Elijah was starting to freak out. Nah, screw freak out—make that about to lose his damn mind.

Verika had been staring at his naked back for the past ten minutes. Since walking through the door and locking themselves in the guest room, she’d remained tight-lipped.

Now, when a woman dragged him into a room, he expected to hit the bed with her within a minute. His sex had gotten super-excited when she’d ordered him to take off his shirt.

Unfortunately, nothing had come from that command other than long, silent minutes. The tension stretched between them like a cord.

“You made up your mind yet?” he asked. The only hint she’d given him as to what the hell she was up to was that she “had an idea and it involved a spell.”

That part had made him start sweating bullets, but he wasn’t about let on to that. He wouldn’t be able to call himself a werewolf if he admitted to being a pussy around incantations and candles. The stuff gave him the creeps.

Fucking magic.

Verika didn’t reply for a long while. “I’m scared.”

He snorted. “That’s comforting.”

“No… ugh!” She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. They were starting to look dry from staring at his back for so long. “I mean, Blood Magic can be unpredictable. I can’t guarantee there won’t be side effects in my attempting to remove your brand.”

So that’s what she’d been thinking of. He’d suspected, of course, but he was having a hard time reading her. The shields surrounding her feelings were nearly as impenetrable as his own.

He tried to sound nonchalant as he said, “It can’t be any worse than the spells I’ve already survived.”

Verika shuddered. “Yes, but I’m still hesitant. I could seriously injure you if I don’t get this right.”

He gave her a wicked grin. Almost as an afterthought, he brushed away a stray piece of hair from her face. Her breath caught as he leaned in. “Do your worst,” he whispered in a sultry challenge.

He briefly glanced at her lips. They were parted, as if inviting him to explore them further. With great resolve, he pulled back and forced himself to turn around.

He smiled to himself as he heard Verika release a long breath. “I have to be out of my mind,” she said.

“For thinking I’m so sexy?” he inquired lightly, over his shoulder.

She shoved him. “No. But nothing short of insanity could possess me to attempt a spell this dangerous.” Another deep breath. This time she sounded more determined. “But Satine always said that in witchcraft the old adage is true; to fight fire, you need fire… or in this case, blood.”

He swallowed hard. “I’m ready when you are. I’m not afraid… I trust you.”

She went still, not even breathing.

Slowly, without another word, she pressed wet fingertips against the brand. He knew from the zing that went through him that she had dipped her fingertips in the first bag of blood. Since he had no idea what blood type Mistress Black was, Verika said she’d have to try each type to see which one the brand responded to.

He couldn’t wait.

Verika began chanting. His heart leapt to his throat. Chills broke out over his skin, and he could feel the first strands of panic creeping in.

Relax. Calm down, he willed himself. He forced himself to focus on his breathing and closed his eyes. Deep breath in, long breath out. Deep breath in…

He vaguely felt her touch leave, only to return a moment later with new blood. He was taken with trying to keep from thinking about the spell she was casting on him when a lightning-hot zap went through him, ripping apart his brain and sucking him into his vilest memory.

He could barely see or hear, for the drugs in his system. Another game was about to commence, another test to see if he was fit to be Mistress Black’s guard dog.

To be her slave.

Laden with so much poison, it was nearly impossible to fight back. A toddler would have had more strength of will. The spell made him hallucinate as the swish of long skirts reached his ears. A woman came into view, the skirt of her dress moving like smoke and shadows.

“It is time, my pet,” said the silky voice he had once thought sexy and irresistible.

God, he’d been such a fool to trust her. A reckless thrill-seeker. That’s what he was. A damned fool. Never could resist hot women, even when he knew they were bad for him. But by the time he’d realized he’d stumbled into the viper’s nest, it was too late to crawl out. He belonged to her, body and soul.

He couldn’t protest as she waved her hand and the magic sizzled over his skin. The chains that had secured him to the wall of the dank dungeon fell to the floor. Her face was encased in shadows, but he heard the smile in her voice as she crooked a long, pale finger. “Come.”

His body couldn’t refuse. Mechanically, he followed her up the stairs and through the long stone corridor that led to the arena. No, not the arena—a forest.

Torches were lit in even intervals along the trees, seeming to hover in the darkness because it was so thick.

“I have a special treat for you tonight,” Mistress Black purred, stroking his hair as if she were petting a dog. That’s all he’d ever been to her—an amusement, a pet.

Fucking bitch.

A howl sounded in the distance, and his inner wolf stirred. All his senses went on high-alert. He knew that sound, remembered it tangled in his brothers’ screams from his nightmares about the night they were all bitten by a werewolf.

“Yes,” she murmured, still stroking him. “You recognize your old enemy, I take it?”

A growl was his response.

She chuckled. It sounded cold and brittle. Sinister. Her lips were beside his ear as she commanded with quiet authority, “Go and claim your prey. Take the vengeance that should have been yours the night those assholes ruined your life.”

He didn’t need any prodding. The change came in an instant, his inner wolf snarling free in a flash of snapping bones and glistening teeth. He tore through the woods, Mistress Black’s laughter echoing all around him.

He could smell his prey, just a short distance away. Its fear was palpable, and he licked his muzzle. All the nights he’d dreamed of tasting this son of a bitch’s blood…

Feet pounded the ground in front of him. They were slow and bulky.

Human feet.

Mistress Black must have enchanted him to remain in his human form. Her cruelty truly knew no bounds. Most of the time, he feared and loathed her, but tonight he loved her.

Tonight, he would finally make that man pay, the one who had taken everything from him.

The thirst for blood wrapped around his senses, driving him forward. Faster and faster he ran, until he was upon the man in a blur of black fur. The man screamed, his terrified eyes staring up into Elijah’s for a brief, satisfying second.

It felt so damned good to see him so scared.

Without a second thought, Elijah tore out the man’s throat.

The woods abruptly faded, revealing an arena filled with black-cloaked figures. Torches lined the tall, stone walls, and blood soaked the ground at his paws.

Mistress Black stood at the center of the raised dais designated for high-ranking Order witches and warlocks. A black veil cloaked her face, but her ruby smile shone through the intricate lacework. “Well, done, my pet. Very well done, indeed.”

Applause filled the arena as he backed away, whining in confusion. What had happened? Where did the woods go?

People began to stand, chanting something in an ancient language.

Someone whistled their approval. Elijah looked up to find a regal man standing beside Mistress Black.

He’d seen enough pictures to know the High King of Werewolves when he saw him.

His heart began to pound, and he lost control of his inner wolf. He shifted back, standing there naked and shivering in the sudden cold. Blood covered his hands. He held them up, watched as the moonlight glistened off them. There was so much blood that it dripped off his hands and splashed against a puddle at his feet.

With dread, he looked down.

A sob tore from his mouth.

A child, a witch, lay at his feet. He’d heard Mistress Black raging about her, how “promising a White Witch” the High Council had praised her to be, and how she was going to snuff out her light like a candle, before she became a threat.

And she’d done just that, using Elijah as the killing blow.

The people began throwing coins at him.

Entertainment. They thought this was entertainment.

Rage and horror mixed within him, swelling as he pressed his hands against his ears to drown out their applause.

He gritted his teeth, the tension in his body humming and vibrating, ripping apart his human shell as the enraged wolf spilled out.

The next thing he knew, a woman was shouting his name. He opened his eyes to find massive black paws pinning Verika against the floor, his jaws wrapped around her throat.