The sorcerer raised a hand. “Halt!”
Jet stood frozen, his face caught in a silent scream.
The sorcerer wanted Jasper’s mate. But he couldn’t have her. He wouldn’t. Surging forward, Jasper lunged at him.
“Stop. Stop!”
For a second, he saw fear in the sorcerer’s eyes. Jasper wondered if his commands had ever failed before. He hit him with his front paws, and they both went sprawling to the ground. Jasper put his jaws on his throat, determined to bite down before his foe could pull out another kind of weapon.
The man glared up at him. “I wouldn’t recommend that,” he croaked.
Jasper’s anger flared. He bared his fangs, daring him to speak again.
The sorcerer pointed toward the fire.
Against his better judgment, Jasper looked. What he saw made his blood run cold. Sylvia was holding a knife to her throat.
“If this mutt spills my blood,” the sorcerer said, “you will spill yours.”
Her eyes were blank as she nodded. The knife was steady in her hand.
Jasper whimpered.
The sorcerer pushed him aside. “What will it be, wolf?”
He looked between his foe and his mate. There had to be something he could do, something to fix this. If only Jet had shifted. But his brother was slumped against a canyon wall, looking completely docile.
“Do I need to have her give herself an interesting scar before I can persuade you?” The sorcerer raised his hand, and Sylvia pressed the point to her throat. “I’d hate to ruin such a pretty neck, but if that’s what you want…”
She pressed too hard, and a droplet of blood gleamed on the blade’s tip. Sylvia didn’t seem to notice.
Jasper backed away, his head low to the ground. He had never felt so helpless.
The sorcerer moved forward to grab Sylvia’s hand, but didn’t let her remove the knife from her throat.
“That’s better,” he said, pulling her away. “I don’t normally negotiate with animals. Next time, I won’t. Stay in your pathetic little playground and I won’t have your pack put themselves down.”
All around him, shifters raised their dinner knives to their stomachs.
The sorcerer, Sylvia’s hand in his, backed out of the canyon until he was untouched by the fire’s light. Jasper looked anxiously between the retreating figures and his pack, who all still held their weapons at the ready. He had the terrible feeling that the sorcerer would make them all slaughter themselves at the last second.
Jasper couldn’t take it anymore. He shifted. “Let them go!” he called.
A sinister chuckle crept out of the night. “They can stay.”
Around him, the pack slowly lowered their weapons. Jasper let out a breath.
“You will come.”
Darkness descended as he stepped toward the sorcerer.
Sylvia woke in a familiar high-backed chair. She tried to rise, but her limbs were manacled to its arms and legs.
“No,” she said. “No, no, NO!”
“Awake again?”
She wanted to weep, because it was his voice, the one sound she never wanted to hear again. And he was here, his hand on her shoulder once more. He’d dressed her in fine silks, but she wanted nothing more than to fling the finery off and burn it.
“Did you have a pleasant dream?”
Sylvia threw herself against her bonds, making the chair swing around. She didn’t plan to sit here and let him play his sick little games. She would face him.
He gazed down at her, delight in his green eyes. “You must have had a very good dream indeed. Dario said you tried to misbehave while I was away. Is it because you missed me?”
No. Oh no. He was going to make her forget. He was going to take Jet, Jasper, Rowan, all the others, all of Oak Canyon, and tell her that they’d never existed.
She clenched her fists. “I won’t!”
He laughed coldly, tracing her arm. “You’ll have to be more specific. There’s so much you try to refuse me, my dove.”
Sylvia wanted to reach up and slap that smirk off his face. “I won’t forget them. Not ever. They mean too much to me.”
“They do, do they?” He didn’t seem angered by her defiance, only mildly amused. “You poor idiot.” The sorcerer moved behind her chair, gripping its back. “Don’t you know why you entrance me?”
She swallowed. She didn’t want to know the answer.
“You’re the only one who can resist me, even a little. And I love a good fight.” He chuckled. “You won’t forget them. Such innocence… What makes you think I’d ever want you to forget your friends?”
He clapped his hands, and Dario opened the doors to the chamber. The vampire walked in, followed by Jet and Jasper. They stopped in the center of the stone room, which was empty except for her chair. Bowing, Dario left.
“You should bow to me too,” the sorcerer said to them. “Do so.”
Obediently, they bowed.
Silent tears ran down Sylvia’s face. Why did he have to take them too? Couldn’t he have spared them? She had never wanted anyone else to get hurt.
This was her fault. All her fault.
She closed her eyes against what felt like an ocean of tears.
“Oh, Sophie, but you must watch. You won’t want to miss this.”
She turned her head away. He couldn’t make her watch.
A rough hand grabbed her by the chin. “I feel like you aren’t appreciating my hospitality, Sophie. You know what I do to ungrateful guests.”
Sylvia looked at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. She hated how easily he could do this to her, how much he was reveling in her weakness. He was lucky the manacles held strong, because otherwise she would scratch out his eyes.
The sorcerer knelt beside her chair. “You see my new toys?”
Sensing his gaze, Jet and Jasper bowed again. Their glazed eyes made her want to weep anew.
“You know how generous I am, Sophie. Show her your presents, toys!”
Jet and Jasper held up gleaming silver daggers.
“The hilt is covered in leather,” he said, “but it still must be agony for a shifter just to hold. Funny, don’t you think?”
She closed her eyes again, unable to help the sob that escaped.
“I said, don’t you think it’s funny?” His hand was back on her chin, tighter this time. He gave her a firm shake. “If you’re displeased, I can have them kill themselves now.”
“No,” she said, trying to keep the fear out of her words. “It’s very funny.”
“Good, good. I wouldn’t want you to be having a bad time. That wouldn’t make me a very considerate host, now would it?” He draped an arm over hers. “Now tell me, I’m having a hard time remembering—what’s your name?”
The question made her stomach flip. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t let him take that from her again. The last time he’d done it, he’d almost taken everything.
But if she answered wrong, Jet and Jasper would die.
Sylvia. Sylvia. You’re Sylvia.
“Sophie,” she said.
“Very good.” He stroked her cheek, and it took everything she had not to shudder. “And what’s my name, dove?”
She couldn’t contain her overwhelming revulsion. A dry heave rolled through her at the thought of saying his name again. But she had to. “Ammon.”
“Master Ammon.” He sighed. “Are you even trying, Sophie? Do I need to give you a little more persuasion?”
He waved a hand, and Jasper knelt on the stone floor. Splaying his fingers, he pressed the knife to his pinky.
“No!” she screamed.
“Then who am I?” There was a dangerous edge to the sorcerer’s voice.
“Master Ammon,” she sobbed.
“And what’s your name?”
“Sophie.”
“Say it like you believe it.”
“Sophie!”
He smiled at her as she cried. “That’s better. You’ll get there, dove.”
/>
Slowly, Jasper rose.
Sophie—Sylvia sniffled, wiping her nose on her silken sleeve. All around, candles flickered on the walls, looking perversely cheerful. Ammon sounded more gleeful than she’d ever heard him before. It was like he was pleased she had escaped, reveling in the fact that he got to break her again.
This time, she knew, he planned to extinguish all hope.
She looked at Jet and Jasper, trying to catch their eyes. They weren’t bound, except in their own minds. If they could just snap out of it, they could run. They needed to flee, to leave her behind. Ammon might even grow bored with them, and let them live. That was all she cared about—her mates living through this.
Run! She wanted to scream it at them. But their eyes never left Ammon’s face.
“Oh, my dove.” He took her hand, despite how she tried to scrabble away. With the manacle, she didn’t get far. “I’m so glad you’re back with me. You need to learn a lesson, though.” His bony fingers tightened around hers. “It’s partially my fault, because I never would have left if I thought I hadn’t broken you. So this time, you won’t be punished.”
Releasing her, he patted her hand. “I still want the lesson to stick. This should be a good reminder of why you will never run away again. I can’t bear the thought of you leaving me, Sophie darling.”
He leaned closer. “We’re about to have some fun,” he whispered. “But first, tell me again, what’s your name?”
“S-Sophie.”
“Again.”
“Sophie.”
“Louder.”
“Sophie!”
“That’s good, Sophie. I’ll check in again later.” He stroked her hair like she was some kind of dog. “We wouldn’t want you to forget your own name, now would we? That would be embarrassing.”
Sophie—Sylvia—Sophie watched him move closer to the center of the stone room. She leaned forward, straining against her bonds as he circled Jet and Jasper. They simply stood there, compliant and still.
Holding the rest of her body perfectly rigid, she tried to pull her hand from the manacle. It bit into her wrist, the slight looseness taunting her. She needed to protect her mates, needed to do something. How did Ammon intend to torture them?
The one thing she knew was that whatever he devised would be beyond her worst imagining.
“Look at these two.” Ammon held out his hands. “They were so eager to defend you.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze. They had defended her, done their best to protect her. But there was no protecting anyone from Ammon, and so they would die for her. She looked at the sorcerer, hatred welling inside her.
“What did you even see in these two?” He laughed, prodding the shifters toward her. “Did you think they loved you? Poor, deluded Sophie. No one could ever love someone as broken as you. No one but me.” He kissed her on the forehead, his lips cold as ice.
But his words weren’t true. They had loved her. And she had loved them. With her mates beside her, she didn’t feel broken at all.
Biting her lip, she looked into Jet and Jasper’s dead eyes, pretending that they were looking at her, not at Ammon. The sorcerer’s face shouldn’t be the last thing they saw. It wasn’t fair.
“Jet?” she whispered. “Jasper?” They had loved her—hadn’t they?
They didn’t even bother to turn their heads.
Ammon sniggered. “You still think they cared for you? Oh, Sophie. You’re too dear.” He turned to the shifters. “Did you love her, at all, ever?”
As one, Jet and Jasper turned to face her. Expressions impassive, they took three steps toward her. They were so close, yet so far. The total lack of recognition in their eyes made her heart ache.
“No.” They shook their heads. “We never loved you, Sophie.”
Her nails bit into the wooden arm of the chair. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. They knew her name wasn’t Sophie.
But what was her name?
She thought frantically. Samantha. Sasha. Susan…
What other names were there? She could only remember Sophie. But that wasn’t hers.
She looked into Jet’s eyes. For a second, she thought she saw a spark of recognition.
Sylvia! Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia. She chanted it in her mind. Jet looked away. It must have just been a trick of the candlelight.
She might forget her name, but she’d never forget theirs. Not in a hundred years. Sylvia gritted her teeth. She’d give anything to be able to grab one of those knives, just for one second. Chained or not, she’d take care of Ammon.
Until he spoke one word. She slumped back in her chair. What could she do? All she knew was that she couldn’t let him kill her mates, couldn’t let him take her sanity.
What choice do you have?
Bitterly, she had to admit she had none.
“You seem so sad, Sophie.”
Sylvia, she corrected in her mind.
The sorcerer tilted her chin, making her look up at him. “I only want to entertain you. How about a game, Sophie?”
He clapped his hands, and the shifters returned to the center of the room. Ammon made a show of repositioning her chair so she had a full view of them.
“That’s perfect. Now, Sophie, what shall we have our toys do for us?”
“You’re going to make them kill each other,” she said dully. “Why don’t you get it over with?”
“Oh, Sophie.” He stroked the side of her face. “That’s not sporting at all, is it? I’ll give them a chance—whoever is left alive after thirty minutes can leave with his life and his memory.” He turned to the shifters. “Are you ready to fight?”
Silently, they lifted their weapons. From the way they looked at each other, it was clear that neither recognized themselves as brothers.
“Don’t do this!” she shouted. Ammon could punish her all he liked, but he couldn’t kill her mates. “Jet! Jasper! Listen to me!”
“Oh, don’t shout, my dove. You’ll go hoarse.” Ammon moved toward the door. “I won’t stay—I can’t stand the sight of blood. But I’ll be back to check on the winner.”
She knew that her eyes were red from crying, that she looked disheveled and not at all intimidating, but she glared at him all the same.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Ambling back to her, he kissed the edge of her mouth. “Have fun, Sophie.”
Ammon walked out of the doors, letting the outer bar drop with a clang. She was locked inside with her murderous mates, left to watch as they circled each other, knives raised.
Chapter 9
“Jet,” she pleaded. “Jet!”
They ignored her, continuing to circle.
“Jasper! Stop!”
He stabbed toward Jet, testing his defenses. Jet growled, leaping back. For the attention they paid her, she might as well save her breath.
Sylvia refused to give up. She had absolutely nothing to work with, but she wouldn’t let them kill each other. That was how Ammon intended this to end, with her beloved mates dead by each other’s hands. He never intended for there to be one victor, just three losers.
Gritting her teeth, Sylvia threw her weight against one side of the chair. It swung forward an inch, scraping against the stone floor.
She looked forward, setting her jaw. All she had was her body. If she had to throw it between them to stop them, she would.
Sylvia threw herself against the other side of the chair, pain flaring in her ribs. But the chair rasped forward another inch. She pushed on, knowing that bruises must be blooming on her sides. She didn’t care—all she cared about was getting to Jet and Jasper in time.
In the center of the room, Jasper charged. Jet brought up his knife, and their blades clashed. Sylvia winced. If she didn’t move fast, it wouldn’t matter that the chair would budge—Jet and Jasper were both attacking to kill.
Jet pounced on his brother, pinning him on the floor. Snarling, Jasper grabbed Jet’s wrist, trying to keep the knife away from his throat.
The blade was so c
lose—it touched skin, and Jasper shouted. Sylvia forced herself not to shut her eyes. She didn’t want to topple over. She wouldn’t be able to lift the heavy chair with all her limbs chained down. Once on the ground, she’d be completely useless.
Jasper kicked out, catching his brother in the stomach. Jet went flying, his blade leaving his hand. It clattered to the floor, far out of reach. Jasper looked between his brother and the fallen knife, an empty grin spreading over his face.
“Stop!” she cried. “Jasper, I love you. Put down your weapon!”
He moved toward Jet, looking more like a predator than she’d ever seen him.
“Jet, I love you. Please, stop this!”
Jet looked around, confusion in his eyes. For a second, their eyes met, and her heart soared. Jasper sprang forward, taking advantage of Jet’s momentary inattention to slash at his eyes. Jet ducked, the blade narrowly missing his face.
“Jasper, please! Stop!” She hurled herself against her chair, gaining another inch.
But Jasper didn’t stop, and the tenuous thread she’d established with Jet evaporated. Had it ever even existed, or had she only seen something she wished was there?
Jet charged at his brother, teeth bared, as if he forgot he didn’t have fangs. Jasper leapt out of the way, slicing as Jet passed. Jet fell, letting out a howl. He rose, clutching his arm. He’d been sliced from shoulder to elbow, and blood dripped from between his fingers.
“Jet,” she called, “come over here. Don’t fight him, just stay away from him.”
He looked down, found the knife by his feet. Bending low, he picked it up, then turned to Jasper.
“No!” Sylvia flung herself against the chair again and again, but it felt pointless. They were so far away. Even if she got closer, how could she ever reach them? By their expressions, neither would be satisfied until the other lay dead.
Sweat shone on their skin, and they both panted, but neither backed down. Jasper slashed, and Jet parried. Sylvia lurched closer. She could smell the sweat of the fighters. She just wished there was any way to make them stop.
Jet and Jasper faced each other, chests heaving, as Sylvia’s chair thudded into place between them.
“Stop this,” she said. “If any part of you can hear me, drop your weapons.”
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