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loss of her innocence, which had so charmed him. She’s been through too much to ever go back.
    They all had.
    Jenn was right. They needed to act soon—if for no other reason than they couldn’t hide where they were much longer. Father Sebastian, the monastery’s abbot, had given them sanctuary. But there were three other priests in residence, and Father Sebastian had warned Father Juan that they were loyal to Rome. The Church had outlawed vampire hunters and declared that anyone caught helping them would be excommunicated—cast out from the Catholic community. It was only a matter of time before one of the loyalists figured out who the team was and reported them—and turned in Father Sebastian for aiding them.
    Antonio tried to swallow his bitterness. He would never have believed that his beloved Church would turn its back on the hunters they had spent centuries training to fight the Cursed Ones.
    The world was upside down.
    Holgar had killed a woman he loved.
    Jenn, the leader of a vampire-hunting team, was in love with him, a Cursed One.
    And he, Antonio de la Cruz, was drowning in guilt and remorse, not only for the lives of the innocents he had so recently snuffed out, but for killing his sire, Sergio Almodóvar, at the last battle against Aurora.
    His guilty conscience was proof that he was insane. Killing Sergio before he could harm Jenn’s sister—or any human being—had been the right thing to do. Watching Sergio fall into the fiery pit in Salamanca had brought a rush of relief. A burden had lifted once and forever—Sergio loved to kill churchmen, and when Antonio had served in Sergio’s court, he had killed seven Catholic faithful for him. Why then was he feeling so sinful? Replaying Sergio’s death, torturing himself with it. He hadn’t told Father Juan of his torment. He didn’t need to give anyone more reason to distrust him.
    Especially Jenn.
    Ay, mi alma, he thought, crossing himself. My soul.
    His soul, named Jenn.
M ADRID , S PAIN
A URORA
    In the ruins of the palace once inhabited by a Spanish princess, Aurora raged with grief.
    Sergio was dead.
    In fury she paced back and forth on a cracked black marble floor, hurling an empty bottle of sangria at a stained-glass window of some idiotic saint. The window shattered, revealing the bone-white moon hanging above the ravaged garden.
    If anyone was going to kill that bastard, she should have been the one to do it. Not that she was planning to before Antonio de la Cruz had stolen her choice from her.
    I hate him. I hate Antonio more than I have ever hated anyone.
    She cast a contemptuous gaze at the minion cowering before her, a vampire who had fought the hunters at Salamanca and lived to tell the tale. He was terrified of her, which was good. His knees shook.
    He’s too weak to be an effective lieutenant. Actually, too weak to be allowed to live.
    She reached out with both hands, grabbed his head, and twisted it from his neck. For one second the lieutenant’s eyes blinked at her in shock, and then all of him, head and body, transmuted into dust.
    That made her feel a little better.
    As she wiped her hands on a nearby chaise, she just wished she could do the same to Antonio. And to Estefan. The Dark Witch had gotten his prize, the girl Skye, and fled the battle without a word.
    He would pay for deserting her.
    But first Aurora would leave Madrid. In a few hours she would be with her sire. When Lucifer called, none dared ignore it. Love and fear mingled within her at the thought ofseeing him again. She would have to tell him about Sergio’s death, though Lucifer probably already knew. Her dark lord knew everything.
    He probably even knows that I captured Antonio and then lost him.
    She shuddered at what he might do to her for that blunder. There was nowhere in this world or the next that she could hide from Lucifer, and she would go to him with her head held high.
    But first she had once last thing to attend to.
    “Come,” she commanded.
    One of