Furious Fire: Grimm's Circle, Book 8

He is the love of all her lives…

Grimm’s Circle, Book 8

Thomas Finn, troublemaker, gunslinger, guardian angel…loner. More than a hundred and fifty years ago, he was shot in the back then brought back to life just in time to watch a demon masquerading as his best friend kill the love of his life.

Now, as a Grimm, he satisfies his need for vengeance hunting down demons like the ones that took Rebecca from him. His mission: kill as many as he can, then, when the time comes, go down in a blaze of glory. But with each kill, he comes closer to a line no angel should cross.

Her name was Rebecca. Then it was Tilly. Then Ada. Now, Kalypso. She’s lived so many lives, she can’t even remember when or why it started. All she knows is, she’s always searching for a man with golden eyes that make her burn. And when she finds him—as she always does—she knows that spark of joy means she’s only seconds away from death…again.

This time will be no different…unless something breaks the cycle once and for all.

Warning: Contains the Groundhog Day of star-crossed lovers, a pissed-off guardian angel, a demon-hunter with an axe to grind, and the battle to end all battles. Be warned…there’s pain ahead in this book. Oh, and that HEA finally happens. For these two, anyway.

Furious Fire

Shiloh Walker

Dedication

For all the readers who’ve followed me as I wrote this series…it’s almost at its end, but it’s been one heck of a ride.

To my family…always.

Prologue

“Anything?”

Mandy sighed as she looked away from Natasha’s face.

It had been more than two months since the mortal had been brought to Will’s place in the mountains. She was just human. A human girl who had seen things she shouldn’t have seen and it had pushed her into some dark, quiet place. Mandy had tried hard, very hard, to bring her back.

But it wasn’t happening.

Nat ate.

She drank.

She moved around the cabin, her motions awkward and uneasy, more like an automaton than anything else. When Mandy urged her into the bathroom to bathe, she’d do it…now. The first few weeks, Mandy had been the one to guide her through that too.

It was like whoever existed inside that pretty shell had ceased to exist. Just lost in the darkness and fear, somewhere else. Mandy wasn’t having any luck guiding her back out.

“No.” She looked up as Will came across the wooden floor to her, his long, white hair hanging in a straight banner almost to his waist. Lust tugged at her and she pushed it aside, ignoring the pang of guilt. She was used to wanting him by now. Whether she had a sick woman to deal with or not, she was going to want that man. The earth could rumble and open under her feet and she’d be wanting that man…even as she screamed in terror and clutched at him while she tried not to tumble into the abyss. The earth could end and start again, and she’d want him.

Nothing was going to change that.

He was just going to ignore her. Nothing was going to change
that
, either.

“Will,” she said softly, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her knees as she studied Natasha’s face. “I think it’s time you think about taking her back home. She needs medical care. Therapy. Something I can’t give her.”

His lip curled. “Back home…where they will what? Put her in a hospital? Offer counseling and then call her crazy when she tells them what happened to her?”

“We certainly aren’t helping.” Mandy reached out and covered Natasha’s hand with her own.

Natasha didn’t react. Her gaze was fixed on some point none of them could see. She ate less and less and there were days when Mandy had resorted to hand-feeding her at times. Without medical care, and soon, the woman would be in even more trouble than she already was.

She barely even resembled the girl who had been brought here—thinner, pale, her hair dull and limp.

Looking up at Will, Mandy asked, “What else are we supposed to do? Keep her here? Should I heal her body indefinitely and force her to eat just so you can hope she’ll eventually recover from what she saw?”

His silver gaze cut her way.

Very few people would see the guilt lurking in the back of his eyes. But Mandy saw it. The guilt. The regret. The weight of the burdens he carried. “You didn’t
make
her do anything, Will. She was the one who went there…she was the one who got herself caught up in a world where she doesn’t belong. You tried to save her. You did the best you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.” Will turned on his heel and strode away.

As he left her alone with the silent woman, Mandy sighed and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter One

There might have been a time in my lives when I didn’t know about demons, but I don’t remember it.

Yes. Lives.

I’d certainly known about them for all of this life.

The one before it.

Probably even the one before that.

Beyond that, things were a little less clear.

I can’t remember exactly which life it was, but I know, once upon a time, there had been a life when I hadn’t believed in monsters. Once upon a time, I’d just believed in a life where I got up in the morning, went through my day, thought about the things a woman would think about…me? I don’t really remember that life, but I suspected I’d thought about living, laughing…loving.

As for this life, it’s possible that back when I was still a little kid, I might have been too innocent to understand just
what
a demon was. Back then, I’d only believed in monsters. In evil.

Children can sense evil. If you watch them, you can see it. They know who to pull away from, who to trust…who to
not
trust.

Of course, not all children are able to do that. Evil can be so very clever. It knows how to hide. But sometimes a child can see things more clearly than we do. I think even when I was very young, I looked out at the world and saw the same things I see now…

The monsters.

That was the reason I wanted my mother to check under my bed, the reason I needed the lights burning even when I was past the age when my friends were no longer afraid of the dark.

They weren’t truly monsters, something I found out all too soon. Demons, in human skin, and that makes them so much more deadly.

If they looked like the demons we saw on TV or in books, it would be easier to stay away from them.

Maybe then, I wouldn’t have seen what I’d seen.

I was ten when it happened.

Lying in bed, hugging a pillow to my chest.

My mother had slipped out into the backyard and I knew something was wrong.

The neighbor…there was something not right with him.

My grandma had teased her about been moonstruck, but it was something far worse. Practically obsessed, she’d slid out into the backyard to flirt with him. She couldn’t see him the way I did.

That
was a crucial piece of information. I’d finally figured that much out. It had saved me a lot of grief, something I hoped I’d remember when I died this time.

It would have saved me a lot of trouble if I’d known it last time around.

The last time…

Bits and pieces of those other lives filtered through my mind at odd occurrences, but none of those memories—or the lives—had been particularly happy. There were vague memories of a man. Wavy reddish-brown hair that tumbled into his face, eyes that glowed like molten copper, a quicksilver grin and a temper to match.

Thomas. Tommy…
my
Tommy.

His name was Thom and every moment of happiness in any of those lives was because of him.

And the moment I met him, I had to get ready. Because I’d be dead within weeks. Sometimes minutes, sometimes days. I’d never know.

But it always happened. I’d figured that out in my last life and I’d carried the knowledge through into this one.

So far, I’d managed to live longer than my average—I was twenty-six, practically a senior citizen.

If I could avoid him, I might even see thirty.

But if I avoided him, I’d never see happiness.

Talk about your trade-offs.

Sighing, I focused on the tools I had spread out in front of me, the metal gleaming under the dull light. Reaching for the Browning, I checked to make sure it was loaded and then I slid it into the holster at my back.

A girl’s gotta have a favorite and he’d taught me how to shoot years ago. Lifetimes ago.

That
was a memory that was unclear, but somehow I knew it wasn’t wrong. There were…dreams, really. The only way to describe them. Insubstantial things where I could feel his arm around my waist, the stubble from his chin scraping against my cheek as he murmured in my ear.
Steady there, pretty girl…you gotta hold it steady…

Sometimes, when I hunted and I ended up almost trapped, that was when his voice was the clearest.
That’s it…don’t let it frighten you. It’s a tool. A weapon. You control it. That’s it…

I always felt better if I had one of those
tools
with me. Like a piece of him, almost.

He hadn’t taught me to shoot with a weapon like this, of course. But these had more style. They were quicker, more reliable—and a lot easier to come by than the old-fashioned pistols I had only hazy memories of.

Since I didn’t believe in putting my faith in just one weapon, I selected a set of thin blades that I would carry tucked into a set of arm sheaths.

Just a few more touches before I was ready for my…
date
.

“Cally?”

At the sound of the fake name I’d given at the door, I looked up. My real name was Kalypso Carfax. Not exactly the kind of name that would be forgotten in a blink, and that was one of the reasons I didn’t use it. I did everything I could to be forgotten. I blended in. I kept my head down. When I wasn’t on a date, I tended to wear clothes that were nondescript and just a little too baggy, and shoes that were plain and sensible.

I did my best not to stand out.

The exact opposite of this guy.

The man standing by the table was unbelievably gorgeous. He was tall, big and bronzed, his head shaved bald. The look suited him. There was a tattoo twining up along his neck, peeking up from under his collar and ending right where his hairline would have been. As I smiled at him, he settled in the seat across from me.

“You must be Lucas,” I said, leaning forward and letting the shirt I wore gape open. I was on a date, after all, and that meant showing a little skin. There were reasons behind it. Every now and then, though, it was nice to slide into a sexy pair of shoes and a shirt that didn’t swallow me for any reason
other
than to grab a guy’s attention.

But if I was dressed to kill, it was for a reason. I was
going
to kill.

My blouse gaped, allowed a peek at my bra.

To his credit, his gaze didn’t immediately drop.

That was fine. We had the rest of the evening. If I didn’t kill him tonight, then I’d find a way to kill him tomorrow, or the next the day.

After all, this wasn’t a man in front of me…not anymore.

He wore human skin, but he was a demon, through and through. Demons had to die. All of them.

It only increased my determination to see him dead when he reached out and touched my hand, his fingers rough, in the absolute best way. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

“No.” I smiled.
I can wait for this kind of thing for days, I promise you.
I smiled at him, the anticipation I felt probably showing in my eyes. This was the closest I ever got to sex and the high was already burning through me.

No doubt he saw it, but he was reading it all wrong.

Just as well.

He was an incubus, or that was the closest I’d ever been able to come to figuring out. He fed on—and thrived on—sex.

He thought he’d feed and thrive on my skinny ass in a little while.

You keep thinking that.

“Don’t touch…”

Even as Finn caught her hands, she twisted away and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“You always say that.” She bit him on the ear and from behind, she pressed her breasts to him. “But then you look at me and you want me to touch you. I want to touch
you
…what’s the harm?”

Fire licked at his flesh, and it wasn’t
lust
that caused the flames. Or not only lust.

Built-in controls kicked in, because even in his dreams—and Finn knew he was dreaming—Finn could never lose control of that fire. He gripped her wrists, squeezed, squeezed, squeezed until he felt bones grind together. “There’s lots of harm.”

His voice was coldly practical, and when he pulled away, she didn’t try to draw him back to her.

He turned, looked at her.

Sanity splintered, tried to fall to pieces around him as he stared at her. A quiet beauty—that had been Becky, the woman he’d loved, the only woman. She looked at him now, but only it wasn’t the woman who had whispered to him moments earlier.

Not Becky…and worse, he knew her. Granted, the last time he’d seen her—the
only
time he’d seen her, she’d worn a mask of blood and there’d been still more blood spilling from the gutwound in her stomach. Now, though, she wore a chemise and pantaloons, along with a corset that was clearly meant to be seen. It was entirely likely she’d been wearing the same garments the day she’d died—the day he’d failed to save her.

The same way he’d failed to save Becky.

“How is your touch ever going to harm me, Finn?” she asked as she came close to him. Her nipples pressed against the thin cloth of her chemise and through the almost-sheer pantaloons, he saw the dark shadow between her thighs.

But that wasn’t what made his throat go dry or what had his heart slam against his chest with an intensity he hadn’t known since before his death.

She’d spoken to him…in Becky’s voice.

But Becky was dead, and unlike Finn, when she’d died, she hadn’t been brought back through Death’s door.

“Stop,” he growled, uncertain what trick his brain was playing on him. Dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. He’d always hated it when he dreamed, but this had to be the worst—

She smiled at him, and as the smile curved her lips, her face wavered, reformed. Now she was growing taller, her skin darkening from pale cream to a warm, toffee brown. “Stop what?”

“This…this game. Just stop it, sweetheart, stop it now.”

Something cold flooded the room.

“
Sweetheart
,” she hissed. The word was cold, almost ugly, and he swung his head back to look at her. The change was complete and he froze, because once more, he recognized her.

A woman he’d known briefly in Quebec, a century ago, give or take. Although could he say he
knew
her? She’d died while he watched and he hadn’t been able to stop it, hadn’t been able to help, except to see that she didn’t die alone.

She snarled at him, oblivious to his shock as she yelled at him, enraged. The words were in French and he had to struggle to translate them. The most he could come up with was a mangled version of “I told you never to call me sweetheart!”

A chill raced down his spine.

Not Becky…but again, it was Becky’s voice, in a language she didn’t know…and worse, those were her words.

She lunged for him.

He caught her hand just before she would have struck him, and then she changed.

Again. He
felt
the shift and change of her skin, the very texture of it changing, from soft and smooth to skin that was rougher, dryer and pale, freckled. “Son of a…” The words caught in his throat and he stopped mid-sentence as her features finished forming.

Unwittingly, he reached up and cupped her face.

“Why?” he whispered. The question wasn’t directed at her. But at himself, or God, or whatever puppetmaster was directing this dream. “Why are you doing this?”

The fire inside him leaked free at that moment and he jerked back as flames licked at her.

She didn’t even notice.

She reached for him, her fingers touching his cheek.

She reached up, her features melting back into Becky’s face. But when she spoke, it was in German.

“Finn…erkennst du mich nicht?”

He tore back, tore himself away, out of the dream, just as the fire threatened to break past his control.

He found himself on the floor of the little house where he lived, perched on the edge where the Ohio and the Mississippi met, miles from the place he’d once called home. His skin burned and itched, a weird red rolling underneath it as the fire tried to escape.

He banished the flames.

But he couldn’t banish the dream.

Or that question.

Finn…don’t you know me?

Spoken in Becky’s voice, but in a language she’d never spoken.

That fire under his skin gave one more slow roll as he rubbed at his face.

“Son of a bitch.”

Hours later, Finn knelt by the river and ran his fingers through the waters.

The mighty Mississippi.

Once, a bull shark had made it quite a few miles up this river.

Slaves had used the river to escape hell…sometimes they made it. Sometimes they hadn’t.

It had been a highway back before roads of concrete had ever been thought of.

And this was the place where he had died.

This very spot, Finn was just about certain.

He’d died here…while the woman he loved married a man who didn’t love her, in a church that no longer existed. Just a few yards away.

The son of a bitch had pulled a gun on him and shot him in the back, just to make sure Finn couldn’t interfere.

Finn had lain there, gasping, his blood soaking into the ground underneath him and he listened to the wedding bells.

Becky hadn’t even known.

There were church bells.

Becky…it was too late…

“Not exactly the sort of sound a man wants to hear on his deathbed.”

A woman knelt beside him, her eyes wide and dark and wicked. She looked like a sinner.

The man at her back looked like a saint.

Dressed in all white.

Thomas Finn was almost certain he had already died. The church bells…why was he still hearing church bells?

“Oh, you’re not dead, boy.” The woman smiled. “Not yet.”