The Raven Thief (The Wild Rites - Anna McIlwraith

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Contents Author’s Note 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 Thanks so much for reading Copyright

Author’s Note Just in case you’re new to the Wild Rites Saga, welcome! But let me warn you: this is BOOK 5, and you’re going to want to start at the beginning, with The Jaguar King. This an ongoing urban fantasy series featuring shifters, gods, and ancient myths in a modern and at times gritty setting, and the story follows Emma Chase, a young woman who’s just discovered she’s the magical equivalent of a master key to all shapechanging races the world over. Her dormant powers are both a mystery and a gigantic pain in the ass, but then, so

is she! Emma doesn’t intend to let fate steamroll her, even if it does come wrapped in a sinfully hot male package. So to speak. The Wild Rites Saga is a little old school — I’ll tell you now, there’s no on-screen sex until book 5 (yeah, that’s right everyone — THIS book, OMG) and although the romance is slow burn, it builds into a satisfying, yet complex and ongoing part of the story. The shifters aren’t your usual bunch — if you really hate tarantulas for instance, or snakes, I’d reconsider reading, though we do still have the furry kind - and the violence is real and life-threatening but not excessive. The series goes to some dark places but there’s always humor and love to bring us back into the light. I hope you’ll take this journey with Emma and her unlikely companions, because it’s been epic so far and there are many books to come.

1 Mr Rochester was an arrogant, selfish piece of work whose only saving grace was his brooding good looks, which made Jane Eyre the perfect book to read to Seshua, the jaguar king. Emma didn’t remember Rochester being such a flat out nut job, but it had been a long time since high school English Lit. Emma marked her place, closed the book, and put it on the nightstand. It was getting late. They could find out whether or not Jane dumped Rochester’s lying ass tomorrow night.

Unless Seshua came out of it before then. At first it had been easy to believe he was just asleep. It wasn’t rare for a shapechanger to sleep for two or three days straight while healing catastrophic injuries, but now he looked like what he was: comatose. In the buttery light from the bedside lamp, Seshua’s blue skin looked washed out and worn out. His lips were pale and dry, his cheeks were hollow beneath the formidable architecture of his cheekbones, and his eyelids were dark and fragile as bruises. His thick black hair fanned across the pillow in waves, but Emma knew it was still glossy only because Kal brushed and oiled it for him. Covered by crisp sheets that the guards changed every day, the jaguar king lay like a fallen colossus, unmoving save for the flicker of the pulse at the base of his throat and the shallow rise and fall of his huge chest. It had been nine days since the battle against the serpent priests. “I know you can hear me,” Emma said, though she didn’t know that at all. “You need to wake up. We need to figure out what to do next.” She cleared

her throat. Her voice was threatening to wobble, and she really didn’t need the guards to hear that. Dessert, that was what she needed. Pie. Sugar and cream and calories. It wouldn’t fix this, but it might chase some of the ice from her bones. She checked the drip, even though she knew the guards were perfectly capable of maintaining the thing. She made sure the window was open to let the fresh jungle air in, even though she knew it was always open. She even managed to walk away from the jaguar king without touching him just to make sure he was still warm, still real. She had her hand on the door when Marco, standing guard just inside the doorway, said her name. Emma looked up — none of the guards had ever used her name, with the exception of Horne, which hurt too much to think about. “Yes, Marco?” Marco was only a few inches taller than her, with deep crimson hair, cool brown skin and black eyes. Emma saw the echoes of his own recently healed injuries in those eyes, as well as worry for his king. “You honor him,” Marco said quietly. Emma’s heart twisted, warming with the

promise of anger. “He’s not dead, Marco. He’s going to wake up.” She turned to look at the jaguar king, curling her right hand into a fist. “He’s going to wake up just so I can yell at him for almost getting himself killed. Goodnight, Marco.” The second floor was empty and silent. Emma padded past understated sideboards and old paintings that probably cost three times as much as she’d earned in a year at her old job; her bare feet whispered across the threadbare hallway runner, likely yet another antique, albeit of the less valuable kind. The entire house was filled with priceless stuff its owner hardly cared about. A Spanish ranch style hacienda straight out of the nineteenth century, the property was just one of many safehouses scattered across Brazil, this one within forty minutes’ drive of São Paulo but still isolated enough to offer privacy and protection. Not that there was any privacy to be had within its walls. Since the battle against the serpent priests, there were almost thirty people crammed into the fifteen room house. It only worked because half of those all slept in the same room — Emma’s

room. Which would’ve been fine — used to be fine — except there was a certain tall, serious, gorgeous serpent priest that Emma really wanted to spend the night with, and somehow it hadn’t happened yet. Emma paused at the top of the stairs and focused on a slow, controlled exhale. She had to watch her thoughts — and the emotions that rode them — because a certain tall, serious, gorgeous serpent priest was sharing a metaphysical bond with her and he could hear her if she projected too loudly. Since they no longer needed to shield the bond, technically he could hear her all the time. Right now they were focusing on staying out of each other’s heads, because he had a job to do, and it wasn’t going well. I’d say I resent that, came Alexi’s voice in her head like a breath of winter air. But tonight was just as fruitless as the last five. As soon as he spoke in her mind, she knew where he was, and she was flying down the stairs two at a time when she heard the front door. Red Sun’s voice drifted up the hall, a faintly Scottish-

accented grumble. By the time she got to the bottom and rounded the newel post into the front hall, Alexi and Red were striding towards her, and she had to skid to a halt just to take in the sight of them. And the sound of them. And the smell of them. They were both covered in mud, they squelched with every step, and they smelled like rotting green stuff. Alexi’s feet were bare, as always, but Red wore heavy boots, and water sloshed out of them; they’d both been dressed in jeans and T-shirts, the standard uniform of everyone at the house whose regular wardrobe had been abandoned or burned, and Emma was pretty sure the tees had started out white. Now they were brown. Red, with his short hair and hard, blocky features, looked like a commando on jungle recon. Alexi, with his leaner face and long dark braid, looked like Swamp Thing. A sexy Swamp Thing. “I think there’s something in your hair,” Emma told Alexi. “Something alive.” He kept coming at her. “No doubt.” Alexi had a strange, intimidating, off kilter

beauty, the kind that made people go nuts for weird looking guys like Benedict Cumberbatch and Mads Mikkelsen. Guys who looked like they might be psychos. Alexi’s looks took it up another notch, because aside from the long scars that stretched from each corner of his mouth, faint iridescent scales gleamed on his cheekbones when the light hit him just so, and his eyes were purest, liquid yellow — a color that could change from buttercup to hellfire depending on his mood. Those yellow eyes sparked with mischief now, and their telepathic connection broadcast his intentions loud and clear. There was a time when Emma could never have imagined seeing mischief light up the big bad serpent priest’s eyes. It stole her breath and almost distracted her long enough for him to catch her in his muddy embrace. At the last moment she ducked out of the way, and more importantly, he let her — if a shapechanger wanted to catch you, you’d be caught. Laughing, she backed towards the door to the living room. “No you don’t, Swamp Thing, I

just got these jeans out of the dryer.” They were her own ratty black pair, salvaged from the half burnt ruin of the old place, and she’d just washed the smell of smoke out of them. “Very well.” He stalked past, out of range, heading for the living room. His mouth was serious but his eyes danced. Just for her. Red stopped to kick his waterlogged boots off and Emma snapped her focus away from Alexi. “Hey, you.” Red’s boots belched swamp water onto the hallway floorboards and his socks made interesting sucking sounds as he peeled them off. “Hey you too. Any news?” “Not really.” Emma stepped back from the widening pool of water. “We’re still waiting on Ivan and his team. Fern and I don’t seem to be suffering any vampire brain drain despite not being merged anymore. It’s been over twenty four hours.” Red palmed gray muck out of one eye and grunted. “So the bond with Alexi’s working. At least something is.” Emma wanted to ask how their search had

gone, but since she already knew the answer to that, she kept her mouth shut. Red squinted at her, then shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Seshua the same?” Speaking of questions they already knew the answer to. Red was well aware she would have said something right away if there was any change. Emma just nodded. Red swore under his breath. From the living room and beyond came the sound of raised voices; Emma heard Felani’s lilting contralto over the bass rumble of the jaguar guards and assumed Alexi was about to start a debrief. With Seshua incapacitated, Alexi was in charge. Some of the jaguars weren’t happy about it, but they were presenting a united front with Alexi, since their king was in a coma and Alexi was the only one powerful enough to convince the Central American jaguars that a bid for the crown was a bad idea. “If he doesn’t wake soon, the jags will have to start covering their asses,” Red said, softly so only Emma would catch the words. “The Central American throne can’t stay empty much longer. It

wouldn’t be a bad place to relocate, y’know.” He meant for Emma and her people to relocate. She fixed him with a dry stare. “Seshua is going to wake up soon. Besides, I have wild and passionate dreams of eventually returning to someplace with fewer insects.” “What are you whispering about,” Fern said behind her. Emma almost jumped out of her skin. “Jesus, Fern, I am so not used to that yet.” Fern came around and leaned against the newel post, nodding to Red, choppy black hair falling over one eye. “Sorry,” he said with a half smile for Emma. “I keep assuming you know I’m there.” They’d spent almost two weeks merged mind to mind. To say it was weird to finally have some space between Fern’s mind and hers, to no longer feel his heart and spirit wedged snugly against all the hollow spaces inside her, was a vast understatement. They were still connected — the Enam-Vesh bond could only be severed by death — but it was different. There was space, and silence. They were remembering who they were.

Emma wasn’t sure she was all that comfortable with who she was turning out to be. It will get easier, Fern sent via the bond, but he wasn’t talking about not being merged anymore. Then he tossed his hair out of his eyes and addressed Red. “Still no sign of Massimo?” Red sighed. “There are signs, all right. Crazy fucker’s leading us on. Alexi’s giving it another couple of nights, and if we haven’t found him, we’re moving on, either to the Central American palace or to another of Seshua’s sanctuaries. Massimo can’t storm the palace, and he can’t find the sanctuaries.” Red spread his arms, then seemed to notice how much ooze he was covered in, and made a face. “Here.” Fern held out a hand. “Strip off and I’ll get that stuff to the laundry.” “Why, Fern,” Red rumbled. “I thought you’d never ask.” He yanked the filthy T-shirt over his head, exposing wet, golden skin. Red was one of the biggest men Emma had ever known. He wasn’t lean and cut like a lot of the jaguar guards; he was built like a wrestler, thick and hard, with long

muscular arms and shoulders you could perch on. His other shape was a giant prehistoric bear. Emma had seen him shirtless more times than she could count over the last couple of weeks, but her brain still stopped working when he stripped the Tshirt down his arms and handed it off to Fern. When Red popped the top button of his jeans, it was time to beat feet. “I’m gonna rustle up some food,” Emma said, heading for the living room doorway. “You guys want pie?” “Wait,” Fern said, wringing out Red’s T-shirt and oblivious to Emma’s desperation. “Telly said he wanted to talk to you.” He sighed. “Again.” And wasn’t that just a bucket of cold water dumped over her head? She closed her eyes briefly. “Where is he.” Fern pushed warmth and comfort at her through the bond, trying to soften the hardness in her voice. “He’s out the back.” In the dark, he added. Y’know, brooding. “Good,” Emma said. “Then I know where not to go. Come to the kitchen if you want that pie.”

Alexi had avoided all of the rugs and runners on his way to the kitchen, and Emma followed the trail of dirty water to find him alone by the big marble center island, dripping onto the floorboards and staring into the middle distance at nothing at all. He was tall — not as tall as Seshua or Red Sun, both of whom stood at seven feet and six eleven, respectively — but a few inches shy, and compared to some of the bulkier men, he seemed lean and streamlined. It was an illusion. As soon as he turned to face you head on, you noticed how broad his shoulders were, how thick his arms and neck. His legs were long and powerful. The entire package conspired to make his tapering waist appear slender, but Emma had seen him naked, and she knew his torso was so densely muscled he was almost bulletproof. Almost. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and the electric copper taste of shapechanger magic. The yellow lights made Alexi’s hair look true black. “Debrief was quick,” Emma said. He didn’t look at her, but she felt his attention wrap around her. “Nothing to tell them.” His voice

was deep, smooth, and devoid of any accent. “At first I thought he was running blind, frightened and witless, but now I know better. He is taunting me. Massimo does not want to be found.” Massimo had been kidnapped by the Egyptian jackals before Kahotep reclaimed the throne. He’d been tortured beyond salvation. He was too damaged — physically and mentally — to heal, so Alexi used his telepathic magic to send Massimo into a deep coma. Then, nine days ago, Alexi set the Serpent Goddess free, which was a lot more terrifying than it sounded, and all the otherworldly power the serpent priests had imbued themselves with courtesy of keeping the Goddess caged was released. There were four remaining serpent priests. They were no longer priests, for their goddess was gone, but regular, garden variety boa constrictor shapechangers, albeit with first generation power. Massimo was one of them, and when Alexi freed the Serpent Goddess, the power holding Massimo under was broken. He’d evidently healed enough to run, because when Alexi went to the secluded

cave to retrieve him, he was gone. Emma came to stand at the center island, keeping her distance from Alexi’s personal puddle of swamp water. Beyond the darkened kitchen windows, the wind picked up, sweeping through treetops and making palm fronds rattle. The windows showed nothing but Emma and Alexi’s dim reflections, but Alexi gazed at the glass as though he saw Massimo out there, waiting. Stalking. “Even if there is a chance he’ll come after me for revenge or whatever,” Emma said, “I can take care of myself. You know that.” She sighed. “I’m also surrounded by about a million pounds of highly trained shapechanger muscle. Alexi…” The tone in her voice made him look at her, and she swallowed, hard, determined not to be thrown by the way her heart leapt in her chest every time he met her eyes. “I’m safe, Alexi. I know you’re worried, but I’m safe. You’re being paranoid.” He stared down at her for a long moment, seeming to study her face, even though he’d done so a hundred times since the battle with the serpent

priests. His irises were vibrant, reptilian yellow, but his pupils were so huge just then, all that showed was a slim band of gold. Abruptly those dark pupils contracted and he looked away. “It’s not paranoia,” he said. “It’s guilt. But you are right.” “Guilt?” “Do you remember the last moments of the battle against Khai Kaldun and his vizier?” The rooftop battle. Rain and lightning, and an army of ancient, undead jackal warriors, reanimated by Khai’s terrible stolen power. “The very last moments you remember,” he prompted, following her thoughts. Emma frowned. Where was he going with this? “You mean when Tarik ran me through with his sword.” Alexi gave a curt nod. Emma wrapped her arms around herself. She’d used her power to seize Tarik’s beast, both of them dying, and Alexi had come to her. His jaw had been ripped half off, his face so misshapen he couldn’t close his mouth, and he still bore the scars

— scars so much a part of him, Emma barely even saw them for what they were anymore. They had healed mostly flat, but the texture was rough; they gleamed faint silver now, but when his blood was up they flushed dark red. The scars stretched from each corner of his wicked mouth all the way to the delicate spot behind each ear. Emma wanted so badly to taste that spot, to brush her lips across it until he went mad, wanted it so much it was embarrassing. Alexi exhaled so hard he sounded like he’d been punched. “Alexi?” His eyes were closed. He’d gripped the edge of the center island, and his knuckles were white. “I need a moment,” he said with some difficulty. Finally he lifted his head and let go of the poor, defenseless countertop. “You truly don’t see them, do you. The scars.” “I see them,” she said, her voice hard. She shrugged. “I’ve told you, chicks dig scars. What was it you wanted me to remember? I’ve been through a lot since Egypt, it’ll be quicker if you

just spell it out for me.” He sighed through his nose and crossed his arms, giving her a censuring look from beneath dark brows. Frustrated. Emma suppressed a smile. “I hijacked your power to make Tarik tell me where they were holding Massimo, and to release Tarik’s power over him,” Alexi said, the words clipped. Emma remembered now: Tarik and Khai had kept Massimo in something like an induced coma, to prevent Alexi or any other serpent priest using their innate telepathic link to find him. “In the moment,” Alexi continued, “my intention was to take the location from Tarik’s mind and retrieve Massimo later. You were dying.” His throat worked. “Massimo could wait. But then Massimo woke, and I touched his mind. I was still hijacking your power. We were connected. Massimo felt it, and saw past all my defenses, and I saw what he would do if he were allowed to return to the priesthood and speak of what he knew. He would tell them of your power, for when we touched his mind together, he felt it. He would also tell them that my loyalty was compromised.”

Alexi’s voice roughened. “He would tell them what I felt for you.” Emma’s breath caught. Oh. She tensed. “You sent Massimo into a coma so he wouldn’t talk.” Alexi’s yellow gaze never faltered. “Yes.” Emma put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you dare try this with me, Alexi.” His brows went up. “We’ve been over this. I have no illusions about what you are and what you’ve done. I might not agree with your choices, but I’m not nine hundred years old, either, so I recognize your perspective’s going to be different from mine.” What she didn’t say out loud — but that he read in her thoughts anyway — was that she had no right to judge the things he’d done over the course of his long, long life. Emma didn’t know what his life had been like. She didn’t know how he’d come to be forged into a serpent priest, or what he’d had to do to survive. He reached out and smoothed his thumb across her brow, relaxing the killer scowl she’d leveled at him. “I keep expecting you to be shocked.” He

sounded amused, though his face was serious. “After all, you’re so young…” Emma swatted his hand away. “Asshole.” But his eyes glinted with laughter, and she couldn’t help grinning back at him. “It’s true though.” She shrugged, backing away. “You’re way too old for me. It could be a problem.” He advanced on her. “Hmm?” “Y’know.” She circled the center island, putting it between them. “In terms of performance. But I won’t hold it against you.” “Oh,” he said casually, and then in a blur of speed landed on the countertop in a crouch. “I think you will. Or I’ll hold it against you. Either way, touch will definitely be involved.” He prowled off the marble benchtop, moving with a sinuous grace that was all snake, and desire turned Emma’s insides to jelly. He was fast and lithe and strong. She would never outrun him. He was going to catch her, and kiss her, and oh God yes — Two things happened in quick succession: first, a flashback rolled through Emma like a cold, dark tide, arriving unbidden and completely without

fanfare, the way they usually did. She remembered facing Alan across a metal table in the center of a cold, industrial room that bore no resemblance to the warm cinnamon-scented kitchen. The memory froze her. All the humor emptied out of Alexi’s face. Then the back door flew open and Telly burst into the kitchen. The walking god took one look at Emma and his eyes flashed with white light. “Step away, Alexi.” Alexi ignored him. “Emma.” His voice was soft. “What did you come to the kitchen for?” Telly snarled. Emma blinked, and managed to swallow, and then managed to breathe out through her nose. “You,” she answered finally. “And pie.” She felt Fern brush her mind and then his rangy frame filled the doorway to the living room, black eyes shining with anxiety. She wasn’t thrilled to have an audience, but at least she could feel her hands and legs again. “What is going on here,” Telly demanded. “Back off,” Fern said mildly. Telly’s voice was a low growl, and it held an

echo, his power amplifying it. “I felt the mark flare.” Who would’ve thought listening to the men in her life bicker could be an effective grounding tool? Telly was right though; the mark on her hand was still tingling with warning, she’d just been too numb to feel it a moment ago. She closed her fist on the black, tattoo-like starburst in her right palm. “I’m okay,” she said for Alexi and Fern’s benefit. “It’s okay.” It didn’t feel okay, but that would pass. “Pie would be a great idea right now.” Fern went to the fridge and started pulling stuff out of it. Telly stood where he was, eyes still full of white light; his blond hair brushed his shoulders and moved in a wind that wasn’t there, and his tan skin glowed faintly. Silver rings glinted in his ears and the tips of those ears were pointed. He wore ripped jeans and a white button down shirt, and looked the same as always — like he could’ve been a surf rat cruising for the next great wave, or riding into battle in a red coat, musket in hand. Looking into his changeable blue eyes and sharp,

golden face had once made Emma feel like everything was going to turn out all right. Looking at him now made Emma’s memories, all the bad ones, roll over and talk in their sleep. Emma, came Alexi’s voice in her head. She looked at him. He held his hand out to her. She took it, and she must have been feeling better, because his skin felt like cool, electrified velvet against hers and it reminded her all over again of just how much she wanted him — and how lucky she was to have him within reach at all. He reeled her in, gently, until her hip bumped his leg and he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his arm. He was still damp and covered in muck, and he felt like heaven, and a moment later the back door slammed with enough force to rattle the windows in their frames. When Emma looked up, Telly was gone. Fern made a resigned noise. “I guess he won’t be wanting pie then.” “His feelings matter not to me,” Alexi said to Emma, “but for your own sake you will have to

talk to him again, and sooner is better than later.” Emma frowned up at him. “You just lied to me.” Alexi’s striking eyes widened. “I felt it.” Alexi’s mind withdrew a little from hers and his lips parted, gaze searching hers, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “To be honest I care more about the fact that I’m getting good enough at this telepathy stuff to sense a lie than I do about why you could possibly give a shit about Telly’s feelings. I know I’ll have to talk to him. I know it.” She blew out a breath and reached for her slice of peach pie. “But not today, Satan. Not today.”

2 Fern was washing his dish in the sink and Emma had almost finished her pie when Alexi pushed away from the kitchen bench and cleared his throat softly. “I should go upstairs and clean up.” Emma met his eyes and put her fork down. They both looked at Fern. He still had his back to them; he lifted a hand in a vague wave. Emma’s heart leapt. Alexi held his hand out, yellow eyes smoldering, and that was when Felani bustled into the kitchen with all the maidens in tow. “Emma! There you are.” Felani and the

maidens filled the kitchen, surrounding Emma like a tide of copper-haired Victoria’s Secret models, all of them less than five feet tall and with the same shade of swirling, molten black-and-amber eyes. Felani had a laptop in her hands. “My lady, we need your assistance. Urgently.” Emma bit back a scream. It had been like this all week. She looked at Alexi. He looked back at her like he was seriously debating the merits of ripping out the kitchen island, hurling it through the side of the house, and escaping into the night with her in his arms. Instead he bent his head and planted the briefest kiss next to her mouth. “Goodnight.” His eyes flashed. “My lady.” She watched him leave, his long braid swinging past the waist of his jeans. She was going to die. It was that simple. She was just flat going to die if she couldn’t sleep with him. Spontaneous combustion was real, and it was happening now… At the kitchen sink, Fern was shielding his mind completely and washing dishes that had already been washed. His shoulders shook with

suppressed laughter. With a very, very deep breath, Emma turned to Felani. She frowned. “Is that Ivan’s laptop?” “Yes,” Felani said brightly. “We need to shop.” “Shop?” Felani nodded, and the rest of the maidens nodded with her — all except Rish, who was focused on something in her hands. It had wires attached to it; it looked suspiciously like a bit of Ivan’s tech. “Clothes. Shoes.” Felani’s tiny hands danced across the keypad. “We lost almost all of it in the fire at the ranch, and we must begin to rebuild, for you cannot wear the same pair of ripped black jeans forever my lady.” Turning away from the sink with a dishtowel in his hands and a grin on his face, Fern met Emma’s eyes. It’s like she doesn’t even know you. I can’t believe you’re enjoying this. “Is this really necessary now, like right now?” Emma asked Felani. “Yes!” The chieftain of the ocelot maidens slid the laptop over.

“On Ivan’s laptop though? Isn’t this for important stuff? I don’t know if he’d really approve…” Felani’s eyes flared like hot coals. “Your clothes are important. And Ivan’s laptop is the most secure. Besides, he is not here.” Felani flashed her teeth in a cheerful smile. “Time to shop!” “What the hell, Felani?” Anton strode in wearing nothing but running shorts, with bare feet and no shirt, his dark curls slicked back with sweat. “There’s no point shopping, we got no idea how long we’re gonna be here.” “Oh.” Felani snapped the laptop closed. “I suppose you’re right. Never mind, my lady.” Before Emma could ask anyone out loud if she was going nuts, Leah followed on Anton’s heels in a sports bra and running tights, a huge grin on her face. Her blond hair was tied back in a high ponytail. “Told you I was faster,” Leah told the back of Anton’s head. “So much faster. Hey Em.” She nodded at Fern and the maidens. “Point nine-eight seconds is so much faster,

huh?” Anton opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water, tossing one to Leah, who snatched it out of the air with her attention focused solely on snagging the crust of Emma’s pie. “Well,” Leah said around the mouthful of pastry. “My time would’ve been better if I hadn’t let you get a head start, but I wanted to watch that fine behind work.” “Sexual harassment,” Emma called halfheartedly. Anton gave her a droll look. “Thanks.” She poked her tongue out at him. “Anytime.” “How’s Ricky doing?” Emma sighed. “Still sleeping. Are shapechangers supposed to get migraines?” It was probably just stress, but that didn’t stop Emma from worrying. Anton’s eyes were troubled, but his shrug was loose and relaxed. “Still not convinced he wasn’t faking it to get out of training. You’re next, you know.” He pointed at her with his bottle of water. “You can’t afford any more time off. If you don’t wanna train with me then Kal’s a good fit.”

Good to know they were both pretending Ricky was just fine. “I’ll train with you.” Emma pushed her plate towards Leah. “So long as you don’t expect me to beat your sprint time like the girl wonder here.” She didn’t bother asking what they were doing running sprints in the dark at ten at night; her old boss, Pamela, had three cats, and she’d referred to their nocturnal running as “the zooms.” Emma felt a dull pang of loss. She hadn’t seen anyone from her old life in almost six months, and with the exception of her Aunt Chase, she likely never would. But Aunt Chase had lived with her wife Tanya in London for the past four years, and aside from Emma’s graduation, they only saw each other once a year. It was Emma’s turn to go this Christmas. She’d have to figure out what she was going to do eventually, but right now she couldn’t think about it — there was too much to do, too much riding on things out of her control. Christmas was still a few months away. Sort of. “You too, Fern.” Anton drained his bottle and

threw it into the trash. “Now would be a good time to turn all that new muscle into something meaningful.” “Hey.” Emma pointed at Anton. “Fern turns into a tarantula the size of a bus. He has eight claws the size of my face. I think that’s pretty meaningful.” Fern’s laughter fizzed in her head like fine champagne. He crossed his arms and watched Anton’s face like he was enjoying himself, but Anton remained serious. “That’s exactly why he needs training.” Anton nodded at Fern. “Your beast’s size can be a hindrance. There will come a time when you can’t change and you need to fight.” Emma wanted to tell Anton they’d had enough fighting for a lifetime, but two things kept her mouth shut: the fact that they would have to fight again, even if she didn’t know what for, and the knowledge that this was how Anton was dealing with the emotional fallout from the last few weeks. Everyone had their things. Anton was waging his own personal war on his and everyone else’s body, because if he could just make everyone hard enough, strong enough, he wouldn’t lose them.

Leah was pretending to be herself while she got less than four hours sleep a night and spent every waking moment either helping Ivan find out what happened to Horne’s body or distracting herself from thinking about what might have happened to Horne’s body. And Emma knew that because she had her own nightmares. Fern’s voice was soft when he acknowledged Anton. “What makes you think I can’t fight?” Anton’s emerald green eyes narrowed. “Wanna show me what you’ve got?” “Okay, okay, time out.” Emma put her hands up and backed away. “You can all get your testosterone on some other time. Or in thirty seconds when I’m busy kicking Leah’s ass on Overwatch.” Leah shoved the rest of the abandoned pie into her mouth and moved to follow Emma into the living room. “Em, wait,” Anton said. When she raised her brows expectantly, he made a reluctant face. “Telly said he needs to —” Emma growled. “I know.”

The maidens sprawled next to Emma and lay curled at her and Leah’s feet, a few in ocelot shape, the rest human and draped over the couch like sleeping nymphs reclining on a rocky beach. Felani and Rish had excused themselves to go and return Ivan’s stuff to the formal dining room he’d converted to an ops headquarters, and they hadn’t come back. Maybe Felani was shopping after all. Maybe Rish was making a bomb or a booby trap of some description. Emma had warmed to the bad tempered maiden, but Rish still managed to look vaguely suspicious most of the time. Surrounded by maidens and pitted against Leah on the Xbox, Emma didn’t hold out much hope for sneaking upstairs to find Alexi and lock herself in a room with him, but she forgot all about that when Red stalked into the living room with his phone in his hand and a hard look in his eyes. “It’s Ivan. He’s called for transport.” Leah stiffened. “He’s got something.” Red gave a curt nod and looked at Emma. “Alexi’s coming with, just in case.” That was good. There shouldn’t be any trouble,

but Emma’s heart still climbed her throat when she thought about her people being halfway across the world without her. It was stupid — they took care of her, not the other way around — but she couldn’t help it. Knowing Red and Alexi were together was the consolation prize; at least she knew they were both powerful enough to keep each other alive. Alexi arrived, shrugging a white button-down over his T-shirt, his hair wet and streaming down his back. He was wearing a double rig over the tee and armed with two big automatic pistols that Emma could never have held steady enough to hit the side of a barn with. In no other way was he ready to step out into the tail end of a mid October night in Moscow. Emma stifled the urge to tell him to put some shoes on. Leah abandoned the game and rose to her feet in one lithe movement. “I’ll come too, just let me get my rig.” “No,” Red said. Leah’s eyes widened — first in shock, then anger, which she leashed with an effort. “You don’t

command me, Red, only the king can do that.” Red’s eyes were espresso dark, his scarred face unforgiving. “The king commanded you to guard Emma. It’s bad enough Alexi and I have been away so goddamn much, which ends tomorrow, by the way. Gives me the fuckin’ creeps having our people divided.” Next to him, Alexi met Emma’s eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Leah’s cheeks flushed dark pink. She turned away, running her hands over her hair, and swore under her breath. “Okay. My bad. Won’t happen again.” Red grunted an acknowledgment. “Good. Let’s go.” One moment he and Alexi were standing in the living room; the next they winked out of existence, the air whistling faintly in the residual vacuum of their disappearing. Emma climbed over a sleeping maiden and tried not to stand on another one’s wrist as she untangled herself from the great pile. Nothing put the ocelot maidens to sleep like watching video

games, and most of them had blinked owlishly when Red and Alexi came in, then nodded right back off. “Is it just me, or are they both out of their minds with paranoia?” “It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you,” Leah said, undoing her ponytail. “Do you honestly think their feelings are baseless?” Emma met Leah’s gaze. Leah had been there when the serpent priests attacked the ranch. Leah had been there when they trekked into the Siberian wilderness to escape the serpent priests and try to find the Brotherhood of the Caller of the Blood, who then also attacked them. The Brotherhood were the reason Horne was dead, and although no one would say it while Emma was within earshot, she knew they all suspected it was the Brotherhood who had stolen Horne’s body when they couldn’t possibly know where or how to find it. The big question was why, and the bigger question was could they find Emma? There had been a time when none of that would’ve mattered, because Telly was with them, and Telly was the walking god. Telly could protect

Emma. But Telly had Walked — stepped out of this world and into another, a space between worlds where none could follow, and he would not say why. By the time he came back, terrible things had happened, and nothing could ever be the same. Emma had a sinking feeling someone had finally told Telly everything that happened while he was gone — everything that happened to her — and that was why he wanted to talk. Nobody was on very friendly terms with him right now, but Anton had known Telly his whole life, and Red Sun had known Telly a hell of a lot longer than that. Either of them might have filled Telly in. “The war’s over, Leah,” Emma said. “That one, anyway.” Leah shook her head, long blond hair falling around her shoulders, the look in her brown eyes showing her true age. “It won’t really be over until the king wakes up.” She glanced towards the hall. “I hear them.” A moment later the front door opened and then there was the sound of many pairs of boots marching down the hall. Emma went with Leah

trailing her to watch them come in. Ivan was in the lead, his blond Billy Idol hair covered by a black toque. Fatima was on his right, petite and compact, her black hair damp, black eyes calm. Behind them loomed Shadi; almost seven feet tall and an actual Arab prince, he looked utterly out of place, because he was. Most of the shapechangers were ancient, but Shadi was the only one who hadn’t had a human shape since the thirteenth century. Also, he wasn’t a shapechanger. He’d started out life as an assassin and a sorcerer, and then he’d been cursed and spent over seven hundred years as a horse, having forgotten he was ever human after the first century or so. Emma had loved the horse. She didn’t quite know how she felt about the man. He was beautiful in an unmistakably masculine way, his hair long and wavy, his dark beard thick and cut close, his nose hooked and proud. He was completely loyal to her and had saved Red Sun’s life. He’d also been cursed because he raped the daughter of someone very important — which, given the era

when it happened, had less to do with the victim’s wellbeing and more to do with her father’s honor. For a whole lot of reasons, that didn’t sit comfortably with Emma. Fatima and Shadi had gone back to Moscow with Ivan because Shadi was an expert marksman with a bow and could wield magic, and Fatima was an Egyptian warrior priestess and the only other canine shapechanger aside from Ivan. The jaguars just didn’t have the same sense of smell as the wolf and the jackal. Of the jaguars, Raul and Andres had gone as well; they were both huge, ancient, of mixed Spanish and Nahuatl blood, and two of Seshua’s highest ranking guards. Ivan dipped his head at Emma without stopping, leading the party on to the formal diningturned-ops room. Fatima flashed a quick smile. Shadi managed to make a simple nod seem like a sweeping bow, and Raul and Andres grunted at her as they passed. Typical jaguar guards. Emma rolled her eyes at Andres, who winked at her, and then Red Sun and Alexi were there looking no worse for wear in spite of venturing into near zero

temperatures without the benefit of the heavy parkas the others were stripping off on their way to the ops room. Emma fell into step beside Red. “They’re all okay?” “Sure.” Red huffed a laugh. “Ivan had some choice words to say about the way the rest of ‘em were guarding his ass the past four days. Alexi had some choice words to say back to him. Everyone’s still in one piece.” Emma leaned forward and gave Alexi a look. He gazed back, unrepentant. “Ivan is bound to you,” Alexi said. “We do not know how it would affect you if anything were to happen to him.” Emma didn’t think Ivan would appreciate her defending him — he was the big, bad wolf — so she answered Alexi via their telepathic link. He’s also seven hundred years old and a tactical weapons and munitions expert. He’s proved himself. Don’t misunderstand, Alexi said calmly. I trust your judgment, and his expertise. But the Pledge bond is untested, and I won’t take

unnecessary risks with your safety. Emma’s face heated. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed at him for being heavy handed when it came to her protection, or annoyed at herself for being flattered and not being annoyed. Alexi made an amused sound deep in his throat, and she couldn’t help smiling back at him. Red quickened his pace suddenly and surged ahead, then disappeared into the ops room. Emma frowned after him. Is he okay? Alexi reached out to sweep a hand down the length of Emma’s thick braid, a comforting touch, but said nothing. Then they were at the door to the big formal dining room and Emma put her concerns aside. Everyone was stripping off tactical gear and warmer layers while Ivan booted up the laptop. Fern showed up with Anton and Leah, then Kal — huge, Mayan, deadly and Seshua’s second in command — Marco, Joseph, and three other jaguar guards. Felani, Rish, Tarissa, and Lirita filtered in, though Emma could hear the rest of the maidens in the hall. Lirita tucked herself under Rish’s shoulder

and looped her arms about the serious maiden’s waist. Rish stroked Lirita’s hair absently and watched Ivan and the guards. Emma was struck not for the first time by how perfectly all the maidens seemed to fit together; they’d always been tactile with each other, but it had taken them all several months to get comfortable with public displays of affection in front of the jaguars. The maidens had been cursed as slaves to the jaguar kingdom for centuries until Emma helped set them free. Things had been better for them from the time of Seshua’s father’s rule — King Nacon was the first to decree the maidens could not be touched — but that shit took time to heal from. Sometimes Emma thought it was a miracle they tolerated the jaguars at all. If the conditions of the curse hadn’t been so traumatic, Emma would have asked to hear the story behind it already, but the maidens deserved their peace. “So,” Ivan said, voice cracking through the room. Silence fell. “Security footage. Last you heard from us, we had just discovered the hotel security recordings were wiped.” Ivan said

something in Russian that sounded rude and swiveled the laptop to face out into the room. “However. We gained access to twelve surrounding security feeds from local businesses, including two banks, and an additional sixteen street CCTV cameras. Obviously it took a while to trawl the feeds.” Ivan spread his hands, and Emma cleared her throat. “Ivan.” He met her eyes. “Devotchka.” She suppressed a smile. “You’re saying you tracked and cracked twenty eight security feeds and reviewed ten hours of video a piece, all in only four days?” His gray eyes narrowed. “Yes.” Her point made — for the benefit of the jaguar guards who were still suspicious of the Russian wolf Emma had made the call to bind herself to with the Pledge — Emma was satisfied. “Good. Carry on.” Ivan’s mouth curled in a grim smile, completing the resemblance to Billy Idol, if Idol had looked like a genuine psycho and not just a pop punk

wannabe. “All the feeds we tapped intersected with possible exit routes from the hotel. Of those, we turned up something interesting on eight of them. I will show you the feed with the clearest resolution and line of sight, and then we can argue about it, da?” Without waiting for a response, he touched the laptop’s trackpad and then hit enter. The video screen showed a section of city street, washed out in nightvision gray-green. Street lights showed as huge white blobs. A figure marched into view, likely male, and just as he was about to pass beneath the camera, his face resolved. Ivan hit a key and the recording froze. It was Horne. Into the silence, Leah said, “What the fuck.” And then all hell broke loose. With the exception of Emma, Alexi, Fern, and Red Sun, everyone had something to say, all at once, most of it concerning whether or not Emma and her people were certain Horne had been dead in the first place. Joseph — blond haired and blue eyed, likely younger than Leah — got up in Leah’s face, and Ivan let them snarl at each other just long

enough to let off steam before he barked something sharp in Russian. Even the jaguars responded to the dominance in the wolf’s command. “It would have taken more time than we had to track him via security feeds beyond the immediate area,” Ivan said, voice pitched loud to discourage interruptions. “We cannot say where he has gone, or why he is… mobile, at all. But we did what we set out to do. We discovered why Horne’s body went missing. It is because Horne’s body walked out on its own two legs.” Ivan threw his hands up and finally began stripping out of his gear. He was done. Alexi went to him. Emma overheard him ask Ivan something about the footage before Joseph and the rest of Seshua’s jaguars went back to speculating on Horne’s dead/not dead status, their bass rumble drowning out Alexi and Ivan’s conversation. Kal moved to Leah. Emma didn’t catch what he told her, but she nodded. Emma touched Fern’s hand, met his black eyes, and then turned to Red. “Any theories?” Red popped a brow. “You don’t seem too

surprised to see one of our dead taking a stroll through Moscow.” “I think I used up all my surprise when your arm grew back and I sprouted fangs and then the Brotherhood tried to kill us and then the Serpent Goddess didn’t try to kill us.” Emma took a breath and blew it out, pointedly ignoring Red’s grim amusement brushing against their metaphysical bond like plush velvet against the inside of her head. “Besides,” she added. “I’ve seen the walking dead before.” She frowned. “Not the show. Although I have seen that. I mean literally, reanimated dead people. I know I’m not the only one remembering Egypt.” Red nodded. Fern gave a mental shudder. “I hate to ask,” Anton said at Emma’s right. “But are you sure…” “Anton.” Emma’s voice was harsher than she’d meant it to be — it was either that or cry. “Don’t. We’re sure.” She and Red shared a look; they’d been there. There had been no spark of lifeforce in Horne’s body, no brush of his beast against Emma’s power. They’d watched Leah carry him

and cry. They’d laid him down in the hotel room, covered him with a sheet, and begun to mourn. Em, Fern sent gently via the bond. You weren’t there, though. When she looked at him sharply, he just gazed back, unflappable. Neither was Red. Red was dying. Aside from the Brotherhood, only one person was really there, and that’s Shadi, and he was busy trying to save Red. Fern’s hand found hers, took hold, and squeezed. Anything could’ve happened between the moment Keti maimed them and threw them off that cliff, and when we found them. “He was dead,” Red said quietly, scrubbing his face. “Whatever he is now, I don’t think he’s alive.” Before anyone could come up with a reply to that, Alexi came over. His jaw was set, his eyes tired. “Red Sun. I’ve had word from Votan. He picked up Massimo’s trail in Bolivia.” Red sighed. He and Alexi were still armed. They both turned to Emma. Go, she said in both their heads. They disappeared. Again.

Votan was one of the other remaining serpent priests. He and his lover, Tiri, had supported Alexi’s bid to destroy the priesthood, chiefly because the priesthood forbid intimate relationships of any kind, but reserved especially harsh punishments for those who either fell in love within the priesthood — in other words, who were gay, like Votan and Tiri — or who pursued an intimate relationship with a human. Part of the punishment for the latter was the graphic death and dismemberment of the human lover in question. That was why Emma hadn’t freaked out when Alexi confessed to putting Massimo out of commission. If Massimo had been given a chance to tell the priesthood about her, she’d be in the ground, in pieces, and the fact that she was the Caller of the Blood, the one human woman in the world prophesied to command the power of all shapechanging races, wouldn’t have mattered one little bit. “And on that note,” Fern said, “we should probably go try to get some sleep.” Emma grunted and made a beeline for the hall.

“I think I’m gonna need to watch something stupid and heartwarming on the laptop if I want sleep tonight.” She shot a look at him over her shoulder as they headed for the stairs. “Any ideas?” He pointed. “Telly.” Emma turned around and almost smashed straight into the walking god. “Jesus Christ, what are you doing out here, lurking?” Telly blocked the stairs, his jaw set, his eyes dark as slate. “Wow,” he said dryly. “That’s the most you’ve said to me all week. I was listening to Ivan’s debrief. We need to talk.” “No.” Telly opened his mouth, then closed it and exhaled loudly through his nose. “You’re being stubborn.” “Very persuasive argument. I’m still going with no. Move.” His hair lifted. Emma saw the effort it cost him to keep his eyes from flashing to white; his golden skin glowed faintly with its own light, and the bones of his face were almost visible beneath. For a moment she remembered what it felt like to want

to touch that perfect, golden skin, what it felt like to want it so much she thought her ribs might break under the strain of it. Then she remembered huddling in a small gray cell with a dying kid in her arms while the vampires on the other side of the bars wondered how and when they might break her, while she hoped and prayed for Telly to come for her, and he never did. “Emma…” The way he said her name. Like saying it hurt. Her voice was dangerously soft. “Get out of my way, Telheshtevanne.” He flinched and stepped back. She’d made the walking god flinch. Whoop-di-doo for her. They were halfway up the stairs when Fern brushed her mind, gently, with his. You know your eyes have gone black, right? Emma sighed. I know.

3 Ricky was fast asleep in the bed, where he’d been since after dinner, his chestnut curls tousled and his breath deep and steady. Emma and Fern managed to maneuver him to one side without waking him so there was enough room for the rest of them. Emma fell asleep with the laptop propped on her stomach, Fern’s head on her shoulder, and eight ocelot maidens snoring delicately in chorus. They’d watched most of Disney’s Hercules, but the maidens had terrible attention spans for anything on a screen.

Some time later, in the small, quiet hours, she woke as a familiar weight shifted the mattress. “Alexi,” she sighed. “Hush.” His cool lips brushed her brow, and then he gathered her into his arms. She breathed deep against his chest. He smelled like rain and warmth and ashes, like the morning after a storm. His heartbeat was a wild, peaceful song. She slept the rest of the night without dreams, but when she woke at first light, he was gone. The smell of sizzling butter and bacon greeted Emma as she dragged herself down the stairs with her trainers in hand. She’d woken up alone for once; the bond with Fern told her where he was, and as she made her way into the kitchen, the distant sounds of hand to hand combat training drifted through the open windows. Emma was careful not to open herself too much to Fern’s mind, lest she distract him. It was a rule for her: no talking in people’s minds while they were sparring. There were a lot of people she could talk

to mind to mind now, so she had to remember, and be strict about it, because otherwise it could get somebody hurt. Ricky was making breakfast, so at least something was right with the world this morning. “God, save some of this for me, will you?” Emma set her trainers down and went for the coffee pot. “I’m about to train. Anton’ll just punch it all back out of me if I have some now.” Ricky was the good twin to Anton’s sinful one. They weren’t actually twins, but you’d be forgiven for thinking so. Ricky was a little shorter, his coloring warmer and lighter, and Anton was older by six years. Ricky was Emma’s best friend, and she’d known him before she knew what she was, before she knew there was a hidden, terrible, wonderful world out there full of people like him waiting for her to show up. He could make her feel normal when everything else was driving her crazy. He was her touchstone. He was also one hell of a cook. He slung a half dozen pancakes off the griddle and they all landed in a neat stack on the plate

waiting to his right. He snapped out a dish towel and mopped up some spilled batter with a flourish, grabbed a stick of bacon and munched it, a look of intense concentration on his face the whole while. Emma waved at him. “Ricky? Hello?” He looked up, his amber eyes bright, and gave her a blinding smile. “Hmm?” “You’re freaking me out. You feeling okay?” His brows came down. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Yeah. Better. Bit weird, but better.” He set the plate of pancakes on the center island and wrapped Emma in a hug. She rested her head against his arm for a moment. “Are Red and Alexi still gone?” He sighed. “Anton said they’re still chasing Votan’s lead. Hey, I like this.” He tugged on a section of her hair. It was chin length this morning, cut choppy, with all the finesse you could expect from an amateur with a pair of surgical scissors. She’d cut it herself. “Thanks, Ricky, but I’m perfectly aware I look like I let a rabid lemur give me a haircut. It’s not like it matters. It’ll be past my shoulders by

dinnertime.” He gave her a squeeze. “The perks of having magical princess hair. Shave it next time, Furiosa. You know you want to.” “Felani will love that.” Emma let him go and poured herself a cup of coffee. “And it’s not magical princess hair, it’s pain-in-the-ass mystical Caller of the Blood hair. I understand growing fangs — I don’t like it, but I understand it.” She shook her head and then blew on her coffee. “I don’t get the hair.” “It could have its uses. You could make a nice blanket, or braid it into rope and call yourself Rapunzel.” She swiped at him. He ducked and danced away, putting the center island between them, eyes alight with laughter. Impossible not to smile back at him. Laughing with Ricky was better than dwelling on what the hell was happening to her and what the hell she’d become since her powers were awakened, and she did enough of that already. She was the Caller of the Blood. Until they

found the Brotherhood, she’d thought she knew what that meant: destined to control the power of all shapechanging races, able to heal the deadly wasting illness erasing them from the face of the Earth. She’d thought she was human. Mostly human. She hadn’t realized that her connection to Alan, the psycho vampire who forced her to awaken her powers, was preventing her full strength from manifesting. Then they’d figured out how to stop him from draining her metaphysically, and all sorts of crazy shit started happening. She got stronger; she healed faster; she looked subtly different, but none of the others could see it because they didn’t process visual information the same way humans did. Then her hair started growing at a phenomenally accelerated rate. Then they’d gone to Altai, the Siberian wilderness where the secret Brotherhood of the Caller of the Blood were waiting for her, and she’d sprouted fangs — which made sense, since the bond between the Caller of the Blood and a shapechanger required the bite, and the blood sacrifice.

There was more, and Emma was struggling with it. Every time she tried to think about it, she remembered things that made her want to hide in a closet or scream into her hands — she remembered how it felt to drown, and the sight of bodies floating in the water, dead at the hands of her power. She remembered how it felt when Red Sun’s telepathic connection to her died, and she thought he was gone. She remembered killing Keti, using the dark side of her bond with Fern to rip the Change from his body and leave him a wet, red ruin, and she remembered his lover’s screams. But mostly she remembered those bodies in the water. They had been maidens, like her maidens. She didn’t know which species. They’d tried to kill her, and at first that had been enough, but it wasn’t now. Shapechanger magic was all about connections, metaphysical bonds — the Pledge and the sacrifice. That was what Emma knew for sure. Everything else was up for debate, including her own humanity. At the oven, Ricky straightened with a tray full

of biscuits and looked around at her. “Is that your phone ringing?” Emma put her coffee down. Looked pointedly at the basket on the bench top where her phone, new but with the old number ported, lay amongst the pens and various tech bits that got left around the place. It was silent. Ricky blinked. “Could’ve sworn I heard it.” “Maybe you heard someone else’s phone?” His face said no. He nodded vaguely. “Maybe.” Feeling a lot less positive about Ricky’s wellbeing than she had when she got downstairs, Emma reluctantly left him to it. Judging by how much he was cooking, the guards would be changing shifts soon, which explained why the house was quiet, but didn’t explain where the maidens were. Well, that was one mystery solved remarkably fast: Emma stepped out onto the back deck to find every single one of the maidens lined up and watching in focused silence as Anton and Fern circled each other. Their shirts were off, skin gleaming with

sweat; Fern looked pale and luminous next to Anton’s smooth darkness, though Fern’s father had been just as Latino as Anton was. He’d shoved his spiky black hair out of his eyes, leaving his brow bare for once, and Emma was struck dumb for a moment by his face and the look that transformed it. Singular, predatory intensity. Emma wanted badly to touch his mind and see what was behind that look, but she didn’t dare. She’d never seen him in action. Like she’d told Anton — Fern turned into a tarantula the size of a bus, and in beast shape he was fast, wicked strong, and hard to hurt. He was not, however, an ancient like most of the enemies they’d gone up against, so he took whatever advantage his beast’s ridiculous size could offer when faced with combat. In human shape, with two legs instead of eight, he moved like a sweet song of muscled physicality, almost slow, almost dancing. Up until a couple of weeks ago, Fern had been slim enough to rival a catwalk model. He’d also been suffering the same metaphysical energy drain Emma had since they

got back from Russia. Like a dammed-up river, Emma’s power had been reduced to a trickle, but then they figured out how to fix it. Among other interesting developments, Fern gained about forty pounds of lean mass on top of that beanpole frame. With the black hair and the black eyes, Ricky had joked he looked like a Goth version of Captain America, but Fern’s new physique was definitely not a joke. Anton feinted and tried to drive him into opening up; Fern pitched back, moved aside, dipped his shoulder and resumed his measured circling pace. Both of them were breathing hard, but only Anton was bloody. Fern seemed to retreat, but Emma had seen him in the shape of his beast, and she knew what came next. Fern didn’t so much move in a blur as he did in the blink of an eye; one moment he was backing up, the next he’d struck like a whip, getting inside Anton’s block. A small cut on Anton’s cheek sealed itself. Anton’s green eyes flashed with the echo of his beast, and he leapt forward, trading a

flurry of blows that landed everywhere but their mark. Emma moved quietly to stand next to the nearest maiden. “How long have they been at this,” she whispered at Tarissa. The maiden never tore her gaze from the men. “Perhaps half an hour.” A tremor ran through the maiden. “Beautiful,” she said so softly Emma barely made out the word. The maiden was watching Fern. Emma managed to clamp a giant, hermetically sealed lid over the tide of possessiveness that threatened to rise up her throat and flood the palm of her marked hand with power. She and Fern were bound; that didn’t mean they belonged to each other. Fern looked up and saw her. Anton took the opening, sweeping a fast kick to the backs of Fern’s knees. Emma saw the moment Fern could’ve dodged and taken Anton down with roundhouse of his own. She saw him decide not to take it, and Anton sent him flying onto his back with a grunt of effort and satisfaction.

“You’re good,” Anton said, holding out a hand. Fern took it and grinned. “But not as good as you.” Anton made a disgusted noise as he lifted Fern to his feet and slapped his back in that masculine way some men had of conveying sympathy and admiration in the one gesture. “Flattery won’t earn you any favors next time. That only works with her.” Anton nodded at Emma. “My lady.” Emma left her shoes on the deck and stepped down onto the lawn. “Very funny.” She passed Fern, gave him a small smile, and shielded even harder when she thought of him walking up to the deck and seeing the desire in Tarissa’s eyes. Thankfully she’d be distracted soon enough. “So, big brother, are you ready to kick my ass?” Anton made an appreciative noise, his dark brows rising. “Ooh, flattery and self deprecation. You’re pulling out all the stops today, chica.” Emma’s smile faltered. Horne had called her that, chica. Anton caught her shift in mood but ignored it with a grace Emma was thankful for. “Let’s go

through our forms, warm up a little, then work on striking, yeah?” They fell into a familiar rhythm, drilling blocks, guards, and defensive footwork, gradually increasing the tempo, the repetition soothing. Before training with Anton, Emma had done six months of muay Thai, which made her little more than a familiar beginner who could drill the basics and take direction pretty well. Anton practiced a mix of various martial arts, all for combat purposes, and he was a good teacher; five months with him and Red Sun, and Emma knew enough to spar, even if she was human slow and couldn’t take damage the way they could. It took Emma about a quarter of an hour of form drills to warm up and start to feel like her joints weren’t made of wood. Anton was mindful of her injuries, both old and new. The new ones sustained in the battle with the serpent priests weren’t bad — a few bruises and tender spots from running and jumping and falling — but she’d strained her left shoulder joint at some point too, and that was an old injury, one she’d sustained back in Egypt

before she had any fancy healing powers. A magic healer had worked on her then, but Olufemi’s gift could only accelerate the body’s natural capacity for healing, and the shoulder injury healed the way any injured human shoulder would. It still got sore and stiff, and needed regular rehab. Same with the scar tissue from when Tarik ran her through with a spear. Since then, Emma had been healed by beings far more powerful, and in ways that had nothing to do with natural processes. She had extensive scar tissue along her abdomen and ribs from nearly being eviscerated, and those wounds would have been fatal if vampire blood hadn’t healed her. She wasn’t sure if it was the vampire blood or her own surge of magic when her powers were fully awakened, but there was a scar on her right hand from a bullet wound that should have destroyed the hand altogether. Then again, maybe the starburst mark Telly had given her was the reason she still had use of her right hand. And ten days ago, she’d been shot in the arm right after jumping off a cliff, and Telly had appeared out of thin air in a blaze of

lightning and magic to catch her. He’d saved her life and his magic healed her arm. No scars from that one, for once. Six months ago, the biggest scar Emma had was a small burn on her left wrist from fumbling a cookie sheet out of the oven. She’d gone to muay Thai classes twice a week and hiked on the weekends and considered herself in decent shape. Now, all those old injuries and scars meant Emma spent at least thirty minutes a day stretching and massaging everything to keep from seizing up, and with the exception of the last week, she trained every day. She’d gained eight pounds of muscle. She could bench press one and a half times her own bodyweight. She could run for an hour without coughing up a lung, though it wasn’t pretty. And, she discovered as she warmed up, she was faster now. Her joints and muscles had loosened up, and she surprised Anton with a quick jab to the solar plexus. She pivoted and whipped back, elbow aiming for his face, and he grunted a laugh and blocked her gently. “Very good.” He shuffled back and set up a

side kick, going slow enough for her to twist and block it. She tried a counter sweep, stepping into his personal space, but before she could use her momentum to take Anton’s feet out, he had her in an elbow lock. She tried to twist out of it and succeeded in thumping her back against his considerable chest. “Never get that close,” he said cheerfully. She rolled her eyes and stifled a frustrated growl, straining against his hold. His breath came faster with effort, ruffling the hair near Emma’s ear. “Close isn’t safe in a fight with a shapechanger.” He let her go, and then danced back in surprise as she rammed her other elbow up and back, putting her heels and hips into it and landing a glancing blow on his chin. She came at him, grinning. “You were saying?” Green eyes wide, he shook his head, a slow smile transforming his face. His expression said what Emma was thinking: this is going to be fun. “He’s wasting your time,” someone called, and both Emma and Anton froze. Telly.

Emma turned. Telly strolled out from behind a towering palm fern, looking like he belonged in the jungle just as much as he had in the redwood and oak forests surrounding the California ranch. He wore faded blue jeans and nothing else, and he seemed to gather the morning light, making the rest of the day somehow darker, but that wasn’t why Emma stared, a strange emotion digging its claws into her stomach. He’d cut his hair. It wasn’t military short, but it was close. There was enough length on top for the breeze to play through it; his pointed ears were bare, and his face was clear and sharp and more vulpine than ever. The architecture of his jaw and cheekbones seemed starker somehow, and Emma realized he’d lost weight. His physique had been lithe and compact before, like an acrobat, but now he was as hard and precision cut as Bruce Lee. Emma’s heart folded in on itself, hardening like a tempered blade. “We’re busy,” she said mildly, ignoring the predatory way Telly zeroed in on her. “I need to train. I told you already, I don’t want to talk.”

He kept coming. “I don’t want to talk either. Run along, Anton,” he added without bothering to tear his gaze from Emma’s face. Anton didn’t move. “Telly, man, what are you doing.” “Helping.” Telly flashed his teeth in a grin for Emma. “Let’s spar, Em.” She resisted the urge to back away, retreat without letting him out of her sight. Instead she turned her back and started walking. She wouldn’t do this with him. No games. At the house, Fern and the maidens stood watching them, their faces tight with anxiety. Fern’s mind hummed against Emma’s with irritation. He usually kept it in check, but he had absolutely nothing but contempt for the walking god now. Even Emma felt the occasional pang of guilt when Telly gave her that desperate look and she remembered she’d have fallen straight to her death, likely killing everyone who was bound to her metaphysically, if he hadn’t saved her. It doesn’t undo the mistake he made, Fern sent, crossing his arms and watching Telly over her

shoulder as she came towards him. It can’t. She reached out with her mind to send a silent pulse of agreement, and met a psychic wall of nothing. A moment later, she hit a physical wall of nothing and stumbled back. Fern’s black eyes widened. His face filled with confusion, then anger. Emma reached out and her hand bounced off thin air. The maidens rushed down onto the lawn in a golden flood, hit the invisible barrier, and erupted in outraged snarls; white lights flashed and several of the maidens were suddenly small gold and black-dappled cats, running and hissing at the magic. Judging by the path the ocelots took, Telly’s ward was a couple of yards across each way. “Emma!” Felani strained at the invisible wall, her eyes huge. They both turned when Anton swore in Spanish and sprinted for the house, clearing the back deck at a flat run and shooting past Fern and the maidens. Anton knew Telly better than anyone, except for Red Sun, and Red wasn’t here. Anton

had run, most likely for backup. Emma’s pulse kicked up a notch. Her mind reached instinctively for Fern, but there was nothing. Fern’s eyes had filled with gleaming black, lid to lid. “Telly, cut it out.” Telly laughed. It was a low, slow chuckle, so dry and humorless it made Emma’s hackles rise. She turned to him and found his eyes were a blue so pale he looked almost blind. “Ah, Emma, your face.” For a second his eyes darkened, but it could have been an illusion; in the scant moments since Telly’s arrival, the sky above had gone leaden with clouds, and that wasn’t an illusion. “I would never hurt you,” Telly said softly. “You know that.” Then the look in his eyes hardened and they bled to white. “But Anton was holding back. He doesn’t trust your power. Come on, fight with me.” Emma gave him a flat look. “No. Let me out.” Telly began to pace. “Doesn’t it bug you, not knowing?” When it was obvious he wasn’t going to elaborate, Emma clenched her teeth and said, “Not

knowing what?” He paced back, muscles in his torso flickering. “What you’re capable of.” His eyes flashed. “How long has it been since your powers were awakened? What do you really know about them?” He threw his arms wide and stopped. “Has anyone here bothered to test you? Of course not, they’re all too afraid. And they like keeping you soft, Emma.” Telly bared his teeth, and they were long and sharp. “You know that, don’t you?” There was no noise, but they were suddenly surrounded by jaguar guards. Half of the guards were in jaguar shape. Human and jaguar, they prowled the perimeter of Telly’s magic, where the ocelot maidens were already doing the same thing. Emma heard the back door thump open, and then Anton’s voice, low and urgent, though she couldn’t make out what he said. Telly cocked his head. “Seems they can’t get hold of Red Sun and Alexi. Aren’t you going to call for them, Emma? For him?” A tiny flicker of fear ran through Emma. She crossed her arms. What the hell was he doing?

“Enough with the games, Telly. I’m not gonna bite. Let me out.” He took a step towards her. “They like you weak, Em.” His voice was starting to echo. “They want you to stay soft and weak and human, because they’re afraid of what you are.” He seriously thought he could intimidate her. “Riiight. And what am I?” His face lengthened. His eyes sharpened. “You’re like me.” “I’m nothing like you,” Emma said automatically, uncrossing her arms. By the time she realized why he was smiling, her hands had already curled into fists. With effort, she released them. “Look, I don’t know why you’ve got a sudden hard-on to see me in action, and I don’t care.” She shoved her hands through her hair. “Just let me out, and we can pretend you didn’t have this monumental lapse in judgment, okay?” “You’re still talking.” Telly’s voice had deepened. “I thought you didn’t want to talk.” Emma’s mouth had gone dry. “You can’t hold this ward for long, Telly. Why bother?”

When he answered, his voice held the edge of a growl, like far off thunder. “What makes you think I can’t hold the ward.” Emma opened her mouth. Closed it. She’d seen him maintain a forcefield like this once before, and he’d told her then that he couldn’t hold it. “So you were lying to me even then,” Emma said. “I’m not exactly surprised.” “Not lying.” He paced away to her right, circling her so she had to turn or let him have her back. She turned. He shrugged, looking out at the jaguar guards and maidens, and snapped his teeth at them idly before turning back to Emma. “Just bending the truth a little. But never mind all that,” he said loudly, spreading his arms. “I grow bored of talk. Let’s see what you’ve got, Em.” With that he strode towards her, cocked his arm, and swung a right hook straight at Emma’s face.

4 A deafening roar went up from the maidens and jaguars, and Fern’s voice was there too, but Emma’s world fell away as Telly’s fist came at her. She dodged, not expecting to be fast enough. The punch went past her head. She skipped back and to the side, and the world caught up to her, and she heard Felani still screaming and Fern and Anton speaking rapid Spanish. She caught sight of Shadi and Fatima; Shadi’s eyes were closed, his lips moving silently, and Fatima’s eyes were gold with her beast. Emma had no doubt Ivan and Leah

were there somewhere too, but before she could find them, Telly came at her again. In all her wildest dreams and most terrible nightmares, Emma never imagined this. Telly’s eyes were solid white, his teeth bared, his shoulders set and his stride loose. Months of training and watching the other men fight meant she saw where the blow would come from; his left shoulder dipped, his footfalls sped up, he was going to launch into a side kick with his right leg, and the force of his momentum winding into it would send her flying whether she blocked it or not. She needed to run. She needed to throw herself on the ground and curl into a ball so he remembered he was facing a breakable human. If she threw herself at his mercy, he would remember, she knew he would. All she needed to do was remind him she really was weak and powerless. Her limbs had gone watery with fear; it would be so easy to collapse. A wave of nausea hit her, her whole body crawling with revulsion at the idea of somebody

having power over her like that again. Telly threw himself into the kick. Emma darted into the opening he made and swept his grounded foot out from beneath him. Then she ran. Telly was there. He drove her back across the lawn, silent and inexorable, magic rising off him like heat off tarmac. The taste of lightning burned the back of Emma’s throat. “You said you’d never hurt me,” she said, watching his shoulders for telltale movements. “What do you call this?” Telly sidestepped, cutting off an opening she’d been about to try for. “I haven’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.” He danced in close and tried for a knee strike to her leg; she blocked it and kept moving back, breathing hard with exertion and fear. Bastard. “Why are you doing this?” He laughed, a harsh, dry bark of sound. “I am the walking god, Emma.” He circled her, seeming to get bigger, taller, with every step. “You don’t ignore a god, not without consequences.” Emma stopped, heat rushing to her face. “Are

you fucking serious? You have the nerve to lecture me about consequences after what you did?” She was about to say more and then realized what she was doing. No. Don’t go there. Rein it in. She shoved the anger down and forced herself to breathe. Telly grinned. His mouth was too wide. “Fight me, Em,” he whispered. “No!” She shouted it, not meaning to. He started forward again. Emma’s heart kicked into overdrive. Tears stung her eyes, but she’d be damned if she’d let him make her cry. “I am telling you no, Telly, do you understand?” She hated the way her voice shook, but he’d stopped again, grin gone. “Let me go, and I’ll forgive you for this,” she said very carefully. “We can forget about it. There is bigger shit to worry about, Telly.” Telly’s white eyes blazed at her, his cheeks hollow, his throat working. He was a full foot taller than her now. His skin glowed with faint white light, and Emma could almost see another shape overlaying his, but it shifted and shimmered, evading the eye. Then it began to fade.

Telly’s eyes bled back to blue. Thank God. “You’ll never forgive me though,” Telly said. Emma’s breath snagged in her throat. “You’ve forgiven Red, even though he had a hand in making me leave.” Telly’s voice was normal, his eyes were normal, but the look on his face was nothing Emma had ever seen before. “You’ve forgiven Fern, for binding you to him, forgave him almost as soon as it was done. You’ve obviously forgiven Alexi for his many and varied fucking sins. But you’ll never forgive me.” Emma’s heart pounded. Her face and hands were tingling. The anger was coming now, blowing through her — not the hot, red roar of the berserker sickness she’d inherited from Ivan when he made the Pledge, but something colder and far more dangerous. Something all hers. It felt like there was a long, dark passageway inside of her, and the rage loped like a beast up that dark passageway, gaining momentum. Soon it would hit her at a dead gallop and tear free. All she need do was let go, and lose herself in it, and it wouldn’t abandon her like the

berserker rage. This rage would stay. He couldn’t hold the ward forever. She just had to hold on. “You’ve even forgiven Seshua,” Telly said with a laugh. “You sit up there reading bedtime stories to the sonofabitch who would’ve taken everything from you just so he could say he’d fulfilled his daddy’s fucking legacy, but you’ll never forgive me, I see it in your eyes every goddamn time you look at me.” His eyes were dark blue now, all the magic and white light gone from him, and he looked like a man whose heart was breaking. Emma’s eyes filled, tears making her throat ache. He opened his arms, his face desolate. “You’d forgive Alan before you forgave me.” Emma went cold. Her heart thundered in her ears, and beneath it was the whisper of her rage, hurtling up that long dark passageway inside her. There was a moment, a second, when she could’ve slammed the door on the fury roaring through her. Then the mark on her hand flared to life, power filling her arm like electricity, burning in her palm. The world turned bright and crystalline.

She attacked. She lunged forward, rage and sorrow and betrayal boiling up her throat, and aimed a palm strike at Telly’s chest. Fast enough to surprise him. She turned at the final moment, throwing her hips into it, and screamed as the heel of her palm connected with the bottom of his breastbone. A blow from a human wouldn’t have made him blink, but Emma’s marked hand was alive and blazing with power, and he’d made no move to block her. He flew, landed on his back, and skidded, grass and earth torn in his wake. Emma launched after him. Five steps, eight. He was still dazed, and she was full of cold rage and razor sharp focus. She ran faster, judged the distance, and timed her leap perfectly, so much better than in any of her sessions with Red Sun. Legs tucked, she came down and drove both knees into Telly’s stomach. He grunted and rolled instinctively to the side, winded and gasping. Emma toppled, caught herself and rolled to her feet, and pivoted as she aimed a side kick at Telly’s throat. He caught her foot and

jerked her legs out from under her, then wrapped her leg with both arms, pinning her against him. She kicked him in the face with the other foot. His nose crunched under her bare arch and he cried out; there was a bright splash of crimson and Emma pummeled with her foot, her kicks connecting with jaw, chin, nose again — another crunch, and he yelled and flipped her, trying to get on top of her to lock her down. There was blood in his eyes though, and Emma thrashed out of his grip and scrambled away. She was still on her hands and knees when he grabbed her ankle. She spun onto her back, kicking out. He was on his side; he snapped his head back and the blow glanced off his cheek. She kept kicking as he dragged her towards him. Shit! Once they were at close quarters on the ground, she was done for. She couldn’t grapple with him; he was stronger, so much stronger, with a broader build and way more reach and oh, he was also a god, so there was that too. Emma couldn’t win, but her sanity had fled, and she didn’t care. She shot forward and straddled him and started

raining blows down at his face. He blocked, dodged, blocked again. Every time her marked hand connected with his forearm he grunted. He tried to grab her arm, but the power of her mark was behind the swing, and she caught him in the mouth and cried out with savage joy as his head rocked to the side. He got hold of her right wrist — it had just been a matter of time. Then he caught the other wrist. Emma screamed in blind outrage and tried to wrench herself away; Telly bucked and got one of Emma’s legs clamped between his own. She was trapped. Their gazes collided. His face was a bloodied mask, his nose swollen and streaming, his eyes wide and blue in all the red. His chest heaved, even though he was a god, and his stamina would never fail. His wounds would heal, but the look in his eyes was beaten. Telly turned his head and spat to clear his mouth of blood. “Em…” Her pulse roared in her ears, her breath like a freight train. “I don’t want to hear it.”

He licked blood from his teeth. “I’m sorry.” Emma’s ears were ringing, emotions climbing her throat and howling to be set loose. “I don’t care.” “I know.” He closed his eyes, nodding. “I know.” When he opened his eyes again, they were slate gray and wet with tears. “I’m so sorry.” She turned her face away. “Don’t.” “I shouldn’t have left,” he said tiredly. “I’m so sorry.” “Shut up.” “Em, I’m so fucking sorry.” “Telly, if you don’t shut up —” “It’s my fault.” He coughed, and swallowed what was probably a mouthful of blood. “Not all of it, not quite, I’m not enough of a narcissist to believe it’s all down to me, but so much of this. Of what’s happened to you. My fault. I was wrong, I fucked up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands tightened a fraction on her wrists. “Look at me, Em.” She was shaking her head. “No.” “I can’t fix it, I can’t make it better, and you

can’t forgive me and that’s okay. I will do whatever you want me to do. If you never want to hear another word out of my mouth, you don’t have to. You want me to suffer, I can do that. You can hate me for the rest of your life and I will still do almost anything for you.” The snowstorm of Emma’s rage surged, and she looked at him, not sure if she wanted to laugh or scream. “Almost?” Telly held her gaze. “Almost anything.” His hold on her wrists loosened. “Anything but leave you again. That, I will not do. No matter how dangerous it is, or how much you hate me. No matter how much it hurts to see you with him, to watch you together. I won’t leave you again. You have my word, my allegiance, and all that’s left of my honor. I won’t leave. Hush,” he said thickly as she started to cry, hot tears of rage burning tracks down her cheeks. “Hush, Em.” She roared, a blind and bestial sound, and tore herself from his hold. He let her go. But her anger was gone, and everything hurt, and her bloodied, swollen hands and wrenched joints and bruised

forearms were nothing compared to what her heart was doing. She rolled to her knees, covered her face with her hands, and stopped trying to hold back the grief. The sobs tore out of her in harsh, ugly bites. She curled around herself, around the pain. Telly made an agonized sound, halfway between a fox’s eerie cry and a human wail of loss, and then was silent. Time ceased to matter for a while, and when Emma’s tears had dried up and her sobs turned to exhausted gasps for air, she opened her eyes and saw a pair of pale bare feet she would recognize anywhere. She sniffled heftily, which made the pressure in her head worse but ensured she wouldn’t look like a complete mess, and looked up at Alexi. He crouched in front of her, his expression pained. “Emma,” he murmured, and smoothed her soaked hair from her forehead. Then he looked down at Telly. “Fool,” he said with the same gentle tone he’d used with her. “You realize they all want you dead now, don’t you.” Telly’s forearm was across his eyes. He moved

his arm and met Alexi’s gaze. “They already did.” Now that some of the numbness was fading from Emma’s mind, she felt Alexi’s surprise when he saw Telly’s face. Alexi looked at her. “You did all that? And here I thought you were in need of rescuing.” “Sorry, Prince Charming, I’m a twenty first century woman.” She let her head fall and groaned. “My hands hurt.” “Shall I take you inside?” “I can walk on my own.” “Actually,” Alexi said quietly, “I can feel that you can’t. You’ve pulled something in your right knee.” Damn it. “Did you have to say something about it? I couldn’t feel it until you said something about it.” His yellow eyes flashed with amusement, but he couldn’t quite hide the anger simmering beneath his calm. “My apologies. Come.” He gestured for her to put her arms around his neck. With his hands on her waist, he lifted her, but let her keep her weight on her left leg, and she wrapped her arms

around his ribcage — he was too tall for her to keep her hands locked behind his neck while standing. She was bruised, bloodied and exhausted, but it still felt incredible to be in his arms. Alexi looked down into her face and shuttered his thoughts. “Shall we bring him inside?” Emma looked down at Telly. He was still flat on his back. He’d closed his eyes; now he cracked his lids, looked up at Emma and Alexi, and clenched his jaw as his eyes darkened to stormcloud gray. “Yeah,” Emma said finally. “Bring him inside.” Emma refused to let Fatima heal her with magic — it seemed like something so sacred shouldn’t be used to fix something that had happened for such stupid reasons. Grudgingly, Fatima cleaned Emma’s wounds in the kitchen and bandaged what could be bandaged. Fern stood near the sink, still shirtless, which was distracting, shielding his mind and radiating angry calm. Red Sun, Anton, and Ricky hovered in

the living room, and Felani and Fezesh hovered nearby, helping Fatima with first-aid supplies. No one had offered Telly any aid. He’d gone to the big downstairs bathroom alone, and as far as Emma knew, he was still there. Alexi had ordered the guards not to touch the walking god, had ordered Leah to go for a run and let off some steam because she was going to get herself killed taking Telly on otherwise, and asked Shadi and Ivan to keep eyes and ears on Telly from a distance. “Votan and Tiri are giving up the search for Massimo,” Alexi told Emma as he sponged a scrape on her elbow. His brows were drawn. “So am I. If he can evade us for a week, he is strong enough to survive on his own.” Emma waved him off; her elbow was thoroughly sponged. “What will Votan and Tiri do now?” Alexi tossed the sponge in the sink and leaned both hands on the kitchen counter where Emma was perched. “Return to Peru, Tiri’s homeland.” Alexi’s jaw was tight. “I don’t know what Massimo will do if he finds them there together.”

Fern spoke up. “They’re ancients, right? They should be okay.” Alexi turned to Fern and met his eyes. “You are right, of course. They’re older than I am.” “What can he do?” Fatima asked, securing the last bandage on Emma’s knuckles. Her accent had the lyrical softness of someone whose first language was an Arabic one, but she’d learned her English during British occupation, so it had that flavor too. “He is powerful, yes, but no more so than you or the others.” “He is insane,” Alexi said. Fatima arched a fine black brow. “And everyone here is so well adjusted.” Emma snorted. “Alexi, as one of these terribly well adjusted people, I feel the need to say she’s got you there.” She held her arms out. “Help me down.” Alexi tucked her against his side and held her as she lowered her feet to the floor. “Where are we going?” “To see Telly.” Fern came around the center island with murder

in his black eyes. “I’m coming with you.” Emma was so exhausted and wrung out, she had no more murder left in her. She sighed. “We’re gonna talk, not pound him into walking god hamburger.” “Either way.” Fern flashed his teeth in what was not a smile. “I’m coming with you.” They passed Ivan and Shadi in the hall; Ivan gave her a wink, Shadi regarded her with a combo of misery and indignation that he did a terrible job of hiding. The whites of his eyes were showing too much and his nostrils flared with anxiety. Emma stopped in front of him and resisted the urge to touch his arm to calm him the way she would with Fern or Red Sun. “You didn’t fail me, Shadi,” she said, looking way up to meet his eyes. They went a little wider. “You can read minds now, my lady?” Not yet, she thought with a shudder. “Just your face. I saw you trying to use your magic when Telly was doing his forcefield thing. Try to remember he’s a god, and not just the psychotic teenager he acts like most of the time.”

“Yet you would speak with him, and tolerate him in your house.” Shadi sounded exactly like what he was — an Arabian prince — even though sometimes his mannerisms reminded her so much of the stallion Sefu that he used to be, it hurt. Emma did put her hand on his arm then. “Sometimes people deserve second chances. Sometimes,” she emphasized, just in case Telly was listening. Shadi inhaled sharply. “Perhaps, my lady. Perhaps.” She continued limping her way down the hall. “I really can’t put any weight on this leg,” she said to no one in particular. Alexi held her tighter, his arm wrapped around her, hand gripping her waist. Such big hands. “Does it hurt?” Nothing hurt while he was touching her, but she wasn’t about to say that. Out loud. “Not unless I lean on it.” They’d come to the downstairs bathroom. I have no idea what I’m going to say, she sent to Fern.

You don’t have to do this, he sent back, his thoughts dark with his beast. Fern’s beast didn’t get angry, but it did react when threatened — or when Emma was threatened. Emma felt its cold, watchful presence swirling through the bond like smoke, and pictured two pairs of long, dark legs arcing into the air in the only warning you’d ever get before he struck, quicker than a snake. They were a wall of solid muscle and steadfast calm at her back — the spider and the snake. With a deep breath, Emma knocked on the bathroom door. “He says you can come in,” Alexi said. Emma took that to mean they could all go in. The downstairs bathroom was designed to impress; it was huge and done in muted Spanish blue and terracotta, all antique fixtures and elaborate tiles. It had an antique vanity and a halfsunken hot tub. Telly sat on the edge of the tub, elbows on his knees, and his bloodied face dripped steadily onto the tiles between his feet. He didn’t look up when they entered. “Jesus,” Emma murmured, stepping away from

Alexi. “Is there a reason you’re still bleeding?” Telly looked up without lifting his head, his eyes cobalt blue. “It’ll heal.” “I thought you came here to clean up.” When he dropped his gaze and shrugged, Emma bit back a frustrated noise and hopped to the vanity. That was when she made the unfortunate mistake of looking at her own reflection. She so had not wanted to know she looked like that. Christ. Her nose was red, her eyes were marshmallows, there was a grass stain on her jaw and her hair was a shaggy mess. It was shoulder length already. Oh well, the long bob was in this season, she supposed. Fern snorted. You don’t look that bad. She closed the vanity drawer. Your visual processing is selective. You wouldn’t know. It’s not that selective, he sent back with a mental eye roll. Oh yeah? Emma ran the faucet until the water warmed up, then soaked a washcloth and wrung it out lightly, keeping her head down over the vanity so Fern couldn’t see her in the mirror. Send me a

mental picture. Of myself. He tried. Emma was certain he thought he’d done a great job. The picture he sent was all huge eyes and an incredibly detailed catalog of every single fractional movement her lips and nose could make. Her hair was a vague, dark cloud, and her brows were thick and far more arched than they were in real life. To him, the image was beautiful; to Emma, it was something out of a Disney movie. The animated kind. She knew he saw her as she actually was most of the time, it was just the visual recall that sucked; Fern’s visual recall was exaggerated because he was a tarantula, so his brain focused on the features that moved. He still saw her as she was, but seeing and perceiving were different things. The jaguars were better, but they favored sound — the sound of her voice, her footsteps, her breath. Ivan and Fatima were canine shapechangers, so they probably saw her the way she really looked, because wolves and jackals were social animals and they communicated with facial expressions as well as body language and vocalization. Even Shadi, who was technically

human, had spent so long in equine form he was exquisitely sensitive to mannerisms and mood but still had a hard time being looked at by all the meat-eaters. Alexi’s mental touch brushed against her with the cool, muscular feel of his beast behind it. He processes the information differently, Alexi said, his mental voice smooth and dark as honey. But he is not wrong. Emma’s cheeks went hot as she turned and met Alexi’s eyes. If you were thinking of sending your own mental picture, don’t, she said shakily in his head. I really don’t need to know that. She was fairly certain no woman on Earth would be confident enough to want to know how a man like Alexi saw her. Emma didn’t have any raging self esteem problems, but she wasn’t ready for that. On a scale of one to ten, Alexi’s beauty was a religious experience, whereas Emma — Telly made a pained sound, halfway between a bark and a cry. They all started with surprise and looked at him. “It was there all along, wasn’t it?” His voice

was hoarse. He looked from Alexi to Emma and back again. “I was just too blind to see it. Unless you’ve used your mind tricks on her, priest.” “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Emma snapped. Then she hopped over to the toilet, closed the lid — in a house full of men, you always had to close the lid — and perched on the edge. Telly watched her as though she had a live grenade in her hands instead of a damp washcloth. When she leaned forward with the cloth in her hand, he jerked back, blond brows furrowing in consternation. “What are you doing?” She gave him a look. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing? Hold still.” When his eyes stayed narrow with suspicion, she gritted her teeth and took his bloodied chin in her hand. “Seriously, what a child.” As she wiped the blood from Telly’s face, she felt Fern’s predatory watchfulness and Alexi’s anxiety, but she was determined to pretend everything was fine. She was fine, this was fine, washing the walking god’s face was totally fine, even though she’d only ever been this close to him a handful of times, aside from their epic fight.

There was a reason it was called fuck-or-fight distance. Well, they’d already done the fighting. Now they could move on. Not to the other thing — but they had to move on, move past this, whatever this was. “Your nose is going to heal crooked if you don’t straighten it,” she said. He watched her, his eyes wary. His breath whistled through his mangled nose. As she wiped the blood away, she saw most of the swelling had gone down, but the bridge of his nose was still misshapen. She sighed and lowered the washcloth. “Telly.” He licked his split upper lip. “What.” “You have to straighten it.” He looked at her like he was going to argue. Then he lifted his right hand to his face and placed the hard heel of his wrist against the side of his nose. “Brace me?” Emma shoved her left foot against the base of the tub. She rested the washcloth on her lap, folded one hand over the other, and placed them against

Telly’s temple. Holding her gaze, he struck his crooked nose with the heel of his hand. The crunch was soft but eloquent. Emma lowered her hands and resisted the urge to cover her mouth with them, because she wasn’t going to throw up, nope, not even thinking about it. Fresh blood gushed from Telly’s nose, coating his upper lip and chin. She threw up her hands. “Great, that’s just great. Here.” She handed him the already bloody washcloth. “I’ll get another one.” “I got it,” Fern said. He soaked another cloth and handed it to her. Telly’s voice was muffled by the washcloth. “Why are you doing this?” Emma ignored that. “Why aren’t you healing your injuries faster?” Gingerly, he removed the cloth from his face and looked down at it. “I started the fight. Doesn’t seem fair to heal myself while you can’t.” “Won’t,” she corrected him automatically. He looked up at her sharply. “I won’t let Fatima heal me, but I heal faster than I used to. If I want to

speed things up a little more, Fern and I can merge.” She sighed. “You let me finish the fight. You let me hurt you, and you didn’t fight back. It only seems fair I help clean up the damage.” “He attacked you,” Fern said, his voice dangerously deep. “Alexi, you weren’t there. He attacked her —” “Emma can speak for herself.” Alexi’s voice was calm; his mind was not, but only Emma knew that. Fern stared at Alexi like he was nuts. Alexi met those black eyes and gave nothing back. It was frankly impressive, because inside, Alexi was a maelstrom of emotions and urges, most of them mysterious to Emma, but one was clear as crystal: Alexi wanted very badly to pick Telly up by the scruff of the neck and shake him all the way into next week. Telly had confronted her while Alexi and Red weren’t there to protect her. Her right knee was wrenched and swollen and her knuckles beneath the bandages looked like raw hamburger. Alexi was well and truly determined to avoid being an overbearing, possessive asshole, but that

didn’t mean Emma’s injuries didn’t make him want to turn caveman and knock Telly over the head for hurting her. “He scared me,” Emma said to Fern, but just as much for Alexi’s benefit. “He set out to scare me, and he did an excellent job. But he didn’t attack me.” “Em!” “No, Fern, use your head. He talked a lot and he peacocked his power around —” “Thanks,” Telly said dryly. “You’re welcome” she shot back, her gaze locked with Fern. “He watched Anton and I spar. He used the exact same openings Anton did, because he’d just watched me parry them. Did you see his knee strike? It was like he was moving through molasses. Fern, he is the walking god, do you really think I could fight a god for real and come away with nothing but a few scrapes and a sprained knee?” Fern exhaled slowly through his nose. He turned his black gaze on Telly. Then looked at Emma again. “I think maybe not being merged with

you has made me dumber.” That surprised a laugh out of her. It was a tired laugh, but it felt good anyway. When she looked away from Fern, she found Telly watching her — probably watching the flash of her small fangs. She caught the jaguars doing that all the time. “You are a manipulative bastard,” she said to Telly. His expression didn’t change. “You have no patience, no impulse control, and no remorse —” “That is not true —” “Yeah, it is,” she snapped, her voice shaky. “Yeah, you said you’re sorry, and I believe you. But you’re not sorry for manipulating me into hearing your apology, are you?” His eyes flashed with lightning. He bared his teeth, then with an effort got himself under control. “No.” “No.” Emma reminded herself to breathe. In, out. She swallowed. She reached out, touched two fingers to Telly’s chin to steady it, and used the fresh washcloth to wipe the blood from the bottom half of his face. This close, she could mostly smell just the

blood — warm copper, salty sweetness, a taste she knew all too well thanks to being Caller of the Blood — but underneath it was the faint song of Telly’s scent, and it made Emma’s throat ache with longing. Longing for a time when the smell of him, male heat and dust and engine oil, made her feel safe. But that time had, in truth, only been brief. He’d rescued her, once, and she had idolized him ever since, but when he revealed that the mark on her hand allowed him access to her head? She’d never felt truly safe with him after that. It wasn’t about having someone share her mind — after everything she’d been through, she was ridiculously chill about that. No, it was about him making decisions for her, manipulating her, doing everything in his power to influence her and shape her destiny — everything but ask. Everything but talk to her. And when he finally wanted to talk, she’d shut him down. “You’d never have talked to me,” Telly said, echoing her thoughts as he always did. His face was drawn, his eyes a blue so dark they were gray,

and aside from a small cut on one eyebrow his face was clear. His jaw was rough with the barest hint of stubble. She’d never seen him grow a beard — she’d seen him with fur, in various shapes, but never with a beard. Probably because his corporeal form was nothing more than a mask. Who knew what his true shape was? Emma balled up the washcloth and shifted so her right knee was a little more comfortable. “Never’s a long time, Telly. You gave me less than two weeks before you forced the issue.” He opened his mouth, that stubborn line furrowing his brow, and she cut him off. “But since I had no intention of ever getting into this with you no matter how long you gave me, you’re right, and that’s the only reason you’re still allowed in this house. But there are rules.” He closed his mouth with a click and stared at her. “Rules.” “Yeah. Do you wanna hear them?” He blinked and started to laugh. It was a normal laugh at first. When the scent of ozone tickled Emma’s nose and her hackles started to

rise, she dropped the washcloth and clapped once. Telly fell abruptly silent. “Enough of that,” Emma said grimly. “Don’t fuck with me, Telly. Do you want to stay or not?” His gaze sharpened, elfin ears twitching back, and he was suddenly bigger. Taller just sitting there. “I told you, I will do anything but —” “I know, I know.” Emma swallowed past a lump in her throat. “But that doesn’t mean I have to tolerate you living under my roof and sharing my food, not if I don’t want to. You can do what you like out there, but not here, not where the people I care about rest their heads.” Telly studied her face. She knew the look on it wasn’t pretty, but that was okay — at least she wasn’t angry-crying. “Rules,” he said in a strangely unsteady voice. Okay, breathe. Breathing was necessary. “Rule number one.” She opened her mouth, had to squeeze her eyes shut for a second, and then tried again. “You never, ever, use my trauma against me again the way you did out there.” His eyes widened a fraction. He clenched his

jaw like he wanted to say something and was keeping his mouth shut, so he wasn’t a complete idiot. “Rule number two. You quit making assumptions about shit that happened while you were gone. It was three months, Telly. Seshua might be an asshole, but he’s a dependable one, and I trust him more than I do you right now. Same goes for Red. Rule number three, I still don’t know what the hell your problem with Alexi is and I don’t —” She stopped. She’d been about to say she didn’t care, and then read him the rest of the riot act, but Telly’s eyebrows had climbed his forehead and his lips parted in a tiny, unconscious gesture of surprise, and he looked so genuinely shocked that Emma couldn’t get past it. “What,” she said. Telly’s gaze slid from her to Alexi, and stayed there. His brow smoothed out. His nostrils flared. He sounded almost hurt when he spoke. “You haven’t told her.” Emma’s stomach clenched and her mouth went

dry as she looked up at Alexi — his face was the familiar, arrogant mask she’d come to love, but right now the lack of expression really wasn’t making her feel so hot. “Alexi?” He closed his eyes. Opened them, his gaze on her. His expression never changed, and he was shielding his thoughts so hard she could barely feel him, but she still recognized the flicker of old pain that darkened his eyes to Halloween-lantern orange. “Like a fool,” Alexi said softly, “I was waiting for the right time.” Emma wanted desperately to stand. She also didn’t want to fall over when her knee gave out, so she stayed put. “The right time for what, Alexi? The right time to tell me what?” Alexi filled his lungs, regret clouding his eyes. Telly made a sound as if he would speak and Emma put her hand against his lips, warning him with her eyes, before turning back to Alexi. Alexi, who of everyone Emma knew had always hated Telly the most, sighed. “We were lovers, Emma. A very long time ago, we were

lovers.”

5 Emma’s best friend was bi, and her Aunt Chase was gay, and it wasn’t as though Emma was straight as an arrow herself; she’d never had anything going with a real-life woman, but if Black Widow called? She’d be all over that in a heartbeat. None of which made her any more prepared to find out that the two men she’d fallen for first — and who had somehow, each in their own way, fallen for her — had been lovers. Fern was speechless. He met her eyes across

the expanse of the big, fancy bathroom, his face blank, his mind racing, putting it all together. His clearest thought? We should have known. Emma shook her head. She didn’t know if she agreed with him. And the issue wasn’t anything to do with the two men being — God, Emma was still struggling with it — intimate together. The issue was how straight out of left field it was. Emma cleared her throat in the deafening silence and looked from Alexi to Telly and back again. “But you hate each other?” Alexi’s mouth thinned, muscles standing out in his neck. His voice was deceptively calm. “He is a coward.” “That’s rich.” Telly flowed to his feet, all kinds of muscles flexing in his bare stomach and chest, a savage grin on his face. “That’s real rich, considering you were too chickenshit to defy the priesthood —” “You have no idea what I’ve done in the many years since —” “Just because the Sleeping God is free now —” “Stop!” Emma’s voice echoed off the tiles. She

saw in Fern’s mind that her eyes had flashed lid to lid black, and she squeezed them shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. Deep breath out, draw the abdomen in; relax, let the inhale happen automatically. Recovery breathing, just like Red taught her. She was pretty sure her eyes were back to normal hazel brown when she opened them again. Alexi and Telly still faced off. It reminded her so much of the first time she saw Alexi, when she and Anton and Ricky — and Telly — had been taken prisoner and escorted to Seshua’s Arizona sanctuary. God, it had been so damn obvious this whole time, hadn’t it. Because who else could drive you crazy like your evil ex? “How long ago,” Emma asked. Telly glanced at her. “It doesn’t —” “Four hundred and sixty three years,” Alexi said, his voice like a blade. “Since you took Beata and left without a single fucking word.” Emma inhaled sharply. Holy shit. That’s what it

was about. I am so lost right now, Fern sent, his black eyes wide. Emma opened her shields to him and sent a wordless command for him to lift the knowledge from her mind. When the serpent priests attacked the ranch three weeks ago, Red Sun dematerialized them to the safety of the Arizona sanctuary. She and Seshua had talked. “Before my father died,” Seshua had said, “His royal oracle Beata had a prophetic dream, or so she claimed, that told her the jaguar kingdom was not fated to hold the power of the Caller of the Blood.” Beata was Ricky and Anton’s mom. She’d rebelled against the jaguar kingdom, fled, and lived a long, long life before meeting Ricky and Anton’s dad. Tragically, he’d died before Ricky was old enough to remember him, and Beata had died when Ricky was fifteen. But before she died, she made Telly promise to watch over her sons and help them find Emma.

“Telly mentioned this once,” she’d said. “He said he and Beata didn’t agree with some of your dad’s ideas concerning the prophecies. He made it sound like you were sympathetic to them, at first.” Seshua had huffed a humorless laugh. “They tried to convince my father, and when that did not work, they tried to convince me. Together, Telly and Alexi could be very…compelling. And I was already in love with Beata.” Seshua swallowed, throat clicking. “But then my father began to waste. It took him quickly. It seems the purer the lineage, the more susceptible we are to the illness. My mother died of it when I was too young to remember her.” Emma had cleared her throat, blinking back unexpected tears and biting back questions that seemed rude in light of this last revelation. “Do you have anything of hers?” “I put away such things when I ascended my father’s throne and took up his cause. I was so determined to prove them all wrong. But Betty’s dream was right. She claimed not to know who

would eventually anchor your power, but I’ve wondered often if she knew more than she said. Perhaps that is what drove the wedge between Alexi and the walking god.” She’d wanted so badly to ask what the hell he meant about driving a wedge between Alexi and Telly. Now she knew. “So,” Emma said slowly. “Four hundred and sixty three years ago, you guys broke up because Beata had a vision that a serpent priest was fated to anchor my power?” They both looked at her. A weird fluttery feeling made her stomach turn over. “No,” Telly said, biting the word out. “I left because I discovered the source of the priesthood’s power, and could not condone the slavery of a god —” “You fucking liar,” Alexi hissed, and his power — carefully folded away most of the time — lashed out and flooded the room with freezing cold fear and suffocating electricity. Involuntary panic shot Emma to her feet, her right knee wobbling.

That had escalated quickly. Alexi’s yellow eyes blazed like twin suns; his nose had flattened, nostrils turning to slits, and his eyes were farther apart than they should be. His hair slid out of its braid and over his shoulders in muscular coils that shone with green highlights, and the tiny scales that usually lay invisible against his skin all shimmered as the bones of his face and neck shifted. The faint olive green tinge of his skin was now deep and pronounced, thrown into sharp contrast by the white light bleeding off him. He looked more like a god than Telly. Telly, with his hair trimmed close now, his deceptively slight build, his normal blue-gray eyes. Telly, who wore his physical form like a protective glove, so he could touch the human world without sending it up in flames. Telly, whose beauty burned so hot and bright, it had been impossible not to fall in love with him. Emma realized those were not her thoughts, not entirely, and tried to pull back from the link with Alexi. His power was too much though. His emotions were too overwhelming. It had been over

four and a half centuries ago, and he’d gotten over it, and spent more centuries than not without thinking of Telly and the way he left, but then Telly had waltzed back into his life with the Caller of the Blood tagging along behind. “You left,” Alexi said very carefully, enunciating every syllable as though they were cut by diamonds. “Because you could not bear the thought of sharing her.” Telly flinched. Emma would’ve reacted, but Alexi’s power was making it seriously hard to breathe. With a slow blink in her direction, Alexi held a hand out to her; he was a few too many steps away for her to take it, but the frozen blast of his power against her skin thawed a fraction, and she could take a shallow breath without wanting to scream. “And then,” Alexi snarled, the air vibrating with the force behind the words. “You left her.” “I had my reasons for that,” Telly said, voice hoarse. He looked at Emma, his expression stark and pleading. “Em… So many reasons, you don’t know. If you’d just listen. Red Sun —”

“Red didn’t know me,” she said, warning in her voice. “He didn’t know me then. I didn’t trust him the way I did you, and he didn’t owe me anything.” Telly laughed, a harsh sound. “And now?” Emma frowned. “What now?” Telly’s eyes went pale. His voice dropped an octave. “How do you feel about him now.” Emma clamped down on the urge to throw her shields all the way up, cutting herself off from Alexi and Fern; they both already knew how she felt about Red Sun, and pretending it wasn’t the case was childish and unnecessary. Or at least that was what Alexi kept trying to teach her, and she was trying to learn, no matter how uncomfortable it made her. Alexi’s power died on the air as suddenly as it had arrived, sending the temperature up a good twenty degrees and leaving him looking like all his facial features were more or less in the right place. “You are in no position to ask demanding questions, Telly,” Alexi said. “Or to judge Red Sun, without whom we would all be, as he would put it, up shit creek without a prayer.”

Emma shot him an apologetic look. “Without a paddle.” Alexi spread his hands. “Either way.” “Emma…” Telly said, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Telly, I need breakfast.” He blinked at her like she’d given him whiplash. “I’m serious.” She threw up her hands. “I’ve had my ass kicked, my knee is killing me, and if I don’t get some protein in me like yesterday I think I’m gonna Hulk-out. I can’t do any more of this, whatever this is, not right now.” Letting her hands fall, she reached out to Fern via the bond, and he came to her side; she’d need help getting back to the kitchen, and although it felt weird, for some reason she thought it best not to leave with Alexi wrapped around her in a functional but very graphic public display of affection. Not in front of Telly. Not when they’d just revealed… well, that. As Fern helped her hobble out, Alexi stopped her by cupping her face with one hand. Her breath caught at that simple touch. I should have told you, he said in her head, his mental voice steady. But

this changes nothing for me. She put her hand over his. I don’t blame you for not telling me sooner. We were kind of busy trying not to get killed. The handful of others who likely knew and never told her — them, she did blame, but it didn’t matter now. She didn’t tell him nothing had changed for her, though. Because she just didn’t know. Most of the jaguar guards had withdrawn upstairs, to guard their king and make themselves scarce in the wake of Emma and Telly’s epic fight, and the house was strangely quiet. When Emma and Fern had stepped out into the dim hall, Shadi and Ivan were right at the door, Red Sun was right behind them, and Anton and Ricky and the maidens were close by as well. It was safe to say they’d heard everything, but thankfully, they said nothing. Red Sun had given her shoulder a squeeze and stayed behind to make sure Telly and Alexi didn’t decide to kill each other; everyone else shadowed Emma and Fern to the kitchen, where Ricky

reheated pancakes and sausage and hash, and made more coffee, and didn’t ask any of the questions he and Anton obviously wanted so badly to ask. There was nothing to say, really. Emma sure as shit — as Red would say — wasn’t going to lead a group discussion on the topic of her kind-of-boyfriendbut-it’s-weird situation and his relationship history with the god incarnate who happened to have a major fixation on Emma and the whole Caller of the Blood thing. Ivan saved them all from eating in awkward silence by talking business. Leaning against the sink, armed in three places Emma could see (and there’d be more), he drank cup after cup of coffee and gave them all the rundown on developments since the night before. There hadn’t been much concerning Horne’s disappearance, but Yevgeny — the Russian wolf king and father of the wolf princess Emma had saved with the Pledge — had volunteered a team of his most specialized tactical investigators to pick up Horne’s trail. Or, far more likely, the trail of whoever or whatever had reanimated his body.

As much as Emma’s secret heart wished and whispered that maybe Horne was alive somehow, she knew the dead didn’t come back to life. A reanimated corpse was, however crazy, a possibility, because she’d seen it before. And there was definitely such a thing as a near death experience, coming back from being clinically dead for a moment, or even minutes. But Horne was dead. They’d carried his body. Too much time had passed for a miraculous revival to have somehow occurred, and once the process of decay began, then whatever came back was firmly in “walking corpse” territory. Shadi confirmed what Emma knew with her head and didn’t want to believe with her heart. “Magic can do a great many things,” he said in that deep, rolling voice. “But it cannot bring back the dead.” Emma’s breakfast had pretty much turned to ashes in her mouth at that point. “There is some good news, however, devotchka.” Ivan refilled his coffee yet again; how he remained so cool with so much caffeine in his

system, Emma didn’t know. Emma pushed a bit of sausage around her plate for the umpteenth time. “Oh yeah?” “Da. One of my contacts turned up a pharmaceuticals company whose name appears on a contractor’s agreement concerning the partial refurbishment of a certain industrial facility near the Urals.” Emma had to blink a few times before she parsed that. Then she nearly choked on her last bite of pancake. “Alan’s compound?” Ivan gave a slow nod. “And it’s not a shell company that goes nowhere?” When Ivan shook his head in that same unhurried way, Emma backtracked. “Wait, you had your contacts on this? I know Yevgeny —” “Yevgeny was the one who put me in charge of the investigation, after you returned to California with the princess.” That had been after they were rescued from Alan’s compound. “We’d hoped to have something for you sooner, but then you came back to us after the attack on your ranch, and the rest…” He shrugged, gray eyes hooded.

“The rest” being that they’d ventured into the Siberian wilderness in search of the Brotherhood. But before that, Emma convinced him to make the Pledge. He was cured, but he didn’t seem to know quite what to do with himself yet; he’d thrown himself into working with Emma’s people, and he was good. She didn’t want to lose him. But she didn’t know him, really, and he wasn’t hers, no matter what the Pledge bond — and her power — insisted. “My contact is pursuing the pharmaceutical angle further. He’ll let us know when he gets somewhere. Makes sense though, da? Alan would need resources — research facilities, supplies. Personnel. That’s how we’ll catch him, I think.” Ivan’s upper lip curled in a happy snarl. “Business records can be buried, but people have lives, they talk. They slip up.” Emma just nodded, her mind racing. Ivan sounded so certain. So confident. They’d been trying to find Alan for months, even before Emma found out what Alan was doing, and she’d despaired of ever fulfilling her promise to the

wretched creature Alan had set loose on her when he’d held her prisoner. Somehow, Alan had done the impossible — created a shapechanger-vampire hybrid that was both and neither, like a monster from a B grade movie. Except Storm had been very real. He’d nearly eviscerated her, but he’d been hurt and scared and alone. Emma swore she’d find him, but to do that, they had to find Alan first. Fern leaned over to pick a bit of sausage from her plate, brushing her arm with his. Finding Alan should be easier now there are fewer factions out to kill you, he sent, his mental voice dry. We can spare the resources now. And we’re not hobbled by having to hide your power from the serpent priesthood, now there is no priesthood. She pushed her plate over to him. No priesthood, but what about the Brotherhood. Why can’t these ancients just go get regular hobbies instead of forming clandestine societies dedicated to blah, blah, blah… She trailed off as Ricky came over, his eyes on her plate and his mouth an unhappy line.

He pulled the plate back in front of her. “Do I have to set up a reward system just to get you to eat?” “I’ve eaten! I’m eating! Hey.” Speaking of unhappy lines. She reached out to smooth the hefty frown off his brow. “You feeling okay?” Leaning his elbows on the bench, Ricky popped both eyebrows. “Sure. Watched you get attacked by the walking god while the rest of us had to sit around with our thumbs up our asses, that was fun. Real question is, how are you after your whole Fight Club ‘I wanted to destroy something beautiful’ moment?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “Eat that.” He pointed at the sausage as Emma’s face heated. Red’s familiar, booming voice made Emma look up. “Bossing our girl around, Ricky? I approve.” Red entered the kitchen like an ambulatory mountain, all height and harsh crags — a blond, scarred mountain with eyes the color of hot chocolate and a scruff of beard roughening his jaw, and muscles straining every-damn-where. Beside Emma, Ricky swallowed audibly. “Sure

am,” he managed to say without arousal clogging his throat. Ricky was well and truly accustomed to Red’s curse, which affected anyone capable of being attracted to him. Ricky saw Red as nothing more than a friend and a powerful ally, but the curse still affected him when Red was in close proximity. Aside from all of the straight men and most of the maidens, Emma was the only one who was truly immune to Red’s curse. Which, given how she felt about him now, was pretty much the definition of irony. In any case, seeing Red with two arms was still a trip. Emma had never thought of him as incomplete, but then again, she hadn’t been the one who had to get around with only one arm for over three thousand years. She met those dark brown eyes. “Everything okay?” Red grunted and went for the coffee pot. “As much as it can be. Alexi’s gone upstairs for some shut-eye. Thank fuck he’s giving up on Massimo, I’m sick of jumping out to swamps and slums and

ruins lookin’ for senor crazypants.” Red took a sip of coffee, grimaced, and drained the cup. Then he pointed a thick finger at her. “You’re stuck with me until Alexi wakes up, flower.” “Oh, the horror.” Emma popped the last of the sausage in her mouth and chewed dutifully. “Alexi does know I can take care of myself,” she pointed out, straightening and limping over to the sink with her plate. “If Telly wanted to seriously fuck me up —” “You’re not stuck with me for your protection, sweetheart,” Red said darkly. Emma stopped next to him, looking up into his face. His gaze tracked her from head to toe, and not in a sexy way — more in a cataloging-all-herinjuries way. Which was also kind of sexy. Annnd that thought made her glad her psychic shields were firmly in place. “You can’t kill Telly,” Emma said sympathetically. “Funny,” Red growled. “Alexi said the same damn thing.”

Emma took an earnest interest in the tactical side of running a kingdom from a distance and keeping its chief rulers and allies under guard — said rulers being Seshua and Alexi, allies being Emma, Red Sun, the Russian wolves, and the Egyptian jackals — but when the weapons and surveillance talk started, Emma was lost. She could handle a gun, provided it wasn’t too heavy and didn’t kick like a bitch, and that was the grand total of her weapons expertise, which was why she was glad she had Anton and Ivan, and Seshua’s jaguars. The former two headed back to the ops room with a few of the more tactics inclined maidens; Ricky and the rest of the maidens, including Felani, stayed behind to help clean up after second breakfast. Their lyrical voices carried from inside the house, their speech rapid with the ancient language they used only with one another. Over the distant mountains, the sky had darkened with thunderheads the color of gunmetal, as though the storm of Telly’s magic earlier in the

day had given it ideas. Overhead, clouds scudded by fast, driven by the wind that had picked up, and sunlight broke through in brilliant, golden shafts. After ten days, the sounds of the jungle were familiar; a hundred different bird calls, and the constant rushing sound of the breeze sifting through thick, green leaves. The jungle was beautiful, but it wasn’t home. Emma didn’t know where home was. Telly’s place in the California mountains had begun to feel like home, but it never would again. After the past few weeks, she was just glad to have most of the people she cared about with her, and the rest safe. If only Seshua would just wake the hell up. In order to avoid being carried everywhere, Emma had to relent and let someone heal her knee. Fatima could have done it. But Fatima channeled her power from her goddess, Nephthys, and it just didn’t seem right to Emma to use that for an injury that was a mere inconvenience. Besides, Emma and Fern needed the practice using the Enam-Vesh bond to do fancy stuff. Except that as Emma sat tucked into Fern’s lap

on the back lawn, she was discovering he did not, in actual fact, need the practice at all. Fern’s legs were crossed half lotus style, his long, finely muscled arms loose around Emma. Touch made almost all psychic work a little easier. Funny, Em rarely noticed how much bigger than her Fern truly was; they were so tightly bound, so in each other’s heads and hearts all the time, he felt like an extension of her. The Enam-Vesh bond gave them a telepathic link that was effortless and instantaneous, rendered Fern incapable of disobeying a direct order, and bound their lifeforces together. That was the simple version. In truth it was way more complicated, and while they’d been hiding from the serpent priesthood, they’d spent over a week fully merged, sharing each other’s consciousness. The ability to merge, so there were no psychic barriers between them, wasn’t something that was meant to be done for extended periods of time. There seemed to be no ill effects, but they were still wary. It had been strange to drop the full merge and go back to having mental privacy. In much the same

way, relaxing all her mental shields and letting Fern merge their minds felt like the most natural thing in the world. Letting him take control of her autonomic processes, like respiration, blood pressure, heart rate and adrenal secretion? Not so much. But, she thought as her heart began to pound and her muscles began to shudder with frantic energy, at least it was a momentary distraction from thinking about everything that had already gone down this morning. God, where did they go from here? Did it change things for her with Alexi? Fern tangled his fingers with hers and squeezed. “Breathe, Em,” he said out loud to ground her. She hung onto him and took a huge, gasping breath. Sweat broke out on her face. “It didn’t feel like this the first time.” “The first time, I was slowing you down so the anesthetic could work, not speeding you up. Hey.” He captured her gaze. His eyes were solid black — not the deepest brown of some of the native

jaguar guards but true black, like glittering windows into deep space — and when he smiled just for her, he looked like the world’s most benevolent demon. “We can stop anytime you want.” Emma clenched her teeth. He’d said the magic words, the ones guaranteed to trip her stubborn switch. She shook her head. Fern’s smile turned rueful, and he tucked her head under his chin, holding her a little tighter. Okay, he said, his mental voice filling all the empty places inside her. Here we go. His beast poured into her, dark and cool and smoky. The tarantula was almost all instinct; it had higher consciousness, but those higher functions were so honed and specific, so utterly alien to the way mammals thought, it had taken Emma a long time to understand the spider as anything more than a calculated nothingness. It didn’t feel fear, so the pounding of her heart no longer scared her. It didn’t love, not the way Fern did, but it had a sharp and brilliant intelligence that rendered the world crystal clear

and allowed Emma to step back from the fever that had suddenly claimed her body. Heat crashed through her in waves, her pulse hammering in her throat and behind her eyes. Fern’s skin glowed with faint white light, while his arms banded with shadows, his hands on Emma turning black as ink. She tipped her head back, needing to see his face. His eyes were lid to lid black. His brow was smooth, his face placid; he still looked painfully young in spite of being over four times as old as Emma. But there was an unhurried, utter confidence in his eyes, in the way he looked down at her, in the way his beast flowed through her and poured its power into her. She lifted a hand and touched his chin, so he couldn’t look away from her face. You’ve always known how to do this through the bond, haven’t you? Fern’s expression never changed, but his beast bristled against the inside of Emma’s head, and Emma felt too many legs twisting and climbing over one another inside her — not inside her body, not exactly, but inside her other body, the strange

incorporeal space that she could only feel with the edges of her skin. She guessed you might call it an etheric body, or an astral body, or maybe just an aura. Whatever it was, it was bigger than the confines of her flesh, and it was where she felt the beasts — not just Fern’s, but all of them. She was better at sensing it now, and recognizing it for what it was. And though she wasn’t afraid of Fern’s beast, she really, really needed not to feel eight legs running around inside her wacky magical aura thingie. Emma pushed Fern’s beast back to him. He took the hint and withdrew, and dropped the merge. It felt like stepping out of a deliciously hot bath: Emma went cold, her limbs were suddenly heavy, and she shuddered as all her body’s systems reestablished control. She sagged against Fern, head lolling on his bicep. “How’s your knee,” Fern said, tone mild. She flexed it a few times. “Seems good. How come you never told me you could use the merge to

heal?” The whites of his eyes had returned, and though his hold on her was solid, his mind had gone distant. “Before Russia, when Ivan attacked you, it never came up. The other times you were injured, there was either someone there to heal you, someone better, or we were separated.” Loud enough for her to hear, he thought but did not say, The ability to heal through the merge is usually rudimentary at best, but I’m stronger than I should be with you. I think your power amplifies it. Emma tested her weight on her knee by using her right foot to push herself more upright in Fern’s lap. “But that’s not why you didn’t tell me, is it.” He smiled, but not like he was happy. “No.” She didn’t really need to ask why he hadn’t told her. They’d started this conversation in Russia, but there was so much going on, Emma had shoved it to the back of her mind and forgotten about it. She knew why he’d kept quiet about it — because in the beginning, when the bond was fresh, it would have freaked her the fuck out to know that as well

as being able to share her mind and hear her thoughts, he could also manipulate her at a microscopic level. She should have known it all along; when they’d first gone to Egypt and Emma had been forced to fight an ancient jackal warrior, Fern and Telly had used the merge to help her win. They’d gone all Exorcist, possessing her body and flipping her around like something out of The Matrix, not only controlling her but healing her too, enough so she could bounce back up and keep swinging. It didn’t surprise or worry her that Fern hadn’t wanted to frighten her with the knowledge of what the Enam-Vesh could do. What got to her, like a thorn twisting in her brain, was the fact that he’d managed to keep it from her for so long. She’d thought that was impossible, especially given how long they’d spent merged. Red Sun leaned against one of the ornate Spanish columns that ringed the house, chewing on a match and watching her and Fern with narrowed eyes, his gigantic forearms crossed over his chest. He sensed her unease. Shadi was reclining on one

elbow on the grass, his bow and arrows beside him, the very picture of languid ease. It was an illusion. Unless otherwise instructed, Shadi went wherever Emma or those she held dear went, and he went with the intention of fucking up anyone who posed a threat, since he’d vowed to protect the people Emma loved. Thankfully Red didn’t know he was being guarded. The big man likely would’ve had some very colorful words to say about it. Kinda like the colorful words he spat when Telly rounded the side of the sprawling house and stopped several yards away. “I just want to talk,” Telly called out. Fern went still, only his hair moving in the breeze. Red stepped down from the back deck, unfolding his arms, his muscles bunching like boulders beneath his T-shirt. “I think you’ve done enough of that today, my friend.” With two long strides, Red was within dematerializing distance of Emma and Fern, and his shoulders relaxed. Telly’s voice was as normal as it ever sounded.

“Em?” Red growled. “I said —” “It’s okay Red.” Emma untangled herself from Fern, pushing her hair back — it was past her shoulders now, and wavy enough to be annoying. “Let him come.” “Flower…” “Red,” she said softly, looking up at him. It was a long way up. He crouched in front of her, the leather of his boots creaking, big legs pulling his jeans taut. She touched his right arm, the one he’d regenerated. “This needs to happen.” “Bullfuck it does,” he said mildly, brown eyes dark and hard with worry. “You don’t owe him shit.” “No.” She sighed. “He owes me. That’s why he wants to talk.” Red’s blond brows went up. Then way, way down. “If he tries anything —” I’ll call for you, she said in his head. I’ll call for you and for Fern, she added, opening up the mental pathway to Fern as well. Fern’s hand tightened on her knee. Red’s eyes

flared amber gold for a second, and he turned to meet Fern’s gaze. “If you guys are done sharing your homicidal moment,” she said, “I’d love some privacy. You can head back into the house. You too, Shadi.” Shadi flowed to his feet, unwilling to argue with her, and for once Fern and Red Sun gave in without a fight. They both looked down at her. Her throat tightened with love and fear; they would die to protect her, and they almost had, several times already. But Telly wasn’t a threat, not like that. And they’d never been able to protect her from all the ways Telly had of hurting her. She folded her good leg beneath her as Fern and Red Sun stalked inside, Shadi covering their backs. The sun seemed to head back inside as well as the cloud cover built overhead, and a cooler breeze raised gooseflesh on Emma’s bare arms. An omen? Oh please. “Get over here,” she called tiredly as the door banged shut.

6 Telly shoved his hands in his pockets and crossed the yard. He’d put on a blue chambray shirt and as usual hadn’t bothered to button it up. She was struck again by how stark his face seemed without the shaggy mass of his blond hair to hide it; it was like in that Narnia book she’d read as a kid, when they cut off the magical lion’s mane. Like something wild and majestic had been defaced. He stopped in front of her. “I’ve seen you look at me a lot of different ways, but never before with pity.”

“Just thinking about what’ll happen to you if you fuck with me again,” she lied cheerfully. “Sit down.” He folded himself to the grass beside her. She remembered hitting him, over and over again, her fists raining down at his face. Him blocking her weakly, while he could’ve snapped her like a twig. It had felt so good to hit him and so terrible at the same time; to collide with him, let go, have him catch her. Everyone was so worried about him hurting her, but if she was honest with herself? In those awful moments, fighting him, she’d felt safe in a way she never had before, not even with Alexi. Alexi lit her up, Alexi was exciting and incredible and awe inspiring; his cold anger thrilled her and his deadly calm filled her with a special kind of peace, and she would do anything just to see one of his rare smiles or hear him laugh. But she feared for him. She worried about him. It was stupid, because he was over nine hundred years old and powerful as all get out, but she’d spent almost a week convinced the serpent priesthood was going

to kill him, and she felt like it had aged her a million years. Telly, though — he was a god. His power on this plane of reality had limits Emma didn’t understand, but she was pretty sure he couldn’t die. He cleared his throat, blue eyes focused on the tree line. “I would speak to you of why I left, if you would listen.” Emma couldn’t answer for a moment. Did she want to hear this? Who was she kidding. She’d spent months wondering why the hell he abandoned her; it would be stupidity of the very worst kind to shut Telly down out of spite. Even if he deserved it. She tucked her good knee up to her chest and hugged it, like a shield. “I’m listening.” He glanced at her. Then away. “You know my powers in this world are limited.” “Reading my mind again?” He closed his eyes. “You don’t shield as well when you’re angry, Em.” “Oh,” she said. She took a deep breath and drew her abs in on the exhale, willing her mind to

settle. “That better?” “Yes.” His voice was rough. He opened his eyes but didn’t look at her when he spoke. “I don’t need to read your mind to know that you, and everyone else, assume my powers are limited by walking in the world of men. You think something about the nature of the material plane is incompatible with my magic. And that is close enough to the truth that I see no reason to correct people. But the truth is…” He looked down at his hands, spreading them in his lap. He blinked, and his eyes were suddenly white. “The truth is, the nature of this reality isn’t incompatible with my magic. It’s incompatible with my mind.” He frowned. “I don’t know what my mind really is anymore — I am too old, and I’ve forgotten so much, it’s like I’ve died a thousand times and only blind faith keeps me believing that I am still me, still Telheshtevanne. I am god of chaos and ecstasy, I remember that. I am the Red Fox in the wood. I was Dionysus, I was Pan, I was Cernunnos — I was a thousand names before writing was invented, and I have forgotten

almost all of them. Because every time I use my power on this plane, I lose more of my mind.” He looked up at her. “I’m dangerous, Em. The more of myself I lose…” He seemed confused for a moment, and then shook his head, seeming to shake himself back to reality. “The more I lose my mind, the less control I have. I was never meant to be what I am for this long. I was meant to find you, long and long ago, and bring peace to the world. And then…” A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Emma didn’t think he realized. “Then, I could rest.” The smile broke free. “Take a mate. Become mortal, as the rest of the old, wild gods have done. Then, there would be children, and the fox people would be more than a dream in my forgetful, immortal heart — they would be real.” Because of what Telly was — still a god, still immortal and eternal — he’d never sired a race of his own people. Gods and first-generation shapechangers possessed too much power to be able to transform humans the way other shapechangers could, via the light-forging rite, which Emma had never seen in action. First-gens

could only create more of their kind by birth — and a god, like Telly, had to sacrifice his immortality with the First Pledge in order to be capable of fathering children at all. Emma swallowed hard. “Is that why you left? To go and… and do that?” He blinked those white eyes at her, his beautiful, golden face blank. Then his eyes cleared to faded blue, like washed out summer skies, and he looked at her like she’d grown an extra head. “No,” he said, slow, like he was talking to a child. “I left because caring about you was dangerous. I would use my power and sacrifice every last shred of my self control just to keep you safe, and in so doing I would become the greatest threat to you on this earth. And, y’know, to the rest of mankind, which also sucks.” Emma managed to laugh, even though it didn’t feel very funny. He grinned back at her for a moment, the old, easy grin, the one that wasn’t scary or dangerous. It was just Telly. And with his blond hair trimmed short, it was blinding. Her stomach did a slow somersault.

The smile left his lips but stayed in his eyes. “I left because I love you.” Emma’s stomach donkey-kicked her heart up into her throat. “You don’t need to say anything,” he said gently, looking away. “There’s nothing to say. I’m trying to explain things, and I’ve never been very good at that. I fell for you, and I was never meant to, and it makes me dangerous but it’s done and I tried to leave and I won’t do that again, but this isn’t just about me. This is your story too.” He grimaced, cursed under his breath. “Gods, I am terrible at this, but I’m glad I got to tell you, because you will hate me for what I’m going to say next.” “Telly,” Emma warned him with her voice, uncoiling from her sitting position in a stupid attempt to distance herself from him. “Em.” His voice was on the edge of breaking. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, because you’re human and you grew up in a world of science and machines, but you have to know. Your power…” He searched her face, and then seemed

to lose his nerve, and put his head in his hands. “Awakening your full powers as Caller of the Blood rendered you infertile,” he finished roughly. “You can never bear children.” For a long moment, Emma didn’t react. She couldn’t. She felt like she’d just stepped off a roller coaster, one with loop-the-loops, and anything intelligent she had to say had fallen out of her brain back at “I left because I love you.” Telly’s head was still in his hands. Emma sat back, propping herself up with her palms. “How do you know?” He looked up, blinking at her like a man with a terrible hangover. “What?” “How do you know I’m infertile?” He flinched when she said it. “Is this some kind of creepy shapechanger thing, like you can smell —” “No,” he said harshly, blond brows going all fierce, eyes clouding with thunderous gray. “I know because when I was charged with finding you, the gods told me. Your power is so great, there must be balance, and —” “When did they tell you? Which gods?”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me —” “No, I believe you.” When he closed his mouth with a click and looked at her like her hair had turned into snakes, she shrugged. “I just wanna know the details. Like how long you’ve known about this, and who else knows, and why you think —” “Eons, Emma!” Telly was suddenly on his feet and pacing. “Fucking eons! And I have carried this with me from the very first fucking moment I saw you and prayed I could keep you from going through with the fucking ritual!” Emma didn’t remember getting to her feet, but at least her knee was holding up. “Well you didn’t try very hard to stop me the first time.” He rounded on her. “I didn’t love you then!” She crossed her arms. Said nothing. He shoved both hands through his hair, a habit from when it was long. “This is why I kept trying to talk to you,” he said tiredly, letting his hands fall. “To tell you this. The way you look at him…” Jesus H. Christ. Emma shook her head, wishing

she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So it only matters if I’m having sex with a dude? You were only gonna tell me when a guy was involved, like I didn’t deserve to know anyway?” Telly looked ill. “You’ve been with him already.” “Oh my God, seriously? That is what you’re focusing on? Whoa, Telly —” she darted forward and caught his arm. He’d swayed, and he looked like he was actually about to pass out, his gaze glassy and not tracking. “You are such an idiot,” she hissed, grabbing his chin and giving his face a shake. “Telly?” He blinked, and managed to focus on her, nostrils flaring. “Em.” “It’s none of your business, but no.” She stepped back, letting him go. “Not yet.” A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Not yet.” He made a visible effort to collect himself. “I can’t believe how flippant you’re being about this.” She sighed. The ancient ones were such goddamn drama queens. “This? You mean me and Alexi? Or us?”

“You, Emma.” He searched her face for a moment, his expression almost desperate. Then his gaze flickered down her body. Just for a second. Her face flushed with heat. “I will spell this out for you once,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “I am not my goddamn uterus. I don’t even want kids, Telly, which you’d know if you’d been listening when I literally told you so back in California before you left. But that’s not what this is about, is it? This isn’t about me. It’s about you.” His throat worked. White light flared in his eyes, and died. She took a step back, all her anger draining out of her. Damn it, she hadn’t wanted to understand. Wanted even less to sympathize with him. “This is why you left. Because one day you’re going to find someone to sacrifice your immortality for, someone to have lots of little shapechanger babies with —” “Em, no —” “So that one day there’ll be a whole race of fox people, descended from you. And I get it, y’know?

You’re the last. You’re a fricking unicorn. It’s lonely and it sucks and I know I can’t imagine how much, but I get it. I hope you find someone who can have your kids, Telly, I really do —” “Emma please —” “But more importantly,” she said hotly, “I hope you find someone who wants them.” She turned around and started walking. She limped, but there was no pain, so that was okay. “You’re wrong,” he called out, voice wrenching with an emotion Emma couldn’t name. “It was never about that. You have no idea how dangerous it is for me to use my powers in this realm now!” “Sure,” she called back, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Sure.” Fern was there when the back door banged shut behind her. He tugged her into his arms, and she let him, burying her face in his chest. Then Felani was stroking her hair, murmuring soothing noises as the other maidens crowded in. Then Ricky, unfolding her fist where she held it clenched against Fern’s

side, Ricky tangling his fingers in hers, Ricky’s warm amber eyes meeting hers as she looked up. And then Red Sun, his big hand rubbing circles on her back, his scent of pine and woodsmoke like home. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” Emma said thickly. “Doesn’t matter why,” Fern said. He unfolded an arm and pulled Red in, until Fern was tucked into Red’s side and Emma tucked into the space they made together. Red put his arms around them both and bent his head to the top of Emma’s. “I know I’m not supposed to,” Red murmured against her hair. “But I can still kill the fucker for you, if you’d like.” She laughed. And then she cried some more. Emma’s right knee was healing quickly, and she made it up the stairs on her own with minimal ouch factor. She showered, nice and hot. She blow dried her hair. It was past her small boobs now, shaggy from not having been shaped with the scissors, but that didn’t matter because she’d only need to cut it

again tomorrow morning. She hadn’t yet mustered the patience to let it keep growing and find out if it had a terminal length. She kinda didn’t want to know. Tank top. Soft black sweatpants. No underwear; she’d have had to go back downstairs for fresh laundry, and that wasn’t gonna happen. In bare feet, she whispered up the hall and checked on Seshua. Still no change. Then she quietly let herself into Alexi’s room. The air was fresh and cold from the open window, and from the bleed of his aura pulsing in the small space. He’d given the main suites to Emma and her guard, since he hardly slept a full night in the last week anyhow. He was sleeping now. Shirtless. Long dark hair in coils on the pillow, beneath his shoulders and back. A pair of gray sweats rode low on his hips, exposing the deep cuts of his obliques and lower abs. Alone in a dim bedroom with Alexi, with no interruptions in sight. Of course this moment would happen when she’d never felt less in the mood.

“Come to me, Emma,” he said languidly, voice thick with sleep. Shit. Really not in the mood. Why her? Alexi’s low laughter filled her head, making her breath come a little faster. He pushed himself up on his elbows and regarded her from beneath hooded lids. “If what I read in your mind is any indication, you need rest, not the other thing.” He put a hand on the covers beside him. “Lie with me. Rest. If nothing else, I can guarantee you as many hours as you’d like without cats of any kind, which should be a novelty.” Emma smiled and approached the bed. “It’s true, cats don’t like snakes. There’s a whole series of Internet videos of people scaring cats with cucumbers because the cukes look like snakes.” Alexi kept a straight face, even though his amusement rose in her mind like the sun. “You don’t approve of these videos.” Climbing onto the bed, she shrugged. “Seems mean. I like the ones where kittens fall asleep sitting up, or in the bathroom sink.” “Ah.” Alexi lay back against the pillows, his

arm out. Emma lay down with her head in the crook of his elbow. Her knees touched his hip. She put a hand on his chest — just below it, actually, where his upper abdominals began — and marveled at how someone so lean and streamlined could be so much bigger than her. Like, so much bigger. She traced the edge of his pectoral muscle with the tips of her fingers, and shivered. “Do I have to actually tell you what happened with Telly, or can you just read my mind.” “Whatever you would like,” he said without inflection. He had such incredible skin, cool and perfect, but not entirely smooth. There was the roughness of gooseflesh popping up as she brushed her fingers back towards his sternum. There was also the faint rasp of tiny scales. God, she wanted him so much. And he was close enough to touch like this, close enough to taste; she could turn her head and tease the inside of his elbow with her lips, her teeth, lean forward and prop herself on her elbow and run her tongue over the flat, tight disk of his nipple.

He exhaled noisily. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “Telly said awakening my full powers rendered me infertile. He also told me he loved me.” Alexi made a thoughtful noise. “I was not aware of that first thing.” Emma opened her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “You were aware of the second thing?” “I was loved by Telly once,” he said softly. “Which made it easier to recognize. But truly, it was inevitable.” “Because I’m the Caller of the Blood and he’s been searching for me for blah, blah —” “No.” Alexi said it kindly. “That’s not what I meant.” She mustered the courage to tilt her head back and meet his eyes. They were lambent yellow in the dim light of the bedroom, and though he’d kept his voice calm the whole while they’d been talking, the look on his face was not calm. His jaw was tight, his cheeks hollow, his eyes burning with the shine of his beast. His nostrils flared, a sure

sign he was worked up. His scars glimmered silver in the shadows, and there was a tension in his upper lip that told Emma he was thisclose to a snarl. Was he this worked up because she was upset, or because she was in bed with him? “A little of both,” he murmured through his teeth, and Emma’s entire body clenched with wanting him. The problem was, it was like the best Christmas morning ever: where did you start? How did you pick which present to unwrap first? And did you unwrap each one methodically, slowly, savoring the anticipation — or did you tear into them, rushing towards the satisfaction of knowing and having and touching all at once? Either way, it wasn’t like they needed to worry about protection anymore. Annnnd that thought brought her crashing back to reality. “Do you believe him,” Emma asked. “About…” Alexi swallowed and exhaled hard. He was

quiet for long moments after that. She could’ve eavesdropped on his thoughts, he wasn’t shielding, the link between them was wide open. But she didn’t. Finally, he said, “I do.” He shifted slightly on the bed, lifted a hand, then closed his fist and let it fall back. “Telly is one of the last remaining primary sources on the prophecies. Almost everything we know was passed down from him, though there were others. Obviously the Brotherhood have information not even Telly has, though we don’t know how far back their sources stretch, and their accuracy must be dubious at best since the end of the world has not arrived.” “Maybe the prophecy that says I’m supposed to cause the destruction of life as we know it just takes a while to kick in.” Alexi huffed a laugh. “Given the state of the world, will you blame yourself if North Korea launches weapons of mass destruction? If the seas rise and humanity is decimated by a series of cataclysmic weather events?” “Hilarious,” she muttered.

He bent the arm beneath her head and brushed his fingers through her hair. “I do not jest. It is one thing for prophecy to be difficult to interpret, but when it is as vague as foretelling the end of the world…” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “There have been many doomsday prophecies. For some civilizations, they have even come true. I have my reasons to trust what Telly knows, however much I might resent that fact, and Telly had no knowledge of this supposed prophecy the Brotherhood spoke of.” “Hmm.” Emma traced Alexi’s ribs with her fingertips. He wasn’t lean enough to show rib, but each intercostal muscle was tightly defined. Having a good working knowledge of anatomy could be seriously distracting when you lived with men who wandered around half naked most of the time. “So,” she said casually. “Does it bother you?” He arched his back, just a fraction, and groaned under his breath so softly Emma wouldn’t have heard if she hadn’t been so close to him. “Does what —?”

Then he sucked in a breath and grasped her wrist so fast she didn’t even see him move. Fast as a snake. “Emma,” he said harshly, a world of anger in his tone, his eyes burning with otherworldly light. “Are you asking me if I am bothered by the state of your reproductive organs?” Emma swallowed. “Well when you put it like that, it just sounds creepy.” His grip on her wrist was gentle, but he shook her, just a little. “Are you.” “Yes.” “No. I am not bothered. So long as you are healthy.” He grunted, thinking, his expression severe. “We will make an appointment with the very best specialists we can find, when we relocate, which means choosing a sanctuary closer to state of the art amenities, but that’s fine, just to make sure you are healthy and everything is as it should be otherwise. I will not risk the chance that —” He stopped. Closed his mouth. Closed his eyes. And hissed on an exhale. “Emma, I’m so sorry,” he said in a mild voice completely at odds with the fire in his tone just a

second before. “I didn’t mean to do that.” She suppressed a smile. “You mean go all bossy, alpha knows best?” He groaned and let his head fall back. Emma reached up to place her palm on his cheek, and he let her wrist go. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry, I get it. Besides, it was cute.” “You did not just call me cute.” “Of course not.” He put his hand over hers, holding her palm to his cheek, and looked down at her. “Does it bother you?” Emma studied his face, stroking her thumb over one of his scars. This was tough. She didn’t know if she could go there with Alexi, but she also kinda knew she had to. “You know it doesn’t, not really. You can read my thoughts. I don’t know, maybe I should be bothered by it, maybe I should feel robbed of something, but with everything my life’s become over the past six months I’m just grateful to be alive. And here, with you and everyone else I care about. Safe, at least for now. Besides, if I changed

my mind and wanted kids, there are so many out there already who need homes.” She touched his lower lip, distracting herself with the velvet texture of it for a moment, before she gathered her courage. “It bothers me that it bothers him. That he left because he — because I couldn’t…” Yep, and now here were the tears. That was just great. “It’s so fucking stupid. I was scared of him, I was determined to keep my distance, and every time he tried to get close I pushed him away. That wasn’t stupid, that was smart, because he’s a god and I’m just me, but he left because I’m broken and —” “Hush.” Alexi moved, using his incredible strength, and hitched Emma into his arms as he sat up. They ended propped against the headboard with Alexi’s hair tangling around them both. “Did he tell you that?” Emma nodded. Alexi sighed. “Did he tell you that with words?” It was Emma’s turn to sigh. “Technically, no. I know where you’re going with this.”

Alexi was silent long enough to let her think. Had she overreacted? Part of her said yes. Another part of her thought it was perfectly reasonable to be so sick and tired of being lied to and kept in the dark — “I should have told you sooner,” Alexi cut in. “About my history with him.” “I don’t care about that. I mean, I kinda do? But we weren’t friends, Alexi, you had no obligations. And things make sense now, like why you hated me on sight, because I was with him.” “I didn’t hate you.” His arms tightened around her. “I feared you. Telly broke my heart, and left me to the serpent priesthood. I hated him for that. And then you came along, with the potential to bind anyone to you, anyone at all, and he was with you. He’d found what he was searching for.” Alexi made a bitter sound in the back of his throat, and the faintest trickle of his power caressed Emma’s skin. “I cannot explain it well. I feared I would succumb to him, somehow. I feared he would aim you like a weapon, use you to bind me. I was already bound to the serpent priesthood. I would

have died before being bound again.” Oh God. “And I forced myself on you, to heal you after the fight at the Roadhouse. Alexi...” “No.” He waved that away. “You had no idea, I realized that later. In Egypt. You argued with Telly because he hadn’t told you the mark would bind you to him —” “And give him access to the inside of my head,” Emma finished. “I remember. You overheard all of that?” Alexi shifted uncomfortably. “I eavesdropped, shamelessly. And I realized you were just as terrified of losing yourself to him as I was.” As they both fell silent, Emma thought, yep, that summed it up perfectly. Telly was the ultimate force of nature, so powerful, so beautiful, he sucked you right in, but how could you keep your sense of self, your free will, loving a god? More importantly, how could you love someone who was pretty much a sociopath? “Telly isn’t a sociopath,” Alexi murmured, following her thoughts. “He is a deity. He cares too deeply, so he shuts it off, keeps people at a

distance. He is so old, and has seen so many people and things die; for him, we may as well be gone already. How do you keep your sanity, loving what you can never keep?” “You sound very sympathetic for someone who wanted to choke the life out of him not so long ago.” He exhaled. “Just because I understand him doesn’t mean I forgive him. He should never have left you. The only reason I can look at him is because he came back for you.” Emma was silent a while, chewing on that. She wondered — shielding heavily — if Alexi knew he was still in love with Telly. “It kills him to see us together, doesn’t it,” she said. “I don’t care.” Hmm. She tilted her head back to look up into his face. “There you go, lying to me again.” He opened his mouth to apologize. Emma grabbed a handful of hair at his nape, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him. Power lashed out of him as their mouths fused.

Emma gasped, tasting him — rain and rock and the iron spice of a coming storm. He took the opportunity of her parted lips and licked his way into her, one hand spanning her throat and then cupping her jaw, tilting her head back for better access, and Emma’s bones turned to jelly. She made a helpless sound and hung onto him for dear life, because she was actually going to die, right here, right now, from sheer fucking ecstasy. Devouring her mouth, Alexi groaned. Then his arousal kicked against her rump, hot and impossibly hard, and she discovered her muscles hadn’t completely melted into useless goo; she shifted in his lap, pressing herself against his delicious length. “Good gods, Emma,” he hissed against her mouth, breath coming harder. “That is —” “An excellent idea?” She licked his lower lip, resulting in a satisfying grunt of surprise — and then she dug her heels into the bed and leveraged herself up. Swung a leg over him. Straddled him where he sat against the headboard, and seated herself snugly over him.

She cried out at the same moment he bucked, locking his arms around her. He came away from the headboard in a sit-up Emma knew he could maintain effortlessly. God, he was so hot beneath her, so hot through the fabric of the sweatpants. His hands fastened on her waist. His yellow eyes burned with desire, muscles in his neck and jaw straining as he held her in place. She arched against him, grinding herself into his lap. He closed his eyes, dipping his head, struggling visibly to contain his reaction. “Now, Alexi,” she said, running her hands up his chest. Those bright eyes opened and fixed her with a predator’s stare. “Now?” “Mmm-hmm.” She wriggled a little. Pictured stripping his pants off, and then hers, and then — He laughed, low and utterly wicked and so sexy Emma wanted to scream. “What about foreplay?” “Fuck foreplay,” she said breathlessly, and was rewarded with a genuine laugh from Alexi this time, loud and wonderful and free. “Totally

unnecessary,” she added, grinning. “Just give it to me now. I’m serious Alexi, stop laughing, it’s time to bang.” That set him off again, his entire body shaking, his erection still hard as rock beneath her. She loved his laughter. But she was either going to come or fall off his lap from all the shaking, and she was starting to feel sliiightly rebuffed — He flipped her and she landed against the mattress with a surprised grunt. His hair cascaded around them, sliding down like a curtain. She met his eyes for a moment, just long enough to see how much he wanted her, how unbelievable it felt to have her laughing in his arms. Then he covered her body with his own and kissed the hell out of her, and there was no more thinking, and no more talking. He kissed his way down her throat. He stroked her arms, her shoulders, her stomach that was bare from her tank top bunching up. She slid her hands up his thick arms, over those broad shoulders, burying them in his hair so she could pull him farther down when his mouth reached her sternum and he paused, looking up at her with feral light in

his eyes. He kissed the side of her breast, through her top, and she nearly came off the bed. When he wrapped his arms beneath her waist and drew her body up, so that her groin was flush with his chest and he could press a kiss just below her navel, she went boneless and liquid, almost blind with needing him, almost unable to believe you could want someone so completely. She reached for him. She needed his mouth on hers. He was there, breathing hard, and for a moment they looked at each other, lust and need and anticipation morphing into something more between them. Something that tightened Emma’s chest and made her dig her fingernails into his arms. Something that caused Alexi’s power to uncoil, brushing against her, invisible yet no less muscular. His beast wrapped around her, and his eyes flashed, skin bleeding white light. “Emma.” His voice was low and rasping with his beast. “I am yours. I will do nothing that you do not want.” “You’re not mine,” she said, aching for him. “But I’m yours, and I trust you.”

He made a savage sound in his throat. “You do not belong to me.” “Sure I do.” She pumped her hips, bumping his erection, making them both gasp. Alexi growled with laughter. “We can argue about this later, insolent one.” “Oh, insolent one? That’s my pet name, is it?” “Until I think of a better one,” he murmured before he claimed her mouth again. She would never tire of kissing him. Arousal crashed through her, sensation pouring into her, his taste like a drug. Then he slid a hand beneath her tank top, smoothing that palm across her ribs, fingers brushing the underside of her breast, yes, yes — He froze. Then let go of her mouth on a groan. “What is it? He exhaled a curse. “We have company.” “No. No no no no —” Footsteps pounding down the hall. “Fuck,” Emma whispered. “Maybe Seshua’s awake?” A little shake of Alexi’s head. “No.”

Someone pounded on the door. “Em? Alexi?” “Ricky?” “Em! Open up.” He sounded panicked. Cue desperate scrambling. By the time Emma got the bedroom door open, Alexi had the curtains back, fresh air redolent of storm pouring into the room and likely helping to cool his raging arousal. Emma was still flushed but there was nothing to be done about that. She yanked things open, got a load of Ricky’s sheet white face, and her heart dropped into her knees. He had a phone in his hands. Her phone. He held his thumb over the bottom and exhaled with force. “It’s Aunt Chase.” “What,” Emma hissed. “Your phone’s been on silent mode,” he whispered back. “There were eight missed calls from her by the time I noticed it flashing on the kitchen bench. I answered, thinking I’d cover for you and tell her you’d call her back, but she was hysterical, Em.” “Hysterical?”

He made a helpless gesture with his shoulders and held the phone out. “You need to talk to her. I told her you went hiking and left your phone at home. I just got back from work, and you just got out of the shower, okay?” Emma nodded. As far as Aunt Chase knew, Emma was still in LA, still in school, still working as a kennel assistant for the local vet clinic. She felt Alexi behind her, his energy soothing the way nothing else could be. “Okay.” She took the phone. “Aunt Chase, hey, I’m here.” “Emmie, honey, tell Ricky I’m so sorry for freaking at him —” “I’m sure it’s all right —” “But there’s awful news.” Her Aunt’s voice wavered with emotion. Emma’s pulse began to thud in her ears. “It’s Tanya,” Aunt Chase said thickly. “She’s had some tests, and we… Emmie, I’m so sorry.” “Aunt Chase?” “Well.” Ursula Chase took a shaky breath. “God help me,” she whispered. Then, louder. “They think it might be cancer.”

7 “This is going to be a fucking logistical nightmare.” Kal’s deep voice boomed through the ops room and into the hall, where the rest of the jaguar guards and maidens that couldn’t fit in the converted dining room were standing, listening in. “But we’ll make it work,” Leah snarled, putting both fists on the table. “Won’t we, Kal.” Kal looked over at Emma where she stood with Fern’s arm around her shoulders, and made a face like she was a rusty nail stuck in his foot. Anton and Ricky growled at him. Red Sun and Alexi

sighed identical long suffering sighs, and Telly stepped away from the far wall, opening his mouth to add his voice to the rabble. “You.” Leah pointed at him. “You will not ruin this for me. Keep to yourself, walking god.” She turned back to Kal. “Ever since Seshua was injured, Emma has spent every evening up there with him. She has honored our king, Kalitu.” Leah’s brown eyes flared amber, the faint scent of jungle rolling off her. Kalitu, huh? That was what “Kal” was short for. “She has honored your family,” Leah said, her voice gone deep. “And we will honor hers. We are going to England.” Silence reigned. Finally, Kal sighed. “Where the hell are we going to find somewhere big enough and secluded enough for Red Sun to land almost thirty people —” “It’ll be less than that,” Emma cut in. “At least some of us will actually need to catch a commercial flight to Heathrow.” As several of the

guards reacted with what definitely was not enthusiasm, Emma held up her hands. “My aunt will want to meet me at the airport.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, that’s just how it is. You’re lucky I convinced her not to book my flight for me already. We have an hour or two at most, then I have to call her back and tell her what flight I’ll be on.” No private jets. No Traveling with Red Sun, dematerializing them to wherever they needed to be. “Plus,” Emma said, “I can’t have anyone with me except Ricky and Fern, and even Fern is pushing it.” Fern was nonnegotiable, but it was still pushing it; what the hell was she going to say? Hi, this is my new friend Fern, he’s bonded to me magically and I’ll go certifiably insane if we’re separated too long, but it’s No Big Deal! Also he turns into a giant fucking spider. Fern, Alexi, and Telly all made similar sounds of suppressed laughter. Yes, she definitely projected her thoughts when she was stressed. Kal’s face went deadly blank. “That is completely unacceptable.”

She shrugged. “Bodyguards can be on the same flight, but they can’t disembark with me. Kal, my aunt doesn’t know! She’s human, for fuck’s sake, and she still thinks I’m back living my normal human life in L.A. She can’t know.” The leader of the jaguar guards passed a hand across his face and looked like he might be sick. Raul cleared his throat. Kal didn’t react. Leah nodded at Raul to go ahead. Emma liked Raul. His hair was long and blue black, and his almond shaped eyes were a mix of amber and green, the eyes of his jaguar. “Might be easier to figure out where we gotta stash the king first,” he said. “And then how many guards we want on him, and work backwards from there.” “We cannot take him back to the palace,” Marco said. The royal jaguar sanctuary was an ancient palace complex in the remote Honduras rainforest. It had seemed pretty damn secure last time Emma was there. “Sorry, why can’t you —?” “If word gets out the king is incapacitated,” Marco replied, “And it will, then anyone with

access to the palace could stage a coup. All they need do is assassinate him, the rest is political cleanup.” Emma stopped short of asking more stupid questions, it could wait. “Okay. The Roadhouse is out?” Marco and Kal gave identical derisive snorts. There was a rustle of noise and movement outside in the hall, but Telly stepped forward again, and everyone looked to him. He jammed his hands in his pockets. “The California place is empty,” Telly said, avoiding Emma’s gaze. “The wards are intact, and the only enemies who knew how to find it were the serpent priests, almost all of whom are dead now.” He lifted his shoulders. “Seshua would be safe there.” Before Kal or Marco could reply, there were several gasps and whispers from beyond the ops room. A familiar shape darkened the doorway. The weight Emma had felt dragging at her for ten days fell away. “That shan’t be necessary,” said Seshua. His voice was harsh with disuse. His

sweatpants hung on protruding hips. He looked like he’d navigated the Mojave instead of simply making it down the stairs and down the hall, but his eyes were the same vital, deep lagoon-blue as always, and he managed to raise an eyebrow in Emma’s direction. “Buenos dias, pequeña,” he said with a nod. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and Emma got to witness almost a dozen jaguar guards fly as though their tails had been yanked, in time to catch the king as he fainted. The fire at the ranch had spared Emma’s bedroom but not the laundry, and it had been washing day when the serpent priests attacked. Emma packed what little Telly and Red Sun had salvaged from the California place — she had two pairs of jeans, her favorite Faith No More T-shirt, her secondfavorite Def Leppard T-shirt, and a pair of trainers, along with underwear and sports bras. She’d been wearing men’s socks the whole time they’d been in Brazil. She spent the better part of the evening catching

uneasy naps on the couch in the living room with the maidens sprawled all around her, while everyone else rushed around making plans. Ivan and Anton had Fern and Ricky in the ops room for hours, drilling them on security procedures; Alexi, Leah and Kal came and went all evening with Red Sun to scout locations for Red to Travel to with everyone who wasn’t going to be on that commercial flight. Then Red took Telly and Shadi to go see about setting some wards on Tanya and Aunt Chase’s place. It felt unfair to the point of absurdity that Red could take Emma and anyone else she wanted anywhere in the world, but they had to endure over ten hours in the air so her aunt could greet them at the gates. Red and Telly and Shadi were probably yards away from the house Aunt Chase shared with Tanya in Brixton. And Emma was stuck in Brazil, thousands of miles away, while the woman who raised her was wondering if she was going to lose her wife to cancer. The digital readout on the entertainment system in the living room said ten past eleven when Emma

swung her legs off the couch, avoiding sleeping maidens, and headed for the bathroom. Ricky and Anton’s voices filtered out of the ops room; Emma knew from a brief brush of Fern’s mind he was in there with them, along with Ivan, Fatima, Raul and several other jaguar guards. She withdrew from Fern, letting him focus, and used the bathroom. Splashed water on her face. Wondered why she didn’t look as awful as she felt. Her hair was halfway down her back, wavy now, and would fall past her butt by morning. Felani would trim and shape it, and then they’d have to keep it that length for however long Emma needed to stay in London, because magical hair was just as difficult to explain as everything else Emma couldn’t explain to her aunt. Cancer. That word just kept popping into her head. Emma headed for the kitchen. There was Tylenol in the kitchen. It was also too bright, so she turned the overheads off and switched on the smaller light over the stove, casting the big space in a dim, buttery glow that didn’t make Emma’s

head hurt any more than it did already. She grabbed a bit of roast chicken from a covered plate in the fridge — she’d had no appetite at dinner, and she needed something in her stomach — and wolfed it down as she grabbed a glass tumbler from the cabinet. Cancer, cancer, cancer, her brain whispered all the while. She’d been so caught up in being Caller of the Blood, trying to survive, trying to keep her friends safe, following the inexplicable pull of destiny while fighting to claim her place in this world and determine her own fate, that she’d forgotten there were mundane monsters as well as magical ones. It was so fucking unfair. Her entire world had been torn apart, and all she had left of her old life was Ricky and Tanya and Aunt Chase. She’d survived Alan. She’d survived the Brotherhood. Hell, she’d even survived Telly abandoning her. She’d been kidnapped, tortured, violated, terrified, been forced to use her powers to kill instead of heal, she’d almost died, and Horne — sweet, funny Horne, who’d believed in her and respected her

way back when none of the other jaguars did — Horne was a walking goddamn motherfucking corpse, and now the love of her aunt’s life had cancer. The glass in Emma’s left hand shattered. “Pequeña?” Seshua said, stepping into the kitchen. “It’s fine.” She blinked, refusing to look at her hand. If she didn’t look at it, it wouldn’t hurt. “I’m fine.” He made an interested noise and padded over to her. “Humans have such a way with words,” he murmured, his voice still rough, and grabbed the hand towel off the rail, holding it under her bleeding hand. “Fine being one of the most versatile and eloquent words in the English language, when humans use it. Truly, it can mean anything, though it rarely does mean fine.” He hissed. “You have glass in your hand.” She sure did. And she shouldn’t have looked at it. “Shit.” Seshua cleared his throat. “Will you let me…?” Clenching her teeth, she looked up at him,

really looked, and her mouth went dry. He was still Seshua, still seven feet of smoky blue muscle and masculinity, his hair a glossy black mane that tangled down his back, wavy like hers was. His shoulders were still broad enough to make getting through doorways difficult. His eyes were still hypnotic, midnight blue, the look in them so intently alive that it almost banished the memory of him lying lifeless and unmoving in that upstairs room. But he’d lost at least twenty pounds, maybe more, and he looked haunted. More, she felt haunted when she looked at him. She’d almost lost him. For over a week, he’d been a ghost. He’d lain as though dead. As though dying of the wasting illness that claimed his kind — that had claimed both his parents. Jesus Christ, it could take him too, couldn’t it? “Slow your pulse, pequeña, you’re making it bleed faster. Here.” He cupped her bleeding hand with the towel and took a step closer. “Ah, see, it is not so bad.” “No?” Her voice didn’t shake. Yippee for her.

He bent his head, taking a chunk of glass between forefinger and thumb. “No. So,” he purred, his voice dropping sinfully low. “Did you miss me?” The timing was perfect: on her sharp inhale, he yanked the broken glass out of her palm and shot her a wink, and she barely felt the pain at all. “Sure,” she said hotly. “I missed you like a hole in the head. Missed boxing your ears and yelling at you for not letting me save you, you stupid sonofabitch. Next time —” He leaned down and kissed her. He was so damn fast and agile as a cat, and she’d been mid sentence, so her mouth was open when his lips captured hers. He tasted wild and utterly male, like spiced smoke and jungle and power made flesh, and his mouth felt just as good and right on hers as she remembered from the first time he’d kissed her. When he’d hypnotized her and tried to trick her into being bound to him and under his control forever. She broke away and slapped him with her good right hand. He made a deep, aroused sound in his

throat. “Your mark didn’t flare,” he said, voice full of laughter and satisfaction. “Because you don’t scare me. Give me that.” She snatched her left hand away from his, taking the towel with her, and wrapped her palm. He crossed his arms and managed to loom without moving a muscle. “So how do I make you feel.” She bared her teeth at him. “Homicidal,” she replied. “What was that for?” Those dark brows came down. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “What was what for.” Emma took a deep breath and held it. It was either that or she’d start making a high pitched squealing sound, like a kettle boiling over, and that would attract attention. “The kiss, Seshua, why did you —” “He kissed you?” Telly growled, striding into the kitchen, his face thunderous. Then he looked at Emma. “Em? Why are you making that noise. You sound like a —” “Teakettle,” Seshua finished cheerfully, leaning back against the sink. “Doesn’t she!”

Emma put her face in her hands. “He is Mr Rochester.” Telly made a confused noise. “The guy from that kids’ show with the orange sweater? Hey, I loved that guy.” Out in the hall, somebody cracked up, and somebody else joined them. It sounded suspiciously like Fern and Ricky. Annnd her hand was starting to throb. “All right, your majesty.” Emma pointed with her good hand. “Out. Go on, bad cat, out.” Seshua unfolded his arms and straightened, his expression morphing from smug to murderous in an instant. “My guards informed me of Telly’s recklessness this day. You should not be alone with him.” Obviously the guards hadn’t informed him of everything else. And Emma wasn’t about to start. “You harassed me first, so you get kicked out first. Don’t worry, he’ll probably do something to piss me off again real soon and you can both be in the doghouse. Go.” The king bared his teeth at Telly, huge, curved

teeth, and stalked from the kitchen as though leaving had been his idea all along. Telly smirked after him. And then turned and noticed Emma’s hand. “You can get me some Tylenol,” she said before he started fussing. “And help clear up the glass, not all of it went in the sink. And no, it wasn’t Seshua’s fault, he wasn’t even here when I broke the stupid thing. Where are the others?” He went to the kitchen drawer and started rummaging for the Tylenol. “Ops room. Your aunt’s place isn’t gonna be easy to cover. We couldn’t set up any wards.” “Oh.” Emma did not, strictly speaking, even know what wards were. “Why not?” She stooped down to start picking glass off the floor, and Telly was suddenly in front of her, drawing her up with a hand on her elbow. His eyes were dark in the low light, unreadable. “I’ll get that. Your aunt’s house is in complicated territory, and setting wards would’ve been like pissing in a neighbor’s yard.” He let her go and took a step back. “Red’ll be in contact with the bear clan that

claims that section of —” “Bear clan? Why does Red need to talk to them just for me to see my aunt?” He sighed. “It’s not just you, Em.” Telly turned to the sink, poured her a glass of water, and handed it to her. “There will be close to thirty of us. Seshua is a bona fide royal and Alexi’s the next best thing. Then there’s me and Red. We have…” He waved a hand through the air, looking tired. “History in those territories. But even if none of that mattered, we’re taking a small army for a vacation. Not to mention who and what you are.” He cracked a couple of painkillers out of their little foil thingies and held them out for her. She tried not to brush his palm when she took them from him, and pretended not to catch the hurt look that tightened his mouth. “So there are gonna be problems because I’m Caller of the Blood,” Emma said, retreating to the center island and pulling up a barstool. “Can’t we just extend the olive branch to these bears, or whatever? What are they like?” Telly bent down to get a dustpan and brush

from under the sink. “The bears are fine.” “Hmm. Fine. So they don’t have any crazed necromancers, or mysterious curses, or ancient grudges against any of you guys?” Telly had disappeared behind the center island, sweeping up glass. “Yeah. No. They’re fine.” Emma chewed her lip for a bit. “Sooo how about we just offer for these bears to Pledge to me and —” Telly popped up, eyes wild. “Fuck, gods no! Why would you say that?” She downed the two painkillers and set the glass down. “Y’know Telly, you seem to have lost almost all of your chill lately.” She shrugged. “I’m the Caller of the Blood. Most of the shapechanger kingdoms seem to want a piece of me. If the bears are, as you say, fine, but they’re weird about letting us all into their territory, then offer them something.” His expression turned harsh. He put both fists on the center island. “Offer them you.” “Offer them the Pledge.” She searched his face, and reminded herself he’d been gone for almost

three months. “It’s what I’m meant for. I don’t lose myself, you know. I’m still me.” She looked down at her hands, the right one marked, the left wrapped in the bloodstained towel. “How much did Red tell you about what happened when Alan took me and the wolf princess?” Telly made a soft, pained sound, and she caught the scent of dust and ozone. She heard him swallow. “He told me of storming the compound with Alexi,” Telly said, his voice low and fragile. “He told me of. Of the ritual. Your powers awakening. How Alexi buffered the overflow, likely saving your life and forging the connection to your power that Alan couldn’t make.” Emma looked at him. His eyes were white and his humanity was gone, and what gazed out from behind his eyes was the shining, alien creature that turned the skin of his face translucent and made his bones glow. It was the Great Fox and it was something else entirely. It was also mad with grief. But it wouldn’t hurt her, not now. She could accept that no matter how much she hated him for what he’d done.

“When I was in the cell with Katenka,” Emma said, “Alan tried to get inside my head. I didn’t consciously reach out to Kahotep via the Pledge bond, but my power knew what to do, even then, before the ritual sacrifice had been completed. I channeled Kahotep’s power somehow and it kept Alan from cracking my mind like an egg, because Kahotep’s magic, his essence, is like…” She smiled a little, remembering the feel of it. “Sunshine. It’s the power of the sun. And vampires can’t stand the sun.” Telly blinked, some of the light fading from his face. “Aneshtevannir,” he corrected her automatically. “Vampires is a lot easier to pronounce for someone who can’t roll their r’s.” One corner of his mouth lifted. His face still looked desolate, but it also looked a little more human, too. “The Pledge bond isn’t a bad thing, Telly. And even if it was, I’d still go through with it, if it saves lives. It’s what I’m meant for.” He turned away. Opened the cabinet under the

sink to get something. Closed it, and came around the center island with the first-aid kit in his hands. His eyes were pale blue. “May I?” She nodded. He pulled a barstool over and sat next to her, and was silent a while, his attention on taking things out of the kit. Why the hell did her chest ache watching him perform such a simple task? Why was it so hard to stand the sight of his hands, with their blunt nails and calluses, and his stocky forearms with their dusting of gold hair? How could he look so alien and otherworldly one moment, and so painfully real the next? The short hair made it worse. Made him look more human. Well, except for the pointed ears. His earrings were gone too, she noticed. Had they been gone since he got the haircut? He’d unscrewed the cap off the antiseptic stuff, so Emma unwrapped her left hand and held it out to him. Braced herself for when he cradled her hand in his, his skin impossibly warm, and rough as though he worked for a living and didn’t just zap in and out of reality on a regular basis.

“It’s hardly on a regular basis,” he murmured, concentrating on washing her hand with the antiseptic. “Damn. There’s still some glass in there.” He glanced up, searching her face. “I’m gonna need to use the tweezers.” Ugh. “Go ahead. I totally won’t kick you if it hurts too much.” “Convincing.” His mouth tipped up in a half smile. With an effort that wasn’t pretty, Emma forced herself not to respond to that smile, and he looked away and started fishing for the tweezers. “So how come you can’t zap in and out like Red Sun,” she asked. He paused, tweezers in hand, and shot her a cautious look. “Red Sun’s power… that’s not my story to tell, Em.” She blinked, confused for a second. “I already know Red’s story.” Telly’s brow smoothed out, nostrils flaring, jaw gone tight. Emma remembered how she knew Red’s story, and felt her face turn hot. “It was right before the

serpent priests attacked the ranch. He kissed me so his curse would kick in and establish the telepathic link thingie. That’s how we got the kids out first, without giving ourselves away, not that I owe you an explanation for that,” she added, narrowing her eyes at him. “Of course not,” he said coolly. But the tension left his shoulders, and he adjusted his grip on her hand, pushing her thumb out of the way with his own. She suppressed a shiver. “Then I guess you know Red got his power from the faerie amulet that he stole,” Telly said quietly. Somewhere around a few thousand years ago, Red Sun had been a faerie queen’s lover, and she’d favored him so much she offered him his pick of anything from her faerie hoard, save for one plain amulet. Of course, Red then stole it from her. Her hoard’s guardian had torn Red’s arm off, which was how the queen knew Red had done the deed, and, believing he’d seduced her just to steal her treasure, she cursed him to forevermore know only false love. That was why anyone capable of being attracted to him went all insta-lust within a five

foot radius. The curse also made sure that anyone who kissed him would know exactly what a bastard he was, and that their feelings weren’t real, but to achieve that, the curse created a telepathic pathway. It hadn’t worn off yet, but maybe that was because Red was bound to her via the Pledge, too. Emma hissed as Telly pulled a shard of glass out of the base of her thumb. “So what makes your power so different to his?” He dropped the tweezers and turned her hand, looking for more shards. “It’s not so different, really. There’s always a cost. Fae magic favors bitter irony, so when you use it, something terrible and tragic happens, or in Red’s case, he can use it all he wants because his punishment was so enduring. The power he wields is a constant reminder of why he’s alone. In my case…” He brushed his knuckles across her fingers. “My magic is so old it forgets itself. The cost of using my power to walk between worlds is my sanity, my self control. It wasn’t always this way, but like I’ve said, I was never meant to last this long.” She didn’t want to feel sympathy for him.

Didn’t want to believe what he said about why he left — that it wasn’t because of her, but because of what he might do to protect her — because she knew he was capable of lying to her face without batting an eye. She flexed her hand. “Red told you about the visions I’ve had, right? About the first Caller of the Blood?” “Yeah.” Telly’s gaze turned distant. He passed his thumb back and forth over her wrist, where her pulse flickered. “I never knew there was another.” Emma cleared her throat. “Pretty sure the Brotherhood kept her existence on the down-low. Before killing her, that is. Don’t beat yourself up.” If their investigative work was correct, the first Caller of the Blood — or the previous one, at least — had lived and died almost three thousand years ago. Which meant Telly was a few thousand years past his use-by date. Maybe it had been wrong to make light of what he’d told her before, about how dangerous it was for him to use his power. Telly came out of it, seeming to shake himself

mentally. “I should patch you up.” He let go of her. She shivered, resisting the urge to rub her hands together, erase the lingering feel of his skin against hers. He made short work of the small adhesive bandages.The cuts on her palm hadn’t been deep, though they’d bled plenty. “You’re healing faster,” he said as he tidied up. She rolled her eyes. “Yet another benefit of my powers being all live, all the time. Like neverending hair, and these super cute fangs. Hashtag how the hell do I hide my fangs from my aunt.” Out of his seat, Telly had been about to take the first-aid kit back where it belonged, but he stopped. “I might be able to do something about the hair. Might,” he emphasized as she raised her eyebrows. “It’s a long shot, but we could see if it responds to my warding magic.” “I have no idea how that could possibly work,” Emma said, climbing down from her barstool. “But it would actually be really great not to have to —” Ohshit.

Her right knee wasn’t as well mended as she’d thought. And she’d stepped all her weight onto it. It buckled and she went down — or she would have, if Telly hadn’t dropped the first-aid kit and caught her. His arms clamped around her. The sound of his bare foot slapping the floor as he righted them both was strangely loud. Then Emma found herself looking straight into his face from only inches away. He wasn’t that much taller than her, and it was way too close. He was too alien and too beautiful to look at this close. His upper lip seemed chiseled from golden marble this close. Emma’s pulse shot into overdrive, and every breath pushed her stomach and chest against his, because he hadn’t let her go. She saw the moment he realized he was still holding her. He blinked, and his grip loosened. Then his eyes flared with dangerous light, and he flexed his arms against her, locking her in place. “Telly, what are you doing.” Her tone was low and threatening — good for her.

He smiled, face full of wicked intent. “Like you told Seshua. I’m giving you a reason to send me to the doghouse.” With that he tilted his head, parted his lips, and bent towards her, ever so slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, daring her to do something. Or do nothing at all, and let him kiss her. Watching his eyes darken and his nostrils flare, drawing in her scent as he got closer and closer, it felt like Emma’s insides had morphed into a swarm of moths, all fighting to throw themselves at Telly’s burning light. But he wasn’t using his magic to draw her in. There was no hot, prickling rush of power against Emma’s skin, no scent of lightning and endless roads. He didn’t glow like a beacon the way she knew he could, all heat and light and the promise of ecstasy, the sweet, discordant song of abandon humming like a drug through her veins. Emma knew he could use his power to intoxicate, to drive her mad, make her forget her own name, but he let none of that escape the bounds of his physical form. It burned in his eyes, but it was leashed. All she faced now was him, Telly, just

Telly. She didn’t want to feel this way. Didn’t want to want him. Terror flooded her as she admitted it to herself. Tears burned at the back of her throat. She felt like she was suffocating, like she was dying, like she was back there in that room in Alan’s compound waiting and wishing for Telly to come for her, still believing in him. All that hope and longing reignited in a sudden rush of heat, and it scared the living shit out of her. Telly jerked back. He let her go. “Gods, I’m a fucking fool, that was so far out of line.” He held his hands up and out, took a step back. He looked as terrified as she felt. “I’m so sorry.” He covered his eyes for a second, then dropped his hands and looked at Emma. “I never meant to scare you. Em?” For some reason, Alexi wanted to be with her even though she had these other feelings she couldn’t seem to control. She didn’t know what kind of person it made her; Alexi kept telling her it was all right to care the way she did. Kept telling

her, with words and without them, that love wasn’t supposed to be a cage. But he was wrong. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t love them all. Aside from the logistics — and Emma was just flat-out not going there — she would end up with her heart burnt to ashes. “You know,” she said in a cold voice she didn’t recognize. “Alexi never tried to force anything with me. I kissed him first.” Telly looked like he’d been punched. Emma’s heart twisted, guilt and regret washing through her like poison, as she watched his jaw harden and his eyes go glassy. She’d hated him, and now she couldn’t stand herself for hurting him, but it had to happen. Because now he would never try to kiss her again. And if he never tried, she thought maybe, just maybe, she had a shot at getting over him.

8 São Paulo’s Guarulhos airport ran direct flights to Heathrow, but Aunt Chase couldn’t know Emma wasn’t in LA, and she would check the flight details. So they had to take a private jet to L.A.X, compel their way past customs, and send Seshua — disguised head to toe in robes — to the empty warehouse nearby where he’d meet the others, so Red Sun could dematerialize them all ahead to London. And that was the easy part. The problem with trying to be inconspicuous at an airport when you were actually being hella

shady was that it was frankly impossible. Ivan, Kal, and Alexi — who were mostly in charge of their security and tactics — wanted the full team on Emma right up until the moment she passed through security. They’d tried to figure out how to achieve it with covert tactics, but there was no way airport security wasn’t going to notice them. That’s how Emma found herself stalking through L.A.X airport in faux leather tights, a faux fur coat the size of a sofa and huge black sunglasses. She’d drawn the line at the spike stilettos Felani wanted her to wear and stuck with a brand new pair of motorcycle boots. Technically, they had heels. Ricky was at her right, in ripped jeans with a designer sports coat over his plain white tee, his chestnut curls moussed into movie-star waves. Fern was at her left with his black hair sprayed into spikes, killer guyliner, leather pants to match Emma’s, and a long sleeved black tee hugging his Captain America upper body like whoa. Everyone else formed the leather-jacket-and-shades patrol, which included Telly, Joseph and Leah — or as

Emma had started to think of them, the blond bombshells. How was it even possible for three people to be so attractive? She’d been civil with Telly after last night; he was trying and failing not to mope, so following at the back of the pack worked for him. Ahead, Kal, Marco, Raul, and Andres scanned the entrance to the international terminal, their black suits and white shirts screaming “security.” It was the opposite of covert, and it worked like a charm. “This way!” Felani called out, her perfect ass wiggling in designer denim cutoffs, otherworldly eyes hidden behind black shades. All the maidens wore a variation on the same theme: butt-cheek baring shorts, heels, strappy crop tops. Artfully arranged hairdos and strategic makeup ensured they looked a lot less identical than they really were. But Felani’s heels were a good two inches higher than Emma’s and somehow, she was gunning for check-in like she was set to win the big race. “Don’t look now, Em,” Ricky murmured beside her. “People are snapping pics. You’re gonna be

famous.” “Hopefully they’re snapping pics because they think I already am,” she hissed through her teeth. “Though it’s more likely the man candy everyone’s admiring. Meanwhile I’m dying in this rug Felani decided to dress me in.” Red snorted. “Man candy?” Emma nodded. “So much man candy.” “Girl don’t lie,” Ricky sighed, and held his hand up for a high five. She didn’t leave him hanging. The check-in queues were packed, which gave Emma plenty of time to worry herself sick over the trip, and try not to listen to a group of teenage girls discussing whether or not Fern’s package lived up to its promise or if he’d stuffed his pants full of socks. He was a little ways off, busy discussing security stuff with Red Sun and Alexi, and either hadn’t heard them or was doing a stellar job of pretending he hadn’t. As someone who saw Fern naked on the reg, Emma was shielding like her life depended on it, because it was kinda hard not to think about

something when people were talking about it VERY LOUDLY — “Would they be missed, do you think,” came Tarissa’s thickly accented voice from behind Emma. “Or could we dump their bodies in the restroom with none the wiser.” Emma turned to meet the maiden’s eyes. Well, to imagine her eyes behind the big shades. “You guys are kinda scary, you know that right.” Tarissa’s perfect upper lip lifted off her teeth. “I do not know how you can stand it.” Emma decided against telling her that listening to a bunch of teenagers discuss Fern’s considerable anatomy was better than thinking about cancer. “It’s not like we’re married,” Emma said under her breath. Tarissa cocked her head, nostrils flaring. “Yes,” she said slowly. “You are. The EnamVesh…” “We’re not actually mated, Tarissa. You know that.” “So you have no desire for him?”

Oh Jesus, how did she get here. “He’s obviously very attractive,” Emma hedged. “It’s more than that,” Tarissa said thoughtfully. “He is good. Gentle. Respectful. Unlike most of the males I have known.” Ah. Emma shoved her jealousy aside with an effort that wasn’t pretty, and thank goodness she was wearing shades. “We have a lot of good men with us.” Tarissa sighed faintly, her face turned in Fern’s direction. “Yes, my lady. But they are…” “Also domineering idiots?” Tarissa laughed softly. Then they were at the check-in desk, and the rest went fast, too fast. Fern took her hand as they approached the security lines, and she nearly crushed his fingers. Panic curled through her guts, squeezing her lungs; it had been months since she spent more than a few minutes in public, and now she was about to leave everyone behind and spend over twelve hours on a plane with a few dozen strangers — humans… “You ready?” Ricky looked down at her, their carry on luggage slung over one shoulder.

Why couldn’t Tarissa be crushing on Ricky? He was freaking gorgeous. “Not at all,” Emma said, and glanced around to find Alexi looming over her. His luminous eyes were hidden by the shades, but she felt his gaze anyway. God, she didn’t want to leave him. They could talk in each other’s heads, but she didn’t know when she was going to see him again — it all depended on what happened when she saw Tanya and Aunt Chase. There was a room booked for Ricky and Fern in the same hotel Emma’s team was booked into, but Aunt Chase took it for granted Emma would stay with her and Tanya. Alexi and the rest of them would be shadowing her the whole time. It wasn’t as though they’d really be separated, but they’d all been through too much to feel relaxed about splitting up, and Emma’s stomach crawled with combined anxiety and dread, thoughts of cancer and rival kingdoms and assassins and trying to play normal for her aunt all tangling up together inside her. Then Alexi took her face in his hands and kissed her. Thoroughly. Tilting her head back so he could claim her mouth completely, the taste of him

driving out everything else, the stroke of his tongue at once gentle and possessive. By the time he pulled back, Emma was floating. “Better?” She sighed. “Better.” It was. And so long as she didn’t look over in Telly’s direction, it’d stay that way… “Damn, girl.” Leah swatted her on the rump. “Let’s blow this joint.” Emma was spoiled by private jet travel. Their business class seats seemed no more than reasonably sized, and although she’d made this trip in economy class before, it was like the memories of those tiny seats were too painful and she’d erased them. She tried not to stare at the other passengers, but thankfully she and Fern and Ricky had an aisle to themselves, while Leah, Joseph and Telly were a few aisles back. At least she didn’t have to spend ten and a half hours watching Telly think about Alexi kissing her. But would he be thinking about Alexi kissing her and wishing he’d been kissing her instead, or

wishing Alexi had been kissing him? That was the million dollar question. Or maybe it was both? At the same time? Holy shit, she needed to not think about any of it, anymore. It was all so messed up. “So if I’m Ricky’s boyfriend,” Fern said beside her, “What do I need to know to make it really convincing?” “Well,” Ricky said with relish. “It’s twelve inches —” It was going to be suuuch a long trip. After Emma’s parents died in the fire that claimed their Colorado farm, Emma went to live in Portland, Oregon, with her dad’s sister Ursula. When Emma was little, “Ursula” was too hard to pronounce, so “Aunt Chase” had stuck. She spent the first four years hating her parents for being stupid enough to die trying to save their horses, and Aunt Chase had a hell of a time raising a sullen tween who missed her parents and missed her horses and hated everything. But then Aunt Chase managed to convince Emma to help out with

the dog walking business. By the time she turned sixteen, things had turned around. Emma had thrown herself into dog walking and school, and decided she might want to pursue vet medicine. By the time she was eighteen, she’d forgiven her parents for their stupid death, because she was pretty sure she’d have done the same thing in their shoes, and she and Aunt Chase were tight. Emma missed her parents. Sometimes a lot, most times just a little. When you told people you’d been orphaned at eleven and raised by a relative, people expected you to be this tortured soul with abandonment issues, which was Emma’s principal reason for almost never telling anyone. Because it was a challenge to make people understand how damn lucky she’d been to have Aunt Chase. How hard Aunt Chase had worked to be an amazing parent and handle the business side of the deaths and the farm and everything, when she was grieving for her brother and her sister in law. So yeah, Emma missed her parents, but the years with her parents were the easy years. Aunt Chase got the hard years. That was why Emma was

so happy her aunt had found Tanya, and why it was so freaking unfair that something was threatening to take Tanya away. Ursula met Tanya Kerr when Emma was in her first year at UCLA. They were Internet friends for six months, which was super cute, and then, when Tanya took long service leave, she came to the states to meet Ursula in real life. She stayed for eight months. Aunt Chase sold the business, and set up a new one when she moved to the UK with Tanya. All of which Ricky already knew, and Fern had lifted from Emma’s mind in scraps and fragments over the time they’d been bound mind to mind. Emma gave everyone the briefer version the night before. Tanya was a police officer, which had concerned some of the jaguars until they found out British cops didn’t carry guns, which confused the hell out of them. Some of them were sheltered in the weirdest ways. I can’t believe I’m nervous about whether they’ll like you, Emma sent to Fern, slouching against his shoulder.

He dusted crumbs off her leather-look tights — they’d just handed out refreshments. I can’t believe I’m nervous either. I also can’t believe I let Felani talk me into leather pants. Emma, whom Felani had talked into a great many questionable outfits, could believe it. She’d shucked the imitation woolly mammoth coat when they took their seats. Fern… She glanced up at him, almost looked away, then made herself hold his gaze. Have you ever — “Hey, you two, you’re doing the thing.” Ricky leaned forward — he was on Fern’s other side — and angled himself into Fern’s space. “You get this twinkle in your eyes when you do the thing. And this is gonna be a long flight, so whatever you’re talking about, you gotta do it Oh Elle.” “Oh —?” He pointed at her and stage whispered, “Out Loud.” They probably could’ve brushed him off if Emma’s face hadn’t turned red. “Go on,” Ricky said with a grin. “What were

you talking about??” “Yeah,” Fern said, his black eyes glinting, mouth tipped in a half smile. “What were you talking about?” Bastard. He’d heard it in her mind a split second before Ricky cut in. “You’re in a good mood,” Emma told Ricky, stalling. “Well, I get to come with this time, instead of being stuck at home with cranky guards and restless —” he caught himself. “Restless ladies.” Fern snorted a laugh. Emma shot Ricky a smug look. See, talking Out Loud wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Not around humans, anyway. “Oh God,” she said, closing her eyes. “This is going to be so hard to do around my aunt.” “So we practice,” Fern said. “What were you going to ask me?” Ughhh. Emma leaned forward. “I was going to ask,” she said reluctantly, “if you’d noticed Tarissa has a thing for you.” “Baby girl,” Ricky said, “I think you’re the only one who hadn’t noticed.”

Emma swatted him. Oh, she’d noticed all right, she’d just been in denial, and dealing with other, more complicated, more annoying feelings. Come to think of it, maybe it was better to have this conversation out loud, so she could shield her emotions from Fern. As if he couldn’t guess why she was doing that? Then again, maybe she wasn’t the only one in denial. Fern seemed to hardly react at all to the question. He shrugged and stretched his legs out. “I’d noticed. It seems like a phase, though. I mean, I’m kinda safe. If she’s letting herself explore how she feels about guys, of course she’ll fixate on the least aggressive guy around.” “What about Ricky?” “Yeah,” Ricky said. “What about Ricky?” Fern opened his mouth, then closed it with a click and made a vague noise. “He’s still a j —” Cue coughing. “You know, a cat person.” “Oh,” Ricky said with a massive grin. “Because a guy who’s into tarantulas is so much

more appealing.” “This is ridiculous,” Emma muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, Fern’s biceps are ridiculous. This is interesting. The question is,” Ricky said, propping his elbow on the armrest and his chin on his fist, and rolling his gaze to Fern. “Are you into her?” Fern blinked. “Tarissa? No.” Emma felt a traitorous kind of relief. Which she shielded, heavily. “I mean, it’s complicated,” Fern said, and Emma forced her face into neutral as he looked at her. “I’m not… Well, I’m Aranan,” he finished softly. Emma took a peek at his thoughts, and had no idea what she was seeing or feeling. Ricky frowned, dropping his voice. “And?” Fern’s gaze went to Ricky. “Aranan males don’t have much of a sex drive until they mature.” Ricky glanced at Emma and back at Fern. “You seem pretty mature to me, Captain America.” Fern huffed a laugh, then pitched his voice low. “We’re fully functional from adolescence, but can’t

reproduce until after the final molt. That’s when the hormones that trigger the mating instinct kick in, which is why we’re so scrawny until the testosterone —” “Right, and you’re so scrawny now — wait, wait. Nope.” Ricky put up his hands. “Sorry, I’m stuck at molt. Yeeagh.” “I’m hurt.” Fern snuck his hand up and tickled the back of Ricky’s neck. “Yeeeeeagh!” “You deserved that,” Emma told him as he swatted Fern away. “So, um. How many molts are there?” Fern met her eyes, his laughter fading. “Three.” She couldn’t figure out a way to ask the next two questions out loud, but she didn’t need to. Fern’s mind supplied the answers, his mental touch warm but brief. Fern had been through the first two molts. But each molt occurred an average of seventy five years apart. Fern was almost one hundred and three years old. If he’d had his first molt at twelve or thirteen

— he couldn’t quite remember — then his second had only been fifteen years ago, give or take a year. Ricky seemed to notice the silence had turned awkward. “Well, look, this explains a lot about your personality. Like why you’re not a raging jerkface like everyone else in Em’s life.” Emma forced herself to smile. “Leah isn’t a jerk.” “I kinda am,” Leah called from a few aisles back. Their fellow passengers grumbled in response. “Be that as it may,” Ricky said, sitting back in his seat. “Testosterone is the universal jerkifier.” Fern made an amused sound, reaching for Emma’s hand. “I kinda wanna know how many new words you can make out of ‘jerk,’ but I’m also afraid to ask.” “Too late. Jerkbrain, jerkhole, jerkorama — that’s a gathering of jerks — jerktastic…” Em? Fern squeezed her hand, ducking his head to look into her eyes. The smoky black eyeliner seemed to make his eyes appear huge and

bottomless. More so than usual, anyhow. Everything okay? You’re shielding pretty heavily, and I wouldn’t pry, except — Except she was dealing with the impending visit with her aunt and Tanya’s possible cancer. All of which should matter a hell of a lot more than finding out Fern wouldn’t go through his final molt for another sixty years. Wouldn’t have a sex drive for another sixty years. She couldn’t possibly tell him what that information had just done to her. She didn’t even know. Why did she feel like there was a hollow space opening up in her chest, cranking her ribs apart? Why did she feel like the ground beneath her had turned to empty air? Well, they were in a plane, thousands of feet up. She had to lie to him. Could she do it? She’d never tried. Emma took a deep breath and stopped trying to think, instead relaxing her shields and letting Fern’s mind brush against hers, focusing on how

good it felt, how right. There are so many things we don’t know about the bond, she sent. You’re meant to live for thousands of years, and we’re bound. You die if I die. I’m only meant to live another sixty years or so, maybe seventy if I’m lucky. She clamped down on her shields. By the time Fern went through his final molt, she’d be in her eighties, if she made it that far at all; there had been times over the last six months when she’d doubted she was going to live to see her twenty fifth birthday, and that was in January. Hey. He wrapped his arm around her, tucking her against him. Do you want to live forever? That quote was used and abused by writers everywhere; she and Fern knew it best from the hilariously bad eighties flick Conan, which they’d watched maybe a dozen times over the last six months. What it really meant was, do you want to live forever, or do you want to live well? No, Emma sent, leaning into him. I guess not. The best thing about business class, in Emma’s

opinion, was reclining seats you could sleep in. That was how she found herself in an underground cave lit with soft, flickering torchlight, with cool, fine sand underfoot and none of the damp of a real cave ruining the picturesque experience. Was it taking lucid dreaming to the next level when you were thinking about lucid dreaming while having an actual lucid dream? She heard running water somewhere up ahead. The air was warm and fresh. She felt good. Was this going to be a good dream, or one of those dreams that involved blood and fire and sucking chest wounds? It felt like a good dream, but the cave passageway reminded her too much of the Brotherhood’s monastery for comfort. Pretty soon now, she’d turn a corner and find herself facing off against Keti again, or she’d arrive in time to watch him slit first Red’s throat and then Horne’s. She hadn’t been there, but she’d imagined it, late at night, in the dark when Alexi and Red Sun were out in the wilderness searching for the lost serpent priest. Yeah, this dream was going nowhere good.

Time for an evac. She rounded a bend in the cave system and stopped. Sweet. Mother. Of God. It was a wide cavern with a waterfall splashing and hissing down from an inlet in the rocky cave wall; a shallow pool swirled in the basin the waterfall had carved out of the rock, and the cavern glittered with reflections off the water. That wasn’t what drove the air from Emma’s lungs and sent all her blood rushing to her crotch, though. Ohhh no. Nope, that was Alexi. Emerging from the water. Naked and wet. His bare feet made faint smacking sounds against the rock as he climbed out. He lifted his hands to slick his hair back, heavy muscle flexing, emphasizing the steep contrast of his broad shoulders and tapering waist. Droplets of water cascaded down his arms, down his chest, over his stomach, trickling into the dark vee of curls at the juncture of his thighs. Below that, he was heavy and glorious and just

beginning to stir with arousal. Her gaze flew to his. His eyes were smoldering, Halloween-lantern bright. “Was this dream my idea,” Emma said breathlessly. “Or yours?” He smiled, a slow, lazy, wicked smile, the kind of smile that says you’re mine, and I know it, and I’m about to have you. Then he dropped the smile. Emma swallowed. They lunged for each other. He caught her around the waist and lifted her as their mouths collided in a kiss so violent Emma tasted her own blood and his desperation, the masculine flavor of him driving all sense from her head. She wrapped her legs around his hips and fisted her hands in his hair, yanking his head back. Licked her way into him and bit at his lips as a possessive growl filled her throat. He gasped, uttered a groan so male and aching Emma would remember the sound of it for the rest of her life, and kissed his way to her throat. Dear God, his tongue —

“You weren’t followed?” He murmured. Not like he cared much about the answer. Emma drew back, frowning at him. His beautiful face was harsh with lust, his eyes glowing. Breathtaking. But his scars weren’t there. Neither were the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, or the ones that bracketed his mouth, so prominent when he scowled. He slid his hands down, cupping her ass. She gasped and closed her eyes. It was only a second, but in that second, everything changed — his scent, the texture of the hair bunched in her fists, the heat and the weight of his body and his arms holding her in place. She opened her eyes and looked up into Telly’s shining face, his eyes so dark they were no color at all. His hair long, so long, cascading around them both in thick golden waves. His eyes went wide. His brows went so high they almost flew off his face. Then they came down and he growled. “Emma…” One hand squeezed her butt cheek as the other swept lower, and she —

Emma jerked awake. The Joseph Campbell book she’d been reading when she fell asleep slid out of her lap and landed on the floor with a thump. Somehow she didn’t scream, or flail, or fall out of her seat. The lights were dimmed, the cabin quiet, and though she had no way of knowing for sure — seriously, zero, zip, absolutely no way of knowing for sure — she thought she heard a muffled grunt of surprise from a few aisles back. That did not just happen. Nope. It didn’t. Shit, it had definitely happened. She looked around. Fern wasn’t in his seat. Ricky was staring at his phone, thumbs going like mad at Candy Crush or whatever it was. Emma cleared her throat and whispered, “Where’d he go?” “Mens room,” Ricky whispered without looking up. “How long was I out?” He looked at her then. “Couple of hours.” He blinked, yawning. “We don’t land for another four or so. You should get some more rest, you need it.” She nodded vaguely, leaning back in her seat.

Yeah. No. Not gonna happen. Campbell’s Hero With A Thousand Faces was way too dry a read to keep Emma awake, so she switched to caffeine and video games. Four hours and six cups of coffee later, they’d begun their descent, and Alexi’s mind touched Emma’s like a cool breeze. We are in place and on standby, he said. How was your flight? Great, Emma said miserably. Because there was absolutely no way of hiding her thoughts from him when they were in direct contact. She felt his surprise, then his mind clouded with heat and mild embarrassment. Was it your dream, she asked him, though she knew better. No, he said. Somehow that one word held centuries of loss and longing. And not a dream, either. Well, not until the end. She’d known that, too. No scars, no lines on his

face. Telly’s hair, the long, Dionysian cascade of it, like spun gold in her hands. In Alexi’s hands. A memory. Telly’s memory. I’m sorry, Emma, this is the last thing you need right now. It’s fine. Not your fault. It must be the — the bond with Telly, she made herself say. Just the mark playing up. But I’m never sleeping again. I’ll buy an espresso machine. Stock up on Red Bull. Maybe take up cocaine… Reluctant laughter caressed the inside of Emma’s head. We’ll see about that. His mental presence darkened, going serious and cold with magic. Be safe, and remember I am here. We are all here. You won’t see us, but we are here. She felt Fern take her hand, and looked down at their intertwined fingers. Fern’s mind brushed hers. I know.

9 There was no time to exchange any last words with Leah and Joseph and Telly. They were landing, and then they were disembarking, and from that point on Emma had to pretend the only people with her were Ricky and Fern. Even though it was a ruse, it was still terrifying. Thank God she knew where she was going, or she might have had a full on panic attack. Heathrow was chaos. Slow, boring chaos. Ricky and Fern had known it was one of the busiest airports in the world, but that fact didn’t

really hit them until they reached the gates. Ricky’s amber eyes bugged, gold flashing through them before he got hold of himself; Fern’s mind had dropped away from hers, and all she felt when she reached out was cold, calculating stillness. “Guys,” she hissed at them. “We don’t know where my aunt will be waiting for us. Look boyfriendy.” Aunt Chase was supposed to meet them on the main concourse, but there were so many people, she could be anywhere. Ricky and Fern moved up behind Emma, their joined hands grasping the back of her coat. They stayed that way until they had to go through security. As Emma went through on her own, panic surged, clawing up her throat. She breathed deep and muscled through it. She felt so naked, there were so many people, anyone could grab her, too fast for Ricky or Fern to react. Alan could be out there. Could have tracked her somehow, like the last time. The mark on her hand went hot, and she clenched her fist, willing it to calm — but as the

power settled down, so did she. She wasn’t helpless. She had the mark, and her own power, and she wasn’t alone. Alexi and Red Sun were out there; Ivan and Shadi and Fatima, and Felani and the maidens, and Seshua. Ricky joined her, flashing a tight, anxious smile, his beast prowling behind his eyes. Fern wasn’t far behind, turning heads with his Goth cover-model disguise. Telly and Joseph and Leah were somewhere back there, too. “When did I get so damn codependent,” Emma muttered to herself. “My fault.” Fern winked at her. “Sorry.” She raised both brows. “Wow, sarcasm. I think that’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me and not meant it.” She elbowed him. “I like it.” “Kinky,” Ricky said. “Emmie!” There was Aunt Chase. Waving like a madwoman. Emma’s heart leapt and sank all at the same time. “Huh,” Fern said, taking Ricky’s hand. “You look like her. Y’know, if you were old and into dresses.”

Emma shuddered. Dresses, an invention of the Devil. “Thanks. She’s not that old.” “Younger than you,” Ricky told Fern, with relish. And then Aunt Chase was there, tears in her eyes, wrapping Emma in the kind of hard hug that only people who lived thousands of miles away from you could give. Tanya and Aunt Chase lived in Brixton, in the townhouse Tanya inherited from her mom, who died relatively young, at sixty four — of cancer. Tanya was only forty eight, six years younger than Aunt Chase. Tanya had stayed home while Aunt Chase came to get them from Heathrow, because who wanted to have the tearful what have they told you and how advanced is it and what are your chances conversation in the car in peak hour traffic. The drive from Heathrow to Brixton usually took less than half an hour; at eight in the evening on a Monday, it took twice that. Ricky and Fern sat in the back, looking way too big for Aunt Chase’s

little blue hatchback. Emma managed to keep Aunt Chase talking, about work and the dogs and Tanya’s work and the dogs and more about the dogs. They were halfway there when there was a lull in the conversation. “It is so weird to watch you drive on the wrong side of the road, Aunt Chase,” Ricky said into the quiet. “Honey, I’ve been here four years and it’s still the wrong side of the road to me, too.” As she shared Ricky’s laughter, Emma saw her glance up at the rearview. “What about you, Fernando? You traveled much?” “Only in the Americas,” Fern said. “You can call me Fern, ma’am.” “Ooh, ma’am,” Aunt Chase chuckled. “You can call me Ursula, unlike these two children.” She ignored the rude noise Emma made in her direction. “Well, Fern, I hope you and Ricky can make the most of this trip. Must admit I was surprised when Emmie told me you two’d be coming with.” “We’re not here for a holiday, Aunt Chase,”

Ricky said softly. “You and Em are family.” Aunt Chase smiled tightly, eyes on the road. “You’re a sweetheart. Still, we’ll do something fun together, Tanya’d like that. So, Fern honey, how long you and Ricky been dating?” Aaaand cue the cover story. Listening to her best friend and her bonded weave the cute but perfectly believable tale of their fake romance, Emma didn’t know why she’d been so damn worried about getting through this trip with all her lies and secrets intact. Ricky and Fern were perfect. Brixton wasn’t as green as many of London’s other areas, and it was a little rough around the edges, but it was still beautiful and very, very London. Unfortunately, its main feature had given the guards an aneurysm over securing Tanya’s place: Brixton was all period townhouses sandwiched right up against each other on narrow, winding streets. Like, no spaces between the buildings. Having spent most of the first half of her life in Colorado, and then in Oregon and L.A., Emma had

always found the townhouses quaint and intriguing. Now she saw the buildings and the streets with their lack of open space for what they were — a total security nightmare. We’re on the rooftops, came Alexi’s voice in her head as Aunt Chase parked the car. She couldn’t sense him nearby, but suddenly all those crowded together houses seemed safe and welcoming, rather than ominous. It was going to be okay. The street was well lit but quiet; a few people walking with purpose for home, heads down, briefcases and handbags swinging, business shoes clopping on the sidewalk. Except Brits called it a footpath, Emma remembered. Aunt Chase popped the back hatch and Ricky and Fern went for the luggage. As Emma came around to the curb, trying not to scan the rooftops, Aunt Chase put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay, hon?” she asked in a low voice. “As much as I can be,” Emma replied with a tight smile. “I’m so glad to see you, just wish the

circumstances were different.” Aunt Chase squeezed her shoulder, her grip a little desperate, and looked away. “Me too, hon.” God, this sucked so bad. With their hands full of luggage, Ricky and Fern were tense until they all made it up the front steps and into the entrance hall. As the door shut behind them, Emma felt Fern relax, and saw the tightness leave Ricky’s brow. The smell of food greeted them, and both the men seemed to snap to attention. “Tanya’s made spaghetti. Leave your bags here, we’ll sort ‘em when you’ve had some real food. Oh, here we go,” Aunt Chase said as the dogs came bounding out of the living room to their right. So. Much. Slobber. And little butts wagging. “What is that?” Fern laughed. “That,” Emma said, “Is Percy. He’s an English bulldog.” She crouched and was instantly swamped. “Such a happy boy! Oof.” A long tail whipped her in the face. “And that’s Pip,” Aunt Chase said. “It’s okay Pip.” Pip was an ex racing greyhound, sweet and

needy, and he didn’t know what to do with himself with all the excitement. Fern joined Emma on the floor, hands out for Pip to lick. The big greyhound wriggled in ecstasy, making pained noises and gazing at Fern with adoration. “And this,” Ricky said, reaching down to scoop up a yapping ball of fluff, “Must be Hannibal. Who for some reason is a girl?” Hannibal was the most recent addition to Aunt Chase’s stable, a sandy Papillon-Chihuahua cross who looked like a cartoon character and had the temperament of a piranha. Emma and Ricky had only seen her in photos. “I didn’t name her,” Aunt Chase said, grabbing Percy’s collar and gently coaxing him away from eating Emma’s giant faux fur coat. “The shelter volunteers did, after she was adopted and then returned four times, but she’s past that, aren’t you Hannah. Come on, let’s eat.” They emerged from the long hall into the kitchen at the back of the house, which combined a dining room and sunroom that led to the small outdoor courtyard where Aunt Chase grew herbs and flowers and kept a tiny lawn for the dogs, who

danced around their feet as they entered the kitchen. Tanya was coming in the back door, a handful of fresh basil in one hand, and when she saw them an odd expression flashed across her face before her huge smile chased it away. She held her arms out. “Emma, gorgeous, what the hell are you wearing? Come gimme a kiss.” Grinning, Emma went to her. “A friend loaned it to me. It’s good to see you, Aunt Tanya.” Tanya held her out at arm’s length, studying her face. Tanya was five four, stocky, and quietly stunning, with a short bobbed cap of glossy blond hair and sharp blue eyes that always seemed calm. Looking into those calm eyes now made Emma want to cry, so she looked away and gestured at Fern and Ricky. “So this is Fern.” Fern nodded at Tanya, offering a shy smile. He was being his most gentle and disarming self, which wasn’t that far from his usual self, really, but Tanya’s eyes tightened as she took him in. “Hullo, Fern. Ricky, dear, you look good.” Tanya gave a curt nod, then headed into the kitchen proper.

Emma shared a mental huh? with Fern, but was careful not to look at him. Maybe it was the guyliner? Maybe Tanya wasn’t fond of Goths? Maybe she was in pain. Emma looked at her aunt. Aunt Chase smiled uncomfortably. “You three should sit down. Oh, listen, bathroom’s down the hall, second on the right if you wanna freshen up.” She waved in that direction. “We’ll serve dinner, you’ve had a long flight.” “We were sitting down the whole time,” Ricky said, moving to the dining table. Emma followed. She really wanted to go check that her makeup hadn’t melted all the way down her face, but she also really didn’t want to leave Fern and Ricky alone, which made no sense… You look great, Fern sent. Don’t worry. But he was studying her aunts as they negotiated the dinner duties together. They moved with the begrudging ease of two people so accustomed to being in each other’s space they no longer needed to think about where to step, kind of like how Emma and Fern were in each other’s minds. They

shared looks and brief touches. They argued and reassured each other, all without words. The idea that something could take them away from each other — Fern’s mind brushed against hers, not his usual deft touch but heavy and urgent. Halfway into her seat, she looked up, meeting his eyes as she let him all the way in. Fern? Alexi, he sent, and not to her. What’s your status? All quiet. What’s wrong? Unknown, will advise. Stand by. Emma sat, only practice allowing her to act like nothing was going on. Fern, tell me. He took his seat next to her, draped an arm across the back of her chair, and squeezed Ricky’s shoulder. Ricky’s amber eyes widened a fraction, and then went to Tanya and Aunt Chase where they were bent over the stove together. Emma caught the faintest scent of Ricky’s beast escaping his skin. He leaned forward and to the side, so his body was angled subtly in front of Emma’s.

They were under attack, weren’t they? How the hell would they protect Emma’s aunts if they were under attack? This wasn’t supposed to happen now, they’d been in the country less than an hour. Alexi’s presence flowed into her mind, jumping from her to Fern, touching Ricky too. We have bogeys, he said. Full alert. Emma’s heart leapt into her throat. The bears? Wordless negation from Alexi. Fern stood. The darkness of his beast swirled through the bond like ink through water, and Ricky pressed against Emma as though he could crawl into her lap. She wanted to shove him away; Ricky was the last person she wanted acting as her shield, he was young, he could be killed. But interfering with security protocol could get them all killed, and she wouldn’t — “No, Tanya.” Aunt Chase tossed a hand towel aside as she rounded the breakfast bar. Tanya was behind her, face worried, mouth open to form some kind of protest, but Aunt Chase cut her off. “I’ve waited too long already, we’re doing this now.”

Oh Jesus, she wanted to have the cancer talk now! Stall, stall, they had to stall — Emma put a hand on Ricky’s arm. “Aunt Chase, I’ve actually, uh…” “This isn’t the time,” Tanya hissed, wide eyes darting from Fern to Aunt Chase and back again. “Yes, it is.” Aunt Chase fixed Fern with a cold look. “We want to know what you’ve gotten Emmie into. It can’t be drugs, she looks too healthy for it to be drugs. But maybe it’s trafficking? Or sex work, that it?” Fern blinked. Emma’s mouth fell open. Into the silence that followed, Alexi said in their heads, Bogeys are human. We’ve got six with eyes on the house. Emma, he said urgently, stay calm and stay where you are. We have your position. Stay calm and stall. Shit. Shit! “Aunt Chase?” Emma pushed Ricky aside. “Tanya? This is obviously a really tough time for you both, but whatever you’ve got against Ricky’s

boyfriend…” “Honey, don’t,” Aunt Chase snapped. “Don’t lie to me like that. Not to my face, Emmie.” Oh, no, no no no. Okay, stall. “What the hell are you talking about?” “That young man,” Aunt Chase pointed at Fern, “Is not Ricky’s boyfriend. I don’t know who he is or what he’s got to do with whatever you’re caught up in, but I sure as shit wasn’t born yesterday, young lady.” Ricky’s eyes went wide. She’s savvy, Fern sent grimly. We gotta fix this. “Aunt Chase…” Emma hated to do this. “I think you guys have been under a lot of pressure, what with everything going on medically with Tanya, but this is —” “There is no cancer!” Aunt Chase threw her hands up, eyes wild. “There never was!” Emma gaped at them. “What?” Tanya sighed. “Just for the record, I didn’t want to do it this way, Em.” “You gave us no choice,” Aunt Chase said. Tanya shot her a censuring look. “That’s not

strictly true…” “You lied to me,” Emma said. “You’re serious, you lied to me?” Her voice went up an octave. “About cancer?” All their careful preparations, the monumental risk involved in Emma flying anywhere with only a handful of people to keep her safe. All for nothing? Aunt Chase crossed her arms, her outraged expression turning volcanic. “You’ve been lying to us for months. The texts, the phone calls, the emails. At first I thought maybe it was just a bad breakup —” Emma choked on a laugh. A bad breakup! You could say that. “— But then it went on. Emmie, you wouldn’t talk to me!” Aunt Chase’s eyes filled up. “Not about anything important like you used to. You stopped mentioning school —” “That’s ridiculous, I did not!” “No, you did. You still told me your grades, but you stopped talking. And the pictures. I have over two dozen on my phone of you and Ricky with not

a single landmark in them! And I didn’t even realize until Tan pointed it out!” This was so, so bad. Emma was glad she was sitting down, because she didn’t think her legs would’ve held her up just then. How could she have messed things up this badly? She’d thought Aunt Chase was completely convinced by the charade — thought she had a few months yet to come up with a more permanent cover story. When Aunt Chase had known all along it was a lie. Christ, Emma thought, how could she have been so clueless? They still couldn’t know the truth; she still had to stall. She’d go back to the hotel with Ricky and Fern when Alexi cleared them all to leave, but until then, she had to stall, even though her heart was in knots. She swallowed, her throat dry. “I can’t believe you faked a story to get me to come here.” And didn’t those words stick in her throat like glass, when she’d faked a story to get them to leave her alone.

You had no choice, Fern sent, fierce heat and love buffeting her through the bond. They are human, and they can never be a part of our world. Nor do they have any idea what you’ve sacrificed by keeping them out of this. Emma wanted so badly to touch him, comfort herself with the warm, solid weight of him. You talk funny when you get all protective, you know that. She’d meant it as a joke. All he sent back was, Yes. That was when she realized how close his beast was. Both Tanya and Aunt Chase were watching Fern. “It’s probably best if you boys head to your hotel now,” Tanya said reasonably. “You can hail a cab on main street.” Fern’s beast stirred, turning his hands black with the beginning of the change. His eyes were too round. Fern, she’s not a threat, Emma sent firmly, willing him to look at her. I know. He met her gaze. But the six guys

surrounding this place are. She willed herself to look away from him. Shit, Fern, your hands. Damn! She had to distract Tanya and Aunt Chase and give him a chance to recover. Emma cleared her throat loudly. “Look, maybe we should just sit down to dinner and —” Fern moved to put his hands in his pockets. Tanya’s gaze tracked the movement. Then she stepped in front of Aunt Chase and before Emma had any idea what was happening, the short blond woman lifted a cannister and blasted Fern in the face with — Red paint? Whatever it was, it was highly pressurized. Fern went blind, hands flying to his eyes to claw the red stuff out. Emma’s shock rushed into Fern. Fern’s surprise rushed into her. Tanya darted forward, grabbed Fern’s arm, and twisted it behind his back in one fluid movement. Handcuffs snapped closed on Fern’s right wrist. Ricky jumped up. “What the hell!” Tanya was immobilizing Fern’s other arm when

the berserker rage hit Emma and jumped to Fern like a wildfire. They both roared. Emma exploded out of her seat, her vision burning red, blood screaming in her ears and hands out like claws aiming for Tanya’s throat. Dimly she heard Aunt Chase scream, and other shouts from farther away, too far away for her to hear with human ears, but the berserker sickness amplified everything. Fern shook Tanya off and rounded on her, still blind, still roaring, and Emma threw herself in front of him, every cell in her body singing for Tanya’s death. Five people materialized in the dining room with a sonic pop! Aunt Chase screamed again. Alexi seized Emma’s mind and stopped her in her tracks, but it was Ivan who went to her. His gray eyes were hard. “Devotchka.” His voice was thick with his wolf. “Come away from the dark, little one,” he crooned in Russian, but he was touching her mind as well, and Emma understood him.

He was afraid. Afraid of the berserker sickness, afraid to touch it, touch her, because he spent hundreds of years its victim. But he’d reached for her mind anyway, even though it terrified him, and realizing that brought her out of it. She sagged as the deadly rage drained out of her, blinked as her vision returned to normal, and then backed into Fern as she found Tanya and Aunt Chase cowering back against a side table and looking at her as though she were the bogeyman. Which, y’know, she was. Her and her friends. Fern was covered in red goo, blind and bleeding white light; Ricky was at Emma’s right, snarling deep in his throat, and Ivan was at her left, his snarl silent. Red had materialized out of thin air with Alexi, Ivan, Fatima and Leah. Red’s fists were bunched, his lips peeled back off teeth gone huge and curved; Alexi’s eyes blazed and his scars stood out like silvery-purple ribbons on his cheeks, so he looked like an extremely hot version of the Joker from the Batman comics, come to viciously slaughter them all. Only the female guards seemed to realize that Emma’s aunts were

in no shape to pose a security issue. Tanya blinked rapidly, gaze darting about as though trying to calculate her odds of fighting back and really not liking her chances. Aunt Chase just stared at Emma, tears in her eyes, her face bleached white. “Your eyes,” Aunt Chase whispered. Emma felt like her world was ending. Alexi filled her head, his mind touching first Fern and then Ricky, drawing them all together and calming them. “We have immobilized your men,” he told Tanya casually, his voice at complete odds with the murderous expression on his face. “They are unharmed, and will stay that way. What did you spray Fern with?” “It doesn’t hurt,” Fern said, scraping the goo from his eyes. The red stuff had stained his face from brow to chin. “Still can’t see, but it doesn’t hurt.” Tanya only stared, but that was fine — Emma felt Alexi skim the knowledge from Tanya’s thoughts, easy with a human. So easy. It is a perfectly legal self defense spray, designed to

momentarily blind an attacker and identify them if apprehended, Alexi reassured Emma. “It will do no harm,” he told Fern. “But it will stain, until you change. Go wash it out,” he added. “She will be safe with us while you do.” “Em?” Fern said. “Yeah,” She let out a shaky breath. “Go. Wait, let Ivan help —” “Nah, I got this,” Fern said with a half smile, eyes still squeezed shut. Tarantulas are good at navigating in the dark. Aunt Chase watched him move unerringly for the door to the hall. Then her gaze went back to Emma. “Who are these people.” “Ursula,” Tanya warned. “My lady Ursula,” Alexi said, his voice like a blade. “I am Alexi Virtanen. Allow me to introduce Ivan Voronov, Fatima bint Alhazir, Leah Dean, and Red Sun.” He inclined his head toward Tanya. “My lady Tanya.” “You can call me Officer Kerr,” Tanya said, accent crisp, the coldness in her voice matching Alexi’s. “What have you done with my fellow

officers.” Red spoke up. “They’re takin’ a nap. Not the permanent kind, mind you. Though that was a distinct possib—” “Red!” Emma hissed, begging him with her eyes for patience. He grumbled, turned away, and stuck a hand rolled between his lips. Aunt Chase made a sound of protest. “There’s no smoking in this house, Mr Sun,” she said sternly. Then she seemed to realize what she’d done, and she covered her mouth with both hands, her face even more pale than before. It didn’t matter though; Red’s brows popped, and then he barked a laugh hard enough to shoot the cigarette out of his mouth. “Mister Sun, I like that. Hoo boy. Now I know where she gets her sass,” he added, pointing at Emma. Then he crossed his arms. “I wasn’t gonna light up.” Aunt Chase put her hands down and squared her shoulders. “What are you doing here. And what have you done to Emmie. If you don’t start explaining yourselves, I’m calling the police.” She glanced at Tanya. “More police.”

“Excellent,” Red boomed. “We can have a party. Well, the police can join their friends and take a nice long nap, and I’ll have a —” “Please stop helping, Red,” Emma told him, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Aunt Chase, I hate to do this. Give me your phone.” She looked at Emma. “What?” Emma held out her hand. “You said you’d call the police, so you have your phone on you. I need you to give it to me.” Aunt Chase went bright red. “I don’t actually have it on me.” Tanya groaned. Alexi made an interested noise. “So you are the woman who taught Emma how to bluff.” Emma raked the men with a censuring look. “This is not funny, assholes. Tanya? I’m sorry. Your phone please. You’ll get it back,” she added guiltily. Tanya eyed the men and women surrounding Emma. Then she took her phone from her front pocket and handed it over. “My commanding officer will check in with me if he doesn’t hear

from me soon,” Tanya said. “Your pulse just spiked,” Leah said. “So that was probably a lie.” As Tanya’s eyes widened, Leah made an apologetic face. “None of your friends out there had any standard equipment. No radios, no tactical gear. None of this was sanctioned by your department.” “Leah,” Emma said, “Go easy.” Leah’s brows popped. “What is it the kids say these days? Sorry-not-sorry? I get kinda cranky when you’re under attack.” She lifted her head and cocked it. “The others are getting itchy, they wanna come in.” Emma started. “God, no!” She pointed at her aunts. “They’re already terrified!” Leah shrugged. “Pretty sure Seshua’s ready to walk through a wall, and not in a ghosty seethrough way —” “Oh my God.” Emma put her head in her hands. That was just what they needed, a giant blue demigod strolling into Aunt Chase’s dining room. “He can wait. I need to —” “Too late.” Alexi moved closer to her.

“They’re on the second floor.” A cacophony of dogs barking in the hall. Footfalls on the stairs. Aunt Chase and Tanya went rigid. Emma looked up at Alexi in horror. “They?” Alexi put an arm around her, his aura sinking into her, his face as serene as it ever got. “There was never any chance to undo this mess,” he said evenly. “We cannot remove your aunts’ memories or cloud their minds, not even with my powers, they simply know too much. Even if we somehow could scrub them — which we can’t, the memories will be too extensive — all their worries over you would drive them down the same paths they’ve already taken. They simply know too much,” he said again. She searched his face, pushing her thoughts against his. What are you saying? Kill them? His gaze dipped to her mouth before he met her eyes again. Do you truly think I would do that? Emma narrowed her eyes at him. You know I don’t. His nostrils flared, chest lifting, drawing her

scent into his lungs. Good. Emma tore her gaze away from his and looked at her aunts. “Emmie?” Aunt Chase couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Emmie what is he talking about?” “Aunt Chase,” Emma began, “there’s a lot I have to tell you…” That was, of course, when Seshua strode in.

10 Emma was the Caller of the Blood, the human woman destined to command the power of all shapechanging races. A lot of the time, Emma had no idea how that really worked. She could hold a shapechanger’s magic in her hands. She could touch their beast, she could call the change or prevent it, and she could bind their power to hers with a few ancient words and a taste of their blood. She was also the second vampire wellspring ever to occur since the beginning of linear time, according to the Brotherhood, but she

didn’t tell her aunts that part. Besides, nobody knew if it was actually true, and since Emma had no intention of ever finding out, the info was irrelevant. The same went for that whole pesky doomsday prophecy thing the Brotherhood claimed she’d triggered by submitting to Alan in the ritual that awakened her powers — not relevant. Also not something she wanted to talk about, like ever. She had talked about it, because everything you read about recovery from trauma said you needed to talk about it; she’d talked to Red Sun, in the weeks after she’d been rescued from Alan’s compound in the Urals. She’d talked to Felani, and Makena and Fezesh; the maidens knew what it was like to be held captive and used because of their power. But Emma shared her mind with so many, now, that words weren’t often necessary. And no one was entitled to her pain. It was too soon to talk to her aunt about it. In the movies and in fantasy novels, when you tried to explain the secret existence of supernatural creatures and gods and curses and magic powers to

normal people, the normal people fainted or screamed or were so shocked they ran out into oncoming traffic. Or, they tried to have you committed. In real life, people weren’t that dramatic. Tanya patted Aunt Chase’s knee and rose from the sofa, shifting Hannibal aside. Percy and Pip were behind the sofa, where they’d been hiding since three of the maidens provided the most convincing demonstration there was that Emma told the truth: they’d called the Change. Now two ocelots lounged on the living room floor, and the third and smallest of them, Toleni, had leaped to the top of a bookcase and stretched out with her front paws draped over the end of it. “Well then,” Tanya said, her accent at its prissiest. “I suppose I’ll make some tea. Will one of you ladies escort me?” Fatima inclined her head. “Of course.” “And what are you,” Tanya shot over her shoulder. Fatima stopped. “I am Egyptian, lady Tanya.” Tanya turned, opening her mouth, then shut it.

“Excuse me. I’m very sorry.” “It is all right.” Fatima padded past Tanya. “What I’m sure you meant to ask is which kingdom I hail from. That would be the jackal kingdom of Egypt, proud allies of the Caller of the Blood, the jaguar kingdom of Central America, and the royal Ruskiy wawkalaki.” With that she was gone into the kitchen, and Tanya shot Emma an embarrassed look before following the warrior priestess. Aunt Chase watched them go. “What’s the Ruskiy wawka-something-something?” Emma nodded toward Ivan. “The Russian wawkalaki. Wolves. Werewolves,” Emma added apologetically. “Ivan’s one of them.” “Ehh.” Ivan gave a vague wave. “Sort of.” Aunt Chase’s eyes went wide. Then her gaze shifted to where Seshua leaned against the door frame, his ridiculously large arms crossed over his equally gigantic chest. He was definitely back up to fighting weight. “Honey, I’m very relieved you’ve decided to be honest with me,” Aunt Chase said slowly. “But I still don’t understand why he’s blue?”

“My lineage is one of the purest remaining bloodlines in the world,” Seshua said, his deep voice rolling through the room like lazy thunder. “Oh,” Aunt Chase said faintly. “And that means…?” “That my blood is undiluted by human interbreeding, no offense meant to you or your niece, and I can trace my ancestors all the way back to their divinity. My unnatural skin tone marks me as royal.” “Hmm.” Aunt Chase gave him serious side-eye. “Guess you’re at home in merry England then. Y’know, aside from not being able to go out in public. So, let me get this straight. You,” she pointed at Seshua, “abducted Emmie —” “Aunt Chase —” Seshua looked uncomfortable. “Abducted is such a strong word —” “Drew her into all of this against her will,” Aunt Chase went on. “And yet now you’re friends.” She looked at Emma. “He protects you? How the hell does that work?” Emma looked at Seshua. The memory of him

kissing her in the kitchen the night before ran through her head. Behind Emma’s armchair, Alexi hissed, while Seshua clenched his jaw and glowered at her, as if the force of his gaze alone could persuade Emma to hold her tongue. “It’s complicated,” Emma said, tearing her gaze from his. “Let’s just say I’ve got… leverage.” She smiled tightly. “Over someone that turns into a giant panther.” “Jaguar, Aunt Chase. And yeah. Caller of the Blood, remember?” Aunt Chase threw her hands up and sat back against the sofa cushions. “Sorry, how could I forget! Jesus Christ, Emmie. You were never going to tell me any of this, were you?” “Of course not!” Emma laughed, but not because it was funny. “Look what happened when I brought Fern in here. You maced him.” “To be fair,” Fern spoke up from where he sat on the floor next to Emma’s chair, “It wasn’t mace.” He’d washed his makeup off along with the red goo, so he looked younger, but his entire face was also stained a faded red.

“That’s right,” said Tanya, coming in with a tray loaded with an old fashioned tea service. “It was FARB gel. Perfectly legal here, unlike pepper spray, and much more practical for self defense. Most people who carry mace have no idea that unless they wear a mask, when they use it they’ll be just as incapacitated as their attacker. Obviously not a problem with FARB gel.” Tanya regarded Fern’s stained face with cool satisfaction, and Fern had to remind Emma to breathe deep and give her aunts the benefit of the doubt. She blew her breath out. “You had this place surrounded by cops,” Emma said to Tanya. “You attacked Fern for no reason. It was kinda extreme.” “Not in the face of what we knew,” Aunt Chase said. “We didn’t have any answers, but the evidence was piling up. You hadn’t been honest with us in months. Like I said, at first we thought it might be drugs, but when we found out your student loans were paid off in full three months ago, we decided it might not even be safe to keep pushing

you for answers.” Emma blinked. “My student loans,” she said slowly. “How…?” Tanya spoke up, misinterpreting Emma’s confusion. “I pulled in a favor from someone on the force,” she said. “We were trying to find out if you were still in school, still in California. That’s over a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of student debt, Emma. We knew something was going on. Whoever has that kind of money is not someone you mess with. Not unless you think they’re going to mess with you first, like when Fern there went to put his hands in his pockets. He could’ve been reaching for a weapon of some kind.” Silence greeted that. Emma looked around. Her gaze came to rest on Seshua, who wouldn’t look at her. He didn’t tell me. Fern shared her confusion. Alexi reached down and brushed his knuckles, briefly, against Emma’s cheek. Aunt Chase shot him a look that would’ve set a lesser man’s balls on fire.

“Tea?” Tanya said brightly. “Why yes,” came Telly’s voice from the hall, and a second later he sauntered in with Shadi staring daggers at the back of his head. “Tea would be lovely.” Telly bowed deeply for Aunt Chase, then somehow managed to sweep the bow in Tanya’s direction. “Your men are in their vehicles, sleeping soundly, and when they awake they will think you called them and sent them back to the cars, where they fell asleep from boredom and inactivity. Here’s your main man’s phone.” He held it up and gave a little wave with it. “If you could give him a ring, your number’ll be in his call history at the right time, and that’ll cinch the cover story.” Frowning at Telly’s morphed accent, Emma took out Tanya’s phone. “I’ve got it. Tanya?” She held the phone up. “Will you do it?” Will you do it without trying to botch our cover up? Was what Emma was really asking. Tanya nodded. She took the phone, scrolling through numbers. “So.” She glanced up at Telly as the phone in his hand trilled. “You’re a Brit then?”

By the fireplace, Red huffed a laugh. “Not for a good long while.” “Screw you, Red,” Telly said, dropping the accent and accepting the call. “I have a certain affinity for the Isles, yeah.” To Aunt Chase, he inclined his head. “Telly, at your service, ma’am.” Aunt Chase took him in, and for the first time since her terrible dream down memory lane with him, so did Emma. Cropped golden hair, glinting blue eyes, elegant jaw. His white shirt was silk and actually buttoned for once, but his jeans were still ripped to shit; he wore ratty Converse sneakers and more earrings than Emma had previously thought possible, but his ears were no longer pointed. It was the eyes that caught Emma though. He’d banished all the mischief from them. This was Telly at his most sincere, which was also Telly at his most duplicitous. “Telly,” Aunt Chase said. “Is that short for —?” “Aristotle,” he said with a smile, and quit the call on Tanya’s officer’s phone. Emma snorted. Aunt Chase shot her a look. Telly’s look was slower and more deliberate, and

when his gaze finally met Emma’s, the most unexpected thing happened: he blushed. He blushed. In that manly way guys had, of looking kinda angry and constipated at the same time, as their cheeks turned red and their jaw clenched like they were using ball bearings for bubblegum. Verrry manly. “Hey,” Emma said, and he jumped. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you wear shoes.” His cheeks darkened even further, but a glint lit his eyes. “Well,” he drawled. “Now you’ve seen everything.” Yup. Emma’s turn to blush. Somebody help me… “Hey Tanya,” Ricky called from the kitchen. “This spaghetti sauce is just sitting around out here, all lonesome like… Can we, y’know, eat it?” Felani and Anton came in from the cold while Ricky was helping Tanya reheat and dish up the spaghetti. The rest of the jaguar guards plus a few maidens were outside maintaining their perimeter

guard. Felani had been outwardly gracious to Emma’s aunts, and shamelessly passive aggressive regarding Emma’s treatment by them. “You need rest,” Felani sniffed, smoothing Emma’s hair for the millionth time. “Over ten hours on a commercial airline.” She shuddered, her eyes round with horror. “You need a hot bath and a warm bed.” Nobody did passive aggression like an ocelot maiden. “She’s right,” Tanya said lightly as she rose from the table. “You lot ought to head off. Don’t worry, Ursula and I will clean up here while Em gets settled.” Silence. Emma pushed her plate away. “I don’t think it’s such a great idea for me to stay here.” There were several relieved exhales from the men and from Felani as Emma said it, but Aunt Chase’s face fell. “I’m sorry.” “So that’s it,” Tanya snapped. “You’re with them now, your family doesn’t matter, that right?” Aunt Chase shifted her chair back. “Tan —”

“You have no idea what it’s cost us,” Tanya’s grip on the stack of dirty plates she held went white. “What it’s cost her, worrying about you and not being able to do anything about it, and now you’ve dumped this crazy story in our laps you’re just going to waltz out with them.” Emma’s face heated as she tried to think of some way to respond. She had to make them understand… Alexi’s voice cracked like a whip. “Are you a fool,” he hissed, his expression glacial. “Or do you simply not care to imagine what the past six months have been for her.” Aunt Chase went pale, but Tanya set her jaw and met Alexi’s fury with her own. “When we thought she was being held against her will, we cared a hell of a sodding lot, but now —” “My lady Tanya.” Telly pushed away from the wall, his hands out in supplication. “You are rightly protective of your mated wife’s mental and emotional wellbeing. There is nothing wrong with that.” He shot a quelling look at Alexi. Tanya exhaled harshly, glancing at Alexi and

then Emma and back to Telly. “Thank you.” Telly shook his head. “No need. It was Em’s intention to stay with you, really it was.” When Tanya opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand for peace. “No doubt she still wants to. But it may not be safe for you.” Aunt Chase frowned, looking from Telly to Emma and back again. “What do you mean?” The hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose as Telly gave voice to the very thought she’d had just before Tanya lost it. “Emma’s power is sometimes unpredictable,” he said quietly. “When you threatened Fern, she had no conscious control over her reaction. She would never forgive herself if she hurt you. Better to give things time —” “No!” Aunt Chase started, turning to Emma with panic in her eyes. “Hush,” Telly said gently. “We will stay.” Aunt Chase regarded him with wary eyes. “We will stay, for however long you need. I give you my word.” Tanya’s face hardened with suspicion, but Aunt Chase took a shaky breath and sagged in her seat. “Okay,” she said, and looked at Emma. “Okay.

Please don’t disappear, Emmie.” Emma reached across the table. Her aunt met her halfway. “I won’t, Aunt Chase.” She forced a smile, even though Alexi’s indignant anger still chilled her bones, and she had to shove aside the urge to look at Telly. “I promise.” The hotel was twenty minutes away by car, and for the purpose of not drawing the wrong kind of attention to themselves, Emma and her small army of guards all traveled by conventional means. That did not mean they avoided drawing attention. Seshua and Alexi had hired a fleet of giant SUVs; when Kal, Joseph, Marco, Raul and Andres brought the five cars around from where they’d been parked in neighboring side streets, Aunt Chase’s eyes had gone wide as saucers as she watched them pull up. Emma and her aunts had exchanged tense goodbyes. She’d promised to call in the morning. Then she’d climbed into one of the fancy black cars with Fern, Felani and Red Sun in the back, Ricky in the passenger seat, and Andres at the

wheel, and sank back against the plush seat feeling sick to her stomach with guilt. “You have nothing to be guilty for,” Fern said as they pulled away from the curb. She closed her eyes. “That’s not how it looks from where I’m standing.” Next to her, Felani made a feline sound of outrage, but Red shushed her. “Family’ll do that to you, flower. When it comes to guilt, nothin’ beats family.” “Also,” Ricky said from the front seat, “If anyone can find a way to feel guilty for shit that isn’t her fault, it’s you, Em.” That made her open her eyes and glare daggers at the back of his head. “Seriously? Not my fault? I’ve been so caught up in my own drama I failed to notice that Aunt Chase wasn’t buying a single line of the story I was selling her. I had one job! Convince her everything’s fine. And now I’ve dragged everyone halfway across the world for nothing.” “Em,” Ricky started. “No, it’s not okay! You know what was

involved in getting me here. The danger, the risk, the preparations, not to mention the goddamn money.” At the wheel, Andres snorted. “Money is not a problem, nor is it your concern, my lady.” “Oh, right, is that why Seshua didn’t tell me he nixed over a hundred grand of student loans in my name? I don’t deserve to know about that, or have a say?” “Good job, Andres,” Ricky muttered. “What? It’s true…” Fern’s mind brushed hers. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to calm her down, he was simply there, a solid, warm presence in her mind. Unconditional acceptance. He might disagree with her own opinion of herself sometimes, and he definitely disagreed with how others chose to treat her, but he was without reservation on her side. She used to think that was because of the bond. She used to think his trust and his faith were blind. She knew better now. “None of that’s why I feel guilty,” she said finally, the heat gone from her voice. “I mean, I

still think this whole situation is my fault, except for the student loan thing, that’s definitely Seshua’s fault.” Andres suppressed a smile, studiously focused on the road. Felani rested her head against Emma’s shoulder. “Then why, my lady.” Emma sighed. “Because I’m relieved I’m not staying there tonight, that’s why. I haven’t seen them in almost a year and I’ve missed the hell out of them, and sometimes the only thing that got me through all this shit over the past six months was thinking of them, here, living their normal lives. And I finally get to see them and tell them the truth, and now I’m just tired and I want to go home.” Up front, Ricky swore under his breath. “Wish we knew where the hell that was.” “No,” Fern said. “We know where home is. It’s wherever we are together. All of us,” he added, his tone making it clear he was talking about everyone in the car, and everyone in the other cars, too. “Even the wolves in Russia, and the jackals in Egypt, they’re here with us too, because they’re

bound to you, Em, and through you, to the others. Home is where you are with us. So yeah, let’s go home.” “Damn straight,” Red murmured. Felani nodded against Emma’s shoulder. In spite of herself, Emma grinned up at Fern like an idiot. You know I love you, right? His eyes sparked. Even though my face is stained this rockin’ shade of pink? Andres made a skeptical noise. “I’d step on it, but this is only my second time driving on the wrong side of the road.” “So that’s why we’re going ten miles under the speed limit?” “Anytime you wanna drive, Ricky. Anytime.” Emma was half asleep by the time they reached the hotel, but one glimpse and she came fully awake, eyes nearly bugging out of her head. That was some fancy-ass Jane Austen stuff, right there. The hotel’s vast period facade was aglow with lights, from both the windows themselves and from hundreds of strategically aimed spotlights, and the

whole place shimmered, radiating warmth and opulence. Did Seshua rent an actual palace? “Nope,” Fern said next to her as she climbed out of the car. “There are other guests and everything, although he had to pull some strings to free up enough rooms for us. I think this might be Seshua’s version of slumming it.” “Oookay.” Emma yawned. “Hot tub,” Felani said grimly. “Then room service. Then sleep.” “I just ate a plateful of spaghetti.” “Real food!” Felani glared before she flounced away, coppery hair swinging. “Spaghetti is real food,” Emma said to no one in particular. Then she caught sight of Alexi leaning casually against the side of one of the cars. He still looked pissed off. His hair had started to escape its braid, long tendrils framing his face; his arms were crossed, muscles crisply defined beneath the long sleeves of his black T-shirt. The outline of his body curved like a blade, and the buttery glow of the streetlights and the hotel’s

lobby made dark, bottomless pits of his eyes. Twin flames seemed to smolder in that darkness. No wonder he’d scared the shit out of her aunts. She reached for their connection, and her pulse leapt as his mind opened to hers instantly. Hey there, dragon lord, she said. He straightened. Dragon lord? That’s my pet name, is it? She grinned for him. Until I find a better one. Well then, he said, dropping his arms and coming towards her across the parking bay, his stride unhurried and predatory. Keep looking. How was such an incredible creature even a little bit hers? Good God. Pretty sure my aunts thought you were a dragon. You conveniently forgot to mention just what I am. That was wise. He reached her and stopped. “I lost control before, with Tanya.” Emma felt how much he wanted to apologize. But he wouldn’t, because he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. He was used to silencing people with a look, making them back down with the touch of his power alone. He did not know how

to charm anyone, or put them at ease, or make them like him; for centuries he had honed the razor sharp ability to do exactly the opposite of all of that. He was not good at playing human. Emma studied his harsh, terrible face. People only mistook the ancient shapechangers for human because they wanted to, because their minds shied away from the danger; Emma was accustomed to staring death in the face every day, but she never forgot what she was looking at. She reached up and traced one of his scars. Yours is my favorite face. He smiled with his eyes. If you say so. “Come, come!” Felani bustled back and started herding them to the hotel. Alexi fell in beside Emma, blinking down in bemusement at Felani, as Fern and Red Sun fell in behind her and they crossed the parking bay into the hotel’s wide, glowing lobby. They knew there was trouble as soon as they saw Seshua standing at the front desk. He was completely robed, a woven circlet of silk securing the cowl of his robe, the whole thing artfully

draped so only his eyes showed; without being able to see more of his skin, it was easy to imagine the dark indigo color being mistaken for a human shade of black. How on earth Emma could tell that he was fuming, she had no idea, she just could. The hotel staff rushed out to tend to Emma and Ricky and Fern’s luggage, and the concierge stood to attention behind the desk, clearly aware something was wrong and determined to maintain a veneer of cool professionalism. “We have been formally welcomed to London,” Seshua said, his voice low and deadly. He held up a thick, ivory colored envelope. “Or at least you have, Red Sun.” Emma turned as Red moved forward. Seshua held out the envelope. Red took it, his hand moving as though through molasses, every line on his face carved with resignation. His brows came down as he read whatever it said on the envelope in flowing, flourishing script. “I can’t read that,” Emma said, peering over his massive forearm. “What language is that?” “It’s Gaelic,” Red said in the same tone of

voice one might announce their pet fish was dead. Telly moved up beside Red, meeting Emma’s eyes. He looked about as happy as Red did. Telly’s upper lip curled. “It’s the bears.”

11 There were six rooms, and all of them were extravagant, but the main suite was freaking ridiculous even by Seshua’s standards: all Edwardian columns and lacework, elaborate ceiling rosettes, chandeliers, damask curtains, and who honestly needed three different kinds of couch? The carpet was ashes of roses in color and so damn lush it needed a lawnmower. It was funny until Felani informed Emma that the main suite was hers. Why was she even surprised?

While Emma kicked off her boots and socks and dug her aching toes into the deep carpet, Telly and Red Sun stalked in, still arguing in the fluid language they’d been using since Emma stepped into the elevator with them. “Guys, please,” she snapped. “In English?” Telly paced off, hands on hips, while Red turned to her and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Cantiaci tribe invite the Caller of the Blood to a feast in honor of my name.” Red spread his hands. He looked tired; the myriad tiny scars on his face seemed to all stand out, and his eyes were dark, his cheeks tight with some emotion Emma couldn’t identify. “It’s tomorrow night.” Emma arched her brows at him. “That’s what all that flowery handwriting said? That’s all?” Red’s mouth hardened. He looked away from her, gaze tracking people as they filed in; Seshua, his robes swishing, Kal and Leah, Fatima and Ivan. Maidens and more maidens. Shadi and several of the jaguar guards had come up to the rooms ahead of the rest of them, and Emma knew Shadi was on the balcony — he preferred open air — but he’d

be listening. Fern was perched on the arm of the hard, antique-looking couch Emma parked herself on next to Ricky. Alexi stood by the door, watching Red Sun. “No,” Red said, his voice gravelly. “That’s not all it said. It said — fuck.” He threw the envelope with its thick pages inside on the dining table and seemed to brace himself, gaze on the ceiling. “It said, ‘the Caller of the Blood is cordially invited to be welcomed to Britannia and feast in honor of the return of His Highness Gwydion iud-Mael of the Votadini, at the humble royal dwelling of the Cantiaci. Pre dinner entertainment starts at six. Parking is valet.’” Emma looked around. Everyone’s faces wore a mixture of confusion and amusement, all except Telly, who looked like he’d just had some extremely bad news. “Okay, great,” she said, standing up and brushing her palms on her hips. “Thanks everyone, gonna need some privacy now.” When Red Sun was the only one who moved, she clucked her tongue. “Nope, not you. And not you.” She pointed

at Telly. “But all of you —” she sketched a wave in the air. “Go on, scoot. Sorry Ricky,” she said gently. “Even you.” And you, she added, meeting Alexi’s gaze. But he was in her mind, and he knew what she needed. More importantly, he knew that she knew what Red needed. “It’s cool,” Ricky said, and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “See you later.” Fern stood with him. “I’m gonna go too. Alexi said this stuff won’t come off until I Change.” He pointed at his face, giving her a lopsided smile. “So I think I’ll go do that.” Annnd now the rest of them had to leave graciously, or risk looking petty and insecure. Alexi led them out, and then it was just her, Telly, and Red Sun. “So,” Emma said. “You’re a prince. Fancy.” “He’s not a prince.” Telly crossed his arms and leaned back against the windowsill. “The Cantiaci just really want him to be one. Now they do, anyway.” Emma shot Telly a look. “You, hush. Red, is he correct?”

Red met her eyes. His mouth was still hard, his blocky face completely closed and showing no emotion, but his massive shoulders relaxed a bit. “It depends.” Telly snorted. Emma came to the dining table under the pretense of wanting to look at the invitation. Her elbow brushed Red’s arm as she picked up the heavy paper and ran her fingertips across the scripted handwriting. “How long has it been since you were back here?” He looked down at her sharply, those deep brown eyes narrow. Then his expression softened. “Over two thousand years.” He searched her face and seemed to see whatever he needed to there. “It did not go well. I came to help fight the Romans, but the ruling tribes ousted me, because they did not want a cursed cripple to claim the throne.” Yep, he was definitely upset, he dropped his contractions when he was upset. And Emma didn’t blame him. “So whoever rules the tribes now got wind of the fact that your arm regenerated —” “And that he’s bound to the Caller of the Blood,” Telly finished, his voice deadly.

Emma looked at Telly across the dining table. “I thought you said the bears were, and I quote, fine.” His eyes darkened to slate and he grunted. “I did. They are. Sort of.” “That’s real helpful.” “They don’t do kidnapping or blackmail or assassination attempts,” Telly said reluctantly, and then his upper lip lifted. “They do politics.” Red shuddered. “So much fuckin’ politics.” “I don’t know if that works grammatically…” Emma trailed off as Red cast her a look that said he was thisclose to losing his shit. “All right, so they do politics? So what? What happens if we don’t go?” “What’s going to happen,” Red said, his tone hard as granite. “Because we’re not going.” When he didn’t continue, Emma looked to Telly. He sighed. In that one small gesture, Emma saw what he hid so well: he was worried about Red. “If we don’t go,” Telly said, “both you and or Red can be formally challenged to a duel for offering insult to the queen.”

Emma winced. “You mean the Bear Queen, not the Queen queen, right?” Red moaned and put his face in his hands. “Telly, we can’t go. You know how they are. They will eat her alive.” Emma popped her brows at Telly. “Literally?” Telly did his best not to grin. He kinda failed, and it gave him dimples, which made him a billion times more handsome, but Emma refused to think about that. Red turned so fast Emma barely registered the movement, and then he grasped her shoulders in his big hands, his face desperate. “You do not understand, Em. This is a trap. I thought I could hold them off for a while, I thought I had time, but somehow as soon as we arrived they knew.” “It’s your power,” Telly said, coming around the dining table, his gaze on Red’s hands on Emma. “Now you’re bound to her, you are a beacon in the dark.” Emma put her hands on Red’s and turned her face up to him. “Gwydion. That was your name?” Red straightened. “A long time ago. Before the

curse. Don’t,” he added, wincing, as Emma opened her mouth. “Don’t ask me about my name, flower, I don’t have the stomach for it tonight.” She cleared her throat to cover how much she was stung by that. “Okay. So they didn’t want you when you only had one arm, but now they see you as whole, they do.” He nodded, gaze locked to hers. “What will they do if the Caller of the Blood is in their territory and she doesn’t go to them?” Telly swore. Red clenched his jaw and tried to pull away, but she kept him there with just her hands on his. She didn’t let him go, and he would not shrug her off, no matter how gently. “Either they’ll formally challenge you to a duel,” he said finally. “Or they’ll demand a boon befitting the insult. If you don’t deliver the boon —” “Let me guess, they’ll formally challenge me to a duel,” she finished for him. He nodded. She gave his fingers a squeeze with her own and then dropped her hands. “So we go.” He shook her gently. “You don’t understand.” “What don’t I understand?” Red’s brows went

up at her tone. She tried another approach. “Do the bear clans suffer from the wasting disease the way the other races do?” Those blond brows came down. “Yes, but —” “No buts.” She put her hands on his chest, and he let her push him away. “This is what I’m meant for. Either the bears will Pledge to me, or they won’t. I am the Caller of the Blood, Red, it’s my job. This isn’t like Egypt. They have no leverage over me.” Red dropped his hands and met Telly’s eyes. They shared a look that reminded Emma they were both thousands of years old. “What,” she said. “What do they have over me.” “It’s not what they have over you,” Telly said, his voice tired. “It’s what they have over me. And I am bound to you.” “Technically I think it’s the other way around, me bound to you.” Emma didn’t love how her voice sounded when she’d said that: faint, almost breathless. God, why could he still get to her this way, after all the bullshit he’d put her through?

“If you say so,” he said with a humorless smile. He crossed his arms and looked anywhere but at her. “The bears think that I can do something for them. I can’t.” “Can’t or wont?” “Both.” His voice was edged with a growl. “To even attempt what they want would take so much magic, I might not survive it.” Emma stood up straighter, her pulse leaping to a gallop. “You can be killed?” All of a sudden she couldn’t get enough air. “No,” he said, taken aback. He blinked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. “That’s not what I meant.” “He meant his mind might not survive,” Red said quietly. Hugging herself, Emma searched Red’s face. “So he was telling the truth.” She looked at Telly. “It is that dangerous for you to use your powers.” His face shut down. He turned away, shoving his hands through his hair, but his hair was short now and it was a pointless gesture. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice echoing with the merest brush of

his power. “Yes, I was telling the truth.” He shot one last look at her, hands on his hips, opened his mouth, and then shut it and stalked out of the room. Emma stared at the heavy hotel room door in confusion as it swung shut. Red grunted. “Some nerve he has, gettin’ pissy at you for doubting him. Every other thing out of his mouth is a half-lie.” “Mmhm.” Emma forced herself to stop staring at the door; he wasn’t coming back through it. The problem was, Telly might not tell the truth half the time, but he was always honest with you. She used to understand that about him. Then he left her, and now he was back, and she was so angry with him her heart tried to turn itself inside out every damn time she looked at him. Every time her heart did that, it hurt a little more. Every time, she felt a little more empathy for him, and she couldn’t afford that. Something came back to her, something she’d thought way back when all of this began, when she’d been taken to the Roadhouse and Alan and his men shot the place up, fatally wounding Alexi

so he couldn’t call the Change. Back then, all she’d known was that for someone to aid a shapechanger in calling the Change, they either had to be a shapechanger, or be Caller of the Blood — she had that covered — and they had to share some kind of connection. No one there shared the kind of connection Alexi needed to help call his Change, and he was dying. Emma had looked at him, torn and bloody, his insides gaping, and a bright, exhilarating thought had occurred to her. Could hate bind you just as well as love? Of course, what she hadn’t known then was that Alexi’s hate went beyond her and was focused almost exclusively on Telly, but she was bound to Telly, and Telly was a god. That was probably why it worked. She’d saved Alexi’s life, and she’d learned that yes, hate could absolutely bind you just as well as love. She needed to stop hating Telly. If she didn’t, she was doomed. “Hey, flower,” Red said tiredly. She shook herself and met his eyes. Such wonderful, dark eyes. “Hey, Red.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “How you and him doin’?” “Don’t wanna talk about it.” She flashed him her sunniest smile, then sobered. “You should have told me about all this,” she said, gesturing at the fancy invitation on the dining table. “You should have let me know it was going to cause trouble for you, coming here.” Turning away, he shook his head. “Don’t be daft, sweetheart. You thought your aunt’s wife might have cancer.” He leaned over the table, planting his fists on it, and let his head sag. “That was more important than this bullshit.” “Yeah well, see how that turned out.” She went to him and wrapped her arms around one of his, and rested her head on his shoulder, tucking herself against him. Some of the tension melted out of him, but his voice was still hard. “We can’t make it to the feast tomorrow, even if we wanted to. You’ve gotta see your aunts again.” “They can wait.” “Em…”

“Nobody has cancer,” she said, her tone final. “Being Caller of the Blood is my job, and I’m not going to endanger you and Telly and everyone else just so I can make my aunts feel better.” Red turned his face to her. “Hard woman. I’m impressed.” “Don’t be. I’m using work as an excuse to avoid them, just like I’ve always done with my emotional problems.” He flashed her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You should never have been burdened with sole responsibility for maintaining your cover with them, you know.” Red’s expression darkened, his square jaw going stubborn. “That’s on us.” She threw her hands up. “They’re my family! Besides, it wasn’t only on me. Before you came to the California place, Seshua and Telly both used their respective powers to fudge all public record of Aunt Chase’s emigration to the UK, so any potential enemies couldn’t find her and use her against me. That was back when they thought they were going to find Alan and take him out of the picture for good.” She shuddered, avoiding Red’s

gaze, and shook her head. “Jesus, I can’t believe how badly I’ve screwed this up. I should have known Aunt Chase suspected something.” Red growled. “This is not your fault. You’re human, for Chrissakes, and so are your aunts. Your safety is our responsibility.” Emma leaned away from him and gave him some serious side-eye. Then she tilted her head and widened her eyes, batting her lashes. “Oh Red, you’re so right, I do need people to take care of me at all times! I’m just a poor, defenseless little — eeeeee!” She was airborne, tossed straight up by Red’s strong hands. A moment later he caught her, swung her over his shoulder, and commenced tickling the hell out of the backs of her knees while she kicked with all she had and got exactly nowhere, laughing too hard to work up any strength. She was about to surrender when a deep voice came from the direction of the balcony. “Er, my lady, may we come in now?” Emma looked up. Or she tried to. Finally she got her hands fisted in the back of Red’s T-shirt

and shoved herself upright, hair in her face, and found Shadi and two of the jaguar guards at the French doors to the balcony. She’d totally forgotten they were out there. “It’s cold,” said one of the jaguars. Shadi shot him a look. “But we will remain here if our lady wills it.” Emma could feel Red laughing silently. Bastard. “No, no, come in. We’re done with our super important talk. Put me down, Red.” More silent laughter. “Red! Grrr.” He hitched her into his arms and let her slide down. “Very scary.” He smirked. “It’s scarier when your eyes go black.” “Screw you,” she said without feeling, hanging onto him while her blood pressure adjusted. Come to think of it, being held upside down with a plateful of spaghetti in her stomach… “Augh. Feel gross now.” He brushed hair out of her face. “You deserved it.” He was still smiling, but his eyes were tense, looking her over as though she might actually be unwell.

She rolled her eyes, letting go of him. It felt so good to goof off with Red. They’d grown close in the weeks after coming back from Russia, and then the attack from the serpent priests had come, and after that they were practically glued at the hip. But since they defeated the serpent priests almost two weeks ago, there had been distance. Red didn’t know how she really felt about him, and now she was with Alexi, he never would, so that wasn’t the reason for it. Maybe he was just trying to give her space, since things had been so intense before. Alexi’s telepathic touch eased her heart at the same time it sped her pulse. Telly informs me we’re to go to the Cantiaci tomorrow eve. Emma went for her luggage. Yup. Did he also inform you why it’s a terrible idea? Not exactly. There was a lot of cussing involved though. She felt him lift the conversation she’d had with Telly from her mind. Ah. Emma found her toothbrush. Yeah. Ah. She straightened, watching Shadi check the curtains were closed, the tall prince twitching them into place, likely for the hundredth time. So how bad

can it get, if Telly uses too much of his power? Alexi didn’t even have to think about it. Catastrophic. Oh. Yes. Oh. He didn’t try to hide the grim concern in his mind. Imagine if the serpent goddess had woken completely insane and unable to control her magic. Now imagine her magic was a nuclear bomb. Emma had gone to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and she stopped, meeting her own eyes in the luxury vanity mirror. Good Christ. The serpent goddess, in her truest corporeal form, had been four times the size of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, not to mention she had the telepathic power to crush hundreds of minds with a single thought. As Emma brushed her teeth, Alexi spoke. Every century spent in the world of men destroys a little more of their control. He meant the wild gods. The serpent goddess was primeval, but her contact with humans was relatively recent, only six or seven thousand years, dating back to the

first appearance of human populations in the Amazon. Consider that Telly has been exposed to far, far more human contact than that. Rinse. Splash face with water. Try really hard not to consider what Alexi was saying. I once accused him of being over thirteen thousand years old, Emma said, drying her hands. He didn’t deny it. Alexi’s mental touch gentled. He is older than that. Much, much older. Emma tried to wrap her mind around that, and failed. There was this series of books she’d read in her late teens, a cross between romantic fantasy and historical fiction, about people living in Ice Age Europe. Set maybe twelve thousand years ago? That, plus what she knew from trying to dig up any historical clue to Telly’s true identity, was the extent of her knowledge of prehistoric human life. How much older, Emma asked. Alexi’s mental presence changed, and Emma sensed him in the room beyond the bathroom door. Closer to one hundred thousand years, he said.

Over ninety, at least, since he first walked in the world of men and began to make human memories. Emma went still. She stood there in the opulent bathroom, with all its gleaming brass and marble and glass, not seeing it. She was too far inside Alexi’s head, wedged against his heart, not knowing where she ended and he began, but it wasn’t like the merge with Fern. This wasn’t because of magic or power. He was afraid. So was she. Telly was unfathomably old. His power was vast and inconceivable. But in that moment, as Emma’s emotions tangled with Alexi’s, Telly seemed as fragile to them as blown glass. Most of the heavy hitters spent the rest of the evening in the room next door, prepping for the visit to the Cantiaci, and that included Alexi, Telly, Red Sun and Seshua. After a shower instead of the hot tub, Emma found herself hungry again somehow, so there was indeed room service. Felani and most of the maidens joined Emma and

Fern and Ricky at the big dining table in her suite for steak with mushrooms and green beans and hot, crusty bread rolls. Shadi was their bodyguard, and Emma made him come sit at the table and eat with them. He wasn’t quite stoic enough to hide his pleasure at the simple invite. Emma was so stuffed and jetlagged she barely made it to bed. The first time she woke up, it was to Alexi stretching out beside her, and she tried to stay awake and couldn’t. The next time she surfaced, there was a giant golden jaguar snoring in his place — Ricky. She felt Fern at her back and drifted off. When her phone’s awful ringtone jerked her out of sleep, she found herself tangled in Fern’s arms with Felani sprawled beside her and a furry ocelot maiden draped across everyone’s feet. “My God,” Red grumbled from somewhere beyond the bed. “What the fuck is that?” The bed rocked. Emma craned her neck to see past Fern’s bicep. Ricky — in jaguar form — heaved himself up and thumped off the bed with none of the grace an arboreal cat should have.

The phone was still ringing. Emma looked around. “Jesus, where is it?” “You pack of idiots.” The sleepy, bad tempered voice was Rish’s. “It’s here. Ugh.” The phone sailed through the air, flashing and squawking, and Fern’s hand shot out to catch it. “Your eyes are still closed,” Emma said. “Mmf.” He handed it to her. Well, he dropped it on her face. Emma fumbled for it and answered. “Aunt Chase, it is abominably early.” “It’s a quarter to seven. You’re usually up from jetlag by now. You can even pronounce ‘abominably.’” “Mrrr.” “Don’t mrr me, young lady, we’re going to have breakfast.” “Uh…” Emma sat up, shifting Fern’s arm off her waist and trying not to sit on Felani’s hair, which was everywhere. “I’ll just check —” “Picadilly, two hours. It’s plenty of time.” “Yeah, but I just don’t know —” “It works,” Felani said, yawning. “You have an

appointment at ten thirty a few blocks from there.” “I have an appointment?” Aunt Chase snorted. “You have an appointment?” “Mmm.” Felani stretched. “Davina’s beauty parlor. Facial, waxing, nails —” “Oh my God, Felani, no.” “Your friend has some strange priorities. See you soon honey.” Aunt Chase hung up. Emma groaned. “Why. Just why.” Forty five minutes later, Emma had survived hair and makeup by Felani. She couldn’t talk the maiden down to anything less than concealer, highlighter and mascara, which was going to be juuust great when Aunt Chase wanted to know how Emma found time for that before nine in the morning. Her hair had been trimmed — it grew past her butt overnight, and was now a few inches from her waist — and Felani blow dried it to within an inch of its life, so the waves were thick and full, and she looked not at all like she’d spent the night rolling around a big bed with half a dozen shapechangers, which was a lot less fun than it

sounded. “My aunt is going to think I’ve gone all ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers,’ looking this good before midday,” Emma told no one in particular — everyone else was prepping for the breakfast outing. “I do not know of what you speak.” Ivan handed her a mug. “Coffee. Also, your ear-piece.” “Well, one of those is fun and delicious.” She took the coffee and sipped while he held the earpiece up. It was a small, transparent earplug, with a tiny wire protruding from it. Ivan pinched it gently by the wire. “Goes in like this, da? We should be able to hear you and you us at all times, unless you are flying through the air, or clinging to the top of a speeding truck.” She gave him a look. He shrugged and lifted those thick, white-blond brows. “Admittedly, it’s unlikely, I just thought you should know.” “Thanks for the coffee, Ivan,” Emma told him, suppressing a smile. “Gimme that ear thingie.” She

took it, gently popping it in — “Whoa, Jesus, I don’t think I can do this.” Coffee slopped out of her mug as she startled. “There’s too many —” “There will be less,” he said, catching her mug and steadying her hand. “When we are in the field, very little talking. Right now, motor mouths.” Understatement of the year. Everyone was talking at once, and hearing them in stereo — both in the room and over the comms — sucked bigtime. They had better shut up in the field, because if they didn’t, she was taking the thing out; she couldn’t do tea and scones with her aunt and listen to twenty people argue about her safety. There was sudden, blessed silence as everyone turned to her, having heard her on their comms units. She cleared her throat. “Er, as you were?” Annnd cue the cacophony once more. Anton broke off from the group at the dining table, Fern and Ricky trailing him. Anton’s dark curls had grown out so much, he’d tied them up and was rocking the manbun, leaving his face bare and

his green eyes rich and bright as crystal. “Good to see you’re still in workout pants,” Anton said, nodding to her. She gave him a combo frown/smile. “You always know just what to say to a girl.” “It wasn’t a comment on your outfit choice.” Anton swung a yoga mat out from under his arm. “But for the record, no heterosexual man alive is unhappy about the whole yoga-pants trend, no matter what they say. You need to stretch out. Won’t be time to work out all the kinks later on tonight.” “Where do we even start with that,” Emma muttered. Half an hour later, Emma was limber and dressed in black skinny jeans — no rips, Felani had selected them — her cherry-red Doc Marten boots, and a snug, midnight blue cable knit sweater over a plain long sleeved tee. There was a brand new pea coat somewhere in the mountain of stuff Felani was bringing, but Emma doubted she’d need it going from the car to the cafe to the shops and back to the car, surrounded by shapechangers

radiating menace and convenient heat. Speaking of which, Seshua was robed once more; he wouldn’t be venturing out of the car unless disaster struck, and the only kind of disaster waiting to strike was Felani and how much of Emma’s body hair she’d insist on getting rid of. Then, on the way down to the cars, the obvious occurred to Emma and she thrust all her mental shields into place: it had been over six months since she was in a serious relationship with anyone. The last person she’d actually done any personal grooming for had been Alan. And while a whole body shudder threatened to take her to her knees in the elevator as she was blindsided by that thought, an entirely different line of reasoning dragged her back to reality: unless the world literally ended today, then sometime soon she was going to have sex with Alexi. Alexi was gorgeous. Alexi was perfect. Emma hadn’t waxed in like, a year. Maybe that was why Felani kept interrupting them every time they —

A shout went up from one of the guards ahead and everyone jerked to a halt on the hotel steps. Emma couldn’t see past Shadi, he was too tall, and Red Sun was next to him, and he was also too tall. Not another word from the guard up front. Red and Shadi had gone rigid; Fern and Ricky and Anton were at Emma’s back, and Emma could practically hear Anton wishing for a gun. When Red and Shadi got the all clear to move forward, silence still reigned. The morning was unseasonably clear and sunny, and the trees lining the street glowed with autumn hues in the crisp light. People hurrying by cast surreptitious glances at Emma’s entourage, and a few guests early for check-in stopped and stared under the pretense of looking at their phones. As the guards spread out, Emma was able to reach the cars, and come to stand next to Alexi as he and Telly surveyed the scene. A few cars up, Seshua was pacing away, hands on his hips, fury evident in the way he moved. At first Emma didn’t understand what was wrong. Then she saw it. Strings of black and orange bunting hung from

the windshields of the SUVs, the alternating paper triangles spelling out ‘HAPPY HALLOWEEN.’ They’d been hung on the inside.

12 “And that,” Emma said, sitting back against the leather booth, “is why we were late.” Aunt Chase stopped buttering her crumpet and looked around at Emma’s mandatory guards: Fern, Ricky, Anton, Leah. Oh yeah, and Telly, because Emma’s life wasn’t hard enough without her aunt going all goo-goo eyed over the walking god. She turned to Emma and frowned. “That’s it?” “Aunt Chase, they were on the inside. Someone broke into all of our cars.” “To play a practical joke, it sounds like.”

On the other side of the booth, Leah spoke around a giant mouthful of scone. “A practical joke that says ‘I can get to you, anywhere, anytime.’ Seshua’s pitching a fit.” “That is putting it mildly,” Seshua growled over the wireless comms. Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing and lifted her eyebrows at her aunt. “Would Tanya be this cavalier about it?” “Well…” Aunt Chase cast her gaze about the cafe as though seeing it with new eyes. It was cramped and cluttered, packed with vintage tins and books and knick knacks, the walls plastered with ancient posters peeling away to reveal other ancient posters beneath them. The space wasn’t ideal and the staff were surly, and the coffee tasted awful half the time, but there were real things and real smells in this place, it hadn’t been Starbucksified. It was also jammed with people and there was only one exit, which Anton kept within view at all times — he shared the side of the booth facing the door, with Leah and Fern — and Emma could feel him subtly testing the strength of the

bolts that held the rectangular table in place. She had to admit she was having a hard time being in public, too. It had been so long. “My God,” Aunt Chase said slowly, putting down her crumpet. “You’re really at risk, aren’t you?” “Always,” Anton said. Emma shot him a glare. “Stop helping.” To her aunt she said, “Yes and no. There’s always danger, but I’m not necessarily at risk. As you can see —” she leaned in and dropped her voice — “I’m kinda surrounded by terrifying killers at all times?” “With the exception of Ricky,” Leah added. “Hey, I resent that. I’ll have you know —” Emma put her hand on Ricky’s arm. “Maybe tell us your high score another time.” “Oh, right, whoops.” Emma turned expectantly to Aunt Chase, who nodded faintly. “So the danger’s out there.” Emma sat back and took up her teacup. “But the risk isn’t that great.” As Aunt Chase looked down at her crumpet as if she might never eat again, Telly leaned forward,

the back legs of his rickety little chair lifting. The booths only sat three across each side, so Telly had fetched a free chair and planted himself at the head of the table. It was pissing off most of the male staff, but there were a few waitresses who seemed way too happy to have to squeeze past Telly’s broad shoulders. “Your niece can take care of herself, y’know,” he told Aunt Chase with a tight smile. “As much as that might pain some of us at times. Surely you know you raised a fighter.” Aunt Chase laughed in spite of herself, her hazel eyes filling with warmth and relief. “That is true.” Telly, you manipulative little shit. Emma cleared her throat. “Enough about that. How’ve things been, like really? Aside from Tanya definitely not at all having cancer.” With a smile that held zero regrets, Aunt Chase launched into a rundown of the last few months, seeming to get more grounded the more she talked of normal things. Emma relaxed a little; Fern ate half her scone, and gave her the rest of his

croissant. Leah polished off everyone’s leftovers. Anton tried some tea, and pulled a face remarkably similar to a cat scenting something nasty. Emma was feeling awesome in spite of the jetlag right up until Aunt Chase mentioned school. “Wait, what?” Emma tried to back up; she hadn’t quite caught that last, but the awkward looks on her friends’ faces made her stomach sink. “I said, do you have a study plan for resuming your postgrad? Do the dates for the units line up, or will you have to make them up in another semester?” Emma’s heart started to pound. “Aunt Chase, I don’t —” “There hasn’t been time to put things in motion yet,” Telly cut in smoothly, his eyes a human, comforting shade of blue. “We want to make sure Em’s as safe as possible. But it certainly helps knowing you and Tanya are all right.” His smile turned mischievous. “That sure was a scare you gave us all.” Hell, if Emma hadn’t known Telly, even she would’ve been totally snowed by this good ol’ boy

charm act. Just like that, Aunt Chase was distracted, embarrassed, and reassured all at the same time — and Telly hadn’t told her a single truth. Felani’s melodious voice came over the comms unit, reminding Emma they were due at the beauty salon in twenty. Aunt Chase had dogs to walk; she seemed happy enough just to have seen Emma and reassured herself that her niece was real and still in London. When she invited them all for dinner that night, Telly had stepped in and made Emma’s prior plans sound like a trip to the goddamn country club, and Aunt Chase went to her car with a relaxed smile on her face and a skip in her freaking step. Emma couldn’t accuse Telly of brainwashing her aunt; everyone else would hear it over the comms. She settled for a baleful glare. Then she remembered she was supposed to be trying not to hate him. Yeah, that was going well. “Bravo team, you are go.” That was Kal’s voice over the comms.

“Alpha this is bravo, we copy.” Emma didn’t recognize that voice, but she did recognize the SUV that pulled away from the curb and joined the flow of traffic towards central London. So much traffic. So many damn people. “Where are they going,” Emma asked quietly so she didn’t accidentally yell into everyone’s comms. “They’re on your aunt,” Anton said beside her. “Raul, Joseph, Tarissa and Makena. They’ll keep her safe.” Emma managed to swallow that info without flipping out, but inwardly she shattered. Holy fucking shit, it never even occurred to her that her aunts would be in danger, but they’d met in a public place and anyone could be watching — Seshua had guards on your aunts last night, too, Fern sent, taking her hand. Emma looked up into his face, anchoring herself with his bright black gaze. I didn’t notice. I’m an idiot. Nah, he sent with a lopsided smile. You’ve had too much on your plate. Not to mention old tall,

serious and gorgeous over there scrambling your brains. He nodded to where Alexi waited with the cars across the street, arms crossed, black sunglasses hiding his eyes and arrogant scowl fully operational. Very funny. The crossing lights turned green, and Emma shot Fern a dark look before they moved forward like an island in a sea of guards. Then she turned serious. Is it weird…? You know, this, with me and Alexi. For you. Squeezing her hand, he pulled her in closer to him and slung his arm around her shoulders in a brief hug. No. I’m happy for you. You deserve some joy after all the shit we’ve been through. They gained the curb and Emma tilted her head back to look up at him, studying his face. It wasn’t as lean and stark as it used to be; he still had a boyish beauty and cheekbones any model would kill for, and he still wore the same placid, unshakable expression he always wore. But there was a hardness in the line of his brow now, and his chin seemed more male somehow, more stubborn. Maybe it was simply the slow burgeoning of

Emma’s awakened powers, changing him as it did her. Or maybe all that they’d been through had reshaped him, burning the innocence away. I was never as innocent as you saw me, he sent, wry amusement softening the words. Maybe not, she thought, but both of them had lost a little lightness in the battle to escape the Brotherhood. They had done terrible things to defend themselves. The reasons for doing those things didn’t diminish how terrible they were. “Emma! We must hurry!” Felani clapped her hands together, stalking down the sidewalk to meet them. The chieftain of the ocelot maidens looked incredible; she wore black leather over-the-knee stiletto boots, a cream skater style skirt that swished with every step, and a double breasted Berber coat that covered almost everything but had lacing in the back to emphasize the maiden’s tinywaisted silhouette. Her hair was piled up in a loose chignon and secured with sticks. How on earth she got it to stay there was beyond Emma. The rest of the maidens were all just as stunning as Felani, and they’d been with Emma long enough

she could tell them apart and put names to faces, but Felani had something the others didn’t. Maybe because she was their leader. There was a ruthless, knife edged perfectionist streak to Felani, and she poured it all into this unshakable facade of hyperfemininity. Most of the jaguars were dismissive of Felani’s concern with clothes and makeup and all the other girly stuff. After almost six months, Emma knew Felani never did anything without a damn good reason. She’d been around a long time. She knew what she was doing. “I can’t believe you have to waste your time with this crap,” Anton said as he opened the car door for Emma. Climbing in beside her, Felani shot him a dark look over the tops of her sunglasses, but Emma put a hand on the maiden’s arm. “Anton,” Emma said, leaning over Felani. “This is the one hour I’ll get today without a million bodyguards crawling up my ass, and I am going to enjoy it.” She waved and pulled the car door closed. “See you later.” Fern and Leah camped out in the waiting room, and

the rest of the guards had the place surrounded, which was the only reason nobody bitched when Emma and Felani took their comms units out. Besides, it was too late; they were already being ushered into the fancy-ass treatment rooms by two ridiculously well groomed beauty technicians. God, how could a facial last so long? And hurt so much? They’d exfoliated her face so thoroughly, she wouldn’t be surprised to find she’d lost a few pounds from the dead skin alone. By the time the beauty techs had finished, all the makeup Felani applied to Emma’s face that morning was gone, along with like, five years’ worth of aging, which was not good. But when she tried to explain to Felani that at twenty four years old she didn’t need anti-aging anything unless she wanted to look like she was still in high school — which, just, no — Felani merely rolled her eyes. Then there was the real reason they’d taken the comms units out: waxing. The others really didn’t need to hear Emma’s wimpy screams. She hadn’t shaved her legs in forever; it was the sort of thing you forgot to do when you were

constantly fighting for your life, or training to fight for your life, or recovering from all the injuries you sustained fighting for your life. Not only did the waxing hurt, but it took away a nice insulating layer of hair that had been keeping her warm. Felani was unsympathetic. At her command, they took everything: legs, arms, underarms, brows and upper lip — Emma didn’t even have any hair there, for God’s sake. When it came time for the bikini, Emma was extremely glad the comms unit was in the front pocket of her jeans, which were folded neatly on a chair in the other room. The beauty techs weren’t thrilled Emma had worn jeans. Apparently tight denim caused ingrown hairs after waxing, especially in very specific places. Emma knew she’d been told that before, but it had been so long since she’d been insecure enough about sleeping with a guy that she’d bothered to do anything but the most basic grooming stuff… As they were dressing, Felani quietly assured her it wouldn’t be an issue. “Not if we buy those crazy expensive lotions

they’re trying to sell us,” Emma muttered. The techs were out of the room. Her jeans felt weird on her shiny hairless legs, and everything else just felt weird. “Silly,” Felani said cheerfully, zipping her endless boots. “When was the last time you had a blemish of any kind, living with over a dozen of us?” “Uh…” “It’s the energy. The magic of the Change. Even Zachariah began to look younger, living with us for only a few months.” Thinking of Zach gave Emma a pang of homesickness. Judging by the tightness around Felani’s eyes, she felt the same way, not that she’d ever admit it. “Funny, I thought he looked older. Living with us gave him more gray hairs.” “Pfff, you are young, you think everyone over thirty looks old.” Emma smiled sweetly at the maiden. “I don’t think you look old.” Felani pointed at her. The maiden’s eyes flashed with warning. Then she poked her tongue

out and made a rude noise, and they cracked up together. Anton and Raul were waiting at the door when they got out. Anton gave them both a once over and threw his hands up. “You look exactly the same.” “Dude,” Raul said. “Do you have a death wish?” As the two men bickered and updated the rest of the team — Emma had her comms unit back in, so the deep voices of several guards filled her ear — Emma spotted Ricky darting across the street, hands full of takeaway coffees. He drew a lot of interested looks from women passing by. He offered her a coffee by way of greeting and grinned at her as she wrapped her hands around it gratefully. “Mmm, warm.” Man, London in October was cold when you didn’t have any leg hair. She went to sip her coffee and stopped. “What?” Ricky was frowning, glancing around. Then he shrugged. “Nothing. Just not used to being in a big city I guess. Hey Fern, here.” As Fern came out of the salon, Ricky handed him the other coffee. Fern

nodded and touched Emma’s elbow before turning back to Leah to answer some question Emma didn’t catch. Alexi, Emma said, reaching for his mind and instantly sensing him coming towards them from a street away. Is everything okay? His voice caressed the inside of her head. Yes. I’ve been trying to stay out of your thoughts, as you’ve been shielding very thoroughly, but all is well. Sorry, nothing personal, just didn’t want you to know what a wimp I am about having my legs waxed. Also, y’know, it’s not that sexy. We haven’t been dating long. Gotta keep the mystery going. You will always be strange and mysterious to me. She mentally swatted him; he was mocking her. His silent laughter made her heart swell. Then he sobered. What is wrong? They started moving. Nothing. Wait — “Anybody else hear that,” Ricky began. Anton and Raul turned. Emma looked around; there was nothing out of the ordinary on the street, commuters and shoppers either casting appreciative glances at

the men or ignoring them. A stiff breeze chilled Emma’s ears and neck. Felani froze, swiveling her head in a way no human would, her small hand shackling Emma’s wrist. Emma turned back and saw Fern and Leah were a few steps behind. There was a sound like fabric snapping in a high gale — Fern’s eyes went wide and he lunged for her. Leah was a second behind him. They were both too late; darkness fell from the sky and tore Emma from the pavement in a hurricane of black feathers and raking claws. Emma’s heart leapt into her throat as she was jerked airborne. The ground fell away in a dizzying rush, and there was a deafening, rhythmic roar drowning out the shouts coming through the comms unit. Then came the barrage of telepathic contact — Em! FLOWER Em Emma, tell me what you see —

For a split second whatever had her let go, and what she saw was rooftops rushing to meet her in a grisly embrace, before those giant claws clamped around her shoulders and waist, crushing her ribs and wrenching her bad left shoulder. She screamed through her teeth at the pain. Whatever had her dipped, then began climbing again, faster and faster now. Wind howled in her ears, completely nixing the feed from the comms. She felt like her arms were about to tear off; she had to get a better grip, but there was no way to move. Strength flowed into her. A lot of it. The pain fell away. She grabbed a long black claw in each hand and swung her legs with everything she had; she jack-knifed back, flipped her legs up and forward into a pike, and rammed both booted feet into whatever had her. She caught sight of feathers, endless gleaming black feathers. Her kick got no response. She felt four minds in hers, breath held and waiting, hearts pounding with fear for her. She just had to hold on until the thing that had her landed; then Red could dematerialize to her and she would be fine.

She jerked back against the thing’s hold, her momentum twisting her in its grip, and just as she was beginning to think her ribs might break — She was suddenly freefalling. She hit something solid but it was moving, and she spilled backwards, rolling and clawing at the smooth surface. Traffic roared and wind whipped her hair into her face, and she made the terrible, terrible mistake of looking down. Yep, she was scrambling for purchase on the roof of a truck. Something landed behind her with a colossal, metallic boom, and the truck swerved. Emma tried to kick away from the edge and failed. She rolled, four minds flowing into her limbs and forcing her muscles to contract with a dozen times more force than she could produce alone; she snapped back and flung herself into an airborne tuck, and caught herself on hands and the balls of her feet, breath sawing out of her in harsh angry sobs. Hair thrashing in the truck’s slipstream, Emma looked up. The gorgeous black man crouched in front of

her was grinning, naked, and cloaked in white light. Red Sun’s anger burst through her; he couldn’t pinpoint her while she was moving. Fern’s beast turned her hands black and his human terror flooded her mouth with the copper taste of adrenaline. Alexi coiled cold and deadly within her, just waiting, and Telly’s fury tolled through her blood like a bell, his power holding them together, channeling their strength into her in a way none of them alone could do. Get out, she commanded him. Now is not the time for pride, Em! And now was not the time to argue. Alexi, get him out. Emma… Do it. She felt Telly’s confusion a split second before Alexi used his bond with Emma to cut them off. But she still had Fern and Red Sun. And she had her own damn power, too. She reached inside, reaching for it — White light flashed, blinding her, and the naked

dude disappeared as black feathered wings burst out of the light of the Change. The wingspan was at least twelve feet across. Emma caught a glimpse of glittering eyes and a raptor’s curved beak splitting open, and then there was a sound that made Emma think dinosaur, and then those claws descended on her again. This time, when they landed, the surface was stationary: it was one of the walkways that spanned the Tower of London’s outer walls. Stone ramparts stretched ahead and behind. It was still cold, but the relief of no longer being subjected to high speed winds felt to Emma’s body like warmth. There were no tourists in sight, but that couldn’t last. Her in-ear comms unit had fallen out at some point. Tower of London, Emma sent to Fern and Red Sun. Red’s frustration boiled through the connection. That whole fucking area is covered in ancient wards, I can’t Travel there. Their minds disappeared from hers as Red dematerialized, but

he didn’t know exactly how far the wards stretched. They would be there as soon as they could. The giant claws dropped her. She staggered, flexed the strange psychic muscle connected to her power, and opened the Call. The Call was like psychic sonar for shapechangers; the magic in their blood that made them what they were opened like a third eye, except they were the eye, every cell and every atom of them. They used it to identify each other, to sense danger, and to touch another’s beast if they had the power and the metaphysical connection to do so. Emma’s power allowed her do that to any shapechanger — simply open the Call, reach out, and take hold of their beast as easy as gathering a newborn kitten into her hands. What she could do with that power once she held it was at once wonderful and terrible. Magic lashed the air in a freezing, invisible flood, sparking Emma’s every nerve with power. Behind her something screeched, a huge, prehistoric sound. Her power rushed to meet it.

Darkness and elation and fierce pride battered her, thrashing at her shields like a thousand wings, the feathers sharp enough to draw blood, sharp enough to kill — he wasn’t happy with Emma’s power stopping him. She turned and faced a raven the size of a draft horse. Magnificent. It mantled giant wings and opened its beak and cawed at her again. The wings beat the air, buffeting Emma. The long flight feathers were longer than she was tall, shining with blue and purple highlights like an oil slick, and the down at its breast was so dense and rich it looked like if you plunged your hand in, you’d sink all the way to the elbow. The raven cocked its head and shook itself. The beast and the mind of the man inside it pushed against Emma’s power, and it took Emma’s breath away. Sweat broke out on her face. He didn’t want to be held, and Emma didn’t want to hold him. Fern burst into her mind. Just a little longer. Gone.

The raven took one step forward. Its black, scaled toes were as long as Emma’s arm and tipped with wicked claws, and Emma sure as hell felt where they’d clutched at her. She was going to have some amazing bruises. “No, you don’t,” she murmured as the raven took two more steps forward. She reached for the power of her marked hand. A bad thought flashed through her mind: what if using the mark draws on Telly’s power? But there was no time for that now. Heat ignited in her palm, sending shocks up her arm. “Face me like a man,” she told the raven. “Unless you’re chicken.” Then she closed the Call, folding away her power, drawing the magic back down until it was nothing more than a spark behind her breastbone. White light exploded. Emma flung her arm in front of her eyes. She heard him coming, her vision still dancing with white spots, and she dropped her arm and let him get kissing-close before driving her right fist into his lower ribs. He doubled over, all the air going out of him in

a rush. She danced back. He really was stunning — long hair in cornrows, gleaming deep brown skin, broad shoulders and crisp muscles and strong legs that went on forever. He had dense sleeve tattoos, beautiful ink in a riot of color, and the tats continued down the slabs of his pectorals like a mantle. He straightened. Yep. Cheekbones to die for; eyes as black as Fern’s. Square chin. Wickedly full mouth. Why couldn’t any of the shapechanger royals look slightly less than screamingly attractive, like ever? And yeah, she knew this one was a royal. Only a royal could have pushed at her power like that without passing out. “Can we skip to the part where you tell me what you want,” Emma asked. That full mouth widened in a smile that told Emma this man never, ever needed to work for attention. “You are the real deal, aren’t you love?” His accent was London all the way, his voice deep and touchable. Emma kept her eyes on his face with the ease of

practice that came from sharing a house with a whole bunch of people who thought nothing of nudity. “Yup. That’s me. Very real and also very cold and pissed off. What do you want, raven king.” His eyebrows went up. “You think me a king?” Emma cocked her head. “Prince? Lord? Duke maybe?” He crossed his arms, cornrows shifting over his shoulders. “You haven’t done your homework.” “And you’ve started three sentences in a row with the same word. What are you, a non player character?” The raven whatever-he-was tipped his head back and roared with laughter, white teeth flashing and shoulders shaking. Other parts of his anatomy shook as well, and Emma just wanted to know: why her? Seriously, why? Fern’s thoughts poured through the bond, a sudden loud jumble of words and images before he collected himself. Almost there. They were at the public gate, brainwashing their way past staff and security. Red couldn’t Travel in or out of the

Tower’s magical wards, and he couldn’t dematerialize within the wards either. The raven pain-in-her-ass had certainly done his homework. Raven-douche uncrossed his arms as his laughter died. He leveled a smug smile at Emma. “This is my city. Wanted to welcome you to it, personal like.” He opened his arms and dropped a wink. “Give you a bit of the aerial tour.” Speaking of tours, Emma could hear a crowd gathering below on the green, murmurs turning to shouts — Jerome must have been spotted. He couldn’t hang around much longer without risking exposure. Well, more exposure. If she kept him talking… Emma’s ribs were really starting to hurt. She breathed carefully through her nose to keep her voice even. “Your city, huh? What about the Cantiaci?” His Dickishness clapped once. “What a dour lot! Don’t tell me you’re caught up in their nonsense, love.” His black eyes narrowed. “Nothing good’ll come of that.” “Thanks for the heads up, your majesty,” Emma said dryly. “I’m sure you’re a reliable source.”

He tilted his head, regarding her out of the corner of one eye. “Ouch. Ah, here come your knights now, riding to the rescue. I’d best be off then.” He tilted his head the other way, shook himself, then leveled his gaze at her. “You weren’t at all what I expected.” Emma said nothing. Go, she thought at him fiercely, just go before they get here. She felt Fern and Red getting closer; she did not want them confronting a thousand pound corvid that could attack from the air. “Most girls would take that bait,” he said speculatively. “What, the ‘you’re not what I expected’ thing? Think I haven’t heard that a million times?” Mister tall-dark-and-feathered looked taken aback. She had to give him the opportunity to make his exit on a bang. “Look, why don’t you give me your number and I’ll be in touch, okay? We’ll do lunch. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” His mouth widened in a grin and he started towards her. “I’ll think about that, love,” he purred. “Aye, I will.”

Emma saw the kiss coming a mile away. She heard Fern shout. Footsteps pounding on stone. Oh, for fuck’s sake, she thought tiredly, shielding against Fern to prevent him from throwing them both into the merge, and braced as the raven-dude grasped her shoulders and planted a scorcher on her mouth. His lips were sinfully hot, and he tasted like cinnamon and pepper and rum. She didn’t quite do a full impersonation of a dead fish, but it was close. He pulled back, looking down at her in confusion. She sighed. “Done, your majesty?” Go, go, please fucking go! He backed off, eyes narrowed, and pointed at her. “We are definitely not done.” He bared his teeth. “And you can call me Captain.” With that he disappeared in a blinding burst of light, and the giant raven took to the air in a hurricane of feathered darkness. Emma stared. So that was how a raven the size of a small car could fly over London in broad

daylight without drawing military response: as soon as he got the wind under his wings, his form seemed to shatter, shot through with white light. Ten more feet and the illusion solidified. The flock of ravens soared away. Fern jerked her into his arms and she hit his chest with an “oof” of surprise. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said, muffled by his shirt. “Fern, gotta breathe.” He loosened his hold and she took a deep draught of his scent: warm cotton, clean skin, the faint spice of healthy male sweat. So good. Maidens surrounded them, and Anton and Raul arrived looking harried and relieved to see Emma in one piece. Red Sun paced past them, hands on his hips, massive shoulders bunched up. He was in angry mountain-mode. He stared after the rapidly receding illusion of ravens. He’s gonna need a minute, Fern sent. Emma stepped back, looking up into Fern’s face. “Where’s Alexi?” Fern’s brows came down. He opened his mouth. Emma reached for Alexi’s mind, and what she felt made her turn and sprint back the way Fern

and the others had come, not bothering to explain to them — they were faster than her, they’d catch up, and they all had to get clear of the Tower wards so Red could jump them back to Alexi. Before Telly killed him.

13 Air snapped as they rematerialized in the alleyway off the street the cars were parked in. Anton staggered away, retching, while Raul reeled and everyone else caught their feet and turned. Emma was the only one of them breathing like a freight train from their epic sprint through the Tower of London’s grounds. She shoved hair out of her face and saw Ricky and Leah at the mouth of the alleyway with several other jaguar guards. Then she saw Alexi and Telly and her brain stopped.

As Anton was constantly reminding her, all hand to hand combat eventually ended up on the ground. That was why Emma’s training focused on quick attacks, even quicker retreats, and explosive speed; she was no match for a shapechanger’s strength, and if she got taken down to the ground, she was dead. Her training gave her the skills to land one good blow with her marked hand and then get the hell out of there. She had watched the jaguar guards spar, and even at their most relaxed pace, they were ten times more brutal than any MMA prizefighter. None of Emma’s training was designed to make her fit to fight a shapechanger in a sustained bout. How much time had passed between the moment the Captain took her and now? Surely less than ten minutes; more than enough time for Telly and Alexi to fuck each other up. Both men were bleeding from noses and cut lips and eyebrows, and they glowed like torches in the cool shadow of the alleyway, skin rolling with white light and eyes like fire. Telly had Alexi on the ground in a headlock, his good leg blocking

Alexi’s attempts to kick free. Telly’s left leg stuck out at the wrong angle from the knee, and beneath the bloodstained denim there was something sharp and pointy that Emma simply couldn’t think about. Alexi’s right hand didn’t look like a hand, it looked like a split melon. One of his eyes was black and purple and swollen shut. Telly’s forearms bulged and strained with the effort of holding Alexi, and Alexi’s face was turning red, his lips peeled back from his teeth, eyes burning like Jack-O-lanterns. He’d managed to get his left hand in the way of Telly’s grip, which was likely the only reason he was still breathing. Fern’s mind flowed into Emma on high alert, waiting for the berserker rage to rise, but it wasn’t going to — she was too afraid. She’d frozen. She had to do something. Someone had to do something. She looked around, and saw what had been blindingly obvious: everyone had already tried to do something. Fatima had her hands on Ivan, whose shirt was ripped, arm hanging limp; Kal stood by them, lip split and one eye lensed with blood; Seshua sagged against the brick wall

with his robes in disarray and a murderous look on his face, Marco beside him. More guards, bloodied and watching the fight with grim expressions. Telly lost his shit when you kicked him out of your head, Red spoke in her mind, his hand brushing her back as he came up beside her. Demanded I take him with us when we finally got your location. Alexi provided the diversion. Neither of them seemed to have noticed Emma or anyone else was there. They’d reached that point where there was no sense nor reason, the thing they were fighting over didn’t matter anymore, their world had narrowed to blood and survival. Alexi’s expression was pure effort, and Telly’s was absolute incandescent fury. Telly was going to choke Alexi or suffocate him or both. “I’m gonna end this now,” Red murmured and started forward. “No,” Emma said in her scary voice, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I am.” “Flower —” “Red,” Fern said. “You know what she is. Let

her be.” Emma stepped forward and opened the Call. Magic rushed from her, electric and eager, rushing to touch the beasts of every single living soul in the alleyway. They flared in her awareness like islands of light, every one of them pure and burning with power, but there was only one she wanted, needed to touch, and she reached for Telly with the part of her that she still didn’t understand but that always, always seemed to know what to do. Telly raised his face and met her eyes. Her power crashed into his. It was like stepping into an industrial wind tunnel hitting Mach II. Emma was blown back, feet lifting from the ground, and then strong arms caught her from behind and Red’s beast surrounded her with the scent of fur and autumn. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Telly’s power didn’t let up; Red anchored her as it lifted her again, his massive body straining at her back. His beast wedged against her power, lending her its strength. She trusted him to hold her, closed her eyes, and

reached for Telly’s mind. Chaos. Rage. The weight of time, so much fucking time, squeezing his mind until it shattered into a million pieces. And beneath it all a blind and crippling terror — the terror that the only thing that had given his endless life meaning, that justified all the terrible things he’d seen, would be taken from him forever and it would all be for nothing. Her. She was that one thing. She opened her eyes and her gaze collided with his. His eyes were white, their light eclipsing his face. He still didn’t know she was there. She was touching his beast, his power, the essence that made him what he was, but he was so far gone he’d stopped thinking or even feeling, he was just rage and fear. “Elia,” she said in a voice that hummed like struck crystal. “Elia, Telheshtevanne, sha-den, den velleheshli ka hirdam.” She didn’t know where the words came from, but she was connected to Telly, so she understood them. Stop. Stop, Telheshtevanne, in my name, in

the name of the Caller of the Blood. Telly’s power cried out as it recognized her, a shrill, joyous bell tolling in her head, a falcon’s cry. Pain lanced her skull and black spots bloomed in front of her eyes. She felt him let go of Alexi and try to stand, and her vision cleared in time for her to see him plunge as his broken leg collapsed. His knees hit the ground. Alexi keeled over, coughing, rolling to his back. I’ll hold Telly, she sent to Fern and Ivan. Get Alexi up. Don’t run! They obeyed, slinking like shadows along the alley walls. Emma clenched her teeth — they felt like they were vibrating right out of her gums with feedback from Telly’s power. Fern got his hands on Alexi. Ivan got Alexi’s good arm over his shoulder. Alexi’s eyes were closed but he was still conscious, and he didn’t need to be carried, only helped. That was good. It meant she didn’t have to try to kill Telly herself. Once Alexi and the others were behind her, she closed the Call. Red steadied her as her feet

touched the ground. Telly’s eyes cleared, from white to palest cornflower blue, and he swayed. “Em.” She took her first full breath in almost ten minutes. Her ribs were not okay. “Do you have any idea what I would have done to you if you’d killed him,” she asked Telly. He shook his head, but it wasn’t in answer, he was punch drunk. “Wasn’t trying to kill him. Trying to make him let me in.” Telly growled, voice going impossibly deep. “He locked me out of you. You were in danger, you needed my help, and you were too stubborn to take it because it meant having me in your head and he allowed —” “You fucking moron!” Emma burst away from Red and then managed to stop herself. She clenched her fists. “We shut you out to protect you. You were using your magic to help me and I wasn’t even fighting! If Captain Douchebag wanted me dead he would have dropped me in front of the truck, not on top of it, and there would’ve been nothing you or anyone else could do to prevent it, because none of us knew there were giant goddamn

ravens flying around London in broad daylight.” Telly blinked. Twice. He shook his head again, like he had water in his ears. “You did it to protect me?” Emma threw her hands up. “Yes.” Telly frowned. “Who?” Emma frowned. “What?” His eyes darkened. “Whose idea was it, to save me from myself. Yours or Alexi’s.” Emma opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. Finally she sighed. “It wasn’t anyone’s idea. We didn’t think about it. We didn’t have to.” She couldn’t say the rest, couldn’t give a rundown of the silent conversation she had with Alexi the night before. They hadn’t needed to talk about it then either, not really. If Telly was in danger of losing himself to his magic, then they would do whatever was necessary to stop that from happening. It wasn’t even a question. There was no other option. They would not lose him. Telly went sheet white. “You cannot place my safety above yours. I forbid it.”

“Oh, you forbid it, do you?” His upper lip curled in a snarl. “Yes.” Alexi stepped up beside Emma, one arm slung over Fern’s shoulders for support. “Good luck with that, my friend.” His face was covered in blood, and his hand looked so bad Emma had to bite her cheek in order to stay stoic. His neck was purple and red with bruises. His black eye was spectacular but otherwise fine, and he cradled his ruined right hand against his chest, the remote expression on his face betraying none of the agony that pulsed through the connection to Emma. She met Fern’s eyes. They were black from lid to lid. He felt it too. “Uh, guys,” Leah called out. “Can we hurry this up a little? My brain is cramping from mind fucking innocent bystanders.” “Mine too,” Ricky added. “My brain is fine,” Raul chimed in. Leah made a rude noise. “Well la di da.” Telly’s leg had to be set before they could get to the cars. Fatima was their only true healer, but Red

Sun had plenty of field experience, and he helped her. The pointy shape Emma had glimpsed poking at the leg of Telly’s jeans was his shin bone. There wasn’t much blood — he’d slowed his pulse and dropped his blood pressure as soon as the fight ended, which was why he’d been swaying and finding it hard to focus — but there was meat, and gore, and it killed Emma to watch them force the bone back into place. But she had to do it. Telly thought he could forbid her from watching out for his safety, as though she took his orders, and Alexi had emphatically dismissed that notion in front of absolutely everyone who mattered. If that was going to stick, she needed to look just as scary as she had when she was standing in the face of Telly’s power. Cringing away from a broken bone didn’t exactly scream “fear me.” Especially when Telly never made a sound. Alexi refused to let Fatima treat his hand in the alleyway. “In the car will be fine,” he said as though the limb in question didn’t look like a pot roast.

They had to stay silent on the drive back to the hotel, because Fatima had to chant. Alexi was an ancient and as powerful as they came, and he could heal the broken, split hand on his own, but it would take him more time than they had to recover his full strength. They had a dinner with the bears to attend. If the bears were as excited about duels as Red and Telly made it sound, then Alexi really, really needed his right hand. Of course, there was a big difference between “duel” and “all-out, nasty-as-fuck brawl to the death,” the former conjuring mental pictures of gentlemen with swords and well groomed facial hair, the latter being what Emma had just witnessed in that alleyway. Did any of her people even know how to use a sword? Fatima would — the jackals carried ceremonial blades when they weren’t traveling in foreign countries with strict weapons policies. Surely Shadi could use a sword, too. But the jaguars were all about knives. And guns, of course. Packing heat in London in broad daylight wasn’t an option, but at least they’d be able to go armed

tonight. There was a moment as they reached the hotel rooms on the third floor when Emma thought she was going to get Alexi all to herself. Then Seshua caught up to them and shattered that moment. He shoved ahead of them into the main suite, and he didn’t even need to say the words: the look he shot Emma screamed “we need to talk.” Red Sun followed Telly into one of the other rooms. The walking god wasn’t walking so much as lurching, but he could put weight on the leg. Alexi no longer needed Fern’s help to stay upright, but Fern stayed by Emma’s side, wary; Ricky and Anton stuck close behind and Emma was too tired to come up with a reason why they couldn’t sit in on whatever lecture Seshua had planned. So much for a few quiet moments. As soon as the door closed, Seshua rounded on Alexi. “Explain yourself. Now.” Emma took a breath to tell Seshua where he could shove his demands, but Fern stilled her with a thought. His black gaze was on Alexi. Alexi lowered himself carefully into one of the

fancy antique armchairs. “You know why Telly must not use his powers in this realm.” Seshua stripped off his robes with controlled violence. “She was at risk.” “She is standing right here,” Alexi said tiredly. “And you heard what she told the walking god. The raven king —” “Captain,” Emma corrected. “The raven Captain did not want her dead. But that is beside the point. If he had tried to kill her, then he would be dead himself, because Emma is not without her own resources.” Seshua eyed the both of them with skepticism. Emma tried not to look surprised; it would ruin the effect of what Alexi was going to say next. “You’ve seen what she can do to her enemies with Fern’s beast to amplify her power.” Alexi’s tone was casual; the look in his eyes was feral. “That was before. She is ten times more powerful now. She and Fern wield the dark change like a weapon.” That was how she and Fern thought of it, the dark change.

Seshua crossed his arms over his bare chest. “You haven’t seen them do this.” Alexi’s lip lifted. “I have seen their memories. And I’ve seen the aftermath, when we defeated the rest of the priesthood.” Seshua met Emma’s eyes. “Am I to believe this? That he trusts you to judge a situation life or death as you see fit? He, an ancient of immeasurable power. And you.” Seshua’s voice shook. “Human, and little more than —” “If you say ‘than a girl,’” Ricky cut in, “say goodbye to your balls, man.” Seshua’s voice turned volcanic with rage. “I am the only one taking any of this seriously!” Alexi’s power lashed out, cold and stinging with anger. “Do you honestly think I would put Telly’s safety before hers?” He started out of his chair, eyes burning yellow, and Emma stopped him with a thought. He met her eyes. You’re tired and irritated and in pain, she said in his head. Save your strength. He eased back into the armchair. His power

coiled away, nipping Emma’s skin as it faded, as if to remind her it was there and it wasn’t happy. Emma looked up and found Seshua watching them. His face was still harsh with fury, but the look in his eyes was bruised. “Seshua,” she said reasonably. “Have you ever been a danger to me?” He frowned at her. “Of course.” Sigh. “I mean to my life.” His brow smoothed out. “You had no way of knowing what the Captain of the ravens wanted with you. He could have been after your head for a trophy.” “What would that achieve?” “I don’t know, I don’t care!” Seshua bared his teeth and started to pace. “We are in foreign territory —” Emma cut him off. “What is this really about, Seshua?” He stopped, half turned away. Emma tilted sideways to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at her. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this.

It would honestly be kinda funny if she hadn’t spent the past half hour flying through the sky in the talons of a giant bird, getting thrown into moving traffic, and trying to prevent the walking god from killing her serpent priest. “Seshua,” she said quietly. “You didn’t fail me.” He turned. The air got hard to breathe all of a sudden, heavy with the taste of power, sharp with the scent of blood and lush growing things; Seshua’s aura pressing at Emma, thick and touchable. But its caress was not a seduction, not this time. This time Emma tasted its fear. Seshua’s eyes held twin points of gold. His face had started to turn; his nose was thicker and flatter than it should be, his eyes too round, his jaw heavy with curved teeth. “What am I supposed to do with you?” Those drowning blue eyes searched her face. “Even if I locked you away.” His voice went impossibly deep. “Even if you did not have more than two dozen loyal and bonded servants and companions willing to lay down their lives to free you. You would only need ask me for the key,

and I would be powerless to refuse you.” That was Seshua, always hung up on power. “You’re not powerless. We’re having this conversation, aren’t we?” He made a deafeningly loud coughing sound that was all jaguar, shaking his head once as if to clear it. “The only reason I can argue with you is because we never completed the ritual! If not for that, I’d be just as compliant as the others.” Fern and Alexi gave identical snorts of laughter. Seshua bared his teeth at them. “Is something funny?” Emma forced her face into neutral. “Um. They argue with me all the time.” “A token gesture —” “Nope.” Emma shook her head. “We have real arguments. Just because we resolve them doesn’t mean they aren’t fights.” And some of them were not at all resolved, because Emma refused to go there. She didn’t kid herself into thinking Alexi’s silence meant he’d dropped the subject — he’d just dropped it for now.

Seshua crossed his arms again, his face shutting down. “I find that impossible to believe. They obey your every whim, even to the point of endangering you. The only rational explanation is they are helpless to do otherwise.” Oh Jesus. Okay, she needed an example that didn’t involve bringing up Alexi’s insistence on the viability of non-monogamous relationships. She blew her breath out through her teeth. “When we came to the Roadhouse after the serpent priests attacked the Ranch, Fern and I had just had a screaming match because he tricked me into letting Red dematerialize us away from the battle.” Seshua looked from Emma to Fern. He pursed his lips. Then bared his teeth again. “And how did it end.” “Given the chance to reassess,” Fern said, “I probably still would’ve tricked her into letting Red dematerialize us, because her safety was at stake. I did it for the wrong reasons, but it was the right choice.” “And I still disagree,” Emma said darkly. “I could order him directly never to do that again. I

could’ve ordered him directly not to do it in the moment. But that would be unfair. That would make him powerless.” She shrugged. “Alexi still hasn’t forgiven me for lying to him when he asked me not to come after him when he went up against the priesthood, but we agree to disagree on that one.” Alexi grunted. Ha ha, no laughter now. You will regret bringing that up again, Alexi said in her head, his mental touch cool as brushed steel. Emma shivered. Regret wasn’t exactly the right word… “I could never do that,” Seshua said in a small voice Emma had never heard him use. Emma frowned at him. “Do what?” Seshua’s eyes were wide, his face human again. “Compromise, as they do. I was not made to bend.” Emma’s mind flashed on the memory, so awful, so sharp and awful, of Seshua lying broken, crushed and dying, in the ruins of the serpent priesthood’s grand temple. She’d thought he was

dead, but he’d merely slowed his metabolism to a crawl to prevent his wounds from killing him quickly. He’d roused himself, and instantly begun to seize. She’d told him to make the Pledge, because it would make him stronger and bind his lifeforce to hers, and she was bound to so many others now, surely together it would have been easy to save his life. But he’d refused. “When you bind yourself to me,” he’d said, “It will be because you want me, not because you cannot stand to lose me.” The others had fallen into utter silence. Seshua looked… lost. He was so big, and so unstoppable — he was king, more than any other royal Emma knew. It wasn’t his title, it was his identity. He was made to rule. He was raised to rule her. He’d sacrificed so much — even Beata, whom he had loved — to do so. Emma couldn’t tell him he’d already done what he was so adamant he would never do. He wasn’t the kind of man to take that well. “Don’t bend for me, Seshua.” She wrapped her

arms around herself to resist the urge to reach for him. He wasn’t one of hers, she couldn’t treat him that way. Dangerous to forget that. “Don’t change for me,” she said. “Just trust me. Just try. Pretend for a minute that I know what I’m doing, and remember that when I don’t know what I’m doing, I have the benefit of a bunch of other big, wonderful, intelligent brains connected to mine. That’s how I pull this off, you know. I’d be screwed if not for them, and everyone else that gets me through.” She held his gaze, willing him to listen. “If not for you.” An odd expression crossed his face, rising behind his eyes like the dawn. His brows furrowed. He opened his mouth and someone knocked on the door. Seshua’s mouth closed with a clack. “My lord.” Marco’s muffled voice. “We are running out of time to review the security plan for this evening.” The tropical spice of storm and power died on the air, snapping back into the bounds of Seshua’s skin as though it had never been. Seshua nodded to

Emma. “Pequeña,” he said curtly, with none of the usual warmth. He nodded at Alexi. “Priest.” Without deigning to say goodbye to the others, he left. Emma took her first full breath in she didn’t know how long and turned to them all. “He’s been this way since Russia.” By now, no one needed to ask what “since Russia” meant. “Technically,” Alexi said, unfolding to his feet. “He has been this way since his father died. You represent everything he’s ever worked for, and he could not protect you in your darkest moment. It was like a death for Seshua. He had the chance to cheat death by fulfilling his father’s legacy, and he failed.” Alexi shrugged, his face impassive. “He’s always been a prideful bastard, but now he’s a complicated one, as well. Which is just excellent,” he added flatly. He turned, giving a halfhearted wave at Anton and Ricky. “I must rest. Stay, or go as you please.” With a nod, he started for the bathroom, and a moment later the door clicked behind him. Then there was the sound of the

shower running. “We should review the security stuff for tonight, if they’re going over that now,” Anton said to Ricky, who nodded. Anton pointed at Emma. “You should rest too. And you, Aranan.” Ricky clapped Fern on the shoulder and dropped a kiss on Emma’s forehead before following his brother out. Emma and Fern looked at each other. His eyes were stark and ringed with shadows, his cheeks hollow. She knew her own exhaustion was reflected there. Fern flashed her a grim smile. So how badly is Alexi pretending he’s just fine after that fight? She let out a shaky breath. It’s bad. He’d fought a god. Not only that, but he’d been beaten to shit by his ex. Fern threaded his fingers through hers and drew her into the comfort of his arms. She sagged against him. So warm, so solid and good. He’ll be all right, Fern sent, breathing into her hair. We’ll make him all right.

Wringing his hair out in the bathroom sink, Alexi prayed to any god who might listen that the hotel suite stayed empty but for Emma and Fern. Gods, he was tired. Fatima had healed him, but there was only so much she could do with the extent of his injuries. He’d been bleeding internally from several ruptured vital organs, not to mention the fluid on his brain, which he’d known about, and the blood clot making its way to his heart, which he hadn’t. Fern suspected; Emma knew, he couldn’t hide it from her. One day, she would lose her cool and “freak out,” as Fern might say, like a normal human, but that day was not today. Instead she’d taken command of the situation with Seshua, diverting him completely so that Alexi could conserve his energy for healing himself. Sleep. He just needed a little sleep. He wrapped a bath sheet around his waist. Wrung his hair out one more time, and then squandered the metaphysical energy on willing it dry. He was so tired he could barely see, but he

made it to the bedroom in slow, measured steps without kicking any furniture and making an ass out of — He stopped. Blinked. All the air went out of him in a rush. Emma and Fern were in the bed. Boots and jeans and sweaters on the floor. They’d each taken a side, so the only place for him to lay was in between them. Emma propped herself on one elbow and met his eyes, her gaze serious, her mind calm even though he felt how hard her heart tripped. That fierce heart. It was all he needed to be well again, to feel her incredible heart beat against him. “You need rest,” she said. “Come to bed.” Ah, her voice. She had no idea how much power there was in the sound of her voice. It wasn’t obvious; her power hid itself, humble and unhurried, and by the time one realized how strong the compulsion was, one was already lost. She gave an impatient wave. His entire body tightened. Her hazel eyes sparked with mirth, and he forgot almost everything he’d ever had to

endure as his spirit hummed with a love so crystalline it felt like terror. She patted the mattress. “Come on, Fern has an idea.” Her eyes widened. “Not that kind of idea.” “Well,” said Fern. “Ha ha.” Emma pulled a face at him, and the he smirked back. Warmth, laughter, affection all fluoresced through the bond between them, but Alexi was bound to Emma in a different way, and his telepathy was far more sensitive. He caught the undercurrent of sadness that tugged at her heart. Oh, she masked it so well. I must be insane, Alexi thought, shielding from them easily. He was more afraid of what her feelings for Fern would do to her, than he had been for her safety when the Captain of the ravens took her. Enough with that. Alexi climbed onto the bed. Fern’s idea would save him hours of healing. If it hadn’t been for the concussion, he likely would have thought of this particular idea himself. He heard Emma swallow a small gasp as he shucked his towel. Breathe, he reminded himself.

Just breathe. He slid beneath the covers. Emma tucked herself against his arm, her cheek warm against his shoulder. He bit back a hiss of pure possession. Then Fern reached across him and drew Emma’s arm across Alexi’s chest. “The more contact, the better,” Fern said. Emma’s breath came a little faster, and Alexi kept his mind in careful neutral. Fern draped a leg over Alexi’s thigh. A moment later, Emma followed his lead and did the same. There was some more shuffling and adjusting. Alexi was on the verge of either going up in flames or passing out from the sheer relief of no longer needing to remain upright. Then Fern and Emma reached for each other, mind-to-mind, and merged. Their power flooded him, washing over him like a dark tide, peaceful and deadly and vast. It felt like pure, all encompassing rest after centuries of striving and killing and hating and surviving. He heard himself cry out and made only a halfhearted attempt to quiet himself. Gods, he was so fucking tired. And this…

Fern reached through the merge with Emma and took hold of Alexi’s physical systems, his touch deft and utterly sure. Oh, he was far better at this than Emma knew. Fern had his secrets. But they would not hurt Emma, those secrets, so Alexi let them be. He let everything be. He let Fern pour strength into him through Emma, gave himself up to them, and let them heal him.

14 Mid afternoon it started raining, and it still hadn’t stopped by the time Emma and her entire team arrived by car at the vast gated estate in Kent. As convenient as it would have been for Red to simply Travel with them all in the blink of an eye, it also would have been a demonstration of power the bears wouldn’t be able to resist answering. It was past sundown, and rain and darkness turned the huge manor into a glittering beacon in the night, golden light glowing in its many windows, blinding even at a distance. The drive

must have been a mile long. According to their intelligence, most of the surrounding area belonged to the bears, and that included a few hundred acres of woods, most of it heritage listed like the sprawling manor house was. Emma had assumed they were dealing with royals, but she hadn’t realized the bears were genuine, titled aristocracy. England was so weird. It only got weirder. A doorman and his two junior assistants came out to greet them in the middle of the vast circular drive, uniformed and gracious, holding umbrellas aloft. They were all human. Lively string music drifted out of the huge open doors to the mansion. Once inside, Emma and her team were greeted by yet more humans — a butler and head maid, both in their forties or fifties, decked out in full house staff uniforms. They took their coats. They smiled and bowed and curtsied. They didn’t bat an eyelash at the full arsenal of weapons everyone but Emma carried. They didn’t even pause when Seshua stepped in. Emma felt like she’d stepped right onto the set

of Downton Abbey. Everything glittered or glowed or glinted. Emma was pretty sure the wallpaper was damask. A massive, ornate open staircase dominated the entrance hall, and Jeeves gestured graciously for them to proceed up to the ballroom. Emma started having serious doubts about her wardrobe choices. She’d been so adamant she wasn’t wearing a dress this time, and now she was going to have to walk into a ballroom full of British aristocracy dressed in Doc Marten boots, skintight leather pants, and — now that her fancy frock coat was hanging on a gilded peg by the front door — a long sleeved black T-shirt with the Captain America shield on it. She’d bought it at the airport just in case she needed to horrify Felani, and it worked. The compromise on Emma’s outfit was that Felani did her hair and makeup. That was why from the neck up she looked like she was ready to go to prom. Everybody else just looked freaking delicious. The maidens wore diaphanous silk saris and went barefoot, their long copper hair swinging like

tinsel, their hypnotic eyes enhanced with smoky black shadow and mascara, no lipstick needed. Fern and the jaguar guards — including Ricky and Anton — all opted for black slacks and black shirts unbuttoned over white T-shirts, the perfect combo of casual style and “I’m armed and dangerous but not worried enough about you to have my weapons on full display.” Seshua and Alexi were in their piratical best: soft dark trousers tucked into high boots, loose linen shirts with laces at the throat and sleeve. Emma grasped from Alexi’s thoughts that the outfit similarity was intentional; they were meant to look allied, to remind the bears of the combined power of an ancient king and a first-gen serpent priest. Seshua’s hair was wild and loose; Alexi’s braided back so severely he looked from the front as though he’d cut it all off, while in the back, his braid swung like a whip to the waistband of his slacks. Emma loved how stark and unforgiving his face seemed with his hair swept back; his scars stood out, his canary yellow eyes were merciless and full of banked power.

Mine, a giddy little voice still whispered at the back of her mind from time to time when she looked at him. Now was definitely one of those times. Shadi wore something very similar to the jaguar king and the serpent priest, with a laced vest over the shirt and a sash of some kind about his hips. He wore no guns, but had produced his bow from wherever the hell he’d stashed it. His arrows traveled in a pouch strapped to his belt. Ivan had gone wild and worn exactly the same thing he always did, jeans, muscle tee, leather bomber jacket. Shitkickers and a perma-sneer completed the Billy Idol look. Fatima had gone in the opposite direction entirely; although her black cargo pants and boots were modern, she wore a brown linen wrap that crossed her breasts and formed a halter style top, leaving her midriff with its formidable six pack bare, while the ends of the wrap hung down in back like a cape. Her hair was up in a complex braid, and she wore a collar of what looked like beaten bronze, with matching cuffs, and a red gem rode her forehead somehow.

She bore a double-ended spear, short sword, and though they weren’t visible, Emma knew there were at least six knives on her. Red and Telly were the surprise. Red wore his usual boots and jeans, but his shirt was ivory and of an old style, like Seshua and Alexi’s, and he’d somehow come up with a tartan wrap that he wore draped from one shoulder to the opposite hip. The tartan was deep navy and pale gray. An iron brooch pinned it in place at his shoulder. Emma had wanted to tell him he looked extra spiffy, but he didn’t seem happy to be wearing the tartan, so she’d kept quiet. On the other hand, she would never have told Telly in a million years how spectacular he looked in the brown hunting boots and the dark blue Victorian military coat with its dozens and dozens of gleaming silver buttons, the wide cuffs of his white shirt framing his strong, callused hands. The coat’s stiff collar was turned up to frame the steep angle of his jaw, and his ears were pointed again, though bereft of rings. The midnight blue of the coat made his eyes look the color of the sea on an

overcast day. He did not give up his coat at the door. He wore no weapons of any kind, not that Emma could see, but that meant very little. She’d never seen him dressed in such a way, but it was more than the clothes. It was like he was no longer Telly, instead a stranger from another time, the way people in old photographs just didn’t look right; as though the architecture of their faces was as dated as that of the buildings they made. Emma remembered the way Telly’s accent had slipped into something more like Tanya’s the night before. She knew Red was native to the Scottish highlands, though she knew nothing of the period of prehistory in which he was born. Had he and Telly met each other here, in the British Isles? Was Telly from here, too? How the hell did you define that stuff when you were a ninety thousand-year-old god? Emma shuddered. Ninety. Thousand. Years. She couldn’t think about it. She didn’t know how. He and Red were so tense they were practically spring loaded, and they refused to leave Emma’s side. That left Fern behind her with Alexi

and Seshua in front, the combined bulk of their broad shoulders obscuring any kind of view. Always so glamorous. Become Caller of the Blood! Command awesome power, visit exotic locations, spend all your time looking at the backs of people’s heads. The blast of a hunting horn made Emma jump back and hit Fern. Thank God they weren’t on the freaking stairs! “Hail!” Emma couldn’t see the guy who’d cried out, not until Fern put his hands on her hips and lifted her half a foot. Jesus, he was strong. “Hail to Gwydion the returned prince!” Another blast of the horn. “Hail to Seshua, the jaguar king!” Yep, another horn blast. “Hail to Alexi, the serpent lord! Hail to the allies of the —” It went on. With her hands on Fern’s forearms to anchor herself, Emma got a load of what was happening at the head of their party: their crier stood to the left of a gigantic set of open doors, and beyond lay the ballroom. But it wasn’t a ballroom. Ballrooms had sprung

floors and cocktail seating and a bar. This was a feast hall. Packed. It was packed with people. Three long, narrow benches each sat to the left, right, and dead ahead of the entrance, set way back to leave the middle of the vast room clear. The floor was flagstone, no rugs. Heavy tapestries covered the walls. Huge wall-sconces added firelight to the buttery glow of the overhead chandeliers. The crier finished his whole shout-and-blow routine, and the silence was deafening. Not to mention eerie. So many people, not a sound. Put me down, Emma sent to Fern — then noticed he’d gone so still she couldn’t feel his breath. Did I miss something? Her feet touched the ground. Fern’s hands tightened on her. They didn’t announce you. Or me. Or the maidens. We’re servants. I’m counted with the servants, right? Wordless affirmation pulsed through the bond. Hmm. Emma aimed her thoughts at Red. You know these guys best. Should I be offended?

His anger felt like the first tremor of an avalanche rumbling beneath her feet. Or the psychic equivalent of her feet. They want you to be offended. Okay. Rule number one: don’t get offended. How likely are they to take a shot at me right now? Red gave a sub audible growl. Flower… Those odds sound good to me. Make sure Telly doesn’t try to stop me. Fern, come with me. Alexi, let us through. With that she pushed between Alexi and Seshua. Seshua’s nostrils flared in alarm; Alexi’s scarred face tightened with the stifled urge to smile. At least one person here trusts me, she thought in Red’s general direction. The guards parted for her. Leah brushed the back of her hand as she passed. Fatima’s eyes flared gold. Ricky and Anton didn’t spare a glance for her, too focused on staring down a feast hall full of hostiles, most of whom could probably turn into thousand pound killers. Emma and Fern reached the maidens at the head of their group. Most of them wore identical

expressions of bored resentment, which if you didn’t know them, you might mistake for neutral calm. Rish’s eyes were sharp as knives. Felani’s golden face was a frozen mask, twin spots of color high in her cheeks. Emma touched her shoulder. “It’s all right, Felani.” The maiden’s chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths. She met Emma’s eyes. “Is it, my lady?” Emma gave a slow nod, willing Felani to understand. “Yeah. It is.” Then Emma lifted her head and got her first good look at the Cantiaci. It was obvious who was in charge: at the head table, there was a raised dais and three thrones, the middle set higher than the other two, and the woman who occupied the head throne lounged so thoroughly she seemed to have been poured into her seat. She appeared larger than life; everything about her was bigger, richer, deeper than her surrounds. Her hair was the color of fire, the most vibrant natural ginger Emma had ever seen. Her eyes were huge and lavender blue. She wore a cream gown, elegant and simple, and it was the

perfect compliment to the crowning glory of all those wild orange curls. The body beneath the gown was sumptuous, plump and round, and the woman had the face of an angel, her expression cherubic. A golden torc graced her throat, looking like it weighed more than Emma’s right arm. Yup, this was the queen. She tapped the arm of her throne with one sandaled foot, met Emma’s eyes after giving her own once over, and smiled sweetly before letting her gaze wander past. Emma felt the impact of her stare hit Red Sun, felt it through the Pledge bond, felt it with some other part of her that was human and simple and very, very female. She waited until she saw the queen’s ample chest lift with an indrawn breath. “Your invitation was addressed to the Caller of the Blood,” Emma said loudly. The queen looked at Emma and exhaled with a touch of irritation. She said nothing. “Well,” Emma said. “Since we’ve never been introduced, I thought you might not know I’d come. People tend to be a little underwhelmed by me.

Expecting more, I dunno, just more.” She put up her hands and shrugged. The black starburst mark in her right palm looked black as spilled ink under the glowing lights. She crossed her arms. “I realize I’m not much to look at, but thankfully these guys make up for that.” A murmur of something that wasn’t quite laughter ran through the crowd at the tables. The queen smiled a small, indulgent smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “So, young lady, you are the Caller of the Blood.” She spoke with the mildly disinterested tone of a distracted parent inspecting their kid’s macaroni-and-glitter painting, and her accent was the kind of haughty British drawl all Americans expected when a Brit opened their mouth. And she thought she could piss Emma off by treating her like a child. It was kinda cute. Because Emma routinely pushed around a bunch of possessive, dominant, arrogant ancients who all thought they knew better than her, and she had several annoying nicknames to prove it, all variations on the “little girl” theme. Her threshold

for getting pissed off at that kind of shit was sky-yy high, thank you very much. “Yep,” Emma said brightly. “That’s me, Emma Chase, Caller of the Blood. You can call me Emma. And you are?” The man seated at the queen’s right shot to his feet. He was almost as tall as Seshua. His hair was the same shade as the queen’s, and he had the lavender blue eyes to match, but there the resemblance ended; his jaw was square, his brow severe, and his hair was short and carefully styled. He wore the traditional version of what Red wore: brown linen trousers, black hunting boots, ivory linen shirt with tartan sash. Unlike Red, he carried a saber at his right hip and wore an elaborate gold torc, like the queen’s. “How dare you,” he began. “Madoc,” said the queen softly, without taking her eyes off Emma. The big man closed his mouth and sat. “Emma,” the queen said, somehow drawing those two syllables out into something at once contemplative and disapproving. “This is my son,

His Highness the prince Madoc. And this,” she gestured to the woman who sat looking terribly bored at her left, “Is my daughter, Her Highness the princess Agrona.” Princess Agrona shared her mother’s eyes, height, and beauty, but that was all: her hair was platinum blond and styled in a flawless bun, her face and the lines of her body hard and lean where her mother’s were soft and round. She wore sculpted leather armor over arms and shoulders, a dark brown leather vest, and a short tartan skirt beneath her sword belt. No torc. No shoes. No acknowledgment in those bored, purple eyes. “And I,” the queen continued in that lofty drawl, “Am Angharad, chieftain of the Cantiaci and queen of Britannia.” Emma nodded, glancing first at Agrona then Madoc. “Pleased to meet you. Queen Angharad, prince Madoc, princess Agrona, allow me to introduce Fernando Domenico of the Aranan.” She stepped aside and looked up at Fern and smiled, before turning back to the queen, whose face was an expressionless mask. “Also allow me to

introduce Felani, chieftain of the ocelot maidens,” Emma said in a hard voice. “Rish, second in command of the ocelot maidens. Tarissa, Makena, and Fezesh, chief advisers. Iztanita, Latesh, Lirita, Tikira and Shala, respected warriors and guardians of the Caller of the Blood.” Fiza and Toleni were guarding Tanya and Aunt Chase, and Emma was tempted to announce them in their absence anyway, but decided not to draw attention to the fact that she had family out there in London, human and vulnerable and in need of protection. “Now,” Emma said with a deep breath. “We’re all introduced. Thank you for welcoming us into your home, queen Angharad. It’s an honor.” The queen smiled. “What else could I do, when I received news of your presence here in my country, but open my home to the Caller of the Blood?” Emma’s breath came a little easier. Nobody was offended. This was going well. Agrona stood. “In defense of the honor of the crown, I challenge you to a duel, Emma Chase, Caller of the Blood.”

Emma’s heart kicked into a gallop. What the actual fuck. Fern’s beast flowed into her, turning her vision crystalline, his determination cold as iron. In the blink of an eye she was surrounded, maidens packed in against her, Fern at her side, Seshua and Alexi moving to flank her. A murmur of excitement went through the crowd. “On what grounds,” Telly called out, stepping forward. Every eye in the hall fixed on Telly. The queen’s expression went from polite boredom to razor focus, and she shifted on her throne, leaning forward. But Agrona answered him. “The Caller of the Blood entered Britannia without leave from the crown to do so, and failed to send a herald within the appropriate window of time.” What a load of bullshit, Fern sent. “It was a couple of hours,” Anton said darkly. From a few seats to the left of Agrona, a dark haired woman in a suit and a pearl necklace spoke up. “When a visiting dignitary fails to obtain leave

from the crown to enter Britannia, they must send a herald within one hour of setting foot on British soil.” “But the drive from Heathrow to here is over two hours,” Emma said, trying and failing to keep her tone reasonable. “The herald does not need to arrive at the royal palace or at one of our consulates around the country within said hour,” a blond man with a carefully trimmed beard said from the seat next to Madoc. “They only need prove the herald was en route within that hour.” Red made a low sound in his throat. “And how long has this been the law?” The queen’s focus locked onto Red. “It has always been the law, Gwydion.” Emma wanted so badly to turn and see his face. “You’ve never enforced this law,” he said, barely keeping the disgust out of his voice. The blond guy next to Madoc spoke up again. “The Caller of the Blood is a great power, as you well know, Gwydion, and she has come unto

Britannia escorted by not one, not three, but six international powers.” He counted off on his fingers. “The Central American Jaguar Kingdom. The Jackal Pharaoh of Egypt. The Ruskiy Wawkalaki, the Serpent Lord of the Amazon, Gwydion the ancient prince of Britannia, and him.” The blond bearded guy gave a solemn nod. “The Bard.” Emma frowned. “The Bard? Like Shakespeare?” Telly gave a short bark of laughter. In her head, Fern said, Of course, and Emma wished she had the time and the focus to be able to lift the rest of that thought from his head. Every single one of the royal Cantiaci looked at Emma like she’d sprouted horns. Blond-beard was the first to recover. “Does Emma Chase, Caller of the Blood, accept the challenge?” Before anyone could answer — out loud or in Emma’s head — Red stepped forward and silenced them all with a look. His eyes were gold with otherworldly light. To the queen, he said,

“What are the terms?” Angharad looked at Red like he was her next meal. “First blood. No beast, no Call.” The murmur of the crowd intensified. Somewhere someone began to stamp their boots upon the flagstones, and the beat caught and spread through the hall like fire. Sweat broke out on Emma’s upper lip as her adrenaline surged. She was suddenly too warm, her mouth gone dry, her insides churning. She was going to have to fight, and she had to do it without Telly’s help. Shit! We faced down the Brotherhood and the serpent priests, Fern sent. That was different! The mark burst to life in her hand, magic singing up her arm and making her teeth chime. She could do this. It was just like she’d told Seshua, she wasn’t helpless, she had power. She could defend herself. But could she do it without killing anyone? Drums joined the stomp of boots, actual fucking

drums. Oh Jesus, she was afraid. Next to her, Seshua took a deep breath and uttered a deafening, bestial cough. Emma froze. The crowd went silent. He breathed in again, massive chest expanding like bellows. The next cough was even louder than the first, and the next, and the next, and then — He roared. His eyes were calm; the rest of his face promised death, white teeth huge and curved, jaws heavy. Every hair on Emma’s body stood straight up as the sound went through her; she forgot to breathe, she forgot her own name. Every other threat in the great hall disappeared. This was the danger, him, looming beside her. The roar died. Seshua’s voice when he spoke was hoarse and impossibly deep. “I claim the right of champion.” Agrona cocked her head, giving Seshua the once over. “Can he do that?” Angharad narrowed her eyes. “Yes.” “The terms must change!” Blond-beard cried. “Total submission!”

A savage shout went up from the other guests, savage and enthusiastic. The drums started up again. Emma grabbed Seshua’s arm and looked frantically at Red. “Total submission, what does that mean.” “I accept those terms.” Seshua looked down at Emma, eyes like dark sapphires, lit from within by magic. “Step away, pequeña.” “Seshua —” “Emma,” Alexi hissed, one arm snaking around hers. “He has accepted. There’s nothing you can do.” He’s right, flower. Red was backing away already. Emma watched his gaze go up to Alexi’s. He nodded. Alexi and Fern paced back, and Emma had no choice but to go with them or be dragged. Seshua can take care of himself, Fern sent. But his black eyes were full of doubt and fixed on Agrona. As the princess of the Cantiaci started stripping off her armor, Emma realized what the new terms had not forbidden: the Change.

15 Agrona leapt the table and landed with catlike grace, her stance loose, her bare legs pale as cream and flexing with crisply defined muscle. Her shoulders were broad and hard. She carried herself like a fighter. Even still, if Seshua was going up against her in this shape, Emma wouldn’t be worried, but she’d taken the armor off. The sound of the crowd surged like the sea. The drums thundered out a faster beat. Agrona looked Seshua up and down, mild interest lighting her lavender eyes. “How will you

fight, jaguar king? Do you have a weapon of choice, perhaps?” Seshua rolled his shoulders and began to circle her, stripping out of his shirt. “Lady’s choice.” “I do not fight like a lady,” Agrona said softly. Seshua smiled, teeth gleaming against the indigo darkness of his face, and tossed his shirt aside. “Hand to hand then.” Agrona turned to keep him within sight. “If you like. And your prize?” Emma grabbed at Red’s mind. They get prizes? Red shook his head grimly. “To fight with honor is boon enough,” Seshua said, the cadence of his voice making the words sound recited. As Red nodded to himself, Emma realized they were. You groomed him for this? Red met her eyes. Not just him, flower. All of them. All of them. All of hers. Seshua came to a stop, Agrona turning in place to follow him. He tilted his head, eyes going half lidded. “Your prize, should you triumph?”

Agrona smiled and unlatched her belt, letting it drop to the floor. “Total submission.” “Those are the terms,” Seshua said cautiously. Agrona’s smile widened. Her fingers went to the clasp of her vest. “And that is my prize.” With that, the princess of the Cantiaci shrugged off her vest and disappeared in a blinding explosion of white light. Silence fell. The drums held their breath. Out of the light of the Change reared a creature that hadn’t roamed wild in the British isles for over a hundred years. She was over ten feet tall and the color of autumn, deep russet fur burnished with gold, and her dark eyes glittered with human intelligence. Her paws were twice the size of Emma’s face, and they were tipped with talons longer than a man’s hand. The great bear fell forward and slammed those paws against the flagstone floor. Then she roared. Seshua attacked. That was when Emma realized she’d never seen him fight.

He was a myth carved of storm and twilight. His face was stamped with predatory focus, lips back in a snarl, eyes glowing like gems, and holy sweet hell, he was fast. He spun and landed a brutal roundhouse kick to the bear’s face, used the momentum to spin again, yet another kick hit home, all in the blink of an eye with no time for Agrona to recover. Shaking her head, she rose to her hind legs and swiped at him, but he ducked and aimed a hard stomping kick at her back leg. It didn’t take her down. She whirled — God, so fast, so big and so fast — and laid him out with a backhanded blow from one of her massive paws. Seshua hit the ground with enough force to tear the skin from his shoulder. Agrona took three bounds that shook the floor and brought those huge paws down, aiming to crush Seshua, but he rolled to his feet and danced out of reach. He was incredible; white light trailed from his blue skin, shapechanging magic making the air around him ripple, hair moving and twisting in the breeze of his own power, but he held back the change with less than a thought. He was facing a giant bear that

stood over ten feet tall, and somehow, he did not look small. Somehow he looked bigger, every step broadcasting menace, his brutally muscled body moving with spring loaded, deadly grace. How had Emma ever had the nerve to stand up to him? Stupidity, that must have been it. Sheer, ignorant stupidity. Then the inevitable happened: Agrona caught him. He misjudged the angle trying to aim a kick at her ankle, and although she was big that didn’t mean she couldn’t move. Agrona twisted, fast as a cat. Her huge claws raked Seshua’s side. As he spun, she grabbed him by the shoulder, and then the fight turned terrifying. Time ceased to matter to Emma. Blood spattered the flagstones and the fighters slipped, scrambling for purchase; Agrona’s paws were better suited to grip the stone, and she held her ground as Seshua’s boots slid. She got her front paws around him in a punishing hold. Seshua buried both hands in her ruff and wrenched her head to the side, his arms and shoulders bulging with strain; her muzzle flashed with teeth as she

tried to pull her head around. Bears and jaguars both subdued their prey in similar ways, with brute strength and crushing force, rather than ripping and rending the way wolves and smaller cats killed. If Seshua called the Change, they’d be evenly matched. Why doesn’t he Change! Fern tightened his grip on Emma and sent her wordless comfort. Alexi stroked her hair and pulled her back against his chest, his presence in her mind watchful and grim but not worried. He had seen Seshua fight. That didn’t make her feel any better. Agrona shook her head free of Seshua’s grip and roared as she swung her muzzle at his head. Emma heard those jaws connect with Seshua’s skull. His head snapped to the side, blood flying in twin arcs from his mouth and nose, and Agrona roared again in triumph and lifted him. His head lolled, eyes rolled back to the whites. Emma lunged forward and got exactly an inch before Fern and Alexi caught her. No, Alexi said gently. No.

Agrona slammed Seshua down and pinned him to the flagstones. He came to and grabbed one of her paws with both hands, his lips peeled back from teeth gone jaguar-sharp, eyes alight with feral magic. But he couldn’t budge her. She raised her muzzle and gave a short, deep grunt. “Ten!” The queen cried. “Nine!” Madoc and blond-beard shouted in unison. The crowd took up the chant. “Eight! Seven! Six!” Seshua snarled, straining, but Agrona was too strong. “Five! Four! Three!” The drums crescendoed. “Two!” The queen shot up from her throne, red hair flying. “Total submission!” The crowd roared. White light flashed. Naked, her blond hair streaming loose, Agrona straddled Seshua and uttered a wild, joyous laugh before bending over him. “Mine,” she shouted.

Face bloody, Seshua smiled broadly. “For now,” he panted back. They looked at each other a moment longer, her pale and shining, him dark and bloodied. Then he surged up and took possession of her mouth with his. Possession was the only way to describe it. They met like hurricanes, hair flying, hands clutching at each other, but Seshua was in charge, dominating her completely. He flowed to his feet and she melted against him, lost to his mouth, to those big, powerful hands. In one deft motion he hitched her up; her legs went around his waist, breasts crushed against his hard chest. What he did next was just showing off, pure and simple: he carried her to the main table where the royal party was seated, stepped up onto it, and jumped down all without breaking their kiss. Agrona let go of him just long enough to flap her hand in the vague direction of the door behind the tables. Seshua obviously didn’t need that translated. Without even a last glance in Emma’s direction, he strode through with Agrona and

slammed the door behind them. Queen Angharad clapped once and the shouts of the crowd died. “Your warrior fought well,” the queen said with a cold smile. “Princess Agrona has defended the honor of the crown and claimed her prize. What an excellent start to the evening!” Shouts and drums rang out at this. They stopped when she lifted a hand. Angharad leveled her stare at Emma. “Your insult to the crown is pardoned, thanks to the efforts of your champion.” Red’s voice rumbled in Emma’s head like velvet thunder: My thanks, may it please you, your Majesty. “My thanks, may it please you, your Majesty,” Emma said. Her voice didn’t even wobble — ten points for her. What the fuck are we even doing here, she spoke in Red’s mind without looking at him, If we had to fight the goddamn duel anyway? Red’s mental touch darkened with regret. Oh, flower… Prince Madoc rose from his chair, drew his sword, and pointed its hilt at Emma. “I challenge

the Keeper of the Caller of the Blood to armed combat!” “What the fuck,” Emma said before she could help herself. Madoc’s eyes widened. The queen gasped, but she didn’t look shocked, she looked bloody delighted. Madoc opened his mouth again, and Alexi let Emma go and stepped forward. “The Keeper of the Caller of the Blood accepts the challenge,” he said. “Alexi no, they can’t do this —” “Yes,” Alexi said, and turned to take her face in his hands. “They can. Their laws permit three tests of mettle if the visiting party has offered insult.” “The insult was just pardoned!” “But not stricken from record.” His thumbs brushed her cheeks. His eyes were pure yellow, no magic in them, just a silent plea for her to listen. She breathed hard and let his eyes anchor her. “Armed combat,” she said. “How good are you with a sword?” His nostrils flared. “Viking, remember?” She bit back a seriously not bad-ass sound.

“You said you weren’t a Viking.” He smiled then, and it hit her like it always did, like the sun rising in his eyes. “I did say that, didn’t I.” With that he let go of her and turned away. His mind left hers, mental shields sliding effortlessly into place. She couldn’t help it; she lunged forward, not knowing what she was going to do, just that she was going to stop this even if she had to fuck up every last one of the Cantiaci. Telly stepped in front of her and caught her. Instinctively she recoiled. His gray eyes filled with hurt, but he pushed her back, hands up and ready to grab her if she tried again. Alexi’s voice rang out. “What are the terms?” “Third blood,” Madoc shouted, rolling his shoulders. Blond-beard cried out above the murmur of the crowd. “Choose your weapons, sirs.” Two men came out of the crowd at the back of the hall carrying something between them that looked like a leather blanket, but it clanked and chimed with metallic sounds. They let it fall and flipped back the sides to reveal a hoard of

weapons, and Emma’s knees turned to water. Axes. Maces. Spears. A crossbow. And swords, so many, many swords… “I have my blade,” Madoc said smugly. Okay, he probably didn’t say it smugly, but Emma wanted to spit in his face all the same. “Em,” Telly said, voice low, still holding his arms out as if to herd a startled horse. “Simmer down. Trust me, okay?” Behind her, Fern gave a humorless laugh. “Man, it’s like you don’t even know her.” She watched as Alexi strode forward to inspect the weapons. “Fuck off,” she said to Telly and tried to get around him. He hissed, his eyes flashing white in warning. “This needs to happen.” “The fuck it does. Move.” Telly exhaled harshly and pointed at her. “Don’t think you can scare me the way you do the others, with your black eyes. You need to cool it.” When her face didn’t change, he grimaced and looked up to meet Fern’s eyes. “Fern.” She felt Fern shrug. “Don’t ask me, I didn’t get

the memo either.” In the middle of the hall, Alexi crouched to inspect one of the weapons, and then straightened. The murmuring drums swelled. The sword he’d chosen was double edged and looked as long as Emma was tall. He rolled his wrist, testing its weight. “Oh my God,” Emma whispered. “Oh my God, oh my God.” We could kill them all, Fern sent, his thoughts a tangle of contradictions: predatory calm, human fear, the certainty that he would kill to keep Emma and Alexi safe. Doubt singing in his head like an alarm. Emma shook her head. Killing to keep someone safe was not the same thing as killing to save a life. Telly opened his mouth and closed it with a clack. Then he put his hands on Emma’s shoulders and hung on when she tried to shake him off. Emma, he said in her mind, his voice holding the familiar triple echo of his power. Listen to me now and be at peace!

She couldn’t tear her eyes from Alexi, but she nodded. She was listening. So was Fern. They must duel. If we refuse, they can demand a boon, do you remember? That made her look at him. His eyes were pale cornflower blue now, his golden skin beginning to glow with power. Unlike the first fight, if we lose this one, they will demand a boon as prize. If Alexi forfeits, another must fight in his place. Our next best fighter is Kal, and we need him. Even if you could choose another champion, would you? Shit. Shit! Is that supposed to make me feel better? Telly’s hands tightened on her shoulders. He looked like he wanted to shake her. Alexi is the only one of us more powerful than Red Sun. Alexi will win, Em. Then the queen’s champion will challenge us again, Red will name Kal as champion, and then this will all be over. You just have to hold tight. A horn blew, silencing the drums. “Combatants, take your places!” Fear danced up Emma’s throat, dried her

mouth, and lodged her voice in her chest. What about you? She grabbed Telly’s coat as he went to pull away, forcing him to look at her. You’re stronger than all of them, even without using your magic, why can’t you fight? He made a rough sound in his throat. There’s no time to explain — Not good enough! Emma yanked him aside as the maidens backed up, making room for the fight. Don’t do this to me, Telly, don’t pull your closedmouth bullshit on me, not now. Anger and something more fragile filled his face, darkening his eyes back to cobalt blue. He took hold of her hands. His touch was hot, but for once it didn’t make Emma shudder with fear and longing, because ninety percent of her focus was on Alexi as he began to circle Prince Madoc, both of them rolling their wrists, warming up to the weight of their swords. You know what I am, Telly said, his voice in her head deep and mesmerizing and full of pain. She looked at him. In contrast to his voice in her head, his face was as human as it ever got, and

he looked tired, so damn tired. You’re the wild god of chaos and ecstasy, she said. If you use your magic too much you’ll lose yourself, but you don’t have to use — Emma, I don’t have a choice. If I fight, I have to win, or they’ll demand the boon from me. If I fight, they’ll send dozens against me, their most ancient and powerful, and it will be to the death, that’s how badly they want what they think I can give them. But they won’t challenge me, because they know they can’t win, so none of that is what actually matters. He was desperate, Emma realized. Desperate for her to understand, but also afraid. What is it then? Make me understand. His mouth hardened. I don’t use my magic, Em, it uses me. If I’m forced to fight to win, I won’t be able to control it. But I’ve seen you — He squeezed her hands — they were still bunched in his coat — and put his face close to hers. You’ve seen me defend you in battle, that’s all you’ve seen. This is not the same. This is

challenge. I am the god of chaos and ecstasy, Emma, those aren’t just words. Telly pulled back, searching Emma’s face. It’s not about me losing myself, not the way we’ve talked about. If I fight, my magic will assert itself and possess everyone in this room, and this room is full of monsters who live to fight. It will be a bloodbath. Emma still didn’t know what he meant, but it was too late anyway. The horn blew again. The drums rolled. Prince Madoc charged. Thirty seconds later, Emma felt very stupid, because the fight was over and Alexi never even broke a sweat. Madoc, on the other hand, looked like he’d run a marathon. His hair was slicked with sweat and his chest heaved. In a flurry of blows Emma hadn’t followed at all, Alexi sliced Madoc’s right cheek first, then the left, then landed the third winning blow with a deft swipe across the Prince’s heart. Shallow but bloody enough to drench his shirt crimson. That, Fern sent as the drums died, was freaking incredible.

Heart still pounding, Emma could only nod. Alexi flicked blood from his blade. His expression was exactly as it had been throughout the short but brutal fight: remote, almost bored, his scars standing out on his hard cheeks. The dark pink of his scars was the only sign of effort; not a single hair on his head was out of place, not a single trickle of his beast’s power escaped his skin. He bowed deeply, first to the queen, then to Madoc. Queen Angharad looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. Into the silence, blond-beard said primly, “Third blood. Lord Alexi wins.” An uncertain pause. “My queen, the prize was not named.” Angharad narrowed her lavender eyes at Alexi. “Anything mine to give in this room is yours.” Alexi wiped his sword on his sleeve. “I would have this blade, Your Majesty.” The queen inhaled with relief. “Very well.” One of the men who’d brought the weapons out handed Alexi the sword’s scabbard, a plain brown leather sheath with a belt attached. With another

bow, Alexi sheathed the sword and turned. His gaze locked onto Emma. Telly and Fern sighed softly in unison, but before Emma could give any thought to that, Alexi strode to her. His yellow gaze sparked with intensity and he looked like he was about to kiss her until she forgot her own name, and she was perfectly okay with that. But he didn’t. Instead he stopped in front of her and exhaled, searching her face. “Thank you,” he said quietly. She blinked. “What the hell for?” “For listening to him.” Alexi’s gaze slid to Telly, the light in his eyes turning cold. “But you will never put your hands on her like that again, trickster.” Telly snarled. “She would have —” “Whoa whoa.” Emma shoved in between them and took hold of Alexi’s arm, though he hadn’t moved an inch. She kept her voice low. “It’s okay. I don’t quite understand why it had to be you, but he tried to explain, and it’s okay —” Fern’s alarm rushed through the merge and

Emma forgot whatever she was about to say next. She looked at him. His black gaze was on the queen. Angharad had stood, and her red hair shifted in the breeze of her own power, her milky skin glowing with the leashed light of the Change. Her eyes were like burning amethysts. “Gwydion,” she called out in a voice that made Emma’s teeth hum. “Who calls himself Red Sun, once of the Votadini and exiled prince of Din Eidyn. I challenge you to unarmed combat!” The crowd cheered and screamed and shouted, fists banging the tables, drums thundering out from wherever the goddamn drummers were hiding. Emma couldn’t tell if the Cantiaci were ecstatic or outraged and she didn’t care; she was watching Red, and the look on his face made her heart drop into her stomach. He had not prepared for this. He met her eyes. He’d groomed all of her people on how to act and what to say, on who would be challenged and why and what to do about it, but he hadn’t been

prepared for this, Emma saw it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the tension across his massive shoulders. Red. Emma hung onto Alexi. Why do you have that look on your face? Red’s dark eyes flashed with warning. Emma couldn’t read him the way she could Fern and Alexi, and he wasn’t making it easier for her. Damn it, she hated having to do this. Emma reached for her power, felt it banked and waiting behind her breastbone, and willed it into her mental voice, letting it touch the mysterious place inside her where Red was bound to her with the Pledge magic. Red, tell me. His lips peeled back in a snarl, his mind rebelling against her power. He turned to the queen. “I accept the challenge.” His deep, broken voice cut through the screams of the crowd. Angharad smiled, her mouth full of sharp teeth. Then Red’s voice boomed again, and her smile died. “I would name my prize, Your Majesty.” Those amethyst eyes narrowed in anticipation. “Name it, as is your right.”

Red turned and pointed at Emma. “Indemnity for the Caller of the Blood and those she calls kin, for as long as she chooses to remain in your kingdom.” Shocked gasps and screeches of protest went up from the Cantiaci. Queen Angharad’s eyebrows rose. “This is a great boon of a prize you demand.” “And your prize, Angharad?” Red stepped out onto the floor, stripping off his tartan sash. “Is that not a great boon, or have I read you wrong.” The queen’s smile returned, slowly at first, then fierce and free. “Aye,” she purred. “Aye, you speak the truth. I grant those terms and name my prize.” Her gaze went to Telly. “I would claim a favor of the Bard.” Before anyone could stop her, Emma sidestepped Alexi and gained the floor. “Telly is not Red Sun, and Red doesn’t own him. How can you claim that as a prize?” Angharad looked at Emma like she was a dog that had suddenly stood up on its hind legs and started talking. The dark haired woman seated next to Agrona’s

empty place answered. “Telly, as you call him, has sworn fealty to Gwydion whom you know as Red Sun.” The woman pursed her lips as though saying the names that Emma knew left a bad taste in her mouth. “This oath was sworn over two thousand years ago on Britannia’s sacred soil. We don’t know how things are done where you come from, Emma Chase, but in Britannia, oaths are binding.” She does not lie, Telly spoke in Emma’s mind. The oath is ancient magic. If he invokes the oath and I do not comply, his life is forfeit. Why the fuck couldn’t they have mentioned that at literally any other time? We didn’t think Angharad would be bold enough to challenge Red. She doesn’t have the power to best him, no one does! Which means he should be okay. Telly’s power brushed her, heat and dust and lightning. You gotta back down. The hell she would. “What if we offer you something else?” This time the shouts came from Emma’s people. But Alexi and Telly were silent, and all Emma sensed through the Enam-Vesh was determined

acceptance. Angharad stepped from her throne to the table, kicking aside cups and dishes full of food, uncaring of where they rolled. She jumped down to the ground and landed light on sandaled feet, gaze on Emma. “There is nothing on this earth you could possibly offer me, young lady, more valuable than the favor of Taliesin.” That name was vaguely familiar, but there was no time. Emma crossed her arms. “You’ve obviously never lost anyone to the wasting illness, then.” The queen’s face flushed pink. Her eyes sparked like gemstones. She clenched her fists, her generous chest lifting with a deep breath, and when she exhaled the temperature dropped at least ten degrees. “You,” Angharad said, voice shaking. “Are thirty years too late to save my king.” Ohhh shit. Emma licked her lips. “But not the rest of your people.” “When the veil is lifted,” Angharad hissed, “my

people will be strong enough to thrive without you. Now, we are done here. Offer me counter challenge or get out of the way.” Emma’s adrenalin surged. She took a breath, not knowing what she was going to say, just that she had to do something — “I accept the terms,” Red said harshly. “Clear the floor!” This time it was the maidens who flowed forward to drag Emma back. She barely felt their delicate hands on her. Damn it, how did they end up here? “He is ancient and powerful,” Alexi said in her ear. “He will win.” Emma couldn’t tear her gaze from Red. “That’s what Telly told me when you were out there.” “And I won,” Alexi said gently. “Come.” They moved back, the maidens crowding around Emma, Felani pressed up against Emma’s front, taking no more chances that Emma might make another break for it. But Alexi was right, there was nothing more to do. Emma just couldn’t make her heart understand

that.

16 Red unlaced his shirt, pulled it off and let it drop. Emma’s heart twisted. For a moment she was overcome by a wave of love and longing so strong it made her feel physically ill, and she was too fucking scared to shield, so Fern and Alexi and everyone else connected to her felt it too. Everyone but him, because he’d kicked her out of his head. His skin was almost bronze from spending most of the past summer and early autumn training with Emma in the mornings, and his many scars stood

out, pale against his tan, marking him as the warrior he was. He was over three thousand years old, and if the Cantiaci called him prince, that meant at least someone in his family tree had been able to trace their bloodline back to the first shapechangers of their race. He was powerful beyond belief, not just his blood but his body and his mind, and he was Pledged to Emma, which made him stronger. So why was she so damn scared? The queen began to circle Red. She was half a foot shorter than him, and her bulk was soft and round where his was all hard angles and solid muscle, but her height coupled with her curves made her look like a giantess — or maybe that was just Emma’s fear talking. In spite of the flowing Grecian gown she moved like a warrior, stride loose and rolling, shoulders set, gaze fixed on her target. Emma saw the exact moment Angharad got close enough to him for his curse to kick in. Her perfect lips parted on a sigh. Her wide gemstone eyes went glassy. Without tearing her

gaze from Red, she shook her mass of fire colored curls back from her face, reached up with both hands, and bent the golden torc free of her neck. Someone was there to catch it when she let it fall. “Gwydion,” she said, filling that one word with a lifetime of longing and resentment. Her voice was deep and resonant, but it held the cracked roughness of someone twice the age the queen appeared to be. “Will you give me a true fight, Your Highness, or does my sex make you hesitate?” Red clucked his tongue. “You’re a beautiful woman, Ange, but your sex ain’t got nothing to do with this.” He turned in place as she circled him, stripping out of his belt and letting it fall to the ground. Angharad watched him, her face slack with lust, and Emma watched them both with a mix of fear and ugly, possessive jealousy. She had no right, but she wanted to punch the desire straight off Angharad’s face. She didn’t want the queen so much as looking at Red, let alone touching him, and she sure as hell didn’t want anyone watching him

undress, watching the fine play of muscles in his torso as he kicked his boots off, watching the way he lifted that proud, square chin, deep brown eyes hard and weary, as he popped the button of his trousers and — Without warning Angharad disappeared in a burst of white light. Red wasted no time; he flashed out of his human shape, not bothering to finish shucking his pants, and the light of his Change died as Angharad’s did, and both sets of clothes floated to the floor in tatters. Red Sun straightened to his full height, a towering grizzly the size of a van, his thick coat the color of mahogany, his dark eyes glowing with golden, magical light. He was terrible and magnificent. But he looked like a teddy bear next to Angharad. Angharad’s beast was white, her shaggy fur tipped with the exact shade of red as her human hair. Her muzzle and the tips of her ears were crimson, the thick leathery pads of her paws were the color of old blood, and her eyes were drowning amethyst purple. Her claws were the

stuff of nightmares. She rose onto her hind legs, at least twelve feet tall, and roared. Red shook himself and roared back, even louder. Then it began. They fought with more violence and calculated brutality than any natural animal could ever be capable of. The sound was like hungry thunder and wrenching metal, a prehistoric sound that shortcircuited rational thought and turned Emma’s limbs to jelly with terror. Claws and muzzles flashed; blood flew and slicked the floor; Angharad threw Red and he landed on his back on the far table with a mountainous crash, sending dishes and guests flying in all directions. The rest of the guests fled their seats in favor of packing into the vast hall’s corners — they didn’t cower, but they weren’t stupid. Emma was hardly aware of being jostled back herself. She was in shock, or something, because she couldn’t get her breath, and her vision was blurring. She felt like she was wrapped in cotton

wool, and her ears were ringing… Em, you’re okay, it’s just us, Fern sent, ducking to catch her gaze. Alexi and I are shielding you from the berserker rage. We don’t know if it’ll work — oh, shit. His mental voice deepened, eyes blooming black from lid to lid. Guess it didn’t work. Emma’s pulse leapt, vision going red — Ivan appeared in front of her. He put his hands on either side of her face and his brow against hers and breathed against her cheek, his scent of dry leaves and burnt toast blowing through her like a winter wind, pushing back the rage. “Don’t let go of me, Ivan,” she managed to say. “I feel like myself again, but don’t let go of me.” He didn’t, but Emma couldn’t help herself, she had to watch the fight, even though every blow went straight to her soul. Ivan and Alexi anchored her, their arms wrapped around her and each other. Fern kept hold of her hand. Telly stood as close to Fern — and thereby Emma — as he could without touching him, and everyone else closed ranks around them, the same look on all their faces.

Grim determination. As though they could force Red to win with willpower alone. Moments stretched into minutes. Drums pounded, snarls tore the air. Angharad threw Red again and the flagstones cracked under the impact. Red surged to all fours and then faltered, and Angharad knocked him back again with a punishing swipe of her claws; when Red rolled to his feet and turned, blood sprayed from his muzzle, drenching the flagstones at his feet, and Emma bit down on a scream and buried her face against Ivan’s shoulder to keep the berserker rage from rising. Alexi’s emotions surged through their bond. He is losing, Alexi said, his mental voice glacial and reaching not just for Emma but for everyone. Ivan responded. He’s older than the queen, isn’t he? By fifteen hundred years, Telly said, gaze riveted to the fight, eyes flashing with lightning. Her bloodline is stronger, but Red’s still more powerful. This shouldn’t be happening. Alexi’s grip on Emma turned bruising. Telly,

you cannot interfere! If you do, he forfeits the victory. Telly turned, upper lip lifted in a snarl filled with sharp teeth. If I don’t, he loses anyway! Emma squeezed Fern’s hand as Red and Angharad crashed into each other again. Blood smeared Angharad’s pale coat, but it wasn’t hers. Dammit, they had to do something! Alexi. She looked up at him, his face close to hers and rigid with leashed tension. Define interference. His hard gaze met hers. If you’re thinking of trying to feed him power, it won’t work. Even if you could break past his shields, Angharad would sense your touch, or her shaman would. Alexi cut a glance towards one of the Cantiaci standing near the throne, and Emma knew exactly which one he meant by virtue of the telepathic bonds; a tall lean man with gray hair and sea-green eyes, dressed simply in shirt and slacks. Telly’s mental touch blazed through Emma then. It’s the land, he said. Angharad’s drawing power from the land. “Fuck,” he hissed. “I should have

known. Red should have known.” Red’s older, more powerful, but he hasn’t set foot on British soil for over two thousand years. And in three days it’s Samhain, Alexi breathed into their minds, his touch gone bitterly cold with power as he skimmed Telly’s thoughts through Emma’s connection to him. Their entire clan can draw power from their ancestors when the veil is thinnest. Emma didn’t understand half of any of that, but she cut in. If they can draw power from their ancestors, why the hell can’t Red draw from us? Their ancestors are dead, Telly said, eyes blind with white light. Red let out a roar of pain that made all the hairs on Emma’s body stand on end. Angharad had her jaws around the meaty part of his shoulder where it met his huge chest. They had their forelegs around each other, crushing and wrenching, claws drawing blood, and Red’s teeth flashed as he tried to bite at Angharad’s head. But the angle was wrong. She had him. The count wouldn’t begin until she had him on

the ground, he was still up and fighting, but she had him. Emma clenched her teeth to hold back an animal sound of fury. Fuck! Fern’s anger and terror mixed with hers, their hands fused together in a death grip. So Angharad’s clan can feed their queen power through their ancestors because the ancestors are dead, but Red’s on his own? Emma flinched away from the sight of Red fighting Angharad’s hold. It sure seemed like one hell of a goddamn loophole. Wait, Telly said, his mental voice so faint Emma almost missed it. Telly? Trickster, Alexi snarled. No, no, wait. Telly looked at them, brows rising, the light bleeding out of his eyes until they were blue again. There is something we can do. A loophole. Those blond brows came back down and he gave Alexi the full force of his gaze. But Red won’t like it. He glanced at Emma. Nobody will. Emma’s heart leapt into her throat. She didn’t

give a shit who liked it so long as it saved Red and kept Telly from using his magic. What is it? Telly set his jaw. I can call the bacchanalia. Call the what? No! Alexi’s power lashed them all through the bonds. Your magic — The bacchanalia takes little more than basic compulsion to call, Telly said fiercely. Because once it rises it’s no longer mine. It feeds itself, and there’s ample fuel here, look at them all! For some reason he was talking about the Cantiaci and their guests. Emma didn’t understand, but Alexi did. What is the use of calling the bacchanalia now? Alexi said. The rest of them will frenzy, and instead of merely defeating him the queen will kill him. Telly’s mouth twisted. Something moved behind his gaze, something dark and vast and alien. There is more than one way to cast the bacchanalia. Then he let the knowledge of what the bacchanalia meant flow into Emma’s mind. It filled

her and flowed over, pouring into Alexi and Fern, into Ivan and Fatima. He pushed it and the knowledge jumped to the others, the ones with no telepathy and no connection to Emma. There was a collective gasp. The crack of breaking timber rang out as Red slammed Angharad against one of the tables, another bestial roar splitting the air. Angharad never let go, and blood sheeted down her front, Red’s blood, painting her crimson. Emma wrapped a hand around Alexi’s arm, because with what was about to happen, she really didn’t want to be separated from him. Do it, Telly, she said. Call the bacchanalia. Emma had seen Telly do his thing a few times. She’d seen him walk through fire and call lightning; she’d seen him wear two different kinds of furred but human guises, and she’d seen him take the shape of a giant red fox the size of a small horse. She’d seen him glow with power and been in his mind as the terrible, alien intelligence that lived behind his gaze turned its regard on her and

stirred in its dozing like some vast, prehistoric monster moving below the surface of the ocean. So Emma thought she was prepared for the bacchanalia. She wasn’t. There was no blinding light or rush of power. There was a scent, something heady and floral, thick somehow Apple blossom? Yes. Weird. She’d never realized how much apple blossom smelled like — well, let’s just say there was a reason the apple tree was a symbol of fertility… …Why was she thinking about that, for Chrissakes! Red was losing the fight, maybe dying, and Telly — Telly turned to her, gaze full of pale gold light, and Emma froze for a second, speechless at the sadness in his eyes. The bones of his face glowed. He was so handsome it physically hurt to look at him. Such golden, perfect skin. So beautiful. He reached out to touch her, and Emma let go of Fern and lifted her hand to meet Telly’s. Their fingertips brushed.

Arousal hit her in a rush so savage she felt like she’d been punched in the goddamn uterus. Her eyes slammed shut as everything south of the waistband of her jeans went liquid with need, desire clawing her core, spearing straight through her and stealing her breath. She opened her eyes and saw Telly, and suddenly knew what she needed. With a desperate moan she lunged for him. Strong hands caught her, cold hands, hands she knew. She snarled, fighting them. Alexi’s grip turned bruising as he twisted her around. Then his mouth collided with hers and she ceased to think, only feel, feel and breathe and devour and need, God she needed him so badly. She didn’t even realize her hands were digging at the fly of his slacks until he shackled her wrists, a rough, terrible sound rasping out of him with every breath, a sound like a man dying of thirst clawing his way towards water. Emma, came that harsh, cold voice she loved, filling her mind the way she wanted his body to fill hers. We need to help them. We need — ah, fuck

— He picked her up. Still kissing him, feeding on him, she wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands went to her ass and squeezed and it wasn’t gentle, but it was perfect, and she tipped her head back to give him access to her throat, turning her face aside as he latched on with his hot, incredible mouth. Her eyes fluttered open, and what she saw turned her insides to fire: Telly and Fern, wrapped around each other, devouring each other in long, rough kisses. Fern’s hands were fisted in Telly’s hair — it was suddenly long again, nearly chin length. Telly shoved Fern’s T-shirt up, hands grasping blindly, frantic with hunger. They were magnificent, beautiful, electric. Faint unease nipped at the edges of Emma’s consciousness. The cold thought came to her that Fern didn’t want what was happening, wouldn’t be wrapped around Telly if he had a choice. Where the hell was that coming from? Fern moaned and yanked Telly’s head back, biting his chin, licking his way down his throat.

Just watching them — the way Telly’s eyes closed, mouth going slack, chest heaving, Fern’s throat working as he trailed open-mouthed kisses along Telly’s jaw — made Emma’s body clench with heat. Alexi ground himself against her and took her earlobe in his teeth, and she closed her eyes, crying out, then opened them again so she could keep watching… No. The cold part of her clamped down and snarled. This isn’t right. “Fern!” Her voice cracked, husky with desire and command. “Come to me.” He lifted his head, hands still tangled in Telly’s hair. He was bound by the Enam-Vesh and could not disobey a direct order. The moment his gaze hit hers he wrenched himself away, eyes lid to lid black and wild with hunger. Emma reached for him, her blood crying out for him, her mouth watering in anticipation. Alexi lifted his head, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Fern reached her. He buried his hands in her

hair, dark eyes shining with lust. Then he kissed her, and nothing had ever felt so beautiful or right. She opened her mouth for him and he licked his way into her, as though it weren’t the first time but the thousandth, and she drowned in the sweet, pure taste of him, letting him fill all the empty spaces inside her she never knew were there. Alexi groaned and bit at her shoulder, her throat, his strong hands locking her in place to meet his thrusts, and Emma went mindless with pleasure. She was so far gone she barely felt the warm, rough hands skimming beneath the hem of her top to span her waist. Then there was another mouth at her throat, kissing, sucking, nuzzling… “Emma,” Telly groaned, breath hot on her neck. She gasped against Fern’s mouth and arched into Telly’s touch. His hands were hot, the contact electrifying, but she needed more. She needed his mouth on hers, needed to kiss him, finally, finally kiss him. Em, he growled in her head. We need control. We need to get our people out of here. Help me, Em, please!

The words broke through the haze in her mind. She jerked back from Fern. Telly’s breath was like a freight train in her ear; her body was still going up in flames, still crying out for Fern, for Alexi, gods, even for Telly — this was so messed up — but she couldn’t hold on, couldn’t care, she just wanted and needed so badly oh God — Alexi pulled back, his gaze drowning yellow and glazed with arousal. You need to shield. His mental voice was ragged. You are the link between us all. Try, Emma, try to shield. She tried, and it felt like her skull was about to crack. Fern made a desperate sound, awareness filling his solid black eyes. It’s working, he sent, but he was still breathing hard, and Emma could feel his arousal pulsing through him, through them, through the bond like sweet electric poison. How easy it would be to give up. Give in. Lose themselves to mindless, drugging ecstasy. Alexi groaned, licked his lips, and made a pained sound as he tore his gaze from them both. Their shields must have been working, because Emma found the willpower to look away from the

cool chiseled perfection of his lips and follow his gaze. When Emma saw what he was looking at, her brain almost refused to process it. For a moment it was just a visual mess, everything in the wrong place, upside down, inside out. The feast hall was teeming with bodies, limbs writhing, clothes torn and scattered. Screams and soft cries and guttural moans filled the air. Someone laughed, high and joyous. That laugh seemed to catch in Emma’s chest and echo there, made her want to laugh, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, breathing hard and feeling like her insides were a flock of birds beating at the cage of her body, frantic for freedom. Then she saw Red Sun, and the flock of birds inside her turned into a storm of knives, cold and howling for blood. Red was turned away from them, his back shredded, blood sheeting down from lacerations so deep they looked black. He wore his human shape once more, and so did the queen. He was bloodied and she was not. Even though Angharad was

slicked with his blood she was pressed against him, mouth slack and eyes glazed, and he had her mass of hair in his hands, holding her head back. Emma thought they were still fighting until she saw Angharad’s hand working in an unmistakable rhythm below Red’s waist. She dropped to her feet, lunging away, fury and soul-wrenching fear obliterating all rational thought. She had no idea what she was going to do when she got to Red, but he was wounded, maybe dying, and because of the bacchanalia he couldn’t care less. He might bleed out; Angharad might kill him after all. Telly and Alexi caught her as a bloodcurdling roar went up from the other side of the hall. A man leapt the table, shirtless, black hair flying. His hands were hooked into claws. “SHE IS MINE!” he bellowed. Then he attacked. Angharad stumbled back as the black haired guy tackled Red. They both went down. Snarls filled the air and fists flew. “Corentin!” The queen roared, her face savage with lust and outrage. Corentin, whoever he was, paid her no heed.

Red caught him on the chin with a vicious right hook, sending him sprawling. The way he moved was enough to tell Emma he wasn’t ancient; he didn’t stand a chance against Red, but the bacchanalia had him, and he didn’t care. Red climbed on top of him and rained blows down, face slack, eyes bright with madness. They’ll fight til they die, or Angharad fucks one of them or both, Telly said in Emma’s head, his voice holding the triple echo of his power — power he was using to stay sane enough to form words instead of fucking the brains out of anyone who’d hold still long enough. Emma met his eyes and shook with the effort of not jumping him. What do I do? His painfully beautiful face seemed to lengthen, the inner corners of his eyes deepening, irises bleeding that unfamiliar gold light, and he grimaced. Use the Pledge bonds and call him to you. He closed his teeth on a sob. Alexi — But Emma didn’t hear the rest. She opened the place inside her where the Pledge bond nestled, tucked against her spirit, only waiting to be

summoned, waiting, always waiting, just to touch those she was bonded to. Red Sun. With the force of the bond behind it, her mental voice broke through his shields. Come to me. He lifted his head. The lights were on in his face but no one was home. Half his cheek was torn and flapping, vicious claw marks trailing down his neck and chest, and his left shoulder looked like fresh hamburger meat. He stood and kicked Corentin aside without a downward glance, and then, naked and bleeding, came at Emma. With a shout of rage Angharad sprang forward, but Corentin had gained his feet. He caught her. She struggled. Corentin wrenched her arm back in an elbow lock, pinned her against his chest, and mashed his lips against hers. She screamed into his mouth and started tearing at his clothes with her free hand. Heart in her mouth, Emma was about to demand someone do something, but then Angharad kicked Corentin’s feet out from underneath him and rode him down to the ground. He lost control of her arm.

She ripped his slacks down and straddled him, and Emma tore her gaze away from the rest just in time for Red to reach her and drag her against his naked, bleeding body. She turned her face aside and Red’s mouth landed on her throat, feeding and suckling, and her legs turned to water. He fisted his hands in her top and she heard fabric rip. She met Alexi’s eyes. “Get us out of here!” They made it all the way down the stairs to the entrance hall before the magic overpowered them. Fern’s shields went first. He made a desperate sound and groped for the nearest body. In a state of shock and magical exhaustion so extreme it felt like being dead drunk, Emma watched as Fern and Ricky collided, felt Fern’s mind drowning in need and sensation. That was okay, Emma thought hazily. It was going to be all right. Ricky was her best friend; he and Fern had become close, there was no one else she’d rather — The maidens lost control. Snarls and moans and cries filled the entrance hall. Tarissa broke away,

lunged for Fern and Ricky, and they let go of each other long enough to let her climb Fern’s body and seize his mouth with hers, and then Ricky dragged them both towards one of the many doorways branching off the hall. Emma swallowed past the grief in her throat and bore down on her shields, willing them to stay in place. “Telly,” she called out, twisting in Red’s arms to avoid his mouth. “When does it end?” Red barked a bitter laugh against her neck. “It ends when he does.” His hands went to her rump, then left her as he drew a tortured breath. “Gods, Em, you shouldn’t have done this.” Her body responded, a whimper filling her throat, shields wavering just like her voice. “I don’t understand.” Telly was beside her in a heartbeat. He was a full foot taller than he had been seconds ago and he looked nothing close to human, and his voice was so deep the bass reverb rattled Emma’s teeth. “The only thing that ends it is my release.” He growled, ears lengthening. “Red Sun, step away.” Red snarled, hands locking onto Emma’s hips.

Emma’s mouth went dry with fear and arousal. “Alexi!” Eyes gone bright with madness, Telly grabbed for Emma’s arm and reeled her in. Alexi was there to stop him. The moment the three of them were linked by touch, the bacchanalia rose stronger than ever and burnt Telly’s shields to dust. He roared and went berserk. Red jerked Emma back as Alexi caught Telly around the waist. Telly thrashed, roaring, face a mask of bestial rage and intensity, all of that murderous desire fixed on Emma, and only Red’s grip on her stopped her from running to him. “Take her!” Alexi shouted, boots digging into the marble floor for purchase as Telly tried to bulldoze through him. “Red, goddammit, take her!” Red made a sound like he’d been punched. “Em…” She fought for her voice and lost, so she reached for Alexi’s mind instead. Alexi? Sorrow and love surged through the telepathic link, Alexi’s cold, beautiful mind filling her. Either Telly kills Red trying to have you, or I take him.

He’ll kill you! Arms and back straining to hold Telly, he looked over his shoulder and met Emma’s eyes. No, Alexi said, mental voice shaking. He’ll kill Red, because he doesn’t want him, but he won’t kill me. Understanding dawned. Emma felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Emma, Alexi said, his mind beginning to cloud with the haze of the bacchanalia, his skin bleeding white light. I love you. She sagged in Red’s arms. I love you, too. She bit back a sob. I loved you first. He flashed her a grim smile. I know. Then he sobered. “Red, now!” With blurring speed Red scooped Emma up and ran. Telly’s screams ratcheted higher. Power lashed the air, echoing inside Emma’s head. Red yanked a door open and they whirled through it. He slammed it behind them, put Emma down, and braced the door with his huge body. They were in some kind of library or parlor or

something; books, muted light from Tiffany lampshades, expensive looking shit everywhere. Fainting couches. Telly’s screams turned to deafening, skysplitting roars. “That door will never hold him,” Emma said through numb lips, magic pressing down on her, bending her mental shields. “I know,” Red said. His eyes were gold, the beast staring out of his ruined face. They both felt the moment Alexi let his shields go. Telly stopped screaming. The magic of the bacchanalia crashed against Emma like a wave, and Red snarled, muscles standing out in his neck like steel cables. Emma brushed Alexi’s thoughts and recoiled, her heartbeat a sickening thud in her chest, in her throat and temples. “I think we’re safe now.” Red’s lips peeled back. “How do you figure.” “Well,” she said shakily. “Let’s just say he’s distracted.” Emma closed her eyes, praying for her shields to hold up. She itched to slip into Alexi’s mind completely. To merge with him the way she

could with Fern and ride him the way he was riding — That train of thought needed to be terminated. Because it wasn’t the bacchanalia making her think that, God help her, it wasn’t. “Maybe we can hold out,” Red said, his voice gone deep and hoarse. “Until they’re… Jesus, Em.” He passed a hand across his face. “I’m so sorry.” “Me too.” Her voice was faint. The strength was draining out of her legs. “Wait.” He started forward and staggered, and had to stop, blinking to clear his head. “You can knock me out. Em, summon the mark and knock me out!” For some insane reason, Emma was stung. She couldn’t speak for a moment. Rationally she knew he was trying to protect her, but her brain just seized on the whole “I’d rather be unconscious than risk fucking you” thing and completely stalled. Dear lord, she was being ridiculous. “Em, come on,” Red said like his heart was breaking.

She tried, she really did. The power in her marked hand usually came when she called. “Red,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” His face fell. He straightened, the look in his eyes turning wild and frantic as he tried to think of some way out. Emma couldn’t help it; her gaze dropped to his body. To the dark blond curls of hair that dusted his abdomen, trailing lower. To his massive arousal. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him naked before, but naked and turned on? He made a sound and her gaze flew up to meet his. Oh God. Their shields shattered under the magic of the bacchanalia. Emma’s doubts and sorrows rushed away, scattered like smoke in a high wind, and a sharp cry burst from her throat as Red Sun descended on her. His face was torn and still bleeding, a thousand cuts and gashes marring his jaw and neck, but his

shoulder was the worst of it — he looked like he’d been attacked by a shark. His eyes glowed and his teeth were huge and curved. Every slab of muscle in his chest and thick torso stood out in sharp relief, his body cannibalizing fat stores to heal the damage from the fight, and his back and shoulders were jacked up with barely leashed predatory fury. He was absolutely fucking majestic. He caught her, locking his arms around her, and seized her mouth in a crushing kiss. The scent of his blood mingled with that smell that was wholly him, pine and woodsmoke and the faint darkness of tobacco, and now, the hot, male taste of his arousal riding the air and making Emma’s mouth water. She leaned into him, feeling his hard length against her stomach, and she was nearly done right then and there. Then she reached down and took hold of him. He roared and moved so fast Emma didn’t even have time to blink. Her back hit the big solid door with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. She grinned with savage joy; she still had him in her hands, so big, so hard and ridged. She dragged

her fists up the length of him, pumping with one hand and running fingers over his slick head with the other. His eyes blazed molten gold and every last shred of sanity left his face. Suddenly all she cared about was that look — making it last, making it worse. Then he ducked and she cried out as she lost him. Crouching, he broke her bootlaces with one jerk of each fist and wrenched the boots off. Her pants and underwear were next; he ripped them with enough force to throw her off balance, and he caught her with one arm and held her steady as he tore the clothes off with the other. Emma wasn’t so far gone she couldn’t appreciate the sheer brute strength needed to tear clothes like they were tissue paper. Terrifying, and so fucking hot. He stood, kissed her, tongue sweeping into her mouth and drawing a helpless moan from her throat. Then he dropped to his knees again, took her thighs in a bruising grip, and spread her so he could claim her with his mouth. She died. She must have. She’d died and

ascended to a higher fucking plane or something, because nothing on Earth could feel the way his mouth felt on her. She’d stopped breathing, that much was for sure; every atom of her awareness had blown apart until all she could feel was his lips and tongue and teeth, kissing her there the way he’d kissed her mouth, with utter, dominating certainty. Red growled. The sound speared into her and her climax began, muscles contracting, her whole body seeming to fill with shivering light. She caught her breath, dug her heels into the floor and tried to pull away. She wanted more, wanted him. He hitched her thigh over his shoulder, tilting her without halting the stroke of his tongue, and slid one thick, callused finger inside her. She gasped and thrust against him. He laughed deep in his throat and added a second finger. When she tried to ride his hand he set a punishing rhythm and drew on her with his mouth, tongue hitting that sweet spot over and over, his other hand moving from her thigh to her hip to her stomach, thumb stroking and kneading a few inches south of her

navel. The orgasm crashed through her. She screamed so hard her voice broke, then she keened helplessly as Red brought her back down to earth with his touch, gentle and sure, drawing out of her carefully as aftershocks made her gasp and clench around him. She took her first full breath in forever. Red nuzzled her thighs, kissing his way to her hip, hands sliding to cup her ass. He looked up at her. His harsh face was stamped with possession, the fire in his eyes burning amber, his mouth hard. His mind brushed hers, a velvet caress. “That’s all the gentle I’ve got in me, flower.” God, his voice — heartbreak and warning and promise. She peeled off her ripped T-shirt, shook her hair free of it, and tossed it away. “Good.”

17 The first thing that filtered through to Emma’s awareness as she surfaced from sleep was the hardness of the bed beneath her. Hard and weird shaped. But she was so goddamn tired she decided it didn’t matter. She was warm, and exhausted, and she wasn’t going anywhere. She’d been dreaming. She’d woken up just after Telly arrived at her parent’s ranch, to pick her up for prom. What a fucked up dream. Before that, though — holy mother of God, those dreams had been erotic as hell.

OhGodno. She sat straight up like Dracula rising from his coffin, fear turning the back of her throat to a copper-flavored desert. It had not been a dream. She was on a fainting couch in the fancy library, an equally fancy angora throw draped over her. Had there been a fire in that fireplace before? Because there was now, hot and cheery, crackling and filling the room with the scent of ash and woodsmoke. Otherwise it was dark, all the lamps extinguished, firelight causing shadows to leap and flicker across bookshelves and side tables and fancy furniture. Oh, yep, she was totally naked. And her entire body ached, but especially there. Everywhere there. Very much there. She also had the memories to prove exactly why she ached so much there. Her breath caught as her mind flashed on one particularly spectacular recollection, of being bent over one of those fancy armchairs while Red drove into her from behind, one big hand cupping her

breast, the other fisted in her hair. There were more memories. Her back against the door, her legs wrapped around Red’s waist, his body filling her. His ragged groans and harsh curses. The intoxicating look on his face, his eyes drowning gold, his mouth somehow hard and fragile at the same time. His scent still clung to her; sex, yeah, but his scent too. The rich male spice of him seemed imprinted on her for all time. She’d loved every minute of it. Screamed with delight and ecstasy. She could tell herself that had been the bacchanalia possessing her, possessing them both, but it didn’t change the way her body tightened and went liquid all over again thinking about it now, and the bacchanalia was gone. Her face burned with heat while the rest of her went cold. She had ruined everything. Emma, Alexi said, his voice like brushed steel and the air before a storm. Nothing is ruined. Nothing is wrong. She bit back a sob. Alexi… I’m here. He wrapped her in warmth, in the

solid, muscular sureness of his beast, the feel of it coiling around her as real as though he were right there with her. Some of the cold left her. Where are you? He hesitated. Then he sighed in her mind. I am with Telly, he said, his tone resigned. He sleeps. I do not want to leave him, in case he wakes, alone and remembering. Remembering that Alexi had held him back, while Red Sun carried Emma away to fuck her brains out. Yeah, it was probably a good idea not to leave the walking god unsupervised right now. It’s not just the risk to Red Sun, Alexi said carefully. Emma paused. Reading him. What she saw in his mind made her feel a weird mixture of relief and jealousy. Alexi was worried. Like, actually worried about Telly’s emotional state. Not because he might kill someone, not because he might hurt Emma — although those were distinct possibilities and Alexi was prepared for them. Simply worried, the

way you worried about the people you cared about. He is broken, Alexi said plainly. And so is his heart. Mine is not, and neither is yours. I love you, Emma, I would die to protect you and kill to keep you, I would destroy worlds if that was what you required in order to love me, even though I will never, ever be worthy of that love. But you do not need me. Holy fucking shit, was he breaking up with her? Her heart plunged into her stomach. Alexi — No, Emma, I do not mean it that way. His mind flashed with frustration. You do not need me to protect you. You don’t need my help. You never have and I doubt you ever will. You are one of the bravest souls I have ever known. It’s one of the reasons I couldn’t bear you, at first, because I will never be that brave. Emma swiped tears from her cheeks. That’s quite a speech coming from the guy who took on a goddess to save me. His laughter caressed the inside of her head. Pure selfishness. I won’t give you up, never. Not

unless you wish it. Never, she said, blinking in shock and wonder. What had she done to deserve a miraculous creature like Alexi? Surely nothing. Surely it was a mistake. Any minute now he’d come to his senses and realize he wanted more than her, more than what she was, more than someone who was in love with multiple other people and who’d just had sex — so much sex — with one of them. Emma, Alexi said, a world of acceptance and frustration in his mental voice. We have talked about this. That wasn’t true. Alexi had talked about it, while she’d stubbornly brushed him off, out of embarrassment and fear. Besides, knowing how Alexi felt and understanding it were two very different things. Believing it was a very different thing. Ah. He wakes. Alexi’s mind shuttered itself for a moment. Then a wave of stark possession rolled through their telepathic connection, warming Emma’s bones, and for a second it felt like Alexi’s arms were around her. I will comfort him, Alexi

said, his voice sadder than Emma had ever heard it. And Emma? She took a deep breath, stretching her legs out. Yeah? His mental touch was exquisitely gentle. Red, too, is in need of comfort. Emma didn’t quite understand. Okay, she said anyway. The library door cracked open. Alexi withdrew from her mind, leaving her suddenly very aware of how naked she was under the throw. She wanted to look away as Red padded into the room, his arms full of some awkward load of stuff, but she couldn’t do it, and not just because the sight of his heavy, dangerous body triggered a million sense memories. He was healing. The claw and bite marks on his face, shoulders and back were still open, but he was no longer bleeding. Thank God. He’d found a towel somewhere; it was secured around his hips, flashing his leg with every step, but at least he wasn’t naked. He avoided her gaze

as he moved into the firelight. He set a tall bottle of amber liquid on the table at the end of Emma’s fainting couch, and then unloaded a few more items. Two tumblers. What looked like — but couldn’t be — “Seriously, is that chocolate?” Red started. He looked at her and cleared his throat. “I thought you’d be, y’know. I don’t know. Here.” He broke a chunk off the block and handed it to her. “It’s pretty bitter.” Emma took the chocolate and popped it in her mouth. “Just how I like my men,” she said around the chocolate. “Pretty and bitter.” Red choked and devolved into a coughing fit. “So,” Emma said, swallowing. “Where is everyone?” Red exhaled noisily and passed a hand over his face. “Asleep. Not a peep from the Cantiaci upstairs. I’d say they went on a lot longer than, uh, we did, if the smell up there is anything to go by.” This time it was Emma’s turn to choke. When she’d recovered, Red handed her a tumbler with an inch of whiskey in it. She took it gratefully. “I

thought the bacchanalia ended when Telly…” “It did,” Red said roughly. “But the Cantiaci tend to enjoy themselves an orgy a hell of a lot more than other folks.” Yeah, well. Given how many and varied Emma’s memories of Red Sun’s body were, it was safe to say it had taken Alexi a long time to subdue Telly. God, God, don’t think about that… Taking a sip of whiskey, Emma grimaced against the burn, and stayed silent until she knew her voice would be normal. “You saying you didn’t enjoy yourself?” Red swore and paced away. Then seemed to shake himself and came back, and poured himself a drink a lot bigger than Emma’s. He drained it and came to stand by the couch. “May I?” His tone made Emma’s heart twist. So careful, so bruised. She tucked the angora throw under her arms and scooted back. “Of course.” He sat, leaving space between them, propping his elbows on his knees. “Em…”

When he didn’t say anything else, Emma set her drink aside and leaned forward. “Red?” He closed his eyes. The claw marks on his face looked horrendous, deep and black and painful. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, flower. I don’t expect you to be able to forgive me, and that’s okay. I just wanted you to know.” She balled her fists in the blanket. “Forgive you for what.” He grimaced. Opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. “I thought we were stronger than the Cantiaci. If I’d known, I could’ve warned you all before we ever left Brazil. My God, Em. Telly called the bacchanalia because I wasn’t strong enough to win, and you — you had to… My God,” he said again. Then he covered his face with both hands and made a strangled noise that sped Emma’s pulse. He was crying. “Red.” She touched his forearm. “Red, this is not your fault.” It was like touching a statue; aside from that first sob, he was motionless and silent, like he’d gone somewhere she couldn’t reach. He

started to glow, and Emma felt a faint, static charge fill the air. He was about to Travel. She grabbed his arm with both hands. “It was me! I told Telly to call the bacchanalia!” Red’s glow died and he lifted his face from his hands to meet her eyes. The anguish in his face was almost too hard to look at. “You made the call?” She swallowed. “Yes. And I’d do it again, even if Telly wasn’t at risk of going apeshit if he uses too much magic. Angharad was winning, and you would’ve kept fighting until she killed you.” His mouth twisted. “It’s so wrong, chicken,” he whispered. Wrong? Emma felt like she’d been slapped. Stay reasonable, she just had to stay reasonable, even if she was remembering how Red had begged her to knock him out with her marked hand’s power, just before their shields broke and took away all their choices. She let go of Red’s arm. That was when she realized the blanket had fallen down and lay pooled in her lap.

Red made a frantic sound and shot to his feet, so that was obviously when he realized the blanket was pooled in her lap. She snatched it back up just as Red’s towel came loose and slid to the floor. He made a grab for it. Missed. Threw his hands up and swore, turning away. Jesus, his backside was criminally hot — his legs thick and chiseled, that hard crease where his rump met his thighs beckoning Emma’s touch. She remembered what it felt like to sweep her hand up the inside of his thigh and cup the warm, heavy weight of his most delicate parts, and it drove the breath from her body in a desperate rush. He whirled, eyes wide. His nostrils flared. His lips parted, taking her scent, and she knew without having to read his mind he was confirming what his other senses already told him. Her face flushed and she dropped her eyes. This was so fucking embarrassing. She sensed him swipe the towel up and pad over. When he crouched in front of her, the towel was back in place. “I’d rather die than hurt you,” he said softly, brushing her chin with his knuckles

and lifting her face so she had to look him in the eye. “After what you’ve been through, flower — “This wasn’t the same,” she snarled, slapping his hand away. His brows popped. She gave him her scariest face but couldn’t keep the tears out of her voice. “Don’t you dare compare what just happened to what I went through in Russia. This was not wrong.” His brows came down. “Em —” “No, Red, pay attention.” She was shaking; she clutched the blanket tighter around her. “It was good and it was joyful and I wanted it, do you hear me?” “The bacchanalia —” “Fuck the bacchanalia,” she said flatly. “I wanted you.” He stared, his face stark, nostrils flaring. Emma’s heart pounded. She felt like she was going to cry or scream or both, and it occurred to her she was doing a terrible job of comforting him if what Alexi had said was true. Red licked his lips, breathing hard. “My curse —”

“I’m immune,” she said harshly. “I have been since my powers came online, you know that.” His jaw tightened, pain filling his eyes. “I know.” “Then why are you looking at me like that.” One corner of his mouth tipped up in a bitter smile. “In over two and a half thousand years of bearing this curse, you’re the only person I’ve ever met with natural immunity.” He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. “The first person I’ve ever wanted who wasn’t compelled by magic to want me back.” Emma caught her breath, pulse going into overdrive, but his expression turned even sadder, and his voice went rough with his beast. “The one time I get to touch you, and it’s under the goddamn bacchanalia’s spell.” Emma went still, but her mind was racing. “So you don’t regret being with me.” “God, Em, the bacchanalia —” “I don’t mean that. I mean me.” He blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it with a click of teeth and shook his head, an incredulous

look on his face. “Em, flower, no.” His cheeks darkened. “It’s selfish as fuck, but no. I wanted it to be you.” She breathed out. “Okay then.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. He searched her face, his deep brown eyes gentle and full of sorrow, his throat working. He was looking at her like he was memorizing her. Or saying goodbye somehow, to this moment, to this night — she didn’t think he’d abandon her for real — but he looked at her like he was getting ready to leave her in some indescribable but fundamental way. She reached for him via the Pledge bond. He was smiling at her, but his spirit was howling with loss. Comfort, she heard Alexi say in her head. Emma set her teeth and summoned her courage. She let go of the blanket. Cupped Red’s face in her hands, leaned forward, and kissed the corner of his mouth. He exhaled like he’d been punched. “Emma…” She drew back, trailing her fingers across his

lips, meeting his eyes. “What.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. Then lower. He shut his eyes like he was in pain. “Flower.” She leaned in again and brushed her mouth across his, hands sliding to his neck. “What,” she murmured against his lips. When he opened his mouth again to speak she silenced him by licking his bottom lip. He made a fragile, masculine sound that tugged on Emma’s heart and on other, lower things, and slowly — so that he could pull away, so she’d feel it if he hesitated — she covered his mouth with hers and kissed him in earnest. He responded. He tasted faintly of whiskey and more intoxicating than ever; he’d kissed her twice before and who knew how many times they’d fed at each other’s mouths while the bacchanalia had them, but this was quiet and slow and sweet, with no otherworldly urgency driving them. Emma’s insides twisted with desire, but she held back, pouring it all into the kiss, telling him without words how she felt about him. The rest of the world ceased to matter; there

was only Red Sun. Her heartbeat seemed to pound in time with his, his scent invading her, his warmth sinking into her bones, and Emma let herself stop thinking about what it all meant and what the hell she was supposed to do about it, because if all they had was this one moment for themselves then she was going to drain every last motherfucking drop of happiness from it. Yeah, it was about comforting Red — offering him what no other could. But it was also about taking something for herself. She understood now what Alexi always meant when he told her he was too selfish to give her up. Red pulled back reluctantly, his breath warm and smoky against her cheek. His eyes were amber with the presence of his beast. “We should stop.” Emma held his gaze. “Do you want to stop?” “You can’t ask me that, flower.” “I can and I am. What do you want, Red?” He exhaled harshly, searching her face. He shook his head. “Fuck, Emma, I want you. But you belong —” “To no one,” she said. “But what about —”

“That doesn’t matter right now. It doesn’t.” She brushed her fingers across his rough jaw, wishing she was better at seduction, wishing she had the kind of otherworldly grace and power that made the others so goddamn irresistible. “Please,” she begged him. “Trust me. Nothing matters right now except this. There is nothing I want more right now, than this.” He shook his head again. His brown eyes swam with doubt. His mouth twisted with regret, but as he swallowed, throat working, Emma saw just how tight a leash he had on his desire, and just how fragile his hold was. Fuck it. She pushed the blanket aside and slid down into his lap. “Touch me, Red,” she pleaded. “Be with me. No curse, no magic.” With a rough cry he locked his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. His breath was ragged. Good God, he was huge. Emma was no Amazon, but she wasn’t petite either, and he made her feel like she was no bigger than one of the maidens.

“You’re sure,” he said, voice hoarse with emotion. In answer, she wrapped her legs around his waist and licked the strong, corded column of his throat, careful to avoid his wounds. Stubble rasped against her tongue. Red bucked, crying out, a short male sound that made Emma grin and arch into him, wanting to hear it again, and he rewarded her with a low groan. Emma’s every nerve ending seemed to catch fire. Then he pulled back and kissed her, taking command of her mouth, no hesitation this time, and she gave herself up to him. Red’s big hands skimmed up and down her back, like he was trying to touch all of her at once. She didn’t want to bump his wounds, so she kept her hands on his chest, shaping the crisp definition of his pecs, brushing her fingers across his flat, hard nipples. He made a sound that was halfway between a scream and a growl when she did that, never halting the drugging stroke of his tongue against hers, and when she rolled the small peaks with her thumbs he growled in earnest and didn’t

stop. Then came retaliation: his hands shaped her waist, smoothed over her ribs, and closed over her breasts with possessive heat. Emma broke away from the kiss on a gasp, arching into his touch. “You’re still wearing this awful towel,” she said breathlessly. He made a contemplative noise, hips rolling to meet hers, eyes half lidded and smoldering with banked lust. “My hands are busy.” Those hands began a slow, torturous massage, thumbs dragging across her nipples, and Emma almost forgot her own name. “Oh, God…” Then she remembered what she was doing. Towel. Right. She braced herself with one hand on his massive shoulder and used the other to yank the ends of the towel out of Red’s lap. It didn’t exactly work. She laughed, unable to stop arching against him. “Red, it’s stuck, you gotta help.” With a frustrated grunt he let go of her long enough to shuck the towel. His erection was suddenly hot and huge

between them, and Emma’s entire body went molten at the feel of that exquisitely ridged hardness wedged against her stomach. “Jesus fuck, Emma.” Red dropped his forehead to hers, breathing like a freight train. “You feel so fucking good.” His hands went back to her breasts, kneading and molding them, and Emma could only moan in reply. She’d meant to say something intelligent, she really had, but her brain was gone. All she could think about was his hands on her, his breath on her, his arousal pushing at her, begging for her to take him. Yesss, she thought with a hiss as she dropped her hands and took hold of him. He felt even better than she remembered. She leaned back against the edge of the couch for leverage, put one hand on his shoulder, and angled her hips up — “Uh uh,” Red murmured, breaking her hold on him with his big forearms and locking his hands onto her hips. “Not yet.” Emma shot him her death stare. “What do you mean not — ohhh, God — ” He swept his fingers up her thighs and through

her wet heat. Sensation crashed over her. She hung onto his biceps for dear life, pumping her hips, chasing his touch, and with a smile that was utterly male and totally smug he slid those fingers into her. She couldn’t help the cry that burst from her throat. It wasn’t just the feel of his strong, incredible touch filling her; it was the look on his face, lust and pleasure and wonder, the way those feelings lit his eyes and suffused his face. He looked at once shocked and completely certain, fragile and dominant, and knowing she had the power to put that look on his face — her, only her — made her heart soar and her soul shout in triumph. “Red.” She tightened her grip on his arms, riding his hand harder. “Now.” She didn’t have to say it twice. He withdrew and straightened, bracing with one hand on the edge of the couch. Emma dug her heels into the floor. Red took himself in his other hand, guiding himself to her entrance, looked straight into her eyes, and sank into her.

Halfway, anyhow, until he hit the point where his length thickened. Emma gasped, clenching around him. God, he felt so good, so fucking good, but he was not small. How the hell had they gone at it like jackhammers before? He groaned, rolling his hips back. “Em, fuck…” “It’s okay,” she managed to say. “Give it a minute. Oh God, or maybe just give it now, like right now.” He barked a laugh. “Em, I’m serious, you’re so goddamn —” She dug her nails into his arms in warning. “This is hardly my fault, mister two-by-four.” Red began to shake with laughter. Emma arched into him, unable to stop moving, desperate to seat herself fully on his delicious body; his hips shifted restlessly and he gained another inch of her. So good, so slick and hot — almost there — Then he was gone. She moaned in frustration, but before she could complain he scooped her up and rolled with her until she ended up on her back beneath him.

“Different angle,” Red said, pausing, looking into her eyes. He was so beautiful like this, huge and male and humming with lust, but utterly focused on her. Her breath came faster just thinking about him covering her body with his, let alone pushing into her. She reached for his face, tracing his nose, his brows, the scar on his upper lip. Then she grasped his shoulders because she knew she was going to need the leverage. “Go for it.” He did. The angle was perfect. With one massively powerful arm he lifted her hips, hand on her ass, bracing against the floor with the other hand, and entered her on a thrust that sheathed him completely. They both gasped as their bodies joined. Red’s gaze never left hers. Without hesitation he set a slow, deliberate pace, each stroke stretching her and driving her back into the floor. How could anything feel so goddamn good? Watching him, rolling her hips to meet him, taking each thrust and feeling him reach the end of her, their bodies grinding and drawing away on that intoxicating tide

— how could anyone do this to her, make her feel this way? She’d thought she’d had great sex before, not a ton of it, but some, but she was wrong. And it was an entire galaxy removed from the bad things that had happened to her. She was alive and soaring, sensation racing through her, every cell sparking and straining to merge with Red Sun. Her body demanded him, more and more of him, and every thrust seemed to bind them even tighter. They fell into a steady, pounding rhythm, breath coming in harsh gasps, sweat slicking their skin. Red’s gaze was dark, no bestial glow now, all plain erotic focus, the hollows of his cheeks pronounced as he fought to maintain that luxurious, agonizing pace. No magic, she’d said. But the Pledge bond sang through them, calling them to each other, begging them to sink into each other’s souls. Emma made a desperate sound. Red still held her in place, so his body grazed her clit with every stroke that brought them together, and her climax was starting, slow and sharp and sweet. But she wanted, needed to hold on — Red wasn’t there

yet, his control unwavering, and the Pledge bond was pushing, straining, begging for them to merge. She had to resist. No magic, she’d said, no magic! As Red’s body collided with hers, pushing her higher, Emma lost the willpower to refuse that call. Her magic leapt for him. He shouted raggedly. His eyes flared gold as white light bloomed beneath his skin, and his beast, his lifeforce, the part of him bound to her by the Pledge, rushed to meet her. Whole. Not two but one. It wasn’t like merging with Fern via the Enam-Vesh; there was no control, no thought, no precision. The Enam-Vesh merge was like becoming a part of an incredible, complex machine, where everything worked in tandem, perfect and ruthlessly rational; merging via the Pledge was wordless and wild, obliterating all awareness of anything but them fused into one being. Emma cried out Red’s name as the orgasm burned through her like sunlight. Her body clenched around him. He abandoned his deliberate

rhythm, hips pumping faster and faster, and then Emma couldn’t separate her own pleasure from his as he came. Still riding her own climax, she opened her eyes and watched him, and God, he was incredible. Clenching his teeth on cry after harsh cry, he held her gaze, his eyes blazing, brow furrowed and shoulders jacked up like he was in pain. The pleasure that rocked him was a borderline agony that Emma shared, unable to look away, unable to drop the merge and let him go. By the time he sagged, held up only by his one hand on the floor and his body seated all the way to the hilt in hers, the magic released them on its own. Emma was shaking with aftershocks and gasping for breath. Sweat dripped out of Red’s hair and onto her chest. For some reason, that made her insides shiver and clench all over again. Red made a desperate sound halfway between a snarl and a laugh, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her, expression slack with wonder. His voice was a soft, hoarse whisper. “You okay, flower?” She made an incoherent noise and nodded.

Licked her lips. Caught her breath enough to speak. “Don’t leave me yet, Red.” His brows came down, smile fading. “I won’t.” Goddammit. Emma wanted to take her own brain out of her head and slap it. Why’d she have to think about that? About getting up off the floor, leaving the warmth of the fire, leaving the warmth of him. Leaving him. Don’t think about it. She reached for his face, smoothed sweat out of his eyebrow. He watched her with eyes gone glassy with some emotion Emma couldn’t name. Then she blinked, and adrenaline surged through her. “Red, your wounds. They’re gone.”

18 Red gently withdrew his arm from underneath her and touched his cheek. “Jesus,” he whispered. Emma ran her hands over his neck, his shoulder, his chest and his ribs. Nothing, not even a scar to show for the damage Angharad inflicted. “It was the merge,” Red said slowly. “The Pledge.” Emma shook her head. “You were glowing —” “Even if I’d changed shape, I wouldn’t be whole like this,” Red said. “I still had weeks of healing left. Angharad’s powerful, Em, and she

was juiced to the eyeballs on ancestor magic. I was lucky to get away as clean as I did, but this…” He blinked, swore under his breath, and gave a dismissive grunt. “What the fuck am I babbling about. Brace yourself, flower.” Before she could actually do as he said, he caught her against him and flipped them so he was sitting up with her straddling him. He was still inside her, still hard. She felt him kick. Liquid heat pulsed through her and her mouth went dry. “You can’t possibly…” He rolled his hips once. His hands slid up her thighs, over her backside, up her back, and his gaze traveled the reverse path: down to her mouth, her throat, her breasts, twin points of gold kindling in his eyes as his gaze went lower to where their bodies were joined. Just watching him look at her made her lose her mind all over again. “We don’t have to go just yet,” Red murmured, threading his hands into her hair. Not yet, but eventually. Terror washed through her. How was she

supposed to do that? Oh God, now she’d had him, how was she supposed to let him go? All of a sudden, she felt like she’d taken a bullet to the stomach. Em? Fern’s mental touch, brief and confused. Emma froze. Red frowned. But she couldn’t shut Fern out; her mind yearned towards his even as fear and embarrassment made her face flush with heat. She opened the mental pathway in her head to Red as well as Fern. Are you all right? Red’s brow smoothed with understanding and he began slow, soothing strokes down her back. Fern’s faint laughter fizzed in her head like champagne. Uh, yeah. We — I’m, um, in a linen closet. A very large linen closet. But Seshua’s out there, and I think he’s pretty confused. “Oh my God, Seshua.” “Gotta admit,” Red said, shutting himself out of the shared mental pathway with Fern, “those aren’t the words I wanna hear while I’m inside you.” Emma slammed her shields in place and closed

her eyes. “I’m sorry.” He melded his big hands to her back. “Christ, flower, it was a joke. Hey.” She opened her eyes. He stared down into her face in confusion, and then seemed to see something in her eyes that he understood, because his expression turned hard and sad. All his scars, the crooked angle of the bridge of his nose — Emma suddenly felt like if she didn’t memorize them, she’d lose them forever. Which was stupid, because he wasn’t going anywhere — she could look upon his face any time she wished, he was loyal to her, he’d sworn to Telly that he’d stay and help protect her. But that didn’t change what her heart knew. Red pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.” His voice roughened. “Thank you.” He lifted her then, drawing out of her body. It would be totally pathetic to cry and beg him for a few more minutes at that point. Just one minute more. A shout of outrage came from beyond the library door.

Seshua. Red stood, setting Emma on her feet. Gravity asserted itself; not only did Emma’s head spin as her blood pressure changed, but everything that had gone up began its inexorable way down. Yippee. And she’d thought the lack of clothing was the most of her problems. Red tipped her head back with his hand in her hair. “You okay?” She pressed her thighs together. “No offense intended here, but I need a shower like whoa.” He exhaled and swallowed noisily, heat filling his eyes. “None taken. Hang on.” He let go of her and turned away, then spied the towel and went to grab it for her. Just like that, it was over. Voices rose outside the library. Moving fast, Emma and Red did all they could to clean up and dress — her T-shirt still kinda worked, her bra was fine, and her pants stayed up once she tied a knot in the ripped left side seam at the waist, although she had to leave the right side, because if she tied that up then the pants wouldn’t fit over her

ass. The underwear was ruined; she threw it in the fireplace, same with the towel. For the life of her she couldn’t find her socks, so she shoved the boots on without them. Red wrapped the angora throw around his waist and somehow looked roguish instead of silly, and they stepped out into the entrance hall even though Emma was not at all ready. There was no point delaying; she’d never be ready. And, yep, the absolute worst happened: everyone in the hall stopped talking and yelling and flailing at each other, turned, and looked at them. Okay, it was really only Seshua and Agrona who had been yelling and flailing, but all of them definitely turned and stared when Emma and Red walked out. Everyone was there; not everyone was dressed. The maidens wore various pieces of what had been their diaphanous wraps, the fabric missing beads and looking far worse for wear. Ivan was shirtless; Fatima wore his jacket, zipped, but her pants seemed okay. Shadi’s shirt was gone too.

Two jaguars prowled back and forth, actual jaguars — one pale gold and bigger, the other black. Andres and Raul. Emma supposed they were dressed in a way. Leah seemed to be wearing Anton’s shirt and nothing else, Anton was in tight boxer briefs and nothing else, and Fern had shirt and boxer briefs but no pants. His tight long sleeved tee was shredded to shit, kinda like Emma’s shirt. Ricky seemed no worse for wear, with all his stuff intact. Everyone’s weapons were either holstered or in their hands — except for Seshua and Agrona, who stood unarmed in the middle of them all, and while Seshua wore the pants he’d been wearing when he carried Agrona off for their post duel bang session, Agrona had changed completely; she now wore an elegant silk business ensemble, with charcoal pencil skirt and matching pumps, pantyhose, and a muted teal blouse that made her purple eyes look blue. Her hair was back in that impeccable bun. She looked completely human aside from the angry white glow that bled off her skin like mist.

Alexi and Telly stood a ways off — they both had their pants, but no shirts, and Emma noted with sickening fascination how beautiful they looked side by side like that, arms crossed, hair loose. Telly bronzed and golden, like sunshine made flesh; Alexi pale and cool, like moonlight on dark water. They both wore identical expressions of calculated boredom on their faces until they saw Emma. Alexi’s eyes lit up, his gaze taking her in and then jumping to Red. Telly looked ill and turned away. Alexi glanced at the walking god. Lifted a hand. Closed it into a fist and let it drop, and started over to Emma and Red Sun, and only Red at her back stopped her from running into the library and locking the door behind her. Oh Jesus, she was going to throw up. Or literally shatter into a thousand tiny pieces and drift down to the floor as though she’d never been person-shaped. Come to think of it, the latter sounded like an excellent plan. Alexi stalked across the entrance hall like he

owned the place, and everyone watched in cautious silence, as though waiting for some signal. Well, Red said in her head. It was nice knowin’ you, wildfire, but here comes my death. He stepped away from her. Red… Alexi reached Emma. Her mouth went dry and her knees loosened. He wrapped her in his arms and lifted her, and kissed her like his life depended on it. It wasn’t erotic, it wasn’t a seduction; it was relief, and acceptance, and possession. He kissed her like he hadn’t seen her in months, let alone hours. He kissed her and drank down the taste of her, of Red Sun still on her lips, his chest rising and falling against Emma’s with short breaths as he took in all the scents that still clung to her, and he opened his mind to hers fully so there could be no doubt how he felt about her. How he felt about her still. By the time he let her go, let her slide to her feet, she was breathing hard and her head was reeling but she felt a million times steadier than

she had before. Alexi turned to Red. Held his hand out. When Red took it, Alexi reeled him in and clapped him on the back in a half hug. Red looked at Alexi like he was an armed warhead. You kept her safe, Alexi said, drawing back. Red’s mind raced, thoughts whirling through their telepathic bonds, too fast for Emma to decipher. Priest… Alexi seemed to read something in Red’s mind that Emma didn’t catch. His gaze went glacial and his cheeks tightened, making his scars stand out, but he exhaled slowly and locked his emotions down. Emma is not a thing to be had, he said, looking at her. Then he met Red’s eyes again. Her body is not a prize. She belongs to herself and no one else, and she cannot be sullied by anyone’s touch, wanted or no. I would expect to have to explain this to the walking god, or to Seshua, but not you, Red Sun. Red’s eyes blazed. He turned to Emma, shoulders bunching with tension. You know I don’t

think of you that way. Alexi grunted. The point is, I do not think of her that way, either. Red looked at Alexi. Alexi was calm; Red was still jacked up, his body broadcasting threat. Emma put her hand on Red’s arm, a light touch. He’s not going to harm you for sleeping with me before he did, because I’m a person, not a base, Red. You didn’t get to me first. There is no “first.” That’s what he’s trying to say. I never thought of you like that. She gave him a tight smile. I know. Then she withdrew her hand and willed her mental shields into place, because it was time to get on with the business of pretending she wasn’t heartbroken. “If we’re all done posturing,” Agrona drawled, “I’d very much like to get going.” When everyone just looked at her, she heaved an exaggerated sigh and started putting her earrings on. They were pearl. “Look, my eldest will be home from tennis practice in fifteen minutes and the nanny clocks off in twenty. Do have a good evening.” She finished with the earrings and ducked around Seshua.

“Especially you, gorgeous,” she added with an appreciative glance over her shoulder. “The queen will come to regret giving us such a hostile reception,” Seshua called. His voice boomed in the entrance hall. Agrona just waved and kept going for the doors. “Mother has many regrets,” she sang. “They are none of my concern now.” An unfamiliar voice rang out from above. “He is right, Agrona. Your people, if not your mother, need your diplomacy now.” It was the gray haired Cantiaci. The shaman. He started down the stairs as Agrona came to a reluctant halt. She turned and sighed. “I have ten minutes to get home to my family, Gwenael, and if Mitch wasn’t out of town I wouldn’t even be listening to you right now.” Whoa, Emma thought. Just whoa. This was the same woman who had transformed into a giant bear and beaten ten shades of shit out of the jaguar king before jumping him? Gwenael stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Angharad is too proud to show her face so soon

after forfeiting the duel.” He spread his hands. “Do you think these people will listen to anything we have to say once they take their leave of our generous hospitality?” “What makes you think we will listen now,” Seshua growled. “We’ll listen,” Emma said, looking at Gwenael. As Seshua opened his mouth and then closed it on a frustrated sigh, Gwenael looked around at all the tense faces, and then met Emma’s eyes again, his gaze speculative. “So you are more than a figurehead.” “You’d better hope I am,” she told him. “Because I’m probably the only person in this house aside from you who gives a shit about your people, and so far all your people have done is try to maim and kill my people. None of mine are feeling very diplomatic right now, I can guarantee you that, and to be honest neither am I. What the fuck do you want.” Several of her people smothered smug grins. Seshua crossed his arms, arching an expectant brow at Gwenael.

But Telly spoke first. “Angharad wants me to agree to lift the veil between worlds.” His lean face was an expressionless mask that didn’t seem to fit right. “To reinstate the divine power of the British Isles.” Emma responded without thinking. “I have no idea what that means, but can you actually do that?” He looked at her, pain flashing in his eyes, and his hair started moving in a breeze that wasn’t there. “Five hundred years ago, perhaps,” he told her, sounding like he couldn’t quite get enough air. “When there were still other ways to get through. But not now. Not without breaking my magic wide open and destroying us all.” “Okay, I still have no idea what that means, but it sounds pretty definitive.” “You’re wrong, however,” Gwenael said cautiously. “About the other ways to get through.” Emma took a few steps toward Telly, shooting Gwenael a dark look. “It’s not gonna happen. Angharad forfeited the duel, you said so yourself, and we —”

“I beg of you, be at ease.” Gwenael put his hands up, his expression placid. “There is more.” “Then spit it out,” Emma said mildly. Agrona heaved another long suffering sigh and came back, heels clicking on the polished floor. “Angharad wants to lift the veil not just to reinstate the power of the British Isles, but to save her sister.” Several of the men shot each other worried glances as Emma looked from Agrona to Gwenael and back again. “Is it the wasting illness?” Agrona looked like she’d tasted something bad. “No. Aunt Deryn went missing over ninety years ago. Mother suspects she either wandered into or was stolen away to faerie. That’s why she wants the veil lifted.” Emma blinked. “Forgive me, it’s been a long night. Your mother wants Telly to lift the veil to faerie?” Agrona crossed her arms. “The one you call Telly is Taliesin, the Bard, and since he was responsible for creating the veil in the first place, yes my mother wants him to lift the veil to faerie.”

“To faerie.” Agrona nodded. “To faerie.” Emma looked at Telly and remembered where she’d seen the name Taliesin before — it was from Welsh mythology — but now was not the time to get into it. “It doesn’t matter what he’s called,” Emma told Agrona. “Or whether he was responsible for this veil thingy. He can’t do what you want him to.” “We know,” Gwenael said. “We tried to convince Angharad to entreat you, Emma, to help us find her sister, rather than challenge you in battle for the favor, but Angharad was too proud to listen.” “That seems to be a theme with her,” Emma said, relaxing a touch but unwilling to step away from Telly — she wanted to be between him and the Cantiaci. “You’ve simply no idea,” Agrona said breezily. Gwenael inclined his head. “As well as proud, she is ambitious, and has learned to put the needs of her country above her own. She very much wanted the chance at lifting the veil. Even if it

meant insulting you and forfeiting your assistance should she lose, she had to take the risk.” “And she did not think to lose,” Agrona added. “She shouldn’t have. If it hadn’t been for your charming little distraction, Taliesin would owe us a favor of our choosing and we would all be doomed because mother has tunnel vision when it comes to her beloved country.” Emma frowned at Agrona. “So you’re pleased she forfeited?” Agrona’s face turned stony. “My children are human. The father of my children is human. This world is dangerous enough for them without loosing wild magic upon the unsuspecting populace of Great Britain. Speaking of which, I’m sorry Gwennie, but I’ve got to go.” She turned to leave. “But why would your mother —” “Angharad has held the British Isles for fifteen hundred years,” Gwenael said apologetically, waving Agrona off. “She is arrogant enough to think she can keep her own people safe, and powerful enough that she is mostly right. But some

of us do care about the wellbeing of those less powerful than the Cantiaci. That is why we entreat you to help us, as Caller of the Blood.” Alexi’s cool voice cut through the room like a blade. “What is it you think the Caller of the Blood can do for you?” The front doors slammed as Agrona made her exit. Gwenael eyed Alexi with wary respect. “The power of the Caller of the Blood strengthens the bonds between shapechangers. It is also fabled to strengthen their innate powers. Would you say that it does?” Alexi said nothing. When Gwenael looked around, he got nothing but icy silence from everyone else. The Cantiaci shaman nodded and turned his attention back to Emma. “Among the shapechanging races of Britannia, the role of the Caller of the Blood has traditionally been thought of as shamanistic in nature. Because, aside from commanding the magic of the races, the Caller of the Blood can journey between worlds.” Gwenael’s gaze turned sharp. “Can’t you.”

Emma’s hackles rose. “The walking god —” “No,” Gwenael said quietly. “Without the walking god.” The visions with Arima, the last Caller of the Blood, the one who died. That time — more than one time — when the goddess Nephthys had spoken to her, through her, ridden her. The waking dream when the goddess Isis had come to her and asked her to live. Gwenael started to glow. “I have dreamed of you, Emma Chase. Heard your name spoken on other planes.” Everyone who had a weapon drew it. Power lashed the air, tasting of smoke and lightning and the copper promise of spilled blood. “Gwen!” Came a cracked voice from the top of the stairs, accent thickly Irish. “What on Earth’s happening now?” Gwenael turned, white light dying, his whole body coming to life as he looked up. The man at the top of the stairs was tall but slight, even slimmer than Fern had been when Emma first met him. His tousled hair was the rarest of reds,

somewhere between red and strawberry blond, and he had the pale, pale skin to match. Freckles. Clear green eyes. Below his nose he had a scar from cleft lip surgery, which told Emma he was most likely not born a shapechanger. He looked fragile and exhausted, but otherwise, he was beautiful. Gwenael bounded up the stairs like his ass was on fire and put his arms around the other man. “You shouldn’t be up.” He hissed, hands smoothing those tousled red curls. “Well I’ve more energy now than I have in months.” The other man pushed Gwenael’s hands away, but gently. “May as well use it. Pity the party’s over, but we can still enjoy ourselves a little while longer, eh.” He leaned away from Gwenael and waved down at Emma and her people. “Hullo. I’m Padrig. Thanks for the magical orgy, very enjoyable.” Emma clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as Gwenael closed his eyes and made a pained face. “Padrig, back to bed with you.” Padrig made an interested sound in the back of

his throat. “Not unless you’re coming back too.” “Soon —” “Well then I’ll wait here, thank you very much.” Gwenael rested his brow against Padrig’s bony shoulder. Then he lifted his head, crouched, and swung Padrig into his arms as though the redhead weighed less than one of the maidens might. He came down the stairs carefully. “Emma Chase, this is my husband, Padrig.” Several of her people, Seshua and Alexi included, looked more than a little chagrined — Emma guessed they’d assumed Gwenael was about to proposition her before Padrig showed up. Hell, he might still, but Emma didn’t think so, not in the way they feared. “Hi, Padrig,” she said. “Gwenael was just about to tell me why he thinks I can journey between worlds, even though the only one who can actually do that is the walking god.” Padrig looked at Gwenael expectantly. Gwenael sighed and gave him a “gee, thanks,” look before turning back to Emma. “Have you ever heard of such a thing as a spirit journey?” When

Emma nodded, he went on. “Taliesin is the only being who can walk between worlds, it’s true, but with either talent or training, some of us can learn to leave our bodies and travel through other, less substantial planes. It is not the same as what Taliesin can do. But it might be enough to help bring Angharad’s sister back from wherever she wanders. I’m not powerful enough on my own, but you…” he trailed off. Emma clenched her jaw. “What do you know about what I can do? Why should I believe you?” Gwenael’s gaze went faraway. “She has aided you three times,” he said in a normal voice completely at odds with his spaced-out expression. “You came so close to her, in Altai, but the magic there pulled you away from her.” Fern made a sharp sound and everyone looked at him. He met Emma’s gaze, shaking his head. “We were heading to Ukok plain when the Brotherhood’s magic took you over. You kept saying, ‘there’s nothing at Ukok but bones.’” “Ah,” Gwenael said, shaking himself back to reality. “Her bones?”

Nobody answered him. Ivan moved closer to Emma, eying Gwenael with open distrust, and Fatima had her hand on her blade. Seshua was unarmed but looked ready to pound heads together at a moment’s notice. “My people are pretty tense, Gwenael,” Emma said gently. “What are you getting at?” He fixed her with those sea green eyes. “In three days it is Samhain, when the veil is thinnest. With my help, it may be possible for you to journey beyond the veil and call Angharad’s sister from faerie.” “Absolutely not,” said Telly, his voice hoarse, probably from all the screaming earlier. Emma held up a hand. “We’ll think about it. Right now I’m more concerned about Padrig here.” Both Padrig and Gwenael went still. Emma caught Seshua twitch and warned him with her eyes to stay put. “You do have the wasting illness, don’t you, Padrig?” Padrig’s face fell. Gwenael’s went hard. “How many more of the Cantiaci have it,” Emma asked.

“None, thankfully,” Padrig answered her with a sad smile. “Just me.” Jesus. Seshua moved, taking a step towards Emma. “Emmalina.” Emma gave him a sunny smile. “Don’t Emmalina me, Your Majesty.” She met Padrig’s eyes. “Pledge to me, Padrig.” Gwenael swore. Padrig’s brows flew up in shock. “Emmalina! You’ve known the man thirty seconds —” “Emma Chase, you’re a brave lass, but he’s right,” Padrig said, his voice shaking. Gwenael’s eyes were glassy with the sudden onslaught of unshed tears. “You don’t know —” “I know your queen would rather risk losing my cooperation altogether for the chance to lift the veil than simply ask me to accept the Pledge from her. And even if she swallows her pride and makes the Pledge, there’s still no guarantee it will be enough to heal you. I’ve only healed one other person who was in the advanced stages of the illness, and I did

it by taking the Pledge from her directly.” Emma shrugged. “It’s the only way to be sure.” Padrig was breathing hard now, and Gwenael was openly weeping. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and wished she could fast-forward this part. “Look, I came here prepared to accept the Pledge from the bears, okay? This is nothing I wasn’t already willing to do. Please.” She held her hand out to Padrig. He looked at her hand like it might grow fangs and bite her. “I don’t —” “You would be willing sacrifice to my altar,” she said, and the words chimed in the air like an otherworldly bell. Padrig’s face changed. Determination filled his pale green eyes as he took her hand. “I would be willing sacrifice to your altar,” he repeated, voice deepening, hair moving in the breeze of his own power, and then he didn’t need any more prompting. “My body is proof of the pledge.” His voice shook. “Do you accept?” Here we go. “My body is vessel for the blood,” she said, the words heavy in her mouth. “And I

accept.” Gasps went up as the ritual magic rose, blooming in the air. Emma had done this enough times to stay upright, but it still hit her like she’d just downed a bottle of whiskey instead of the couple inches earlier, knees turning to water and vision swimming. Padrig pushed at Gwenael, and the shaman let him slide his feet to the floor. Good, that was good — Padrig would need his footing for the next part. “Padrig,” she said, his name on her lips seeming to echo against her insides as though she weren’t flesh but vast and unending. “Padrig, open the Call.” He did. The magic of the Call washed over them both and Emma’s skin turned to freezing fire, her breath suddenly burning in her lungs. She felt the brush of his beast like a thousand needles, razor sharp and made of satin, rushing over her hand and across the surface of her body in waves that pulsed to the time of Padrig’s heart, his heartbeat too fast and too weak, but not for long. Yes, said something inside of Emma that was

old and alien and made for this, singing a song only she could hear. Yes. “Your body is proof of the pledge,” she said in a voice that wasn’t her own, her lips moving without her brain to guide them, whispering quickly before the magic bore down and swept her away. “But your blood is the pledge itself. My body is vessel for the blood. I am the Caller of the Blood.” She lifted Padrig’s hand in both of hers. There was a roaring in her ears that might have been her heartbeat or his, she couldn’t tell. Her mouth ached, and she felt her small fangs elongate, but it didn’t scare her because the magic and the Call were riding her too hard. She heard Gwenael say something in what sounded like Gaelic. Then she closed her teeth around Padrig’s wrist and bore down. Holy hell, it felt so goddamn right. Her fangs sank into him like a hot knife into butter, which shouldn’t have been possible. His blood hit her tongue, the taste of it singing like fine crystal in her veins – that song just for her — and she sealed her mouth over the wound, her spirit calling to his

lifeforce, her magic obliterating all doubt. Padrig made a helpless sound, halfway between pain and elation, and Emma opened her eyes and met his. He glowed, so bright his edges had blurred. His eyes were huge and verdant green, the color of new leaves, new life, renewed hope. His beast stirred, hungry and filling the air between them, starved but alive and waking from the terrible sleep of the wasting illness. Emma drew harder on his vein, swallowed, and knew what to do to heal him completely. She reached for his beast with her power. It rumbled and groaned and shuddered beneath her regard, for all the world as though she reached for it with physical hands instead of with the hand of her magic. From the place inside her that was invisible and unfathomably deep, that place just behind her sternum where the magic anchored itself, Emma pulled at the tether that held Padrig’s beast. The Call died. White light exploded. Emma let go of him and skipped back, drawing a hand across her mouth. Gwenael staggered away from the light, staring up in wonder, and when the light died there

stood a ten foot tall bear the dark color of walnut. Padrig fell forward. Caught himself on his forepaws. He was lean, too lean, as though his beast had been in hibernation, but his deep brown eyes sparked with intelligence and fierce will. He lifted his head to Gwenael. Gwenael let out a terrible sound, flung his arms around his mate’s shaggy head, and sobbed into his fur. Everyone pretended to look elsewhere for a long minute. Emma spent that time licking her teeth clean and clamping down on the urge to vomit, as the aftershocks of the Pledge ritual sizzled through her veins, making her skin jump, rearranging her cells, burrowing into all those strange, hollow places inside her she never knew she had until she accepted the Pledge and someone else became a part of her. What would happen to her now? What would binding Padrig do to her? What had she given up — and what had he? Those questions hadn’t mattered when it came to saving him or letting him die, because it wasn’t a choice. But they would matter eventually.

Finally Padrig mewled and shook himself. Gwenael let go. Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he ran his hands over Padrig’s muzzle, shaping his brows and ears and jaw. Padrig sneezed and showed his teeth in a mock snarl, then parked his rump with a satisfied grunt. “Thank you,” Gwenael said, his voice shaking. “Caller of the Blood, thank you. We owe you a great boon.” “No,” she said firmly. “You don’t owe me anything. What I just did shouldn’t count as anything but the most basic level of human decency, so no thanks, no boon, none of that.” Gwenael frowned, spreading his hands. “But you saved —” “No,” she said again, louder this time. “I am not your savior, Gwenael. I’m a resource. I also happen to be a person, so I have rights and all that, but I am the cure for the wasting illness. It would be unethical for me not to give that cure. So I don’t deserve a cookie for deciding not to let Padrig die.” Gwenael looked at her as though she’d grown a

pair of extra heads. Then his expression turned to worry. “That is a very noble attitude, Emma Chase, and one that can get you killed.” As several of her people snarled, Emma held up a hand for peace. “Don’t worry about me, Gwenael, I can take care of myself. Your queen tied our hands with the whole three-duels-is-a-rule thing. Does she have anything else like that up her sleeve?” When the shaman shook his head, Emma dropped her hand and pretended not to sag with relief. “Okay then. Maybe you should let her know that although I really, really don’t like killing people, if any of mine are threatened, I won’t hesitate.” “Your guards won’t hesitate,” Gwenael corrected her. She stared straight into his eyes and went very still. “Have you ever seen someone kill with their mind?” All the concern drained out of his face until it was a smooth, neutral mask, betraying nothing. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying it’s messy, Gwenael, very messy.”

With that she dropped his gaze and turned to Ivan. “Let’s get out of here. I really need to brush my teeth.”

19 Felani went into full on Mother Hen mode and Emma ended up in one of the cars with Red driving, Fern riding shotgun, and ten maidens crammed into the back with her and Alexi. Since she was still shaking from the Pledge and from other, less metaphysical things, it was comforting rather than claustrophobia inducing. With her head on Alexi’s shoulder, Felani tucked against her other side and maidens draped over their legs and laps, Emma promptly fell asleep.

She woke up to Felani’s soft, insistent voice. She was in her hotel room, on the bed. The instant she opened her mouth to ask what time it was and how she got there, the taste of copper and meat bloomed on her tongue, and she grimaced and launched herself off the mattress. Felani’s eyes were huge. “Toothbrush,” Emma managed to say without throwing up. “Come,” Felani said with an authoritative nod. The bathroom was already steamy, the tub full and swirling with scented bubbles. Emma rinsed, brushed, and rinsed and brushed again, then drank straight from the faucet and used the toilet before even thinking about a soak, even though she badly needed it; she was cold and shivering, and aching all over in ways that had nothing to do with magic or injuries. That was why she kept her mental shields nice and tight. If Fern or Alexi wanted to get through to her, they could — she had the experience now to shut them out without locking them out, although Fern was the only one she could block completely — but she needed to process on her own.

She needed to grieve, on her own. Both for what she’d gotten to have with Red — and wouldn’t ever again — and for something else that felt so weird and selfish and fucked up she didn’t even know where to start with it. She couldn’t even think about it until she’d stripped off and lowered herself into the exquisitely hot water, letting it hold her, letting it keep her afloat so she no longer had to prop herself up. Her hair drifted around her like seaweed, filling the tub; she’d need to wash it properly after, because the delicious smelling bath suds were no doubt turning it into a sticky, tangled mess, but since Felani would need to cut at least a foot off the ends to make it manageable, Emma didn’t care. Fern had slept with Tarissa. Sure, he’d also slept with Ricky, but Ricky hadn’t been crushing on Fern for months like Tarissa had. Ricky wasn’t interested, he’d just been there. It wasn’t the jealousy. She could handle the jealousy. The Enam-Vesh bond made her jealous, it just did, because despite all her best conscious intentions, the bond made her feel deep down that

he was hers. Nope, that wasn’t the problem. The real problem was how cheated she felt. She sat up in the water, gravity and her hair dragging at her, and scrunched her eyes shut against the truth: Fern wouldn’t go through his final molt until she was old and possibly dead, and she felt like she’d been cheated out of the one and only chance she would get in her entire lifetime to be with him. Of course, that once in a lifetime chance had come courtesy of Telly’s magic. Even if it had been Fern in that library with her instead of Red, it wouldn’t have been real. At least Red had wanted her; it wasn’t the creepiest thing in the world to have enjoyed it. And that last time between them had been real. Honestly, what kind of awful, greedy, messed up person was she? She wouldn’t have given up those moments with Red for anything. She didn’t want to give anything up, but that wasn’t how life worked, and her heart was tearing itself in two trying to come to grips with it.

Let him go, she told herself. It’s never going to happen, so you have to let him go. Don’t come to grips with it. You’re never going to figure it out. You’re only going to make both your lives miserable if you hold on. She breathed deep, drawing steamy air into her lungs, and wiped tears from her face. She could try to move on from Red in her own time, because the Pledge bond allowed them distance, but she was bound to Fern heart and mind and soul. It was a miracle she’d kept it from him as long as she had, and she couldn’t keep going like this. It all had to change for her now. She had to set it aside somehow. There’s a door inside, she heard Telly say, a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago. There were many doors inside her, weren’t there? All the places where her power lived. Telly had taught her that; being bound to Fern had given her practice, opening and closing them, and Red had helped after Russia, helped her learn to cope, to breathe, to deal with the post-traumatic stress. That was one of the hardest things to come to terms

with; PTSD made you suddenly aware that memories lived inside you. You didn’t have memories, they had you. All the bad things — and the good — that had happened to her had their own places inside her, and sometimes the bad things jumped out when they smelled something tasty, but she could also call up the good things, the good feelings and memories, open those doors willingly. Memory and love and magic — they weren’t so different. If only she could put her love for Fern behind one of those doors and close it forever, so he never had to know. So she never had to experience mind to mind the dismay and the pity and the regret he’d feel if he ever found out. They’d worked so hard to trust each other, and things were good now, easy. What would happen to all that if he knew? Everything would change. If she didn’t find a way to let go of her feelings for him, she’d lose what she had with him now. Emma closed her eyes and dropped her breath into her stomach. Turned her awareness inward.

Another few inhales, and she felt her power, coiling behind her breastbone, rolling like banked flames. She sent her awareness upward, although there was really no such thing as up, it simply helped her visualize; she felt the bonds between her and the others, the links that tied them together. The connection with Seshua was like a faint song, a trembling birdcall. She couldn’t use it for anything without a boost from her own power or the power in her marked hand. Kahotep, Ivan, Red Sun, and now Padrig — those ties were solid and comforting and right, though Red felt “louder” in her head, and Padrig was brighter, the tie to him sparking with green and gold light. Maybe because the Pledge bond was so new? Alexi, of course — her connection to Alexi was an elaborate root system, they were bound so thoroughly. She didn’t like to think about or touch her connection to Telly; when she did, that part of her ached like a bruise. But Fern had been the first. The Enam-Vesh pulsed through her blood, lived in her bones, tied more than her mind to his. It fused their souls. Emma withdrew her awareness from all of

those bonds. She breathed evenly, letting each breath touch her own power. She let her heart fill with everything she felt for Fern. She didn’t know what she wanted, she only knew she couldn’t have it, and she was still human enough for that to hurt. She’d tried so damn hard, she’d done her best, she really had, but she was too human to feel the way she felt and be bound to him with the Enam-Vesh. Since she couldn’t break the Enam-Vesh… A door. Maybe she could make a door inside. Just a small one. Something beneath her ribs gave way. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped and grabbed the edge of the tub before she realized it wasn’t something physical. She closed her eyes again. Against the black velvet behind her eyelids, an outline blazed, gold and green: a door. The smell of fresh cut grass and wet earth rose around her, unfamiliar but comforting. An errant thought surfaced: do you know what you’re doing? But it slipped away like a fish as soon as she tried to hold onto it. She inhaled and the light of the door pulsed,

tugging on her lowest left rib. Okay. She could do this. This wasn’t a bad idea at all. All right, it was a terrible idea, but what choice did she have? Besides, all she needed was to be able to shield this part of her, these feelings, from Fern permanently. She’d still be bound to him. She’d still trust him. He’d still be one of the greatest friends she had ever known. But she could never be with him, and the part of her that wanted to — wanted to know how it felt to walk into a room and have him come up to her and kiss the sense from her the way Alexi did — needed to go away before it ruined everything. She was in love with Fern. Open the door. Verdant light filled her head. Emma pictured him: black eyes bottomless and wise, at odds with the boyish beauty of his face. His hair flopping over his brow, a black so glossy it shone with blue highlights in the sun. She remembered him thin and hesitant and desperate, when they were freshly bound; she remembered his startled look the first time she put her head on his shoulder. She

remembered the moment when she stood on the rooftop of the Egyptian palace with Kahotep and discovered that if Fern died, part of her wouldn’t want to live anymore. Three weeks ago they’d stood in another palace in Egypt and she’d told him she loved him. She’d meant it innocently enough. But those words were a door she didn’t realize she’d opened. Now she had to close it. Something in her ribcage snapped. She screamed. She forgot it all as she fought to take another breath, because it felt like her ribs were slicing into her left lung. Fatima burst into the bathroom with the maidens scrabbling around her to get to Emma first. Emma heard male voices shouting, the hotel room door slamming open. “Don’t let them in,” Emma ordered, breathing shallow through her mouth. “I’m okay, it’s just pain, and not enough of it to make me okay with absolutely everyone seeing me naked right now.” Leah slammed the door behind her. “Nothing to see here, boys,” she called out. “Fatima’s got it

covered.” Felani and Makena stepped into the tub with no regard for their clothes. “Leah…” Anton’s growl from the other side of the door. “Leave them.” That was Alexi. Emma realized her shields had blown open when the lung-stabby pain started, and he was skimming her thoughts. She pushed waves of reassurance at him through their connection and then began carefully folding her shields back into place. “She’s not bleeding,” Felani said sharply. “Of course I’m not.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest as the maidens sat, sloshing water and foamy suds everywhere. “Nothing’s wrong. Probably an old injury from earlier or something. I didn’t mean to scream, it just took me by surprise.” Felani’s huge eyes sparked with suspicion. “My lady, you are lying.” Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s not lying if I’m just trying to get you all to stop fussing.” “What a fascinating argument,” Makena said, reaching for Emma’s elbow. “If nothing is wrong,

then you won’t mind if we —” “Hey.” Emma scooted back, slopping water over the sides of the tub. Leah sighed and slouched against the bathroom door. “Em, honey, just let Fatima take a look, all right?” Fatima crouched by the tub, brows up in a silent request for permission. “Come,” Rish said, beckoning the rest of the maidens. “We do not all need to be here.” As Emma shot her a grateful look, Rish nodded and led her sisters from the bathroom. Leah closed the door behind them. “All clear out there, by the way. Just the maidens.” “Thanks, Leah.” Emma flashed her a tight smile and then nodded to Fatima. “It’s my left side.” She sat up a little straighter, winced, and tucked her forearm across her boobs to give Fatima access. Six months ago that wouldn’t have been possible, because she’d been a definite D cup, but all the exercise had whittled her down to a B. These days if she wanted cleavage she had to go for a push-up bra. Somehow they still bounced like tennis balls

when she ran, which was just great. The warrior priestess placed her warm hands against Emma’s ribs. “You are right,” she said carefully. “Nothing is wrong.” Emma met her dark eyes. “Just a random stabby thing. Told you.” Fatima withdrew her hands, shrugging her thick braid over her shoulder. “Hmm.” They stared at each other until Felani broke the moment by stepping out of the tub. Water streamed from her ruined sari. Makena followed, and then turned and held out a hand for Emma as Felani grabbed a towel and shook it out, holding it aloft and ready for Emma to step into. She and Makena were soaked, but they got the towel for her first. Just when Emma thought she’d managed to train the maidens out of treating her like she was better than them… “So,” Leah said, opening the bathroom door. “Is it time for room service yet?” Emma tucked the towel under her arms. “It is totally time for room service.”

Leah and the maidens ordered food. While they waited on the chow, Felani cut Emma’s hair roughly without bothering to shape it and slathered it with some kind of leave-in gunk. The whole mess went up in a grabby clip to be rinsed later in the shower, which would’ve been necessary anyway, because Emma hadn’t taken her makeup off in the tub. She didn’t know exactly how long she’d looked like a designer panda, and frankly, she didn’t want to. She was still in her bath towel when the food arrived, and the maidens had all ditched their ruined saris for bathrobes. Both Fatima and Leah had gotten changed while Emma was in the tub earlier; Fatima wore gray sweats and a black tank that showed off her sculpted arms and shoulders to perfection — not that Emma was jealous — and Leah was in running tights and one of those designer workout hoodies with the colorful panels everywhere. Did either of them have casual clothes that weren’t gym wear? There was so much food it needed a cart. Leah instantly started heaping steamed veggies onto

Emma’s plate. “Grrr,” said Leah when Emma tried to wave her away. “You’re human, you need this shit. Eat your greens.” Emma pulled a face at her. “Yes mom.” Leah grimaced in mock pain. “Harsh, Em, so harsh.” “You are like fifty something,” Emma told her, emphasizing her point with a piece of broccoli. Fatima, who looked no older than Leah, clucked her tongue and uncorked one of the many bottles of wine Leah ordered along with the food. “Still a baby.” “If anyone’s the baby…” “Don’t you even dare,” Emma growled at Leah. Leah snorted, unrepentant, and loaded Emma’s plate with salmon. And potatoes. And steak. “Leah, I can’t possibly —” “You can and you must,” Felani cut in. The maiden seated herself beside Emma and started helping herself to eggs and fruit. Her eyes swirled with molten red and gold, like hot coals touched by a cool breath, and her delicate features were

serious. “You healed Red Sun.” Emma’s face flashed with heat. Which was ridiculous, but still. She cleared her throat. “How did you know that?” Felani glanced at Fatima. Fatima finished pouring herself a glass of wine and popped a potato in her mouth and said, chewing, “Ivan felt it.” Emma had a bad feeling about this. “Ivan felt what, exactly?” Fatima chewed some more, looking thoughtful. “He did not say, my lady. But then, we were not in a talking mood. I can tell you he was certainly energized by the experience if his subsequent performance was any indication.” Fatima flashed Emma a grin and lifted her wine to her lips. “Oh Jesus.” Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did everyone bound to me by the Pledge feel me banging Red?” Leah cackled with laughter. Fatima poured Emma a glass of wine. “It might have been limited by proximity. Nonetheless, you must eat, and make an effort, for healing takes a toll on the body and

you are human. There’s no knowing how you’ll be affected. Especially since you and Fern healed Alexi, too, and less than eight hours ago.” Emma sighed. “Duly noted.” She didn’t usually drink, but now seemed like a great time to start. She sipped and wondered, why did people drink this stuff again? Felani and the other maidens had water. That was probably a better idea. Emma speared a bit of salmon with her fork, dutifully popped it in her mouth, and started chewing. It was delicious. “So,” she said around her mouthful. “Are things weird between you and Ivan?” Fatima paused with a forkful of steak halfway to her mouth and blinked. “Between me and Ivan, no. The effect of the bacchanalia was strictly physical.” She shrugged and twirled her fork. “It does seem to have strained Shadi’s peace of mind, though.” For the life of her, Emma couldn’t guess who Shadi had ended up with. She dropped her voice. “He’s jealous?” Fatima frowned at her. “No. His feelings for

me are no deeper than Ivan’s. Perhaps it was his first time loving a man as well as a woman, though it’s doubtful.” Emma did an excellent job of not choking on her food. She swallowed and washed it down with some wine, and cleared her throat. “So you and Ivan and Shadi…” “We guarded you as we crossed Altai searching for the Brotherhood.” Fatima shrugged again. “We trust one another, as far as strangers can. Everyone went for someone they trusted tonight when the bacchanalia asserted itself.” Leah made a thoughtful noise and reached across the table for the wine. “Or for someone super hot. Oh, wait.” She paused with the bottle in hand. “All Emma’s babysitters are super hot.” She grinned. “It’s awesome.” Forcing herself to look casual, Emma took another sip of the wine. It was starting to taste okay. She met Leah’s eyes. “What about you and Anton?” Leah’s brows went up. “You mean is it weird? Nah. He’s intense though. I mean, happy to share,

but he definitely had that whole ‘don’t touch the other guy’ thing going — what?” As Leah frowned at her, Emma made an effort to close her mouth and school her face. “Nothing, sorry, really.” She bit her lip. “Who else…?” Leah’s brow smoothed in understanding. She sat back with her wine glass in hand. “Raul. Also the type to avoid touching the other dude at all costs. Not that it’s a chore being the center of attention, but c’mon.” Emma couldn’t believe she was capable of blushing again. She wasn’t a damn prude. Sure, her mind shied away from thinking too hard about everything that happened after she gave the order for Telly to summon the bacchanalia, but that was because it was painful as well as embarrassing. So why the hell was she more confronted by the idea of Fatima and Leah sleeping with two men apiece than she was by the incredibly vivid memory of her trying to throw herself at Telly? Or by the memory of his hands on her bare waist. His mouth on her, for fuck’s sake. Telly’s mouth on her throat. Alexi’s arms

around her. Fern’s mouth on hers. Emma’s entire body flushed with heat this time. “My lady,” Felani said softly. “Your food…” Emma took a deep breath and a big gulp of her wine, which was surprisingly good and almost gone. Cleared her throat and started cutting into her steak. “So how does it work, exactly,” she said too loudly. “I mean, what’s it like.” Leah put her glass down and reached for a fresh apricot. “What’s what like?” Emma glanced at Felani, and around at the other maidens, all of whom watched her with polite interest. Jesus. She met Fatima’s eyes. “I’m not great at talking about this stuff.” She loaded her fork with meat and green beans and stuffed them into her face. Chew, chew, chew. Swallow noisily. “Two guys at once,” she said finally, exhaling. “How do you even — well, yeah, how do you even?” Felani gave a snort of laughter. “The same way you do two women at once, or three, or four, only with women there is less ‘oh no, his manhood is bigger than mine,’ blah blah —”

The rest of the maidens giggled. “Whoa,” Leah said. “I thought you didn’t swing that way.” Felani glanced away guiltily. “I don’t.” “Wait a minute.” Leah leaned forward and caught Emma’s eye. “Doesn’t everyone your age basically grow up watching porn for breakfast?” That surprised a laugh out of Emma. “Yeah.” She waved her fork around. “When we’re not sexting or destroying the economy with our evil millennial ways, sure, it’s all porn, all the time.” She threw a bread roll at Leah. “In other words, no. Why? Would that help?” Leah caught the roll and took a bite out of it. “Probably not,” she said, cheeks misshapen with the mouthful of bread. “Honestly, why is so much porn so badly made?” “I haven’t seen enough to judge,” Emma said pointedly. Leah just tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave a sly smile. Fatima refilled both their glasses. “A successful menage requires careful communication and preparation. This was my first encounter with the bacchanalia, but there are many kinds of sexual

enchantment. What they all seem to have in common is they remove any need for preliminaries.” Emma paused with a forkful of steak halfway to her mouth. Communication, preparation — nope, she and Red hadn’t needed any of that. Until after, when the magic was gone. Without the power riding them, the realities of being intimate with someone new were all there. How did you make your bodies fit together? What worked, what didn’t? Where did your boundaries lie? With the bacchanalia, there were no boundaries. “So it’s about setting limits,” Emma said. Fatima leaned forward and put her chin on her hands. “Limits are necessary, yes. But limits are about what you don’t want.” Fatima narrowed her eyes, and Emma got the disturbing feeling like the warrior priestess was doing her magic cutting-tothe-truth trick, even without the laying on of hands. “It is just as important to be able to ask for what you do want.” Emma choked back a laugh and spoke around

her food. “I’d have thought it was kind of obvious in that situation.” “Obvious how?” Leah asked. “Obvious like, obviously you wanna give one guy head while the other goes down on you, and then move on to the double penetration, that kind of obvious?” “Leah,” Felani said sharply. Emma put her knife and fork down. “I’m not a child, Felani. It’s okay.” She took another sip of wine; yup, she was toootally okay. Fatima arched a brow. “Leah is right. These things take coordination. First you have to decide, who goes where? Who comes when?” Fatima put her hands up in a “who knows?” gesture so comical Emma had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. “That’s if your bedfellows are even compatible.” Fatima shrugged. “It takes a very secure man to watch another man pleasuring his mate. To truly become a team rather than simply taking turns, well, that takes talent. And practice,” she added with a broad smile. Leah reached across and plucked a piece of salmon from Emma’s plate. “Seems you’re in luck,

Em. Judging by his behavior tonight, Alexi is a very secure man.” Oh, Leah had no idea just how secure Alexi was. Emma closed her eyes and suppressed the urge to slide down her chair and out of sight under the table. “He certainly is,” she said, taking a drink. “But it’s a non-issue. Can you pass the potatoes please, Makena?” “A non-issue?” Leah took the potatoes from Makena before Emma could and started heaping them onto Emma’s plate. “Em, you’re surrounded by a smorgasbord of hot men and, to be frank, even hotter women, and you’re saying you got no plans to sample any of that.” “They’re people, not food, Leah.” Emma pushed Leah’s hand — with the tray of potatoes — away, resigned now to the permanent shade of beetroot her face must be. “I know that.” Leah stole a potato from Emma’s plate. “But it’s just sex, Em. It’s not that big a deal.” Emma grunted, focusing on her food. A year or two ago she’d have agreed with Leah

enthusiastically. Then she’d realized she’d made a habit of giving in to the excitement and distraction of sex with someone new because it made it easier to keep them at a distance emotionally. Which, y’know, was fine up to the point where she was waking up next to someone she’d never really liked that much in the first place. Emma had decided to make a conscious effort to take things slow. She’d given herself a thirteenweek rule, which was kinda extreme, but it worked.If she was still interested after three months? Great, on with the sexytimes. After that, the first person to hold her interest for more than a few weeks had been Alan. Suddenly Emma couldn’t feel the fork in her hand. Or the chair beneath her ass. Her breath stopped, her blood seemed to reverse direction, as though some great tide was trapped within her skin and surging, lazy yet inexorable, toward the shore of her consciousness. Her heartbeat boomed silently, like her body was a door, her pulse a memory demanding to be let in. Sometimes the flashbacks came like this: no

visuals, no concrete thoughts, just the body remembering. But knowing what it was didn’t stop it. Nothing could stop it. Alexi’s mental touch flowed into her like liquid fire, lighting her up, burning away the memories. Emma sucked in a huge breath and grabbed the edge of the table for support. Cutlery clattered to the floor; everyone else shoved out of their seats and shot straight to Emma, but she kept her eyes closed, just breathing. God, it felt so damn good to breathe, to feel the table under her hands, to be able to feel her body instead of feeling disconnected from it. Water and hair-goop dripped down the back of her neck; her heartbeat tripped along, her muscles flickered, the towel pulled against her breasts and her toes dug into the plush carpet. Her body was her own again. It is always your own, Alexi said in her head, in a tone so cold and harsh not even the bravest man would dare argue with him. You can’t do that, she said back without thinking.

Alexi somehow managed to project the sense of a lifted eyebrow. What can’t I do? Emma shook her head. Men. You can’t just zap my flashbacks like that. You can’t just fix me. Genuine surprise lit up their telepathic connection. Why not? I have to handle them on my own. Helping me through by grounding me is fine, but you can't just make my problems disappear. Possessiveness darkened his mental presence. This is what mate-bonds are for. Emma’s mouth went dry. Her pulse had begun to calm, but now it went crazy all over again. Mate-bonds? Is that what they had? She wasn’t going to go anywhere near addressing that statement; she had no idea how it made her feel. A knock on the door made Leah and Fatima and the maidens look up. “It is Alexi,” Felani said, her small hands hovering over Emma’s arm, but not touching. “My lady?” Emma nodded, tucking her towel more firmly under her arms. “It’s okay. You should let him in. And give us a few minutes?”

Felani’s eyes were huge and black, but she nodded in return and waved the other maidens away. Leah straightened. “Em, I’m sorry if I —” “It wasn’t you,” Emma said with a quick smile. “Go on.” As they filed out, Fatima was the last to leave. Alexi stepped into the doorway and they shared a look. Then Fatima was gone, and Alexi closed the door, his cheeks tight and his striking yellow gaze hard. He’d changed into loose linen pants and a matching shirt, unbuttoned and untucked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. No shoes. His hair was free, but wavy from being held back in the braid earlier, and it tangled around his shoulders and down his back in glossy ripples, glinting with dark green highlights. His cheekbones gleamed with the shimmer of fine scales. His skin held the hint of olive green that told Emma his beast wasn’t far from the surface, and his lips were the color of frostbitten lilacs. He was glorious. And he was well and truly

pissed off.

20 Alexi stalked into the room and planted his fists on the table, pinning her with the stark intensity of his gaze. “If you do not want me, all you need do is say it.” Emma’s jaw unhinged. “What?” His nostrils flared and he searched her face. “We are bound. My power anchors yours. My beast is not the possessive type, but I am, and I cannot help what I feel for you.” The table began to rattle; he was shaking. “I cannot help what I am. My power reaches for you, always, as yours does

for mine, that is the mate-bond, and it will only grow stronger over time. But if you do not want it, I will shut it down.” He dropped his gaze and grimaced. And when he lifted his eyes to meet hers once again, his face was as harsh and cruel as it had been the first time they’d met. “If you do not want me,” he said again, his tone cold and heavy as iron, “All you need do is say it.” Anger was replacing Emma’s shock, warming her up. She crossed her arms. “Thanks for making this all about you.” His eyes flashed. Shadows rippled up his arms and neck. “It is about me.” Emma laughed. “Could you maybe dial the arrogance back down to a seven?” When he straightened, looking like he was ready to do anything but, Emma crossed her legs, somewhat gratified that his gaze tracked the flash of her thigh as the towel moved, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t I get to have just one moment of doubt over the whole mate-bond thing without calling the entire status of our relationship into question?” Alexi clenched his jaw and then took a deep

breath, forcibly relaxing his face as he exhaled. The shadows left his skin and filled his eyes instead. “Is that all it was? One moment of doubt?” “Less than that,” she said without hesitation. His eyes were still wary. “You’ve a right to your doubts, Emma. I do not mean to police those feelings, as though my security depends upon your never having them.” He looked away. “You are not trapped. All you need do —” “Is say the words,” she finished for him, unhappily. She stood. “I don’t want to be free of you, Alexi.” His gaze flew to her face, the power in his eyes slamming into her, hitting her in the gut. God, she wanted him so much, and not just physically. His arrogance, his fierce, uncompromising sense of self — Alexi didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought of him, not even her, not when it came right down to it. He was as kind and gentle and respectful as he could be with her, in all the ways that mattered, always striving to tip the balance of power between them in her favor, because in truth he was ancient and more powerful than she could ever be. But deep down,

he was cold and hard and merciless, and his self respect was ironclad. And that was why she loved him. His brow smoothed out as he read her thoughts. “Emma,” he said under his breath. “The mate-bond doesn’t scare me,” she said. “But the idea of relying on you to fix my trauma does.” He went to her then. Held his hand out. When she took it, he drew her slowly into his arms. Every time he did something like this — casually drawing her against his chest, linking his arms behind the small of her back — it was like the first time for her. Her pulse tripped faster. She tried to take in all of him at once, gaze roving over his broad shoulders, his smooth bare chest, the wild tangle of his hair framing his lean face and corded neck. “Nothing can ‘fix’ your trauma,” he said, his voice low. “Because the past cannot be undone.” He let her lean back in his arms so she could look up into his face. “But if I can ease your distress, I see no reason why I should not.”

Emma could tell by the flat look in his eyes and the single-minded focus in his thoughts that he really couldn’t see why he should not. “It’s wrong, Alexi. I have to heal, not sweep every bad feeling under the rug.” As much as she wanted to. His eyes filled with intensity, fine lines appearing at the corners, lines that meant he was going to argue with her. “I did not sweep your feelings under any rug. I banished them. It is not the same as repression.” He arched a brow. “Which, by the way, is exactly what you did earlier while you were having your bath.” Emma’s face flushed. She swallowed. “That’s different. That’s not trauma. Trauma has to be processed, you can’t just banish it.” The other brow joined the first. “If it were a physical injury, you would let me help you. If you could not stand, you would let me carry you. Why is this different?” She sighed harshly. “I can stand on my own.” “You say that as though it would be shameful if you could not.” Alexi’s brows came down. “As

though there is something inherently wrong with not being able to. With not being able.” Emma opened her mouth, then shut it, breathing hard, thinking hard. “Dammit. That’s a shitty attitude, isn’t it.” Alexi gave her a squeeze, which incidentally drew her even more snug against the cradle of his hips. “It is a singularly modern human notion that the soul's burdens must be borne alone, in isolation,” he said, idly stroking her back. “Human doctors — a great many of them male, privileged, and completely ignorant of the horrors of psychological trauma — invented this notion, you know.” Yep, he was definitely trying to distract her. She tucked her arms in and pushed against his chest. “I can’t rely on other people to heal me, Alexi, not from this. It doesn’t work that way.” He pretended not to notice her pathetic attempts at breaking out of his arms. “Your kind no longer knows how to heal each other. You can let the people you love heal you. How do you think you've come so far in such a short time? You are bound to

many, and they share the burden, if not the experience itself. That is what love is for. That is what relationships are for.” Emma went still. Was that true? Was he right? Was that why she wasn’t more of a basket case after everything that had happened to her in Russia? She shook her head. “Humans don’t work that way.” He inclined his head, gaze dropping to her mouth. “Not anymore. Because your kind chose a different path, long and long ago.” Emma was suddenly reminded that he was ancient. Over nine hundred years old. Impossible to fathom how much humanity he’d seen, how much had changed, what life had been like — and some of the people he had been closest to in life were even more ancient still. But it didn’t change how things were for Emma now. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What happens when the person you're relying on for all this healing leaves?” Alexi’s eyes went wide. His nostrils flared,

scars standing out against his pale cheeks, and Emma sucked in a breath as cold power rushed into the space between their bodies. “I will not comment on the implication that I would leave you,” he said in a deadly tone that made Emma light-headed with anticipation. His jaw worked. “Many people care for you. That bond should never be constrained to only one person.” Emma groaned and let her head fall, resting her brow against his chest. “Here we go again with this talk about many loves, I can't deal —” “There’s nothing to deal with. We need not address it now.” She whipped her head up in outrage. “Really? You don’t feel even the slightest need to talk about what happened with me and Red?” He blinked down at her. “Not for my own sake, no.” “Why not!” His eyes narrowed. “Do you need to talk about what occurred between me and Telly?” Emma was taken aback. She dropped her gaze. “That’s none of my business —”

“Why? Because of my history with him?” She looked up at him. “Because you did it to save me. And Red, and to save Telly from himself.” “Why is it noble for me to have done what I did, but somehow shameful for you?” She flushed with heat and squirmy feelings. She didn’t have an answer for that. Alexi adjusted his hold on her and tipped her chin up with his knuckles, so she couldn’t avoid his gaze. His face was so serious, so cold, such a perfect face. “Do you think I didn’t enjoy myself,” he said, very gently. Emma tensed. She couldn’t believe they were talking about this. “It’s not the same.” His mouth turned down. “Why not,” he whispered, drawing his knuckles down her throat. God damn it. Why did he have to be so persistent? Anyone else would’ve let her off the hook by now, would’ve seen that stubborn look in her eye and backed down. But not him. So why wasn’t it the same? All Emma felt when she thought about Alexi and Telly being

together was mild embarrassment and a much, much stronger sense of personal insecurity that she would never admit to, because Alexi had been perfectly clear about his feelings for her. She refused to be the Clingy Younger Woman who couldn’t handle her boyfriend’s attraction to genders other than her own. Alexi was ancient. Complicated. He’d seen and been forced to endure things Emma had no concept of, and she had no right to judge his choices, unless he tried to hurt her or lie to her. He hadn’t done that. Telly had called the bacchanalia with Emma’s express understanding and consent, and Alexi did what he felt was right. Even after the bacchanalia’s magic was gone, Alexi did what he felt was right. So why did Emma trust Alexi’s judgment, but not her own, when it came to this? Alexi studied her face, watching her think it through. Effortlessly reading her thoughts. She wasn’t trying to shield them from him. She remembered what she said to Red Sun when Red couldn’t believe Alexi wasn’t going to try and kill him for touching her. I’m a person, not

a base, Red. You didn’t get to me first. There is no “first.” That was the problem. Red might not think of it like that, and Alexi certainly didn’t, but she was American and she’d been raised to think of it exactly like that. There was no way she could reconcile her love and longing for Alexi with just how much she’d wanted — and reveled in — Red Sun. No, she wasn’t a base to be gained or a prize to be won, but she’d dreamed of being with Alexi since the first goddamn moment she laid eyes on him, had come so close, and then her decision had changed everything. “It changes nothing,” Alexi said. Then, slowly, gaze never leaving hers, he bent his head to her. “How can you not be jealous,” she asked before his lips could touch hers. He exhaled against her mouth, eyes flaring with frustration. “I never said I was not jealous.” His expression softened and he pulled back. “But I can afford to be secure. You chose me first.” He shrugged. “I would rather Red Sun stay and be

with you, than leave because of my jealousy.” Emma chose to ignore the way he’d phrased that; she’d been with Red, past tense, and it was never happening again. “You’d rather he stay because he can keep me safe like no one else can,” she said. “No, Emma.” Alexi’s voice held an edge. “It is because without him you would not be happy.” All the breath left Emma’s body. She tensed. But when she brushed Alexi’s mind with hers, she felt no resentment, no regret, not even the barest shred of uncertainty. He loved her. He wanted her. He wanted her to be happy, not just because of how he felt about her, but because she’d already gone through so much shit over the last six months. She’d given up almost everything. There would only be more sacrifices ahead. To him, it was simple: there was no room in his heart for anything that made her world smaller. “I am not a good man,” he said, pressing two fingers gently to her lips when she drew a breath to protest. “This is not a good life for you. You

should never have met me, but fate brought us together nonetheless, and now that I have you I am going to give you everything in my power to give. I do not deserve you, so I will give you the world, and hope that balances the scales.” It was suddenly hard to breathe for a different reason then, and Emma forced herself to laugh softly. “Overcompensating?” “Absolutely.” “What the fuck did I do to deserve you,” she said in genuine wonder. “Something terrible,” he answered immediately. “Perhaps it’s your taste in music?” “Get off me,” she told him. “You’re dumped.” He laughed under his breath and tightened his hold, and Emma swatted at him, but she didn’t have enough room to make much of an effort. Besides, being caged by his arms did something wicked to her insides. He smoothed his palm up her shoulder, caressing her neck. Funny, she never thought of him having big hands — they were elegant hands, callused but somehow still refined — but his palm

engulfed the side of her throat, and if he wanted to, he could wrap his whole hand around her neck. The thought made a deep part of Emma growl with desire. This time, when he brought his mouth to hers, she didn’t interrupt him. Just closed her eyes and let his kiss burn away all her doubts. It started out tender, almost chaste, but by the time he broke for air Emma was drunk with his taste and clutching his arms for support, and all too aware that her towel and his slacks were the only things standing between them, the only obstacle to feeling his naked flesh against hers. “I need to rinse my hair,” she said breathlessly. Alexi’s eyes flared like twin suns. “I should help you.” They were halfway to the bathroom with her legs wrapped around his waist when somewhere in the hotel suite, a phone trilled. “I’m ignoring that,” Alexi said against her mouth, and kicked the bathroom door open. The phone’s incessant ringtone was muffled by the door as it slammed shut behind them. Alexi’s mouth

captured hers again, tongue dancing with hers, his hands beneath her rump lifting her. She landed on the vanity counter. She shoved Alexi’s shirt over his shoulders, and pulled back to watch as he let her go long enough to strip the shirt down his arms and throw it to the floor. Then he was kissing her again, his hips wedging her knees apart, his hands on her thighs, moving upwards — Guys, Fern sent. Alexi’s mouth muffled Emma’s shriek of surprise. He pulled back and exhaled slowly, his eyes burning. Fern… Alexi’s mental voice rumbled like a rock slide. It’s the Russian wolves, Fern sent, his voice swimming with apology, but deep down there was a note of laughter he couldn’t conceal. They want to speak to you both. Emma stared longingly at the hard, angry line of Alexi’s mouth. Is everything okay? Are they all right? Please don’t let it be urgent, please, please — Everything’s okay, Fern sent, pushing reassurance through the bond. But it’s urgent. Rain

wants to talk to you. Emma let her head fall forward to rest on Alexi’s gorgeous, chiseled chest. Okay, she sent. We’ll be right out. Emma dressed while Alexi paced outside the bedroom, trying to calm down. On the one hand, Emma loved that she could rile him up. On the other hand, that pent up sexual need was going exactly nowhere, and she was beginning to wonder if their only option for catching any time alone was to buy a freaking tropical island. Come to think of it, while she’d been so focused on getting Alexi alone so she could get into his pants, she hadn’t realized they’d hardly spent any time alone at all, full stop. It didn’t feel that way, because they were in each other’s heads. They could have a private conversation even while surrounded by people, anytime. And that was exactly what they’d done. How long would things be like this? Before Anton and Telly showed up on her doorstep almost six months ago and changed her

world forever, Emma was someone who planned for the future. Like, extensively. She’d had it all mapped out. Then that future was torn away from her, and all she could think about was surviving the next week, the next month. She had no idea how to plan a different future, in this strange new world. At first she’d been in hiding; then she was trying not to get killed; then she was trying to rebuild herself after what happened in Russia. But now she was out — she had allies, and friends, and she knew she wanted to do more than hide, she wanted to do what only she could do, she wanted to make a difference. But she had no idea what that future looked like. She’d pulled on yoga pants and a sports bra, and as she wriggled into a tight black T-shirt clearly two sizes too small for her, she had a sudden and almost ridiculous flash of insight: this was how rock stars felt, wasn’t it? Their lives had changed overnight. They found themselves on a whirlwind world tour, living out of buses and private jets and hotels, always new clothes, new faces, unfamiliar beds, and no end in sight. No idea

what real life might look like. It was supposed to be exciting, exhilarating, but in truth you were tired and scared and you felt like an impostor. Emma glanced around the hotel bedroom, at the unfamiliar furnishings and new clothes everywhere, department store shopping bags half full, bits of equipment lying around that belonged to Fatima or Leah or the maidens, or maybe Ivan or Anton. Out of nowhere she recalled an interview with one of her favorite musicians. He’d said, living out of hotel rooms is not good for your soul. She needed to come up with a plan. For the future. Em? Fern brushed her mind via the bond. She hadn’t been shielding too tightly, and she sensed he’d been tuning in, to her feelings if not her thoughts. She sent him a wordless pulse of warmth and love. I’m okay. And I’m coming. Less than a minute later she was pushing open the door to the suite on the opposite side of the hotel hallway, Alexi at her back. Ivan had clearly made this suite his base of operations; computer

equipment and munitions covered the dining table. The room was crowded. Leah, Fatima, and the maidens had come here after Emma’s freakout, and Seshua, Kal, Marco and Joseph were all sprawled in the chairs clustered around the table, while Ivan stood hunched over one of the laptops. Fern was the one with the phone. He smiled when he saw her, and then managed to frown at the same time, his black eyes unreadable. Emma didn’t know what he saw when he looked at her — probably her damp hair and smudged makeup — but when she looked at him, it was like a mountain’s worth of guilt and worry slid from her shoulders and evaporated into thin air. It had worked. She went to him, hugged him, and flashed him a huge smile as she took the phone from him. “It’s Emma. Rain, you there?” Katenka’s voice came over the line. “Emma! Eeeee! How are you!” “I’m good?” Emma shot a “what the hell” look over her shoulder at Alexi and moved to one of the chairs. “What’s up, princess?”

“Sorry, Rain had to go rescue Bruce from the twins, they’ll be back in a second. It’s so good to hear your voice!” “Yours too, Katenka.” Emma meant it; she’d spoken to Katenka and Rain only once since the battle with the serpent priests. “We are coming to visit,” Katenka said. Emma’s gaze flew to Seshua’s face — yup, he was listening in, and yup, he was Having A Reaction. Katenka went on, bubbly as ever. “Nadya will give you all the details, but first there is something very important we have to discuss —” “Honey,” Emma cut in. “Maybe I should put you on speaker for this.” “NO.” Emma’s brows went up as Katenka went full on wolf princess, her voice thrumming with power and the edge of her beast. “You are the Caller of the Blood,” Katenka said, no trace of thirteen year old girl in her voice. “You are our highest power, and you are Rain’s dear friend. It is your authority only that we seek in this — oof!” Muffled sounds

over the line. A high, sharp laugh. Emma was pretty sure she heard a dog panting… “Em?” Emma tried to keep the smile out of her voice. “You managed to wrestle the phone away from Her Highness?” Rain huffed a shy laugh. “Yeah.” It was good to hear Rain laugh. “So,” Emma said casually. “What’s got the princess’s hackles up?” Silence on the line for a moment. “Oh, y’know,” Rain said finally, soft voice wavering. “She’s just being overprotective.” Emma tensed, meeting Fern’s serious gaze. No one else, with the exception of Alexi, seemed to find Rain’s tone worrying. But Rain never reacted very well to direct questions, so Emma couldn’t do what she wanted to do, which was demand to know if everything was really okay because if it was really okay then Katenka and Rain wouldn’t be talking about visiting and acting like weirdos. Well, like teenagers. Okay, maybe everything was okay…

Except that if everything was okay, Emma wouldn’t be able to hear Rain’s breathing speeding up. “Katenka said you guys are coming to visit,” Emma prompted. Rain made a vague affirmative sound. Oh God, what if the Russian wolves had rejected Rain for some reason? Or maybe they’d rejected Zach. That seemed more likely. Zach was human. Rain loved him, but Rain didn’t belong to the Russian wolves — “Yevgeny is sending you extra guards,” Rain said, halting Emma’s frantic train of thought. “Ivan informed him of the situation with the bears, and the ravens, and Yevgeny has allies with the United Kingdom packs. He can send you reinforcements without disrupting the peace with the bears.” “Oh.” Emma didn’t think Rain had ever uttered that many whole sentences in one sitting. “Well, that’s cool.” Emma frowned fiercely at Seshua, who sat forward, looking like he wanted to argue. Ivan stood off to the side, his face carefully blank. Crafty wolf.

“Yevgeny knows the bears,” Rain continued, seeming to gain confidence. “He thinks it’s safe for Katenka and I to come see you. Y’know, if you want to see us.” “Rain, of course.” Emma poured as much sincerity as she could into her voice, trying not to have a heart attack at the security issue of having the kids with them… “There’s something I need to ask then,” Rain said quickly. Emma frowned, ignoring the restless movements of Seshua and the rest of the jaguars. “What is it, hon?” There was silence over the line. For a looong time. Emma thought she might have heard someone whispering in the background, maybe. Finally, Rain spoke, voice shaking. “I’m trans, and I’d like for p-p-people to use feminine pronouns when they talk to me.” Emma took a deep breath. “Absolutely,” she said firmly. “No problem. Everyone will do that.” “I — okay?” “Yes, honey,” Emma said. “It’s okay.”

Rain exhaled loudly. “You don’t — you don’t have any questions.” Emma cleared her throat. “If you want to talk to me about anything, I am always here for you, and I’m sure I’ll have questions later on, but right now the only question that really matters is how soon are you gonna be here, because I miss you and Her Highness and I know my aunts would love to meet you.” “Your aunts,” both Rain and Katenka said in unison. “Like, your human aunts?” Rain added. “Yep. The cat is out of the bag.” And the wolf, and the jackal, and the boa constrictor… “Oh my God,” Katenka said in the background. “This is going to be AMAZING.”

21 Ten minutes later, there was taut silence as Ivan terminated the call. He’d arranged all the pick up details for the Russian wolves. It had been ten minutes of long looks from Seshua, Kal, Raul, Andres and Marco, looks Emma honestly couldn’t decipher. So when Ivan set the phone down and crossed his arms, Emma raised her brows at the jaguar king expectantly. He blinked at her slowly. “Yes, pequeña?” It felt so weird to face him across the dining table — both of them seated, him sprawled in and

dominating his chair, Emma perched on the edge of hers — while she was bracing herself for an argument, but she made an effort to relax. “If you’re going to object, I’d rather we get it over with now,” she said dryly. “No,” he said, without inflection. “You don’t have the right —” “The Russian wolves are a welcome addition to your security,” he cut in, his wide mouth curling in a half smile. Somehow he lounged back even more thoroughly. “So no, I’m not going to object.” Kal shifted to his feet. “Well I sure as hell —” “No,” Seshua snarled. Kal looked mortified. His eyes widened, flaring red, muscles in his neck standing out. “My king…” “Yes,” Seshua said on a deadly whisper. “Your king. Remember it, all of you,” he added, clearly talking to the rest of his guards. His feral tone was even more chilling for the expression on his face as he spoke: total calm. His dark blue eyes held Emma’s, the look in them completely unfamiliar. Until Emma realized what that look was. It was

patience. Oh my God, she sent to Fern, clenching her jaw to keep her face straight. I think I’m having a heart attack. Fern snorted a laugh. Everyone looked at him. Emma cleared her throat and decided to use the jaguar king’s patience for what it was clearly meant. Or at least for what she thought it was meant. “I’m sure you all heard what Rain had to say to me,” she began, glancing around. “But just in case it wasn’t clear.” Emma hardened her tone. “Rain has decided she’d like us all to use feminine pronouns when we speak to and about her, and I promised her everyone in my party would honor that wish. Anyone who has a problem with doing so can either keep their mouth shut from now until the end of time, or they can leave.” Emma spread her hands. “It’s that simple.” Seshua shifted forward in his seat, huge upper body straining at his black T-shirt, the thick mass of his hair sliding over his shoulder. “It won’t be a problem,” he said with all the confidence and

complacency of a king. He inclined his head to Emma and then turned to Ivan. “Shall we talk logistics for tomorrow?” With that, the subject was closed. Or so Seshua seemed to think. Emma wasn’t totally convinced. On the bright side, the people most likely to screw up when it came to Rain were the jags, and Seshua had just put the fear of God into them. Everyone else would be cool about it, she was certain. Still, she made a mental note to talk to them and make sure Rain wouldn’t have to deal with any weirdness or negativity. None that Emma could prevent, anyway. As Seshua and Ivan got going on the subject of the next day’s plans, Fern moved to Emma, arms crossed over his chest, his face serious. I guess now we know why Rain’s birth pack abused her, he sent, his mind clouded with a mixture of relief and sadness. Yeah, because they were bigots as well as psychos. Emma stood and swayed as a wave of exhaustion hit her. In less than a heartbeat, Alexi was there beside

her, his yellow gaze locked on her with predatory intensity. Rest would be a good idea. She tilted her head back to look up at him. She wanted to tuck herself into his arms, but she couldn’t bring herself to break that stare, that expression on his face, of complete and utter undivided attention. There was no way to decide which she loved more, getting to touch him or being able to stand in front of him and look him in the eyes with her mind unguarded and her heart laid bare, unafraid of him seeing exactly how she felt about him. His mouth stayed hard but laughter lit his eyes. You can do both. Or, Fern sent, moving up behind her, you could rest. I can feel your exhaustion, Em. Some of the mirth left Alexi’s face. He’s right. Fern huffed a laugh. You were the one who suggested rest first, so you’re also right. Emma put her hands up and ducked out from between them. “Okay, okay, you’re both right, I need rest. Ivan, what time are we doing what we’re doing tomorrow?”

Ivan glanced up from one of several laptops. “Just before six.” His gray eyes crinkled at the corners. “That’s less than seven hours away, devotchka.” “Jesus.” She sighed. “Okay. I’ll be ready. Goodnight, Ivan.” He nodded. Emma turned to leave. “Pequeña,” Seshua said, and she stopped. He came to his feet — they were bare — and gave her a bland look. “Rest well. You need your strength.” She stifled a smile. “I will, Your Majesty. Goodnight.” When Alexi shut the door to the command center suite behind them and it was only Emma, Fern and Alexi in the quiet hall, Emma finally looked first Fern then Alexi in the eye. I wasn’t hallucinating just now, was I? She sent to them both via their shared mental pathways. If you were, so was I, Fern sent back. One corner of Alexi’s mouth twitched. Eyes hooded, he ushered them towards the door to Emma’s suite. Seshua had come through for her and for Rain,

leaving no room for doubt among his people that Emma’s word on the matter of Rain and the wolves was law. Sure, he could be a pain in the ass, but he’d just demonstrated emphatically that he supported her. No arguments, no bargaining, no leverage. He hadn’t done her a favor, he’d allied himself with her. Turned out her jaguar king was evolving as a person. Emma almost stumbled as a seemingly random memory flashed across her inner movie screen, a memory dark with magic and her own disbelief, hazy but there. The first time she’d ever met Seshua. She’d said a handful of words to him before Telly intervened and took her to that other place, the plane that rested between worlds, what Telly had called the river beneath the river, where a cosmic bonfire burned forever and they’d met a version of the ancient Mayan goddess Coatllicue. The goddess had welcomed them and given Emma the gift to free the ocelot maidens from their curse, but she’d also spoken of Seshua as well.

“I’ve dreamed of him, true dreams,” the goddess had said. “This recent jaguar king of yours.” “He’s not my king.” Telly’s voice had rustled with dry disdain. “And he’s not recent. He’s been king of the jaguars for over four hundred years.” The goddess had smiled. “No, but he is her king, now.” “He’s not my king either,” Emma had cut in. “He does not rule me, no matter what he’s trying to pull. Besides, he’s a tyrant. Good kings aren’t tyrants.” The goddess had frowned back at Emma, turquoise light obscuring her eyes. “I did not mean to say you were his subject. What I said was, he is your king.” Emma let Fern and Alexi guide her into the hotel room, paying almost no attention to anything but her own thoughts. Her king. Her king. The goddess had said those words before Seshua attempted the rite that would wake Emma’s

powers and bind her to him forever. Before he tried, and failed, and ended up with a piece of his soul somehow belonging to Emma instead. What else had the goddess said? That she’d dreamed of him. And lastly, a warning to Telly: that things weren’t always as they seemed. Seshua wasn’t good, but was he a tyrant? Alexi’s mental touch brushed Emma. You seem willing to forgive me a great deal of tyranny, but forgive Seshua none at all. Emma looked up and found Alexi and Fern on either side of her, both studying her. “Do you want me to forgive him?” Emma asked Alexi. He arched one thick black brow and grunted. “I merely find it curious.” Emma made a skeptical noise and drifted over to the dining table to escape the intensity of both men gazing down at her. “You’ve never tried to own me, nor wanted to,” she said to Alexi. “And before you start,” she added, nudging Fern’s mind with hers, “neither have you. The Enam-Vesh goes both ways.” She turned and leaned against the

table. “All this metaphysical stuff with the both of you does. I end up with more power than either of you do, I get more perks, you make more sacrifices.” Alexi crossed his arms and settled his weight into his heels, an incredulous expression sharpening his features, turning the yellow of his eyes pale canary. “What terrifies me,” he said, his voice a sardonic drawl, “is that you truly believe that.” Before Emma could think of what to say to that, Felani let herself into the hotel room with the maidens trailing behind her and Fatima and Leah behind them. “Shower,” Felani snapped, clapping her hands together. Emma opened her mouth to argue. Her hair chose that moment to grow too heavy for the grabby clip and the whole lot tumbled down around her neck and shoulders, cold and slimy with whatever goop Felani had put in it, and all Emma’s protests turned to horrified squeaks as she hightailed it for the bathroom.

Emma didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when she clawed her way out of fitful dreams to find herself in perfect darkness, but she didn’t feel rested, that was for sure. She lay there in the dark for a few moments, listening to the sighing chorus of delicate snores. She was pretty sure the warm body beside her was Felani. The Enam-Vesh bond told her Fern wasn’t in the bed; the bond with Alexi told her they were together, along with almost everyone else, in the suite Ivan had turned into their command center. Probably no point going back to sleep, if almost everyone else was up already, prepping for the day. There was no one sleeping on Emma’s legs or tangled in her hair, so she made a few experimental movements. Twitched the covers back. Slid a foot out. Beside her, Felani’s breath rasped steady and slow. Moving with the kind of stealth you only learned living with a bunch of people who could turn into big cats, Emma made it out of the bed and

into the bathroom without waking any of the maidens. She had no hope of staying incognito if she started running the shower and clanking around in the bathroom though. Quietly, she scooped up her toothbrush, makeup case and bath sheet, grabbed the nearest change of clothes she could find, and headed out to go knock on Leah and Fatima’s door. As soon as she closed the door gently behind her and turned around, she stopped dead. Held her breath. Shadi was in the hall, on his knees, palms on his thighs, hair cascading around his shoulders in waves as rich and glossed as polished mahogany. His eyes were closed. His lips moved as he murmured under his breath. There was no point going back into her room; he knew she was there. So she stared down at her bare toes until he was finished. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma watched him come to his feet. He was dressed in the same stuff the rest of the guards tended to wear — tight gray muscle tee, black combat fatigues — and his feet were bare. Somehow the modern clothes did

nothing to lessen the aura of ancient, princely power he wore like a mantle. “My lady commander,” he greeted her softly. It was not the right time to remind him she felt weird about being addressed with titles. She looked at him. “Sorry to interrupt,” she whispered with a tight smile. Shadi’s cool green eyes warmed and he shook his head. “No need for that.” He folded at the waist in a bow, and the solemn expression on his face as he straightened told her the bow was genuine. “How fare thee this morning?” Emma shrugged and closed most of the distance between them. “Tired. Know what time it is?” “A quarter to five.” Shadi clasped his elbows in his hands, his stance easy, shoulders more relaxed than usual. “The others had intended to wake you at half past.” “Yeah, well. I’m up now.” Emma leaned against the wall, hugging her stuff to her chest and studying Shadi’s face. “How are you, Shadi?” Above his dark beard, his nostrils flared wide. “I am fine.”

Emma popped her brows. “Fine?” His expression turned hawk like. “Yes, my lady. I am fine.” “Okay.” Emma pushed away from the wall with a nod. “Never let it be said I can’t take a hint,” she said briskly. “Again, sorry I interrupted you.” She ducked past him, making a beeline for the next door down. “Emma,” he called quietly. She turned back to him. He turned his head to look at her out of one eye for a second. It was just a moment before he faced her again. Emma knew it was an involuntary thing — residual horse instincts. Nerves. Funny how of everyone, Shadi was the most like her, the most human, yet the beast he used to be seemed always close to the surface of his skin. It was early days though; maybe that would change. Shadi took a deep breath and blew it out shakily, putting his hands on his hips. He took a couple steps nearer. “Last night…” He cleared his throat. Ah. Emma kept her face neutral.

Shadi scrubbed at his bearded jaw. “I wish I could have done something to stop it,” he said, low. “I tried, but my power was no match for the bacchanalia. I am sorry you had to — to go through that.” He swallowed, blinking rapidly. “It was not right.” “Hey.” Emma moved closer. “I’m okay. It was okay.” Shadi lifted his chin and frowned at her down the length of his hooked nose, the same way he’d done a hundred times in the shape of the stallion Sefu, and then shook his head faintly. “What if it had not been Red Sun,” he whispered, searching her face. Emma tilted her head. “You mean, what if it had been someone I didn’t know as well.” Shadi arched one brow. “That, too.” Heat bloomed in Emma’s face at Shadi’s barely disguised acknowledgment of her feelings for Red, but she cleared her throat and forged ahead, because she suspected she knew where this was going. “It still would’ve been all right,” she said, quietly but firmly. “Because it was nobody’s fault.

And everyone who was there last night was there to protect me, and to protect the people I care about. Everyone there last night was putting themselves on the line for me. That means you all got caught up in the bacchanalia because of me, so it’d be pretty despicable for me to bitch about who I ended up naked with, whoever it was.” As Shadi’s brows climbed his forehead, Emma sighed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be okay with what happened, Shadi. I’m sorry. I really am.” His brow smoothed out and his light gaze filled with something like guilt. His shoulders went rigid. Emma was sure he was going to pull the I’m-fine, total denial thing again. Then he looked down at his hands and exhaled with a shudder. “I do not hate what I did,” he whispered. “Nor whom I did it with.” Those green eyes met Emma’s, and then he blinked, looking away again. “But I do hate myself for what came before, when I was human all those centuries ago.” “Shadi —” “My lady,” he cut her off, but gently. “To be a man in my time was not what it is today. I thought I

understood that already, but I was a fool. I thought I understood love, but all I understood was pride. I thought I understood pleasure, when all I understood was how to take what I wanted. And though the past seven hundred years have shown me that I was wrong, until last night I did not truly understand that there was something else. Something more.” He was searching her face now, his self consciousness falling away. “But I do not think I deserve it. So no, I am not, as you put it, okay with what happened, but that has nothing to do with Fatima or Ivan, and certainly nothing to do with you, so there is nothing for you to be sorry for.” He bowed his head, and his gaze was soft and far away when he met her eyes again. “My lady commander,” he said, his tone warm but final, and moved to turn away. Emma caught his wrist. His tawny skin was hot and humming with power, and she let him go as he turned back to face her. “I don’t know if you deserve to be happy, Shadi,” she said, even though she wanted to tell him comforting lies just to chase the hurt from his

eyes. “The bad things you’ve done, you didn’t do them to me, so I don’t get to decide what you deserve. But if you’re going to build a life for yourself now, I think you’re allowed to earn it. Do things differently. Learn.” She shrugged. “You can do good in the world. It won’t erase the bad things, but you’ve got a second chance here, so you may as well use it.” Shadi’s throat worked. “Is that what I have? A chance? Here?” Certainty settled over Emma. “Yeah.” She gave him a small smile. “It is.” Shadi’s eyes went wide and liquid. Somewhere behind Emma a door cracked open, someone swore under their breath, and as Emma turned, Red Sun stepped into the hall. Shadi abandoned them with a murmured goodbye, and Emma was left facing Red for the first time since they fled the Cantiaci. Her mouth went dry and heat flooded her face. For a second she was terrified she was going to throw up. Then she noticed the huge black bruise shadowing Red’s jaw and all her embarrassment scattered like

smoke. She started towards him. “Jesus, what happened?” Red put his hands up. “I’m —” “Don’t say you’re fine,” Emma growled. “I’ve just had that line of bullshit from Shadi.” Red’s brows popped. “Whoa there, spitfire. It’s —” he shut his mouth abruptly as Emma stalked up to him and craned her head back to get a better look at the shiner on his jaw. He went utterly still when she reached up to touch him. Although Felani had trimmed his hair close to his skull for him, he hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks; his short beard was rough and spiky, with too much gold in it to be true ginger, and it did nothing to hide the deep black and purple bruising. Their eyes met. “I know Telly did this,” Emma said. “Em,” Red began roughly. She pressed her fingers lightly to his face. “The only other male in our team short enough to have hit you at this angle is Marco.” She dropped her

hand. “Did Marco hit you?” Red exhaled noisily and looked away, his brown eyes dark, deep lines either side of his mouth carving paths through his faint cross-hatch of scars. “Telly’s had an ax to grind with me since he popped back into existence three weeks ago. I had it coming, he got it out of his system, it’s nothing.” Emma stepped back, anger coming to a rolling boil in her blood. “I told him if he so much as looked at you the wrong way —” “Flower,” Red said on a laugh, meeting her gaze with an incredulous expression on his face. “If I’d left you in his care, then came back and found out what happened to you, I’d damn well do more than punch him, that’s for sure. Like I said.” His expression turned hard. “I had it coming.” Emma felt like actual steam was about to start jetting from her ears and nose, she was so angry at Telly. “We both know that’s not why he hit you tonight,” she said. Without thinking. Red’s nostrils flared wide. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her heart dropped to her feet, leaving only aching, empty space in its wake.

“All things considered,” he said in a thick voice, “I’m lucky I got away with just this shiner on my mug.” He reached out, brushing aside the tangle of Emma’s hair, and tucked it behind her ear while she held her breath. “We gotta leave soon,” he said, dropping his hand. “Get a move on, princess.” With that, he brushed past her, heading for the operations suite. Chin up, thickly muscled neck straight, massive shoulders squared and shifting like tectonic plates beneath his plain white tee. He moved like a mountain come to gorgeous, rugged life, and watching him walk away from her made Emma’s soul hurt. Somehow, Emma managed to get through the next couple of hours without using her bootlaces to strangle Telly, and they made it to the local private airfield without incident. It helped that Telly was avoiding her just as much as she was avoiding him. What the hell was she supposed to say to him? She couldn’t even meet his eyes. What happened between them while the bacchanalia was in control

hadn’t seemed so important last night; she’d been more concerned with the things she’d actually done and who she’d done them with. But in the cold, awkward light of day — well, it was technically still dark, but it was almost day — that had changed. Jeez, she thought as she sat in the SUV, waiting for the go-ahead to get out of the car. Could she not go even one whole day without feeling mortified or completely out of her depth? Just one damn day. “Hey,” Fern said quietly beside her, squeezing her hand. They were alone in the car. “It’s not your fault Telly has issues.” Emma shifted to look up at him. His eyes were twin dark hollows in the gloom, his expression unreadable, but compassion and protectiveness pulsed through the bond between them, comforting when Emma didn’t want comfort, not for this. “It is my fault, actually,” she said in a dry tone. “If he hadn’t stayed immortal for so long to find me, he wouldn’t be losing his shit like he is.” Fern snorted, a derisive little sound, his thumb stroking idly back and forth along the inside of her

wrist. “Like I said, not your fault. Can’t blame yourself for not being born sooner.” “Fern,” she said with a laugh. “You never think I’m to blame for anything.” He smiled broadly, teeth flashing very white in the dark. “Sure I do. You’re a terrible bed-hog, for one thing —” “Ha ha —” “No really, you wrap yourself up like a burrito, and then nobody — yow, not the ribs!” Laughing, he squirmed away from her pinching fingers, ending up sprawled against the far side of the back seat. He took up a lot more room than he used to. The leather of his jacket creaked against the upholstery as he shifted position, crossing one ankle over the other. The laughter drained out of his mental touch. “If you want to blame yourself for something…” His mind pulled back from hers, just enough that she couldn’t immediately pick out the thought he was shielding. Not that she wanted to. “What,” she said,

tensing. He sighed, frustration clouding the bond, but his tone was achingly patient. “Things don’t have to be so hard, between you and Red. Alexi’s all but spelled it out —” “Alexi is terrified of losing me,” Emma hissed, cutting him off. “He’s determined to be the opposite of everyone else who’s tried to claim me.” She swallowed, hard, looking down at her fists in her lap. “He wouldn’t feel the need to do that if it weren’t for me and my goddamn feelings, so that’s my fault, too.” Em. Fern’s warmth curled through the bond, wrapping her in comforting shadows, softening her hardness. That’s not fair to Alexi. He doesn’t scare easy, and his self respect is absolute. Why is it that you believe him when he’s in front of you, telling you how he feels and what he wants, but the instant you get a little distance you forget all that and start panicking? She shot him a censuring look. I’m not panicking. He didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Shit.” Emma grimaced. “I really do that, don’t I? Believe him when he’s right in front of me, then panic and forget it all later.” Fern flashed an apologetic smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You really do.” She was in his mind and he was in hers, so Emma didn’t know exactly whose thought jumped to her lips, but it didn’t really matter. “If I accept how Alexi feels and stop doubting him,” she said, her voice small, “then I have to accept my own feelings.” Fern nodded, his black eyes deep and kind. She held his gaze, held onto it like a lifeline. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t accept those feelings. Accepting them meant considering what Alexi was suggesting, and what Alexi was suggesting would never, ever work. “How do you know,” Fern asked softly. Emma stifled a bitter laugh. “I’ve had my fair share of proposals from charming douchebags touting the whole free love thing. I did go to college, if you’ll recall.” Fern’s surprise sparked through the bond. “Is

that what you think he wants? To take advantage of you?” “Jesus, no. I just…” Fern arched both brows. “You’re just prejudiced against the way an entire subset of humanity chooses to conduct their relationships because you met a lot of douchebags in college?” Emma groaned and let her head fall back against the seat. “When you put it that way, I sound like an epic bitch. Thanks.” His soft laughter filled the space, and a moment later he captured her hands in his own. They were cool and large and so familiar now. “You’re not a bitch. You’re just…you’re so accepting of so much, yet this has you tied in knots.” She traced his wide knuckles with her fingertips, flicked a fingernail against his thumbnail, soothing herself with the touch. She didn’t know what to say; he hardly ever challenged her like this. But when he did... He shrugged, leather jacket brushing against the seat. “Feeling contrary lately, I guess. Sorry.” Emma squeezed his fingers. “No, I — it’s okay.

It helps to talk.” The irony of all this talk about acceptance wasn’t lost on her — if it hadn’t been for what she’d done last night, they wouldn’t be able to talk like this at all. Fern’s confusion swirled lazily through the bond. “What —” A knock came at the car window. “Here they come,” Anton called. Emma’s stomach jumped with excitement. She and Fern were out of the car in a heartbeat, in time to watch the private jet finish taxiing up and come to a halt on the tarmac, its lights glowing like gems in the predawn dark. Emma’s breath fogged in the cold; she cuddled down into her pea coat, tucking the ends of the silvery gray silk scarf Felani had given her into her collar, and then Alexi stepped up beside her and wrapped an arm around her. His touch was respectful, his gaze dark. How much of that conversation did you overhear, Emma spoke in his mind, tucking herself firmly under his arm and turning her face up to his. His breath was warm against her cheek as he

leaned down to brush her mouth with his. I have no idea what you’re talking about. The touch of his lips was too distracting for Emma to come up with a reply, and then there was no more time. A chilling howl broke the crisp dawn air. The jet’s boarding hatch opened and the stairs descended. Black-clad figures marched down in lockstep. Two smaller shapes leapt down the stairs, surged ahead of the others, and charged. Emma stepped away from Alexi and went to one knee, ground cold beneath the denim of her jeans. She braced herself, the heavy tread of her Doc Martens digging into the tarmac, and opened her arms to catch Rain and Katenka as they threw themselves at her.

22 Rain and Katenka weighed a hell of a lot less in human shape than they did as wolves, so Emma managed to stay upright as a combined hundred pounds of teenager slammed into her, but taking a full breath while two pairs of gangly arms squeezed the life out of her proved more difficult. “Air,” she wheezed, getting a mouthful of Katenka’s wild blond curls. “Yeck. Gotta breathe.” By some miracle they listened to her for once. Laughing, they both pulled back, and Emma caught a fistful of their matching parkas in each hand so

she could keep them there and take in her first sight of them since she left to find the Brotherhood. Katenka was the same: fierce grin full of sharp teeth, jade green eyes, skin the color of milk. She had her dad’s wide cheekbones and full mouth, but her mom must’ve been a hell of a lot better looking than the wolf king, because Katenka could stop traffic, and she knew it. She was also thirteen years old, which meant she was arrogant as hell about it, but most of the princess’s attitude seemed dedicated to defending Rain, so that was okay. Rain was not the same. Charcoal and silver streaked hair that had once been a screen to hide behind was now brushed out to shoulder length, thick and lustrous; amber-green eyes met Emma’s with full force, where once the wary fifteen year old would’ve looked anywhere but. Rain’s face was longer and more solemn than Katenka’s, with a serious mouth below a straight, freckled nose, skin flawless with a fading late summer tan. Aside from those small differences, though, it was impossible to say exactly how Rain had changed, but it was undeniable: Rain had bloomed.

Beautiful, Emma thought, fighting and failing not to grin like an idiot. Rain was beautiful. And when she answered Emma’s grin with one of her own, she was breathtaking. Before Emma could come up with actual words to say to either of them, the staccato beat of boots marching on tarmac drew her gaze beyond the kids, to where the rest of the envoys from the Ruskiy kingdom advanced. A ripple of unease went through the jaguar guards ranged in front of the cars. Seshua moved forward, his pace languid, but he didn’t stop until he was between Emma and the oncoming wolves. But as the Russians drew nearer, the tension drained out of Seshua’s shoulders, and the body language of the rest of the jaguars went from high alert to rank speculation. With the exception of Zach, the Russian envoys were all female. Emma glanced at Ivan, who was off to the side, arms crossed and stance easy. He felt her gaze and looked her way, his mouth curling in a half smile. Clever wolf. Very clever wolf. The Russians carried themselves like soldiers

— with the exception of Zach, who was neither Russian nor a soldier. Still, he didn’t look too out of place amongst the Ruskiy wawkalaki, with his tired gray eyes and grizzled jaw, and he was lean and strong, for a human. Zach might’ve been human, but he still gave bone-crushing hugs. “Good t’seeya, Em,” he said through a huge grin, clapping her back. He pulled away and scanned Emma’s people, and it was obvious when he found who he was looking for: his nostrils flared and his eyes widened. He nodded at Felani. “Hey Fel.” Then, before Felani could answer, he turned to the Russians. “Want me to handle the introductions?” Emma didn’t need to be introduced to the serious brunette who nodded at Zach. “Thank you,” Bozenka said, her eyes crinkling at the corners as her gaze slid to Emma. “All right.” Zach’s voice cracked as he raised it. “Allow me to introduce Bozenka Daratrazanov, chief weapons coordinator of the royal Ruskiy wawkalaki.” Zach frowned. “Did I get it right, Bo?”

Bozenka nodded again, a small smile breaking free. “Natalya and Ana Romanov,” Zach indicated with a nod of his own at the two redheaded young women who looked like they couldn’t be much older than nineteen — that was, if you didn’t notice their eyes. Emma had met them before leaving Russia to go after the Brotherhood. “And Alisa, Klara, and Masha Sopolskiy,” Zach finished, gesturing to the remaining three blonds, all of whom shared the same height and facial structure. There was a similarity in looks around the eyes and nose, but that was where the resemblance ended. Sisters, maybe cousins, but for all Emma knew they could be three generations of Ruskiy wolves — shapechangers definitely didn’t age badly, though some showed their age more than others, for reasons Emma wasn’t real clear on. Seshua stepped forward, bending at the waist in a courtly bow that did an impressive job of looking respectful while not putting him beneath anyone in the slightest. “A pleasure,” he purred. “Truly, we are honored that the Ruskiy wawkalaki

would send their most elite personnel to guard Emmalina and her allies.” “We are here for Yekaterina and Rain, as much as Emma,” Bozenka said with a deferential glance in Emma’s direction. Seshua smiled without showing his teeth. “Yekaterina and Rain are Emma’s allies.” Bozenka narrowed her eyes at Seshua in an appraising stare. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her. “All right, jaguar king.” She swung her enormous duffel bag over one shoulder and looked at Emma. “Shall we?” By the time they got back to the hotel the sun was coming up, staining the low cloud cover with muted rose and amethyst hues, and Emma was starving. She was also missing her dog, because Rain and Katenka had spent most of the trip back to the hotel reciting every single adorable thing the big mutt had done since Emma left Russia the last time. But they couldn’t keep a dog at the hotel, so Bruce had stayed behind. It was probably stupid to even think of him as her dog anymore — you

couldn’t have a dog when you were living out of hotels and temporary safehouses. It won’t be forever, Fern sent as they pulled into the hotel parking lot. She knew that. She just didn’t know what the hell was going to come next. “I hope you two are hungry,” Emma told Rain and Katenka as she cracked the car door. “Because I am going to order so much room service —” She stopped dead as Alexi’s mind leapt into hers and froze her. She was immobile less than a second before he released her, but in that one instant she’d grasped all she needed to know, the connection between them seamless. There was danger. The ravens were at the hotel. Emma swung out of the car and slammed the door behind her, willing Fern to engage the locks from up front in the passenger seat. He wasn’t thrilled to lock himself in the car without her, but the kids came first, and he did it without question. Red appeared beside her with a snap of displaced air and moved to shield her body with his own.

“You’re meant to run away from the danger,” he said, voice like a hacksaw on gravel. “Not towards it.” “The kids are here,” she said. “That changes things.” She willed the mark on her hand to life. It flared peach-red, like a hot coal touched by a cool wind, sending power humming up the bones of her arm. “So where are the fuckers?” Red didn’t need to answer, because at that moment a man too beautiful and shining to be human stepped through the hotel lobby doors and out into the early morning hush. His dark hair and beard were as immaculate as his button down coat and slacks; his almond shaped eyes were the same light brown shade as his skin. He held his hands out at his sides, his steps measured. Over a dozen different kinds of deadly held their breath, poised to annihilate the stranger. “Hi,” he said casually with London accent that made him sound ten years younger than he looked. “I’m Ravi.” He glanced around, and then his gaze lit on Emma. “Ah, there you are. Boss wants to speak with you.” He pulled a comically dismayed

face. “To apologize, actually. He’s in the lobby.” Ravi lifted his shoulders in a shrug, wincing. “Fancy some breakfast?” The hotel restaurant was open but deserted. Whether that was because it wasn’t yet seven in the morning or because the Captain of the Ravens had compelled everyone to leave, Emma had no idea, but by the time all her people had taken up defensive positions, the restaurant was definitely not deserted anymore. Emma was surrounded by the small army that was Ivan, Shadi, Leah and Fatima; Anton and Ricky stayed as close as they could, and if the ravens wanted to get to Emma, they would have to go through Alexi and Seshua first. That was if they survived Telly. The walking god had swept ahead of everyone, the tails of his navy blue frock coat flapping, stalked straight up to where the Captain of the Ravens sat at one of the long, heavy wooden tables, spun a chair around and straddled it. Then he’d put his chin on his forearms and flashed the Captain the coldest, least

sane smile Emma thought she’d ever seen on his face. Yeah, if the ravens tried anything after that, Emma had serious doubts about their self preservation instincts. Emma had Rain at her left and Katenka at her right, and Fern and Red Sun at her back. Indoors, without the threat of ravens dropping out of the sky to snatch them, the safest place for the kids was right where Red could dematerialize them to safety along with Emma and Fern. The Captain of the Ravens sat primly at the long table, legs crossed and hands folded on his thigh, his expression devoid of the arrogance he’d treated Emma to. He wore his impressive cornrows swept back and secured at the nape of his neck with some kind of leather tie decorated in silver; his leather jacket was old and reinforced at the elbows and shoulders, unzipped over a white shirt that seemed very bright against his smooth, gleaming skin. His eyes were dark and glittering. Raven eyes. “You look good in actual clothes,” Emma said

lightly, meeting those black eyes across the table. “What do you want, Cap?” His mouth curved in a slow, appreciative smile. “Cap?” Telly made a threatening sound deep in his throat. “Do you want her to call you something else?” Standing behind the Cap, Ravi spoke up. “You can call him Jerome,” Ravi said to Emma, and flashed a sunny smile. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Telly whatsoever. He was either very confident or very stupid, and for some reason it made Emma want to like him. She squashed that feeling. The Captain of the Ravens sighed and reached back to grasp Ravi’s hand and tug him closer, until he was pressed against the back of the Captain’s chair. “You can, indeed, call me Jerome.” Emma arched her brows. “Captain Jerome?” Those black eyes crinkled at the corners. “Just Jerome.” “Okay, Jerome.” Emma resisted the urge to fidget in her seat. Or ask him again what he

wanted. “I have come to apologize for the theatrics yesterday. My behavior was, I realize now, uncalled for.” Seshua started to vibrate with the beginnings of what would likely be an earth-shattering roar, and Alexi put a hand out, not touching the king but close. “Your theatrics endangered the Caller of the Blood,” Alexi said in the flat, casual tone he used when he’d decided the person he was addressing might have to die sometime in the next thirty seconds. To his credit, Jerome looked at Alexi like he was the most dangerous person in the room, and inclined his head, casting his eyes down. “Ms. Chase was never in any danger,” Jerome began, his gaze moving to Emma, his mouth hard and grave now. “But if I were in your position, I would feel the same. I ask only that you give me a few moments to explain.” Alexi turned his head without tearing his gaze from Jerome. “Emma?” His tone was harsh, a warning, but his mind

was in hers — he was nowhere near as volatile on the inside as he was on the outside. The bad-ass motherfucker act was purely for the ravens’ benefit. “You have a few moments,” she told Jerome, dutifully keeping a straight face. Jerome breathed deep, idly stroking the back of Ravi’s hand, gaze roaming from Emma to the other men and eventually back again. He cleared his throat. “You know nothing of my people,” he said mildly. “If you did, I could never have taken Ms. Chase from the air. The ravens of London have a serious problem with authority, and we assumed that you lot were barging into our territory to stage a massive takeover. Obviously you brought a lot of power with you,” he said directly to Emma. “Two kings, one prince.” He glanced at Telly. “A god. Not to mention all the bloody rest: one Egyptian warrior priestess, the entire remaining tribe of ocelot maidens, and whatever kind of secret weapon he happens to be,” Jerome finished with a nod in Shadi’s direction. “We know — now — that

you never intended to come in and nuke the joint, but you have to admit, you’ve brought the firepower.” He spread his hands and fell silent. Emma’s cheeks were turning red, she could feel it. “As you said, that was never our intention. It still isn’t. But how do you know that?” Jerome shifted in his seat, twitching his jacket more comfortably into place. It reminded Emma of seeing him towering above her, all black feathers and wicked beak and claws. “News came down the grapevine of what happened with the bears.” Jerome glanced around, taking in the way every single one of Emma’s people went tense at the mention of the bears. “Told you not to get caught up with them, love.” As Seshua exhaled sharply, Emma cleared her throat. “Don’t push it, Cap.” Too late. The hot, sweet scent of jungle curled through the air and Seshua’s hair started moving in the breeze of his power. “You claim to offer apologies,” Seshua said, his voice gone so deep it was unrecognizable, like a sound effect in a movie. “And instead you offer

veiled threats. You should reconsider anything further you have to say based on how badly you want to leave this room with all your parts intact.” Emma leaned forward. “Seshua —” Jerome lifted his hands in a gesture for peace, tension drawing his lean cheeks even more tight. “With all due respect, the bears have been a pain in our arses for centuries, and I’m in a delicate position with them. I wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of you lot coming in and ballsing it up.” Low growls. Seshua’s hair lifted and the humid spice of his power teased Emma’s nostrils. Wonderful. A roomful of unhappy wolves and jaguars, that was just what they needed. “That is the opposite of not pushing it,” she warned Jerome. Behind him, Ravi heaved a dramatic sigh and crossed his arms. “What the Captain means to say is that when you all came with your fancy powers —” he waved one hand in the air — “and your heavy hitters, we assumed you’d team up with the Cantiaci fuckers and oust us from the city. Then we heard what happened. The bears didn’t exactly

offer you that good old fashioned English hospitality, did they?” Emma suppressed the urge to laugh. It was getting harder and harder not to like Ravi. “How much did you hear?” Jerome, whose nostrils were flared in the same expression of quashed irritation that Emma saw on the faces of her own people almost daily, answered her. “We know you bound yourself to their weakest while refusing to bend to their strongest.” Jerome’s expression relaxed and he winked. “I like that.” Alexi made a small movement, just a shift of position, but Jerome’s gaze flew to him. “What do you want,” Alexi asked in a bored voice that only a fool would think was safe. Jerome was not a fool. “I want to know what your intentions are with the bears.” When silence reigned, Emma realized Alexi was waiting for her to speak. “Um,” she said. “Avoid the shit out of them?” Jerome narrowed his eyes at her, mouth working like he was trying not to smile. He tilted

his head. “You have no plans to bind yourself further to the Cantiaci.” Emma thought of the duels — those fucking duels. In her mind she saw Red, drenched with his own blood, half his face flapping loose. Then she remembered Padrig and Gwenael. “If any more of the Cantiaci are affected by the wasting illness, then I’d bind them to me to save them, and that includes their queen,” Emma said firmly. “But unless that happens, there’s no way I’m giving Angharad any power over my people.” Something behind Jerome’s gaze snapped to attention. He leaned forward, intent on Emma. The black of his eyes stood out starkly against the whites, and his gleaming obsidian skin made the effect all the more striking. “Caller of the Blood,” he said in a voice utterly devoid of accent. “Do you give your word?” Seshua, Shadi, and Anton all stepped forward at the same time, the same look of heated belligerence knitting their brows, but Seshua’s voice rang out first, deep and shaking with building violence. “How dare you.”

Jerome’s gaze never wavered from Emma. “It’s all right, Seshua,” Emma said in her most soothing voice, the kind she used on wild animals and feral strays. “It wasn’t a demand, it was a question. An important one.” Seshua turned to look at her then. A question of his own lightened his eyes, smoothed the frown from his brow, but she didn’t have time to explain how she knew what the Captain of the Ravens wanted, because she hardly knew it herself — more than knowing, she felt it. It was the way he’d sparked to attention when she told him she would not give the Cantiaci power over her people. “Jerome.” Emma stood; for some reason it felt right. “Full disclosure, I agreed to consider doing a favor for the bears. I’ll probably do it, not just because it’s about saving someone, but because it’s safer for everyone if I do it than if Angharad gets desperate and tries to do what she wants to do some other way.” By the look on Jerome’s face, Emma guessed he knew what she was talking about. “But,” she continued, “we don’t owe the bears this favor, and I give my word that what I

said before is true. I won’t give Angharad power over my people. I give my word as Caller of the Blood.” Jerome’s face sharpened. “Then I propose an alliance. Accept the Pledge from me, and the ravens will be your eyes in the sky and your ears on the streets.” Snarls and cries of outrage erupted. Alexi was silent, but he turned to Emma with a hard, wary look in his yellow eyes. He trusted her. He didn’t trust anyone else, but he trusted her. “Hey, everyone.” Emma cleared her throat. “HEY!” The racket died down. Emma came forward to stand by Alexi’s side. “Why?” she asked Jerome. “Why do I want this alliance?” His modern London accent was back, and he laughed demurely. “To protect my people, of course.” “And you’re happy to just jump on into bed with — nope, wait, sorry, bad choice of words — jump straight into an alliance with us when you

don’t know anything about us?” “But I do,” Jerome said, drumming his fingers once along the tabletop. “I know you are a champion for the weak. I know you resisted this one’s rule.” He nodded at Seshua, who lifted his lip in a silent snarl. “I know you ousted the false Pharaoh in Egypt and saved the life of the Ruskiy princess who sits by your side. Your Highness,” Jerome added, inclining his head toward Katenka. Katenka, whose training was very good, didn’t react at all. “I also suspected,” Jerome continued, “but did not know for sure until we heard what happened with the Cantiaci, that you are kind and fair, and you place your people before yourself. Rare qualities in a leader.” He flashed a humorless smile, teeth very white. “You strike me as the independent type,” Alexi said to Jerome, startling Emma. “Yet you would offer yourself and your people up to our mercy.” “Ah.” Jerome leaned back, holding up his index finger. “It’s not your mercy.” He leveled his finger to point at Emma. “It’s hers. She’s the one in

charge here.” Emma’s smile broke free this time. Alexi didn’t share her levity. “You think you can manipulate her,” he said very lightly, “because she is young and human, is that right?” Jerome’s brows rose, slowly, his face smoothing out with surprise until all the arrogance was gone. Then he threw his head back and barked a short, full throated laugh. His eyes were bright with laughter and something sharper, something like suspicion, when he met Alexi’s eyes again. “With all due respect,” he said tipping his head at Emma but never dragging his gaze from Alexi, “milady is no more human than we are, and as for her age, well.” He spread his hands. “I’m familiar with being underestimated because of my age.” Emma resisted the urge to comfort Alexi; he didn’t need it, because he hadn’t been bested, he’d been testing Jerome. “How old are you,” she asked the Captain of the Ravens. He shook his head. “You really didn’t do your homework.”

“Nope,” she said slowly, shooting Telly a sidelong glance where he still sat, motionless, only his eyes moving as his gaze flicked from Jerome to her and back again. “We really didn’t.” Telly moved finally, leaning back to stretch. Emma heard one of his joints pop. “That’s the real reason he wants the alliance,” Telly said on a yawn. Jerome tilted his whole head to fix Telly with a look that wasn’t human, not even close. “You’ve lost me,” Emma said. They were the first three words she’d spoken to him since the bacchanalia hit the night before. He had the lazy, amused mask in place that served as his version of neutral, so obviously he was feeling a little less homicidal than usual. Deliberately, he looked away from Emma, at Jerome. “You’re afraid you won’t be strong enough. Why?” Jerome’s cheeks tightened and his nostrils flared. Oh boy. Emma didn’t have time for this. “Strong enough for what?”

“Jerome,” Ravi said softly. Jerome made a fussy little noise in the back of his throat, waving Ravi off. His features tightened with irritation. “To ensure the success of a very important light-forging rite,” Jerome said reluctantly, his voice pitched low. Damn. Emma knew diddly-squat about lightforging. And Jerome saw it in her face, she knew he did. But she did know something about Jerome. “You might be young,” Emma said, “but you’re at least as powerful as the jaguar king’s most ancient warriors. Why do you need the help?” Jerome searched her face, eyes narrowing, mouth curling in a skeptical smile. “So you don’t deny the Pledge will help.” She snorted in response. “Quit stalling and answer the question.” He pressed one hand to his chest and feigned a wounded look. “Ouch. You’re a hard one.” Then he dropped the act. “I don’t know how old the most ancient of your king’s warriors might be,” he said, “but it is true, I am powerful for one so young. However.” He took a deep breath and let it out

through his nose in a long sigh, face closing down. “It is always more dangerous to perform the rite on a child.” Emma went cold, but before she could think of exactly which way she wanted to tell Jerome oh HELL no, something happened that took her at least ten seconds too long to process: someone dropped from the beams of the high, exposed ceiling and landed on the table. Ratty Converse sneakers. Purple skinny jeans. Threadbare black sweater with the sleeves pushed up to reveal a hundred of those brightly colored friendship band things made out of braided ribbon and string. The kid’s hair matched his jeans, at least the messy curls on top did; the back and sides were shaved down to black stubble, and not too neatly, either. He had the kind of face that would be striking when he got older, but was too young and soft and smooth to make Emma think anything but oh God where are his parents. His eyes were teal and sparking with outrage.

“I’m not a child,” he said in a voice that oozed adolescent contempt. Emma had less than a heartbeat to take all of that in before Jerome exploded out of his chair and tackled the kid with blurring speed, snatching him off the table. The kid disappeared into Jerome’s arms, shielded by the curve of Jerome’s broad back and shoulders. Ravi was suddenly in front of them, arms out to the sides and brow set with determination. All the jaguars and all the wolves had their guns out and leveled at him. Shadi’s bow was up, arrow loosely knocked. Jerome shot a look back; his eyes were wide and glittering with violence. “Stand down,” Alexi said in a tone that tolerated no hesitation, because Emma couldn’t find her voice. No, wait, yes she could — at least as the guns came down, she could. “He could’ve been killed,” she said to no one in particular. She sounded winded. She cleared her throat and tried again. “He’s human?” The kid answered, his high, cracking voice

muffled by Jerome’s arms. “You don’t light-forge someone who’s already a bloody shapechanger, lady.” “Language please,” said Ravi distractedly. Jerome straightened, still turned away. Emma caught a glimpse of angry teal eyes as the kid struggled against Jerome’s unbreakable hold. “He will not be harmed,” Seshua said. “None of you will, you have my word.” Then, to Kal: “Leave.” Emma was confused — until Kal raked the other guards with a look that seemed to communicate far more than Emma understood, because when he turned and left, they all followed him. “Emma’s people are far more restrained than mine,” Seshua said, an edge to the words. Slowly, Jerome turned. His arms were locked across the boy’s chest. His expression promised a bloodbath if anyone so much as looked at them the wrong way. “Jerome,” the boy said with an epic eye-roll, somehow drawing Jerome’s name into three

syllables the way only a teenager could. “You can let me go. These people are pushovers, they won’t hurt me.” Emma put her hands on her hips. “We’re pushovers because we won’t hurt a child?” Those teal eyes flashed. “I’m fifteen. Hardly a child. Spied on you lot for a good half hour and that’s not all —” Jerome said, “Jesse.” Just one word. A whole world of promises, none of them good. Jesse obviously knew the tone, because he shut his mouth with a clack. “So,” Telly said cheerfully. “You’re the one who broke into our cars.” Jesse’s face lit up with smug pride. Jerome and Ravi groaned.

23 Emma drew her seat all the way up to the table and planted her elbows on the hardwood as she sat back down. With some unseen signal, Jerome let go of Jesse, and the teenager parked himself in Jerome’s chair. Jerome took the one to the kid’s left while Ravi remained standing. To Emma, Ravi seemed like an adorable and very attractive nerd, not a bodyguard, but what did she know? She didn’t know anything about any of them. “So,” she began, addressing Jesse. “I’d love to hear how you managed to sneak into a room full of

shapechangers without any of them knowing you were here. That’s a trick I could use.” Jesse smirked, arching one fine black brow. “Didn’t sneak in. I was here all along. Your lot all assumed my bio-sig was just another of the kitchen staff back there being held with mind powers.” He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. Emma shook her head. “Bio-sig?” Jesse looked secretly pleased. “All the stuff what gives you away. Pulse, blood pressure, respiration.” “Jesse has exceptional control in this matter,” Jerome said quietly. He seemed almost sad. “Jesse is exceptional in many ways.” “Jerome,” Jesse said with mild disgust. Emma fixed Jerome with an apologetic stare. “I don’t want us to be enemies. But I don’t think I can help you. You want me to accept the Pledge so that you can perform the light-forging rite on a minor.” She glanced at Jesse. His expression was veiled with bored amusement, reminding her of Telly. “You might not be a child,” she said to the kid, feeling guilty for disappointing him, “but you are a

minor.” Jesse jerked his chin up, casting his gaze over Emma’s shoulder. “So are they.” Rain and Katenka. “They were born this way,” Emma told him gently. He grunted. “The lucky ones. Genetic lottery.” He flashed a smile so bitter and tired, Emma was seized with cold dread — what could make a fifteen year old smile that way? She pushed past the thought and looked to Jerome. “You said it yourself, it’s dangerous, right? He’s fifteen. He can’t legally consent, and besides —” “Don’t have to make excuses, lady,” Jesse cut in, teal eyes liquid and bright. “I don’t give a shit either way. I can already fly.” Ravi snorted. “Until you parkour yourself off a fifty foot building and flub the landing, short stuff.” Jesse made a fist, mimed cranking a slot machine, and said “cha-ching!” as he popped his middle finger up at Ravi. Emma saw that one of the colorful bracelets the

boy wore on his wrist was a faded, ratty hospital ID band. Behind Emma, Red Sun made a wounded noise low in his throat. Jesse’s gaze moved to him and turned speculative. Then the boy’s pale cheeks flushed pink and he scowled, fixing Emma with a combative look. Jerome noticed the look and spoke before Jesse could. “Waiting until Jesse comes of age is not an option.” “And why is that,” Red asked, though he already knew the answer, same as Emma did. “Docs don’t think my remission’s gonna last,” Jesse replied. Emma sensed Katenka go tense through the Pledge bonds, like someone tugging on her sleeve. She reached for Fern’s mind, her thoughts tangling with his. He had no more idea what to say than she did. Another dying kid. Goddammit. “Leukemia,” Jerome said in a matter of fact way. “He’s been clear for almost eighteen months, but our healers have detected slight anomalies that

the human tests haven’t picked up yet.” Emma looked from Jerome to Jesse. Jesse stared back at her with the air of someone who was all out of fucks to give. His expression did not invite sympathy or apologies, so Emma didn’t bother with either. She turned her attention back to Jerome. “So the light-forging rite can cure cancer?” Ravi made a warning sound and shook his head when Emma met his eyes. “That’s not quite how it works. The light of the change can’t heal; only the change itself does that. If the body is too weak — or diseased — to withstand the rite, the forging fails. Right now, Jesse’s immune system is responding to the disease, but as soon as the cancer metastasizes, his immune system will fail and his chances for surviving the rite disappear.” “But that’s not the only factor,” Jerome said. “The rest comes down to the shapechanger performing the rite. How powerful they are.” Emma wished she wasn’t the most clueless person in the room just then. “As a rule, how powerful do you need to be to pull this off?”

Telly answered her. “As a rule, you need to have royal lineage.” Telly’s gaze slid to Jerome. “And you don’t.” Jerome inhaled and opened his mouth, but Emma cut in. “How the hell do you know that?” she asked Telly. His mouth curled in a faint smirk as he met her eyes. “Went out last night, did some homework.” Emma smiled sweetly at him. Was that before or after you hit Red? Telly went rigid. His gaze lightened to cornflower blue. His brow smoothed out and his hair shifted, revealing the pointed tip of one ear. Fern cleared his throat loudly. Em, your eyes. “Er,” Ravi said questioningly. Emma blinked, breathed deep, and exhaled forcefully the way Red had taught her to do. The next inhale cleared her head. She opened her eyes to find Ravi looking at her like she was a venomous snake, Jerome looking at her like she’d done something interesting, and Jesse looking at her like she might just be cool enough to bother with.

Back to the more pressing matter at hand. “Okay,” Emma said slowly, addressing Jerome. “You’re not royal, yet you want to try this lightforging thing anyway, on a kid?” “Ughnnn,” Jesse said, letting his head fall back. “I’m not a —” “This isn’t the first time,” Jerome said loudly with a censuring glance at Jesse, cutting him off, “that I’ve ever performed the rite. I assure you, Ms Chase, I’m quite adept at the procedure.” Jerome looked around the room, his gaze wary, and then he smiled. “I’ve brought over a thousand souls into the light of the change.” Alexi and Seshua both startled. Fern’s shock flared through the bond, sharp and bright. “But the bloodlines,” Seshua said, half laughing. “The power in the blood. How can you keep them pure?” Jerome snorted. “There hasn’t been an unbroken royal lineage among our kind for thousands of years. We don’t care about blood, we care about family.” Now that was fascinating — Emma was

hooked. “Are you just talking about your own clan, or do you mean all the ravens, everywhere?” Jerome shrugged. “There might be a remote clan or two with old blood, but none I know of.” “So you really aren’t the raven king.” “Close enough,” Ravi said, his good-natured expression turning sharp with warning. Jerome chuckled then, a warm, rich sound full of affection. It made Emma like him more. “I lead the ravens of London,” Jerome said with quiet assurance. “I keep them safe. I have done so for three centuries, but I do not rule them.” Emma kept her expression neutral, but inside her pulse was tripping with excitement and worry and confusion, all tangled up together. She mentally leaned on Fern for support. It wouldn’t hurt, you know, Fern sent. To have allies who can fly. Who can drop from the sky and carry you to safety. Startled, Emma turned and looked up at him. He gazed back at her. Tension bracketed his eyes, carved faint lines either side of his wide mouth, as though being with her — bound to her — and

worrying about her had aged him. He caught that thought and gave her a lopsided smile that dimpled his cheek. Focus, Em. Funny. That was usually Alexi’s line. Emma gave in to the urge to look up at Alexi, too. His gaze was steady, remote and unreadable. She wanted very badly to ask him what she should do. Seshua spoke up. “What about the boy’s family?” “Jesse is a ward of the state,” Jerome said darkly. “But we are his family.” The “we” in that sentence sounded like more than just Jerome and Ravi. “You mean the ravens are his family,” Emma asked. Jerome and Ravi both nodded, once, in unison. Family. The only family Jesse had, and they were asking her to help them keep him. Why was this so much harder than when she’d tried to save Katenka? She’d had no second thoughts then, no hesitation. Katenka hadn’t even been thirteen when she made the Pledge. But

Katenka had already been one of them. Jesse was not. Katenka had been dying of an illness only Emma could cure — there was nothing to lose, but Jesse could still be treated, could still survive the cancer. What if she said yes, and he didn’t survive the rite? Shit, Emma thought. Shit shit shit. Fern pushed strength and steadiness through the bond, but his thoughts were deliberately quiet. He didn’t know what the hell to do, either. “Think on it, at least,” Jerome said, pretending to dust off his thighs and coming to his feet. When he spoke again, his tone had the formal resonance that meant he was saying something Super Important. “As a show of good faith, I give my consort and second in command, Ravi, into your keeping for a day and a night and a day, or until such a time as you come to a decision. He can also answer any questions you might have about me and my people. But I must go.” He put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder and met Emma’s eyes. “I will perform the rite, with or without your support. Tomorrow night.”

Emma shoved away from the table. “But that’s so soon —” “I know, and I’m sorry.” Jerome shook his head, cornrows whispering as they slid against his shoulders. “But it is the most auspicious time for the rite. If you choose to decline my offer, I’ll need all the luck I can get. C’mon, Jesse,” he added lightly. “Let’s go.” Ivan and the three blond Russian newcomers moved aside to let Jerome and Jesse past. Jerome deftly maneuvered around tables and chairs with Jesse slouching in his wake, hands shoved into jean pockets and teal eyes defiant. As they drew abreast of Emma and the kids, Jesse’s gaze slid to Rain and snagged there, and Jerome stopped — but his gaze was all for Emma. “If you do decline the Pledge, we won’t be enemies,” Jerome said, his lean face serious. “Unless you move against my people or try to take control of the city, you’re welcome here, just as anyone else would be. But if you accept…” Emma forced herself not to look away from Jerome’s darkly glittering stare. “If I accept?”

Jerome’s face stayed serious for a handful of heartbeats. Then he broke into a grin so wide and satisfied it could put the Cheshire cat to shame. “If you accept, Ms. Chase, get ready for one hell of a party.” He winked at her. “Fancy dress and all.” Slinging an arm across Jesse’s shoulders, he turned for the restaurant doors. “Tomorrow night,” he called over his shoulder before they both swaggered out of sight. Seshua wasn’t happy about Ravi. Neither were the wolves, with the exception of Ivan, who took his cue from Emma, who took her cue from Alexi, who seemed suspiciously pleased with everything that had just gone down including Ravi’s illustrious new status as Raven Collateral. Ravi, for his part, was politely accepting — even when Kal and Leah frisked him so thoroughly he couldn’t have been hiding so much as a matchstick. “This really wasn’t necessary,” Emma told him as they waited in the lobby for the elevators. She had to lean forward to catch a glimpse of him;

Seshua stood between them, a wall of grumpy blue muscle and agitated hair. Ravi waved her off. “Oh, it’s totally fine.” As though this sort of thing happened to him all the time. “This is fun.” Ravi elbowed Seshua, who growled like an idling Harley and vibrated with barely contained violence, which Ravi ignored. “Don’t get to do this sort of thing very often. Usually it’s more like, hey, Ravi —” he assumed a deep, ridiculously gruff tone — “Ravi, we need you to hack this bank that literally can’t be hacked. Ravi, how do I work my Apple TV.” Ravi leaned forward to catch Emma’s eye. “This is much more interesting. A diplomatic mission!” He pulled a face. “I’m a programmer in real life. Also, I’ve got no bloody idea how to work an Apple TV.” Emma’s mind boggled. “Real? What?” She shook her head. “Are you actually a shapechanger?” Somewhere to Emma’s left, Telly was chuckling. Ravi blinked at her — and suddenly his eyes were black from rim to rim. When he blinked again they were normal and

light brown. “Second in command and consort to the Captain,” Ravi said with a smile. “Well,” Red rumbled behind them, “the first half of that statement was true, anyways.” Ravi’s brows went up and he twisted to look at Red, cheeks darkening beneath his beard, throat working as he swallowed against the effects of Red’s proximity. “Excuse me?” Red met Emma’s eyes. They glowed with lazy amber sparks. “He’s not the Captain’s consort. By the way, do we really have to call Jerome the Captain?” Ravi made a sound Emma could only call a squawk. “What on earth are you talking abou—” The elevators dinged. Seshua and Kal swept Ravi into one, and Red Sun herded Emma and Fern and the kids into another. Zach, Bozenka and the redheaded Romanov twins, and Felani and the other four maidens squeezed in ahead of Alexi. He looked like he was struggling very hard to keep a straight face. Emma wanted to reach for him, but she was sandwiched between Fern and Red, and

there were too many bodies between them. Then Telly slipped in as the doors were closing, and there were definitely too many people in the elevator. In front of her, Katenka craned her head back to look at Red. “Red Sun,” she said in her sweetest little girl voice. “How do you know Ravi isn’t really Jerome’s consort?” Jammed up against Emma’s back, Fern snorted a laugh. “Never you mind, princess,” Red said. Katenka growled. In the close confines of the elevator it was a hair-raising sound, wild and feral, but Katenka’s eyes were still jade green and perfectly human. The effect was so jarring, Emma’s brain insisted there must be an invisible timber wolf locked in the elevator with them, because that sound couldn’t be coming from the angelic peaches and cream princess. “Kat,” Rain said curtly. “You don’t need to be alpha here.” Katenka’s growl cut off as though she’d flipped a switch. “My apologies, Red Sun.” She looked

away from him, at Rain, and sounded more like a teenager when she murmured, “sorry, Raina.” Wow, Fern sent. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Rain be assertive like that. I know, right? Emma sent back. Over the kids’ heads, she met Zach’s eyes with a questioning look. He just smiled. The elevator came to a stop and chimed as the doors opened. Alexi led them all out. As soon as Emma saw Seshua and Kal leading Ravi into the hall, she surged forward and caught the king’s eye. “You and him,” she said to Seshua, nodding at Ravi. “With me.” She didn’t wait to see if he was going to do it — that would’ve ruined the effect. “Rain, Katenka, why don’t you go get settled in with Bozenka and the others?” “That was a rhetorical question,” Rain said dryly as Katenka opened her mouth to argue. With an epic eye-roll, Rain looped an arm through Katenka’s and dragged her toward Bozenka and the Romanov twins. Anton, Ricky, Fatima and the three blond

Russian women had all gone ahead to do a sweep of the rooms before Emma and the rest of them came up, just in case the whole thing with Jerome and Ravi had been an orchestrated distraction, and Ricky was holding the door to Emma’s suite open by the time she reached it. He popped his brows and said nothing as she filed in with Fern and Red behind her, Seshua and Kal and Ravi following. Telly ducked through the door ahead of Alexi, who closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. Emma resolved to pretend Telly wasn’t there — it was easier that way. “So,” she began, unbuttoning her heavy coat and turning to face Ravi. “Why did you and Jerome lie about being together?” Ravi’s eyes went wide and he put his hands up. “I have no idea what you’re —” “Save it,” Red said jovially. “We know.” Ravi looked at Red in disbelief — then his gaze softened and his nostrils flared, and he slowly lowered his hands, brow knitting in a frown. He glanced at Emma. “How?”

Red grunted. “I got this handy curse. If Jerome were batting for your team, he’d have lit up when my curse hit him.” Red cleared his throat. “The way you are right now.” Ravi stared at Red. Blinked. Shook his head. Then he started to smile. “Oh.” Red sighed. “Uh huh.” Ravi’s smile widened. “So that’s why you smell so yummy.” Red groaned. Ravi was nodding. “I thought it was strange. I’m not usually into bears, see.” He frowned. “Gay bears, I mean, not literal bears, although I’ve never cared much for them either. Honestly he’s more my type,” Ravi added, tipping his head in Ricky’s direction. Ricky blushed furiously. Ravi winked at him and put his hands on his hips. “Well, well. This is interesting.” “Not as interesting as your face is going to look in thirty seconds if you don’t explain yourself,” Seshua said casually, hair starting to slide around his shoulders with a life of its own. Crossing his arms, Ravi sighed. “Look, it’s

complicated. There’s nothing sinister to it, but I doubt you’d understand.” Emma shrugged out of her coat and laid it over the back of a dining chair. “What does Jerome think he stands to gain by pretending to be something he’s not?” she asked Ravi. Seshua scoffed. “Aside from presenting himself as less of a threat. Maybe he thinks you accepted the pledge from the bears because the alliance came with no more intimate strings attached.” That wasn’t how the Pledge worked, but Emma could see how outsiders might assume otherwise. Before she could reply, Ravi cut in. “That’s not it.” He looked deeply uncomfortable. “Shit,” he muttered, swiping at his brow and stripping out of his expensive coat. “Look, when you’re the leader of a clan as big as the ravens of London, there are appearances to be maintained. Especially when you might need to make important alliances. It’s true, we heard what happened with the Cantiaci, and Jerome thought you’d feel less threatened if he appeared to be mated to another male. But it was only an issue because Jerome goes to great lengths

to ensure that outsiders see him with someone. That they see him mated. Like I said, appearances.” Emma shook her head, frowning. “Throw me a clue here, I still don’t get it.” Ravi flashed her a small smile. “You are a breath of fresh air, lovely, has anyone ever told you that?” She resisted the urge to look at Seshua. “In a manner of speaking, yes.” “Get to the point,” Red told Ravi, his tone kinder than the words. But it was Ricky who spoke up. “He’s ace,” Ricky said quietly. “Jerome, he’s ace.” Of course, Emma thought, feeling like a dork. “He’s what-now,” Red asked. “Doesn’t bat for any team,” Ravi said, shrugging. “Asexual’s a bit of an awkward word though, hey? Ace is better. But it still doesn’t pay to have your enemies know you’ve got no interest in shagging any of them, not if seducing one of ‘em could save your life — or someone else’s.” Seshua made a deep, thoughtful sound in the

back of his throat. Emma thought of him fighting Agrona and losing on purpose. If anyone understood the necessity of seduction for survival, it was Seshua. “I’m so sorry,” Emma told Ravi. He looked at her in surprise. “For what?” “Jerome’s orientation is none of our business.” Red took a step toward her, arms crossed, practically blocking out the sun with his upper body. “Anything that concerns your safety is our business, Em.” Looking up at Red, Emma discovered something terribly dismaying about herself: a little part of her wanted to give in to the gruff, commanding tone in his voice. The tightness around his dark eyes and the harsh way his scars stood out, the tension in his jaw. Part of Emma melted, because he wasn’t just doing his duty; his feelings for her went beyond loyalty, she knew that now. Now that she’d slept with him. “No,” Emma said, hardening her voice and locking her reaction down. “This does not concern

us. Ravi —” Red cut her off. “The hell it doesn’t. We don’t know the first thing about —” “Two things, Red.” At her glacial tone, Red fell silent, confusion filling his eyes. “We know two things. The first is that Jerome’s choices regarding what he wishes the world to know about him concern his safety, rather than taking advantage of anyone else. The second is that even if Jerome was trying to get close to me and take advantage of the Pledge bond, I am fully qualified to decide for myself who I bind myself to and why, and more than able to defend myself. So it’s not an issue.” Red’s expression turned fragile, while amber light kindled in his eyes. “That hasn’t always been the case. You haven’t always been this powerful, Em.” He still didn’t get it; he had no idea how pissed she was. If he did, he’d have never said what he just did — clearly referring to when her powers weren’t awakened, when Alan had taken her and she hadn’t been able to fight back. “That was before,” she said coolly. “Things are

different now.” She switched to the telepathic pathway she shared with him. You crossed a line, she said, thankful her mental voice was incapable of shaking. Get out. His face filled with hurt. Emma’s heart twisted, and she was suddenly sure she’d made an awful mistake. But before she could think of what to say to fix it, Red was stalking away, his shoulders bunched and his mind closed off. Alexi stepped aside to let him pass and met Emma’s eyes as the door closed behind Red. Maybe Alexi had been more jealous of Red than he let on, because he looked damned pleased. I never said I wasn’t jealous, Alexi said, one corner of his mouth twitching with the ghost of a smile. But that is not why I’m pleased. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. Do I even wanna ask why you’re pleased. Before he could reply, Emma’s phone trilled, vibrating against her right butt cheek. She fumbled it free and groaned when she saw the name lighting up the screen.

“Aunt Chase, it’s —” “Only half past eight, I know, I know. Tanya has the day off. Come over for lunch.” “Aunt Chase —” “Bring everyone.” Aunt Chase’s tone brooked no argument. “We’ll make it work. Bye honey.” Emma looked from the phone in her hand to everyone else’s expectant faces. “Um. So…” Ravi gave her a sympathetic look and snorted. “Family.”

24 They had three hours until lunch and two bored teenagers on their hands. That was how they all ended up at the British Museum, trailing through the cavernous halls after Katenka and Rain as though it were perfectly normal for two kids to have a phalanx of bodyguards watching their every move. Thankfully the place was huge enough that it wasn’t obvious the large group of them were all together. Bozenka and the Russians stayed within touching distance of the kids at all times, and Red stuck close behind, so he could jump in and

dematerialize with them if they were attacked, which had the added bonus of putting legitimate distance between Emma and him. Emma had no idea what to say to him. She knew she had to try. She was used to things being easy with Red — but the few times they had butted heads, it was over her safety. No, not just her safety — her self preservation. Red trusted her with a lot of things, but didn’t seem to trust her with her own damn mind. Her guilt tangled with a sense of betrayal that couldn’t be ignored, and it reminded her too much of when Telly left. She’d forgiven Red for his part in that, because he hadn’t known her then, and she hadn’t known him, but things were different now. He should trust her by now, shouldn’t he? He should believe in her. But trust didn’t come easily. He did care about her. And she’d thrown it back in his face because she was offended over something stupid and petty… “It wasn’t stupid,” Alexi murmured in her ear, and she nearly jumped out of her damn skin. He took a step back, giving her space, a gesture that

was at odds with the way his mind uncoiled against hers and steadied her. She tore her gaze from him in order to sidestep out of the way of a tour group. Red was way up ahead, chatting easily with Bozenka while the other five Russian women tried very hard not to keep glancing in his direction. The kids had roped Fern into some kind of interactive exhibit with screens and gadgets. When Emma met Alexi’s eyes once more, they were fierce yellow and full of mischief. She frowned and shot him a suspicious stare.“What’s that look for?” His dark brows went up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “I can read your mind, you know,” she said dryly. “Mmm.” Hands in his pockets, Alexi moved closer, deceptively casual. “Then why don’t you.” Still frowning up at him, she caught the connection to him in her mental grasp and tugged on it. The weight of his thoughts spilled over her and her breath hitched. “I don’t think you’re allowed to do that in a

museum,” she managed to say. “I wasn’t intending to ask for permission. Except from you, of course,” he added in a tone that would’ve meant violence if he’d been speaking to anyone else. Alexi’s face was utterly serious except for the tiny, telltale crinkle around his eyes. He started to draw his hands out of his pockets, and Emma skipped back, ducking out of reach. “Oh no you don’t. I know you’re trying to distract me.” He nodded and held a hand out to her. “Is it working?” Damn him. She couldn’t leave him hanging. She reached for him, letting his strong, lean hand engulf her own, and he reeled her slowly into his arms. All Emma’s troubles threatened to wash away on the tide of euphoria that even such a simple embrace could induce in her. “I don’t want to become a tyrant,” she said quietly, against Alexi’s chest. “Explain this to me,” he asked, brushing deft fingers through her hair and tucking the strands behind one ear. “Why are you afraid you will

become a tyrant?” Emma steeled herself against the feel of his fingers stroking through her hair. Or at least she gave it a shot. He was trying to soothe her into forgiving herself for what happened with Red, and she was not at all sure she deserved to, and if she let him convince her she had nothing to blame herself for every time she made a mistake, they wouldn’t have a relationship. Alexi’s brows went up in amusement, but some of the mirth drained out of his gaze and left it cool. “That is an extreme way of thinking, Emma.” That made her pause. She took a deep breath and let it out with force. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” She rested her forehead against Alexi’s sternum, feeling his heartbeat through the cotton of his plain black T-shirt. “I don’t want you to tell me I’m right all the time just because I’m the Caller of the Blood. I don’t want people to think they can’t disagree with me or I’ll rip them a new one like I did with Red.” Alexi snorted. “You hardly ripped him a new anything.” One hand went to the small of her back

while the other threaded through the hair at the nape of her neck, combing out the heavy mass with his fingers. “You are not, and never will be, a tyrant,” he told her in a quiet tone that invited no argument. So it was a good thing Emma didn’t need an invitation. “I abused my power over him, Alexi. I put him in his damn place, made him feel like he’s just a bodyguard, an employee.” Alexi’s hand tightened in her hair. “If his feelings are hurt, that is entirely on him. He should know better than to treat you so carelessly. It is not his place to make demands of you.” Alexi kept his voice low. “Especially not when those demands are personal, rather than professional.” It was Emma’s turn to snort. She untangled herself from his hold enough to lean back and look up into his face; she didn’t want to look him in the eye then, and that was why she made herself do it. “Alexi. Things are personal between me and Red.” His face didn’t change. His expression was placid, as much as it could be, given his stark cheekbones and impressive scars. “That is exactly

why it is not Red’s place to make demands.” Emma was about to open her mouth to argue when she remembered what had started it all: the way she’d wanted to give in when Red pushed her, because now she knew he had feelings for her. “Is this why you never make demands of me?” He blinked slowly. “Are you asking me if I’m afraid of being put in my place?” When she nodded, his brow knit, and his eyes widened, flaring molten orange. “No,” he said curtly. “I am not afraid of that.” Emma had literally no idea why he was pissed now. She groaned and shut her eyes. “It just doesn’t sit right with me,” she said. “I ask so much of all of you, and when one of you asks in return, I get all bitchy about my independence. I overreacted with Red, it wasn’t fair.” Something like a cool breeze caressed Emma, but a cool breeze couldn’t carry muscles and texture and a silent but seething sense of telepathic reproach. Alexi’s beast coiled around her, even as he loosened his hold so he could move his hands to cup her face.

“Fair?” He held her gaze. “You are surrounded by ancients who could overpower you with only their little finger. Our duty is to support you and make you stronger, not place petty emotional demands upon you for the sake of our bruised egos. If a powerful ancient who could snap you in half with less than a thought cannot handle being put in his place momentarily, that is his problem, not yours.” Emma took a tiny sip of air, tasting Alexi’s power, the scent of storm made flesh. “You don’t really believe I’m in danger though. With him.” Alexi’s eyes narrowed. He dropped his hands and gathered hers to his chest. “No, I do not truly believe you are in danger with your own people. I do not believe there is a physical threat. But what you learn within the safety of your inner circle is what will come to you in times of crisis outside it, in a world that is far more hostile, where those more powerful than you will try to take advantage and cannot be trusted to respect you.” He squeezed her hands, his gaze burning. “I would rather my own feelings — and everyone else’s — get hurt,

and you learn to tolerate that, than risk you treating us all as though we are fragile fucking snowflakes and have that tendency get you killed when you come up against a true monster.” Alexi smoothed his thumbs across the backs of Emma’s knuckles. His power folded itself away, until the only scent Emma tasted was the faint male spice of his skin, a mix of body-warmed cotton and whatever he used to shave with. So normal, so ordinary. But Alexi was no ordinary man. His mouth curved in the briefest smile before his expression hardened. “I am pleased you put Red in his place, Emma.” His gaze sharpened. “Because when you are dealing with those who have more power than you, fairness means something else.” “In case you’ve forgotten,” Emma whispered, leaning into him, “I’m the Caller of the Blood, so technically I have the power here.” Alexi shook his head and sighed. “It’s not the same.” When she drew back, he held her in place. “I do not mean to say you do not have power, but

Emma, think. How much older than you am I?” She blinked, half laughing, and dropped her voice to a mere thread of sound. “Uh, like, nine hundred and something?” He inclined his head. “You are twenty four years old —” “Almost twenty five —” “And we are in an intimate relationship,” he finished, his tone chiding her. “The age difference —” “Alexi, it’s not the same.” His brows rose. “The same as what?” His tone was warm, amused; inviting her to fall face first into an argument she couldn’t win. Well, she was game. She yanked her hands out of his grip and crossed her arms. “It’s not the same as if —” she remembered to lower her voice again. “As if you were human.” He mirrored her position, crossing his arms. “Why not?” “You’re from a completely different world.” She started walking, aware that the kids had moved on to something else and the jaguar guards were

trailing behind, halfway between the teenagers and Emma, worried looks on their faces. “I’m part of that world now,” she said. “And I’m not a part of this one anymore.” Jesus, the words sounded hollow, didn’t they? She didn’t know how to say what she meant. Dammit, it was different — she was different, she had power, and it mattered. Alexi made a soothing sound and drew her under his arm, tucking her against his side. “It does matter. And I know what you are trying to say. What I am trying to say is that I have a responsibility to you, to ensure the balance of power between us is addressed, at all times. It is not enough simply to love you,” he said casually, without looking down at her, and Emma’s stomach back-flipped. “If I want to be with you, I must work to lift you up, not weigh you down and make your world smaller. If Red wants that, he must work too.” He bent his head to hers then and kissed her hair, his breath warm against her scalp, with one simple gesture showing her that his body and his heart were hers, a place for her to shelter. Tears stung the back of her nose and she had to

squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. Things were still a little blurry when she opened them, and she thought she glimpsed a flash of blue coat and blond hair disappear around the corner up ahead, but by the time her vision cleared there was nothing there. Kids, dogs, and food — it was a recipe for disaster. That was how Emma found herself in the upstairs bathroom at Aunt Chase’s place washing ketchup off the end of her braid while Rain and Katenka crowded the downstairs bath. She could still hear them shrieking and cackling as they cleaned potato salad out of each other’s hair. They’d been on their best behavior until Hannibal took a flying leap and stole a pork chop out of Rain’s hand. She had missed them. The cleanup was a bitch, but Emma loved that the influence of their beasts had kept them from lapsing into terminal teenage cool. And that was the wrong thought to have. “Terminal” and “teenage” — it reminded her of Jesse.

Ravi had explained that Jesse was first diagnosed when he was nine. An orphan, he spent ten months in the children’s ward for treatment, and then the cancer came back when he was eleven. The treatment was shorter that time. Typically, if a patient was still in remission at five years from their last treatment, the cancer was extremely unlikely to return. So the fact that Jesse was getting sick again, a third time at four years out of treatment… It wasn’t good. Emma couldn’t help comparing him to Katenka. When Katenka was dying of the wasting illness, she’d been upbeat, full of hope and fierce determination. But she’d been surrounded by people who loved her and would do anything to keep her safe. Jesse’s attitude made sense: he didn’t have that. He’d spent his childhood alone, with only street kids to depend on, learning how to break out of foster homes and into cars and highsecurity buildings. Katenka had everything; Jesse had to learn to survive with nothing, until the ravens took notice of him a few years ago.

Dammit. She dropped the washcloth in the basin and squeezed the excess water out of the end of her braid. It was down to her waist now, which was how it ended up swinging into the remains of someone’s condiments in the first place. Of course, if she hadn’t made a dive to save her glass of water when Pippin galloped into the leg of the dining room table… She ran the water, rinsed the cloth, wrung it out and draped it over the side of the basin. Met her own eyes in the vanity mirror. She was looking pretty good for only having grabbed a few hours’ sleep — Felani had worked magic with concealer and highlighting powder, but refrained from making Emma wear a full face of makeup. Her braid was complicated enough at the sides to hold her hair mostly in place even while it was doing its constant growth thing. Emma didn’t want to think about — “Emmie!” Aunt Chase’s voice on the other side of the door made Emma jump like a fool. “Hun, you’ve been in there an age, did you fall in?” Emma cracked the door and gave her aunt a dry

look. “I had ketchup in my hair.” Aunt Chase heaved a huge sigh that puffed out her cheeks and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “That’s nothing compared to what I just scraped out of Rain’s hair.” Her tone softened. “They’re good kids, Emmie.” “They sure are.” Emma stepped into the hall, where slanted autumn sunlight from the first floor landing window cast bands of buttery yellow to contrast with the dim, quiet shadows. Shrill peals of laughter drifted up from the kitchen; dogs barked and low male voices rumbled. Good sounds. Emma felt almost, almost at home. Aunt Chase crossed her arms. “I’ve spent the past twenty four hours trying to figure out how to kidnap you and get you away from these people,” she said casually. Emma went very still. “Aunt Chase…” She silenced Emma with a sharp look, the many lines bracketing her eyes creasing into familiar configurations. She’d been giving Emma that look ever since Emma had recovered enough from her parents’ death to give Aunt Chase a generous dose

of newfound pre-adolescent sass. Emma had spent the last six months rubbing shoulders with gods and kings and monsters, and that look still scared her. “I changed my mind, of course,” Aunt Chase said, looking away. Emma stopped holding her breath, but she knew she hadn’t been dismissed yet, so she waited. “I know you don’t plan to go back to school, even if Telly did almost have me fooled yesterday.” Aunt Chase sighed again. “I know he meant well enough. He’s a nice young man.” Emma snorted; Aunt Chase ignored her. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” she added. “He worships the ground you walk on, Emmie. I’d be a lot happier if you were looking at him that way as well, instead of —” “Aunt Chase.” The black eyes didn’t scare Aunt Chase this time. She flashed a defiant look at Em. “What? Alexi is not a good man, I can see that a mile off. The bad-boy thing might be appealing at first, hun, but you need someone warm, someone who cares

about you.” “Alexi cares about me,” Emma said, voice like iron. “He’s cold, Emmie. Remote. Just because you and every other woman under twenty five has read Fifty Shades doesn’t mean —” Emma started laughing. “Oh my God, Aunt Chase —” Aunt Chase threw her hands in the air. “I’m serious!” Emma managed to stop laughing long enough to speak. “So am I. You don’t know Alexi. Can you just, I don’t know, hold off on judging him? For a little while?” Aunt Chase frowned. “That’s exactly the sort of thing daughters tell their mothers when they’re dating a loser.” Emma opened her mouth, but actual words refused to come out. She thought she could feel a vein pulsing in her forehead. Breathe, Fern sent, sensing her outrage. She did. “Aunt Chase, Alexi isn’t what you think he is. You don’t know anything about him

except that he’s scary, okay?” Aunt Chase’s mouth turned down, her frown edging into outright scorn. “And whose fault is that? It’s not like he’s made any effort to be friendly, or even get to know us at all. That’s a red flag, Emmie. Of course, you were too busy lying to us to tell me about a new boyfriend, so —” “Aunt Chase!” Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, embarrassingly close to angry-crying. She felt like she was fifteen years old again. She could hardly tell her aunt that Alexi didn’t need to make an effort to get to know anyone, because he could read minds. Lost for words, she sighed and met her aunt’s eyes. “That’s not fair. None of that is fair.” “Oh really?” Aunt Chase arched both brows, hands on her hips. “What’s unfair about it? This man has done nothing to recommend himself to me or Tanya —” “Don’t bring me into this,” Tanya said from the top of the stairs. Emma’s skin jumped — she hadn’t heard Tanya coming, probably because she was too busy trying not to lose her shit — and she turned to find her aunt in-law padding towards

them, a deceptively diminutive figure in a black cable knit sweater and blue jeans. “For what it’s worth,” Tanya said, reaching out to link arms with Aunt Chase, “I’m nowhere near as taken with Telly’s charm as Ursa is.” Aunt Chase gasped and turned on Tanya. “Tan —” “Darling,” Tanya murmured, her gaze kind. “Please. Alexi is tall and dark and oozes masculinity, whereas Telly is short and blond and disarmingly effeminate. Of course you like one better than the other.” Emma was nonplussed. She wouldn’t have ever described Telly as short and effeminate. Admittedly he wasn’t as tall as some of the other men, but he was still taller than her. And if Tanya had seen his abs… Suddenly Emma realized what Tanya had really been saying. Aunt Chase was already there; her cheeks had turned an adorable shade of beetroot. Emma couldn’t help it; she snorted a laugh and had to clap a hand over her mouth. “That’s ridiculous,” Aunt Chase hissed. “My

opinion of him has nothing to do with — with…” “With the fact that he looks a little like me?” Tanya arched a brow. “No, nothing at all, I’m sure.” “Thanks a lot, Tan,” Aunt Chase said dryly. “You really got my back here, it’s very comforting.” Biting the inside of her cheek, Emma saw her opening and rushed to take advantage while Aunt Chase was disarmed. “Alexi might be serious and intimidating, but I always know where I stand with him. He’s never once tried to manipulate me, he doesn't treat me like a child, and the only agenda he's ever had has been to have as little influence on me as possible.” Aunt Chase sobered. “Influence? What do you mean?” Emma sighed. This was too complicated, but she had to try. “I have power, Aunt Chase. The kind of power other people want for themselves. In the world I’ve been thrown into, Alexi is the only one who doesn’t want to take any of that power from me, or use it in ways he thinks best. He’s also

a terrible liar,” she added with a shrug. “I can read him. I feel safe with him. Telly, on the other hand, is an excellent liar. And in spite of how much he claims to care, he wasn't there when I needed him most. Alexi was.” At that last part Tanya turned a shrewd look on Emma, but said nothing. Aunt Chase looked embarrassed. “Look,” Aunt Chase said. “This has all come out wrong. I mean, not about Alexi, I’m still not sure about him, but — ” Emma made a frustrated noise, but it was so high-pitched she suspected only the dogs heard it. “What I really came up here to say,” Aunt Chase continued, earnest now, “is that when I met those kids down there, I realized something. You’re doing what you’re meant to do; you’re helping people.” Emma didn’t know what to say. Aunt Chase reached for Emma’s hand, enclosing it in both of her own. Her aunt’s hands were large and strong, the skin finely lined and coarse with age. They were the hands that had lifted Emma up and dusted

her off for more than half her life. “I understand why you’re doing this,” Aunt Chase said thickly. “I understand it wouldn’t be right to try to take you away from it, from those kids down there and everyone else like them, who need your help. And I know that once you let someone into your heart, they’re yours, and you’ll do just about anything to protect them. But I don’t want you to do what Steve and — goddammit,” Aunt Chase grimaced, as though her brother’s name physically hurt to say, still. “I don’t want you to do what your parents did, honey. Be smart. Help all you can. Just don’t get yourself killed.” Emma pulled Aunt Chase into a hug. She hugged back fiercely, sniffling the whole time. “I won’t,” Emma said when Aunt Chase loosened her hold and leaned back to look her in the face. “I promise, I won’t get myself killed.” “Yeah, well.” Aunt Chase scrubbed tears from her face. “Ordinarily I’d say you can’t promise that sort of thing, but you do seem to have a small army of scary motherfuckers at your beck and call, so…”

“Language, darling,” Tanya said primly. “Says the woman who could give a motorcycle gang a lesson in creative swearing.” Emma backed away, pointing over her shoulder. “I’m gonna get back to the kids.” She waved. “See you downstairs?” They waved back vaguely; Tanya was already dabbing at Aunt Chase’s face with the sleeve of her sweater, smoothing damp strands of hair out of her eyes. Seeing them together somehow made Emma feel better and worse all at once. They were so perfect for each other, and so in love, and for a brief time they’d both let her think that was all about to fall apart. They’d told her Tanya might be dying, and yet somehow Aunt Chase still had the nerve to throw Emma’s lies back in her face. God, why couldn’t she have thought of that line when Aunt Chase was grilling her? It was almost funny. She’d missed her aunt so much over the past six months — not because she needed to see Aunt Chase, but because she couldn’t be honest with her — and now Emma was here and it was all out in the open, and they were

butting heads again as though she was the angry, heartbroken kid she’d been in those first years after her parents died. “I don’t want you to do what your parents did, honey. Be smart. Help all you can. Just don’t get yourself killed.” For some reason, being here in London and telling her aunts the truth had brought up as much old pain for Aunt Chase as it had for her. Emma hit the bottom of the stairs and used the newel post to swing herself into the hall, the same way she had dozens of times on previous visits. Unlike previous visits, she smacked straight into someone. Someone hot, solid, and taller than her but not tall. Emma staggered back and looked up into Telly’s face. He reached out to steady her, cupping her elbow. “Congratulations, you almost achieved escape velocity there.” She was too flustered to duck out of his grasp. His touch was light, but she still felt the heat of his palm through the thin cotton of her long sleeved

tee. “You could’ve gotten out of the way. You must’ve heard me coming.” Telly let go of her, arching one fine blond brow. “I was waiting for you, but I didn’t expect you use the newel post as a slingshot.” He jammed his hands in his jean pockets and Emma pretended not to notice how his white T-shirt pulled taut across his shoulders. “Is that why you're with him? Because he was there when I wasn’t?” It took Emma a moment to catch on. Then heat rushed to her face. “Wow. You eavesdropped on that entire conversation. Real nice, Telly.” “Like I said, I was waiting for you.” To his credit, he looked away guiltily and mumbled the rest. “I do have fox ears, you know.” “Jesus.” Emma shook her head, rubbing her arm where he’d touched her. “You really never saw it, did you?” He looked at her sharply. “Saw what?” She laughed under her breath. “Exactly. Excuse me.” She went to push past him and his brows flew up. He held his hands out. “No, look, I’m sorry. I

didn’t mean to go there, I just… fuck.” He laughed, but not like it was funny. “Can we talk for a minute?” Emma blinked. “Wait, are you actually asking me if we can talk for a minute?” He cocked his head and frowned. “Yeah, that is literally what I just said?” “Okay, so who are you and what have you done with Telly.” Emma crossed her arms and leaned against the stairs. “Because Telly doesn’t ask —” He made a frustrated sound and turned away from her for a moment. She caught the flash of his eyes paling out to white, but when he faced her again they were cobalt and quiet, no crackling power in them — at least no more than usual. “I wanted to apologize for hitting Red Sun,” he said, his voice low. Whoa. Emma straightened. “Have you apologized to Red Sun?” Telly’s jaw hardened, but he held her gaze. “Yeah.” “Really?” His nostrils flared and he opened his mouth,

then shut it again with a click of teeth that were juuust a tiny bit sharper than they should have been. His shoulders bunched. “Yes, really,” he said finally. “I told him I was out of line and it shouldn’t have happened, and it won’t happen again.” Emma resisted the urge to make another crack about Telly’s sudden attitude adjustment. “You and Red used to be friends.” Telly’s eyes widened and Emma went on before he could interrupt. “You both have history here, in the UK, with the bears. I can’t help thinking we wouldn’t have gotten in so much shit with the Cantiaci if you and Red had been talking to each other, like actually communicating, instead of snorting at each other like angry bulls.” Telly snorted — and then realized what he’d done, laughed dryly, and shook his head. “Neither of us knew about Angharad’s sister disappearing. It was less than a century ago. If not for that —” “The Cantiaci still would’ve tried to wrangle a favor out of us, or a boon, or whatever you want to call it. If you and Red had been working together

instead of at each other’s throats, you would’ve anticipated that.” Telly’s eyes narrowed. He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he sighed and uncrossed his arms, shoving his hands through his hair. It was long enough to brush his shoulders, thick enough to stand up in disheveled chunks, and beginning to curl loosely at the ends. He made a pained noise, then laughed again. “Jesus, Em. You blame me for the Cantiaci, but you don’t blame Red for making me leave.” That’s right, Emma thought, the first tickle of anger uncoiling behind her sternum. Just test me on this, just try me. Yep, Telly definitely heard that. His face was suddenly leaner, sharper, his gaze bleeding out to gas-flame blue. His hair lifted. But the look in his eyes was uncertain. Emma, on the other hand, was filled with rock solid conviction. She’d had a lot of time to think about this. “I don’t need to blame Red for making you leave, Telly,” she said. “You blame him enough for the both of us. All your apologies are

excuses.” The air around Telly shivered. When he spoke, his voice had dropped a full octave. “Excuses.” There was a world of outrage and hurt and disbelief crammed into that one word. Emma braced herself against the onslaught of his emotions — she didn’t need to be connected to him to feel them, not while his eyes blazed and his magic sparked against her skin in indignation. “You told me you didn’t have a choice,” she said. “But you did. You always had a choice. Tone down your magic,” she added. “It’s getting noisy.” He sighed through his nose, his expression so severe it almost reminded her of Alexi, but the thrum of his power faded from the air between them. “It was a choice between leaving you and endangering you because I cared too much,” Telly said hotly, his voice pitched low but no less intense for it. “That wasn’t a choice.” Dammit, he really wasn’t trying not to make her angry. “Pro tip, Telly: when someone tells you you’re making excuses, maybe don’t come back with yet more excuses?” She shook her head at the

perplexed look in his eyes. “Listen. I will only explain this once. You weren’t endangering me by caring about me too much. You were never a danger to me. Your problem was, and still is, that you don’t care about them.” She jabbed a finger in the air, pointing down the hall, where the sounds of laughter and plates clinking and rumbling voices formed a pleasing background hum. “You would sacrifice them all if it meant saving me.” He swallowed loudly. “I don’t —” “You told me as much yourself, months ago, before we went to Egypt!” Emma wrapped her arms around herself, forcing calm into her voice. “That’s why you’re dangerous. That’s why you’re at risk of becoming more and more unstable. You don’t care about anyone else, so you don’t bother trying to work with anyone else to keep me and the people I care about safe.” “Exactly,” he hissed, shoving his hands through his hair again. “What do you think would’ve happened in Russia if I’d been there? Do you think I could’ve let you bind yourself to Seshua just to save the princess?” He grimaced, his eyes dark.

“Would you have forgiven me if Alan took you and I sacrificed everyone, the princess, all those poor fucking mutants that Alan held captive, to get you out?” Telly’s chest rose and fell rapidly, heat blooming in his cheeks. “That is why I didn’t have a choice.” Emma wanted to strangle him. Grab him and shake him. “You did have a choice, Telly. You could’ve stayed, and learned to care about the things I care about. The people I care about. You could’ve stayed and lifted me up and helped to make me stronger. You could’ve tried to understand what I wanted to do, and why I need to actually be the Caller of the Blood.” Telly frowned, his lip curling with the beginning of an argument, but she didn’t let him cut in. “I know you thought that if you stayed, your instincts to protect me would overwhelm you and your magic would spiral out of control, but you didn’t know for sure. You never tried to rein it in. You left because you were afraid, and not just afraid of hurting me — you were afraid of not being able to get what you wanted. You wanted me to never truly become the

Caller of the Blood. You were afraid and confused, I get that, but that’s not the same thing as having no choice.” Telly’s eyes had gone wide and turbulent as massing thunderheads. He looked incredibly young for once, stripped of his sly, sardonic mask, of all his dry wit and his secrets. Emma was struck by the fierce urge to touch him. To smooth the crease from between his brows. To soften the stark line of his mouth with the pads of her fingers. She clenched her fists. “You asked why I’m with Alexi,” she said softly. “It’s because he gives a shit about what’s important to me, even when he knows better than I do. That’s not why I’m in love with him, but it’s why I can be with him.” In a blur of speed, he was gone. There had been no telltale movement or sign to betray him. The front door clicked shut behind him, and Emma sagged against the stairs, mentally kicking herself over and over again. How had she let him drag her into hashing all of this out again? Dammit. He hadn’t dragged her into it, had he?

She was the one who’d gone there. Dammit, dammit, dammit. She was pinching her eyes shut with one hand and still trying to get a hold of herself when Tanya’s soft footsteps whispered by. “I’m sorry to say I caught the end of that,” Tanya said. Emma opened her eyes as Tanya stepped down onto the hall runner. “I suppose it’d be a bit of an understatement to say things seem intense with you two.” Emma groaned. “You have no idea.” With a sympathetic noise, Tanya squeezed Emma in a half hug. “If you fancy getting away from it all for a few hours, we’d love to have you and the kids sleep over tonight. It’d do Ursa good too, to chill for a bit.” Emma straightened. “I’d love to, but I don’t —” “I discussed it with your head of security, Ivan. And with your beau.” Tanya flashed a curt smile. “They gave the go-ahead. We’ll split your team into two units, and your friend Red Sun takes active duty on the second shift, when trouble’s more likely. He’ll catch some sleep across the first

shift.” Emma chewed her lip. “Fern would have to stay too.” Tanya nodded. “Alexi mentioned that.” She turned to pad down the hall towards the kitchen. “You’re kind of enjoying this, aren’t you?” Tanya’s smile widened. “This, I’m familiar with. All the rest, the magic stuff…” Tanya held up a hand. “Not going there.”

25 It was close to midnight when Emma and Fern collapsed into the king single in the upstairs guest room. The kids were downstairs on the foldout sofa bed, sleeping off the inevitable blood-sugar crash; it turned out even werewolf metabolisms couldn’t handle six rounds of ‘Smores. Emma’s stomach was a hard knot from too many marshmallows and way too much laughter, and her teeth felt furry from drinking hot cocoa and eating a whole bunch of other fun stuff that Anton wouldn’t approve of.

For once she was exhausted from having a good time and not from training or fighting or running for her life. Fern was trying to squirm free of his sweater without sitting up. It wasn’t working. “Is this what normal is meant to be like?” he asked. “Kids and laughter and aunts and stupid movies?” Emma really needed to get up and brush her teeth, but her body wouldn’t obey her. “It’d be closer to normal if the house wasn’t surrounded by heavily armed apex predators,” she said. “But yeah, I think this is what normal is meant to be like. Although it’s not like we never do movie nights, or ‘Smores, or…” “Yeah,” Fern sighed. “But this is, I don’t know. Different.” He rolled over, tucking an arm beneath his head, his shifting weight making the mattress pitch. His eyes held the reflection of the bedside lamp, turning them gold instead of bottomless black. “This place feels like home.” Emma laughed softly. “My aunts attacked you ten minutes after the first moment you set foot here.”

He flashed a quick grin. “It was justified.” His face smoothed out, his gaze going soft and unfocused. “This place feels like you,” he said, voice faint with thought. “Your scent is here.” “This is like, only the fourth time I’ve ever stayed here,” Emma said. Two Christmas visits and one for her aunts’ wedding. Fern blinked slowly. “But there’s a place for you here, and I don’t just mean this guest room. They’re your family.” Emma looked away. It had been so good to spend the day and night with her aunts, but she hadn’t forgotten the heated conversation with Aunt Chase regarding her love life. Or the way they’d lied to get Emma to come to London, and then attacked Fern — which, y’know, in spite of her attempts at humor, she still didn’t feel like laughing about. “Compared to everything we’ve faced,” Fern said gently, “your aunts are a piece of cake.” Then he shrugged. “But maybe I’m just feeling charitable because no one’s presently trying to kill us.” Mmm. “Not tonight, anyway.”

He plucked at a loose thread on the comforter. “You think tomorrow night’s a trap? Suspect the ravens of something hinky?” She propped her elbow up and rested her head on her hand. “Where did you even get the word hinky.” “I think it was from Zach.” He frowned. “You know Alexi’s been reading Ravi’s mind all day, he’s young and his shields can’t keep Alexi out. The ravens are on the level.” “I know.” Thanks to Alexi’s mind reading, she also knew that Ravi was crushing hard on Ricky. She didn’t need to be able to read Ricky’s mind to know the feeling was well and truly mutual. Emma dropped her hand and curled on her side. “The ravens might be okay, but what about the bears?” Fern exhaled slowly. “Gwenael and Padrig are okay. Hell, even Agrona seems decent. Besides, what they want you to do… It’s not risking life and limb. I mean, sure there are dangers with astral travel or whatever Gwenael’s gonna use to call Angharad’s sister back from beyond the veil, but it’s pretty tame compared to some of the shit we’ve

been through. We’re talking incense and meditation and spirit journeys, not homicidal ex-boyfriends or doomsday cults bent on your destruction. I’m more concerned about Jesse. Ravi says the kid’s immune system is still fighting the cancer off on its own right now, so he’s not compromised, but who knows.” “I’m going to do it, you know,” she said. “Jerome. The Pledge. They’re going ahead with or without my help, and if I say no and Jesse doesn’t make it…” He covered her hand with his, his expression placid. “I know.” She searched his face, wishing the light wasn’t in his eyes. Funny how she relied so damn much on being able to read those unforgiving, unrelieved black eyes, when she could read his mind and his heart just as well. Her eyelids began to droop, and she blinked to keep them open, exhaustion dragging at her. What will we do if Jesse doesn’t come through the forge? If he dies? Fern shifted so his head and shoulders were on

the pile of pillows near the headboard and opened his arm for Emma. The ravens are his people, Em. They’ll take care of him no matter what happens. There are hundreds more like him out there, you know that, right? Our kind has always taken them in, the orphaned and the lost. The ones humanity’s failed. The ravens have come to you for help, but Jesse is their responsibility, not yours. Emma made a skeptical sound. “It’s like you don’t even know me,” she teased, poking him in the ribs. Then she made a supreme effort and managed to curl up with her head on his shoulder before the post-sugar haze had her eyes drifting closed again. She didn’t know how long she’d been dozing when she surfaced from sleep, slow panic blooming behind her lungs, gripped by a sudden irrefutable conviction that pulsed in her veins like a dark, urgent song: she had to tell Fern what she’d done. Tell him she hadn’t been able to handle her feelings for him, and she’d locked them away using a part of her magic she sure as hell didn’t understand, and it was wrong and stupid and a

coward’s move. She needed to tell him, to undo it somehow — But he was asleep. His chest rose and fell, deep and steady. When she brushed his mind via the bond, she found him dreaming of his kind; shadows and jungle and furred, eight-legged bodies that climbed and ran and spun. A version of home that his sleeping mind returned to more and more often these days. Fern didn’t have any people of his own, or a place to call home, aside from her. That was why it was wrong to lie to him, no matter how good her reasons were. She was his family, his partner, his shelter — she was his, and lying to him undermined it all. Emma’s heartbeat gradually sank back into a calmer rhythm, and she relaxed against Fern’s sleeping body. It was okay. There would be time to tell him the truth. She didn’t know what could possibly come of it, but she knew she needed to tell him, knew it as surely as though some secret, primordial voice had spoken to her while she slept. It would be okay. She had time, she told herself.

She had no way of knowing how wrong she was. It was Friday night, the night before Halloween, and London was alive and pulsing with an altogether human kind of magic. They felt the music before they heard it, and they heard it before the cars even reached the waterfront district where the Captain of London’s ravens kept his sanctuary. The word “sanctuary,” however, conjured images of hidden strongholds and underground temples, of remote residences nestled amongst forest or jungle or mountain peaks, like all the other sanctuaries Emma had been to over the past six months. By the time the cars pulled to a stop in the massive — and empty — parking lot behind the sprawling warehouse complex, the music was so thick in the air it felt like you could take a bite out of it. A dark, throbbing electronic sound that couldn’t be called a beat, it was more a living presence, a pagan call for the twenty first century. Like the Call of the shapechangers’ beasts, it invaded Emma’s senses and washed through her

with the promise of danger. But also dancing. “Not that I’m gonna be doing any dancing in this monstrosity,” Emma muttered as she tried to untangle her feet from her gigantic skirts. Anton had opened the car door for her, and Fern was waiting for her to climb out, and she was going to kill Felani for convincing her to wear period costume to the raven’s Halloween party. “Remember,” Fern said, reaching down to retrieve one of Emma’s velvet pumps from under the seat. “The Brits don’t do Halloween, it’s too tacky. They do All Hallows Eve.” The shoe matched the dress, red and opulent. Emma performed a gymnastic feat she hadn’t known herself capable of, and twisted her leg backwards and up so she could jam it back on. “I’m dressed up as Marie fucking Antoinette, I think this counts as tacky.” Felani popped her head in the open car door and made a disgusted noise. “Elizabeth! You are Queen Elizabeth! Sort of.” She reached in and grabbed Emma’s hands and pulled.

Every now and then, the maidens did something to remind Emma they were approximately one thousand percent otherworldly. Emma sailed out the car door and Felani caught her around the waist, righting her with inhuman strength and clucking her general disapproval. Felani was dressed up like all the other maidens: straight black wig with bluntcut bangs, black and turquoise Cleopatra eyes, and a gold and cream sheath dress clinging to her compact curves. A small army of Cleopatras. It worked. The night was mild, like autumn was holding its breath. The others were piling out of the cars, but Emma didn’t bother looking for Alexi — he’d been busy that afternoon, and had promised to meet them all at the raven’s sanctuary. He’d also been shielding like a sonofabitch, and though Emma could’ve pried, it was obvious enough he was planning a surprise. If he felt safe enough leaving her with the others while he did whatever the hell he was doing, Emma thought it couldn’t be a bad surprise. The only problem was, his absence had left her

with a few hours to worry about what he’d think of her stupid costume. At least Felani didn’t make you wear the frilly bucket collar, Fern sent, climbing out of the car behind Emma and straightening to his full height. Emma grunted. The dress had a collar — a stiff section that extended up from the bust to frame her neck and draw attention to the elaborate architecture of her hair, which was piled up and pinned and curled into something resembling a wedding cake, complete with tiny white flowers and strings of crystals and pearls. Emma was pretty sure Felani had strayed from the Elizabethan theme with the hair. Oh, and the makeup too. However, she couldn’t complain too much — Fern hadn’t been spared either, and the result was fucking spectacular. Felani had gone a century later for Fern’s costume and he looked like one of the Three Musketeers, minus the ponytail, plus added guyliner. You do love it when I have to wear makeup, Fern sent with a rakish smirk. Forty eight hours ago that kind of good natured

teasing would’ve had Emma bracing her mental shields to mask her racing pulse. It didn’t now. She still had to tell him the truth. She’d been waiting for a good time, but they’d been distracted with the kids that morning, and the day had rushed by so fast, and Felani had been plastered to her for most of it. Fern — “You ready for this, chicken?” Red asked, slamming the front passenger door shut. He was dressed in much the same thing he’d worn to the ill fated party at the Cantiaci sanctuary. He was not wearing makeup. His beard was long enough to be more than mere stubble, and it made him look every bit the Scottish laird. If he was still calling her pet names, perhaps his ego had recovered from her verbal beat down the day before. “Not at all,” she answered him with a wide smile. After an uncertain pause, he offered her his arm. “Then let’s do this.” Whatever “this” was. Emma had no idea what to expect of the lightforging rite. Several of the others had tried to

explain it to her and she was still no clearer on it. She took Red’s arm — the left, the one he’d had for as long as she’d known him, the one that had calluses and scars — and tried not to remember the way his naked skin had felt against hers. Ricky shoved in beside Emma, with a forgiving smile from Fern, and took her other arm. He was dressed in tight leather pants and boots, and a loose, ripped tank, his caramel-colored curls moussed up and his puppydog eyes sporting more makeup than Emma was. She squeezed his arm. “What the hell are you supposed to be?” He squeezed back. “An eighties rock god, of course.” “That’s pretty general.” She made a comically thoughtful sound. “Almost as if you just wanted an excuse to wear leather and show off those gorgeous arms for a certain someone…” “Not that I need an excuse,” he said on a playful growl. Then he and Red lifted her over a pothole with effortless strength, and Emma’s breath caught for a second. So easy to forget what they

were. What it meant. Recovering, Emma snapped her heels against the concrete with a little more force, just to remind herself what she was. Not weak. Of course, she would’ve felt a lot better wearing jeans and a tank instead of a corset and twenty pounds of skirt, but hey. As Ricky and Red escorted her across the lot, the others fell into step around them, a battalion of bad-ass warriors and dangerous ancients — all dressed up in varying degrees of ridiculous. Anton was Batman; Leah was Poison Ivy. Fatima looked crazy good as Wonder Woman. Shadi was Robin Hood — Felani had helped him — and Ivan was goddamn resplendent in a white suit and huge feathered wings, a thin gold halo askew on his spiked blond hair. Seshua wore billowing gold silk pants, wide metal wrist cuffs and nothing else, his masses of black hair piled high in a ponytail, the perfect genie ready to grant all your nasty wishes, and he knew he looked out of this world. The rest of the jaguars all wore matching military fatigues and

berets — marines — while the Russians had gone for the James Bond look in sharp suits, long hair slicked back into severe braids that highlighted high cheekbones and sculpted brows, turning feminine beauty into something masculine and handsome. Only Bozenka had strayed from that theme: she was done up like an old time gangster, loud shoes and loose slacks and suspenders, white tee, no jacket, and a fedora tipped over one eye. Zach was adorable — and perfect — as Indiana Jones, complete with bullwhip. Rain and Katenka, well — they’d explained their costumes to Emma, but she still didn’t quite get it. Something about Pokemon? It was good to know that at only twenty four years of age, she could still feel old. Emma hadn’t seen Telly all day, and though she glanced around, there was no time to look for him in earnest. On the inside, she shrugged. He was either there or he wasn’t. She hadn’t asked him to stay with her — he was the one who’d vowed to do that. The warehouse loomed, music throbbing.

Threads of the melody filtered into the night. There were no bouncers, and the door was closed, but as Emma and her people approached, the heavy steel door slid aside to reveal brick walls and soft red light. The music grew louder, tempo building, invading Emma’s nerves. She caught Ivan’s low murmur. Kal and then Leah grunted affirmative noises. “We’re good to go,” said Andres. The entrance corridor was wide enough for Fern to flank Ricky and Ivan to flank Red, with Emma in the middle, the bass vibrations of the music growling through the soles of her pumps with every step. Concrete floor, brick walls, muted red and blue bulbs throwing the corridor into disorienting contrast. Steel doors loomed several yards away. By the time they were halfway there, the music was too loud for talking, and by the time they reached the massive doors at the end of the corridor, the bass seemed to be pounding against the inside of Emma’s ribcage, fighting to break out. Panic edged into the spaces between the beat,

quickening her breath. It was too much like the war-drums of the Cantiaci; the corridor was too much like the bleak concrete of the compound in the Urals where Alan had held her captive, and the walls were edging in on her with every crash of electronic sound… Alexi’s mental touch lit her up, warm and welcome as winter sunlight. Come to me, Emma. I am here. This time her heart skipped a beat for an altogether different reason. If he was here, there was no danger on the other side of those doors. She broke away from the men, braced her core and her shoulders and back, hit the heavy steel doors with both hands and pushed. Colored lights. Otherworldly heat. Voices rising in shouts and screams and shrill whistles. Less than ten feet in and Emma ground to a halt, dazed and completely unable to process the visual. There were thousands of them. They couldn’t all be shapechangers, because there were thousands of them. The warehouse space was multi-level, with

higher floors branching off from the main balcony that ringed the ground floor, and gangways and raised platforms criss-crossing overhead. Every surface was covered with people — shapechangers. Their energy sparked and crackled against Emma’s skin. Whirling lights and lasers made it impossible to focus anywhere; the warehouse was a seething mass of moving bodies and flashing grins and wild, riotous costumes. “Wow,” Fern said beside Emma, his voice so muffled by the roar of the music that it was more vibration than sound. “Yeah,” Emma murmured, craning her neck and blinking into the strobing colors. Fern laughed and touched her chin, guiding her gaze back down. “No, I meant, wow.” She took hold of his wrist, frowning, and then she saw what he was looking at. Who he was looking at. And “wow” didn’t cover it. Alexi had gone full-on Viking mode. Thick leather boots wrapped with thong all the way to the knee; supple brown leather pants that hugged his powerful thighs and made Emma wish fervently

that the hem of his tunic didn’t obscure everything above them. An intricately-carved leather belt wrapped his narrow hips twice, and the sword he’d won from the Cantiaci rode at his left side. He wore heavy leather bracers on his forearms and yet more leather armor made his already broad shoulders appear twice as daunting as usual. His thick cloak billowed as he stalked towards her. And his hair was swept back from his face, braided tight against his temples to fall free and wild down his shoulders and back, leaving the breathtaking lines of his jaw and cheekbones bare. Emma’s entire body flushed with a feeling she couldn’t name, but that feeling had a voice of its own. Mine, it said, echoing against the inside of Emma’s head. Mine, mine, mine. He slowed. His bright gaze devoured her. She knew she looked damn good and wasn’t afraid to admit it, but she still felt a tickle of insecurity as she faced the most masculine, starkly beautiful creature she’d ever seen and watched him study her, seeing everything with those liquid, hypnotic yellow eyes. He came to a stop mere inches from

her, severe chin tilted down so he could meet her gaze. I must confess, he spoke in her mind, the words just for her and dark as sin, his face deadly serious. Though I prefer you in jeans and a Tshirt, this dress will be much, much more fun to take off. Pretending not to melt into a pathetic puddle of need, Emma gave him her best poker face, curled her fingers around his fancy sword belt, and tugged. See now, I think I’d prefer you keep as much of all this on as possible. His expression never changed, but the look in his eyes went volcanic. Before he could think of a witty comeback, a shriek of delight cut through the music. A heartbeat later, silence fell like a ton of bricks. Emma’s ears rang. The seething crowd seemed to hold its breath. Jerome stepped into the clearing Emma’s entrance had made and bowed low, sweeping the top hat off his head with his right hand. With his left, he held a cane. His tux looked like it had kept

somebody’s bones warm for at least a hundred years in a dusty tomb, and when he straightened, his wide smile was a skull’s grin: artful shades of gray and white paint had transformed his handsome face into a mask of death. Emma put her hands on her hips. “Top hat, cane, zombie face,” she said, ears still ringing. “Baron Samedi, right?” Jerome pointed at her with his cane. “At your service, ma cherie.” He threw the cane into the crowd. “I would be willing sacrifice to your altar,” he cried, his voice going deep and reverberating with power. The world wobbled on its axis. For the first time ever, Emma hesitated, and sought Alexi’s mind without dragging her gaze from Jerome. Alexi? Am I doing something stupid? His beast coiled through their connection, brushing her with cool strength. The ravens are valuable allies. It would be worth it even if there was no chance to help the boy. Emma exhaled. Gave the faintest nod for

Jerome to continue. His voice shook, not with emotion, but with the sheer force of the magic rising between them.“My body is proof of the pledge. Do you accept?” “Your body is proof of the pledge,” she said, the words like sunshine on her tongue this time, spearing through her head with brightness. “But your blood is the pledge itself.” The crowd sighed. “My body is vessel for the blood. I am the Caller of the Blood. And I accept.” All awareness of the room and everyone in it rushed away. The air turned thick and hard to breathe. Emma felt a thousand wings beating inside her blood, power calling to her in a song only she could hear, and it sang to her of everything Jerome had ever wanted, everything he would ever need to keep his people safe. With the Pledge magic alive and throbbing between them, connecting them, she felt his fear, his unbreakable resolve, his unwavering will to do anything necessary — not only to keep his people safe, but to keep them free. She wasn’t reading his mind, wasn’t sensing him through the Pledge bond, they hadn’t forged it yet;

it was a deeper voice that spoke to her now, an older voice, the ancient, wordless awareness she carried inside somehow. It was the power that made her the Caller of the Blood, too old to name. It was the part of her that was older than Telly, and just as powerful. She held her left hand out to Jerome, unable to disguise how she shook. With a slight frown pinching his painted brow, the Captain of the London ravens reached for her, enveloping her hand with long, strong fingers. With skin to skin contact the magic roared through them both, like they’d tossed gasoline on a bonfire. Emma stepped towards him and twisted her grip. With her right hand she grasped his sleeve and shoved it up, baring his wrist. Then she lifted his smooth, tattooed flesh to her mouth and bit him. It was like biting into a peach. Warm, fragrant skin broke under her fangs, spilling rich, sweet juice onto her tongue — only this juice was thick and hot, and it tasted like iron and meat and spiced rum. Emma forced herself to swallow, her tongue pressed flat to Jerome’s heated skin.

For one awful moment, she wanted more. Then the magic slapped into them both, breaking the spell. Emma dropped Jerome’s hand and stumbled back. Suddenly her limbs didn’t work right, and her teeth hurt, and her jaw shook — and the lights were swimming, too harsh and bright… Strong arms and warm hands caught her. Fern nudged at her mind via the bond, and then poured into her, filling her up with his strength. Red Sun’s masculine scent of leather and pine swirled around her. She took a huge breath — her first full one since the ritual words hit the air — and felt herself handed off into arms she would have known if she’d forgotten her own name. She blinked up at Alexi as her nerves settled. “You were right,” she said, her lips numb. “The ravens are worth it.” He shook his head. “You were right.” A hoarse cry made them both whip their heads around. Jerome was leaning on Ravi for support, his chest heaving as though he’d run a six minute mile. He hung there for a handful more breaths, his

eyes so wide the whites were visible all the way around, and then he pushed away from his second in command and crossed to the center of the floor with the grace of a careful drunk. “Ma cherie.” He gazed at Emma solemnly, placing one long hand over his heart. “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. As we are family, so now are you.” He lifted his arms, the gesture encompassing the brightly costumed throng of shapechangers that filled the cavernous warehouse, his voice resonating in spite of the hundreds of warm bodies that should have absorbed the sound. “Our wings are your wings. Our strength is your strength. You are now one for the many, as we are the many for the one.” The air around Jerome began to warp and shimmer, and he smiled broadly, the black of his eyes growing to swallow the white. With the death mask makeup and those blank, obsidian eyes, the Captain of the ravens should have been terrifying, yet Emma was filled with calm — because the Pledge magic beat within her like a second heart, pumping the truth of Jerome’s words through her.

He loved his people. He wanted them to be happy and free, to do well, to be well. He reached out to her, and as she took his hand, the crowd roared — not with bloodlust or reckless abandon, but with delight. Emma couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face, and Jerome seemed to catch it, until he was laughing wildly and pulling her into a rough hug. It reminded her of Ricky’s hugs, warm and joyful, undemanding. Before she could hug him back, he stepped away, holding her at arm’s length, fierce grin fading into a narrow, determined expression. “Thank you,” he whispered, giving her shoulder one last squeeze. Then he turned and cast his gaze all around the cheering crowd. “It’s time!” The cheer intensified. Jesse stepped out of the crowd, and Emma’s pulse leapt into her throat and lodged there. She cast her hand back without looking away, groping for Fern, and he didn’t let her down — his cool fingers captured hers, and then he was there, his body a long, strong line pressed against her right

side. He looks so damn young, Emma sent, watching Jerome cross to Jesse and muss his wild purple curls. He is young, Fern sent, squeezing her hand. He sounded like his usual implacable self, but they were bound, heart, mind and soul, and he couldn’t disguise the faint thread of worry that chimed through his mental voice like a delicately strummed guitar string. Jerome widened his stance slightly, cupping Jesse’s face with both hands. They stared into each other’s eyes as though they could speak mind to mind, but it was something much simpler than that; although there was no hesitation in Jerome’s face, and his shoulders were relaxed, he was asking Jesse with his eyes if he still wanted this. Jesse nodded. The crowd went silent as though someone had flipped a switch. Hush descended; the scuff of a boot, a muffled cough. Then nothing. No, wait, not nothing. The crowd was sighing. Breathing together. Between one heartbeat and the

next, they’d synced, and all the fine hairs all over Emma’s arms and the back of her neck lifted as the sound of close to a thousand people breathing in unison rose around her like the hypnotic rhythm of the sea. Impossible not to join them, breathe with them. And then Emma realized that was what Jerome and Jesse were doing, except they were the source. Their rhythm set everyone else’s. Jesse and Jerome held each other’s gazes, their chests rising and falling in time, perfectly matched. Emma felt movement at her left side, and then Alexi was there, pressed to her the same way Fern was. The closer they can match their biorhythm, Alexi said in her mind, his mental voice hushed and distracted, the better Jesse’s chances. She didn’t need to look at him to know his chest rose and fell with the same cadence as hers. Surely it’d make more sense to do this with some equipment, right? Machines are distracting and imprecise. Alexi’s hand came to rest between Emma’s shoulder blades. Bodies are more sensitive. Silence, marked only by the steady tide of

breath like waves whispering ashore. Jerome and Jesse were motionless. Alexi’s hand was hot and electric on Emma’s back. She felt his pulse through his fingertips, and felt hers slow to match his. Then Fern slid his hand up her arm and covered Alexi’s hand with his own, and their hearts were beating together, beating through Emma, so strong, so pure, so utterly sure. Jerome hitched a breath out of sync with Jesse. They both gasped as the new rhythm took them over — the rhythm that Emma and Fern and Alexi created. The air hummed with a building static charge as the rest of the crowd caught up. Jesse’s eyes grew wide, their color as deep as the ocean. Jerome began to glow. At first it was a faint mist of light, curling up from his skin, through the weave of his elaborately dilapidated suit. With every breath it grew brighter until light was spearing from the sleeves of his jacket, from his collar, from the cuffs of his pants. Then it began to burn holes in his clothes, the fabric blooming with light, threads disintegrating

in the magic of the Change. But it was slow — slower than Emma had ever seen, slow enough to see, when usually the light of the Change was a flash bomb. Steady, Alexi said, stroking his thumb back and forth across her spine in time with their concerted breaths. They need us steady. He’s only just begun. Emma needed to swallow, to wet her parched throat, but she couldn’t — it would interrupt the flow. How long? She asked. Alexi’s thoughts darkened with memory. To go faster would be agony for Jesse, never mind the risk to his life. Jerome will take as long as he is able, but too long, and Jesse will tire and fall out of sync. She couldn’t look at Alexi, couldn’t look away from the light, but she sought the solid press of his body against hers and wrapped her left hand around his belt, feeling the heat of his skin through the linen of his shirt. You’ve been through it, right? He never halted the steady stroke of his thumb

across her back. The forge. His breath sawed in, and out. Yes. Emma concentrated on that rhythm, anchoring herself to him. Was there pain? His breath tickled her temple as he bent his head to hers. Yes.The high priest wanted to know if I was strong. He did not go slow. She should’ve known he’d never tell her pretty lies. But you were strong, you survived. His lips brushed her forehead. I wasn’t. I almost died. Alexi — Whatever she’d been about to say flew out of her head as Jerome went supernova bright and dragged Jesse into his arms. Shadows leapt and flickered across the crowd. Jerome was a conflagration of light, eerie in utter silence, and Jesse was a small, crumpled black shape against all that white. Emma’s eyes burned but she dared not look away. “Hold,” called a voice from the other side of the burning star that was Jerome. “Hold,” Ravi’s voice echoed the first.

“HOLD!” Seshua bellowed from behind Emma. “Hold,” Alexi whispered, not an echo but an instruction, and Fern flowed into Emma, merging with her. She found out why when Jesse screamed.

26 The merge with Fern was the only thing that kept Emma’s breathing steady. Jesse kept screaming, ragged and high; the sound was such a shock that tears sprang to Emma’s eyes, spilling down her face in a hot, unchecked flood. The white light intensified, growing, pulsing, and still Jesse screamed and screamed and screamed. Then Jerome threw his head back and screamed too. His mouth and eyes were sockets full of light, like the Change had hollowed him out and there was nothing left inside but power, burning him

from within the same way it burned through his clothes. The first pulse of anxiety jumped from Alexi to Fern and then Emma. What, what is it, tell me, she demanded of them both. They didn’t need to answer. Jerome’s mental voice spilled into her head, his speech so rapid he’d have been unintelligible even if he wasn’t speaking French, panic and terror and outright denial tumbling the words over one another. But the Pledge bound him to Emma now, and she didn’t need to understand the words to understand him. He wasn’t strong enough to bring Jesse through the light alive. Emma shouted in sheer terror. “You are!” Her voice broke. For the first time since it began she tore her gaze away and looked up at Alexi, yanking on his belt to get his attention. “He is, Alexi, I’ve felt him, he is strong enough, what’s wrong?” “It’s Jesse.” Alexi met Emma’s eyes. “He’s sicker than they thought. Too weak. I know what you’re thinking,” he added grimly.

“I have to,” she whispered back. He nodded. “I know.” Then he let her go. She lunged forward. Jerome was halfway to his knees, sinking in slow motion, his skin translucent, his insides glowing like a firefly going nuclear. Jesse was still screaming; the Pledge bond told Emma Jerome had only gone silent because the power had jammed his throat shut. Without thought, Emma flung her arms around Jerome’s back. The pain snatched the breath straight out of her lungs. The entire front of her body was suddenly convinced she was being seared on a hot grill. She’d had a plan a moment ago, planned to open the Call and feed Jerome her strength, but it all burned away as raw magic ate her alive. Thank God for Fern and Alexi. They flowed into her; Alexi stole some of the pain from her, and Fern opened the Call for her, his aura like a lash of lightning that jumped through the merge as he let loose the preternatural awareness that every shapechanger possessed, and Emma’s power responded. She was still breathless with pain, but

her magic unfurled from that place behind her breastbone where it seemed to wait like a clenched fist, waiting for her to relax her shields and let it out. She couldn’t feel it on her skin — all she felt was shredding heat from the light of Jerome’s change, like she was hugging a motherfucking electrified cheese grater — but Jerome sure as hell felt her. He fell to his knees with a triumphant shout, taking Emma and Jesse with him. Jesse’s screams had died down to whimpers, but he started shrieking again with renewed gusto. The pain and the terror were too much to take; Emma screamed too, unable to stop herself, and she knew Fern and Alexi had surged forward to guard her back, to keep the others from coming to tear her away to safety. Oh, Seshua and Telly were going to lose their goddamn minds at her when this was over. If she survived it. If Jesse survived it. The sound of wings beating at the air rose around Emma, but all she saw was white light, burning at her tightly shut eyelids. Wind buffeted her. Jesse’s shrieks ratcheted higher, becoming

desperate, making Emma’s heart clench and her limbs quake with helpless anguish — she had to make it stop, she had to help him, he had to make it through goddammit. Her grip on Jerome was turning mushy from pain, she couldn’t hold on — The pain disappeared at the same time the light did. The world was suddenly black and silent, save for harsh breath sawing through tortured throats. There was something strange and sleek beneath Emma’s hands, hard and soft at the same time, but when she opened her eyes everything was a smeared, chaotic blur of color. White light flashed and the silken shape under Emma’s hands disappeared. Jerome’s laugh rang out, high and wild. Relieved. Then the crowd erupted with cheering and shouts of joy, and Emma was well and truly lost. I’ve got you, Fern sent as his arms circled her waist and he took her weight. We’ve got you. He’d dropped the merge, but Alexi was still there in her head, his mental touch cold and soothing after the searing power of the forge. She wanted to protest that she could walk on

her own, but she really couldn’t, and she still couldn’t see, either. The world tipped as Fern swung her into his arms. Yards and yards of skirt rustled and dragged at Emma, solidifying her hatred of dresses. She groped at Fern’s arm, blinking, trying to clear her vision. “We did it, right? Jesse —” “He came through the forge,” Alexi said from close by. His low voice cut through the frenzy of the crowd, centering her. “Fern,” he added absently. “Oh, right. Brace, Em.” Before she could catch up and do as he said, he flowed into her via the bond, merging, and took control of her nervous system. Her heart jackknifed in her chest; she flushed with heat and a surge of leaping energy, her whole body convinced it was suddenly ready to run a marathon. Fern’s face popped into focus. His smile was huge and a little smug, but mostly relieved, and his black eyes danced. “Better?” Gently, she pushed him out of the merge, and smiled up at him. “Way better. Now put me down,

Heathcliff.” Ignoring her, he lifted his gaze. “Look.” Emma turned her head. The crowd had flowed forward into the center of the floor. They surrounded Jesse with smiles and flashing eyes, bearing him up to their shoulders. Jesse bobbed and swayed, grasping at hands as they thrust up to steady him, his teal eyes so wide they looked ready to pop out of his head — and the deep, dark circles under his eyes were gone. His cheeks were flushed with color, instead of pale and translucent. But more than that, Emma saw the difference in him; she looked at him and her power whispered to her: shapechanger. She didn’t see it with her eyes so much as she felt it in her bones. He’d made it. He’d come through the forge. The warehouse was full of dark, comfortable places to retreat to, places where a trick of acoustics muffled the heady electronic music and the lights were soft yellow paper lanterns instead of whirling rainbow lasers. Emma was recovering on a plush couch in one of those corners when

Jerome peeled himself away from the revelry and came to find her. She had her head on Alexi’s shoulder and her feet in Fern’s lap, and just enough energy to sit up straight by the time the Captain of the ravens reached them. He dipped his head and dropped to his knees in front of the couch. “Emma,” he said warmly, sweeping his top hat off. It was all that remained of his costume; his makeup was gone, burned away by the light of the change, and he’d replaced his destroyed suit with black jeans and a gray tank that showed off his tattooed arms and shoulders. Emma remembered him screaming, white light jetting from his eye sockets. “Hi, Jerome.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Feeling better, ma cherie?” “I was until I realized you’re gonna keep using that pet name. Seriously, are any of you capable of using my real name?” She arched her brows and looked around. “Anyone? Other than you,” she added when Alexi’s lips parted and he took a breath to speak. “You’re safe.” Jerome barked a short, cracking laugh. “You

are feeling better.” He lifted to his feet and held out a hand. “Dance with me?” Emma took his hand and let him pull her up. “You mean that’s not what we were doing before?” With another laugh, Jerome whirled, taking her with him into the press of bodies on the dance floor. The music spiraled into something low and predatory, a reprieve from the frantic pounding track before it. Jerome led Emma into a lazy shuffle, one hand at her waist, high enough that she would’ve thought he was being super careful if she hadn’t already known she just flat didn’t ring his bell. “Ravi told me that you know,” he said with an easy smile. Emma tipped her head back and narrowed her eyes at him. “Is it the Pledge bond letting you see inside my head, or was it just that obvious I was thinking about it?” His hand tightened briefly on her waist. “Just that obvious.” His own gaze narrowed. “You bluffed me like a pro the other day, when we first met. I couldn’t read you then, but now your face is

an open book.” She shrugged. “I’m bad at lying to people I’m close to.” She frowned then. “Not that we’re close. I just meant —” “I know what you meant,” he said with a low laugh. “I do look forward to getting to know you better, Emma Chase.” She squeezed his hand. “But in a totally platonic way.” He bent his head in a brief nod. “For which I’m sure your many men are grateful.” Emma’s face flushed with heat. “I don’t have —” She shut her mouth with a clack and groaned. “Jesus.” Jerome’s laugh was high and delighted — and infectious. Emma was laughing with him when he let go of her waist and twirled her as the music changed tempo, and she caught her breath on a gasp when Jerome handed her off to Batman. Anton slung both arms around her waist. She had to either link her hands behind his neck or hang there looking awkward, but his touch was as friendly as Jerome’s had been, so she relaxed into

his arms and let him draw them farther onto the dance floor. “Hey,” he said with a smirk, deliberately pitching his voice low and raspy. “The cowl suits you,” she said. Anton reverted to his normal voice. “The dress doesn’t suit you,” he said with a straight face. Then ruined the dig by breaking into a huge grin, his brilliant green eyes sparking with mirth. The tight mask drew attention to the chiseled square of his chin, making his eyes stand out with even more than their usual intensity, and any witty comeback Emma might have had evaporated in the face of Anton’s good looks laid somehow more bare for being obscured by the mask. Emma had been there and decided she didn’t want to do that. She and Anton were friends, and that was all they were. But damn, she had some very pretty friends. He bent his mouth to her ear. “I used to wonder,” he said in a different tone of voice, all his teasing gone. “What life might have been like for you if Telly and I succeeded in keeping you

away from the jaguar kingdom. If Selena had made it to us in time, and taken you in.” Emma kept swaying in time with the music, but a little of the lightness went out of her steps. “I’m sure Telly spends a lot of time wondering about that too.” Anton grunted. “Yeah, but his problem is he can’t see the obvious.” Emma turned her head to look at him. “And what’s that?” Behind the mask, his features were so intense, but his tone was lightly matter of fact and his gaze went soft as he bent his lips to her ear again. “You never would’ve been happy with that life. You were meant for this one. I’d give anything to undo the bad shit that’s happened to you, don’t get me wrong. But it’s like…that shit pales in comparison to everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve become.” He drew back slightly. “That shit doesn’t define you, and neither does the prophecy. You define you. I didn’t see that for a long time. That was my fuck-up.” He made a contemplative sound and then twirled her before catching her against his

chest again. “That and not realizing it was stupid and irresponsible to make a play for you.” “Anton —” “Honestly, Em, it was. Selfish too. You need friends, not immature deadweight with a proximity crush.” Emma laughed in shock. “Jesus, Anton.” When he just shrugged, his emerald eyes calm and an easy half-smile in place, she tilted her head and fixed him with a serious look. “You are my friend.” His smile widened, turned challenging. “You’re goddamn right I am.” “But,” Ricky said as he snaked an arm around Emma’s waist, “I was her friend first, brother, so move over.” “Pushy little shit,” Anton said with nothing but affection, and dropped a quick kiss on Emma’s forehead before letting her go and disappearing into the crowd. She relaxed back into Ricky’s arms, bopping with him. “I thought seeing me accept the Pledge from Jerome would freak him out,” she said. Ricky spun her around. “Nah. After the other

night with the bears, I think he realized there are bigger things to worry about.” He caught her and swung her into a clumsy drop over his arm, and they both came up laughing. “Anton and I kinda grew up with Telly, y’know. We’ve seen some weird stuff. But nothing compared to — well…” “Telly’s magical fuck-frenzy,” Emma said cheerfully. Ricky’s eyes went wide. “Em, that’s so wrong.” “Tell me about it.” She poked him in the chest. “My best friend and my metaphysical other half got it on together, you’re damn right it’s wrong.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Fern and I are cool, no weirdness there.” He slung an arm around Emma’s shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. “Tarissa’s still carrying a bit of a torch, but he let her know it wasn’t going anywhere. Even if he was past his third molt or whatever it is, which he isn’t, it’s obvious there’s only one person he’s —” “Ahem,” Ravi said, sliding up beside them. “May I have this dance?”

Ricky grew flushed. “Sure. I’ll be back at the couches if you need me, Em.” “Ricky,” Ravi said with a laugh and an apologetic hand on Emma’s arm. “I meant with you.” Ricky’s eyes flared with amber sparks. “Oh.” Stifling a smile, Emma backed away into the hot press of bodies, ducked under someone’s waving arm, and slammed straight into Seshua. She caught herself against his chest. His very bare, very hard chest. Before she could rally her scrambled brains and jerk her hands away, he caught her elbows and purred. “Dance with me, Emmalina.” Oh great. He only ever called her that when he was pissed at her. She switched her hands to his biceps, which was only a little bit less obscene. “What have I done now?” Both his thick brows went up as he deftly slid one hand to her lower back, capturing her left hand with his right. “Done?” “You only ever call me that when I’ve done something to make you crazy.” He started to move.

Emma swallowed and tried to look like she wasn’t thinking about how massive his hand felt, spread across the back of her corset. Totally chaste with several thick layers of velvet between her skin and his, but Seshua could make any touch seem loaded — any word, any look. He made a thoughtful sound that vibrated deep in his chest. It was like dancing with a very beautiful lawnmower. A blue one. Yep, she was fresh out of similes that made any sense. “I use that name, your name, like armor, don’t I?” His gaze had gone dark and shuttered. “Not only when you make me crazy. When you make me think.” Emma scoffed. “Since when do I make you think?” His huge hands tightened on her. “Since I’ve had the opportunity to watch you with the serpent priest. To see how he handles you.” Outrage began to simmer in Emma’s guts, but she bit back her angry protests; denying that Alexi “handled” her would only make her sound defensive and embarrassed. If Seshua still didn’t

understand how shit worked between her and Alexi, going on the defensive would never achieve that. “And?” Emma arched a brow, giving him bland face. He stilled. “And, I see now I could never have held you. The jaguar kingdom was never destined to command you, because no one commands you.” Wow. Maybe he did get it. Emma shook her head in disbelief. “I expected you to lecture me about throwing myself into danger.” Seshua smiled and began to sway again. “You are far more powerful than I ever could have dreamed you’d be. You do seem to be invincible. But I will never forget that you are not. I will never grow complacent. I cannot hold you, and I cannot stop you from plunging headfirst into the fire, but I can be the one with eyes wide open when everyone else is blinded by your power. I can do that much.” Emma gazed up into his face and didn’t know what to say. She used to know what to say to

Seshua, used to know how to bully him, manipulate him, shut him down. She hadn’t ever felt guilty for using everything she had against him, because he was a ruthless bastard who was always out for himself. It was a hell of a lot harder to handle this newer, complicated version of the big blue guy. “Seshua…” He made a dismissive noise. “Dance with me.” She slapped his bicep. “I am.” “This is not dancing. Here.” He kept hold of her but put a few more inches between them. “Watch my feet.” She looked down; his were bare. Typical. “Right goes forward, and together and back.” He showed her, going slowly. Then repeated it, his cadence echoing the rhythm. “Right-and-together and back-and-together and — ah, almost. Again. It’s like a little shuffle. Until you put your hips into it.” Emma watched in horrified fascination as he did just that. “Seshua, are you trying to teach me the cha-cha?” He flashed a smile that was only sixty percent predatory — the rest was pure, innocent pleasure.

“Keep up, pequeña. Come on.” She tried; she got it. The footwork anyway. Seshua changed his steps, so he came forward as she went back, and she came forward as he went back, and it was almost like they were really dancing. Emma could feel the subtle pressure of his hands, urging her into the rhythm of the steps. Then she thought about it too hard and stepped on Seshua’s bare foot. “Shit,” she said with feeling. “You can really dance, can’t you?” His tone was dry. “I am over five hundred years old, and I’ve lived most of those years in Latin America. Of course I can dance.” “No need to rub it in my face.” He laughed, and for once it was just a laugh, not a low, dark seduction. “You’re a natural.” “Screw you, your Majesty.” She looked up and fixed him with her scariest stare. “You’re going to teach me to do this.” His brows went up. “I am?” She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Yes.” “Later,” Alexi whispered in her ear, and for a moment she was trapped between them,

surrounded by two very different kinds of heat. Her breath lodged in her throat along with her heartbeat. How had she not felt him coming through the crowd? You can be very single minded when you’re learning something new, he said in her mind, the cool rush of his mental touch making the words somehow suggestive instead of disparaging. Seshua relinquished his grip on her, moving back. “Priest,” he said, nodding curtly. “Seshua.” Alexi slid his hands over Emma’s bare shoulders. “You will teach me to dance,” Emma called after Seshua, but all she got in reply was a wicked, Cheshire cat smile retreating into the shadows of the crowd. She turned in Alexi’s arms. Took his waist in her hands and tilted her head back to look at him. She’d intended to make some sassy quip about possessiveness and pissing contests, but everything flew out of her head when she saw the way he was looking at her. He was too good to be true. High cheekbones,

cruel mouth, the architecture of his face bared by the braids that swept his hair back from his temples. The space between his eyes was slightly too wide, the bridge of his nose there a little too thick, so that he never quite looked human even when his beast was coiled and dormant within. “What’s that look for,” she asked, tightening her grip on his waist. His eyes went hooded. “For you,” he said lightly. “So you really like the dress.” That was too bad, because she was wishing fervently for jeans… “It’s not about the dress.” His voice held a sibilant edge to it, darker, less human. He brushed one hand up her neck, his fingers tangling in the tendrils Felani had let curl down at Emma’s nape, his thumb stroking over her pulse. Such big, strong hands. Emma melted, shivering in anticipation at the same time as savoring that simple touch. He leaned in. “I want to show you something.” Unable to help herself, she reached for his thoughts, drawing on their telepathic link. Then she

stifled a groan. He was not referring to any of the things on her current must-see list, which was admittedly a collection of variations on only one theme: him, in successive states of nudity. Alexi’s pained growl eased her disappointment somewhat. He took her hand and began carving a path through the mass of surging, swaying bodies. “The ravens gave me the grand tour earlier this afternoon,” he said, his low voice resonant enough for her to hear him perfectly in spite of the pounding music. “This warehouse complex is their sanctuary. It’s a warren, and the wards are far more powerful than one would expect, given Jerome’s age and how many people live here. The ravens have a different kind of magic.” They’d reached a metal staircase, and Alexi started climbing. It was hard to concentrate on what he’d just said while watching his thighs work beneath the supple leather of his pants, but Emma gave it her very best. “What do you mean, a different kind of magic?” she asked. He paused to let her ahead of him, one hand brushing her back. “There is no hierarchy among

the ravens. No bloodlines, no royalty, only family, as Jerome said. You felt it when you accepted the Pledge.” “I don’t know what I felt, not exactly.” They reached the top of the stairs. Doors leading to smaller rooms that likely used to be offices lined the walls, and several wider corridors branched off, lit dimly with sparkling string lights. The gallery level looked down onto the main floor, and Alexi drew her under his arm and turned her, his gaze on the surging crowd. “You felt them.” He sighed. “I felt them. Every single one of them. Their bloodlines are so diluted from interbreeding and light-forging as to be almost nonexistent, but their collective power, the magic that binds them to one another, is stronger than any other race I’ve yet encountered.” He was right; she’d felt the Pledge take hold, lighting her up like a Christmas tree. The binding hadn’t been as intense with Jerome as it had with Kahotep, or Katenka, or Red Sun or Ivan. It had been lighter, and yet more. Alexi dipped his face to Emma’s hair, an absent

gesture, his thoughts elsewhere. “ Jerome’s power is not the same as Seshua’s. Or mine.” She turned her face to Alexi’s chest, inhaling his electric, dizzying scent. “So what does it mean?” He made a frustrated sound — but it wasn’t directed at her. “I think it means that preserving the royal lineages makes the individual more powerful at the expense of the rest of the race. That our power was always meant to be shared, cast out into the world, not hoarded like a precious resource, as though scarcity makes it more valuable.” He sounded pissed. Emma understood, would have even if she couldn’t read his mind; Alexi had spent over nine hundred years bound to the serpent priesthood, who took the cake when it came to hoarding power. She still didn’t know how he’d ended up that way, or how voluntary it had been in the beginning, but she knew he’d spent over half that time hating it. But they hadn’t talked about it, and she hadn’t pushed. “When you have lived more than a human

lifetime, many times more, memory becomes a strange thing,” he murmured in her ear. “It lives, and then it dies, sinking like a ship taking too much water. The wreck is down there at the bottom of me, and I can go there if I must, if you need me to.” Emma turned her head to meet his eyes. Just enough space between them that she could focus on him; not enough to keep their breath from mingling. “I don’t need you to,” she told him. Because she felt what he left unsaid: that salvaging those memories, ancient as they were, would hurt. More, it would change him, rearrange him, and that was a distraction they didn’t need right now. He drew back, his gaze sharpening. “You are sure?” She rolled her eyes. “We haven’t been together very long, Alexi. I don’t need you to get all deep and meaningful when we haven’t even technically been on a date yet. Although,” she added, turning to wind her arms around his waist. “We are at a party. In fancy dress. It sorta counts as a date.” Alexi took her face in his hands, his gaze on her

mouth. “You just danced with four other men. This is a terrible date.” That surprised a laugh out of her. Then he bent to capture her laughter with a kiss, and Emma forgot what the hell had been so funny.

27 Alexi’s mouth covered hers with possessive heat. Then the barest edge of teeth, of breath, before the soft rasp of his tongue swept against hers. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t like the hard, desperate kind of kiss they’d shared before in life and death moments or stolen scraps of solitude; this time there was intent in the way his lips claimed hers, a predatory certainty, a promise in the unguarded strength in his hands as he tilted her head back to kiss her even more thoroughly. Every cell in Emma’s body lit up as his taste

filled her. God, she was flying already and all he’d done was kiss her. Too late she remembered she’d had Jerome’s blood in her mouth, sliding against her tongue, and no opportunity to brush her teeth after. Alexi groaned softly and closed his teeth on her lower lip. You taste like honey and iron. Like sweet steel. He released her lip with a playful tug, meeting her eyes. When I was human and very young, I thought I was going to be a blacksmith, like my father. Your taste reminds me of the forge. Everything about you does. Emma tightened her hands on him and tried to get her breath under control again. I told you, you don’t have to go delving into your past for me. His eyes flashed. Some memories come unbidden. This memory is not a hardship. She relaxed into his touch a little more. I have memories like that. She slid her hands up his back, imagining for a moment that they were alone, somewhere quiet. It was easier speaking mind to mind. Mucking out the stables with my dad. Prepping horse feed with my mom. Stupid things

to feel wistful for, mundane things that reminded her of her childhood home without being charged enough to bring the grief tumbling down on her. “Not stupid,” he said. He let his hands trail down Emma’s bare neck and shoulders before he wrapped her against his side and steered them away from the balcony, towards the wide entrance that led off into the rest of the warehouse’s upper levels. “I loved the forge,” he said. “I was good at it. Given a few more years, I would have been exceptional, but by the time I was seventeen my chieftain needed fighters more than fine steel to trade.” Talk of blacksmithing and fine steel and forges took on a new meaning now Emma had seen the light-forging rite for herself — withstanding the light of the Change was like being tempered, remade, and she hadn’t even been the one transformed by it. There were more questions she wanted to ask about it, but she wanted to hear about Alexi’s past, too. The corridor muffled the overwhelming volume of the music from the downstairs floor, and Emma

could finally hear herself talk. “You learned to fight when you were seventeen?” “No,” he said lightly. “I learned to fight so young I barely remember it. There were always battles and skirmishes, but there had never been war.” War didn’t sound like a topic he wanted to elaborate on, so Emma filed the info away for when she had access to the Internet and a library catalog, and a lot more free time. Her study background was med science, not history, but she’d been learning — the past six months had made it necessary. It also made the idea of becoming a history buff a hell of a lot more interesting. The things these people could tell her if she only knew the right questions to ask? Up until recently she’d been too worried about surviving to give it much thought… Alexi huffed a laugh. “Just because some of us are older than dirt doesn’t mean we all knew Shakespeare personally.” Emma sighed. “I guess that’s kinda like expecting everyone from the UK to have met the

Queen.” “Oh, I’ve met her,” Alexi said. “Of course, she was very young, I doubt she’d remember me. “Ha ha.” He pulled away, capturing her hand, and pitched his voice low and menacing. “You think I’m joking?” She gave him her best dry stare. “Only about her not remembering you.” Emma shivered. “Trust me, she’d remember you.” It was Alexi’s turn to laugh. The dark, velvety sound echoed down the corridor as he led her farther into the warehouse complex. Heavy steel doors lined the walls. There were lights, little cages with orange sodium arc bulbs at regular intervals, humming and casting their washed out glow across metal railings and cracked brick. It should have seemed forbidding and cold, but with Alexi at her side and his laughter fading on the cool air, the warehouse’s rundown atmosphere seemed alive and mysterious. Who knew — maybe there’d be a storeroom or an alcove, someplace no one would find them for at least half an hour…

Of course, it’d take more than half an hour to get her damn dress off, but that was not a strictly necessary step. Alexi made a choked-off sound halfway between a grunt and a groan. He whirled to face Emma. In one swift move he bent down, swept her endless skirts up to her knees, and then lifted her with only his grip on her outer thighs — except lifted wasn’t quite the right word for the way he practically tossed her into the air and seated her at his waist, her legs dangling either side of his hips, all without breaking stride. The pommel of his sword dug into the back of her leg as she crossed her ankles behind his backside, and the fancy leather shoulder armor got in the way as she linked her hands behind his neck, but she loved it — it was like getting to play out every helpless maiden and rugged barbarian fantasy she’d never in a million years admit to having. “So most of the ravens live here?” Emma asked breathlessly as he carried them both forward. “Mmm.” He slid his hands beneath her rump,

only the twenty pounds of velvet skirts keeping his touch from edging into obscene territory. “Most of them. But they have a lot of room.” “Sounds promising.” “Indeed. I —” The words died on a sharp inhale when Emma leaned in and brushed her lips over the thickly corded muscle of his neck, where his pulse tripped solid and strong beneath sculpted flesh; she couldn’t help herself. He hissed in response and lengthened his stride. “Emma,” he said harshly. She loved the way he said her name, turning two soft, ordinary feminine syllables into something strong and proud, worthy of a warrior. A declaration rather than a sigh. He made her name sound like a challenge, like a battle cry, his voice rasping with admiration rather than affection. “Affection is a poor word,” he said into her hair. “It does not begin to describe how I feel about you.” “Mmm.” Feeling sly, Emma willed her mental shields a little more solid and spoke with her lips

against his cool, humming skin. “And how do you feel about me?” He exhaled with force. “I —” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his throat and sucked, and Alexi exploded. There was no other word for it. His arms went rigid and almost painfully tight around her, and he made a desperate sound and whirled so fast his hair whipped around them both. A split second later Emma’s back thumped against the wall. With inhuman speed he caught the back of her head before it could hit the exposed brick, and then he was devouring her mouth in a kiss that was wild and punishing and completely unchecked. This was Alexi without control. Emma had tipped him over the edge and for one exhilarating, endless moment, they were in freefall. Her pulse skyrocketed, and all she could do was take fast, snatched gasps of breath as she abandoned herself to him, because she knew it would be so damn good when they finally crashed together… But this was Alexi. Never without control for long. He snapped his own leash back and released

her mouth with a harsh word in a language she didn’t understand and didn’t need to; goddammit was sort of universal. “Did I hurt you,” he growled, breathing hard, self recrimination tightening his voice. “You can read my mind, you idiot,” Emma said gently. He drew back, eyes blazing molten orange. “Telepathy requires focus.” He searched her face, and then let go of her, so she was propped against the wall with only his hips pinning her in place. “Focus requires composure, and I presently have none.” His hands landed either side of Emma’s head. “Answer the question.” Now he was struggling for control for an altogether different reason. Because he thought he’d hurt her. Not physically, although he was always tuned to her on a level that went deeper than thought, deeper than flesh. If only he was as certain of himself as she was. “I love you like this,” Emma said quietly. “I need you like this.” He frowned, breathing hard. Emma’s words

weren’t enough; her feelings were all tangled up inside and she couldn’t unravel them, couldn’t get them past the low ache in her chest. She needed him with her when they came together, she wanted him to shatter just as hard as she knew she would. She didn’t want him protecting her from himself. She wanted the thrill of breaking him in the same way he broke her, in the best way — she needed to know that he was as shaken and scraped raw as she was, by desire and longing and elation every damn time they touched. For all his concern over redressing the balance of power between them, he didn’t understand yet that if they slept together, she needed that power over him — the power to destroy his control. He had that power over her, and they’d barely done more than kiss. He rested his forehead against hers and exhaled. “You have it. You do have that power over me. But I can’t risk hurting you. I am ancient,” he whispered urgently, voice breaking. “My power is first generation and I must be careful with you. We have time to learn each other, don’t we? To

find that balance. All the time in the world.” Emma made a noncommittal noise. She was afraid he’d say that. She unlocked her ankles from behind his back and slid down until her feet were on the metal walkway floor. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry with the risk she was about to take. What if she was wrong? Oh, God, what would happen to her heart — her confidence — if she was wrong? “Emma,” he said, his mental touch brushing at her flimsy shields. She let them come down. “I expect this kind of condescending bullshit from everyone else,” she said, “but not from you.” He jerked back as if she’d slapped him, but she was just getting started. “God,” she said with a humorless laugh. “The fucking irony. Y’know, Telly’s always been the one who thinks he knows better than me, who’s treated me like he can wrap me up and keep me in a safe little box, away from all the hard decisions and the risks. But boy, when it comes to trying to get close to me, at least he doesn’t pull his punches. And you know why?” She shoved Alexi away from her, and

he let her, his face stark with shock. “Because Telly knows I’m fully capable of guarding my heart and my body — and equally capable of deciding how and when to share them. And if you can’t treat me with the same goddamn respect, then you’ll be waiting a long, long time to get in my pants, Alexi.” His eyes blazed, but he said nothing. Emma’s breath was the only sound. He stayed that way, frozen and terrible, for long enough that Emma’s heart began a slow and hopeless slide toward ruin, not breaking, but twisting, beginning to collapse in on itself. She’d done it, hadn’t she? She’d reached for too much, too soon. He’d been so patient with her up until now, determined to give her the world, and for some stupid fucking reason she hadn’t been satisfied. “Is that what you think I want,” he said, voice dangerously low. “To get into your pants?” God damn it. “Of course it’s not all you want,” she bit out. She took a breath, a big one, because she had a feeling her world was about to start falling apart — and the air froze in her lungs as

Alexi’s magic snapped out, cold and paralyzing, flooding against Emma’s skin in a furious rush. “No,” he said, his voice gone impossibly deep. “That’s not all I want, Emma.” His lip curled and his eyes flared like twin suns; his hair moved in the breeze of his own power, and he clenched those strong, long hands into fists as his power lashed at Emma with each word he threw at her. “I want everything you have,” he snarled. “Everything you are. Your incredible mind, your fearless heart.” He took a step towards her, reached to brush his knuckles up her bare arm, and she shivered as the air turned colder. His voice dropped even lower. “I want this exquisite body that you seem to think is lacking in so many ways.” His knuckles brushed her chin, tilting her head to meet his gaze fully. “I want it all,” he hissed, searching her face, his scars standing out. “Mine. All of it. And I can’t have it, because I want your happiness so goddamn much as well.” His mind was as wide open as his expression was closed. Impossible not to understand what he meant, the hugeness of it. She’d thought he was

exaggerating when he claimed to be jealous of the other men — thought he couldn’t possibly be, not while he was so adamant that he fully intended to share her, because her heart didn’t belong only to him. Emma grabbed his hand and held it captive in both of hers. “You want me to yourself?” He shook his head sharply. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “Not in practice,” he said tightly, his fingers tangling with hers. “But in my dark and secret heart, yes. It’s not about the others,” he added. “It’s nothing logical. Nothing human. It’s in here.” He touched his chest, below his sternum. “I don’t —” “I know.” Emma cut him off, still breathless with the stinging rush of his magic filling the air around them. “I feel it too. You’re mine,” she whispered. “And I’m yours. I don’t need anyone else.” Regret filled his eyes. “No lies between us.” Emma’s face flushed with heat. “Not a lie. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be sad.” She swallowed against the rising lump in her throat; she was more

than sad, she was heartbroken over Red, because in her heart she’d already tried to say goodbye to him in spite of the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere. It shouldn’t make her feel worse to make a statement out of something she’d already decided. “You have me, Alexi. You’re the one trying to give me the world when all I ever asked for was you.” Alexi searched her face, his eyes as hard and bright as gemstones, the look in them cutting straight through her. It killed her to see the uncertainty in his face, the edge of mistrust. She’d seen him level a room with the sharpness of his gaze alone, and being at the mercy of it now made Emma feel like all her protective layers were being sliced away. “I won’t stop trying to give you everything,” he said roughly. “I’ll keep trying until I’m certain you can say no because you don’t want it, not because you think you shouldn’t.” Emma opened her mouth to shoot him down for being condescending — and then had a terrible realization.

She wanted, needed to shoot him down to prevent him from giving her false hope about a future with Red in it. A relationship with Red in it. Because she could handle a broken heart over Red if she could accept it and move on, but if there was a chance? A chance to have everything she wanted? Alexi’s arm went around her, clamping her to him before she could try to pull away. “You can,” he said, shaking her just a little. “I am not offering you this out of fear you’ll leave me if I don’t, Emma.” His touch softened, but his voice didn’t. “I have been a fool. I swore I wouldn’t be, but I am. I let my fear come between us. I was never afraid that I wouldn’t be enough for you, not that, do you understand?” Emma nodded up at him; the more he frayed, the more solid she felt, and she didn’t know why that worked, but she’d take it. “What are you afraid of?” His nostrils flared, his jaw working as he exhaled, those thickly defined dark brows of his arrowing down. He untangled his hand from hers

and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You were right to be angry with me for holding back,” he said. “I am afraid of being too much for you.” She leaned into his hand. “There’s no such thing. I want all of you.” Alexi’s face tightened. He traced the edge of Emma’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb and exhaled, nostrils flaring wide. “Yours,” he said, low. “Mine.” She smiled. “And I’m yours. Don’t be afraid, Alexi,” she whispered. Then she caught his thumb with her teeth and closed her lips around the tip, sucking him into the heat of her mouth, all while she held his gaze. Sure, it was a kinda porny move, but it had the desired effect: the air slammed out of his lungs and his eyes went wide and glazed with sudden arousal. She licked the pad of his thumb, and his wrenching groan shot straight through her, shortcircuiting the slow burn of desire and igniting an instant, raging hunger. “Your eyes,” Alexi said, breathing hard. His voice warm with approval. A slow smile

transformed his features, from stark to devastating. “Black, from lid to lid.” Emma didn’t have time to respond, or even react, because Alexi used his thumb to part her lips and kissed her, hard and deep, and they detonated. Alexi’s tongue against hers was punishment for the way she’d tormented him when his thumb was in her mouth, each stroke wickedly calculated to make her imagine that slick, muscular heat delving into other parts of her. It almost brought her to her knees as the surge of adrenalin hit and rocked through her, her heart tripping, her stomach vaulting like she was in zero G; it wasn’t just the desire, the need, but the goddamn relief as her body caught up to her brain and realized she hadn’t lost him. He was still with her. Still hers. She didn’t even notice her legs had stopped working until Alexi caught her. He broke away from her mouth to scoop her up, and she balled her fists in his shirt. “Alexi,” she said, her voice rough, a warning and a plea, which

made no sense, but it didn’t have to. He was in her head, wrapped around her soul. Cradling her heart the same way he cradled her body. “I know,” he said, not sounding human at all, and kissed her again. Didn’t stop kissing her as he carried her down the corridor. Didn’t stop kissing her when he stopped and kicked a heavy steel door open as though it weighed nothing. An unmistakable scent hit them: leather and wood shavings, and the air was thick with the taste of dust and decaying fabric. It was the smell of old houses and antique shops. Emma was on fire inside, but she managed to pull back and try to bring the room into focus as the door slammed behind them and Alexi strode with her into the vaulted space. There were lights everywhere, dozens of points of gold brilliance; strings of fairy lights festooned the walls and bookshelves, draped over every available surface, and there was a lot of available surface, because the huge room was stacked with furniture. And paintings in elaborate gilt frames. And sculptures on carved pedestals, obviously reproductions in

ancient Greek and Roman styles. Alexi kicked an overstuffed armchair out of the way.“Not reproductions.” His voice was tight and a little breathless. Emma’s head was spinning, and she could barely hold still in Alexi’s arms as he carried her deeper into the honeyed dark of the vast storeroom, but she turned her fiercest frown on him. “Excuse me?” “They’re thieves,” he said simply. Then he turned on his heel and pitched them both backwards. Emma landed on Alexi; Alexi landed on a bed. It was piled high with antique pillows but the covers were soft and modern and smelled freshly laundered — and Emma knew that because she’d bounced off Alexi’s chest and ended up with her face smushed into the comforter. Before she could even say “oof,” Alexi’s arms were around her. He hauled her onto him and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “This is coming undone,” he said, tugging on a tendril that had escaped her up-do. The words were mild; the look

in his eyes wasn’t. His hair was a wild tangled mass, spread out against the covers, and he looked like a conquering barbarian king, all arrogance and hard lines. All hers. Emma propped her hands on his chest. “Back to how the ravens are thieves.” His hands smoothed up her arms and over her shoulders, drifting down her back. “Is this really what you want to talk about right now?” She considered that. “Mmm. No.” Quickly, she bent her head and licked his lower lip. He groaned and hot triumph sang through her. She pressed herself to his chest so she could put her lips next to his ear, teasing with a feather light touch as she spoke. “What I want to talk about,” she whispered, “is why there’s a freshly made bed in here.” His low laugh reverberated against Emma’s chest and made her squirm. “I plotted,” Alexi said darkly. “Jerome’s people didn’t have time to clear rooms for us today, but what he showed me this afternoon satisfied me.” Frowning, Emma pushed herself up so she

could look at him. Her body still pounded with arousal, especially where her hips were pressed against his hard stomach, but she couldn’t ignore what he was saying. What he was thinking. “You think we should stay here? With the ravens?” He met her eyes calmly, as though the rest of him wasn’t burning for her, as though she couldn’t see the muscles standing out in his neck and jaw as he held himself in check. “Surrounded by hundreds of loyal shapechangers who have eyes and ears all over London, a thorough network of tech-savvy criminals and spies who can take to the air either with you or in search of you should danger arise?” He made a soft, amused sound, but his face was serious. “Yes, I think we should stay here.” Emma curled her fingers around the leather straps that crossed his chest to hold his fancy armor in place. “You don’t just mean for a little while.” His hands settled either side of her waist. “Living in hotels is neither enjoyable nor safe. We need to settle somewhere. You have family here.”

He swept his hands up her sides, fingers brushing the bare skin above the bodice of her dress, his touch sparking tiny fires all along her nerve endings. “You’re not the only one who needs stability,” Alexi continued. “Rain will need access to specialized medical and counseling services over the next five years, ongoing care.” Emma sobered. “In order to transition.” Alexi nodded. “I spoke to Bozenka last night while you were with your aunts. It’s a lengthy process. It would be best to begin soon. She wants to.” And that was really the best reason to stay, wasn’t it? The kids came first. Emma couldn’t take in the implications of staying in London, so she didn’t try — she just moved on. “This is probably a stupid question, but will transitioning even work with someone who isn’t human to begin with?” The pads of Alexi’s fingers never ceased their slow, stroking rhythm across her shoulder blades. “Bozenka told me it helps. She was human when she transitioned, and was brought through the lightforging rite many years later, but she’s known

others. The magic of the Change heals what is wrong with the body. When the heart knows what is right, the magic follows.” “Hmm.” Emma smiled. “I like how that sounds.” She also liked how he watched her mouth when she smiled, his eyes gone half lidded, their orange light burning like banked coals in the dark hollows of his face. “So,” she said, spreading her hands against his chest and shifting so she straddled him. “This room is ours?” His eyes flared with heat. “Ours,” he rasped, swallowing thickly. “Yes.” “So we won’t be disturbed here?” He shook his head slowly. “No.” She unbuckled the strap across his chest. “Then make love to me, Alexi. That’s not a request.”

28 Eyes burning and wild, Alexi hooked his fingers over the back of her bodice, set his jaw, and flexed. He broke the corset apart. Emma jerked. There was an almighty ripping noise and then cool air against her bare back, but he wasn’t done — he surged up with her in his lap, braced her with one hot hand on her spine, and tore the rest of the dress down the back seam. There was a joke to be made about bodice rippers, but before Emma could get her brain to

restart, Alexi licked his way into her mouth and drove every last coherent thought from her head. The dress sagged between them, scratching at Emma’s already sensitive skin; Alexi’s hands felt enormous on her back, even bigger as he swept them up her sides and over her arms, urging her to link her hands behind his head. She did, burying her hands in his thick hair, and for a giddy moment his palms brushed down over the sides of her breasts. She had to break the kiss, for air, for escape — it was too much to process all at once. She could handle his kisses or his hands on her, but both… He closed his teeth on her earlobe, his breath hot and teasing before he soothed the sting of his bite with his tongue. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” “Bossy,” she gasped, doing as he said. “Yes,” he replied hoarsely, and stood, unhooking her legs from his waist. He guided her feet to the ground, his every move gentle but tightly controlled — and when she looked up into his face, she saw why. Felt it, pulsing through the

connection to him with every harsh, grating breath he drew. He was balanced on a knife edge. Between desire and need. Between wanting her and taking her. In a flash of insight Emma understood what he’d struggled so much with earlier. “You need to be in control to lose it.” He cupped her face, his hands trembling. “It doesn’t mean I cannot be gentle.” His voice darkened. “But there are different kinds of gentle.” Emma grabbed the strap of his belt buckle and tugged. “Be whatever you need to be, Alexi. I want you, however you come to me, so long as you don’t hold back and treat me like I’m fragile.” She yanked his belt off and let it fall to the floor, sword and all, relishing his low hiss. “I love you.” She unbuckled the other strap across his chest and pushed the armor from his shoulders. “And I need you to give me this,” she whispered as she slid her hands beneath his shirt, over hard muscle and velvet skin and scars. “I trust you. So trust me.” He curled one hand around the back of her neck

and trailed the other down her throat, over her collarbone, between her breasts, and exhaled in appreciation as she shivered. “Bossy,” he murmured, eyes alight with mischief as well as lust. His hand was going lower. Emma had to swallow just to get some damn air. “I guess that’s not how giving you control works, huh?” “Actually, in a way, it is. But I don’t need your submission, only your trust.” His voice had gone deep, quiet. Distracted. His gaze traced the path of his hand as he brushed his knuckles down her stomach. His hand tightened on the back of her neck as he used his thumb on her jaw to tilt her head back so she met his eyes. “I will never do anything that you do not want,” he said, steel in his tone. With that promise it was tempting, so tempting, to tell him she wanted anything and everything he could do to her. She did want it. But that wasn’t what he needed to hear, so she told him as much of the truth as she could. “If there’s anything I don’t want,” she said, “I’ll

tell you.” He tangled his left hand in her hair, close to the scalp, his firm grip reassuring and thrilling at the same time. Then he slipped his right hand beneath the waistband of her underwear to stroke straight into her wet heat. Sensation crashed through her. The ache of wanting him had been nothing compared to the way her nerves twisted and torqued at his touch. She moaned and went limp, digging her nails into his stomach, and he held her up with his fist in her hair and his other hand cupping her, rocking against her lazily. As though he had all the time in the world — as though she wasn’t going to explode in less than a heartbeat. “Shh,” he murmured, laughter in his voice, and kissed her at the same time as plunging his fingers deep. She came, hard, no warning, no slow build — except the slow build had been going on for days, for weeks, and it was a wonder she’d lasted even a handful of seconds once he touched her. The shock drove a scream from her, low and sharp. Alexi

kissed her deeper to capture the sound. She went rigid and breathless as her inner muscles spasmed around his fingers, as pleasure shattered her, sharp enough to hurt. Too fast, too hard, too soon — and after all this time waiting and wanting, perfect. But perfect barely took the edge off, and Alexi’s edge was still well and truly intact. “Clothes off,” Emma ordered, yanking at the straps that held his leather armor in place. He obeyed. She helped. She ran her hands over him, anywhere she could get at him, distracting him with open-mouthed kisses on his shoulders and chest as he pried his boots off and shucked his pants. But before she could drop her hands lower he went to his knees, his hands blazing twin paths of heat over her ass and the backs of her legs before he closed his fingers around her calves, holding her steady. He trailed harsh kisses down her stomach to her hip, his mouth and tongue sending electricity sizzling through her nerve endings. He somehow managing to command her and pin her with just his gaze, even while on his knees, until she fisted her

hands in his hair and had to close her eyes against the intensity of his stare. “Emma,” he murmured against the top of her thigh, an admonishment and an invitation. She dragged at his hair, fingers tangling in the intricate braids. “Alexi…” He edged her legs apart, and Emma realized she was still wearing the red heels. That made her open her eyes — just in time to watch as Alexi buried his face between her thighs. On a scale of one to ten, being devoured by Alexi was a goddamn transcendental revelation. Emma made an embarrassingly helpless sound as her bones turned to water and her pulse slammed into her throat. Everything went hazy, except for the feel of his mouth on her, his tongue rasping through her wetness. Thank God she’d gone and had everything waxed the day before last; there was nothing in his way, nothing to interfere with the hot, slick slide of his lips against her sensitized flesh as he drew his tongue up and began to suck. She was not going to survive this. “Oh my God, Alexi, please.”

He knew what she wanted, but still he tortured her for an endless handful of moments more. Driving her higher and then edging back, circling, teasing to keep her from free falling into the second orgasm that was so terrifyingly close. When she didn’t think she could take any more — she was half convinced she was about to faint, heart pounding and breath sawing from her throat — that was when he finally released her, picked her up by the waist, and sat on the edge of the bed with her straddling his lap. Emma was still reeling, but not so far gone she didn’t gasp at the feel of their naked bodies sealed together for the first time with nothing between them but his erection, thick and wedged against her stomach. She leaned back to take him in her hands, hot and glorious, and it prompted a visceral memory of doing the same to Red Sun. Alexi was in her mind. She tensed, going cold, expecting him to withdraw. Instead he tightened his hands on her thighs and arched into her touch, sighing against her hair. “I’m not threatened by your feelings for him,” he murmured. “Or the things

you and Red have done together.” She bit back a whimper. “You can’t be serious.” His hands locked onto her hips and began a slow massage. “I might have possessive tendencies, but it’s difficult to stay jealous when the thought of you with him does things to me that I cannot control.” In her hands, he kicked. Goddamn, he really did find it hot, thinking about her and Red together. Emma had a moment of utter mortification as she realized something she should have known days ago. “I didn’t even think,” she said. “Red’s curse affects you too.” He pumped his hips languidly, straining against her hand. “It used to,” he said, voice gone tight in a deliciously masculine way. “But I share your immunity now.” She couldn’t help herself; she squeezed with one fist at the base of him, sliding the other up and over the broad head of his erection. He hissed. She smiled in satisfaction. “I can’t believe I never

noticed you reacting to Red,” she said, a little breathlessly. He uttered a low laugh, rolling his hips to chase her touch. “I’ve been celibate for the better part of nine hundred years. It was good practice.” “Jesus,” Emma muttered, squeezing him again and sighing as he rewarded her with a pained groan. “If you’ve been celibate for the better part of nine hundred years, it’s not right that you can make me feel this good.” He bent his head and kissed her throat, that sensitive spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Some things are easy to remember.” Impossible not to think of him and Telly — together, like this. Her hands froze. Her mind froze. A one-two punch of shame and arousal hit her, twisted through her, rocketing her heart into her throat, and she wanted to laugh and scream at the same. She’d been so afraid that she’d have a flashback or a panic attack the first time she got naked and alone with Alexi, and thinking about Red was bad enough, but apparently she’d had no idea how

thoroughly she could ruin the moment… Cold power nipped at her skin as Alexi’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Why is it all right for me to imagine you and Red Sun together, but not for you to have similar thoughts?” His tone wasn’t gentle or kind. “I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.” Emma shivered, not sure if it was guilt or longing giving her the full-body shakes. She swallowed thickly. “I’m not supposed to be thinking about this our first time.” She groaned as Alexi pushed into her hands, an unsubtle reminder. “Let alone talking about it.” He went still and sighed. “They’re with us, though. We carry them with us. We’re bound to them with something stronger than magic, but it does not diminish this.” He ran his hands up her stomach to cup her breasts, making her shudder again for all the right reasons. “It does not diminish us.” His voice thrummed with power. “Stop searching for reasons why this can’t work, Emma.” “I’m not doing it on purpose,” she snapped. “At

least I don’t think I am.” He opened his mouth to argue with her some more, so she ran her fingers up his shaft and curled her fist around the blunt head. The air slammed out of him. His hands tightened on her breasts, and then he was growling, thrusting slick and hot against her touch, as he claimed her mouth in a slow kiss full of filthy promise. Emma rocked her hips in time with his, not entirely in control of the movement — molten need was rolling through her in heavy, desperate waves now, singing in her blood, calling for her surrender. “Ride me,” he said against her mouth, not a suggestion but a command. She arched up. He moved his hands to her hips, lifting her. She guided him, watching their bodies moving together, and lightning arced through her nerve endings as the head of his erection bumped against her entrance — where he stopped her with his grip on her hips before she could take him. Her gaze flew up to meet his. She glared at him in challenge. He glared back. He kept them that way for a handful of breaths, silent, watching each

other, as everything else fell away except the pounding of their hearts and the naked need in his eyes. Then he eased into her. Seating her on him one inch at a time. She made a ragged sound, too broken to be a moan. He splayed his hands across her back and they moved together. Slow at first. Without breaking eye contact. It wasn’t like in the books and movies, this moment of complete union that felt more vital than oxygen; time didn’t stop. Instead, time rushed at them headlong, as though it had been waiting for them to come together to start, more real than it had been before — reality reconfigured, reshaped into something young and new. Then Alexi tilted his hips and hit a different angle, and the pleasure blurred the world, driving out thought until all she could do was feel. Emma didn’t know how much later it was or how many orgasms she’d had by the time she floated back to full consciousness and found herself

sprawled on Alexi’s chest. She was grossly sweaty; he was lightly sheened and glowing, and only the curious matte texture of his scales kept her from sliding right off him like butter over a hot skillet. It wasn’t that she’d had too many orgasms to count — or at least she didn’t think she had, but that was — She blinked. Scales? Alexi’s chest rose and fell evenly beneath her cheek. Faintly, very, very faintly, he snored. Emma lifted her head a scant few inches to inspect him, and discovered something freaking awesome. Alexi was half-Changed. Along the undersides of his arms and across his ribs and stomach, the scales were a cream color pale enough to mistake for human skin, but the rest of him didn’t even come close. Shades of toasted brown and olive with black loops mantled his shoulders and chest, blending to deep green swirls that crawled up his neck and into his hair. The usually-invisible green tint to his hair now dominated, and the multitude of fairy lights strung

above the bed turned the glossy strands to emerald. But the best was his face. Alexi’s jaw was longer. His lips were thinned out but precisely defined, as if cut by the same sculptor’s blade that could have carved his rough, shining scars. His nostrils had flattened, his cheekbones gone impossibly wide, the bridge of his nose and the set of his eyes utterly alien. And he was looking at her with eyes that were drowning yellow, vertical pupils almost disappearing as they contracted. So beautiful. No wonder the serpent goddess had propositioned him. Yours, remember, he said, his mental voice lazy with his beast. “You’re damn fuckin’ right you are,” Emma told him. He laughed, surprised and unguarded, his deep voice filling her with peace. She smiled against his skin and traced his scales with her fingertips, feeling like for once there was nothing she was forgetting, nowhere she needed to be… Until she realized she really, really needed the

bathroom. The warehouse had been converted a long time ago, and the bathroom that led off from the storage space that was soon to be their bedroom was old but well maintained, and freshly stocked with fluffy towels and toiletries. The shower stall was tiny; Emma hadn’t realized that could be a blessing until Alexi joined her in it. Of course, after that she needed to shower all over again, so she kicked him out. When she finally emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, someone had delivered two suitcases of clothes and a platter with food and water. Alexi was naked on the bed. They got to the food eventually. The next time Emma emerged from the bathroom, it was morning and she felt like a stranger in her own skin — in a good way. She’d had eight hours sleep for the first time in three days. The sleep itself had been frickin’ immaculate, and every time she rolled over or

drifted awake, Alexi was there, sprawled out long and deliciously warm against her. Plus, y’know, in one night she’d made up for six months of longing and sexual frustration, so she pretty much felt like a goddess walking. A sore, light-headed goddess, but it was a good kind of sore, and all the rest could be fixed with coffee. There was coffee, a whole pot of it, steaming on the cabinet they’d used as a bedside table. Alexi was gone. But as soon as that thought entered her head, so did he. Anton’s waiting for you, he said via their connection. You skipped physical therapy yesterday, and he has no intention of letting you do so today. Speaking of being sore. Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. Those are like, the least good words you could’ve said to me right now. “Least good”? She went for the coffee. Shut up. Hmm. His mental laughter tickled the base of her brain, and pulled on things lower, too, which he had to know. The direction of his thoughts

strayed… And then he reined them in. I’m finalizing things with Jerome downstairs, he said briskly. We’re moving everyone over here today. Emma poured herself a cup and wrapped her hands around it, savoring the good, toasty smell — and the feel of Alexi’s mind in hers — before she kicked herself back into reality. That’s not the only thing we’ve got happening today. He didn’t miss a beat. The bears? She nodded to herself and sipped the coffee. The bears.

29 Emma and her entourage arrived at the palatial Cantiaci sanctuary at dusk. Agrona showed them in and gave them time to refresh themselves. When Emma emerged from the downstairs powder room, Padrig and Gwenael were there too, but queen Angharad and the prince were still keeping their distance, which was fine and dandy with Emma; she didn’t need to get up close and personal with the woman who nearly killed Red Sun in order to save the queen’s sister. Not that Emma knew if they even had a chance

at doing that. Padrig gave her a huge smile and a bonecrushing hug when she met him in the entrance hall, but Gwenael was far more reserved. He inclined his head, his attention more on the wall of muscle and otherworldly power that awaited her. She didn’t blame him. Nobody had dressed up pretty this time; it was all denim and leather and black, black, black. The only decoration anyone sported was an arsenal’s worth of heavy weaponry and firepower. There would be no duels tonight. Even Telly had forgone his usual blue jeans and white shirt, and his golden hair and skin were heartstopping against all that black. He hadn’t said a word to her since their run-in at Aunt Chase’s place. She didn’t know how much of the ravens’ Halloween party he’d witnessed, but he had to know she’d spent the night alone with Alexi — and Emma had tried and failed all day to tell herself it didn’t matter what Telly thought or how he felt about that. The Cantiaci estate backed onto a small forest that was nonetheless too big to be classed as a

wood, Padrig explained as he, Gwenael and Agrona led them through the ground floor to the back entrance by the kitchens. They emerged onto a vast terraced garden, where rows of rose bushes were in full leaf and still with enough blooms to fill the air with their heady scent. Roses and woodsmoke and autumn leaves — it wasn’t the kind of Halloween Emma was used to. No kids squealing, no cheesy decorations or stupid horror movies on TV. Instead there was dusk hush and fog rolling into the valley, and they were on their way into the forest to do some wacky astraltravel crossing-the-veil shit. And oh, great, the manicured gardens came complete with trees and hedges trimmed into the looming shapes of animals. Emma never knew a giant bunny rabbit could be so terrifying. Well that’s just creepy, Emma thought at Fern. Topiary. He supplied the word faintly, distracted. That’s what the tree sculptures are called. She glanced at him, noting the lines bracketing his mouth and creasing the corners of his eyes. She

didn’t bother asking him what was wrong. Instead she skimmed his mind, like running her fingers through the surface of a calm pool, and let the ripples come to her. He was worried about the mystical stuff, sure, but his real problem was Ricky. Ricky had been doing a stellar job of pretending he didn’t have a splintering headache for the past hour. A low hedge maze lay at the bottom of the paved avenue, but Agrona strode to the left and Padrig gestured for everyone else to follow. She took a winding gravel path that avoided the creepy-ass topiary and hedge maze and straightened out into a dirt track that headed straight for the dense tree line at the bottom of the sloping grounds. Emma’s boots crunched over loose stones. If he’s hiding it so well, how come you know? Fern put his hand on the small of her back, his brow knit. He gets this line. Here. He rubbed between his brows with the pad of one finger, huffing a low laugh when he realized he’d been frowning too. And he’s a little pale. Remember

how he was back in Brazil, the day before your aunt called. Yeah. And something nagged at her about it, but so much had happened after — the epic fight with Telly, the revelations that followed — whatever she was trying to remember, it slipped away. Damn. An awful thing occurred to her. Too awful to voice, even if only in her mind, but Fern picked up on it anyway and started rubbing soothing circles over her back. I don’t think headaches are a symptom of the wasting illness, he sent, pushing warmth and reassurance through the bond. But you’re not sure, she sent back, because she couldn’t help herself. “My lady,” Felani said at Emma’s elbow, making her jump. At least she hadn’t squealed like a hamster. “Hey Fel. What’s up.” Like the rest of the maidens, Felani was in skintight jeans, boots and a black turtleneck, unusually somber. Her hair was done up the same

way Emma’s was, in a complicated braid that wrapped around the crown of her head and kept her hair out of her face and off her neck. Unlike Emma, Felani hadn’t needed to trim a foot of the length off before she could style it that way. She held a hand out to Emma, her fist closed around a small flat bundle. “I want you to have this.” Emma took it and unfolded the soft leather wrapping. Inside was what looked like a leaf made of black glass with leather straps wrapped around its tapered base. It was thick along the mid-line and thin and sharp along the textured edges where flakes of the glass had been chipped off to turn it into a blade. “It’s obsidian, isn’t it?” Felani nodded. “It was a gift from our mistress Coatlicue, or that was the story my aunts told me, at least. Until you came along and freed us, this blade was the only thing that could break our curse.” Emma almost stopped, then picked up her steps before she stumbled. Felani continued. “Seshua

kept it hidden away as his father did, though once you freed us, there was no need. Earlier today I asked him and Red Sun to help me retrieve it for you.” Emma did stop then. She grabbed Felani’s arm. “This blade was there all along? He could have freed you at any time?” “My lady,” Felani crooned softly, covering Emma’s hand with her own. “Be at peace. The curse bound us in more than body. If it didn’t, we would have ended our own suffering long and long ago. Coatlicue’s dagger would have freed our souls, but at the cost of our lives. Divine magic does tend to require blood sacrifice.” “Oh.” Emma’s heartrate started to return to normal. Fern’s hand on her back helped. She looked down at the artifact and tried to see it as something other than proof that the maidens would have killed themselves to be free of the curse that had bound them to the jaguars. Because of Seshua and his father, Felani and the other maidens were still alive. So tempting to view Seshua in a softer light because of that.

But the maidens had been enslaved to the jaguars. Forever. It hadn’t been his choice to make. “One day I will tell you all of it, my lady,” Felani murmured. Red Sun made an impatient sound behind them. “But not today, sweetcheeks.” “Not today,” Felani agreed. She motioned for them to keep walking; Padrig and Agrona had paused up ahead on the trail, and Gwenael was lost to the forest already, dark now the last of the sunset had faded from the horizon. “This is a blade designed to cut curses,” Felani said, reaching for it. “It might give you some protection against glamour and other tricksy magic.” “Tricksy magic?” Emma asked. Felani unwound a loop of leather thong from the wrapped handle of the dagger and gestured for Emma to hang it around her neck. “Shapechanger magic is clean, straightforward,” Felani said sternly. “Fae magic is bleh.” She flapped her hands. “Dirty. Dreams and death and jokes that aren’t funny.”

Speaking of things that weren’t funny. “Thanks, Felani, that makes me feel so much better about what I’m supposed to do tonight.” Felani sniffed. “You are welcome, my lady.” Why me? Emma sent to Fern. Honestly, why me? He snorted a laugh. I’d take that thing seriously if I were you. He reached to brush his fingertips over the blade where it hung around her neck, almost invisible against Emma’s black knit sweater, its scratchy edges catching on the fabric. Felani would never give you something so ugly to wear if she didn’t have a damn good reason. Felani never did anything without a damn good reason. Emma caught Felani’s hand as the maiden strode along beside her. “Felani,” she said, banishing the sarcasm from her voice. “Thank you. I mean it.” Felani’s eyes flashed golden. Her small grin was fierce. “Don’t ever hesitate to cut a motherfucker, my lady. I mean that.” Behind them, Red uttered a wild and throaty

laugh. “Oh,” he said, still chuckling. “You have been spending too much time around me, Felani.” Before Emma could respond to either of them, someone called out from up ahead, beyond the tree line where all was darkness. Then firelight burst to life, revealing Gwenael standing with Angharad. The queen was robed in dark red, and her cape was white edged with crimson. Her hair was bound by a similar style of braid as Emma and the maidens wore, and her face looked naked in the light from the burning torch that Gwenael held aloft to light their way. “Emmalina Alexandra Chase,” Angharad said, her cracked voice carrying on the crisp wind. “Caller of the Blood, Axis of the World, bonded of Fernando Domenico and protected by the last remaining ocelot tribe of South America. I formally welcome you to Cantiaci land, and I offer my hospitality, my hearth, and my home to you, to partake of as you have need.” Emma came to a stop, the maidens fanned out in front of her, everyone else flanking them. “Wow,” she said dryly. “Better late than never, huh?”

The queen of the Cantiaci clenched her jaw. She made a face like she was chewing up her pride and spitting it out. “I should have done so from the first.” “Damn right you should’ve.” Angharad’s nostrils flared. Emma shook her head. “But it’s done now, so let’s get this party started.” “You do remember which movie that line’s from,” Anton said darkly. “Right?” “Cabin in the Woods, man,” Raul muttered. “That shit fucked me up.” “Whew!” Leah shouted. “Bring on the apocalypse!” Emma groaned.“I hate you all.” When they finally reached the clearing where the others had set up a fire ringed with torches, Emma was seriously feeling the Halloween vibes, and not in a good way. The Cantiaci had gathered in the heart of the forest to help aid Emma and Gwenael in their search beyond the veil for Deryn. Robed figures formed a wide circle in the clearing, hoods

obscuring their faces; most stood, but a few were cross-legged on the ground with drums positioned in their laps. They were silent and watchful as Emma and her people filed in behind the queen. A haze of smoke and incense hung in the air — and something else tickled at Emma’s senses, making all the hair along the back of her neck rise. It sounded stupid, even just thinking it, but it felt like they were being watched. Stepping into the clearing felt the same as standing under the blistering regard of the serpent goddess. Or like facing down Telly when he got his god on. Emma let go of Fern and Felani and breathed in. Her pulse was slowing. She felt strange, light headed. Anton appeared beside her. “Em, you okay?” When she blinked and reached out to touch his face, slowly, palm to his cheek, feeling the life humming just below the surface, he made an unhappy sound. “Is there something in the smoke?” Gwenael strode over, shucking his cloak. “Nothing mind-altering. She feels how thin the veil is right now, that’s all. The ancestors beneath our

feet. Don’t you, Ms Chase?” She was still with it enough to smile faintly at him. “It’s Emma.” He returned the smile, his eyes full of shadows. “Emma, then. Will you take my hands?” She told him she would, and reached for him, but for some reason everyone was suddenly looking at her like she’d breathed fire. Gwenael recovered first. “She doesn’t ordinarily know how to speak Gaelic, does she?” “She’s done this before,” Telly said, moving into the light. “Not the Gaelic, I mean, the language thing. In Egypt the first time.” His eyes were pale, his face taut with worry. “That time, she was channeling a goddess.” “Well then,” Padrig chimed in cheerfully. “This should be a piece of cake.” When everyone just stared at him, he shrugged. “What? Isn’t that what you Americans say?” “I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Padrig,” Queen Angharad drawled. “Can we get on with it, Gwenael?” “Of course, my queen,” Gwenael said, taking

Emma’s hands. Emma wasn’t so spaced out she couldn’t shoot the queen a glare. Then Gwenael threaded his fingers with hers and the world lit up. Angharad was suddenly surrounded by a blazing column of red and gold light, and Emma could hear the queen’s blood singing in her veins, calling to Emma. Like whalesong, discordant but sweet. And beneath it, a current of whispered voices and hushed cries; not the queen’s blood, but the ancestors tied to her by it, bound to her and the land beneath Emma’s feet. Some of them were literally bound to the clearing — their bones were down there in the ancient earth, humming with the memory of flesh, called to dream their way back to life by the stars, by the seasons, and by Emma’s presence above them. Suddenly Emma understood how it had been possible for Khai Khaldun to raise an army of zombie jackals. The power was there. Emma had no idea how to use it, but it murmured to her in a language without words, beckoning to show her, to teach her — and that cold, wordless voice told her

it wouldn’t be mindless zombies she called from the ground. “That won’t be necessary,” Padrig said, all the mirth gone from his voice. He was surrounded by green and gold light, but shimmers of midnight blue pulsed through his light at regular intervals. Emma realized with nowhere near enough shock that the midnight blue pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Gwenael — who blazed like a column of white-blue fire — glanced at him. “Paddy?” Padrig smiled tightly, dimples flashing. “Nothing, my love.” In Emma’s head, via the Pledge bond, he said, you don’t have to do this. But if you’re going to do it, try not to reanimate any long dead corpses, eh? Emma grinned at him. “I like you.” “You’re stoned on power,” Padrig told her affectionately. “Which is why we’re going to sit,” Gwenael said, and tugged Emma down with him. She mimicked his cross-legged position, facing him, their hands intertwined between them. Her boots dug into the backs of her thighs, but the sensation

was distant, unimportant. She was surrounded by blazing, beautiful rainbows of energy — all of her people, and the Cantiaci, all of them lit up like torches in the night. Emma couldn’t see Fern, but she felt him at her back, and when she closed her eyes she saw him in her mind, wreathed in shimmering peach and silver fire. Seshua was a twisting spire of aquamarine and royal purple; Alexi was a stunning vertical sunset, liquid orange and crimson. Ivan was the color of a summer storm, sea green and lavender with the same pulse of midnight blue that flickered through Padrig’s light and no doubt would through Red Sun’s as well, and Shadi was a shining streak of bronze shot with rose pulses. Telly was golden and shining like the sun, surrounded by a corona of midnight blue light. Like you, he said in her mind, quiet and sad. Emma blinked up at him, trying to focus on his face as colors flared and guttered like flames. “You can see this?” His eyes were fully white now. “Always.” His voice deepened. “Be careful, Em. Gwenael?”

“Yes, Taliesin?” “Her life is yours.” Emma sighed. “Telly, come on.” “No,” Gwenael said. “He is right. Your life is mine. Ours, all of us. One way or another, without you, we perish.” He flashed a tired smile. “But in spite of Taliesin’s concerns, the danger is not great. We will only travel to the Gray Lands beyond the veil in spirit, while our bodies stay here in the safekeeping of those who are bound to us by far more than blood.” He lifted his head, glancing around at Emma’s people. “If we fall, catch us and lay us out together. Ensure we’re still touching. That’s if this even works,” he added, turning back to Emma. “It may not.” Those words were clearly meant for Angharad. “Try, Gwenael,” she said, not a request but a command. “Emma?” She squeezed his hands, marveling as the white-blue light of his aura expanded for a moment. “Yes, Gwenael.” He squeezed back, his touch firm and dry. “I

need you to follow my instructions, but that is all you need to do.” She nodded, and he exhaled slowly. “This will take time,” he said. “Concentrating or trying to force anything will only make it more difficult to shed your body and enter the astral plane. From there, we’ll seek out the veil together. We won’t be solid, but we’ll be able to see each other, and as long as our physical bodies remain in contact I won’t lose you. Now close your eyes and slowly —” A rushing sound drowned out his voice. There was a sensation like nothing Emma had ever felt before: like someone had opened the top of her skull and attached an industrial strength vacuum to it and was sucking out the entire contents of her insides. She felt herself falling forward… Emma landed on her feet in moonlight so bright it cut like silver knives through the trees, chopping the forest floor into pieces and obscuring more than it illuminated. She still had hold of Gwenael’s hands. She took a gasping breath of air to speak, but it was so cold it burned the back of her throat

and stole her voice. That was nothing compared to the way the cold assaulted the rest of her body. There was no wind, no breeze of any kind, just arctic cold like a giant fist, closed around her completely. She was so cold she didn’t know how she was even still alive. Gwenael’s hands were like marble in hers, and for an awful second she wondered — “Jesus bloody Christ,” he gasped, and flung his arms around her. “You f-f-f-feel solid,” she said against the chilled skin of his throat. “Did we do something wrong?” “Don’t think s-s-so.” He rubbed his cold hands up and down her back. “I can feel my real body back in Kent. My psychic tether is intact.” He shuddered violently. “This isn’t the astral plane.” Emma withdrew from his arms; he was too cold to warm her up any. Her breath clouded spectacularly when she spoke. “Then where the hell — whoa, Gwen, your eyes.” Gwenael’s face was stark in the stupidly bright moonlight, and his eyes were glowing orbs of

white-blue light. “Shhh.” He turned, slow, scanning. “Your eyes are black, for the record,” he finally whispered. Then, to himself: “You took us here, right here.” “Me?” Emma’s voice seemed to bounce off the shivering trees, making their shadows shift and ripple like the hide of some great tiger, stalking them beyond the clearing. “I didn’t do anything,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper too. “Not on purpose,” Gwenael whispered back. “I suspected your power would make crossing the veil easier. I never thought it would be this much easier. We’re corporeal, too.” He scuffed the toe of his boot gently against a pile of dead leaves, scattering them. Emma didn’t like the sounds those leaves made. Come to think of it, there were no other sounds but the soft noises their clothing and shoes made — no birds, no insects, not even the rustle of wind through the trees. She rubbed her arms, and the sound of her palms rasping over her leather jacket was too loud. Then she looked up and saw something

inexplicably awful: the moon was ten times the size it should be, like something out of a child’s drawing, looming above the treetops as though it were close enough to touch. Close enough for the pock-marks and craters to look gigantic. And they almost formed a picture… It was a rabbit. Emma had heard the saying, the rabbit in the moon. She never got it before, but there sure was a rabbit in this moon. A ghostly rabbit with its head pulled back and its face contorted with fear. Emma recoiled, bumping into Gwenael. “That is some fucked up Watership Down shit right there.” He steadied her, following her gaze. “What?” “Never heard of Watership Down?” “I know what you’re talking about.” His breath clouded and billowed as he sighed shakily. “Is that what you see, a rabbit?” Emma forced herself to look away from it, at Gwenael. “You don’t see anything?” He looked ill. “Oh, I see something.” He tore his gaze away with the same effort she’d had to

make. “We should go. I mislike the feel of these woods.” “Dislike,” Emma corrected him faintly as he started for the tree line. “Mmm.” He took her hand. “That’s what I said.” What was it Felani had said about fae magic? Dirty. Dreams and death and jokes that aren’t funny. There was no need to ask Gwenael if they’d made it to faerie. Everyone gathered by the fire in the clearing was watching when Emma and Gwenael slumped toward each other, but Telly was closest, and he darted forward to catch them as they began to slide sideways. He ended up on his knees with Emma’s body sagging against him. Such a guilty, shameful pleasure, to hold her like this while her spirit was elsewhere. To hold her at all. Alexi had Gwenael. Telly shared a look with him, and together they laid the two out, side by

side and touching. Telly gathered Emma’s left hand and Gwenael’s right, entwining their fingers in a loose clasp, just to be safe. Alexi laid the back of his hand against Emma’s cheek. As always when he touched her, Telly couldn’t look away, no matter how fiercely he wanted to. “Her skin is so cold already,” Alexi murmured. “That’s normal,” Padrig said, crouching to join them. He ran a hand through Gwenael’s hair. “I’ve never seen him go under this fast, but he’s hardly a novice. He’s over eight hundred years old.” He glanced up at Telly and flashed his dimpled smile. “Might sound young to someone such as yourself, Taliesin, but he would never risk her safety. She’s in good hands.” Telly was all out of fucks to give about anything but Emma, so he simply ignored Padrig’s assurances. “Gwenael was very thorough when he walked us through this,” Alexi said gently, with a tight smile for the young one. “He already told me he suspected her power would amplify his. I’m sure

there’s nothing to worry about.” Just another example of how Emma had brought out the warmth in Alexi. That old, noble streak he’d managed to bury in the centuries since Telly had to leave him. Telly looked down at her. She was pale and still, chest rising and falling with long, slow breaths. She’d gone without makeup tonight, and she looked terribly young. Terribly frail. Coatlicue’s dagger nestled snug against her breastbone, a little bit of superstition on Felani’s behalf that, while it wouldn’t do any good, couldn’t do any harm either. The only divine gift that might be of any use in the Gray Lands was the mark on Emma’s right hand. The mark that now bore a raised scar in its center from when Alan shot her hand at point blank. Telly hadn’t gotten the chance to look at it closely since he came back; she’d mostly been avoiding him or slicing him to ribbons with her gaze, with her voice, with her refusal to forget what a bastard he was. How was it possible to be

so fucking proud of her for the same reasons his heart was now a blasted wasteland? The scar on the back of her hand was the size of a rough, torn bottle cap. Like on the old bottles of Coca Cola. It was a miracle she’d regained use of it. Careful. It was dangerous to think about that. Everything that had happened after he left was firmly locked away, bound and shackled at the bottom of one of the many deep, pitch black places in what was left of his mind, where it couldn’t tip the balance of his sanity and destroy him forever. “How can you stand this,” he asked Alexi without looking up. “How can you let her risk herself?” Alexi sighed. “Your mistake is thinking I could stop her.” Telly tore his gaze from the flicker of Emma’s pulse in her throat and cut Alexi a withering look. “She can’t hear you, priest, so you may as well drop the twenty first century bullshit. This isn’t about her age or her sex, it’s about her fucking safety. Her power’s bound to yours. You could

stop her.” Alexi’s eyes narrowed in warning. “You don’t want to do this now.” “No,” Telly shot back. “You don’t.” They faced off. Long enough for the tension to edge into something hotter. But if Alexi thought Telly was going to back down just because a few days ago they’d fucked the living daylights out of each other — just because the memories coiled between them now, charged and burning… Alexi averted his gaze first, but not like it was a defeat. He looked at Emma and the change came over him, the one Telly hadn’t been able to see until he came back — Alexi’s brow smoothed, and his eyes filled with quiet purpose. “When we went to Russia to save the wolf princess, Emma asked Seshua to complete the rite to awaken her powers,” Alexi said, voice pitched low. Telly frowned. “I know. She wasn’t strong enough to cure the wasting illness.” “I made a mistake,” Alexi continued. “I… didn’t think things through. I found out what she

was going to do, and I tried to stop her — it’s not right to say I tried to convince her not to do it, because I did nothing so rational. I simply reacted. She called me on it.” He huffed a bitter laugh. “She told me, if I felt so strongly about it, would I care to take Seshua’s place.” His voice went lower. “I agonized over it. Part of me wanted to, so badly, even though it would condemn us both. But in the end that’s not why I did nothing. I did nothing because of the prophecy.” “Betty’s vision,” Telly said. “That the serpent priesthood were destined to hold the power of the Caller of the Blood.” “Mmm.” Alexi brushed a hand over Emma’s braided hair, and Telly breathed through the pain of watching him touch her. “I wanted my destiny to be my own,” Alexi said. “Wanted control. And then she was taken, and ended up bound to me anyway.” His eyes flashed molten gold in the firelight as he lifted his gaze. “What if I had said yes?” His lip curled in self disgust. “She wanted me. She didn’t want Seshua, so she delayed, and that’s when she was taken. If I hadn’t railed against destiny,

perhaps Alan never would have happened to her. So I do not fight destiny anymore, Telly. I stopped fighting when I decided to bring down the serpent priesthood to save her, and there’s no going back now.” Telly rocked back onto his heels, letting the specifics of Alexi’s story wash over him — it was full of things too dangerous to think about, like the rite to awaken her powers, and Alan, and destiny. But one thing anchored him. “I guess we’ve both failed her,” Telly said roughly. Something fierce flared in Alexi’s gaze. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean we can’t —” A cry went up, cutting off whatever Alexi had been about to say. The crowd of their people opened as Anton caught Ricky and stumbled to his knees with his brother a dead weight in his arms. “Ricky, man,” Anton slapped Ricky’s face lightly. “Dude, what’s wrong?” Ricky was conscious but flailing. He grabbed his head with both hands and growled. Recognition prickled along Telly’s skin.

“Watch them,” Telly told Alexi before bounding over Emma and Gwenael’s prone forms. Fern got there a second later, bracing Ricky with his hands on his waist. Anton had hold of Ricky’s shoulders; Ricky moaned, curling into fetal position. “Has he been having headaches?” Telly asked sharply. Fern and Anton both nodded. Anton looked guilty. “I thought it was stress…” Goddammit. Anton and Ricky were too young when their mother died — she’d been over five hundred years old, and had mastered her psychic gift centuries before they were born. Of course they hadn’t known the signs to look for. But Telly had known her when her age could be measured in human years and she was freshly forged, taken in by the jaguar kingdom after escaping her conquistador masters. “He’s having a vision,” Telly said, pushing Anton away. He took hold of Ricky’s face, forcing the kid’s head up until he met his eyes. “What do you see, muchacho?” Ricky’s eyes were huge amber disks, his pupils

contracted to tiny flecks of black. His jaw was rigid in Telly’s hands. “You have to get her out.” Telly’s heartbeat faltered, slowing the world. “Ricky,” he said, power saturating the word. “What do you see?” “Teeth,” Ricky said in a voice that made Telly’s skin crawl. “So many teeth.”

30 When Emma was eight years old, she went through a big unicorn phase. Everything was unicorns. Her mom hunted down every TV show and movie she could find that had unicorns in it, and Emma watched them all with the same rapture, no matter how good or bad — or traumatizing — they were. There was one movie. An early Tom Cruise flick, surreal and definitely not for kids. In it, a selfish princess unwittingly lured a unicorn into a trap so a pack of demons could cut off its horn, dooming the enchanted forest to eternal winter and

night. Frost claimed the world and evil ruled it. Everything good withered, because the unicorn was dead. Faerie was a place where all the unicorns were dead. Gwenael wanted them to put distance between themselves and the clearing where they’d crossed the veil, because the energy signature there might attract unwelcome attention. “We can return to the material plane no matter how far we travel from our original entry point,” he said, still whispering, as they made their way deeper into what Emma was officially calling the Forest of Despair. “All we need do is concentrate on the psychic tether that anchors us to our bodies.” Emma was only half listening — she could’ve sworn she saw something moving out of the corner of her eye, and she didn’t know whether to look harder, or just walk faster. At least the trees obscured the moon. “I can’t feel this tether you’re talking about,” she whispered back, breath pluming in the cold air. His fingers tangled in hers. “That’s all right. I

can. And with practice, you’ll learn too.” She shuddered. Screw practice, she was never doing this again. But before she could tell Gwenael that, a twig snapped, somewhere behind them. Followed by an ascending call that sounded like a cross between a canary and a velociraptor. “Don’t run,” Gwenael said, his voice so low it was barely audible. “Just keep walking.” It took everything Emma had to keep her stride measured and even. “Alexi said you told him nothing could lay a finger on us while we’re in astral form.” “Yes.” Gwenael’s grip tightened on her hand, chilled and dry, and he sounded just as unhappy as Emma felt when he said the next words. “But we’re not in astral form.” “But you said you could feel the tether anchoring you to your body. You can’t have two physical bodies, Gwen.” He snorted a soft laugh. “Ever heard of a doppelganger?” “Sure. Someone who looks like your exact double.”

Gwenael said something in reply, but Emma didn’t hear it, because off to her left a white, lumpy face popped out from behind a tree. Its eyes were black pebbles. It had the waxen look of bad taxidermy, but Emma felt its gaze on her like an oily hand. Then it was gone, and Emma’s heart was trying to claw its way up her throat. “Don’t look,” Gwenael whispered urgently. “And don’t talk. Just keep walking.” Emma obeyed. She kept her eyes on the ground at her feet, her hand in Gwenael’s. But she could still feel things watching her, curiously hungry things, and by the time the trees thinned out to show moonlit meadows ahead, both she and Gwenael were running. As Fern watched Telly straighten, suddenly taller than he was a moment ago and beginning to glow, he figured they had approximately thirty seconds to salvage the situation before the shit hit the fan. “Call them back,” he told Padrig, pouring power into his voice. He gathered Ricky into his

lap and sought Padrig’s gaze. “Or show me how.” “No!” Angharad strode forward, looming above Fern. “They must come back with my sister.” “Or die trying?” Fern met the queen’s eyes. She was ancient, and she could squash him like the bug he was, but he’d spent too much time around Emma to be intimidated by Angharad now. “This is a favor, not a debt. We don’t owe you Emma’s life.” “Doesn’t matter anyhow,” Padrig cut in. His wide green eyes shone with tears. “We can’t call them back. It’s up to Gwennie.” Fern shook his head. “Em and I are bound —” “Like I’m bound to her with the Pledge,” Padrig said. “I can’t reach her either,” Ivan added. Fern clenched his jaw, forcing his grip on Ricky to relax. “The Enam-Vesh is different.” “Try then.” Padrig spread his hands, his expression hopeless. “Just try.” Fern reached for her with his mind. And then with more, with everything that he was, the same way he would initiate the full merge between

them. Nothing, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t work. He closed his eyes, willing her to feel him… “Fern, babe,” Ricky said, his voice breaking. Fern opened his eyes and looked down into Ricky’s exhausted face. “You’re bleeding.” Fern touched his fingers to his upper lip, where there was warmth spreading. His fingertips came away red. “There’s only one way for you to get to her before — if — Gwenael can bring them both back,” Angharad said. She pointed at Telly. “He could do it.” Telly’s hair shifted around his face, teasing his shoulders. His eyes were the color of thunderheads and his hands were in tight fists. “I can’t walk in the Gray Lands.” Power and hunger sparked in Angharad’s eyes. “You can’t walk there, but you can destroy the veil.” Fern met Alexi’s gaze. Alexi had Emma’s head in his lap, his fingers threaded through her braids. His face was rigid, but his eyes betrayed him; he

was thinking about it. Fern couldn’t blame him. “Telly,” Red said, shouldering past Seshua and Kal, both of whom wore identical expressions to Alexi. “You know you can’t do that.” Telly blinked. His face was lengthening. His eyes were pure white when he turned his gaze on Red Sun. “Yes I can.” His voice held an echo that made Fern’s teeth vibrate. “I shouldn’t, but I can.” For a moment, being out in the open meadow was worse than the forest. The grass beneath Emma’s feet was frost-slicked, the ground beneath it spongy. The rabbit in the moon was no longer tortured but dead. The moon was vast and terrible, so big it gave Emma the vertiginous sense that if she stumbled she’d go spinning up into space, with gravity a distant dream behind her and only screaming darkness ahead. Gwenael slowed, his breath boiling out of him in clouds of condensation, and shot an assessing look over his shoulder, his eyes still glowing white-blue. When Emma turned to do the same, he

tugged on her hand and shook his head. “We’re not being followed,” he said. “For now. There’s running water up ahead, and I’ll feel better when we’ve crossed it. Then we can search for Deryn.” The meadow sloped gently up towards a rise, and the ground firmed as they climbed. In the distance there was only forest as far as Emma could see, treetops silver in the awful moonlight. There were no stars; the moon, or whatever it truly was, was too bright for that. “So how are we supposed to find Deryn,” Emma asked. “This place is…well, I don’t know how big.” Gwenael crouched as they approached the top of the rise and Emma followed suit. “We aren’t going to find her.” He motioned for them to drop to a crawl. “You’re going to call her to you.” Emma watched his face as he peered over the rise. “Sounds nice and easy.” “Mmm.” He scanned a moment more, then pushed up to his feet, reaching to help Emma stand. “It should be easy, if Deryn is the only thing here in

the Gray Lands tuned to the Call. If not…” He shrugged and started down the hill. “Very comforting,” Emma murmured. “Verrry comforting.” A swiftly running brook cut through the bottom of the small valley below, its choppy surface slipping and shining in the moonlight. Its banks were rocky and draped with moss. A few yards downstream, a great, gnarled willow tree bent over the water, long supple branches undulating as the current eddied around them. As Emma and Gwenael reached the bank, those branches shifted against the current of the brook. Straining upstream towards them. Emma hadn’t ever imagined a tree could make her want to run for her life. “It can’t reach us.” Gwenael offered a tired smile. “And we’re safe in running water. Standing water’s a different story. If you see any puddles or ponds, stay away from those. Okay, here we go.” And, yep, Emma had been afraid of that: he waded straight in. She had no choice but to follow. She gasped as cold water engulfed her legs to the

knee, filling her boots. The brook was only a yard across, but that was long enough for her jeans to absorb water all the way up to mid thigh, and when they sloshed up onto the opposite bank, Emma contemplated ditching the pants and the boots in spite of the cold. Almost anything would be better than trekking around in sodden jeans and waterlogged Doc Martens. But part of her couldn’t stand the idea of being half naked if one of those lumpy-faced things showed up again. So she sucked it up until they’d put some distance between themselves and the brook with its creepy-ass willow tree. Then she chose a spot that had a convenient outcropping of rock, sat down, and took her boots off to empty the water out. “This is as good a place as any to call for Deryn,” Gwenael said, doing the same as Emma and wringing his socks out. “You know, I had high hopes before we began, but it’s different now. We’re vulnerable. Even if Deryn can hear you — if she’s even here — it may take her a long time to find us.” He draped his socks over one of the rocks

and rested his forearms on his knees, flicking long hair out of his eyes. “If something happens…” He looked up at her, his eerie glowing eyes serious. “If something else comes, instead of Deryn, I’m sending us back without her. No arguments, all right?” Emma shook off a shiver; she was so damn cold. “Why do you think I’d argue with you?” He arched a fine gray brow. “I was there when Padrig made the Pledge. You don’t take orders from anyone. But this is important, Emma.” His face tightened, the hollows under his cheekbones deepening. “I’m out of my depth here. We’ve crossed the veil straight to the Gray Lands with manifest corporeality. I’m not one hundred percent certain I can keep you safe, so I’ll not take any chances.” She nodded. He was right. “Not with Padrig pledged to me.” His glowing eyes narrowed. “You are the Caller of the Blood. Your importance outweighs his.” Emma wondered if he knew how bad a liar he

was. A shocking number of shapechangers were; they thought it was enough to look serious and keep it short, but it was all in the subtle emphasis. She sighed and started putting her damp socks back on. “I’m used to my life being tied to a whole bunch of other lives, Gwenael. The only reason my importance outweighs theirs is because is if I die, they all could, too. Believe it or not, I actually try to avoid taking unnecessary risks.” Gwenael made a bitter sound. “This mission was supposed to be fairly risk free.” Shoving her clammy wet feet into her boots, Emma grunted. “Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt. Nothing’s risk free.” When she had her boots laced up, she straightened and jammed her hands under her arms to warm her numb fingers. “Shall I do my thing now?” Both brows went up this time. “Your thing?” She nodded. “Call for Deryn.” He frowned. “By all means.” Emma suppressed a smile. She’d healed Padrig in front of his eyes, but she knew how she looked to him in this moment: scared, bedraggled, and all

too human. Sometimes she wished she was all too human. Other times, like now, she was so very glad she was more. She told the power waiting behind her breastbone to let go. As sometimes happened when she was thinking too hard, for an endless second, the power held its breath — long enough for Emma to wonder if this time it wasn’t going to come. Then it unfurled like wings and rushed from her in a stinging, freezing flood that felt hot and electric after the dead cold of faerie. Goosebumps raced over Emma’s skin, making her scalp crawl. Her magic chimed behind her ribcage, over and over; it crashed over Gwenael and ripped a startled cry from his throat, and it kept rushing, kept flowing outward, getting stronger instead of weaker the farther it went. Gwenael was a bright, burning island in Emma’s mind’s eye, a magnet that tried to draw her touch, but she focused past him. Deryn. Emma’s power slammed into something. Something ravenous. It surged against her magic like a leviathan rising from the deep. Then it lifted

its head and roared, and the sound wasn’t only in Emma’s head — it reverberated through the shallow valley, echoing off tree and rock, carried on the strange cold air until there was no way to tell which direction it came from. But it was coming. And it was fast. Gwenael leapt up. He held an arm out in front of Emma, scanning the distant tree line. When the monstrous sound came again, he grabbed her arm, and Emma gasped as his lifeforce sizzled against her senses, his beast dormant but the rest of him crackling with power. She felt him gather his energy, preparing to send them both back to their real bodies. He’d meant what he said — he would not risk her. But he didn’t understand her power, didn’t know what it told her. She moved him aside with less than a hard thought and held him there with her will alone. She stepped in front of him with her arms spread wide, the mark on her right hand pulsing with heat. The bear burst from the trees at the top of the nearest rise and hurtled down the slope towards them, and

Gwenael loosed a bone-shaking roar that should never have come from a human throat, but Emma still didn’t let him move. “It’s Deryn,” Emma told him, her voice humming against her teeth like the whine of a tuning fork. Gwenael was beyond speech; he could only snarl in response, shackled by the chains of Emma’s power, as Deryn came at them like a shambling nightmare. Deryn’s beast was unnaturally huge, like Angharad in bear shape, and unnatural in coloring too: snowy white fur tipped with dark markings on her ears and muzzle, proof of her royal lineage. But Deryn’s marks were black, and that wasn’t the only difference. She was so emaciated it hurt to look at her. So thin she shouldn’t have been capable of walking, let alone the speed she reached as she gained momentum. She didn’t look like a bear, she looked like a skeleton with a moldy bear’s pelt attached. Her teeth were stark and enormous, stained brown and pitted with age. Yellow foam flecked her muzzle and chest. Her eyes glowed otherworldly

green, and there wasn’t a shred of sanity in her beast’s mind. Only hunger. Gwenael roared again, desperate now, his beast straining against Emma’s power. Deryn closed the distance between them. Twenty feet. Ten — Emma closed her eyes and flexed the psychic muscle that anchored the power of the Caller of the Blood, and Called Deryn’s human shape from her beast. White light flared against the backs of Emma’s eyelids. Deryn became a blinding supernova of metamorphic magic in Emma’s mind’s eye, an explosion of energy that rocked through Emma in a shockwave, blasting her back into Gwenael’s arms. Like a circuit breaking, the power snapped back, releasing both Gwenael and Deryn, and Emma opened her eyes as Gwenael made a sound like his heart was breaking. His hands convulsed around Emma. “Deryn?” “She’s alive,” Emma croaked, then cleared her throat. “But I don’t know how.”

The woman lying on the grass at their feet was a collection of bones wrapped in ivory silk with a crown of brambles for hair. She was long limbed and would’ve been lush and curvaceous like Angharad if she had any meat on her, but the wide flare of her pelvis stood out sharply, her stomach hollow, every rib crisply defined. She was covered in age-whitened scars of every possible shape and size, as though she’d spent quality time in a tumble dryer with a creative assortment of knives. As Emma and Gwenael watched, her back bowed, making every ridge of her spine stand up. Deryn lifted her head, tangles of dull black hair obscuring her sunken face. She looked at them with eyes still glowing green. She opened her mouth to speak, and Emma saw her throat working, her tongue struggling to form words. Emma dropped into a crouch. “Shh.” She held out her left hand. “You don’t have to talk. Just take my hand.” Deryn stared. She started to shake. Gwenael joined Emma. “Deryn, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick. “We’ve come to take you

home.” The shaking got worse. Emma realized Deryn was making a sound — a low keen, little more than breath rasping past her tortured throat. Her skeletal chest rose and fell rapidly. Emma looked at Gwenael, feeling helpless. “There’s nothing we can do for her here,” Emma said. “We should go back. Like now.” “No!” Deryn’s voice cracked free of her throat like a raven’s caw. She clutched at Emma’s sleeve, eyes wild. “Hunted,” she whispered fiercely. “Hunted!” Gwenael reached out very slowly and brushed some of the hair from Deryn’s face. “That’s why we have to go,” he said soothingly. Then, to Emma, “I’m sending us back. Hold onto —” Deryn jackknifed, knocking Gwenael away. He overbalanced and hit Emma. They both went down, and Emma threw out her left hand to catch herself, scraping her palm on sharp rocks instead. The pain was hot and nasty, a relic from childhood days of skinned knees and elbows, but she was more concerned with Deryn. If she ran…

Deryn wasn’t running. Deryn was standing over Emma, tall like her sister and with a typical shapechanger’s complete disregard for her own nudity. Her bony knees quivered as she set her shoulders and faced off against Gwenael. “You don’t.” Deryn coughed, pressing her hands to her stomach as though speaking, coughing, hurt. “Understand. You cannot cross back here. It will come.” Gwenael had his hands out, gaze wary. “What will come, Deryn?” Deryn shook her head. “Shh. The energy — your energy. It can track you.” Gwenael glanced at Emma. “Then why isn’t it here now, Deryn,” he said, as though coaxing a child. That fact wasn’t lost on Deryn. Her skeletal fingers curled into fists. “Because I led it off!” Her voice was an angry hiss. “The whole realm felt you come through! You are beacons in the dark. I led the guardian a merry chase, but if you try to cross here, it will find you.” Her whole body was shaking now. “Too fast, faster than the wind. Too

fast for you.” Emma climbed to her feet, shivering — her butt was wet from the grass, which meant she was freezing from the waist down. “Gwenael? We got here pretty damn fast, remember.” His expression wasn’t happy. “The veil is stickier from this side,” he said, as though that made any sense. “I don’t know if she’s right, but I do know it will take me longer to send us back. Minutes, potentially, to build the energy bridge for us.” “I have no idea what most of that meant,” Emma said, shrugging out of her jacket, “but I trust you.” She caught Deryn’s glowing green gaze. “Both of you.” She held the jacket out. “What should we do, Deryn?” Deryn looked at the jacket with zero recognition. Then she met Emma’s eyes again, seeming to see her for the first time. “You,” she said faintly. “It can’t be.” “Yeah, yes, I’m the Caller of the Blood. And you’re going to freeze to death. Come on.” When Deryn blinked and frowned as though trying to

make sense of the words, Emma looked to Gwenael for help. He was already stripping out of his shirt and padding over. “Deryn, if you’ll allow me,” he said softly, and held his shirt up for her. Warily, she slid her arms into it and let him drop it over her head. She was tall, but he was taller, and the shirt was long enough to cover her scrawny butt at least. Then Gwenael took the jacket from Emma and helped Deryn shrug into it. Gwenael nodded. “It will do.” Shirtless, he looked like something off a romance novel cover. He held his arm out for Deryn. “My lady?” She took it with another confused look at Emma. “I know a place where it might be safer to try and cross back.” She jerked her head towards the trees. “This way.” Time seemed to hang suspended as Telly faced Red Sun, challenge in every graceful line of his body, belligerence in the proud sweep of his jaw. The worst of it was, part of Alexi wanted Telly to win. To break down the walls between this world and

the Gray Lands and get Emma back before something could take her away from them both. “If you use your power to tear down the veil,” Red Sun said, “not only will you unleash terrible magic on an unsuspecting world, but you risk destroying your own control and turning into the devil for real.” Red laughed, but not like it was funny. “A monster with the strength of a god, bound to Emma. What would you do for her if you lost your humanity,” he demanded, a snarl curling his lip. “What would you do to her, if you no longer cared about anything but sating your own hunger?” Telly swore and turned away. His eyes were bleeding trails of white light in the air, and around him, power crackled into the visible spectrum, electricity flickering in the hazy air like fireflies. Deadly fireflies. Beautiful, but so deadly. “Simmer down, Telly,” Red said, his voice rough with his beast. “You’re playing straight into Angharad’s hands.” Angharad didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. “Can you afford to risk her life just to thwart my desires?”

Manipulative female. Alexi bit back his power, soothing himself by running his fingers over Emma’s hair, and tuned them out. Thank the gods for Red Sun — he would stand against Telly, stand up for what was right, while the weaker of them were considering dooming the world as they knew it just for the sake of preventing Emma from coming to harm. The problem was not that Emma would never forgive him if he let Telly tear down the veil that held the Gray Lands back; she would forgive him, that was the problem. She would forgive him, and she would forgive Telly, because she loved them, and gradually she would lose all sense of her own moral compass. When that happened, she would doubt herself so much she couldn’t even be sure she really did love them, and he would lose her. So it was selfishness, after all, that kept Alexi from raising his voice in support of Telly. It was always selfishness that drove him when it came to her. He just had to believe she was as strong as she seemed; strong and powerful, and braver than anyone Alexi had ever known.

The creak of leather and denim pulled Alexi out of himself. Seshua crouched beside him, looking down at Emma’s still form. “She read to me, while I was in the coma,” Seshua said. Not a question. “Jane Eyre. I remember a little. I didn’t think it appropriate to ask her to read the rest to me, so I finished it myself.” He snorted, laughing at himself. “A silly book in many ways, but there was one thing… The way Rochester describes Jane. When she leaves him.” Alexi arched a brow in question. Seshua cleared his throat and spoke with the cadence of poetry, clearly reciting a passage from the book. “‘Never was anything at once so frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand! I could bend her with my finger and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushed her? Consider that eye: consider the resolute, wild, free thing looking out of it, defying me, with more than courage — with a stern triumph. Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it — the savage, beautiful creature! If I tear, if I

rend the slight prison, my outrage will only let the captive loose. Conqueror I might be of the house; but the inmate would escape to heaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay dwellingplace. And it is you, spirit — with will and energy, and virtue and purity — that I want: not alone your brittle frame.’” “Yes,” Alexi said simply. “Yes.” “For all our strength,” Seshua said, “we cannot hold her. Can’t possess her. Can’t get at her. You know what will happen, don’t you, priest?” Alexi shook his head, holding his tongue. He was not accustomed to Seshua speaking so frankly. Seshua grimaced. “She will save us all, and then she’ll die, and break us.” “Not today,” Alexi hissed. “We don’t know what Ricky saw in his vision. He has no experience interpreting the gift he’s inherited. It could be Angharad’s sister he saw, in the shape of her beast, in which case Emma has all the power she needs to control Deryn and bring her back.” “Perhaps.” Seshua looked up as Telly said something angry and final to Red Sun before

pacing away from the fire, disappearing into the darkness of the trees. “Perhaps not today, but someday, we will lose her. We can only hope the walking god finds a human to mate before then.” Now that was the idealistic young monarch Alexi remembered of old, back when Seshua was a prince instead of a king. “Telly will never take a human mate,” Alexi said quietly. Seshua snorted. “He’d better.” He made no attempt to keep his voice down. “If he loves her, he will. Or he’ll destroy everything Emma wants to save.” Without the jacket, Emma was numb from cold, and not even the pace Deryn set through the forest could keep her warm. Her ears and temples throbbed in protest. Between the cold and her wet jeans and boots, she was miserable, and the separation from Fern was starting to rub the inside of her head raw as the bond insisted she find her way back to him. She’d had practice ignoring it for short periods of time, so it didn’t overwhelm her with panic like it used to, but her throat was tight

and her mind kept reaching for him. As Emma stumbled again, though, she had to admit it was more than the cold and Fern’s absence affecting her. Her thoughts felt vague and hazy, and she had the strangest feeling like she was losing time. “How much farther,” she asked when Deryn paused to scent the air. Deryn looked at her sharply, eyes still glowing otherworldly green in their deep sockets. “A ways. Are you all right, my lady?” Emma shook her head. “Hell no, but I’ll make it.” “I feel it too,” Gwenael said, his voice rough. “I think it’s the time lag.” “The what?” Gwenael scrubbed at his eyes, then lifted his head, tasting the air like Deryn had. “Time runs slower here.” He snorted, as though he didn’t like what his nose told him. “But we’re still experiencing the feedback from our physical bodies on the material plane.” A different kind of cold rolled over Emma.

“Time runs slower here? How much slower?” Gwenael glanced down at Deryn. “Without a frame of reference, I can’t say.” Beside Emma, Deryn stiffened, then started down the hill they’d been climbing. They were almost to the bottom where a dry, branch-littered riverbed snaked its way through the trees, when Deryn spoke. “For me,” she said, climbing over a fallen tree with bony grace, “it has been thirty years since I fell into faerie.” Emma felt like throwing up the pizza she’d had for dinner back at the raven sanctuary. Agrona had said Deryn disappeared in nineteen twenty four — she’d been gone for over ninety years, but for her, only — ha, only! — thirty years had passed. That meant time was passing almost three times as fast in the real world. And because of the time lag Emma was feeling, she couldn’t tell how long they’d already spent in the Gray Lands. Gwenael’s hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped. “No more than an hour,” he whispered, answering her unspoken question.

Emma swallowed against the sickening thud of her pulse in her throat. “We have to get back. If it’s been almost three hours over there —” “Three?” Deryn’s voice cracked. She’d turned back to look at them, and when they met her eyes, she balled her hands into knobbly fists. “Time is running three times as fast outside faerie?” Gwenael nodded. Deryn swayed. “My sister?” “She’s alive. So are Agrona and Madoc.” That seemed to anchor her. She turned and scrambled down into the dry riverbed, beckoning for them to follow. She led them down the riverbed for maybe another mile, though with time all screwed up, Emma couldn’t be sure. The banks of the dried up river got steeper as they went on, until they were walking at the bottom of a narrow ravine, its edges crowded with gnarled trees whose branches towered up towards the canopy overhead and disappeared into the unnatural, silent dark. They were deep enough into the forest — and far enough down into the valley — that the sickly moonlight

hardly reached them at all. Finally Deryn stopped beneath the shadow of an oak, her hand on a massive exposed root. Emma remembered the oak with the exposed roots back at Telly’s ranch in California and was surprised at the pang of homesickness that tightened her chest. Then, without a word, Deryn took a step toward the oak and disappeared. Gwenael made a startled sound, but Emma just grabbed his hand and led him after her. Deryn was a pale smudge ahead in the darkness, and then the faint glow of the moonlight no longer reached into the tunnel, and Emma was crawling blind. Things that felt like root tendrils brushed her face and head; loose dirt beneath her hands and knees gradually turned to packed earth. Then the air got easier to breathe, although it smelled worse, and the scuffing sounds she and Gwenael were making began to echo. Then Emma put her hands out onto empty air and fell. The good news was she only fell a few feet; the

bad news was, Gwenael landed on top of her. He was apologizing and scrambling to help her up when yellow light flared and Deryn loomed above them, makeshift torch held aloft to reveal a wide, unfurnished cavern that smelled like a zoo enclosure. Wait, scratch that — it wasn’t exactly unfurnished. There was what looked like a hole in the wall with a nest inside, made of dried grasses and reeds and other things harder to identify, but Emma was pretty sure she saw clumps of old fur. There was a pile of dusty bones on the opposite side of the cavern and a black smudged patch where a fire might have burned. And there was a low table made of stacked logs with a slab of rock for a top, with an odd collection of objects laid out with obvious care. An ivory comb. A button. A Mickey Mouse keychain. A few papers, held down by a smooth rock. But the thing that Emma really didn’t want to think about was the small USB drive. Those weren’t things Deryn had with her when she disappeared; they were things she’d found.

Emma climbed to her feet, turning to take it all in. There were two openings in the walls, and the ceiling was high, with what looked like a hole to draw off smoke. Emma had no idea where it could possibly go or how Deryn had engineered it, but she supposed being alone for so long, she’d had the time. That was if she’d been alone. Emma glanced at the bones and the nest and thought that was a pretty sure bet. “We should be safe here, for a while,” Deryn said, turning away. She wedged the torch into a crack in the sloped wall where roots twisted down and broke through the rocky earth. “It isn’t safe to light a fire, but hopefully we…” she looked up, at Gwenael, then at Emma, blinking, the eerie green light of her eyes leaving trails in the air. “We won’t be. Um.” She dusted her long hands against the tops of her thighs. “We won’t be here very much longer,” Gwenael finished for her. A sob burst out of her. She clapped both hands over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. But when Gwenael moved to touch her, her eyes flew open

and she held her hands out to ward him off. “Don’t,” she warned. “If you comfort me now, I will shatter.” She looked around the cavern and barked a laugh. “Do you know the worst of it? I am afraid to go.” Emma cleared her throat and leaned against the rough earthen wall. “If it’s any consolation, Angharad probably won’t let you out of her sight for the next million years, so you’re not exactly stepping into a new and exciting life of ultimate freedom by coming back with us.” Deryn stared for a moment. And then she laughed, a genuine, surprised laugh that looked painful but filled her eyes with relief. “My God, you are right. You must know my sister well.” “Not exactly. Not at all, actually. But I know she misses you, and she wants you back.” Deryn’s expression tightened. “Yes,” she said softly. “No matter our differences, Angie has always looked out for me.” Deryn took a deep breath and nodded decisively. “All right. I’m ready.” Gwenael stepped into the middle of the room.

“Is there anything you want to bring with you?” Deryn’s gaze slid to the low table, and then she closed her eyes, pressing her lips together for a second. “No. I’d just as well forget this place.” Given her own traumatic experiences, Emma didn’t think that was likely to happen, but she held her tongue. Gwenael looked to her, both brows up in a question. Not the same question he’d asked Deryn, but Emma did want to bring something with her. She snatched up the USB drive. Maybe it wouldn’t make the trip back with them. Even if it did, there probably wouldn’t be anything on it that could identify who it had belonged to. But just in case, she shoved it in her jeans pocket before taking Gwenael’s hand and reaching for Deryn. “This could take a while,” Gwenael said. “Even though you can’t feel the tether to your body, Emma, match your breath to mine.” When she nodded, he closed his eyes. She did the same. She listened to the sound of his breath, deep and even, and fell into its rhythm, much as she had with the ravens the night before at the light-forging rite.

Unlike when Gwenael began the process of leaving his body in the clearing in the real world, Emma felt nothing at all — no mental haziness, no tingling, no sense of being pulled from her body. She opened her eyes and discovered why: they weren’t going anywhere. Gwenael’s eyes were closed, as were Deryn’s. Gwenael’s hand was cold in hers. Deryn’s hand was painfully thin, the skin papery, and the contact made the scrape on Emma’s palm sting. She was probably screwing it up by opening her eyes and thinking about it — that was the opposite of meditation, wasn’t it? And astral travel seemed kinda like meditation. You were supposed to focus. She closed her eyes again. She matched her breath to Gwenael’s. She became hyper aware of how disgusting the wet denim of her jeans felt against her thighs. Dammit! If Gwenael couldn’t get them back, there was no doubt it’d be Emma’s fault. And she had to get back. Before she could let thoughts of how fast time was running in the real world choke her up

with panic, she concentrated on the Pledge bond with Padrig. Maybe that would help — Gwenael was connected to him. The pull began in Emma’s feet this time. Like riding in an elevator. Yes! Somewhere not far enough away, something screamed. Against all logic Emma’s brain came up with one word to identify the sound. Dinosaur. Deryn’s hand convulsed around Emma’s. Emma opened her eyes and met Deryn’s gaze as the sound came again. The look on Deryn’s starved face was worse than the sound: she looked as though Death was standing right behind Emma and coming for them all. “Deryn,” Gwenael began, his voice slow and his eyes open but unfocused. “Only a few more moments —” “We don’t have a few moments,” she hissed, backing away. “The old queen’s guardian has found us somehow. If you want to live, you’ll have to send us back and run at the same time!”

“Deryn —” “Run!” With that, she twisted out of his grasp and shot through the doorway opposite the one they’d come through. Gwenael looked at Emma. The scream came again, a metallic roar, and it was closer. They ran. The tunnel was tall but not wide enough for them to run side by side, which didn’t matter anyway, because the light from Deryn’s chamber reached less than a yard before they were running in pitch black, and Gwenael was faster and could see in the dark. He kept hold of Emma’s hand until they hit an exposed root in the floor and both stumbled headlong. She let go of his hand and grabbed the back waistband of his slacks, and he ran faster, dragging her. Her feet flew. She heard Gwenael chanting, and then her own gasps for air drowned him out, but the sensation of being pulled from the inside began again, tickling the inside of her head — he was building the bridge back to their bodies. They only had to get to Deryn. And she was fast,

but she was also weak and starved, and Gwenael was neither of those things. Emma’s heart felt like it was trying to smash its way out of her body anyplace it could — her throat, her temples, her ribs, even her goddamn tongue throbbed with the effort of keeping up with Gwenael. Her training kept her on her feet, but her body was never meant for this. Her calves burned and her knees were screaming. She heard scrambling footsteps ahead, heard Deryn’s harsh sobbing for breath as she pushed herself… Then Emma heard something else. Behind them in the tunnels. If she could hear it, it could hear them, and Emma wasn’t the only one who knew it. Gwenael threw caution to the wind and roared Deryn’s name. “I almost have the bridge, Deryn!” The floor began to slope upwards, and he accelerated, pulling Emma with him. Her lungs had gone past burning; her throat and chest were a wall of fire, and adrenalin was the only thing keeping her upright. Gwenael’s magic sucked at her, turning the world muffled and hazy. She thought she was

hallucinating when dim silver light appeared up ahead. The light grew brighter. Moonlight, pale and not so awful anymore. Emma didn’t know if their odds were any better in the open, but at least they could turn and fight. Deryn appeared at the tunnel’s exit, reaching. She screamed, no words, just rage and terror. Gwenael reached back for Emma’s hand, and she slapped her palm against his. A gust of wind that wasn’t wind but breath hit Emma’s back. It stank of kelp and flowers. The guardian screamed again, a huge and merciless sound, shredding the inside of Emma’s head. They didn’t have a chance. Emma’s heart pounded with terror — Fern, she thought, Alexi, oh God — Gwenael put on a furious burst of speed, running like the devil had their scent, because it did. Emma’s feet hardly touched the ground. She felt the top of her head open up, felt the tether to her real body like a throbbing rope of light, and knew she only had to will herself up that rope — as soon as they had Deryn.

They were at the tunnel exit. Gwenael reached for Deryn’s outstretched hand. They cleared the exit and Emma reached for Deryn too. Their fingers brushed… Emma landed on her right foot as something too pure to be pain engulfed her left. She slammed into the ground face first and was dragged backwards. Gwenael’s hand was ripped from her grasp. She clawed at dirt and leaves, and then she was jerked sideways, and again. The third time, the pain rolled over her in a black wave that tasted of roses and seawater. The fourth time, she landed on her back, and saw what had her left foot in its wide shark’s mouth. The guardian was the size of a shire horse, with the slick, sleek pelt of a seal and the body of a mastiff. Its head looked like a child’s drawing of a horse — the shape was almost right, but its ears were too long and stood straight up, and its two sets of eyes all faced forward instead of to the sides, gleaming with the dull gray shine of something that lived at the bottom of the sea and never, ever saw sunlight. There was no possible

way for a horse to have so many teeth, but it did, row upon row of sharp triangular saw-teeth, gums glistening pink and red with Emma’s blood. Kelpie. The guardian was a kelpie. It lifted its head, lifting Emma’s lower half into the air like a cat lifting a mouse by the tail, snorting blood-flecked spray, and Emma blacked out for a second. When she opened her eyes again the kelpie still had her leg in its jaws, but there were two giant bears on its back, one brown and one white with black markings, roaring and tearing, but their claws slid off its hide without leaving a mark. It tossed its head from side to side, and through the pain, Emma felt her leg softening and bending where it shouldn’t bend. One last thought cut through the shock graying Emma’s mind out to white: she couldn’t afford to die, she’d take too many people with her. She grabbed the obsidian dagger strung around her neck, yanked the cord over her head to free it, and lunged for the kelpie’s nightmare face. The blade flared with red light. Blue blood sprayed Emma. The kelpie reared and screamed, a

sound like glass on metal, and Emma thumped to the ground as it let her go. She saw something fall from its jaws that her mind refused to acknowledge. Then Gwenael and Deryn had hold of her, and there was nothing.

31 Long, warm limbs and bodies surrounded Emma, and the sensation was utter bliss. A wall of muscle on either side of her, a heavy thigh draped across her bare legs. She was wearing nothing but her underwear and sports bra — nowhere near enough fabric to distract from the wonderful feel of the naked flesh pressed against hers — and there was a hand curled over her hip, the forearm snug against her lower abdomen. Her breath puffed against hot skin that tasted of clean cotton and home.

Fern’s hand tightened on her hip as his mind shifted against hers. In hers. Merged with her completely, so there was no room for her not to feel what he felt, though he kept his thoughts locked down in a way she hadn’t known he was capable of. Emma came fully awake and opened her eyes. Yellow lights sparkled overhead; the lights in the chamber at the ravens’ warehouse. Fern was shirtless and curled around her. She looked up, into his eyes, and not even the stark relief in his face could make up for what she felt through the merge. She licked her lips. She really needed lip balm. “What’s wrong?” Fern’s gaze flicked up. Emma turned her head and craned her neck, and looked up at Alexi. Oh God. It was bad. He looked like he’d lost twenty pounds and most of his humanity with them. His eyes were half lidded and dull like bruises, and his scars were livid red, the slashing lines at each corner of his mouth making him look like he was angry enough to be planning the end of the world.

Or maybe she was just picking up his thoughts through their connection. She lifted a hand to his face, bumping his chin clumsily. “Your thigh is heavy, y’know,” she said lightly. “My legs have gone numb.” Somewhere nearby but out of sight, someone made a sound: a sharp intake of breath. Emma moved to look for whoever it was, but Alexi stopped her, cupping her face with one big hand. His nostrils flared as she frowned at him. His eyes went wide and his gaze never left hers. “Fern,” he murmured. Fern let go of Emma’s hip and splayed his hand across her stomach. She didn’t have time to appreciate how good it felt. His mind flexed against hers and the feeling rushed back into her legs, and that was when she realized what he’d been doing: blocking the feeling in her legs. She curled the toes of her right foot. She thought she was curling the toes of her left too, but Fern was merged with her, and so she knew better. All the breath left her in a rush. Alexi still held her gaze. She wanted to break his hold and look

away, to look down, but part of her didn’t want to see, either. If she didn’t see, it wouldn’t be real. But it was real. And oh, God, she had to look. She lifted her head — Alexi’s hand tightened on her jaw, stopping her again. His eyes filled with something purer than pain: helpless rage. She forced herself to say the words. “It’s gone, right?” Her voice wavered, then held steady. “My foot. It’s gone.” Alexi and Fern’s emotions flared until Emma couldn’t tell them apart in her head. Alexi nodded. Okay, Emma thought to herself. I can freak out later. Because there were some very practical concerns that needed to be dealt with now. “Did Deryn make it?” Alexi’s eyes widened, and he blinked twice. “Yes.” “It wasn’t Gwenael’s fault,” she told Alexi. “So if Seshua’s thinking of having him killed, or Telly’s losing his shit…” Telly’s laugh went through Emma like a knife, and her skin jumped as though she’d been zapped

with a mild electrical current. She turned her head and tried to look past Fern’s upper body, but Fern curled himself around her, holding her down. “Jesus fucking Christ, Em,” Telly hissed. He sounded like he was across the room, near the bathroom, and his voice was too thick. “Still trying to save everyone. Even now.” He laughed again, and Emma’s skin crawled. “Give it a rest, Telly,” came Red Sun’s voice from the opposite side of the room. Emma’s heart kicked in her chest; he sounded broken. Telly started to say something, but Alexi cut him off. “Gwenael is safe,” he said. “Seshua wants his head, but not enough to get in a car and spend several hours on the road to get to him. Not while you are still recovering. Word is spreading through the sanctuary now you’re conscious, but I’ve asked Felani and the others not to let anyone else onto this floor until you’re ready.” Emma caught the unspoken thought beneath the words: if you’re ever ready. She took hold of his hand, and Fern’s, and gathered them to her chest. “Let me sit up,” she

said, looking from Alexi to Fern. “I need to see.” Over her head, they met each other’s eyes. Under other circumstances, the growing bond between Alexi and Fern was cute and kinda hot, but not today. “That wasn’t a request,” she added softly. “It was an order.” Alexi shifted his thigh. Emma closed her eyes and bent her right leg, pushing into the mattress with her heel to leverage herself up as they helped her. She didn’t open her eyes again until she was against the headboard, and when she looked down at herself, a wave of nausea rolled over her. Fern, don’t let me be sick, she sent, clenching her jaw. Still merged with her, he quieted her stomach, pushing strength into her muscles and air into her lungs. She breathed out and swallowed against the lump in her throat. She’d been expecting bandages, but her left leg was bare and smooth, all the way down to where it ended just below her calf muscle. Emma’s breath came faster. Her nose stung. But

she didn’t realize she was crying until Alexi brushed her tears away with his fingertips. She glanced up, looking for Red Sun. He was by the door to the outside corridor, leaning against a stack of wooden chests, arms crossed. He looked haunted — and guilty. She drew breath to ask him why, to ask him to come to her, but movement on the other side of the room caught her eye and then every other thought evaporated. Something had happened to Telly, and it was bad. He was still beautiful to her. God, even more so. His hair cascaded impossibly down past his shoulders to his waist, in waves so thick and wild that on anyone else they couldn’t have been real, but that was where the conventional beauty ended; the rest of him was monstrous. His face was too long, his jaw too sharp. His body was jacked like one of the jaguar guards, muscles bulging and pushing at the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and his arms and neck were covered in rough russet fur. His edges blurred like a mirage on a hot road, but his eyes were the worst — they were white, and

the pupils had narrowed to thin vertical slits. If Emma had seen something like him in a comic book, or an animated movie, she would’ve thought he looked pretty cool. But he was real. He was breathing. He was flexing his fists and pushing away from the wall, moving with the slow grace of a sleepwalker, and there was nothing in his eyes she recognized. He healed you, Fern sent, wrapping himself even tighter around her without taking his eyes off Telly. Your leg — your foot just disappeared. I watched it happen, like an invisible monster bit it off. I merged with you to slow the bleeding, but it wasn’t enough, and you were going to bleed out in minutes. Telly reached the end of the bed and stopped. The red fur on his arms rippled in a breeze that wasn’t there. He watched Emma with eyes that were like looking into twin rips in the fabric of reality. Emma licked her dry lips again. I didn’t know he could heal. He cannot, Alexi said. Not really. But the

power storm he generates when he walks between worlds can. Of course. He’d done it before. Emma had been shot in the arm and was falling to her death, and then Telly arrived in a shower of lightning and magic and caught her. Healing her arm had been a convenient side effect. But his magic isn’t meant to be used that way. Every time he uses his power — You were dying, Alexi said. I could not have stopped him if I wanted to. And he hadn’t wanted to. Emma swallowed. It didn’t make any sense — Telly was fine when he walked between worlds last time and saved her. Was it too soon for him to use his power again? Surely he couldn’t be that volatile… It wasn’t like when he saved you in Altai, Fern sent. This time he called the storm and held it. Fern pushed his memories into Emma through the merge. Telly standing above Emma’s unconscious form, white light flaring all around him. Telly’s body turning translucent as white light

turned to burning silver. Telly’s form turning to lightning as he screamed and screamed, as Fern clung to Emma and watched the blood pump out of her leg. Telly’s screams turning to ruined pleas as Alexi and Seshua and Angharad stepped into the storm to anchor him, holding the walking god to earth, to keep him there so his power could finish it. That was why her leg was smooth and perfect, no bandages, no scars. Perfect, except that she’d lost the foot forever. She wasn’t a shapechanger. There would be no miracle for her. She blinked to clear away the memories and met Telly’s eyes. “It’s all right, Telly. I’m okay.” He climbed onto the bed, stalking on all fours, his face a blank mask. Red snarled and was at the bedside in a blur. Fern’s arms turned black with the shadow of his beast as he moved to his knees, white light bleeding off his skin, but Alexi only sighed and pressed his forehead against Emma’s hair. “Don’t do this, old friend,” Alexi said. Telly crawled over Emma’s legs. His gaze

never left her face. Can you read my mind now, priest? He asked Alexi, and his voice in their heads felt like glaciers breaking, like the frozen hulls of thunderclouds crashing together. “I don’t need to,” Alexi whispered. “I know what kind of fool you are.” Sad, so sad. Emma wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t look away from Telly — couldn’t make herself move, couldn’t do anything but try to breathe as his power rolled over her. “Please,” Alexi said with sudden urgency. “For your own sake, Telly, don’t do it.” Emma never got a chance to ask what he meant. Telly climbed up the bed, climbed up her, and straddled her lap as he dragged her into his arms, his hair sliding around her like a curtain of golden silk. His fur was warm and spiky and he smelled like spring, like grass and apple blossoms, but underneath it was the desolate, apocalyptic taste of gasoline and hot metal, nuclear storms and burning cities. Maybe this was what the prophecy of the Brotherhood really meant; maybe Telly was the end of the world, and she’d called him down with her recklessness, her stubbornness, her inability to

say no. Wait a minute, she thought hazily. Those aren’t my thoughts. She was stubborn, sure, but she was never reckless. And she’d said no plenty of times — she’d been telling Seshua no since the first moment she met him. She’d stood up to the jackals in Egypt — if she’d only accepted the Pledge from Kahotep sooner, maybe they wouldn’t have lost Mata and Guillermo, but she’d held out until there was no other way to defeat Khai. Hell, she’d said no to Telly more times than she could count. His fur rasped against her bare arms and shoulders as he shifted his grip, and then his fingers plunged into her hair, nails scratching over her scalp. He closed his fists and tipped her head back to meet his eyes, and Emma stopped breathing. Beautiful. Terrible. Anything in him that might have been human was gone. Telheshtevanne stared down at her now, alien and shining, his skin no longer pretending to have pores, his eyes no longer pretending to be anything but gateways to other

worlds. But there was only one world in his gaze now. Hers. Her past. Her future. Everything she ever wanted, in his eyes. She was back in LA, a doctor at the vet clinic instead of a kennel tech. Her parents were alive, older and grayer, laughing with her as they tried to work the video call on their new phones. Time stuttered and Emma climbed out of her car and into her dad’s arms, chill autumn wind blasting them both, but he was so warm it didn’t matter. Her mom called out from across the yard, yanking off a heavy work glove to wave to them, the dogs trotting behind her. Time stuttered again and then they were at the dinner table, her dad clearing away the Thanksgiving leftovers, her mom smiling a knowing smile as she slipped out to check the mares in the stables one last time, and there was a callused, electric touch at Emma’s elbow — She turned in her seat to look at Telly. His wheat-gold hair was shaggy and streaked pale

from the sun. There was a tiny smudge of powdered sugar on his chin. His eyes were denim blue, and the look in them — the look he gave her — never failed to make her heart beat harder. Thank God her parents liked him. “What’s that look for,” he asked, his voice soft and teasing, his gaze roving over her face. Emma brushed the bit of sugar away with her thumb and answered the question the same way she’d answered it a hundred times. “I love you,” she said with a smile. “And I’m happy.” His grin was lopsided and gorgeous. “Then be with me. Stay with me.” She frowned and then laughed. “I am, you weirdo.” He hooked her chair with one ankle and pulled it closer, running his hands up her arms. His touch made her shiver, and Emma leaned in to kiss him the way she’d done a thousand times — but his face was suddenly serious. “Telly, what is it?” He dropped his forehead to hers. His breath was warm on her lips and tasted like dessert, like

brandy and cherry pie. She wanted to lick her way into his mouth and chase away the last of that taste, until they tasted only of each other, but she really didn’t want to be doing that when her dad walked back in… “Be mine, Em,” he whispered, his stubble grazing her cheek. She slid her hands over his thighs, his skin hot beneath the denim of his jeans. “If this is your way of popping the question, you suck at it,” she joked. But her mouth had gone dry. “Em.” His voice wavered. “It’s more important than that. I want everything. I want to give you everything. You just have to say yes.” She pulled back. “Say yes to what? I told you, I’m already yours. I love you. I always have, ever since you — since I —” she frowned. She must have had too much brandy after dinner, because she couldn’t remember — but it didn’t matter, that wasn’t the point. “Where’s Ricky?” she said suddenly. Whoa, where the hell did those words come from?

Telly’s hands tightened on her. “We can have all of this, Em. Just say yes.” She looked up at him. He was taller somehow. And standing. “What’s with you, Telly? Where’s Fern? Wait, I don’t know why I said that.” She curled her fingers in Telly’s belt, suddenly afraid. Of him leaving. Of him, which made no sense, because he would never hurt her, not in a million years. Who were Ricky and Fern? Telly cupped her face and tilted her head back a little too far. The denim blue of his eyes seemed paler, but that had to be a trick of the light. “Say yes, Em.” “You keep asking me that —” He made a desperate sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, and the anguish in his face made Emma want to close her eyes and hide like a child. Something was wrong, something was so, so wrong… Telly’s voice went deeper. “Just say yes.” The chairs and table were gone. The dining room was gone. There was only darkness

surrounding them, and Telly was the only light. Warm and bright, and so, so beautiful, but Emma was cold inside. “What are you asking me, Telly,” she said in a voice she didn’t recognize, a voice that echoed. His gaze softened and his callused thumbs traced her cheekbones. “This world has done terrible things to you.” His voice shook. “Let me take you away from it. You’re powerful enough to walk beyond the veil; your magic forged not only your own doppelganger but Gwenael’s as well. There are so many worlds, Em,” he whispered, bending his head slowly to hers. “We can walk them together.” The truth hit Emma like a sledgehammer. “You’re in my head,” she said through numb lips. “You made me think all that was real.” He paused with his mouth above hers, his eyes impossibly blue. “It could be real. Everything is real somewhere. Come with me.” Oh, she remembered now, and it hurt. It hurt. “So if I come with you,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even, “we can have all that, just

like you said?” He nodded, sighing. His breath didn’t taste like brandy and cherry pie anymore. It tasted like blood and road dust. “And my leg,” Emma whispered, drawing back enough to focus on his eyes. “My leg would be whole?” He swallowed like it hurt, and nodded again, tendons in his neck standing out as he held himself back from claiming her mouth in a true kiss for the first time. Waiting for her to give him what he needed: permission. Emma understood it the same way she understood anything to do with magic, because the knowledge simply settled in her bones — he needed her to say yes or he couldn’t take her. Like the first time he’d walked between worlds with her, she needed to open to him or it wouldn’t work. Unlike that first time, if what he was saying was true, she could stay with him. Forever. In her doppelganger form, anyway. “What happens to everyone else I love,” she

asked. He flinched. “What happens to my real body, Telly, the one with the scars and the missing foot. Does everyone else tend to me back in the real world, as though I’m in a coma? While I’m with you, pretending my parents are alive, pretending I’m a normal girl and you’re a normal boy? Pretending none of this ever fucking happened?” Telly’s eyes blazed white, matching the light bleeding off his skin, and his jaw began to elongate. “Please, Em.” He moved to close the scant distance between them, his brow knit, pain bracketing his mouth even as he parted his lips — She closed her eyes and spoke against the velvet of those lips as they brushed hers, not knowing the words would come in the dead language of the gods, the one she’d spoken to Telly in the alleyway when he’d almost killed Alexi, what seemed like a lifetime ago. “Ia.” No. The spell shattered. They were back on the bed. Telly roared, his face

an unrecognizable mask of fury. His hair whipped back as his power blasted free of his skin. It seized Emma with a thousand invisible needle teeth, stealing her breath, and she didn’t care. Didn’t care about his hands still fisted in her hair, or the desolation in his eyes. Didn’t even care that Alexi was grappling with Red to hold him back and Fern was standing by the bedside with black eyes and black hands, his entire body vibrating with impotent challenge as Alexi held him back with the power of his telepathy alone. “How dare you,” she said, meeting Telly’s alien white gaze, her voice less than a thread of sound. “How dare you do that to me.” “Me?” He laughed then, high and mad. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, and she felt it then: his fear. Howling at her through the bond they shared. “How many more pieces of yourself must you lose before you understand you’re mortal, Em? Mortal! You can’t keep doing this!” Emma lifted her arms, breaking his hold on her, and reached up to cradle his face in her hands. He froze. “What would you do, Telly,” she asked

gently. “Keep me in a cage?” A nice, warm, fuzzy cage made of lies and fantasies, where they could drift and love and be with each other over and over again. She stared up at him, watching him think it too. His face was turning fragile again, shifting back to human proportions. “I’d keep you safe.” “Just me, though,” she said. “Only me. Nobody else I care about.” His gaze almost flicked to Alexi, but he stopped himself. He blinked, still breathing hard. He still couldn’t accept that he’d lost. That she’d said no. But soon he would. Then she’d have to accept it too. For a few endless moments, she’d believed it was real. She’d known what it was like to love him — not the feeling, but the doing, what it was like to take his touch for granted, to expect his mouth on hers. For him to tease her and to tease him back, and know without having to think about it that what the teasing really meant was I love you and I’m yours.

Red and Alexi had stopped grappling. Fern stood with his hands limp by his sides, eyes gone back to human black. Their shared bonds were wide open, so raw and tangled Emma had ceased to feel them, numbed to anything but her own pain. She’d known deep down that she still harbored the naive, human fantasy of having a normal life, but she’d never suspected Telly did too. The difference between them was that she knew it was impossible. “Why,” Telly asked, a snarl edging the words. “Because you’re angry with me? Because I left you? I’m here now, Em, and I’m trying —” “It’s not that, Telly. I forgive you for that.” He exhaled like he’d been punched. “You do?” Emma’s heart twisted as she searched for the words and failed. “There was nothing to forgive in the first place,” she said finally. “You did what you thought you had to.” She didn’t know how to tell him what she really meant: that it had been easier to hate him for leaving her, and blame him for what happened after he left, than to admit how it had gutted her to think

he didn’t care enough about her to stay. She knew better now. She’d known better from the moment he let her pound his face into hamburger back in Brazil, but she’d held onto the anger because it helped her keep her distance. He loved her. He’d left because he loved her. Everything he did, every stupid crazy mistake he made and every stupid crazy thing he did to try and make it right, he did because he loved her. “Then why,” Telly said, his voice hollow. “Why are you still looking at me like you’re saying goodbye.” She dropped her hands from his face, but he caught them, holding her against him. So she answered. “Because this is my life now. Because I’m the Caller of the Blood.” When his expression stayed frozen, as though the words were bouncing off him, she closed her eyes and squeezed his hands, bracing herself. “My life belongs to many. My heart belongs to many.” He started to shake, and she pressed her forehead to his chest, holding onto him while she still could. “There’s no room in your

heart for the people I love, Telly. I can’t trust you to keep them safe, too.” He made a soft, broken sound low in his throat, and his grip on her hands turned bruising. “I’ll try,” he said. “I’ll do it.” But the bonds between them were wide open, and she felt the truth. He swore, and said again, “I’ll try. I did it tonight,” he added, low and urgent. “I could have torn down the veil to get to you when Ricky had his vision, but I didn’t. I waited.” Fern flowed into Emma’s mind, supplying the details of Ricky collapsing, his vision and his warning. She pulled back to meet Telly’s unblinking white eyes. He stared at her like a drowning man watching his only hope of rescue disappear over the horizon, but Emma was the one who felt like she was drowning. “You got inside my head,” she said helplessly. “You used mind tricks on me and tried to take me away from everyone who cares about me. I love you, and I forgive you, but I can’t trust you.” He started to cry. His face was a rigid mask, and his eyes were still white and unblinking, but

tears welled up and then raced over his fine golden cheekbones, down his straight, perfect nose, over his lips and unshaven jaw. Emma had seen a lot of terrible things, but seeing her own personal demigod cry had to rate as one of the worst.

32 Gently, Alexi drew Telly away, taking his weight until he was clear of the bed. Telly was wooden and unresponsive. His gorgeous hair was disheveled, tangled around his shoulders. His eyes were still white, the vertical pupils so narrow they were almost invisible, and it was impossible to tell if he was even seeing them. Then Alexi cupped the back of Telly’s neck and murmured his name. His real one. Telly let out a wrenching sob and slapped Alexi away. He backed up, bumping into a stack of

antique armchairs. It was probably the first time Emma had ever seen him move without grace, and it made her bones feel cold and her guts feel hollow. Red was by the bedside, and he took a step forward, hands deceptively loose. “Telly,” he warned. “If you’re —” “I’m fine,” Telly hissed. Then he laughed. Then he covered his face with his hands. “I’m fine. I’m not losing my shit, Gwydion, I’m fine.” Emma caught Red’s subtle flinch at the name. Alexi turned to glance at Red and gave a short nod. Two strides took him to the bed, and he sat on the edge, reaching to brush Emma’s hair back from her face — She ducked away from his touch. Alexi dropped his hand and sighed. You want to know why I didn’t stop him. She bit her lip and breathed deep through her nose to hold back tears. Weren’t you worried I’d say yes? Don’t you care? Jesus, Alexi, what if I’d lost myself in Telly’s magic and — I was never afraid of that, he said, cutting her

off. This time when he reached for her, she let him, and he tucked a wild tangle of her hair behind her ear with the same gentleness he’d used on Telly. The harder you’re pushed, the harder your resolve gets. I saw it that first night in the Arizona sanctuary — when Fern bound you together with the Enam-Vesh. The tighter the chains, the stronger your will becomes. That’s not how it went down with Fern, though. I gave in. I saved him. Alexi ran his fingers through the strands of hair that fell all the way to her hip. You didn’t give in. You made a choice. You could have chosen to finish it and kill him, I saw it in your eyes, but you chose not to. He lifted his gaze to hers, and Emma saw more than love in his eyes, more than faith: there was admiration there, too. And that is why I never push you, he added. Emma popped her brows. Oh my God, you do so. His mouth caught in the barest curve of a smile. Not as often as I would like. The smile died. He touched her left knee. “How does this feel.”

He wasn’t talking about his hand on her bare leg, which felt amazing, just like every other time he touched her. “It’s okay,” she replied softly. Then, when his sharp look demanded the truth: “It aches.” Telly spoke before Alexi could. “It shouldn’t hurt.” He sounded like he’d been gargling rocks. “You’re completely healed.” “Guess I’m still human enough to hurt.” She flexed her left knee and grimaced at how alien the movement felt. Then she leaned over and kissed Alexi’s bare shoulder. “Give me a few minutes, will you?” Reading her mind, he nodded and stood. “Not you, Red Sun,” Alexi said as Red turned to go. “You stay.” “But —” “It wasn’t a suggestion,” Alexi said coolly, brushing past Red on his way to the door, sweeping Telly ahead without touching him. Meeting Emma’s eyes, Red frowned, but stayed where he was. Fern pushed strength into her as he filed out after Alexi and Telly, his mental touch

through the bond calm as ever, though Emma could feel how much of his beast he was drawing on to maintain that calm. When the door closed behind him, Emma scooted to the edge of the bed and swung both legs over before she could give herself a chance to think about how it felt. Then she looked up at Red and patted the bed beside her. Rough-cut features set in pained lines, he stared at her, and didn’t move. “I can feel you through the Pledge bond, y’know,” she said. “You may as well just tell me why you feel like this is your fault already, so I can get to the part where I yell at you and make you feel better.” Bastard didn’t even have the grace to laugh. Instead he closed his eyes and turned away, gripping his right shoulder in his left hand as though it ached. The gesture was familiar; he’d done it all the time back when he still didn’t have his right arm. Emma didn’t think he knew he was doing it. “This isn’t the time, flower. You need —” “I need you.” When he looked at her in

surprise, she shrugged. “I need you solid and right beside me when I go out there.” She nodded toward the door. “I need you to believe I’m okay, so you can look at me like I’m going to survive this, instead of looking at me with pity and guilt like you are now.” His shoulders slumped. “Are you okay?” She laughed, and then had to bite back tears. “Of course not.” He was in front of her in a heartbeat, crouching down to put his face level with hers. He cupped her left knee with one big hand. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Stupid man. “Why.” He bowed his head — then seemed to realize there was nowhere to look but her lap, and lifted his face, heat rising in his cheeks. His deep brown eyes darkened with bitterness. “I spoke to Deryn on the phone while you were unconscious. I thought if we knew exactly what happened to you over there, we could figure out —” He swallowed harshly. “Maybe there’d be some way to fix you. She told me the kelpie should never have been able

to track her back to her den, because of the wards she’d made. That was why she led you away, so it would be safe for Gwenael to bring you back to your bodies.” “But the kelpie found us anyway,” Emma prompted when Red fell silent. He clenched his jaw, searching her face, and then looked away. “Because of me. You’re bound to me by the Pledge. You took some of my lifeforce into you when you took my blood, and the guardian must have used that to track you.” Emma read the rest in his mind. “Oh my God. The queen’s guardian. The kelpie was the monster that took your arm when you stole your powers from the faerie queen.” He looked at her. His eyes were full of pain and self loathing. “You told me the Pledge always comes with a cost, that even as it strengthens you, it takes something away. I knew what the cost was for me as soon as you saved my life, and when I got my arm back, I wondered what else fate was gonna ask me to give up in exchange. But I never once imagined I wouldn’t be the one to pay that

price.” Red’s eyes flared with gold light. “I’d give my arm up all over again just to make you whole.” “I am whole,” she said in her scary voice. Red’s brows went up and his beast rolled briefly through his face, responding to her power. “This is me, now.” Her voice shook, a little less scary than before. “This is all of me. I’m not saying I’m happy about it, or that it doesn’t change things, or that I’m not scared. I am scared, Red. But there was no other way to get Deryn back.” Red’s face fell. “There was one other way.” Emma put her hand on his shoulder and dug her nails in. “Telly tearing down the veil and destroying himself with his own power was not an option.” He put his hand over hers and took a shaking breath. “He wanted to, Em.” Pain tightened Red’s features. “I stopped him.” “Good,” Emma said firmly, and gave in to the urge to run her fingers over his jaw, trying to ease some of the tension there. He closed his eyes. She felt him resisting the urge to lean into her touch. “If I had to do it over,”

he whispered, “knowing what happened to you, I don’t think I could stop him again, flower.” She flicked the tip of his nose with her fingernail, startling him into opening his eyes. “Yes you would,” she said. “You did what you thought was right, like you always do. Alexi and Telly — their morals aren’t black and white like that. I love Alexi for his ruthlessness.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I even love Telly for his impulsiveness. But they’re not knights in shining armor. They can’t always be trusted to do the right thing just because it’s right. You can. It’s who you are.” She shrugged and took the plunge. “It’s part of why I love you, too.” Red froze. Gold light bloomed slowly in the dark wells of his eyes. “Em…” She frowned suddenly. “What did you mean, you knew what the cost was for you when you made the Pledge? When I saved your life?” He blinked. His throat worked, thick muscles in his neck standing out, making Emma’s fingers itch to smooth the tension out of them. Then he laughed, low and dry, and scrubbed at his face with both

hands. She was too tired for this shit. “What’s so funny?” Red looked at her. Touched her chin. His gaze went wide and soft as he studied her face, but he didn’t look happy. “I thought I knew the cost, Em. You’re the one person immune to my curse, the one person who knows all of it and still doesn’t hate me.” His voice roughened. “I thought I’d have to spend the rest of my life bound to you while you loved someone else instead.” Emma’s breath caught. “Not instead,” she said softly, cautious. “As well.” He nodded. “I get that now. That wasn’t the cost.” He growled and caressed her left calf muscle — what was left of it — with infinite gentleness. “This was. Because fate’s a bitch.” “Fate isn’t a bitch,” Emma said. “But I think she might be an accountant.” Red smiled sadly — and then his expression turned serious and intent as he rose up on his knees, his gaze never leaving hers. He put his massive arms around her. Her breath hitched and

she tilted her head back — They both froze as a shout echoed in the corridor outside. A volley of shouts and cries followed. Fern? Emma sent as she threw her mental awareness outside of herself. His response was instant and edged with adrenalin. It’s the ravens. Something’s happened. Emma grabbed onto Red, meeting his eyes. “Carry me?” He gave her a fierce smile. “Always.” There was no time to find Emma’s clothes. Red yanked his black muscle tee over his head and she put it on, arming herself with his heat and his rough masculine scent. It slipped off one shoulder, but it also covered her ass, and at least she was dressed. Then Red settled her on his hip with a hand beneath her rump and they were striding down the empty corridor. Vertigo seized Emma as her left leg swung, its weight completely different now. There was a wobbly pushing sensation as she flexed a foot that

wasn’t there anymore, curled toes that weren’t there, muscles in her calf and shin firing in ways that felt totally alien to her. Focus on something else, Fern sent, willing her to breathe. Then, more tentative: you don’t have to come down if you’re not ready. Screw that, she sent back, and caught a mental flash of his smile. She closed her eyes and pressed her face to Red’s shoulder, concentrating on his bare upper body, his shoulder and back muscles huge and humming beneath her hands. He smelled like pine and woodsmoke and hot skin, and on the T-shirt Emma now wore there was the faintest trace of the tobacco he smoked when he was stressed. He was massive and solid, a shield in all the ways he didn’t realize were more important than keeping her from harm, and he was hers. Or he could be, if she was brave enough to claim him. They reached the door to the connecting corridor and stepped out into organized chaos. People were streaming from adjoining corridors and rooms, sprinting for the stairway to

the main warehouse floor. Emma didn’t recognize any of them until she heard Felani’s ululating cry. Then the maidens swarmed around her — around Red — and he had to stop or step on them. Felani lifted her arms, reaching for Emma, her huge eyes liquid. Emma leaned down to let Felani touch her. “My lady.” The maiden cupped Emma’s face in her small, inhumanly strong hands, her thumbs stroking away tears. “Never do that to me again.” Emma covered one of Felani’s hands with her own. “I’m alive because you gave me that knife. Telly might have healed me, but you saved me.” “You saved yourself.” Felani’s eyes flared the color of hot lava and her grip went hard as iron. “We will get through this. Your injury is not a life sentence.” “I know that,” Emma chided her, voice only a little bit shaky. “I’m the modern one, remember? Tell it to all the stuffy old men I’m surrounded by.” “I resent that,” Red added. “But you don’t deny it,” Emma shot back. Then, to Felani: “I lost the knife.”

“Bah.” She tossed her hair. “It served its purpose.” Felani dropped her hands, blinking rapidly. “Come now.” Remind me to never piss her off, Red said in Emma’s head as he strode down the wide metal staircase after the maidens. If we’d lost you, I think Felani would have killed and eaten Angharad, then finished off the rest of the Cantiaci. She wouldn’t even change back to human shape until your breathing returned to normal. Emma snorted. Unlike her, I suppose you were the essence of chill the whole time. Baby, you know it’s true. Emma laughed. It felt strange but good to laugh. Then they reached the bottom of the stairs and her mirth died as she got a load of her people, gathered in a loose circle. Haggard faces and unkempt hair; Alexi wasn’t the only one who’d burned through enough energy to have visibly lost weight in the hours since Emma last saw them. And since they’d last seen her, she’d lost something, too, and almost everyone looked at her like they had no idea what

to say. Leah and Fatima were the first to recover. They broke away from the group, Leah’s hands tight on her guns as she strode over, Fatima’s fingers twitching towards the knife that would be concealed beneath her fatigues on an inner-waist holster. Did either of them know they reached for their weapons for comfort? Emma thought it’d be rude to point it out, so instead she took a deep breath and decided to be Caller of the Blood. “Tell me what’s going on,” she said in her best boss-lady voice. Leah lifted her chin and tipped a nod to the exit, where the crowd was too thick to see past. “Jerome had a team out on a job last night. It went bust, and someone was taken hostage.” Leah’s jaw hardened. “It’s Ravi.” “Jesus.” Emma searched for Ricky’s face and saw him by a set of couches, pacing, his gait fluid with the nearness of his beast. Anton stood close by, arms crossed. Without thinking about it, Emma pushed against Red’s chest for him to let her down. Then she

remembered. She closed her eyes as nausea rolled through her. Red’s arms tightened. Em, I’m right here. Whatever you need, we’re all here. She could do this. “Is there anything we can do for the ravens,” Emma asked, opening her eyes and meeting Leah’s. “Do they know who took Ravi? Alexi’s telepathy could help find him, or Ivan’s tech stuff maybe.” “Ivan’s working an angle,” Fatima said, but gave a little shake of her head when Leah raised her brows in a silent question. Leah shrugged. “Jerome’s debriefing his team, tending to his wounded. They —” a short scream cut her off. Emma heard Jerome’s voice over the murmur of his people, and Leah continued. “They’ve got leads. The strike team were supposed to lift classified pharmaceutical documents from a lab up in Manchester. Something about an anti-cancer drug trial, top secret stuff Jerome wants to get out in the open. Makes sense, given Jesse’s history. What doesn’t make sense is why they’d bother taking a hostage.” Leah dropped

her voice. “The lab’s obviously a shady operation if they’ve got security beefy enough to kidnap someone, but I’d expect an outfit like that to shoot first and ask questions later.” Red hitched Em a little higher and made a thoughtful sound. “How do they know he’s still alive?” “His brother,” Ricky said, coming up behind Leah and Fatima. Then he met Emma’s eyes and his face crumpled. “Em.” She untangled her arms from Red and held them out for Ricky. Face buried in his hair, she inhaled his familiar scent and felt better instead of worse like she’d feared she would — Ricky got to her like no one else could. “I hear you got magic powers while I was in fairyland,” she said, pulling back. He gave her a flat look. “If I’d had that fucking vision just fifteen minutes earlier…” “Shh.” Emma smoothed his hair back from his brow. “It’s not like a phone call you didn’t pick up, Ricky. There was nothing you could do. Let’s focus on Ravi,” she added firmly. “That, we can do

something about.” Ricky squared his shoulders and exhaled, getting a hold of himself. Anton moved up beside him and clasped his shoulder. “Ravi’s brother, Rahul, shares a close enough bond with him to be able to sense he’s still alive. It’s not a telepathic bond, just a sibling thing. Rahul suspects — but isn’t certain — that Ravi hasn’t been harmed.” “So Jerome’s probably expecting a ransom call,” Emma said. “That’s good, right? It means we can get Ravi back.” I wouldn’t count on it, said a languid female voice in Emma’s head. Female. Familiar. Holy shit. Summer? Leah and Fatima noticed the look on Emma’s face and both went for their weapons, and Emma managed to shake her head at them, trying and failing not to hyperventilate. Red’s eyes flared gold as he realized something was wrong. “Em?” His skin was suddenly alive with the hum of his power, turning him into a

warm, living engine everywhere she touched him — and since she had her legs hooked over his hip, that was either really good or really really bad… My, my, my, Summer purred against the inside of Emma’s skull. You’re filthy, Emma Chase! I love it. Emma groaned inwardly. What are you doing, Summer? Generally, following you. Or trying to. Right now, though, I’m asking you to invite me into your friend Jerome’s warehouse sanctuary so that I don’t get riddled with bullets walking in unannounced. Emma started and clutched at Red. “Oh my God, you’re right outside.” “Uh,” said Red. Summer laughed, and the sound tinkled in Emma’s brain like an out of tune piano. Inside voice, Emma dear. And if you want to save your raven thief, hurry up. “Take me to Jerome,” Emma told Red. “Right now.”

Jerome was bound to Emma via the Pledge, so he could sense she was telling the truth about Summer and needed no assurances, but Emma did her best to explain why he should let a vampire — sorry, aneshtevannir — into his super-secret, heavily warded sanctuary anyway. She never said Summer was a friend, or even safe — she was neither — but Summer had saved their asses when the Brotherhood of the Caller of the Blood tried to kill them all. And then she’d disappeared. She stalked back into Emma’s life like she belonged there, like she’d never been gone, wearing six inch spike heels and a full nun’s habit, because that was simply the kind of night Emma was having. The tall vampire female came to a halt in the middle of the warehouse floor with a dramatic swoosh of her robes. She pushed one hip out and pouted at Jerome. Then she cut her bright grey gaze to Emma and flashed a grin full of fang. “Good to see you alive and kicking, Emma-girl, even if you’ve only got one leg left for kicking.”

Summer dropped a wink. “Do you know how inconvenient it is that the hunk of bear you’re hanging onto there can dematerialize you all at will? Makes you so hard to track! So I camped out here when you took off for like, wherever —” Summer waved one hand, rolling her eyes — “and then lo and behold, you pop back into existence minus an extremity. Not that I actually saw that part, I just overheard it. Now, Emmie, you gotta let me know: what the serious fuck have you been doing with yourself? Because I leave you alone for one week and you’ve skipped continents and lost limbs and hooked up with this mighty fine piece of —” “Summer!” Emma’s voice hit the vampire like an invisible whip, and Summer staggered back a step, her gaze going wide and surprised. Whoops. “Oooh.” Summer shivered. “You’ve gone boss. I like it.” She waved a hand at her own face. “The black eyes, the whole otherworldly —” “Focus, Summer,” Emma hissed. “You can explain why you’ve been stalking me later. Right

now, who has Ravi?” Summer rolled her eyes again — then her face went still, the expression emptying out of it like she’d pulled a plug, and everything that knew how to play human drained away until nothing was left but steel and darkness. That was what Summer without her humanity made Emma think of: a blade. A weapon. She was death, clothed in flesh — and a nun’s habit, which was only slightly less intimidating — and to think that a mere moment ago Emma had snapped at her as though she was the teenager she mimicked made Emma feel a little ill. Then Summer winced, banishing the predator from her expression. “Jerome’s ravens tried to steal a classified document detailing a potent and top-secret anti-cancer drug from Tritech laboratories incorporated. Tritech is a subsidiary of Cortonia Industries, which is a partner company of O.M.E Unlimited, which is owned by the unofficial and untraceable umbrella corporation of Nantentech.” Summer paused and sighed. “Nantentech belongs to Alan.”

Alan. Emma took a deep breath and didn’t look at anyone but Summer. If she didn’t look at them, she didn’t have to see the way they were all looking at her. In the biggest understatement of the year, Alexi spoke up, his tone icy. “I do not care for such a coincidence.” He moved to stand beside Red Sun. “She is telling the truth,” Ivan called out, pushing through the crowd at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve been trying to trace Alan’s research companies for weeks now. One of the corporation names I turned up matches Summer’s story.” “Thank God,” Summer drawled. “A man is here to validate me.” Ivan inclined his head. “Good to see you, Summer.” “You too, blondie.” She turned her attention back to Alexi. “A coincidence is not what this is,” she said, crossing her arms over the bib of her habit. “For one thing, Alan might own the lab, but he’s not in the country. For another thing, he happens to own over eight tenths of the private

pharmaceuticals industry in all of Europe. The coincidence would be if the ravens had been after classified drug studies that weren’t controlled by one of Alan’s interests.” Holy shit, Fern sent. Emma met his eyes across the space that separated them. Holy shit didn’t even begin to cover it. “While I see how dangerous this could be,” Jerome said, warily circling Summer, “right now what matters is —” “Yes, yes, your thief.” Summer tossed her head, then seemed to remember her hair was bound by her habit and settled for shrugging her shoulders. “Sadly, his captors aren’t going to call you and demand any ransom, because they don’t intend to give him back.” Red growled. “How do you know that?” Summer looked Red over head to toe and back again. Then met Emma’s eyes and gave her two thumbs up. Emma resisted the urge to scream. “Summer…”

“Ugh, you guys are so dry. Look, it isn’t pretty, okay? There are rumors about Alan’s labs. They do things there, to shapechangers. If he’s gotten his hands on an avian species —” “Oh Jesus.” Emma’s stomach flip-flopped. “The hybrids.” The sound of feathers beating at the air echoed through the warehouse. Jerome’s eyes were black lid to lid. “What do you mean, hybrids.” This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t let it happen. “We have to get him back, Summer.” Summer’s gaze narrowed, her alabaster cheeks thinning as she studied Emma, no doubt wondering how she knew about Alan’s experiments. Then she nodded. “I have a plan,” Summer said, eying the others. “But you’re not going to like it.”

33 Thirty seconds later, Seshua launched a couch into the bar, and the sound of a few thousand dollars worth of mirrors and liquor bottles shattering was only a little bit quieter than the jaguar king’s earthshaking roar. “NO.” He paced around Emma and Red Sun in a tight circle, the jaguar within filling his face, making his jaw too heavy and his teeth too curved and sharp. He shouldn’t have been able to speak, but shapechanging magic had different rules for things like that. “It is too dangerous,” he snarled,

stalking closer. “I forbid it.” “You can’t,” Emma said. “Seshua —” “Aaaaaaaah!” He spun away, yell building to another roar. He slammed both hands down onto the bar. It cracked — solid timber — and he wrenched one huge slab of it off and heaved it at the far wall, still roaring. As the hunk of countertop splintered into a shower of kindling, Red wrapped both arms tighter around Emma and started backing away, and Alexi and Fern closed in, both of them glowing. Then Ivan and Fatima and Shadi. Then Leah and Anton and Ricky. When Seshua whirled and came at them, they were there to stop him. He met Emma’s eyes and his lip lifted in a silent snarl. His eyes burned like midnight fire; his jaw worked, muscles in his neck and shoulders straining, and his indigo skin smoked with white light. Rainforest heat and the scent of lush, growing things filled the air, but beneath the living taste of his power there was a firestorm of white-hot fury that promised to destroy everything it touched. Wow, Emmie, Summer said mind to mind. The

big blue guy must have it bad for you if you can make him this crazy. Emma resisted the urge to shoot the vampire a death stare — taking her eyes off Seshua would be very dangerous right now. But keeping her eyes on him was almost just as bad. His eyes had turned the drowning, hypnotic blue of a deep jungle lagoon, big enough to fall into. He poured all that hypnotic power into his voice. “You cannot do this, Emmalina.” She blinked and shivered. This was the second time in less than an hour that one of her men had tried to lay the whammy on her. Obviously she wasn’t the easiest person to live with, but it was getting kinda ridiculous. “What the hell do you want me to do,” she snapped. “I don’t want to do this, but I can do it.” He gave a low cough, all jaguar, and turned away. Not with fury but disgust. “Have it your way, Emma,” he said. “You always do, even when it destroys you.” Emma’s face heated. “That is not fair.” “I never promised you fairness.” All his anger

folded away, folded down on itself, and he headed for the exit. Shit. “Put me down,” she told Red. “Em…” She shook her head and shoved at his chest. “No, I know, put me down. Over there.” She indicated the half-demolished bar. The others turned, still eying Seshua, their expressions varying degrees of concerned and confused and all those other things Emma was out of patience with. “It wasn’t a request, Red,” she said. He grunted and walked her over to the bar. Let her slide down his body until her right foot hit the ground. She grabbed onto the section of countertop that was still intact, pushed Red’s hands away, and started hopping after her grumpy jaguar king. Easier fucking said than done. Em, Fern sent, his alarm fizzing through the bond. I know what I’m doing, she sent back. She really didn’t know what she was doing. The countertop of the bar was too high, and her

balance was screwed. If Anton hadn’t made her do all those dips and hand-walks on the parallel bars during training back at the California place, she would’ve fallen straight on her face, but she managed to lurch along for a few paces before she stood on a splinter of wood and stumbled. Stumbling with only one foot was bad. She caught herself on the countertop and swore. Gasps and cries went up behind her. But before any of the others could get to her, Seshua was there with a whoosh of displaced air, his anger back and crashing over her in an invisible wave that tasted like copper and night-blooming jasmine. He held her up, his grip on her arms gentle and burning hot. “Is it not enough for you, to defy me in front of those more ancient and powerful than I?” His tone was low and intense. “Must you also humiliate me, send me to my knees before you?” “I’m the one who just fell over, Seshua. If anyone’s humiliated…” “You are allowed to fall,” he snapped. “You’re human. I am king. And you can’t even allow me the dignity of a graceful fucking exit.”

“I’m not stopping you from leaving.” She steadied herself with her hands on his giant forearms. “I’m asking you to stay. I need you.” His brows went up and she squeezed his arms. “You’re my friend. My ally. You’re suspicious when everyone else is trusting. Just because I disagree with you most of the time doesn’t mean I need you to be someone else, I need you to be you, just you. And besides, you owe me a dance lesson.” He closed his eyes, pain threatening to crack the perfect mask he never dropped, not even when he was angry and losing himself to his beast. “Emma…” “For God’s sake, don’t be such a relic,” she said with a little too much force. “This is the twenty first century. Plenty of people with only one foot can dance.” He opened his eyes and glared at her. “How can you be so cavalier about this?” “Because everyone I’m bound to is sharing the burden, although they think I haven’t noticed,” she said. “Even you.” His nostrils flared and his brow furrowed.

“Are you saying I overreacted because I’m taking some of your pain?” Emma thought he’d overreacted because he was Seshua, but if it helped him to believe that… She nodded. “Yeah.” He sighed. “I don’t see how Summer’s plan can succeed. You told us yourself, Alan is over five thousand years old. The one weapon we have to match such power is too dangerous to use.” He meant Telly. “You have more than one such weapon,” Summer said, heels snapping against the warehouse floor as she walked over. Seshua jerked his stubborn chin at her. “Do you think yourself a match for Alan simply because you’re aneshtevannir?” “No,” she said, all the bravado gone from her voice. “I’m more than a match for him. Because I made him.” Ivan already had his weapons and tech HQ set up in one of the bigger offices on the ground floor of the warehouse. When Emma requested someplace

more private to do what she needed to, Ivan led the way. He paused in the doorway to kill the overhead fluorescents, letting the rows of study lamps that lined the long worktables provide a kinder illumination, and Emma didn’t know how to tell him that after her trip to faerie the deep shadows made her skin crawl, so she clenched her jaw and said nothing as Fern carried her in. The fit-out was rough but serviceable and spacious. There was a bank of high mesh-covered windows in the far wall, and Emma could see twinkling city lights through the grimy glass — it was technically still night, though Fern pushed her the info that dawn was less than an hour away. She felt like it was only ninety minutes ago she was standing in the clearing in the forest behind the Cantiaci estate, taking Gwenael’s hands, with no idea how fucked up things were about to get. She’d been afraid, sure, but also excited. And so certain she was doing the right thing. Doing good. Now, she was simply afraid. No — afraid wasn’t the right word. Terrified. She was terrified. And she didn’t know if what she was doing was

good or bad or monumentally stupid. Summer claimed to be more powerful than Alan because she was older, and she’d made him, but even if that were true it meant Emma was putting her faith in the person responsible for creating the monster that still stalked Emma’s dreams. Fern set her down on the edge of a long, scarred table that held ammo and a stunning array of rifles in various states of dismantlement. He was still shirtless, and his bare skin was cool, even for him. Maybe that’s why Summer’s doing this, he sent, his fingers tangling with hers, his gaze deep and steady. I’ve seen your memories. Alan told you how he got turned. He would’ve died if not for her, and at the time, she thought she was doing something good. Now she knows the truth, perhaps she’s trying to atone. He shrugged and gave her a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. That would explain her outfit. Emma huffed a laugh and squeezed his hands. Are you okay? Honestly. The smile lightened until it chased away the shadows in his face. Only you would ask that

question at a time like this. I’m serious. She poked him in the ribs. You seem, I don’t know — “I hate to rush you,” Summer said breezily, “but the sooner you get this over with, the more time we have to plan how to save Ravi and ourselves from impending doom.” She pulled the head covering of her habit off and shook free about thirty pounds of straight, glossy black locks that belonged in a shampoo commercial. Alexi crossed in front of Emma and took up position next to her, giving Summer his blandest face. “We do this when she is ready. Not a moment before.” Summer cocked her head before her gaze slid to Emma. “I used to think shapechangers were barbarians, and that assessment hasn’t changed much, but I could get used to spending my time surrounded by shirtless walls of muscle.” Emma opened her mouth to snap something catty, then closed it and sighed. “It doesn’t suck. Unlike what I’m about to do,” she added before Summer could go off on an even less savory

tangent. “You’re sure you can do this without being detected?” Summer was still smirking, but her eyes were serious. “If your serpent priest can hold down his end, I can do the same.” Emma looked up at Alexi. He was too lean, and his scars stood out, but his yellow eyes were soft when he looked at her and calm as they ever got. “I am ready when you are,” he told her, taking her other hand. “Oh God,” she whispered to herself. Her mouth was dry and her stomach felt weird and loose, and her left leg itched — it had been itching for a while now, itching and aching, and if she didn’t look down at it, she could tell herself it was the part that was still intact doing the itching and the aching. “I will join the others outside,” Ivan said with quiet deference. “Call out if you —” “No,” Emma said. “Stay. Please?” When he simply nodded and clasped his hands at the small of his back, Emma took a deep breath and looked up at Alexi. “I don’t know if I can do this.” He dropped his head to hers. “You do not have

to. We can find another way.” His breath was warm against her ear, his mind a solid weight against hers, and it helped. It didn’t make what was about to happen any easier to think about, but it helped. Emma looked at Summer. The vampire gazed back with nothing but empty patience in her large green eyes. No fear. Emma thought Summer only feared one thing in the world: whatever they’d awakened in the Brotherhood’s monastery. Emma had faced the Brotherhood. She’d fought a goddamn kelpie. “Let’s get this over with,” Emma told Alexi. “So I can have my nervous breakdown already.” She felt his fierce smile against her hair. “Brave,” he whispered, just for her, not an encouragement but a statement of fact. She wished it were true, but she was so, so scared… Alexi’s mind curled through hers, and with one deft twist of psychic muscle, he released the safeguards that kept Alan from reaching her. For a handful of heartbeats, there was nothing.

Long enough for Emma to wonder if it wouldn’t work. Deep down, a small, paralyzed part of her wished it wouldn’t, and that right there was proof Alexi was wrong, wasn’t it? She wasn’t brave. She was a coward. It wasn’t Alan’s voice that spoke into the waiting silence of her mind then — it was the cold, mean voice of her trauma, the voice that spent most of its time drowned out by the clamor of all the beautiful souls who shared her mind. You don’t deserve them, it said reasonably. You’ll never shine like they do. Especially not now you’re — Another voice, a voice like the sky falling, swallowed the world. EMMA. Lights burst in Emma’s head. TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE. She would have screamed if she’d had the breath, but Fern was breathing for her now, because if she so much as twitched she knew she’d disintegrate. She closed her eyes. You have something that belongs to me, Alan.

Yes, yes. A piece of your soul. She felt his mind pushing at hers like the snout of some vast and ravenous monster, looking for the edges, the weak spots, the soft parts. Tell me where you are, he said again, and this time his voice felt like a cold blade pressing behind her eyes. Tell me where you ARE. Emma clenched her teeth. I’ll do better than that. I’ll meet you, if you agree to hand over what you took from the ravens tonight. His confusion darkened her mind like a vast shadow blocking out the sun. The ravens? Thank God, he was actually listening now. You own a research lab in Manchester. Your people there have one of mine captive, and I know what you do with captive shapechangers. I want him back. One moment, he said briskly, as though they were on a goddamn conference call. His mind didn’t withdraw from hers — she still felt him, heavy and awful, inside her head — but his presence dimmed. Emma focused on trying to get a little more air with every breath. She focused on Fern’s hand in hers, on the heat of Alexi’s breath

against her temple. Then he was back. I’ve had confirmation that your story is true. This is interesting, Emma, very interesting. I will hand over the raven in exchange for you. Not gonna happen, Alan, you know that. His mental presence got heavier. Then I fail to see the point of negotiating. Yep, there was the pain, starting in Emma’s temples. I’m willing to talk. Face to face, when you give us back our man. Us? I wonder who you mean by “us.” Will you bring an army to this talk you propose? Dammit. Emma chewed her lip. Would you expect anything less? She felt him pushing at her again, only this time it was defter, gentler, and Emma’s gorge rose. She held her breath. She was clenching her hand in Fern’s hard enough for her short nails to draw blood, but she couldn’t make herself stop. And you expect me to take this offer, Alan said, his mental voice hardening. The raven — an avian species, an outstanding opportunity

practically thrown into my lap — in exchange for the privilege of looking upon your face. A girl’s gotta have hope, Emma replied. Hope that he wouldn’t be able to resist another outstanding opportunity — the chance to seize Emma for himself. There was a long pause. Then: Very well. I’ll take that bait. Your people must be very confident. Emma let her breath out in a rush. Where do you want to meet? Summer and Ivan had instructed her not to bother trying to set a location of their choosing, knowing Alan would ignore it. He had the bargaining power. But the more secure he felt, the more apt he was to make a mistake. He laughed in Emma’s mind, a dry, touchable sound that made her want to pry her eyeballs out of her head so she could scratch the surface of her own brain just to be rid of him. I’ll think about it and let you know at sundown. Give me a contact number. Fuck. Why did he have to be smart? Before Emma could open her mouth to relay the

request, Ivan was holding up a scrap of paper with a cell number scrawled on it — a burner. Alexi must have filled him in. She recited the numbers back to Alan and closed her eyes again. There’s no telling how long it’ll take us to get to you, she said. If you give us a location now, you won’t have to wait. Oh, don’t worry, he replied flatly. You’re worth the wait. Then he was gone, and a different weight pressed down on Emma, just as awful. Her heart kicked in her chest. She clamped her teeth on a pathetic cry. Adrenalin surged, demanded that she run, run, run, but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t even walk. “Did he sense either of you,” she managed to say through her teeth. “Me, yes,” Alexi said. “But only me. He couldn’t tell that I was shielding your bond to Red Sun, and he sensed Summer not at all.” That was good. Summer and Red were their insurance policy. Summer was also a far greater threat than any of them had realized, now she’d

proved she could successfully remove herself from someone’s memories the way she’d done just now with Emma so that Alan couldn’t find out Summer was helping them. But Emma was too fragile and exhausted to worry about that. It hadn’t been permanent; her memories were intact, and they had bigger problems now. They couldn’t stay in England. They’d be lucky to get Ravi back and get away clean, and if they headed to South America, at least they wouldn’t leave a trail even a human could follow straight to Tanya and Aunt Chase. It had been a very pretty dream, the idea that they could stay here with the ravens, with Emma’s family close by. The idea that they could have any kind of normal life at all. But this was the real world. Alexi’s arms went around her. “Emma…” She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at Ivan. “Start coordinating our withdrawal back to Brazil, please. If we’ve got to wait around for Alan to contact us, we may as well get our shit in order.”

Ivan, bless him, did not look to Alexi for confirmation before nodding and marching out. Summer lingered only a second longer. When it was just her and Fern and Alexi, Emma let herself fall apart. Wrapped in Fern and Alexi’s arms, Emma caught eight hours of uninterrupted sleep and woke up to the sound of afternoon rain on the warehouse roof and the indignant growling of her empty stomach. There was enough stray furniture for her to hang onto so she could make her own way to the bathroom. Fern was gone when she came out again, and Alexi was determined to help her shower. They made the most of it. When they emerged half an hour later wrapped in towels and clouds of steam, there was a tray of pancakes, scrambled eggs and cut fruit waiting, and Emma was too damn hungry to get embarrassed over who might have heard what. Well, she was almost too hungry to get embarrassed over that. Preparations for getting Ravi back were pretty

much done by the time Alexi carried her downstairs, but there was one thing they were still testing, and the overturned SUV in the middle of the main warehouse floor was proof they needed a little more practice yet. Since Emma couldn’t help with that, she demanded a yoga mat and ninety minutes of Anton’s time. He did better than the yoga mat; he carried her to the huge converted garage gym on the north side of the warehouse complex. It was a damn shame they weren’t going to be able to stay, Emma thought, because the gym was like all Anton’s Christmases had come at once. She liked it, too. They trained — Anton had to hold her hips in place while she benched because her weight was all off, and aside from punishing dips on the parallel bars she had to do everything else sitting down, but it was better than doing nothing. “No squats,” Anton said with a grim smile as they stretched out at the end. “For now.” She flicked hair out of her eyes and did her best to smile back. “For now.” Fern brushed his mind against hers. It’s time.

34 If they’d needed proof that Alan’s influence made it too dangerous to stay in the UK, they got it when they arrived at the place he’d chosen to meet them, because Stonehenge was deserted. Emma had been there before, during the day, surrounded by people and tour groups. It was interesting, and yeah, intellectually a little awe inspiring, but she hadn’t felt anything more than curiosity then. Now it was different. Now it was night, and the plain crawled with fog, and there were no human lights to dim the grim, iron shine of

the stone under intermittent moonlight. With not a single person in sight, it looked the way Emma thought it was meant to look — like it mattered. Like a place of power, and not a friendly one, either. Or maybe she only felt that way because Alan had the clout to clear a national monument like Stonehenge on Halloween weekend and guarantee they wouldn’t be disturbed there. Thankfully that also meant there was no one around to witness eight SUVs and over twenty guards materialize out of thin air on the henge’s eastern plain. The cars were a contingency plan for anyone who might be outside Red’s teleportation range if he had to make a getaway with Emma and Fern. They were also a statement: think twice about fucking with us, because one of us can move thousands of square tonnage with the power of his mind. It was just a pity vampires were so sturdy, otherwise Red could’ve dropped a truck on Alan and solved all their problems. “For the final time,” Kal said from the driver’s

seat of the darkened SUV, speaking for the benefit of everyone else hooked up to the comms, “do not engage alpha target. All teams affirm.” Well, it actually wouldn’t solve any of their problems, since killing Alan would likely kill Emma too. But a girl could dream. “Good,” Kal said as everyone called in affirmatives. “Once the hostage is secure, all secondary targets are fair game. Aim for the head and shoot to kill.” Emma thought of Robert, Alan’s assistant. Privately she’d come to think of him as Renfield, because he was in thrall to Alan somehow, but he was human too. Maybe. Aim for the head and shoot to kill. Emma didn’t know how she should feel about that, but Robert had watched everything Alan did to her — and to Katenka — with cool detachment, and she didn’t think he’d faked it. Outside, a fine rain didn’t so much fall as float to earth in sheets, shrouding the figures that approached the car. Emma recognized Ivan by his hair, Shadi by his height, and Telly by his lack of both — he’d cut his hair again, achingly short, and

for some completely stupid reason it made Emma feel like she was back at square one with him. Again. But she didn’t have time to pick at that wound any more. She had too many other ones, like the leg she could still feel below her calf muscle, even though it was gone, or the giant freaking scab she’d ripped off her subconscious the moment she’d opened her mind to the bond with Alan. “All teams are in position,” Kal said quietly to Alexi, who rode shotgun. “Out,” Alexi said, cracking the door open without taking his gaze from the view through the windshield. Red followed suit and climbed out, shielded by Ivan and Shadi and Telly, and more guards closed ranks around them too. Emma lifted her arms and let Red pull her out into the damp night air. Fern was so close behind that he helped boost her onto Red’s hip, and kept his fingers curled in the waistband of her jeans as he joined them beside the car. Alexi was already leaning against the hood. Barefoot and unblinking in the rain that misted

around him, he seemed oblivious, serene — and in a way, he was. His warmth was in her mind, but it was a mere flicker of his usual heat, because the rest of him had been eclipsed by his beast, which lay coiled less than a breath away beneath his skin. His hair was slicked back in a harsh, tight braid, and his shirt and slacks were loose linen, easily shucked should he need to Change. Emma loved him like this. And she hated that he was out in front instead of safe next to her and Red Sun. “He’s a lot harder to kill than he used to be,” Telly murmured on Emma’s right, and both she and Fern turned to give him identical sharp looks. But Emma’s annoyance disappeared when she saw Telly’s face. Rain beaded his brows, trickling out of his hair, spiking his lashes. His gaze was on Alexi, and his eyes were dark as storm clouds. He was worried too. “I was thinking,” Emma said, quiet but keeping her tone light. “You told Alexi you could repair the wards at the California ranch, right?”

He looked at her then, his face stark enough to make her breath catch, but his eyes were distracted. “Come again?” Emma had to look away, so she scanned the empty field with its ancient stones and shrugged. “Since we can’t stay here now, I figured your place is as good as any. If we can repair it, I guess. Not that Brazil isn’t nice, but —” “I forgot.” He huffed a laugh. “You talk when you’re nervous.” She closed her mouth with a clack and glared at him. “So?” He quirked a brow. “So what?” Ugh. “What about California.” He got that distracted look again, made a noncommittal sound, and glanced away to scan like the others were doing. Great. For a second there he’d seemed almost normal. She just couldn’t win with — “Incoming,” Ivan said, and his tone made Emma’s stomach try to leap into her throat. Alan had arrived. The night came alive with the promise of

violence. Maidens prowled forth through the gaps between cars, all in cat shape, and twined around Alexi’s feet. Seshua and Jerome closed in, both armed with automatic rifles, shirtless and menacing and carved of different shades of night, and Shadi began to chant under his breath, casting a defensive forcefield that, if it worked, would slow enemy fire. Leah and Fatima were with the rest of the jaguar guards, bringing up the rear, and there were close to two dozen unseen ravens waiting farther out, but suddenly none of that mattered. Red’s solid heat beneath Emma didn’t matter, Fern’s body at her back didn’t matter, Telly beside her didn’t matter, Shadi’s magic didn’t matter. Not even the rocket launcher Ivan swung up to his shoulder mattered. None of it was worth a damn, because she was still here, about to relive one of her all-time Top Five nightmares: meeting Alan face to face again. Red’s voice was deep and rough with his beast. “You got this, chicken.” “It’s so sexy when you call me that,” she shot

back, as though she was the kind of bad-ass who flirted when facing down the Devil every day. As though she wasn’t starting to feel dizzy enough to pass out… A hot hand landed on her arm, and the scent of Telly’s magic curled through the wet air as the mark on Emma’s right hand burst to life, sending bolts of fire through her wrist and elbow. Her palm crawled with power, humming its savage song. “Remember who you are,” Telly said, low and vicious. “You are proof of the power of gods. He is an accident and a dead man walking.” Only Telly would say something like that to try to boost her self esteem.“You can’t kill him,” Emma managed to reply. “Don’t worry,” he said faintly, letting her go. “I know.” “Visual confirmation,” Ivan said. Emma saw nothing, but her eyes were still human, so she trusted Ivan. At the hood of the car, Alexi straightened. Telly snarled. Alan stepped out from behind the stones.

He held Ravi up by the throat with effortless strength, shielding himself with the other man’s limp form. Ravi looked unhurt if you ignored the fact that he was unconscious. Alan looked mostly the same as he ever had — dark blond hair cut short and neat, shirt and slacks immaculate, loafers that probably cost more than a month of Emma’s college tuition getting ruined by the rain and mud, not that he would have cared. But his face was marred by a horseshoe-shaped scar on his left jaw, and his eyes were alight with madness. You scarred him, Fern sent with grim triumph. Alan cocked his head, gaze shifting to Fern, and called across the yards that separated them. “In more ways than you can know, little spider.” Then, to Emma: “Let me see you.” Merge, Emma whispered in Fern’s mind. They reached for each other, spirits fusing, blocking Alan out of Fern’s head. Alan laughed savagely and hoisted Ravi higher. “Hand over the raven,” Alexi called back. “No.” Alan bared his teeth — human teeth, for now. “I will have my time with Emma first.” He

laughed again. “Then you can try to blow me away.” Instincts screaming at her to run, Emma sent Red Sun a wordless command to take her closer. His arms were like steel bands around her, and his eyes burned gold with his beast, but he moved forward. Fern shadowed them. Shadi stepped out of the way; Emma saw faint green light trailing from beneath his lids. Ivan never tore his gaze — or his aim — from Alan. “Alone,” Alan called, voice cracking. “I want only her.” “Well you can’t have her,” Red boomed. “Any which way, you piece of shit.” “Red —” Alan hissed. “Emma…” “I can’t walk,” she called out. “Red, show him.” Red exhaled through his nostrils with force. “Em…” When she nodded, he turned to the side, so Alan could see her left leg. Whole body gone rigid with fury, Red immediately turned back to face him.

Alan straightened. Cocked his head. Then he hissed again, and bared his teeth, this time flashing a double row of fangs that somehow did nothing to impede his cultured, resonant voice. “How dare they.” A blast of mental force hit Emma like a gale, pushing her back against Red’s body. “How dare they let this happen to you.” Revulsion twisted through Emma, but then she was struck by the urge to laugh until she cried. She held it in. “Seriously? Now you give a shit about my well being?” Alan took a step forward. “Of course I care.” His eyes shone, chest heaving. “You are mine.” A chorus of snarls filled the night and Emma felt Red tense. No, she said in his mind, meeting his glowing eyes and swallowing harshly against the rising urge to either spit or scream. We can’t go. We don’t have Ravi. “I didn’t understand,” Alan called out, and Emma almost didn’t recognize his voice, because he sounded desperate. She tore her gaze from Red’s and looked. Alan had let Ravi sag, seemingly forgotten in his arms. “I didn’t

understand the words, Emma, but I do now.” His chest heaved. “Caretaker and commander. That was the vow, the rite that bound us, and we are bound, Emma.” Light began to fill his eyes. He’d lost his goddamn mind. It’s the bond, Alexi said mind to mind. Like Seshua, he’s bound to you but commands no ties to your power. Trust me, Emma replied. This is a lot worse than the situation with Seshua. They needed to get Ravi back. She had to keep him talking. “Sure,” Emma made herself say to Alan. “That was the vow.” And you messed it up, she thought, shielding like a sonofabitch. You twisted it, and there are no second chances, and the incomplete bond’s turned your mind into a pretzel. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Alan took another step forward. “We need each other. You know it’s true. You feel it.” Red started to vibrate with a silent snarl. “You will shut the fuck up, soul-eater, or I swear —” “I’m here to talk to her,” Alan said

breathlessly, his gaze never leaving Emma’s face. “And only her.” Ravi, Emma reminded Red. We need him. “We’re talking,” Emma called out, bunching her fists against Red’s leather jacket. “So talk, Alan. Say whatever it is you wanna say.” Alan smiled — an awful, awful thing to witness — and let Ravi sag even farther. Emma felt the collective intake of breath of several expert marksmen who now had a perfect shot at Alan’s heart, and none of them could take it. He was aneshtevannir, a bullet to the heart wouldn’t kill him, but no one knew what it would do to Emma, and nobody had even acknowledged her existence when she’d suggested they go right ahead and risk it. That was the difference between her and them — she thought those odds were worth it if they took Alan down and brought her closer to finding Storm. Almost anything was worth taking Alan down. Simmer down there, flower, Red crooned in her mind, and she realized she was vibrating with fury

and baring her small fangs. So much for being afraid of facing Alan, the big, bad monst — “I would be willing sacrifice to your altar,” Alan cried. The ritual words went through Emma like a broadsword. Everything in her recoiled. And the rest happened fast, so goddamn fast. Alan grinned and tossed Ravi like he was a wet towel and not a hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight. Ravi’s body sailed through the air and landed in a boneless heap, still unconscious. Emma felt Red’s power gather its haunches, humming against her skin as he prepared to dematerialize, but it took a few seconds longer than normal because he was focusing on his targets. Alan opened his arms, his eyes full of pale gold light, and his lips parted as he drew breath to say the rest of the Pledge words. Then, Telly’s voice: “Now Summer, now!” The night erupted with roaring sound. Emma thought it was Ivan’s rocket launcher, until white light exploded behind them and lit the plain and the ancient stones with a brightness like an electric

noonday sun, and something that looked like ball lightning shot past. But ball lightning didn’t come in the shape of a red fox the size of an African elephant. Telheshtevanne hit Alan. The sound was like the hull of a cruise liner being torn in two. They rolled. Somehow Alan was fighting, fighting a god, and then Summer arrived in a whoosh of displaced air and Emma could see nothing but flying fists and whipping hair and lightning arcing in all directions. Lightning. Pure power. Telly’s power, burning hot and bright as a nuclear reactor. Emma screamed Alexi’s name. They had to stop him — Seshua’s booming voice came instead. “Get her out of here!” She clawed at Red. “NO!” “Sorry sweet—” The darkness of the raven’s warehouse closed around them. “—heart,” Red finished heavily. “No! No no no!” Emma beat at him with her

fists. “Put me down you sonofa — fuck!” “Oh, I’m a sonofa fuck now,” Red said conversationally. “That’s new. Fern, take her.” Fern took her. Red disappeared. Emma closed her eyes and screamed herself hoarse against Fern’s chest. When she ran out of air and gasped for breath, he said gently, “I didn’t know. I don’t think Red did, either.” Emma tipped her head back and met his eyes, feeling numb and stupid. “Know what?” He brushed damp hair away from her face. “It makes sense. Telly would never pass up the chance to take Alan out for good.” Emma bit back a sob. “But his powers… Dammit.” She should have known. The way he was acting when they arrived, distracted, and when she’d mentioned California — Eight SUVs and over twenty people materialized out of thin air. It had been less than one minute since Emma saw them all last, but they were covered in mud and stank of smoke and blood, and neither Telly nor Summer nor Alan

were with them, but Alexi and Red were. Emma jerked in Fern’s arms before she remembered she couldn’t run to them. “What the fuck happened?” Red disappeared again. Alexi strode over. “I didn’t know.” Emma was going to explode. Like literally explode. “Where are they?” Alexi’s power lashed the air. “Finishing it. No —” he held up a hand. “Alan’s alive, but restrained. I don’t know where they’re taking him. I trust we’ll find out.” He turned away, hands on his hips. Then he shoved his hands through his hair. “Fuck!” At least Emma wasn’t the only one who wanted to grab Telly around the neck and choke the life out of him. Fern started to shake. “But this means they took him down? They really took Alan down?” Alexi turned, eyes burning Halloween-lantern orange with his power. His gaze flicked from Fern’s face to Emma’s, his scars standing out, jaw working. “Yes, but —”

“LEAVE. ME. BE,” boomed a voice that Emma hardly recognized. It was the voice of mountains, of the ocean in a high squall. Fern turned involuntarily, hands on her tightening, then Emma caught sight of Telly and the rest of the world fell away. He was over eight feet tall and he walked in his own pillar of blazing gold light, hair the color of summer wheat falling like silk to his feet. His ears were pointed and tipped with russet fur, and he was nude, a moving symphony of bronzed velvet skin and muscles so crisp they begged to be bitten into. He would taste like green apples and heaven, like cherries and brown sugar, like passion fruit fresh from the vine, and Emma would lose herself in his kisses forever and that would be perfectly all right. His eyes were huge and crystal white, drawing her in, drawing her towards him… She didn’t realize she was reaching for him, with only Fern to hold her back, until Alexi spoke in a heartbroken whisper. “What have you done, old fool? What have you done?” Telheshtevanne smiled. Oh, it was beautiful, so

beautiful. “I saved them, Em,” he said, voice so deep it shook Emma’s bones. “I saved everyone you care about. We have Alan now, we can find Storm and the others, and you never have to run again.” Emma snapped back to herself. She was shuddering, full-body shakes, and Alexi’s anxiety pulsed through her like a living thing, because he saw what she’d been too goddamn magic-struck to see: Telly’s lights were on, but nobody was home. They had a rogue god on their hands, and he was, most definitively, losing his shit. “Telly,” she said slowly. “That’s good, Telly. But you can calm down now.” She breathed out, nodding as he cocked his head at her. Listening. Hopefully listening. “You can come back to us now,” she said. “You can come back to me.” “Back to you,” Telly said. Emma reached out. “Yes. Shh. That’s good.” The column of blazing light surrounding him expanded. A high, metallic whine filled the air. Telly’s hair lifted, and Alexi barked Red’s name, true panic in his voice, and Emma knew they were

screwed. That was when Summer arrived and threw herself at Telly like a moth flying straight into a bonfire. She was ancient and powerful enough to make him stagger. They went down together, Summer’s fists flying, snarls and arcs of light filling the air as Alexi dragged Emma and Fern back. Alexi had his mind unshielded and his thoughts raced against Emma’s; Summer didn’t stand a chance, but if they could get to safety, somehow, get to Red Sun… “Telheshtevanne!” Summer shouted, and Alexi faltered. Telly had her by the throat, poised to throw her aside, but she showed no pain or fear. “Me, Telheshtevanne,” she said. “You’re safe with me. You’re safe, do you understand?” He stared down at her with blank, white eyes, chest heaving, expressionless and frozen for moments that stretched like taffy. Then he dragged her against him and kissed her. Kiss, however, was the wrong word. He fell on her, no restraint, no finesse, hands crushing her shoulders and mouth devouring hers — and she

came back at him with ten times the violence, eating at his mouth like he was her first meal in months, her fingernails turned to claws and raking at his perfect golden skin. His arms went around her and the terrible column of light began to die. Summer wrapped her long legs around his waist and he was suddenly only six feet tall instead of eight. She fisted her hands in his hair, and it was somehow shoulder length again instead of falling all around them in an impossible silken curtain, and the taste of ozone and death began to fade from the air. He broke the punishing kiss and looked up at Emma. Summer yanked his head back around with her fists in his hair and bared her fangs in his face. “Not safe,” she said, eyes sparking with silver fire. “No.” He growled. Then whispered. “Not safe.” A second later, they were gone, too fast for Emma’s human eyes to follow, but a series of doors slamming upstairs gave everyone a pretty good idea where they’d disappeared to.

Silence reigned. Fern realized before Emma did that he’d dug his fingers into her hips and backside, clutching at her convulsively, and with an effort he eased his hold. But she didn’t feel a thing either way. Couldn’t. Someone cleared their throat. There was the metallic thunk of weapons hitting the floor. “I trust,” Seshua said tiredly, “that the target is secure?” Red whirled on him. “If you can call that facility secure, sure,” Red spat. “If you’d talked to me about this earlier — to us earlier —” “Then you would have told her,” Seshua said with a nod at Emma. “And she would have talked you all out of it, because the risk to the walking god was too great.” Emma was all out of expletives and shaking too hard to come up with new ones. She tried to clear her parched throat and failed, so she just went ahead anyway. “You have Alan imprisoned?” “We do,” Seshua confirmed. “Summer assured us it will hold him.”

Red stalked away from Seshua. His face was thunderous, brown eyes black and so sharp with rage it almost hurt Emma to meet them. “Never mind the risk to Telly. The risk to you…” Emma ignored that. She was looking for Ravi. She found Ricky and Anton and Jerome crouched by one of the SUVs, a limp form stirring at their feet. When Ravi sat up with Jerome’s help, everything seemed to hit Emma at once and a wave of fatigue swept over her, threatening to send her into the soft, gray land of clinical shock. Then she looked up into Alexi’s face and discovered the shock wasn’t all hers. He looked like he’d taken one too many punches to the head. The truth was, he was the only person there aside from Emma who cared if Telly drove himself mad using his magic. Emma untangled her fist from Fern’s T-shirt and reached for Alexi. He took her hand. His touch was icy. Summer saved him, Fern sent to them both, mind to mind. She saved us. It’s okay. He’s okay. We’re all okay.

Alexi’s grip tightened on hers. He drew in against Fern, cradling Emma with one arm and Fern with the other, fitting their bodies together until they were all holding each other up. The truth was, none of them were okay. Emma slept for ten hours and woke up, restless and clear headed, before dawn the next day. She felt like her soul had been maimed just as badly as her body. There was a gaping hole in her heart that Telly had put there, and she hadn’t thought things with him could get any worse until the confrontation with Alan, but now she was sick with fear for his sanity and almost as sick at the thought of him with Summer, which she was pretty sure made her a terrible person. All was not lost, however; Alan was locked up and could never get to her again. It was safe for Emma and her people to stay in London, with the ravens for allies and her aunts close by. And it was only a matter of time before Ivan tracked down the hybrids with Summer’s help and freed Rain’s brother. What they were going to do with the

hybrids was a question she didn’t have the mental bandwidth to contemplate, at least not until she was caffeinated. Alexi was up and elsewhere in the compound; Fern was sound asleep, and didn’t stir even when she knocked a standing lamp over as she was fumbling for her jeans, so she left him that way. She was determined to hop all the way downstairs if she had to, but when she leaned out into the corridor, she found a pair of crutches propped against the wall. She’d made it downstairs and was catching her breath at the bottom when soft footsteps ghosted down behind her, and Summer planted her ass on the step beside Emma. The vampire was barefoot and clad in a pale blue flannel pajama set with tacos and burritos printed on it. Yep, Emma thought. This is my life. “Hey, prophecy girl,” Summer said tiredly. Her voice was hoarse, and Emma didn’t need to imagine why — she’d spent half the night pretending not to listen to the sounds coming from the other end of the compound.

“Hey, Summer.” Cool; she sounded almost normal, and not at all like she was thinking about Summer and Telly going at it for the better part of six hours. Emma dusted her hands against her knees and gathered her crutches. “I was just on my way to train with Anton. Better get started.” Summer stood. “Do you want me to call you a ride?” I want you to stop making me look at you, Emma thought, shielding like crazy. If she didn’t have to look at Summer, she didn’t have to think about it. But that was stupid and immature, so she got her crutches under her arms and straightened to meet Summer’s eyes. “I need the practice with these.” She lifted one crutch. “Thanks though.” She cleared her throat and groped for something else to say. “Isn’t it late for you to be up? It’s going to get light soon.” “My kind can tolerate a little filtered light,” Summer answered. “We don’t catch fire in the sun, you know.” A shame, whispered a mean little voice at the back of Emma’s head. She squashed it. Summer

had saved all their asses, more than once in the span of less than a day. “Full daylight induces a stupor, however,” Summer continued. “More than a few minutes of exposure causes total nervous system shutdown, and we go into stasis. That’s how some of us choose to endure immortality.” Emma frowned; Summer’s tone was all kinds of weird. “Have you ever done that?” Summer’s grey gaze was dark and unreadable, and somehow she still looked out-of-this-world gorgeous in spite of the ridiculous pajamas. “No,” she said. “I’ve never done that. But —” she stopped, mouth half open. Then closed her teeth with a click. Two spots of color rose in her ivory cheeks, and she looked like she was struggling to find the words for something, but then she blew her breath out on a growl. “Never mind. Dammit,” she hissed. Then shook herself. “That’s not what I needed to talk to you about.” Emma raised a brow. “Then what?” “Two things. One, your walking god.” Summer glanced away. “I can keep him in line, for now. But

he needs a human mate. With your blessing, I can try to find him one.” Emma leaned against the staircase railing, trying to pretend the strength hadn’t gone out of her good leg. “You don’t need my blessing.” “Yes,” Summer said simply. “I do.” Emma met the vampire’s eyes. There was nothing human in them, no compassion, but Emma knew that Summer very much liked the world the way it was and didn’t want to see it end, so it made sense she’d want to save it from Telly just as much as from the crazy Brotherhood. And if she was volunteering to help, it meant she thought she could do something about it. Find Telly a human mate. Emma folded her pain away and exhaled. “You have my blessing. What was the second thing?” Summer smiled then, grim, without flashing fang. “The body of one of your fallen guards went missing almost three weeks ago, yes?” Emma straightened, a surge of adrenalin going through her like lightning. “You know what happened to Horne?”

“That’s not Horne anymore,” Summer said with regret. “That’s Keti.”

35 Most of Emma’s people spent the day after the fight with Alan going over what Summer knew about Keti’s whereabouts. Telly didn’t make an appearance. Leah and Ivan soldiered through like they always did, but they were mourning for Horne all over again — Emma could tell, because she was, too. She didn’t press for info on where Alan was imprisoned. There was only so much she could handle on that particular Monday, and she had too much to do. Part of her didn’t want to know where

he was. He could sit at the bottom of a deep, dark hole and rot forever, and that would be juuust peachy. There was only one problem with that scenario: it had been too easy to bring him down. No one wanted to say anything in front of her, but Emma knew they were thinking it, worrying over it, trying to pick it apart. Alexi had pulled some strings — probably with mind control, but hey — to get her an appointment with a prosthetics specialist team that morning. She only freaked out twice during the consult, so overall it went better than she’d expected. She was still on crutches; she’d need follow-ups for them to get everything right, and then regular physical therapy and monitoring. It wasn’t going to be easy learning how to live with the body she had now, but it wasn’t the end of the world, either. They’d managed to avoid that a few times already, and gods willing, their luck would hold. When it came to telling Tanya and Aunt Chase what had happened to her, Emma wanted to do it in person, and she knew sooner was better than later.

There were tears and denials and more tears. Then acceptance. Then dinner, and an open fire, and Marvel movies with Rain and Jesse and Katenka sprawled on Aunt Chase’s living room floor. Somehow, in spite of ten hours sleep the night before, Emma still found herself dozing off on Tanya’s plush couch with her head on Alexi’s lap and her legs draped over Fern. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when she surfaced groggily and found Alexi with his eyes closed, breathing evenly, head tipped back against the cushions. On the television Loki was outsmarting Thor again. Emma smiled. Her eyes drifted closed. How was she still so freaking tired? In a moment that happened so fast it felt like a premonition, she realized Fern was gone at the same time as upstairs, one of her aunts screamed. The living room erupted into chaos. The kids jumped, snarling and swearing, and Katenka disappeared in a flash of light. Her white wolf leapt to put herself between Emma and the doorway to the hall. Red materialized with a snub

nosed machine gun in his hands. Emma heard the front door slam, voices, boots pounding, and Alexi flowed to his feet with her in his arms as though he hadn’t been fast asleep two seconds ago, and his mind followed hers as she reached for Fern’s. “He’s okay, he’s upstairs.” She met Alexi’s eyes. “It must be something else.” Alexi took the stairs in a blur of speed that left her reeling and sick to the stomach. Seshua and the jaguar guards were in the upstairs hall, and so were both her aunts. Emma’s heart slowed, skipping a beat, as she saw her aunts’ faces. They looked like they’d opened the door to Hell and taken a peek. Fern? He didn’t respond. She felt him, but he didn’t respond. “Emma,” Alexi said, coming to a halt. “You must prepare yourself.” She turned an incredulous look on him. “What? Prepare myself for what?” When she reached for his mind, he’d shut her out, as much as he was able.

He’d read her aunts’ minds. “I heard a noise in there, Emmie,” Aunt Chase whispered. “In the guest room. So I checked and I…” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh God.” Tanya put a hand on Aunt Chase’s arm. “Seshua assures us it’s your friend Fern, but for what it’s worth, I don’t think you should go in there. You don’t know if it’s safe.” “It’s safe,” Seshua said. He looked at Emma and his expression scared the shit out of her: compassion. Sympathy. “He is safe, pequeña.” That was the last straw. “Now, Alexi. I need to see him now.” Alexi exhaled, carried her to the door to the guest room, and kicked it open. She whimpered. Because she understood the look on Aunt Chase’s face now. Fern looked like something out of a horror movie, or at least Emma could see how he would to someone other than her. He’d Changed. His beast filled the small guest room from one wall to the other. His abdomen and carapace rested on the

mattress of the twin single bed; three of his leftside feet rested against the wall above the headboard, tipped with shiny black claws twice the length of Emma’s hand. There was a smell, strong but not bad, that Emma thought of as both clean and dusty at the same time. He was motionless. His black eyes didn’t gleam the way they should. For that matter, his legs were too stiff, jacked up, some of them not even touching the floor. Emma reached for his mind, over and over again, and she felt him but something was terribly wrong, because he wouldn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. “His molt has begun,” Seshua said from the doorway. “That’s impossible,” Emma shot back. “He told me his second molt was only fifteen years ago. Something else is wrong!” Seshua spread his hands. “It looks like the molt to me. I could be wrong, but it’s unlikely. See the second and third joints, here —” “Don’t touch him.” Emma was trying for her scary voice. She just sounded scared. “Get Cara on

the phone. No, wait — send Red. There’s no time.” “I think he’s right,” Alexi began. “The timing is wrong, but he was acting strange before this —” Emma closed her eyes and prayed to keep it together. “Just get Cara. And put me down.” “Emma…” “Now,” she whispered, and opened her eyes. “Please. I’m not leaving him.” Alexi’s mouth hardened, scars standing out, and his eyes smoldered with banked emotion, but he put her down. She scooted back against the wall. One of Fern’s legs was poised above her, bent at an unnatural, tense angle. From where she sat she could watch his flat, tucked in face, his wickedly barbed fangs, his furred pedipalps. Watch them for the slightest movement. She was still watching — still waiting — when she heard Cara’s soft gasp. Fern’s sister stepped into the room on bare feet. She wore practical khakis and a faded green tank top, black hair loose and tangled, and she was paler than Fern. Dark circles ringed under her eyes. She barely spared a glance for Emma.

“I thought you must be right. That it couldn’t be his third molt. But it is.” She had a stronger accent than Fern; he’d grown up surrounded by the more Americanized jaguar guards, and done his best to blend in. “How can you be sure,” Emma said. “What if he’s sick, and we do nothing, and —” “What do you feel when you touch his mind,” Cara snapped. “He’s there, isn’t he? But silent. He’s unconscious, not dying. Was he more tired than usual this past week or so?” Emma wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess so.” “Quiet? Introspective? Yet, in truth, thinking of very little at all?” Emma frowned. Then she nodded reluctantly. She could hardly tell Cara that Fern had been uncharacteristically incurious about Emma’s attempts to shield her mind from him, so he wouldn’t find out the kind of conflicted, immature, teenage drama her mind was coming up with when she thought about having actual romantic feelings for him. It had all seemed so freaking important to

her, hadn’t it. So stupid. “How long will he stay like this,” Emma forced herself to ask. “It depends.” Cara cleared her throat. Shuffled her feet. “Some come out of it in as little as a month —” “A month —” “And some never come out of it at all,” Cara finished, her voice at once harsh and wavering with emotion. “The final molt is always a risk. And before you ask, no, I do not know why he’s gone into it prematurely.” She swore under her breath. “Bloody Fern. Always does it the hard way.” Then Cara fixed Emma with an assessing gaze. “For all I know, it’s your power that’s done this to him.” Emma didn’t bother with the only comeback there was to make. If Cara hadn’t bullied him, he’d never have tied himself to Emma via the EnamVesh, but that didn’t matter now. He was her heart. She wouldn’t undo the bond for the world. And she couldn’t lose him. Cara sighed. “I have to get back to the palace,

but I’ll make a list. What to expect, how to care for him. He will have chosen this place because he felt safe here — the instincts take over, drive out all rational thought, so he would have been sleepwalking by the time he came up here — but Red Sun can move him to another location as long as he has someplace dark and secure to complete the molt.” “Thanks, Cara,” Emma said, her voice hollow. Cara grunted softly and turned to go. “Thank me when he wakes up.” If, Emma thought, clenching her fists against her thighs hard enough to draw blood from her palms. If he wakes up. Red transported Fern’s unresponsive form to one of the empty rooms on the same warehouse floor as Emma and Alexi’s. There was no real way to make him comfortable — Cara had assured them he had no external sensation whatsoever, though he may still have vague internal awareness, even if it wasn’t conscious. Emma sat propped on Red’s hip while he stood outside in the hall, both of them

watching Shadi finish weaving a protective ward that Emma couldn’t see, but that she could feel, humming against the back of her teeth if she reached for Fern’s dormant mind. Shadi’s hair rippled in the breeze of his own power, long and loose. His face when he turned to them was stony. “It’s done, my lady commander.” Shadi passed a hand over his face, then shoved it through his hair in a rare gesture of frustration. “I wish there was more I could do.” Emma knew he was thinking of the vow he’d made to her, to protect the people she loved. She shook her head. “You couldn’t have protected him from this. No one could. Thanks, Shadi.” He took one last look at Fern’s hulking shadow through the doorway before he left. The whole damn scene felt cold and sad. Fern was supposed to just sit there, unmoving, his insides twisting and rearranging themselves for weeks while his body — his mind… “Emma,” Red said, in that achingly gentle voice he reserved for when things were as bad as they could possibly get. “We can stay, if you like,

but he’s stable. The only thing you can do for him now is rebuild your own strength.” Emma looked at him sharply. “I’m hardly lacking for strength here.” His gaze hardened. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Damn him. “What if he doesn’t.” Emma had to stop and breathe. She pinched the bridge of her nose and couldn’t look at Red. “What if he doesn’t make it,” she said through her teeth, keeping the terror caged behind those useless little fangs of hers. Then she yawned — she couldn’t help it, she was exhausted — and dropped her head to Red’s shoulder. He rested his chin on her head, the rasp of his stubble catching in her hair. He smelled more of tobacco than usual. Not surprising, given what they’d been through the past couple of days. “Come on, flower,” he murmured. “It’s late. Let’s get you to your serpent priest.” A brief brush of Alexi’s mind told Emma he was somewhere nearby in one of the other corridors, talking to Jerome. Red’s preternatural

hearing told him the same thing, so he carried Emma all the way into her room, stopping when he got to the big bed. Emma knew the sheets would still smell like Fern, and she shoved aside the grief that rose up at that thought, because he wasn’t dead, for God’s sake. He was going to be okay. Red loosened his hold so she could slide her right foot to the ground, and she tightened her legs around his waist, grabbing his T-shirt in both hands. When he frowned at her, she held his gaze like a lifeline. “Stay,” she told him. His eyes widened. “What?” “Stay with me. Here. Just to sleep, that’s all,” she added, losing her nerve a little…but screw that, she couldn’t afford to be a coward. “For now.” Gold light kindled in the depths of Red’s dark eyes. His nostrils flared, throat working, but he didn’t speak. In the silence, the sound of the door closing behind Alexi as he stepped into the room was like a question.

Red glanced his way. “Alexi…” “Stay,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument, stripping off his shirt. His hair was loose and tangled, and fine lines of tension and tiredness bracketed his mouth, making his scars stand out. “Stay, Red Sun, and rest. As you said, the most important thing we can do for Fern now is rebuild our own strength.” Alexi met Emma’s eyes. “He is bound to us. He’ll make it through the molt.” Emma reached for Alexi’s hand, not willing to trust her voice. He has to.

Thanks so much for reading! This is NOT the end of the series — there are many more books to come. If you enjoyed THE RAVEN THIEF, or any of the other Wild Rites books, please consider leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads to help others discover Emma and the gang. For news about the Wild Rites Saga, as well as freebies, giveaways & exclusive deals, join Anna’s mailing list at annamc.com/news

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