“Put the knives down and get away from him,” someone gasped.

Mencheres swung his gaze toward the sound with the same amazement the ghouls showed. Had he been so distracted by his own thoughts—and the ghouls by their torture—that a human had actually managed to sneak up on them?

The proof stood on the other side of the room, posture in a classic shooting stance, gun pointed at the ghouls clustered around him. The woman’s eyes were wide, her face pale, but she held her weapon in an unwavering grip.

This was a complication he didn’t need.

“Leave now,” Mencheres ordered. Her warm mortal body would be too tempting for the flesh-eaters to resist if she didn’t flee at once.

“Well, well,” Stakes drew out, leaving his knife embedded in Mencheres’s thigh. “Look here, guys. Dessert.”

A clicking sound indicated the woman’s thumbing back the hammer. “I’ll shoot,” she warned. “All of you, put your knives down and get away from him. The police are already on the way . . .”

Her voice cracked as Stakes moved away from Mencheres. Most of what they’d done to him had been blocked from her view by the ghoul’s body, but when Mencheres was fully revealed to the woman’s gaze, she stared.

The ghouls charged.

Mencheres knew he should do nothing. Should stay lashed to the building’s support beam, pretending to be helpless, and let the ghouls kill her. After all, he’d had an objective when he set out to this place, and it didn’t involve saving a reckless human.

But in the single second that it took the ghouls to reach the woman, another thought rose within Mencheres, overcoming his practicality. She’d tried to save him. He could not let her die for it.

Power ripped out of him, slamming into the ghouls.