He'd transported us to a low-ceilinged attic. Patchy sunlight trickled through the gaps in the roof. I rushed him but he caught my hands in one wrist. My skin heated painfully under his touch. Electricity crackled between my skin and his, but he only laughed. "Knock yourself out. Can't feel a thing for all the scarring."

I jerked free. "You're a douchebag and should be plowed under like mulch."

"Volunteering for the gig?" Hearing Samson's all-American accent coming out of ...