near him could feel the unearthly power that bled from the pores of this particular …
    Being.
    “What are you doing here?” Kyrian asked.
    His eyes completely shielded by a pair of opaque Predator sunglasses even though it was almost midnight, Acheron cut loose with a lopsided grin that antagonized him. “I asked you first.”
    If it’d been anyone other than Acheron making