by Lola Taylor
Elijah, terrified, looked from Mistress Black to his mate. “Please,” he said. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. She’s too valuable to my cause.”
“You’ve made your point,” Verika said tensely, eyes straining downward, trying to see the knife. “You’re in charge. We get it. What do you want?”
“I need your help,” she said reluctantly, as if admitting she needed assistance with anything meant she was weaker somehow.
“With what?” Verika snapped.
Mistress Black smiled.
“You’re going to help me perform the Grand Rite so I can return to my original body.”
The first thing Alara thought as she came to was, My head really hurts. Like zOMG get me an Ibuprofen now, bitch kind of hurt.
Her second realization was never in a million years would she have thought that if she hadn’t been living with Nik Johnson. Which meant he had rubbed off on her more than she originally suspected. A fact she didn’t yet know whether to be intrigued, impressed, or disturbed by.
And thirdly… Where the hell was she?
As she looked about the Gothic interior and red and black velvet and silk dripping from every curling wrought-iron rod and heavy Victorian piece of furniture, she immediately thought, “I’ve died and gone to Transylvania.” Her nose wrinkled in faint disgust at the tacky damask bedspread, flashy mile-long rugs, and showy cast-iron vent covers and Victorian baseboards and crown molding. Seriously, did the designer throw together this room drunk? Clearly they were going for opulence, the “I have a lot of money and want to flaunt it” look. But instead of the bold elegance expected out of a true Victorian showroom, the décor was in-your-face loud. Obnoxiously so.
A groan from beside her had her jumping so badly her neck cramped. She cussed, reaching up to rub the stiffness out of it as stars popped before her eyes.
Danica stirred, lying almost shoulder to shoulder with her.
Alara immediately bent over her, shaking her. “Danica,” she hissed in a whisper. “Danica, wake up!”
“Wha—? Oh, hey, Alara, what are you— Holy shitmonkeys! Where the hell are we?”
“Sssh!” Alara clamped a hand over Danica’s screeching mouth and glanced around. Her heart pounded in her ears as she listened. Every muscle in her body went perfectly still, all senses heightened for new threats.
All was quiet. No one had apparently heard Danica’s panicked outburst, or if they did, they didn’t give a damn.
“Don’t freak out again,” Alara commanded, her tone soft but serious. “I’m going to remove my hand now. Okay?”
Danica nodded.
Slowly, Alara drew back her hand, keeping it hovering just over the comforter in case Danica couldn’t keep her word.
Danica breathed heavily. Her green eyes looked around, taking in every detail. “You know,” she said quietly, “I kind of want to say this is pretty, but at the same time it’s the most hideously decorated room I’ve ever seen.”
Alara’s shoulders relaxed. Part of her wanted to laugh, if she wasn’t in full-on offensive mode. Here they were, clearly having been kidnapped and dropped off in a location neither of them recognized, and the first thing they did was complain about the furnishings.
Typical women.
Deep down, Alara suspected they both were trying to distract themselves in any way possible so the fear wouldn’t take over. Because fear had a way of turning your legs to lead, your thoughts to mush. And they would need both if they had any prayer of escaping this place.
Alara sniffed, searching for smells, anything that would help them. Someone had been burning incense, a sharp, heady mixture of cinnamon and cloves that subtly burned her nose. But why would someone bother lighting incense in the first place? Anytime Alara lit a candle, it wasn’t purely for show and to watch the pretty twinkling flames.
It was to cover up another smell.
She sniffed again, searching for—
A sudden, acute wave of drowsiness slammed into her, nearly knocking her backward onto the plush pillows.
Danica swayed too, nearly toppling on top of Alara. She grasped at her head, as if holding it still would keep the room from spinning. “What’s…going on?” she asked through gritted teeth. “I got so sleepy all of a sudden.”
A bolt of panic zinged straight through Alara’s core. Oh dear God. How could she have forgotten?
“The baby,” Alara breathed, feeling more panicked than when she’d first awoken. “How are you feeling? Do you feel any pain, anywhere at all?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Danica waved away her worries, though her voice sounded groggy as hell. “The baby and I are both fine. I can feel him or her in my soul. My little angel is still with me.” She rubbed her belly reverently.
Alara relaxed a fraction. Thank God for that. She blinked slowly, her lids seemingly made of steel. It took every ounce of willpower she had to pry them open again.
Something tickled her nose, the same acidic smell that had invaded her senses when the monster came for them.
Magic.
Her eyes flicked around, her spine going straight.
Someone wasn’t just burning incense—they were casting some sort of sleeping spell. The incense was merely there to hide it. Or perhaps it was the source of the magic. Either way, they had to stop it.
The thought of falling asleep again made her blood turn to ice. What would their captors do to them? Would they hurt Danica’s baby, once they found out she was pregnant?
A growl rumbled in Alara’s throat.
Over her dead body.
Rising, Alara stumbled forward, groping along the bed to maintain her balance.
“Alara?” Danica started to rise. “Where are you going?”
“Stay there,” Alara said, perhaps a bit sharper than she meant to thanks to the fact her mouth could barely move. Good Lord, it was becoming harder and harder to talk the farther away she got from the bed.
Or rather, the closer she drew to the source of the spell.
She took one staggering step forward, and then another. It felt as if someone had turned up the gravity in the room; tremendous pressure to lie down, anywhere, and surrender to sleep pressed down all over her body.
But she would not submit: not to this spell, not to any oppressor. Clearly they did not know whom they were dealing with.
She was a Crescent, daughter of kings. And she would bow to no one.
Her bare foot snagged on a corner of the rug, throwing her into the couch. She caught herself, narrowly keeping her chin from colliding with its glossy wooden frame.
Behind her, Danica gasped. Alara could imagine her hands flying to her mouth, those green eyes wide and frightened. “Are you okay?”
Alara couldn’t summon the strength to reply. All her focus was pointed at the fireplace looming but ten feet from where she crouched. A fire burned within its hearth, and several decorative trinkets sat atop the mantel.
She was sure of it now—the scent came from there.
Gripping the couch and forcing herself upright, she continued on. She gasped, dropped to her knees, and pitched forward. Her nails dug into the thick, coarse fibers of the rug. The weight of the spell had doubled, making it nearly impossible to stand, let alone stay awake.
Sleep beckoned her with each painfully long blink. Her body was so unbearably heavy.
The allure of slumber nearly crushed her thoughts, almost made her forget why she’d gotten off the sweet bed in the first place.
The smell of incense was all around her now, thick and suffocating.
Baby… Danica… Nik…
Picturing Nik’s face in her mind, she used it as an anchor to pull herself up and out of her exhaustion-induced stupor. Grunting, giving everything she had, she hauled herself to her feet, shuffled toward the mantel. A vase set atop it; two thin reeds poked above it, emitting thin, red smoke.
“Gah!” She covered her mouth and nose with the top of her shirt. The cinnamon was cloy
ingly sweet this close, the cloves almost tart in their sharpness. Seizing the vase in a vise-like grip, she pulled it from the shelf and paused.
It took an eternity to think, her thoughts slowing to a crawl. She couldn’t throw the vase in the fire. That would burn the incense quicker, and she probably would actually fall asleep right then and there.
Turning about, her vertigo skewed, and she nearly fell. The walls spun, swimming in and out of her blurry vision, but she spied a window. It was just a bit to the left—or was it to the right?
Planting a hand on the wall, she used it to guide her. Each slow step brought her closer to their liberation.
She groped for the window’s lever but kept missing because her vision tripled and she was unable to tell which one was the real thing.
Damn. This. Spell.
After the third attempt, another set of hands reached for the lever.
Danica, looking as drained of energy as Alara felt, was up and grasping for the lever. With a grunt, she pulled it and chilly wind rushed into the room.
“Drop it, Alara!” Danica hissed.
Alara did just that. The vase tumbled into the darkness, along with those abominable sticks. Alara and Danica both gasped for air, the suffocating sleepiness at last abating.
They both collapsed and leaned back against the wall, slumped by each other.
“That…was…intense,” Danica breathed, one last stubborn yawn escaping.
“Tell me about it. I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep so easily anytime soon.”
Danica was the first to her feet. She dusted off her jeans, looked around with her hands on her hips. “So now what? You think we’re in Mistress Black’s HQ?”
“Most likely.” Alara rose as they continued to evaluate the situation in hushed tones. “She would be the only person I could think of who would gain anything out of kidnapping us. I’m going to try to reach out to Nik.”
Closing her eyes, she grappled for her bond. Her heart fluttered. It felt so thin, but it was still there.
Nik? she called.
She felt a whispery tug, a movement along their bond so subtle and swift she wasn’t sure whether she had only imagined it.
After a few more failed attempts at communicating with her mate, frustration set in. “I can’t reach him.” She shook her head with a growl. “We’re too far apart.”
Danica bit her lip. “Do you…do you think I could reach anyone, being the High Queen and all?”
Alara considered it. “You might be able to. I know my father and mother spoke of being able to communicate over great distances. But I’m sure Mistress Black has this place bewitched to dampen telepathic communication.”
“Doesn’t hurt to try.” Danica’s eyes fluttered closed. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Her jaw started to clench. Her eyes flew open with a growl of frustration. “I thought I had it! I could hear Gage, calling my name. But he sounded a lot farther away than he normally does.”
“Most likely a combination of the distance and that communication disruptor spell I spoke of. Looks like we’ll have to come up with a plan B.”
There was the sound of a lock being rattled.
They both turned just in time to see plan B walk right through the door—a guard.
Everyone froze for a long moment, staring at one another.
Alara scanned the man’s telepathic signature. There was magic in his blood.
She smiled a wolfy grin. Perfect.
He stared at them, eyes wide. His hands clenched at his T-shirt, his jeans, his long hair, as if unsure what to do with them. “But you’re…you’re supposed to be asleep! The spell—”
“Yeah, about that.” Alara’s knees bent, muscles prepped for battle. “We kind of woke up. Guess we’re stronger than you originally thought?”
Alara leapt, not giving the guard time to call for backup. She Changed midair into a magnificent umber-toned wolf who landed on him as he pivoted to run for the exit. Danica swiftly shut the door while Alara bent her great wolf head into the man’s terrified face.
She growled low, snapped at the air in front of his nose for good measure. The stench of urine filled the air.
Danica wrinkled her nose and muttered, “Gross.”
Tell him he’s going to do something for us, Alara instructed her comrade.
Danica put her game face on and crouched so she could look directly in the man’s eyes. “You’re going to do something for us.”
“If—if it’s escaping, I can’t help you! Mistress Black—if she finds out I aided in your escape—”
His face lit up as Alara’s eyes blazed gold. She saw herself in his wide pupils—a monster, straight out of a nightmare, all teeth and fur and menace.
“I’d be more concerned about my friend eating you,” Danica said.
A high-pitched squeak spurted from his lips. Alara quickly pressed her paw to his mouth, muffling his pleas of mercy.
Tell him to do exactly as you say and we’ll let him live, Alara told Danica. Starting with lifting this damn communication-dampening spell.
Elijah roared and thrashed against his chains. His throat had started to grow a lump, his voice raspy from overuse.
God, he hated the dungeon, hated the stink and the cold and the abysmal loneliness of it. He kinda thought that was the idea, to make it as dreary as possible. Wouldn’t want anybody getting hopeful down here, thinking they might actually escape or something.
Wouldn’t that be a crying shame?
But he had to escape. He had to get the hell out of here and go rescue his woman from that psychopath. Before she…before…
He nearly choked, his throat became so tight. Damn it all, pull it together!
He wondered if he Shifted how badly he’d injure himself while still chained up. Bones would be dislocated, maybe even broken. Both of which he could deal with just fine. God knows he’d done plenty of both to his bones over the years he’d been a professional asshole and drunk, getting into fights with whoever would swing a fist at him.
His accelerated healing should help in that department too. Then there was the matter of getting out of the cell itself. Would werewolf strength be enough to break the door down? To bend metal like a superhero?
Doubts flickered up. He was no hero. If anything, he was the villain. He deserved to be locked away in some dank, dark cell. Have someone throw away the key and let the world forget he’d ever existed.
Except Verika needed him.
For that one reason alone, he would keep fighting. And God help anyone dumb enough to get in his way.
His mind studied the chamber, the chains. He’d tried Shifting before to break free, long ago when Mistress Black had first gotten it in her mind to put him down here, to “chain him up like the dog he was.” That hadn’t gone well. The chains had been enchanted. Feeling like an idiot, he sniffed one of the manacles. It smelled faintly of blood, sweat…and something sharper, more acrid.
His bones, thoughts, senses locked up. His breath stuttered, and his heart skipped a beat in a markedly faint echo of fear.
Oh, there was magic still embedded in those manacles, all right. Probably in the damn bars of the cell, too.
Which should have scared him shitless, made him tuck tail, and whimper like a frightened pup.
Only his fear of magic was trumped by a new fear—the thought of losing Verika.
He couldn’t survive in a world without his mate. She was his guiding light, the flicker of hope in his darkness. She made him want to try harder, be better, to not give up on himself. He wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to keep fighting on his own without her.
Time to man up.
Preparing to Shift, he gritted his teeth and summoned his inner wolf to the surface. Prepared to sacrifice every inch of his humanity to the beast, the monster within if it meant saving the woman he loved.
He felt the magic rush up, making his skin tingle and stretch. The pain would be next. The tearing and ripping of muscles, bones snapping
and cracking as the ancient spell broke everything that made him Elijah and remade him into a creature out of a nightmare.
Tonight, he would be the nightmare, would become something straight out of hell.
He had a witch to kill.
And oh, justice had been a long time coming.
He growled, giving himself over to the rising onslaught of bittersweet agony—
And immediately froze. The Shift stopped in an abrupt blink, the pain vanishing as his ears pricked.
Several pairs of footsteps came down the steps toward the dungeons deep below the mansion. An orange glow grew brighter, illuminating the stone hallway walls the louder the footsteps became. As the sound and the light reached an apex, two brilliant burning orbs of fire floated into the room, hovering in the air on either side of the entrance.
Elijah’s eyes flickered to them briefly and then immediately fixated once more on the door. He allowed himself a moment of fear for the magical flames. But only a moment. Now was not a time to be ruled by his fear.
Never again would there be a good time for that bullshit. Never again would he allow it to nearly cost him his mate’s life.
One by one, his visitors filed into the room. The witches came first, two women who were vastly different in height and appearance. Whereas one was short and slender as a pixie, with bright-pink spiked hair and what appeared to be an entire stick of eye liner smeared around her golden eyes, the other witch was tall and about a hundred pounds overweight. With her round face, big eyes, and full, huge mouth, she reminded him of a toad.
They wore robes black as midnight, a single sigil resembling a snake coiled around a blazing sun sewn in golden thread across the right breast. Five men, all hooded in the same fine black robes, stood behind them, fanning out around the room and standing stock-still.
Too still.
He caught a whiff of something rotten, like garbage that had been out in the sun for too long. Every hair on Elijah’s body pricked upright. There was something not quite right about the men, for they were men. Broad-shouldered and tall, all five of them giants in their own right. They had no hands or feet that he could see, just gaping maws of endless black fabric.
