With an agonized sob, he dropped to his knees and slapped his hands against his head.

A little on the dizzy side, she rapidly blinked. The bite mark on her cheek was throbbing like a bitch. Watching him whimper pathetically at her feet, she gently probed the lump that was quickly forming on the back of her head. Fucking ouch.

Giving up any pretense of being human, Harper crouched in front of him. “Do you know why one simple hit to your body took you down? Because my touch can cause soul-deep pain. I can’t really empathize, because I’ve never felt it myself. I’m told that the pain burns each nerve ending, cuts through each organ, slices through each bone and then lances through the very soul, making it feel like it’s shattering. Does it?” She was genuinely curious.

Eying her with a newfound terror, he clumsily scrabbled away from her.

Understandable, really.

His gaze fell to the gun, but it was too far away and he was in too much pain to get up.

“You might as well lose the dream of shooting me,” she told him, grabbing her cell phone off the floor and tucking it into her purse. “Now, what should I do with you?”

A cold wind blew through the air, flapping her T-shirt and causing her loose hair to whip at her face. Looking up, she saw that the murky cloud was bigger and darker. The air felt… charged, somehow. Wary, she slowly stood upright.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Something hard and sharp bounced off her hand onto the concrete. Wincing, she frowned down at the small white ball. Hail. “Well, shit.”

In a matter of moments, a torrent of icy pellets was raining down on them, stinging the skin of her face and hands. She shrugged off her jacket and held it over her head. But, like the rest of her clothes, the material couldn’t protect her from the hard sting of the hailstones.

The deluge was deafening. Each pellet pounded into the ground, hammered into the garbage cans, and splashed out of the rain puddles. The pellets weren’t big, but the force of them was bad. They were no doubt chipping windows and denting cars all around.

Seriously, where the fuck had this storm come from? One minute the weather was mild, the next there was a hailstorm and she was freezing. If it was anything like the other recent strange storms, it would end as abruptly as it had begun.

She could hear raised voices coming from the end of the alley; watched as people scrambled to escape the torrent. She would have followed their lead and run for shelter, but there was good ole Sparky to consider. She was going to have to do something with the little bastard, who was now crawling toward the gun, proving yet again that he was indeed a bastard.

She kicked it far out of his reach, and it slid into a slushy puddle.

With a groan of defeat, he rolled onto his side and curled up into a fetal position, shielding his face with his thick arms. Like her, he was wet and his teeth were chattering. Maybe she should have felt bad for him but, well, she just didn’t. He’d freaking attacked her.

A very familiar mind slid against hers. Harper, where are you?

Even telepathically, her mate’s voice was like an erotic stroke to her senses. Hell, everything about Knox Thorne stroked her senses. But seriously, his smoky, velvety rumble was pure liquid sin.

Caught in a hailstorm, she told him. He was no doubt warm and dry in a conference room somewhere in Chicago.

I know you’re stuck in the storm. I want to know where exactly you are.

She frowned, wondering how he could possibly know. Now that the deluge had abruptly begun to slow, she scooped up her blade with cold fingers and returned it to the sheath inside her boot.

Tell me where you are; I’ll come for you.

Hearing another groan, she looked down at Sparky. He was shivering even worse than before. And Harper… yeah, she still wasn’t feeling bad for him. It’s sweet that you’d offer to pyroport all the way from Chicago, but it’s not necessary. Right now, she wouldn’t mind having that ability herself – traveling by fire would at least warm her up.

I’m at your studio, I’ve been waiting for you.

Well, then it would seem that he’d cut his business trip short. But why? Uneasy, she asked, Is something wrong?

Harper, where are you?

She narrowed her eyes. You avoided my question.

You avoided mine.

Well, yeah. The storm is actually easing off. The rumble of pellets had slowed to light individual pings. You don’t have to come for me.

Harper, he growled.

Okay, but you have to promise not to lose your shit. But considering she had bite marks on her cheek, a goose-egg on her head, and the buttons of her fly had been ripped off, there was little chance of that. She wasn’t averse to seeing the sick-ass motherfucker on the ground die a painful death, but it was never a good thing for Knox Thorne to lose control.

Only a handful of people – including Harper – knew what breed of demon he was. Still, he was both feared and respected within the demon world since he was rumored to be the most powerful in existence; a demon that could call on the flames of hell. It was a rumor that very few knew to be true. And since nothing was impervious to the flames of hell, he could, literally, destroy the freaking world.

A vibe of anxiety touched her mind. Harper, where the fuck are you?

Sighing in resignation, she lowered her soaking wet jacket. The alley between the ATM and the deli. An alley that was now dotted with icy pellets. Well, at least it smelled better; ozone and water beat pigeon shit and grime any day of the week.

Fire roared to life a few feet away, causing Sparky to cry out in terror. The fire hissed and spat until the flames quickly calmed. And there was Knox. Piercing, deep-set ebony eyes locked on her, and the intense potency of his natural sex appeal swept over her, causing her body to hum. Well over six feet of danger, power, solid muscle, and a raw sexual magnetism, Knox Thorne was both a mouthwatering and intimidating sight.