“I grabbed the sides of the machine and tried to shake it. No dice. Then I kicked it. Still nothing.I glared at the machine. “Let them out.” I punctuated my statement with a few more useless kicks.“You have an anger-management problem.”I whipped around at the sound of the warm, lilting British accent behind me.”

“I stepped back, pivoted on a heel, and swivelled my hip for a side kick. It probably seemed, to a casual observer, that I was warming up, taking a few well-aimed kicks at an inanimate object.But in my mind, THWACK, I was kicking, THWACK, a certain Master vampire, THWACK, in the face.”

“I bit back a gag. “Gods, your breath is kicking.” I pulled the blade free, revolted by the sucking sound. “For real.”Cocking its head to the side, it blinked. “Kicking?”“Yeah.” Spinning around, I planted my left foot and kicked out, catching the fury in the stomach. It flew back, smacking into the tree. “See? Kicking.”

“You see, I get so much fun out of thinking that I don’t want to destroy this pleasant machine that makes life such a big kick.”

“I work my hardest and she still kicks the crap out of me.”

“I tried to push down my anger. One thing I hated more than Daemon's douche-nozzle side was him telling me what to do. "You don't own me, Daemon.""It's not about ownership, you little nut.""Nut?" I glared at him. "I wouldn't call me names when I have a knife in my hand.”