As the waitress set the steaming, hot-off-the-grill steak in front of him, Elijah couldn’t wait to dig in. Screw Mistress Black for the next ten minutes. He was eating some goddamned steak.

He grabbed a fork and knife and went to town. It took a few minutes for him to notice everyone was staring.

“What?” He looked around.

Verika, he, his brothers, and their mates were gathered around a long, rectangular dining table in the manor. The meal’s theme was “soul food”: fried chicken and okra, green beans bathed in bacon fat, mashed potatoes loaded with garlic, sour cream, and butter, bowls of white and brown gravy. Sweet tea with lemon, frothy, ice-cold beer, corn-on-the-freaking-cob glistening with butter, cornbread—hell, yeah!—black-eyed peas. And he was pretty sure he could smell a pecan pie roasting in the oven.

This was by far the nicest meal he’d had in months. His stomach practically wept in happiness.

Pressing his lips together, he gently set down his fork and knife. No one else had touched their food.

Gage cleared his throat. “We, um, thought it might be good to give thanks first.”

Elijah raised a brow. Their mother had been sort of religious: she believed in demons because she constantly prattled about the ones taking over their father—read: “addictions”—but their father sure as hell never much believed in a higher power. Their family had gone to church maybe five times a year, and that was only on potluck nights for the free meals.

But hey, Elijah wasn’t judging. Prayer was fine by him, welcome even. They’d need all the help they could get, divine or otherwise.

Taking Verika’s and Alara’s hands, he bowed his head.

And suddenly felt ashamed.

Who the fuck did he think he was, asking God or the Creator or Allah or whoever they were praying to for help? He didn’t deserve it, not after the things he’d done. He felt naked in the darkness of his subconscious, all his sins laid bare. He was filthy, disgusting.

Nothing more than an animal.

When Gage said, “Amen,” Elijah jerked his hands back as if he’d been burned. Alara and Verika cast him curious looks, and then glanced at each other before picking up their silverware.

Elijah’s chest rose and fell with more labored breaths than before.

You okay? came Verika’s quiet, understanding voice inside his head.

He latched onto her presence, let it soothe him. Yeah. I’m fine. Just wigging myself out.

I didn’t know anyone actually said that anymore. A small smile.

Yeah, well, I’m quirky like that. He smiled back.

Now, about that steak business…

Conversation didn’t resume for another blissful fifteen minutes. And when it did, Elijah felt like throwing up everything he’d just eaten.

“Do you know where Mistress Black is?” Nik asked after a hefty swallow of beer.

Gage glared at Nik, giving him a “Really? Did you really just throw that out there?” look.

Verika reached for Elijah’s hand beneath the table. He squeezed it and then backed off, not wanting to break her delicate fingers. He took a few deep breaths.

Just breathe. Breathe, dammit.

You can do this, Verika coaxed gently.

Talk to my brothers, or talk about Mistress Bitch?

Both.

He felt her warmth, her sunshine. Despite being a Black Witch, she was the kindest, brightest person he knew. Her whole soul radiated goodness, the likes of which he’d never known.

With mechanical effort, he forced air into his lungs, enough to give voice to his thoughts. “Sort of.” The air felt thin, cold. Probably just him. “I have…these patches of memories. What the place looks like. General area. I don’t remember exactly where it is.”

“Why not?” Nik again.

Gage gave an eye roll of exasperation, wadded up his napkin, and threw it on his half-finished plate. “Would you back off?” he growled to Nik.

Nik merely raised his brows, as if to say, “What?”

“It’s fine.” Verika spoke up. Everyone had stopped eating. Talking about a mass-murdering psychopath was a sure way to kill conversation—and appetite. “We need to talk about this.”

“Couldn’t he have waited after I’d gotten done eating?” Elijah grumbled.

“My thoughts exactly,” Gage murmured.

Alara cleared her throat. “So I’m assuming Mistress Black has blocked your memories somehow?”

They all turned to stare at him as they waited for an answer. It felt as though he were smothering under a pile of rocks.

He shrugged. Or he tried to. His shoulder felt as if it had locked in place. “I guess. Sounds like the kind of thing she’d do.”

“Wise move on her part.” Gage leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, with one hand massaging the light stubble around his chin. “I bet there are spells and wards not just on her base of operations but on everyone who’s ever been near her.”

“Can’t we just break the spells preventing Elijah from remembering where she lives?” Danica prompted.

Elijah felt as if he’d swallowed ice. The cold settled in his gut, knotting it up.

Breathe. Breathe. In and out. There ya go.

“That might be a possibility.” Verika smiled politely at Danica, swooping in to save her mate, who felt as if he were drowning in the Arctic Ocean. “I thought of that, while we were on the road. But we never had a chance to test it out because we were always running.”

Elijah inwardly smiled at the clever little lie. So innocent and believable coming from her. More like “yeah, my mate is scared shitless of magic, so we didn’t go there.”

“If we can’t break the spells on Elijah’s memory,” Gage said, his voice calm and commanding, “then we should look into locating Mistress Black’s hideout based on detecting a massive amount of wards. Can a tracker spell do that?”

“I suppose it’s possible.” Verika got that excited glimmer in her eye. She always got it when talking about magic. He could tell she really loved it, that despite possessing one of the most dangerous magics known to man, she felt more whole now knowing she wasn’t broken. That she did possess a power, just like any other “normal” witch or warlock.

Too bad he fucking hated magic with every fiber of his being.

You promised. You made a promise you’d try, and you’d better fucking keep it.

He wasn’t going to focus on being actively afraid of magic, not anymore. Part of his cognitive therapy he’d learned about at a bookstore they’d stopped by on their way here. He never was a fan of self-help books. Didn’t believe in them. But when you had little cash to pay a therapist, sometimes yourself was all you had.

“You don’t remember what state you were in, what part of the country…if you were even in this country?” Nik asked.

Suppressing his dread at thinking a magical barrier was inside his head, Elijah replied, “No. Not really, anyway. I remember there being a forest outside her mansion. That’s what it was, a mansion.” Flashes of memory came back. His brows furrowed. “I remember the trees trying to kill me.”

People blinked. Then blinked again.

“The fuck?”

“Nik!” Gage reprimanded.

“Apparently,” Verika went on quickly, “Mistress Black bewitched the trees as a type of security. They literally came to life and went after Elijah, from what I understand?” She looked at him.

All he could manage was a nod. God, his neck felt stiff. His whole body felt stiff.

Fuck, he didn’t want to be here.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

“Damn,” Nik said. “I don’t suppose they were like Treebeard and the Ents from Lord of the Rings?”

Danica stared. “You watched Lord of the Rings?”

“What’s Lord of the Rings?” Alara’s head swished back and forth as she looked from Danica to Nik.

“Are you kidding me?” Nik’s eyes went wide. “Only the greatest fantasy epic ever.”

“That’s debatable,” Gage muttered. “You obviously don’t watch HBO.”

“I’m surprised you find time, Your Highness.” Nik grinned at Gage’s pointed scowl. “Anyway, babe,” he said, addressing Alara again, “we’ve seriously got to have a movie night. Plan on setting aside twelve hours or so for a Lord of the Rings marathon. Actually, better make that twenty-four hours. We’ll need to watch The Hobbit, too, to complete your education.”

“Good God, these films are twenty-four hours long?”

“Nah. About twenty, twenty-two hours, give or take a few. I was just planning for bathroom breaks and sexy time on the couch.”

“All right,” Danica said loudly, “let’s get back to the topic at hand here. How are we going to find Mistress Black?”

Elijah’s throat tightened.

Find Mistress Black.

He didn’t want to talk about this, ever. He wanted her to just crawl into a hole and rot and die. Or jump off a cliff. Or run into rush-hour traffic.

He wanted her to disappear.

Verika glanced at him and then back at Danica. “I’ll run a tracking spell after dinner. I should be able to mask its origin from anyone looking for us.” She gestured between Elijah and herself.

“Speaking of which,” Gage said, “why haven’t the DPI showed up?”

“Yeah,” Danica chimed in. “I mean, I know you covered your tracks well the last time they were here. With the disguising glamours and invisibility spells—super-cool, by the way. But once they realized who Elijah is kin to, you’d think they’d come banging on our doors. Again.”

“My doors now, actually, love,” Nik said. “Though mi casa is su casa.”

“They didn’t know who Elijah was when he was booked,” Verika said. “He was simply a John Smith.” She nibbled her lip.

“What?” Gage asked, eyeing her carefully.

Verika inhaled a deep breath. Let it out. “You know I told you the DPI’s been compromised? Well, one of my coworkers knew about Elijah. She was working for Mistress Black.”

“Fuck me,” Nik wailed.

“Nik,” Alara snapped. “Not at the dinner table.”

“I didn’t mean literally, love.”

“Neither did I.” Her eyes narrowed. “Language.”

“The world’s going to shit, and you’re worried about my table manners?”

“Can we please stop bickering and get this sorted out?” Danica said, exasperated. “I, for one, would like to prevent the Apocalypse or whatever Mistress Black has planned.”

“Yeah, about that. Do you know the nitty-gritty on her plans?” Nik interjected, flinging the question at Elijah, who was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Thoughts kept spinning round and round his head: break the spell preventing him from remembering, find Mistress Black, tracking spells, magicmagicmagic.

“I can’t do this,” he said quietly.

Everyone looked at him.

“Eli,” Verika said softly, squeezing his hand. It was hard for her to grip, he was sweating so.

“Say what?” Nik said.

“I can’t do this,” Elijah said louder, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He saw the brand in his mind’s eye, burning dark red with Blood Magic.

You’ll always be mine, Elijah.

“You have to do this, Eli,” Gage said quietly. A command from a king to a subordinate.

Nik’s eyes had turned to stone, as well. As had Alara’s.

Fuck, they were going to force him into compliance. Probably strap him down while he choked on the stench of magic, let it invade and violate his body. Tear his mind apart.

Elijah started to stand. He stumbled; his chair tipped backward.

“Where are you going?” Gage called as he went for the door.

Away. Anywhere but here.

Ican’tIcan’tIcan’t—

Nik blocked his exit. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Get out of my way,” he growled, on the verge of Shifting. No one cornered a frightened animal, let alone a wolf, and hoped to get away unscratched.

Nik’s anger leaked out. “Don’t you want to help? Don’t you give a damn about anybody but yourself?”

Alara started to stand. “Nik—”

“No, he needs to hear this. I’m fucking tired of you running away. When things get tough, you turn your back. Like a goddamn pussy.”

“You don’t know what she did to me, what she made me do.”

“Yeah? That’s because you never fucking tell us shit. You don’t trust us. You’ve never fucking trusted us with the truth.”

“That’s not true.” His voice sounded weak, even to him.

“Isn’t it, though? Isn’t that the reason you never called, emailed, or wrote? Why you refused to open up to us? You weren’t trying to protect us. You never were. You were only trying to protect yourself.” His eyes shone. The anger had faded, leaving disappointment. Which was ten times worse. Elijah would gladly take an angry Nik over a Nik who was disappointed in him.

The faint echo of a headache throbbed in his head. On a whim, he glanced at his mate. She still sat at the table, massaging her temples with her face scrunched up.

Gage appeared behind Nik, rested a hand on his shoulder. “That’s enough. Calm down.”

Nik didn’t fight him. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” He started to walk away when his jaw ticked—and that’s when Elijah knew he was in trouble.

The shine dried up, leaving raw fury in Nik’s eyes. “Nah. On second thought, no I’m not.”

He tackled Elijah.

The women shot from the table as the two men tumbled on top of it, tipping it over and scattering plates, food, and silverware everywhere.

“Oh my God!” Danica exclaimed, watching with a hand clapped over her mouth.

Verika backed away toward the wall, still clutching her head, as Alara and Gage dove for Nik and Elijah, who were a tangle of limbs.

Nik was a lot stronger than he looked. More so when that strength was powered by anger. As Nik made to bite down, teeth sharpened to points and glinting like the fancy cutlery now strewn about the floor, Elijah brought his arm up. Fangs pierced skin and tore muscle. Fuck, that hurt.

The lights flickered in his peripheral vision. Or at least he thought they did. It was hard to tell from rolling and tumbling so much. And being bitten. That kind of sucked on a few different levels.

Bitten by his brother.

Bitten by his brother, who was also a werewolf. With fangs.

Bitten by his brother, who was also a werewolf, who decided he’d do more damage if he shook his head like a shark.

Damn.

Ow.

“Nik!” Danica screamed from the background.

Two sets of hands, one delicate and soft and the other scarred and callused, made a grab for them, trying to pry them apart. “Snap out of it!” yelled Alara, teeth gritted and muscles strained. “You don’t want to do this, Nik. Pull back now before you do something you regret.”

Nik let up on the bite long enough to say, “The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner.”

His attack resumed. Gage got a foothold in, managing to dislodge his brother enough to start peeling him back.

Until Nik elbowed Gage in the mouth.

Gage’s hands slipped as they flew to his busted lip. “Son of a bitch!”

“What the fuck, Nik?” Danica screamed.

“Stop it.” A quiet, pleading voice—Verika’s.

Verika.

God, how could Elijah have forgotten about her? Lousy didn’t begin to cover how he felt. Sure, he was being assaulted by a land shark, but that was no excuse. Lesser wolves still protected their mates, still thought of their well-being twenty-four-seven.

Fuck, he didn’t deserve her. Maybe he should turn himself in to Mistress Black, offer her his body and soul in exchange for Verika’s safety.

What the hell was he thinking? That idea was completely irrational. For one, as if Mistress Black would ever leave Verika alone after finding out she was kin to her. Secondly, he knew it was his fear of magic talking, giving him the same old spiel wrapped up in the noble thought of “abandoning her for her own good.”

He could never leave her, ever. He’d die first. Which, if Nik had his way, would apparently be sooner than he’d thought.

Dishes rattled in the background. He glanced over. And stopped breathing.

Were the dishes—were the dishes levitating?

“Stop it.”

That same voice, more strained this time. Female.

His mate’s.

“Verika,” he breathed.

Alara and Gage’s voices faded away to silence as he focused in on his mate. The bond felt tight, agitated.

Stressed.

Verika, he said, straight to her head.

I…can’t…hold it.

Hold what?

“Stop it!”

The sound of exploding glass filled the room. Danica shrieked as Gage leapt in front of her. Nik dislodged himself from Elijah and dove for Alara, throwing her to the floor and shielding her body with his.

Elijah sat straight up. His eyes scanned the room, heart thrumming so fast he feared it might give out.

There was Verika, standing in a corner, shaking. The windows lay in shambles around them, and the carpet glittered with glass and porcelain fragments. All in a perfectly clean two-foot circle around Verika. Her fair skin didn’t appear to have a scratch on it.

Verika’s terrified green eyes locked on his, pleading, searching.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

The next second, she doubled over. Vomit spewed from her mouth, landing in a pile on the carpet.

No, not vomit.

Blood.

Verika swore she hadn’t lain down this much even on her vacations. Not that she’d taken many.

Back in their room, Elijah sat by the bed, watching her carefully and stroking her skin. He felt so hot. Or maybe that was because she felt as if she’d turned into a human Popsicle. God, she was freezing.

Blankets had been brought in and piled high upon the comforter. The hearth had been restocked, and a fire burned bright, showering the room with its hot breath. Little good all of this did her. The cold wouldn’t go away. It had seeped into her marrow, lingering there and making her feel absolutely wretched.

“I still don’t understand why Elijah didn’t get sick,” Danica said. She and Gage were gathered around the bed, though at a healthy distance.

She couldn’t blame them. Though Heath swore neither she nor Elijah was contagious, one couldn’t be too careful.

“It might affect her differently.” Heath dropped her wrist, checked his watch, and marked something down on his chart. “Perhaps the Blood Magic the brand stems from doesn’t mix well with her Black Magic.”

Elijah chewed on his lip. Verika reached up and lightly touched his face, skimming her thumb along his bottom lip.

You’ll worry a hole in it if you’re not careful, she chided lightly, smiling.

I know. He took her hand, kissed her palm. I can’t help myself.

Heath took a few more vitals before he performed a healing spell. Elijah looked as though he might vomit, but he refused to leave his mate’s side. After Heath left, the silence in the room was heavy.

“I don’t like stating the obvious,” Gage said quietly, “but I believe this leaves us no choice but to find Mistress Black. By any means necessary.”

He looked directly at Elijah. Meaning, “scared of magic or not, you won’t have a choice.”

Elijah swallowed hard and nodded. “Agreed.”

Verika’s heart swelled. He was so, so scared. Glimpsing his dreams, she knew the nightmares of his past—the torture, the pain, the grief—lingered just below the surface of his consciousness at all times. But he was being brave for her.

Gage sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Verika had noticed, with amusement, that all the boys did that when they were frustrated, exasperated, or just plain at a loss for words. “I’m going to go check on Nik.”

Danica smiled sweetly and gave a little wave, following him out and closing the door.

Elijah leaned forward, rested his head on her lap, and closed his eyes. “I fucked up.”

“Hush.” She stroked his hair in long, soothing movements. “Nik started it.”

“But I instigated it, in a way. I tried running away again.”

“And no one can blame you. It takes time to heal from trauma. Years.”

“But we don’t have years.” He sat up and looked at her, looking haunted. “We have weeks. Days. Hours, even.”

She did what her mother did in tough situations. It came naturally to her. She took his hand, squeezing it, and smiled. “Then we’ll make the most of them.”

The silence turned bittersweet, swollen with the thought they could both be dead very, very soon.