Damon’s face was close to hers, eyes dark and feral.

“Now,” he snarled, “give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slice your fucking throat open.”

Rev’s heart pounded, a mix of anger and fear tightening in her chest—not fear of him exactly, but of the dagger pressed far too close to her neck. One wrong move and she knew Fang wouldn’t hesitate. She wasn’t about to die by her own dagger in his hands. If anyone was going to die, it’d be him by hers.

And she couldn’t blow her cover. She wasn’t supposed to know how to fight. She was supposed to be a poor orphan girl—taken in...