“Oh, God,” he murmured, trying to hold back the clawing need to slide over her and take her. This wasn’t the time or the place.

The sound of the door hinges creaking behind him, made him spin his head around.

“You!” Müller’s furious glare lashed at him as he charged into the room.

In a split-second, Zane took in his opponent. He looked just like he had then: dark blond hair and high cheekbones. But he was also different. His mouth was twisted into a snarl, and fangs protruded from it. His eyes might have still been brown, but now they shone red. He was in full fighting mode.

With Portia’s fangs still lodged in his wrist, Zane lost a valuable second trying to pry his arm from her. Her eyes flew open, and despite her weakened state, she seemed to sense her father in the room. She instantly released his wrist, returning his full range of motion to him.

But Müller was already on him, one claw slicing into Zane’s shoulder. The jacket he wore protected him. “Don’t touch her, you filthy Jew!”

Zane jumped up and barreled into Müller, both of them crashing against the dresser. “You hurt her, you bastard!” He landed a right hook against his enemy’s cheek.

Müller’s head whipped to the side but snapped back just as fast. “You sullied her!” He underscored his point by kicking his knee upwards.

But Zane had anticipated the move and blocked it, swiveling sideways to avoid a hit into his groin. Figured that the bastard was going for his nuts.

“She’s mine!” Zane bit out between clenched teeth.

A blow against his solar plexus silenced him, the wind rushing from his lungs faster than from a popping balloon. Recovering quickly, Zane counterattacked, serving up his fists by aiming for Müller’s head again.

Blood splattered as Müller’s skin split open near his eye.

Glaring furiously, Müller used his entire bodyweight to throw himself against Zane, robbing him of his balance. He stumbled backwards, hearing Portia’s distressed scream as he crashed into the door to the next room. The impact swung it wide open, putting Zane on his ass in the other room.

Leveraging himself against the desk he’d hit, Zane pulled himself up just as Müller launched himself at him again. Zane kicked his leg out, slamming it sideways into Müller’s knees.

Müller’s face distorted in pain. “Fucking asshole! I should have killed you back then.”

“Too late.”

Zane catapulted forward and landed a barrage of blows against his opponent while receiving several vicious ones in return. Both felt good. This fight had been a long time coming. He couldn’t simply cut it short by drawing one of the weapons inside his jacket. He needed this, needed to beat the man who’d robbed him of so much, stolen the life of so many, and tortured the most innocent of them all.

Breathing hard, his eyes scanned the room, a study. A desk with computer equipment, a book case, a chair and a chest of drawers was all it contained. Plenty Müller could use against him. And Müller would have to since they were equally strong. Their body mass was similar, and neither had any advantage in strength or agility. At any other time, Zane would have enjoyed fighting an opponent who was his equal, challenging him in every way. Not tonight. Tonight, there were only two things he wanted, making Müller pay and getting Portia out of this hellhole.

From the ground floor, he could now hear a cacophony of sounds—bodies and furniture slamming into walls and floors, shouting, as well as gun shots. Scanguards had managed to storm the house and was battling the enemy from within. Grunts and angry shouts mingled with orders and the confusion of the house’s inhabitants. His colleagues would handle them, but Müller he had to take care of himself.

Knowing how Brandt’s son had acted irrationally when his emotions had gotten the better of him, he decided to provoke Müller into making the same mistake.

After a blow against his shoulder, Zane whirled around his axis, never losing his sure footing.

“Your daughter wants me. She can’t get enough of me, a dirty Jew!” he provoked Müller.

Müller snarled, baring his fangs in aggression.

Zane laughed into his face. “Yes, I’ve had her. And I’ll keep her.”

His words seemed to have the right effect.

“Never!” promised Müller. “She’s better than you!”

His claw swung so fast, Zane barely saw it coming. Trying to avoid it was futile. It slashed one side of his neck open, blood instantly dripping from the wound. It wasn’t deep enough to cause him any immediate harm, but the longer the blood loss continued, the weaker it would render him.