The silence of the underground chamber was complete, but Mistress Black preferred it that way. Here, she could truly meditate. Not that she had trouble anywhere else, being as well-practiced as she was, but the silence helped calm her mind and erase her thoughts.

She needed her mind to be smooth. A blank canvas.

Breathe in, exhale. Repeat.

Not even the milky bathwater stirred around her naked body as she soaked in the tub. Though it was hard to remain still. The sweet and spicy smell of herbs, meant to be relaxing, only served to excite her.

She was finally going through with it, with the spell meant to restore her to her original form. The magic she’d been gathering from all those dead paranormals had swollen inside her to the point of combustion. Even in this dreamy state of mind, she could feel the undercurrent of power flowing through her veins.

It was divine, like liquid sunshine.

In less than an hour, she would undergo the ritual to transfer her soul from her borrowed body to her original. She focused on her breathing, on calming her tittering heart, the racing nerves.

She couldn’t afford mistakes. If her borrowed body wasn’t loosened up enough, the transfer would fail.

That couldn’t happen, not when she was this close to being restored for good.

Once she was whole again, she would prepare the world for its transformation. Oh, yes, people would try to stop her. Would try to kill her, as they had all those years ago. People hated what they feared, what they could never understand, what warped their perception of reality. Magical powers? Witches? Devil’s work, they’d said.

She’d show them devil’s work, a hundred times over, for what they’d done to her kind. No witch or warlock deserved to be treated the way they had been over the years. Even in the paranormal world, they’d had to fight for their rights as equals. The oldest of the paranormals, the Fey, angels, and demons had fought to keep them suppressed because they’d feared their power. Rightfully so. It was vast. Unless their race was kept in check, the witches and warlocks stood to overrun the Underworld someday.

And if the aforementioned paranormals were to keep their crowns, they couldn’t very well let that happen, now could they?

She had to concentrate, had to prepare. Had to be ready to lead her people into a brighter age.

Breathe in and out. Through the nose and out the mouth.

A ripple of pain broke her concentration. She gasped, spine arching, head thrown back, mouth wide open in a silent scream. Oh, it hurt. Hurt all over: in her toes, her brain, her bones.

It was gone as quickly as it came. She fell back in the tub, banging her head against the porcelain rim and cursing.

Anger boiled her blood. Her nails dug into the rim, threatening to split.

Damn.

Her body felt as though it had been hit by a car, dropped off a cliff, and ravaged by the most ungodly flu the world had ever seen.

In other words, in this condition, her transference ritual was fucked.

Tongue ablaze with every curse word in every language she knew, she pulled herself from the tub. Her knees shook; God, her body felt heavy. Her foot caught on the rim, nearly sending her toppling down the stone steps and onto the floor. Snatching a towel off the rack, she dried herself, wrapped her hair, and donned a violet silk bathrobe.

She was about two steps away from flinging open the door and giving the guard the beating of his life when cold realization hit her.

The pain hadn’t come from some magical attack within the mansion—it had come from inside her.

But from where?

Sitting on her chaise, she leaned back, closed her eyes.

Breathe.

She sent her magic searching, stretching, reaching its long fingers through her network of witches and warlocks. She was sure the pain had been magically induced, volatile even. Like it would gladly tear her apart.

There.

Her magic latched onto a writhing, pulsing thread of magic, slinking closer and closer to its source. The farther it went, the ache in her body turned into a throb and then into knives lancing down her side. This magic was sickened by something shimmering red wrapped around it, squeezing—Blood Magic. She’d worry about why there was Blood Magic involved later.

Just a bit farther.

Gritting her teeth, she endured, sought out the magic’s source.

A flash of red hair and emerald-green eyes in her mind’s eye had her ending the search. Her body sagged against the lush velvet cushion. Her breaths came hard and fast. Sweat had beaded on her brow.

Verika. The wheels in her head turned, working.

Elijah’s brand was making Verika sick through their bond. But of course it would. Mistress Black had known that.

What she hadn’t known was Verika’s bond to her, through their shared lineage, would also make her sick.

“Fuck!”

Forcing herself into a sitting position, her head pounding and screaming at her for it, she rubbed her temples and formed a plan.

She either needed to remove the brand from Elijah to stop the pain, or she needed him by her side, preferably with Verika. Now knowing she was magically linked to Verika turned the tables a bit. She couldn’t afford to let something happen to Verika on the chance it could also affect her personal well-being. The girl needed to be brought here. And besides, she would never be able to complete the transference ritual as Verika’s pain grew because her borrowed body had to be absolutely calm and in good health.

No, this wouldn’t do at all. She’d have to think of something else, some other way of getting her soul back into her own body. But first, she needed the girl. Either way, she had to acquire Verika. If her power was so great as to affect her in this way, it meant her powers had grown immensely since the last time she’d glimpsed her via scrying. A power like that couldn’t be left unchecked. The threat was too great.

And if there was one thing Mistress Black excelled at, it was eliminating threats.

Rising and stumbling to the door by sheer force of will, she opened it and looked at her guard. “Rick, you were a thief, a killer, and an all-around despicable person before you met me, correct?”

The shadow stepped closer. Red eyes glowed, highlighting the contours of fangs. “Yes, Mistress.”

Apparently, he thought that was a compliment.

She smiled sweetly. “Good. Because we’re about to break a whole slew of laws, and I need someone without a conscience.”