Gage and Nik stood in Nik’s office when it happened.

Gage felt the sudden absence of his mate in his soul, like a gaping black hole had hollowed out his chest, before he heard her cry out in his head.

GAGE!

He nearly dropped the tumbler of Scotch he was holding. The glass was partly raised, on its way to be clinked with Nik’s, who had also gone still. And white. They were about to celebrate, as there was much to be thankful for. The baby. Alara’s recovery.

But now…

Their eyes snapped to each other’s. Fear swam in Nik’s gaze, likely mirroring Gage’s own. Chills crawled up his spine, slithering into that hollow place in his core and settling there.

Without a word, both men slung the glasses aside and took off at a dead run. Gage summoned guards, every damn guard within his command, to go to the Alpha pair’s suite on the second floor.

“Brother,” Nik breathed, “I can’t feel her. Alara—”

“I know,” he clipped. “I can’t feel Danica.”

Saying it aloud only made his fear coalesce, forming a spike and driving it straight through his heart. God, he couldn’t breathe.

Please, please, please, he silently pleaded as he bounded up the stairs, taking a whole flight at once in one fierce leap.

He burst through the doors of the Alpha suite, Nik right on his heels, a fraction of a second before the first wave of guards arrived.

They both paused. The air felt…wrong. Too thick, and faintly tart smelling. Like death and sulfur.

“Gage.”

Gage’s eyes snapped to where Nik pointed. There, in the corner of the room, stood the guards Gage had posted inside and outside Alara’s bedroom and balcony.

The brothers glanced at each other before slowly approaching them, one careful, silent step at a time. Nik lifted a hand, about to lay it on one man’s shoulder when someone snarled, “Don’t touch him!”

They both startled as Elijah stalked forward, eyes brilliant golden flames and fangs bared. “I saw all the guards running up here and decided to follow, figuring something had happened.” He answered their unspoken question. “This room reeks of Black Magic.”

From the doorway, Verika muttered an incantation; one hand rested against her chest while the other made smooth, circular motions in the air. The air glistened with faint white shimmers before she opened her palm. Shadows moved through the air like little rivers, flowing toward Verika’s open palm and vanishing, as if being absorbed into her skin.

She was literally sucking the darkness out of the room; at least, what was unnatural. A few shadows remained; Gage hadn’t realized how dark the room was at first because all he’d been focused on was finding Danica. Who clearly wasn’t here.

Verika’s hand snapped shut into a fist the moment the last swirl of darkness evaporated on her palm. With a sigh, she lowered her hands, clasped them in front of her. “I’ve cleansed the room of the remaining traces of Black Magic.”

“It won’t hurt you, will it?” Gage frowned.

Verika shook her head, those wild red waves tumbling about her face. “I don’t think so. Actually, I know it won’t.” She bit her lip.

The universal sign for discussion closed. He got it. There were some things he hadn’t told Nik over the years, secrets so dark that he’d barely told Danica had she not bared her soul to him first. God, what a coward he was at times.

Though he was a king, and one of the most powerful creatures in the Underworld, he felt absolutely useless at this time. Danica was gone, clearly taken by Mistress Black, as was his brother’s mate.

All because he hadn’t had enough foresight to see this kind of thing might happen. Hell, that it would happen, eventually. It was them they were talking about. They were Johnsons. Something always happened. It was just a matter of time.

Sure, he’d posted guards. But he should have done more wards, strengthened those already on the place. Because, clearly, they hadn’t been enough.

“Stop it,” Verika chided quietly, stepping forward and studying him with those beautiful green eyes. Painfully, they reminded him of Danica’s. Thinking of her, of the possibility of never feeling her verdant gaze upon him again, full of adoration and love, made him sick to his stomach.

“Stop what?”

“Stop beating yourself up.” Verika smiled softly.

“How do you know I’m doing that?”

She stared at her mate a thoughtful moment, then looked back at Gage. “Because it’s the same look Eli gets whenever he’s being hard on himself.”

Walking past him, she reached for the guards. Elijah caught her hand, worry gripping his expression.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Her magic can’t hurt me.”

Gage’s eyes narrowed slightly. She’d hesitated before saying that. Just barely, but enough to be noticeable. She truly wasn’t sure. But she cared about them enough to risk it.

Elijah reluctantly let go of her hand, which she then placed on one guard’s shoulder and turned him. She gasped, eyes going wide, and took a step back.

Hell, everyone’s eyes had widened, and a collective chill rolled through the room. Gage had the sense every wolf’s hairs stood on end.

For the most part, the guard looked like himself—except the inky blackness that had spilled over his eyes, eclipsing his irises. His mouth was open wide in a silent scream.

“Jesus,” Nik spat, followed by a few curses. He put his hands on his hips and turned away, wiping a hand over his face and eyeing the garbage can by Alara’s bed as if he wanted to rush over to it and vomit.

Gage knew the feeling. Slowly, Verika turned each guard. They all looked the same, caught up in some unseen nightmare that was clearly an illusion but all too real to them.

Verika’s face settled into grim pity. Then her eyes crackled with purple and green sparks as that pity morphed into anger. “Bitch.”

She raised her hands and her voice. “Domini vectura espri canta mestizo!”

A gale ripped through the room, crackling with power, swirling around the guards and leaching the darkness from their eyes. One by one, the men stumbled and fell, shaking their heads and glancing about as if the room were spinning.

“What happened?” one of them asked.

“Someone bewitched you,” Nik said darkly. “A nightmare enchantment, to make you believe you were living your own worst nightmare.”

“Someone bewitched us?” another asked incredulously. “After all the wards and charms we put into place?”

“This was no ordinary witch or warlock we were dealing with,” Nik said. “This one possessed Black Magic.”

“Are you sure?”

Nik glanced at Verika, who nodded. “Yeah.” He sighed. “I’m sure.”

“I wish it weren’t true.” Verika stepped forward. “And I’m so terribly sorry that you all had to endure that pain and suffering.”

The guard, a tall, lean man with flaming-red hair, looked at Verika. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched. “It was you!” He stumbled backward so fast he nearly tripped over an upturned corner of a rug. He thrust an accusing finger at her. “I saw you with my own eyes! Monster! Demon!”

Elijah growled and started forward, but Gage cut him off. “Hey,” Gage said sharply, “Verika is probably the purest soul in this house right now. I don’t know what you saw, but it wasn’t her.”

“I know exactly what I saw! The hair, the eyes, that smooth skin…”

Elijah growled louder.

“Easy,” Verika murmured, placing a reassuring hand on Elijah’s arm. He glanced at his mate, and his expression softened. Gage knew they were talking telepathically to each other. Watching that private exchange sent a longing through him for his own mate. His heart rate doubled with fear, and every tendon in his body felt as though it were wrung so tightly it may snap at any sudden movements.

He took a deep breath, let it out. He’d been in so many stressful, dangerous situations throughout his lifetime, you’d think he’d be used to the stress by now. Handling foreign policies, entertaining important people, hell, even giving speeches were a walk in the park compared to this. Losing his mate was the kind of ice-cold terror that made his soul seize up, made him breathless and unable to think. Danica’s sweet, beautiful face, with her kind, loving smile, dominated his mind’s eye and made it impossible to think about anything else.

The guard, whom they’d dubbed “Red” back home due to his distinctive hair color, growled in frustration and shook his head. “Again, I know what I saw. It was her all right, down to that cute little mole on her right upper lip.”

Verika’s grip tightened as Elijah’s eyes flashed gold, and a muscle in his jaw ticked.

Gage rolled his eyes. “Will you cut it out? Throwing compliments at another wolf’s mate is like asking to have your tongue ripped out. Now, what do you remember? I want to know everything.”

They used the bathroom as an interrogation room, pulling each guard in one by one and comparing their stories. Gage dismissed the guards once they were all finished recounting what had happened.

“They all said the same thing.” Gage sighed and glanced at Verika with an apologetic look. “The guards at the door both said that you came up to them, wanting to see Alara. The guards stationed at the balcony and the three inside the room all said that the room turned pitch black the moment Verika stepped inside. They said…” A shudder rolled through him. “They said that’s when the nightmares began. They were each transported back to their worst memory, and forced to relive it over and over again.”

“Some people believe that’s the definition of hell.” Verika shivered. She rubbed her arms, as if trying to warm herself up. “There are spells that can do that, that can take control of a person’s mind like that, but only advanced witches and warlocks can perform them. It makes for a huge drain on his or her magical resources. Only someone with a vast pool of magic could pull that kind of spell off.”

“Do you think it was Mistress Black herself?” Nik asked.

Elijah paled. He shifted his weight, looked away—at the pearlescent flooring of the bathroom, at the decorative tiles on the ceiling, anywhere but at his mate’s questioning and concerned gaze.

“I don’t think so.” Verika shook her head. “She wouldn’t risk coming out of her hideout just to kidnap a couple of werewolves. I’m sorry,” she said softly at both Nik’s and Gage’s sharp looks. “I didn’t mean for it to sound the way it did, like your mates are insignificant. They mean a lot to you, as they do to me.”

“We know you didn’t mean to insult, Verika.” Gage’s shoulders heaved with a long sigh, and he reached up to rub his weary forehead. “The stress is taking a toll on our nerves, is all. We both might be a little quick to temper.”

“Understandable,” Verika said. “And no offense taken.”

“Sire.”

They all turned around as a stately man dressed in the gold-and-silver uniform of the High King of werewolves strode into the room. He was an older man, probably around his fifties, with a look of wisdom to his eyes accented by the sharpness of having endured many long, hard years.

Gage turned to address him. A fluttering of hope tickled his chest. “Captain Axel,” he said by way of greeting as the man bowed and placed a hand over his heart. He raised a brow, waiting for his captain of the guard’s report.

Axel straightened, a grim look on his face. “We searched the grounds, the house, everything. There is no trace of them—no scent, no footprints, no paranormal signatures. It’s as if they just vanished. We even scanned the security footage, but it all cuts out around the time they disappeared.”

“Dammit,” Gage hissed.

“Whoever took them,” Nik said, “they sure knew what the hell they were doing to cover their tracks like that.”

“Can you track them?” Gage looked at Verika with renewed hope. Everyone had turned to look at her. Elijah looked uneasy; he shook his head slightly as she glanced at him.

“I could try,” Verika said after a few seconds’ pause. Her voice sounded shaky.

Gage’s eyes narrowed slightly. Was she afraid? If so, why? What did she know that she wasn’t telling them?

Elijah took her hands and squeezed them. He pulled her around so she faced him. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said quietly, rubbing his thumbs soothingly on the backs of her hands.

“I know.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. She smiled slightly and poked him in the chest. “Trying to turn my own advice back on me, are you? Subtle.”

“Look,” Gage said, “Elijah’s right. I can tell you’re scared. Don’t worry, I won’t press you as to why,” he added at her startled look. “But anything you can do to help us would be much appreciated right now.”

Verika searched his eyes first and then Nik’s. She steeled her gaze, raised her chin. “I will help you any way I can.”

The group broke up briefly so Verika could change clothes. Due to all the commotion earlier, and worrying it was caused by an emergency, Verika and Elijah both had rushed out of their rooms in their pajamas. Well, Elijah had rushed out in his boxers, while Verika wore nothing more than a silk nightgown and matching robe. And that wouldn’t do now, considering they would need to go outside for at least part of the spell.

Verika swapped the silk for jeans, boots, and a simple dark-green sweater that complemented her hair color. Elijah dressed much the same, donning some beat-up jeans, hiking boots, and a T-shirt. The T-shirt was nearly too small for him, his muscles were so big. Not that Verika was complaining or anything. The thin, light-blue cotton accented every hard ripple, every dip and valley on his sculpted chest.

She licked her lips, her inner wolf yearning to strip their clothes back off, but she firmly pushed those carnal desires down. Now was most certainly not the time for romance. Her sister-wolves were missing, and she may very well be the key to getting them back. If, that is, she didn’t muck up the spell she was about to attempt.

It made the most sense to check the place where the girls had vanished, so that’s where they started. Returning to Alara and Nik’s bed chambers, Verika took a deep breath and steadied her nerves.

You can do this.

It hit her all over again what she was about to attempt, and her stomach roiled. The words “insane,” “ludicrous,” and “suicidal” came to mind. The words seemed to reverberate inside her head. The voice of her fears and doubts grew louder until she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to crawl on the floor in the fetal position, or burst into giddy laughter at how crazy it all sounded. A few weeks ago, the words “insane,” “ludicrous,” and “suicidal” would never have been associated with Verika Tate. No, not sweet, perfect Verika. Who always obeyed the rules, always followed orders. Never attempted the next to impossible.

“You’re insane,” she muttered under her breath.

Elijah hadn’t stopped frowning since he tried convincing her not to follow through with it back in their bedroom. “It’s too dangerous,” he’d said, pacing back and forth, shirtless.

Verika had almost been so distracted by all the rippling muscles that she nearly missed what he was saying. “Yes, it’s dangerous,” she said. “But I can’t run and hide every time the going gets tough. They need me, need my powers.”

Elijah came to stand in front of her, worry written all over his face. He rested those big, warm palms on her shoulders, searched her eyes. “This might make me sound like an ass,” he said, “but are you sure you’re not just doing this because you want your powers to feel useful? To feel respected and appreciated instead of feared? So you can prove to yourself, and everyone else, your powers can be used for good instead of evil?”

She stared back at him, lips pressed together in thought. “You’re right,” she said with a slight smile. “That does make you sound like an ass.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Hey, now,” he growled, pulling her in close and giving her ass a light slap. “Don’t make me have to punish you.”

She leaned into him, maintaining eye contact the entire time as she gave him a long, slow kiss. “Promise to do so later?”

His pupils widened with lust. “I won’t forget. Wolves have long memories.”

“Among other things.” She cast a mischievous smile downward.

A low growl rumbled in his throat. “We could get on with that punishment now.” He tugged her back against his chest as she tried to pull away.

“Sorry, love. You know we can’t now. We have a job to do, both of us.”

“It sounded to me like my brothers were just out to exploit your powers.”

“Hey, I volunteered, remember? Besides, I can’t sit by and do nothing while Alara and Danica are in the clutches of that madwoman. They’ve been so kind to me, even Alara. I know if something happened to them, I’d never be able to live with myself. I’d always be asking, ‘What if I could have done something to change their fates, to stop that awful thing from happening?’ Because it will be awful, Elijah. It always is with Mistress Black.”

“But if you use your powers to try to track her, it’s like opening yourself up to her. You’ll be vulnerable. Not just because you share the same magic type, but because you’re…potentially related.”

“I know. ‘Like calls to like’ and all that,” she said bitterly. “But I have to try.” She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, thinking. “Besides, I think I know a way to block her. I won’t let her get the best of me, I promise.”

Elijah looked skeptical, but he’d been supportive.

As he was now in Alara and Nik’s chambers as she raised her hands to begin the spell.

He’d stopped asking her whether she was “sure” when they’d set foot in the room, though it hadn’t stopped him from trying to dissuade her on the way over here. He must have asked her at least ten times to not attempt to track them. It had been hard not to give in to her mate’s requests at first, to say no to all of this. But she also knew if she let her fear hold her back, gave it permission to control her, then it would be the start of a lifelong habit. She’d never been more terrified in her life than she’d been these past few weeks. Not just because of Mistress Black, though the threat of death and suffering was daunting. She’d also been afraid of growing closer to Elijah simply because he was a werewolf. Her last relationship with a werewolf hadn’t ended well. A werewolf had killed Satine, had ripped her apart like she was nothing. Had nearly killed her parents. That was another thing. Because she had contacted her parents, she now had to fear for their safety as well.

But crowning that pile of fears was the greatest threat of all, the one that kept her up at night and lingered not too far from her every waking thought.

The fear of not being able to control her powers.

That fear, more than the others, had battered at her defenses every day. She’d be lying if she said it hadn’t dented up her courage pretty good. But she knew if she gave in to it, then she’d lose the precious self-confidence she’d built up all these years. It started growing when she was a witchling, unable to specialize in any particular type of magic. She’d had to steel herself against her peers’ relentless teasing and ridicule. Had to build up her resolve that she was a witch, dammit, and she was good enough and had the right to learn and practice magic, even if a special ability never manifested in her.

That resolve, that sense of bravery and self-worth, had started out small but now had grown strong over the years. It rose up to defend her now, beating away the worries that assailed her.

She would do this, could do this. And nothing—demon, witch, or otherwise—would stop her.

I’ll be fine, she said telepathically to her mate. Trust me.

I do.

So strong, so sure.

His strength fed into her own, filling her up with confidence and chasing her nerves away.

He took a step back, as did Nik and Gage as she took a seat, Indian-style, on the floor. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her senses. Felt the floor beneath her, reached farther until she grasped the strength of the earth. She sensed the coolness of water flowing through the forest beyond the manor, breathed the crisp air into her lungs, heard the crackling of fire in the almost spent kindling within the fireplace. She took the elements into her, weaving them into the threads of Black Magic pouring out of her fingers.

It felt as though a river had awoken inside her; she gritted her teeth, forcing the magic into several different threads, weaving together air, earth, fire, water, and darkness until they were pure beams of raw power.

It was a chore to keep her breathing steady and her thoughts focused enough so the magic wouldn’t split. Her own Black Magic was the hardest to control: a wild, living thing with a mind of its own. The second she’d unleashed it, it seemed to sense the presence of another witch or warlock’s Black Magic in the room and went into a frenzy. It thrashed and bucked, but by sheer strength of will, she managed to wrangle it up and tame it enough to do her bidding.

Well, at least for now, but she had no idea how long her hold on it would last. She could feel her energy depleting the farther her magic stretched, searching, seeking, looking for the source of the foreign spell that had bewitched the guards and spirited away her friends.

I can almost feel them, the intruder, she thought. Her brain concentrated so hard she thought it might break. It was only an inkling, a blurry image that filled her mind. The fuzzy silhouette of the figure—no, a man. Eyes that burned like hellfire shone out of his dark form. Shadows bearing the faces of the damned swirled around him, their moans so heartbreaking and painful she thought she might cry. Something rotten, like decaying corpses, saturated the air. Her throat grew tight, her breathing labored as she struggled to breathe.

God, the stench! It was nearly unbearable.

Was this what it would have been like for the guards? The feeling of sheer terror, of hopelessness? The thought you were never going to escape from this place?

She sensed the warlock’s amusement, saw him snatch a shadow out of the air and smile with wicked, jagged teeth as it writhed in his grasp.

Verika’s revulsion nearly snapped her concentration. This man actually enjoyed inflicting suffering upon others. It strengthened his magic, as surely as pain and fear did.

One word rang loudly inside her head.

Monster.

And her magic had projected her astral form so close to this being that she could almost touch him.

Her heart hammered inside her chest, her breathing so shallow she was on the point of hyperventilating.

Too close. She was much too close to him.

This being was pure evil, his soul as twisted and dark as the magic he wielded.

Had he always been this way? Was he once a good man, with morals and integrity? Or had Black Magic inevitably corrupted his soul?

Was this the future she had to look forward to?

She imagined herself, just for a second, turning into this nightmare. Imagined herself inflicting pain and death and destruction upon the world.

The siren’s call of supreme power was intoxicating. All her life, she’d been picked on and ridiculed for not fitting in. For being less than, a weaker witch with no affinity to her name. Some didn’t believe such mundane witches and warlocks were even worthy of the privilege to practice magic.

But that was then, and this is now. She wasn’t weak anymore; not that she ever had been. But now a deep well of power coursed through her veins, ready and willing to tear apart anyone or anything at her command.

It would be so easy to rip the world apart. To make those who had made her life a living hell suffer the way she had suffered. To destroy those who had taken away what was most precious to her.

The urge to hurt, to kill, to punish was strong in its seduction. It had won the day she’d faced down Gerard. Too bad he hadn’t realized that his gloating about killing Satine had been the final nail in his coffin.

Did she regret killing him? Some days, yeah. But mostly she resented the fact she couldn’t seem to feel more regret over taking someone’s life. Did that make her no better than Gerard, or the creature in front of her?

A woman’s voice whispered to her through the channel of magic she’d created, speaking in low, velvety tones.

I can feel your power… You are so strong, darling, but you’re afraid of your magic. Don’t be. You are a queen living among insects.

Who are you? she called out with her mind. Her voice echoed down the long, dark tunnel.

The man froze, looked about.

Verika’s breath caught as his red eyes wheeled about, landing on her face and then passing over her altogether.

He couldn’t see her.

Good. Her cloaking ward was working. Distantly, she could feel the ward burning against her throat, where it dangled from a piece of yarn. She’d hastily thrown it together before attempting the tracking spell. She should have taken more time in prepping the ward, she realized too late. The man, and now this woman whose voice hummed with unfathomable power, possessed magic almost too strong for her wards and charms to protect her from.

The lovely, dark voice laughed. It was both terrible and beautiful at once. You know who I am. Have known me for some time. We are of the same blood, you and I.

A face flashed in her head, nearly disrupting her spell. Gritting her teeth, she clung to her magic, tightening the threads and urging them onward. She had to find the man at any cost, had to follow the breadcrumbs of his power until she found him.

But the woman’s face was burned into her mind. She was beautiful, without a doubt. If she were honest, she’d admit she was probably the loveliest woman she’d ever seen: Long, dark hair. Big, blue eyes ringed in black lashes. Full, ruby-red lips. Skin so white it seemed to glow like moonlight. Crimson nails to match her lip color.

Although, something was off about her eyes. The pupils glowed with faint purple light. And her skin did glow, radiating that same soft, violet hue.

Black Magic.

Her breath caught. “Mistress Black.”

The woman smiled. It won’t be long now. Soon, you will belong to me. And we’ll finally be together again, my darling, after all this time.

Verika could feel shadowy hands grabbing her, pulling her forward. No! she cried out. Stop it! Leave me alone!

Don’t fight it, my love. You belong with me, your flesh and blood.

You disgust me! Leave me alone!

The voice became sterner, to the point of being harsh. That’s no way to speak to your ancestor.

You’re not my ancestor. That’s impossible.

Who do you think you inherited your power from? Black Magic runs in families.

Verika’s brain froze. It couldn’t be true. Yeah, sure, magic tended to be hereditary, but that didn’t mean she was a descendant of Mistress Black.

Like calls to like, murmured Mistress Black. How do you think you were able to get this far in your little tracking attempt? My own wards and counterspells would have stopped anyone else who is not of my bloodline.

No. Verika shook her head. You’re wrong. I’m nothing like you, or that monster of a man who took my friends. I suppose you’re going to tell me he’s related to me, too?

Not at all. He is only a pawn borrowing my power. But you…you have true power, the ability to control death. And I recognize my own power. It flows in your veins, as surely as it flows through mine.

You’re wrong!

I am right, and you know it! We are just alike, you and I. Two sides of the same coin.

Her body trembled uncontrollably now. She shook her head, wide eyes staring at the bottomless pit of darkness. No. No, it couldn’t be true. She was not related to Mistress Black. The thought that even a drop of that woman’s blood flowed through her made her want to rip open her veins and bleed them dry.

I feel your fear, whispered the man, whose eyes still roved the bleak tunnel of dark magic. Your shield is fading.

He was right. Verika needed to get a grip, and fast. Distantly, she heard someone call her name, felt rough hands shake her body.

Focusing her thoughts on the task at hand, she reached out with—

The man’s red eyes snapped on her, narrowing. He smiled; it looked as if half his face had split open to reveal rows of sharp fangs.

There you are, he purred. Trying to find me, in hopes of finding my mistress or the two I took? Better luck next time.

He lifted his hand and slashed out with sharp claws. Her spell shattered, and she screamed as her astral projection tumbled back into her body.

She thrashed, bit, and clawed as a pair of strong hands tried to restrain her.

“Verika, it’s me! Baby, open your eyes!”

Her eyes snapped open, her breath nothing more than desperate gulps of air as she stared into the face of her mate. He looked pale, much too pale, and his forehead had broken out into a sheen of sweat. Her palm lay flat against his chest, as if she’d been in the process of trying to push him away. His heart raced as quickly as her own, his breathing ragged.

“Jesus,” he breathed, pulling her to him and holding her tight. “I was going insane with worry. Are you okay? What happened? You started screaming, but we couldn’t seem to wake you up.”

“Something else was in there with me while I was tracking him,” she said raggedly.

“Him?” Gage prompted. He and Nik stood nearby, both of them looking worried.

“I’m fine.” She waved away their worries and pulled away from her mate. She sat up, took a deep breath, and collected her thoughts while her mind and body calmed themselves. “I saw the person who took Danica and Alara. Well, sort of. He was more monster than man, but he was definitely a man.”

“Are you sure he took them?” Nik asked.

“Ninety-nine percent sure. He mentioned ‘the two I took,’ so I assumed it was them he was referring to.”

“Did you get a lock on his location?” Gage asked, the brothers taking turns peppering her with questions.

She gulped. “No,” she admitted, hating how small her voice sounded. It matched how tall she felt, about an inch. “Once he figured out what I was doing, he broke the tracking spell.”

“Damn,” Nik growled. “So what do we do now?” His voice was edgy. In fact, he looked as if he were on the verge of pulling his hair out. Not that Verika could blame him. If their roles were reversed, she would be a wreck.

Gage, ever the calming presence when shit hit the fan, rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We look for them the old-fashioned way.”

The old-fashioned way proved to be a bust. Gage was convinced the search party had missed something, that the kidnapper had left behind some clue they had yet to come across. “There has to be something,” he said. “There just has to be. No warlock, no spell, is so good as to leave literally no clues behind.”

Verika wanted to argue that point but opted not to. She liked her head where it was.

Using the noses werewolves normally found so useful, Gage and Nik deployed every wolf at their disposal. They searched the manor, the woods, and even drove ten miles in either direction down the highway.

Nothing. Literally nothing turned up. No footprints, no traces of cast spells. Even the guards’ memories had begun to fade. None of them could say now, exactly, what had happened to Danica and Alara.

“Another byproduct of the curse he cast on them, I’m sure,” Verika said as they traipsed through the woods. Nik had insisted they search the woods one more time, considering they were so dense and the most likely place the kidnapper would have hidden away his hostages. If he was still nearby. Though no one said that, even though she knew, from the doubtful looks on her fellow searchers’ faces, that everybody was thinking it.

Verika and Elijah walked side by side, at the end of the group, while Gage, Nik, and several others took to their wolf forms to prowl the woods. Elijah had wanted to Shift in order to better help out, but after what happened last time, nobody else was keen on the idea. He looked about glumly as wolves of every size and color ran through the thickets.

“You’re helping out just by being here,” Verika said lightly, nudging him as they walked. “You’re fine. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Maybe that should be my New Year’s resolution,” he said with a weary smile.

Well, she supposed the New Year was coming up soon. It was already cooling down, and winter would be here any day now. Good Lord, where had the time gone? Something about having your life be in mortal danger seemed to make the days fly by at warp-speed.

“Maybe my New Year’s resolution should be ‘stay out of trouble,’” she said.

“Nah, wouldn’t work. You have to make one you can actually keep.”

“Hardy-har-har.”

She stifled a yawn. They had all been going since dawn, since discovering the High Queen of Wolves and their Alpha female were missing. They were all tired and in need of some rest. Although what Verika wanted wasn’t rest.

She gazed up at the nearly full moon rising in the east, admired how it dusted the tips of the trees in pale silver light. It looked so bright up there. The manor was removed from the city. Perhaps the countryside, away from the artificial glow of the city lights, made the moon seem that much brighter.

The itch to Change worked itself into her skin, making it tingle.

Elijah grasped her hand, squeezed. “Soon.”

Her heart fluttered at that. Out of fear, out of excitement. Changing into another creature was terrifying. Which was ironic. There were plenty of transmutation spells out there to aid a witch in switching forms completely, even enabling her to disguise herself as an inanimate object. Although she wouldn’t recommend that. Changing into something that didn’t have a brain did something to a person. Twisted their insides and made their souls rot. If they stayed in that form too long, they might cease being a person altogether. The archives back at DPI headquarters were full of artifacts that had once been people. Everyone gave them a sad look, shook their heads, and sighed, “The spell just went wrong.”

Wrong. Like how her rather pathetic attempt, now that she thought about it, at tracking the kidnapper had gone.

Her hands balled into fists, and she suppressed a growl.

Failed spells were weird for her, both for their ability to stir her curiosity—her “where did I go wrong?”—and for their penchant at pissing her off. Growing up, mistakes with working magic meant ridicule, fodder for the bullies. And they already had plenty, from her wild red hair to her big glasses (hellllllooooo, contacts!) to the dips and swells of her curvy body. Mistakes meant she’d have to work twice as hard to prove herself worthy of studying, and staying in, magic classes. And she had worked hard. Far too hard to let some freaking nameless warlock poke fun at her by kicking her out of her own spell.

She’d show him.

Nobody bested Verika Tate-Johnson in magic.

Shouts erupted from the woods ahead. Elijah’s and Verika’s gazes both snapped up, their ears pricked, listening. Without a word, they took off at dead runs, following the trail of guards scurrying into the woods.

They didn’t pause to breathe, didn’t distract themselves with communicating telepathically. They leaped over bramble and stone as the shouts grew louder.

The brush parted, giving way to a single white oak bathed in moonlight. It stood tall in the clearing by the stream, its pale branches stretching so tall Verika had to tip her head back all the way to see the top.

But that spectacular tree wasn’t the most eye-catching feature of the glen.

It was the message scrawled in blood on the tree’s trunk that took everyone’s breath away.