Verika tried to ignore her sweaty palms and trembling knees as she was marched outside into the open night air.

It was a beautiful night, by all accounts. The temperature had yet to turn frigid, and this far out into the country, the air still smelled clean and fresh. The sky stretched into the horizon, an endless indigo blanketed with hundreds of thousands of twinkling stars. The moon hung overhead, a full, white orb shining brilliant, clean light on the party below.

Her eyes latched onto the moon; she was mesmerized as her skin began to faintly itch.

Her heart sped up.

Crap. How could she have forgotten tonight was the night of her first Change?

Maybe because you’ve been locked up in psycho central and were preoccupied with, oh, I don’t know, saving the world.

As the moonlight bathed her skin in porcelain light, Verika racked her mind for every kernel of knowledge she knew about a werewolf’s first Change.

She wouldn’t lose her powers, that much she was certain of. So no panic there.

Most werewolves didn’t Change right away, although some did. It was controllable to some degree at first, though the longer the newfound werewolf was exposed to moonlight the harder it became to control the Change. Eventually, it would consume them whether they were ready or not.

Her heart thrummed frantically, and she glanced around. Did anyone else realize what was going on with her? Was anyone else aware of the Change about to take place?

A breeze brushed her hair, bringing with it the scent of the woods. The smell of freedom, of endless nights spent loping over branch and bramble, of roaming the darkened forest with her mate and—

She shook her head, breaking the spell of the siren call of the moon. She grappled for breath, steadied herself. Good grief, was this how all werewolves felt on their first Change? So out of control?

Focus. She needed to focus.

The entire coven—the Order of the Sun, Verika presumed—was gathered on the yard. About a hundred people total, Verika estimated upon looking around. All clad in matching black robes, like the one she now wore. All standing in a circle around an intricate symbol Verika didn’t know the meaning of.

The symbol was gargantuan, spanning at least sixty feet across and sixty feet wide. She knew because it was about the size of her parents’ fenced-in backyard when she was a kid, before her mother had the old wooden fence ripped down in favor of viewing the endless countryside.

The symbol, made up of swirling lines and knots, was drawn from thousands of tiny blue crystals. They glittered and pulsed with pale-blue light, throbbing as one—as if the symbol had a heartbeat.

Verika’s inner scholar couldn’t keep her mouth shut, couldn’t shut her brain off. “Tuning crystals?” Verika asked Mistress Black, who strode directly in front of her.

“Almost correct,” Mistress Black said without turning her head. She marched them down the expansive lawn of springy, deep-green grass behind the mansion. “They are amplifying crystals.”

“There’s a lot of them.”

“That’s the idea.” She didn’t say another word, and Verika knew the subject was done.

Sure, Verika had heard of amps before, knew what they did. Some witches and warlocks, in their old age, used them to resuscitate weakened magic, or to help boost their powers for a particularly complex spell.

But to use so many… Exactly what kind of ritual were they about to perform?

Though the oncoming winter chilled the air with its icy kiss, Verika’s sixth sense picked up on something else that made gooseflesh spring up along her skin. With a wary eye, she glanced about, her hair whipping around her face from the wind.

Everyone had hoods drawn, faces partly obscured by shadows. All but about ten figures she counted so far. They stood tall, far taller than their witch and warlock companions, with a broad sweep of shoulders and mountainous frames. She could find no pattern, no rhyme or reason to their placement. It seemed a bit haphazard, though they were easy enough to spot considering they stood a head taller than just about everyone else.

But intimidating as their stature might be, what made her look twice—made her heart hitch, her breath catch, her flesh chill—was the fact that when you peered into their hoods, all you saw was darkness. A cavernous hole, waiting to swallow you whole. No face. No trace of hands or feet, now that she thought to look. And while all the normal men and women—for these…creatures could not be normal—swayed while chanting, these figures stood still as marble statues. Not even the wind ruffled their robes.

No, there was something quite unnatural about them.

Verika felt eyes upon her as she passed another of those things. Hot breath reeking of decaying flesh lifted her hair, making her nearly gag on a shriek.

Protocol be damned. She scurried to stand by Mistress Black, who merely raised a brow at her presence.

“What are those things?” Verika demanded, still trying to get the stench out of her throat, her mouth, her nose.

“Ever heard of flesh guardians?”

Verika stopped walking altogether. “You raised the dead?”

Mistress Black paused too when it became clear Verika wasn’t going to keep moving until she had some answers. “Please, darling. There’s more to it than simply raising the dead,” she said with a flourish of her hand, punctuated by an eye roll. “Flesh guardians have been imbued with the power of earth to make them nigh unstoppable.”

Verika wasn’t even going to begin to get into all the reasons why casting such spells was considered an abomination—not to mention illegal.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, dove.” Mistress Black smiled. “We’re Black Witches. Necromancy is part of our birthright.”

It made Verika want to throw up. “And you felt it necessary to raise these flesh guardians because…?”

“Because they’re the best protection magic can buy.”

“Protection from what?”

“You’ll see. I have a very good reason for needing them. This spell can be very temperamental. I will only have a shot at it”—she held up one finger in emphasis—“so I have to get it right the first time.” She started to walk away.

“A shot at what?” Verika called, frustrated. “You expect me to believe all this”—she swept her hand over the expanse of blue crystals—“is just so you can jump back into your old body? I know about transference spells. They’re tough, but not this tough. You’re not telling me everything.”

Mistress Black sighed and turned back around. “The better to keep you in the dark with, my dear. Trust me, the less you know, the better off you’ll be. And the less chances you’ll have at overthinking this and trying to muck up all my hard preparation. Now, come along. There is no time to waste.”

Two figures appeared behind Verika—flesh guardians. She didn’t need to fully look to know that’s what stood behind her. The sense of otherworldliness crawled over her skin like worms. They didn’t belong here, in this world. Every fiber of her magic screamed at her to send them back from where they’d come.

Her fingers curled and stretched, the restless magic in her digits making them itch.

Mistress Black had stopped walking again. Her eyes flicked to Verika’s hands, lingering there. She went still, her eyes turning flinty. “I would be very careful, if I were you. Flesh guardians don’t take kindly to threats of any kind.”

As if sensing their master’s tension, the two figures behind her growled. Or more like hissed, a sound as thin and reedy as wind blowing through reeds.

Verika tensed—and glared at Mistress Black. The power at her fingertips swelled. “My magic doesn’t take kindly to threats either.”

Mistress Black pursed her lips, her face going red with fury. She snapped her fingers. “You’ve tested my patience enough for one evening, puppet.”

The flesh guardians lifted their arms, and the long sleeves fell back to reveal skin in varying stages of decay. Bony hands barely coated in putrid strips of flesh grasped her arms in surprisingly strong grips. The smell of death coated her tongue, her throat, invaded every pore of her olfactory glands. She gagged as they dragged her forward, toward the center of the circle, past flickering candles, pulsing crystals, and more chanting figures.

At the symbol’s heart, a circle of people—Mistress Black’s inner ring of confidantes, Verika presumed—was gathered, clutching hands, swaying to the rhythm of the chant with their eyes closed. At their center lay an altar of black velvet, upon which rested a woman with red hair—

Hair the same shade as Verika’s.

Her eyes went wide; her breath lodged in her throat. Mistress Black’s real body.

It felt strange to see it in waking life, outside the confines of her dreams. It sent a chill through her bones, as if seeing her in person made the nightmares seem real.

Which they were. She was living one, right here, right this second. And as her eyes swept over the cloaked figures, beyond the glowing, glittering circle, past the looming mansion and beyond the murky hills and trees, she feared she might never wake up. She was truly alone out here. If she screamed, who would hear her? Who would care?

When the flesh guardians didn’t stop at the circle of people, Verika was briefly puzzled. Then her eyes landed on a pair of stakes protruding from the ground, and her heart stopped beating for a second.

Her heels dug in as the flesh guardians approached them. “No,” she breathed, writhing in their grip, their splintered fingertips scraping her skin red. “No! What are you doing?”

Struggling did her about as much good as fighting a mountain. Or a pair of them. The flesh guardians pulled her up as if she were a doll and pressed her back against the rough wood while they bound her with coarse rope. One length across her arms, another about her legs.

Mistress Black stood back, calmly watching with her arms folded. “My dear, please know I never intended for it to end this way.”

“So everything you spouted in my dream about wanting to be a family again was nothing more than a lie!”

“No. Never a lie. It still brought me great joy to see you.” She stepped forward to cup Verika’s face.

“Don’t touch me!” Verika’s power flared, sizzling about her skin in vibrant green sparks.

Mistress Black snatched back her hand with a barely contained wince. She rubbed her fingertips, appraised her descendant with a cool gaze. “It might not seem like it now,” she said after a beat, “but I’m actually doing you a favor.”

“A favor,” Verika barked. “How?”

Mistress Black’s gaze softened. Her tone grew more somber as she stared upon Verika’s face with pity. “Being a witch in this world, this world full of prejudice and injustice and bloodshed, is hard enough. But being a Black Witch? You don’t even belong with your kind. The other houses of magic fear and loathe you. To be a Black Witch is to be an outcast forever.”

“Yeah, when you’re a psychotic evil bitch, I could see why people would be wary of you.”

Mistress Black’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. “You haven’t been through what I have, haven’t seen the horrors I’ve seen. You don’t yet have the right to judge me. And you never will.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re too soft for this world. You don’t have the stone heart it takes to bear the power of death and destruction. Believe me, my dear, relieving you of your powers will be the greatest kindness anyone will ever do for you.”

Verika processed this as Mistress Black walked away. “Wait, you’re taking away my powers? That’s why you brought me here?”

Mistress Black kept walking.

“I knew it,” Verika spat, her fury breaking through her shock and making her voice hard as steel. Her words cut the air like daggers. “I knew there was more you weren’t telling me. That all this trouble was about more than you simply getting back into your original body. You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” Mistress Black said over her shoulder, not deigning to turn around. “I just didn’t tell you the whole truth. There is a difference.”

“Truth withheld is still a lie in my book.”

Mistress Black stopped walking. She fisted her hands and whirled around. “I did not lie. You shall help me return to my true form—by giving me every drop of magic in your blood. With your power, I shouldn’t have any problems performing this spell.”

“And you’ll have one less threat to worry about.”

Silence.

Verika laughed bitterly. “I knew it, knew there was a catch. That our bargain was too good to be true. But you know, some part of me actually wanted to help you return to your true form. I felt sorry for you when I learned of your past, about your family. But it was the glimmer of hope in your eyes when you spoke of being whole again that made me think, possibly, you could be redeemed. Like in being made whole, you’d somehow be made into a better version of yourself. A better person. Now, I see you’re nothing more than a power-hungry monster waiting to prey on the weak. You disgust me.”

Something close to hurt flashed over Mistress Black’s face. Her eyes shone; the firelight flickered in them as grief washed over her face. “I know what I am, what I allowed myself to become, and I made peace with that a long time ago. I had to, in order to survive, to keep carrying on. Know that I am sorry. I had truly hoped we could be family.”

“No, you didn’t. If you had, you wouldn’t have had me tied to this stake. You would’ve protected me, not sought to do me harm. Family looks out for one another, but you only look out for yourself.”

“A creature of habit, I suppose.”

“Please…don’t do this.”

“It’s already done.”

Verika swore and struggled against her binds as Mistress Black walked toward her body without a backward glance.

Horrors raced through her head, made her heart race and a cold sweat chill her flesh. She couldn’t lose her powers. Sure, they had terrified her before, when they were new and she was less certain of herself. Now, on the cusp of losing what she had coveted for so long, Verika found the thought of not having her Black Magic as terrifying as dying. And knowing Mistress Black, she planned to kill her shortly after she had stripped her of her powers.

Any number of ritualistic deaths floated through her mind, driving her heart rate up, making it harder to concentrate on escaping.

If she could escape. All circumstances considered, her chances of that looked grim.

“Do not look so alarmed, my dear,” Mistress Black purred. “I have brought you company so you won’t feel so alone in your final hours.”

Final hours. Two words that held so much weight and seemed to thin the air, making it harder to breathe.

She truly was about to die, and it didn’t appear she had a chance in hell of doing anything about it.

But the thought of dying didn’t sound so bad when she looked up, and her worst fear came to life. “No,” she breathed.

A pair of flesh guardians marched Elijah forward, chained in those damnable manacles. Pure malice and loathing pooled in his dark eyes as he passed the coven. Then his gaze landed on her, and she swore she could see his heart breaking.

“Verika,” he rasped, stumbling forward. The flesh guardians were quick to snatch him up, hold him close.

The cold, wicked teeth of a blade pressed into Verika’s throat, and she fought a wince. Her eyes locked on her mate’s, who’d gone still.

“That’s a good pup.” Mistress Black dug the blade deeper into Verika’s throat. Verika had been so transfixed by Elijah’s presence she hadn’t heard Mistress Black creep up behind her.

A cry escaped before she could press her lips together as her skin stung and split, and a warm trickle of blood dribbled down her throat.

Elijah went still. And white, much too white.

He didn’t move to fight as the flesh guardians dragged him to the second stake and tied him up. He craned his neck to look at her sidelong, a look of apology and despair in his eyes.

She shook her head. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I got us into this.

Don’t be absurd, kitten. I bring nothing but trouble and chaos with me. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.

Well, we can play the blame game all night, and it won’t do us a damn bit of good. Any ideas for getting us out of here?

He stared gravely at Mistress Black, trailed by her flesh guardians, as she walked back to the inner circle surrounding her body. They shifted, made way for her.

I wish I did. Elijah looked defeated. Even if they were bad ones. Hell, I used to be the king of bad ideas.

If he was the king, that made her the queen. Verika racked her brain, scrambled to come up with a plan, a prayer—anything—but she didn’t see how they’d be able to claw their way out of this mess.

She tried accessing her power one more time.

Nothing.

Mistress Black raised her hands to the sky, and her coven went silent all at once.

“My comrades, you will not have to lend me your power to preserve my true body any longer. After tonight, I shall be restored to my original self, my powers made complete by the souls and magic I’ve absorbed these past few months. And once I take my descendant’s power, I—we—will be unstoppable. We can create a world where we don’t have to live in fear of being judged, tortured, or killed for being different. A world where we can be ourselves in broad daylight. My friends, it’s time to come out of the shadows. It’s time for the Order of the Sun to lead the Underworld into a new era. Let us step into the light together.”

Verika frantically searched the coven’s faces as Mistress Black approached her with a knife. “She’s using you! Can’t you see that? She’s going to start a war!”

“You’re damn right I will,” Mistress Black said coldly. She stopped in front of Verika, eyed her with nothing but contempt and malice. “And it’s one, with your magic, I’m now positive we will win. Any last words?”

“Go to hell!”

Mistress Black’s mouth twitched. “Been there, done that about a gazillion years ago. You haven’t been through hell until you’ve watched your family burn. Thank you for your sacrifice. Your magic is about to aid a lot of suffering creatures who’ve been kept in the dark for too long.” She angled the blade, tilted the point upward toward Verika’s chest.

And plunged.

Time slowed. Verika became vaguely aware of sucking in a breath as her eyes dropped to the approaching knife, knowing there was no way for her to stop it. Elijah screamed her name, though she barely heard him over the ringing in her ears.

This is it. I’m going to die.

There wasn’t time to blink as the tip touched her chest, penetrated her shirt.

It was as if a bomb went off.

Blinding light exploded from her heart, making Mistress Black hiss and drop the knife. She shielded her gaze, stumbled back. “What is this?”

Verika had never felt anything like it before: a warm, rich glow enveloping her inside and out.

Pure, raw power, coming from a crystal that had materialized out of her chest.

She gasped.

It was her mother’s amulet, the one she’d seen in the picture.

“To protect me from all harm,” she murmured, staring in wonder. The light didn’t hurt her eyes. If anything, it was soothing. Dear God, her mother had hidden away the amulet inside her. The expanse of power it would take to accomplish such a feat—and to keep it sealed away for so long—was breathtaking.

She remembered a time when she was sixteen. At first, she didn’t know why she was remembering this, and then it all became clear as day.

She hadn’t had her license long, and had opted to pick up some late-night groceries for her adoptive mom. Cousins were coming in from out of town to visit the next day, and her mom wouldn’t have time to make a grocery run before they showed. Verika had been on her way home when a drunk driver crashed into her along the highway. It’d been winter, and the road had gleamed with ice. The car spun, twisted out of her control as she screamed, terrified. She’d hit a tree, had banged her head so badly on the side window that she’d been rendered unconscious. When she came to in the hospital later, the doctor said it was a miracle she was still alive. No one had ever been able to explain it, though her mom had been convinced it was a guardian angel.

Now, she knew. It was the amulet, forged by her mother’s love, that had saved her life that day.

And today, as well.

The brilliant burst of light retracted into the crystal, which shimmered and sparkled like bottled sunlight.

Mistress Black growled, a look of pure hatred in her eyes. “You wore a protection amulet. Very impressive, and sly. But it won’t work against me. I will break it.” Snatching the dagger up, she came at Verika with an enraged cry.

Verika didn’t even flinch, knew she had nothing to fear as the blade met the glassy surface of the crystal—and snapped in half.

“What?” Mistress Black shrieked, staring in disbelief at the broken dagger.

“Your hatred is overbearing, Diedre,” Verika said as images of Mistress Black’s past flooded her brain with each pulse of the crystal, as if it was siphoning them from her enemy.

Mistress Black’s eyes snapped upward. “How do you know that name? What power is this?”

“The kind you’ve forgotten. Or maybe you didn’t understand it in the first place. It’s the power of love and devotion, and it will trump whatever dark forces you throw at me anytime, anywhere.”

“This is ridiculous. A child’s attempt at thwarting me. Even a broken blade can be used to kill.”

Distantly, she heard someone calling her name, from inside her mind. She ignored it, her gaze intently focused on Mistress Black as she pointed the jagged piece of metal at her mate’s throat. “Surrender yourself to me, or your mate dies.”

Verika!

She blinked. She’d definitely heard a voice that time, calling out to her. Hello?

We’re… for you.

What? I can’t understand you! Your voice is breaking up! There’s some kind of magical interference. Either that, or the voice, which sounded so familiar, was too far away.

“Last chance!” Mistress Black gripped a handful of Elijah’s hair, jerked his head back to expose his throat. “Think very carefully about your next move, you sneaky little bitch.”

She only caught it for a second from the corner of her eye, but Verika swore the air over the field rippled. She blinked, stared.

There it was again, as if invisible fingers were trying to pry it apart.

A howl went up in the distance.

Mistress Black glanced at the woods, searched their darkness with wary eyes. “Go find out what that was,” she snapped, and two flesh guardians, along with a trio of witches and warlocks, took off into the night, torches blazing.

A sudden itching sensation spread over Verika’s skin.

Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the moon. Its light was so pure, so bright that it brought tears to her eyes.

“Keep running toward the light,” she murmured, feeling the tingling sensation growing in her skin as her bones began to vibrate. The moon was calling to her, begging her to let it take her, transform her.

That’s when she knew what she had to do—and the moment she figured out, truly understood, who she really was.

She was neither werewolf nor witch. She was Verika Elaine Tate-Johnson.

And she was going to kick this witch’s ass.

A gale picked up from around her feet, twisting and spiraling up and out. Not from her—from the crystal. It shone bright, clear as a star.

And Verika utterly trusted it. She could feel her mother’s love within her, and wept over the depth of her sacrifice.

Even knowing she’d face certain death by crafting this amulet, her mother hadn’t been afraid. And neither would her daughter.

Closing her eyes as power swirled around her, she gave in to the moon’s call. She didn’t fight the Change but let it take control of and transform her body. It hurt—oh God, it hurt—but she trusted the process, had faith she would be all right. That she could walk through fire, through pain, through suffering, and come out stronger on the other side.

As she morphed, the bracelets about her wrists groaned and snapped free. Her power flooded her senses, intoxicating, ushering in the Change. The world burst into brilliant sound and color as a great red wolf, the amulet swinging from its chest, took over her human body completely.

Her crimson fur and glowing golden eyes shone in the night, as did her fangs, which she took delight in baring at the closest warlocks and witches. Their eyes widened, and she drank in their fear, let it fuel the barely contained anger simmering below the surface of her control.

They had tried to kill her mate. And for that, her inner wolf was very, very angry.

Mistress Black staggered back, gazed openly at the red wolf with shock. “Impossible,” she breathed. “Those binds should’ve held you.”

“Nothing can stop a werewolf’s first Change, dumbass,” Elijah said.

Mistress Black seethed, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the broken dagger. “I’m going to cut that insufferable smirk off your pretty face. Then perhaps I’ll feed it to some of my monsters.”

It happened in a few seconds that stretched for an eternity. Mistress Black started forward, murder in her eyes. Her army of minions rushed behind her, surrounding Verika.

I will not be afraid, not anymore.

Fearless, she tipped back her head and howled.

A chorus of howls, achingly familiar, answered from the woods. She could hear them now, hear the paws running toward her. She’d heard them the second she’d Changed and the wind had carried the scent of their salvation toward her.

Everything smelled sharper. She could practically taste the earth, air, and sky on her tongue.

A pair of wolves emerged from the woods, charging across the moon-swept lawn. Gold and brown fur gleamed as they ran, fangs bared, magnificent in their ferocity.

Verika howled again, and Danica and Alara answered.

Then the sky split open.

As magic pried apart the fabric of time and space, a ripple went through the air, knocking the coven on their asses. Verika saw the ripple coming, felt its power, and threw up a shield of Black Magic without a second thought.

Her magic felt…different in this form. Not bad, just more pronounced, as if its wildness recognized the beast she’d become and had become one with it. She’d never felt more in command of herself, of her powers, than she did now.

Mistress Black hadn’t been as quick to react to the shockwave of power. Her shield was flimsy, shattering upon impact. She hauled herself from the ground, looking the most disheveled Verika had ever seen her. Her eyes were pinned to the sky in horror as a veritable army of witches, warlocks, vampires, and more werewolves than Verika had ever seen in one place rained down from the sky through a massive sparkling hole.

It was total chaos. Battle ensued, a bloody flurry of fang and claw. Above the cacophony of war, Mistress Black shrieked at her unorganized coven. They scrambled about, clearly not having a plan in place for this turn of events.

She truly hadn’t thought things would go south, she was that arrogant.

And so her vanity would be her undoing. How appropriate.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Verika immediately ran toward Elijah, but Gage had already freed him. The two brothers swapped looks, clasped hands, and then Changed into wolves of night and day. The pure-white wolf howled by its solid-black brother, who looked right at Verika.

Are you all right? Elijah asked.

She sensed her mate’s fear for her, his gnawing worry. He didn’t need those now. There was a time and place for them, but they both needed to focus on the battle at hand if they were to survive. And they’d been through too much together not to.

I’m fine, she assured him. You just worry about you, I’ll worry about me, and maybe we’ll come out of this alive.

No maybes about it. We will. Now let’s end this.

She barked her response and dove into the fray.

She’d never practiced fighting with magic growing up and had struggled to control her powers in the few scrapes she’d had since becoming a Black Witch. But in this body, her powers responded to her whims with barely any effort. Blood stained the ground quickly, saturating the air in a thick cloud that stung her nose and burned her throat. It was distracting at first, but the grisly images of torn flesh and the screams of the dying were even more so. They snapped her attention back to now, just in time to dodge an arrow made of ice.

The Blue Witch didn’t hesitate to fling another and another, though Verika’s nimble body dodged them all. Charging her attacker, Verika leapt and slammed her to the ground. She screamed, throwing her hands up as her face froze in terror. Verika raised a paw and did her best at bringing it down and across the girl’s temple without marring her face too much. Claws scored her skin in thin red lines, but she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do—she’d knocked her out cold.

The hatred and anger she’d felt earlier, two volatile feelings that easily could have turned into bloodlust, were gone now, attuned into adrenaline and sharpening her focus on staying alive. There was no need for her to kill, though if someone gave her one, she’d grant their death wish.

The cost of winning didn’t matter, not anymore. She had to walk out of this alive. She and Elijah both.

She didn’t look for him as she fought with magic, fang, and claw, relying instead on the tightness of their mate-bond. If it began to weaken…then she’d worry. Worry more, that is, though she knew she was being silly. Elijah was perfectly capable of handling himself, and he had been a wolf far longer than she.

She bit some half-Fae woman and sent her screaming for the woods. She bared her fangs, prepared to give chase, when a familiar vampire stepped into her path.

Rick looked significantly worse than the last time she’d seen him. His face was bruised, his jaw swollen on one side. His eyes held her with contempt. “My Mistress punished me because of you.” He flipped open a knife. “But she’ll revere me when I’m the one who takes down the—”

Oh, shut up! Verika thought, snarling. Her magic shot toward Rick, and he went still.

His eyes widened. “I…can’t move! What’s…happening?”

Verika reached deep inside, used the ancient magic flowing through her veins to push her thoughts into Rick’s head. Word to the wise—if you’re undead, don’t take on a Black Witch without expecting her to take control of you.

His eyes nearly shot out of his sockets, and his lips flapped stupidly. “Please,” he said, “have mercy!”

She was silent a moment, let him wallow in his panic. No one messes with my family. Ever.

Further pleas for mercy were silenced as she flung him high into the air and across the field with her magic, right into a throng of werewolves.

It took no effort to walk away without looking back, to turn her heart to ice at the sounds of his screaming.

More enemies approached, each stupider than the last. She sank so easily into her power, used it to twist, break, and bend.

Like snapping twigs, she thought with morbid fascination.

She could see, for a fraction of a moment, how Mistress Black could’ve succumbed to such seductive power. Blinking herself out of it, realizing her bloodlust hadn’t been satiated but rather stoked by what she’d done to Rick, she pulled herself back from the abyss, from that point of no return between woman and monster.

She had to get a grip on her powers, on her animal instinct to hunt and kill. She’d become one with her inner wolf so quickly that she hadn’t realized how much of an effect her spirit animal had an impact on her psyche. Had taken it for granted, it was so subtle, until it literally waved its dominance in her face with a trail of bodies littering the field behind her from where she’d passed and fought.

And conquered.

Some ran in fear now as she approached, as they had every right to. Still, more met her with eager, reckless anticipation.

An umber-colored wolf bumped into her as she struggled more than she would’ve liked with a pair of demon-human half breeds.

Verika! The umber-colored wolf—Alara—snapped at the arm of a warlock and made him drop the sword he’d been clutching.

Boy, do I have a million questions for you. Snap, jump.

So I expected. Growl, lunge, twist.

How? How did you escape? How did you find us? How did you break the protective wards protecting this space?

I’ll explain how we escaped later. Long story short, we threatened to relieve our guard of his testicles should he not help us communicate with our mates.

Sounds like you put up a very persuasive argument.

Quite. Gage and Nik called in every favor ever owed them and then some. People we’ve never met answered the call. The leaders of the other races sent their bravest and finest. Everyone in the Underworld wants Mistress Black gone. With that many witches and warlocks joining powers, they managed to weaken the wards enough to damage them and break through.

So united we’ll stand.

Damn right. United, we’ll destroy—

Alara yelped, her body tossed aside like a doll. The flesh guardian who’d dealt the blow floated over the ground, racing toward the umber-colored wolf as she struggled to get up.

Alara! Verika yelled and bolted forward without a second thought.

The flesh guardian met her head on, shrieking like a banshee as it rushed toward her in a blur of dark robes and snow-white bone. Verika dodged, felt its bony fingers scrape her skin, pry up fur. Painful but not unbearable. The wolf was tough, an efficient killing machine built by centuries of hard-won evolution.

She ducked, swiped, and danced about the flesh guardian. He bent his hooded head back and shrieked into the open night sky. More guardians answered his call.

Nearby, Alara was on her feet and growling, hackles raised, as two more guardians approached. Blood marred her fine coat.

Verika had to end this. Leaping back as the flesh guardian’s rancid teeth snapped where her muzzle had been, she summoned every drop of power in her blood, stretched the spell as far and wide as she could, across the whole of the bloody battlefield. She didn’t have to say anything, just do it, will her magic to obey. Every muscle quaked with the strain of holding the magic steady.

Within moments, every flesh guardian on the field froze. The hoods had fallen back on some, revealing dulled, broken skulls stripped of flesh, of anything that made them recognizable.

Shells. That’s all these poor creatures were now. Empty shells awoken from the grave to perform a selfish woman’s bidding.

And so, she would lay them to rest.

Gathering her power, she pulled.

The Black Magic giving the flesh guardians life was sucked right out of them, through their eyes, mouth, ears. They shrieked and writhed as green tendrils of magic coalesced in the air, forming a writhing, pulsing ball.

Verika pushed. The ball exploded.

The magic swiped through the field, a tidal wave of power, and the flesh guardians at last stilled, their eyes dark, no longer dimly burning with the dark magic that had given them life. One by one, they fell, motionless, truly dead.

Verika at last released the spell with an audible gasp. Her body hurt, ached all over. Necromancy was an abomination, a crime against what was intended. And though Black Witch she may be, with the power to command death if she so chose, her body rejected the notion of controlling the dead. It wasn’t…right.

Her stomach heaved as Alara approached, limping. Are you all right?

I will be, just need to catch my breath.

The enemies around them had seemed to pause, as well, to ponder that awesome display of power. And to wonder whether they should retreat. Their numbers had been significantly thinned out, she noted. As had their own, she realized with a wince.

You saved me, Alara said.

Yes.

Thank you.

No thanks needed. Come. Let us find our mates.

Elijah lost track of time as he and Gage fought through the heat of battle. The art of destruction came to him as easily as breathing. Werewolf, vampire, warlock: it didn’t matter. None of them were a match for him. He let go of his fears of magic and surrendered to his wolf’s innate sense of self-preservation. Gave in to the wildness gnawing at him.

Gage broke off shortly after helping him dispatch a rather ambitious witchling who, clearly, had been one of the coven’s newest members. Probably hadn’t been in control of her powers for long.

I have to find Danica, Gage had said, and get her foolhardy ass out of here before she gets herself and our child killed.

Go, Elijah had said, and Gage had taken off.

He later saw Danica racing toward the woods, not a spot on her golden fur, as Gage fought off those who would have chased her.

The distraction was too long, because the next thing he knew there was a flash of silver, and then he barely dodged having that damnable broken blade buried in his neck.

He knew who would face him before he’d even turned around.

Mistress Black stood there, covered in blood, her hair a mess. Her fine robe had been torn, as had the flesh beneath. Looked as though someone, at least, had gotten a good chunk of her. He hoped whichever creature responsible was still alive so he might buy them a brew after this was all done.

Mistress Black tossed her blood-and-dirt-matted hair out of her face as wolf and witch circled each other. “I should have killed you the moment the brand was lifted. Would’ve saved myself a world of heartache.”

He Changed back into a man, not caring in the least that he didn’t wear a scrap of clothing. She’d already seen every inch of him, had defiled him. He had words to say—needed to say—as a man. The man she’d scarred so deeply he doubted he’d ever be rid of the wounds.

“They would’ve come for you eventually,” he said easily.

“But perhaps they wouldn’t have.”

“Oh, I think they would’ve, sweetheart. Everybody in the Underworld wants you dead.”

“Not everyone. I have an army of followers.”

“Yeah? How’s that army doing now? Because it looks to me like we’re kicking their asses.”

She hissed, lunged. Elijah sidestepped and shoved her, using her own momentum to cause her to stumble and nearly fall onto the carcass of a witch of Mistress Black’s coven. Or what was left of her.

Mistress Black blinked at the corpse of her fallen subordinate and turned back to Elijah.

He raised a brow. “No vengeful cry? No tears of remorse for your friend?”

“She was not my friend. I have no friends. They make you weak, vulnerable.”

“That’s not what our army of friends tells me. You’re just too scared to let someone in because you’re afraid they’ll see how ugly you are inside and hate you as much as you hate yourself.”

“That’s not true,” she snarled.

“Isn’t it? I know you said a friend of your family’s sold out you all as witches, was responsible for their deaths. And for that, I’m sorry. Nobody deserves that. But just as cruel or worse has happened to plenty of other people, and you don’t see them becoming murderous psychopaths.”

“I’m justified! I have my reasons!”

“As do we for stopping you! Look around! The battle’s over. You’ve lost.”

“No.”

He clenched his jaw. “If you surrender now, I bet the High Council will even spare your life.”

She laughed. “And lock me up for the next fifty years, or however long I last, in this wretched body? I think not. I’d rather be dead.”

She charged, and he Changed.

One of the jagged points of metal caught him in the side, scoring his skin, but he didn’t even flinch. Plenty of knives had pierced his flesh in his lifetime. You got used to it after a while, lost your fear.

He went straight for her throat, throwing both paws onto her shoulders and knocking her over backward. They hit the ground hard; the breath whooshed out of her mouth as her eyes flew wide with shock. Upon impact, she lost her grip on the knife, and it skittered off to the side.

His maw was about her glistening, blood-covered neck, the taste of those she’d killed on his tongue as he prepared to snap his jaws shut.

There was a gentle shift in the wind right before his lungs began to burn. He wheezed in agony as his body lifted into the air, as if by invisible strings. God, it felt as if his throat was being squeezed closed.

He stared wildly at the ground, where the Toad Girl who had retrieved him from the dungeon stood. The gale he’d felt in the dungeon made sense now.

“Thank you, Mira.” Mistress Black was on her feet now. Her voice rasped, and she clutched at her chest as she staggered over to the Grey Witch. “Hold him tight.” She kept walking, slowly, deliberately toward Elijah.

She stopped in front of him, watching him choke, watching death approach with cold satisfaction. “I want to say I loved you once. But we both know I’m incapable of loving. Good-bye, Elijah.”

She flicked her wrist and walked away.

Mira smiled, closed her fingers into fists. Elijah thought his lungs would burst as every drop of air was squeezed out of them.

It was ironic, actually. So many times in his life, he’d felt like a man drowning. Drowning in debt, worries, fears. Only this went beyond a mere sensation. This was real, clawing death, come to claim him at last.

Only, he no longer welcomed it. Hadn’t ever since he’d first laid eyes upon Verika. He didn’t want to die, he realized, not one bit. He had so much to live for, someone to live for. He had a sense of purpose now, the flickering of fragile embers of hope that would soon be snuffed out.

He struggled against the invisible hands that gripped his throat, against the fingers squeezing tighter and tighter.

Shadows ringed his vision, wispy splotches that grew larger and larger as his eyes began to close, his head lag.

Get away from my mate!

The air suddenly returned to his lungs in one violent whoosh as he was released and dropped to the ground. His body screamed for oxygen. The cool night air chapped his throat as it went down. He couldn’t drink it fast enough, having just enough presence of mind left to maintain his wolf shape.

A red muzzle nudged him gently, whined. Are you all right? Verika asked through their bond.

Yeah, he thought back tiredly. I am now.

He glanced up. The Grey Witch had been thrown clear across the field and now lay in an unmoving slump.

Did you…? he asked.

Yes, Verika said. I couldn’t very well let her choke the life out of you.

Thank God for that.

A scream of fury interrupted their conversation. Mistress Black looked as if she were about to come unglued. With her face bright red, she pointed an accusing finger at Verika. “You are a disgrace to our kind! Helping a lowlife like him—”

Verika growled and stepped in front of her recovering mate. I’d be very careful with my next words, if I were you, she said to Mistress Black, who seemed unfazed a werewolf was talking inside of her head. That is my mate you’re dissing.

Mistress Black cast the knife aside, jerked up her sleeves. “I should’ve ditched metal for magic a long time ago. Time to finish this.”

Finally, something we can agree on.

Mistress Black didn’t wait for her to finish talking before lashing out with an awesome display of power.

But Verika was ready. She met the onslaught head on, sending out a force of magic the likes of which the Underworld had never seen. Her power collided with Mistress Black’s, making the older witch grit her teeth and causing her heels to slide back a bit in the dirt.

The battle around them stilled, the survivors looking on in awe. Flashes of deep green and bright violet lit up the clearing as the magic sizzled and sparked.

The two witches were evenly matched. When one would start to gain ground, the other would push them back.

Verika realized her mistake when her foe began to gain too much ground. The entire battle, she’d been using her magic to thwart enemy attacks—to deflect, to defend. She hadn’t realized how quickly she’d depleted her magical stores until she tried summoning more and there was none.

Panic sent her heart to racing even faster.

What’s wrong? Elijah noticed the subtle change in her adrenaline.

My magic…I’m running out of it. She’d heard of witches and warlocks reaching the bottom of their magical wells, as it were, though most experienced ones knew when to draw back and how to conserve so they never did. But although experienced in general magic she may be, she hadn’t been a Black Witch long enough for the thought to even cross her mind. Which made her feel stupid and angry at her misjudgment. That one silly mistake might just cost them their victory. And if it did, then she truly would be the world’s most despised witch.

So much rode on her shoulders now, so many precious lives counting on her to save them. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let them down.

Lend me your strength, Elijah, she said, her voice strained.

How, love? Tell me how.

Just send your love, your strength, to me through our bond. Channel it and focus.

He did as she asked, his body drawing still. At first it felt like a trickle, a little tickling of power so strong she hadn’t felt the likes of it before. When that trickle soon gave way to a mighty flood, she nearly wept with joy.

She could feel him, feel the combined force of their love. So strong, so pure, so endless. Using it, she threaded that power into her own, weaving an attack surer and stronger than anything she could have conjured on her own.

Mistress Black’s power began to wane, driven back by the pure, raw magic flowing from Verika.

“No!” Mistress Black screamed, her features drawn from fatigue. “I cannot—will not—lose!” She glanced about. “Brothers and sisters of the Order, lend me your power!”

They looked at one another, shifting nervously, murmuring and shaking their heads.

All but one.

Toad Girl stepped forward, her face serious. “What do you require of me, Mistress?”

“Cut my arm. Hurry, you stupid girl!”

The woman grabbed the blade Mistress Black had dropped and drew a thin slice across Mistress Black’s upper arm. She looked at her leader, waiting.

“Now drive that dagger into your neck.”

Verika’s heart leapt to her throat. Blood Magic. Mistress Black was calling upon Blood Magic. She knew what would happen next, what Mistress Black would require of the girl. And prayed to God she wasn’t so foolish as to follow through.

The woman never even flinched. “As you wish, Mistress.” She raised the blade and drove it straight into her neck. Blood burst around the wound, and her mouth flew open in shock as she shuddered and then collapsed. Her body continued to quiver as the life drained out of her, her eyes at last glazing over as she drew still.

A gale picked up, as if the wind itself were angry it had lost a Grey Witch. A storm crackled and growled overhead.

Mistress Black threw her head back and shouted into the tempest. “God of the dead and all the horrors in between life and death, I call upon your power! Heed my sacrifice to you, oh great lord of shadows, and grant me the power which I so desperately need!”

There was a whip of lightning, a roar of thunder. Then Mistress Black began to glow faint red. Shimmering bloodred lines oozed out of her fingers, crawling toward Verika.

What is she doing? What’s happening? Elijah demanded.

She’s going to drain my magic, Verika whispered. She watched in horror as the red worm-like threads inched closer.

Let go of me, Elijah! Run away.

No.

You don’t understand, love. When she takes my magic, it’ll affect you too while you’re lending me your strength. It’s the gift and curse of our mating bond. The pain will be unimaginable. I couldn’t bear to see you hurt, to know I was the cause of it.

And I’ll never live with myself if I walk away.

Please, Elijah!

I’m not abandoning you!

The threads were almost to her, a mere few inches away from latching onto her like the parasites they were and draining her dry of what made her a witch.

With ferocity, she realized she couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let this selfish woman take away anything else that belonged to her. She’d stolen the tender, happy moments of a first love, had turned them into a waking nightmare. That was unforgiveable.

She had to fight, had to hold on and drive her back if she could.

If she could.

She would sure as hell try.

Throwing herself into her power, she pushed farther and deeper. A shield of sparkling purple magic formed in front of her, and the Blood Magic hissed and coiled, striking the shield with whip-like tentacles, trying to break through. Verika growled, straining to keep the shield from breaking.

Farther. Deeper. Must go deeper. Need more power.

A white speck of light grew in her vision, inside her mind’s eye.

Verika! Verika, wait! Elijah cried, until his voice was no more than a dull echo inside her head.

Still she pushed herself, refusing to give Mistress Black another inch.

The white spot in her mind grew until there was nothing but blinding white light.

At first Verika didn’t realize where she was. She stood in her human form, donning the amulet, which glittered and sparkled in the bright light, and clothed in a simple, sleeveless white dress that ended just above her knees. Not one of her favorite colors. White tended to wash her out, make her appear paler.

But now she didn’t mind the color so much. It felt clean and pure, like the light she walked through. White all around. It started to dim—that, or her eyes had started to adjust to its brightness. Something spongy and soft tickled her bare feet. Grass, lots of it. Green as an emerald.

She looked up, and the endless sea of white had given way to a hill topped by a single tree with fiery red leaves. Its curling branches shimmied in the breeze blowing off the crystalline sea just beyond the hill, its waters so blue that it melted into the sky. Little puffs of clouds lazily rolled along overhead, past a big, bold sun.

She squinted, used a hand to shield her eyes.

“Hello, daughter.”

Her breath caught.

She knew that voice, had heard it when she was a little girl. Still occasionally heard it in fragments of memories.

She looked around—and stilled.

A lone figure stood on top of the hill, turned toward her as if waiting. Her red hair rose and fell in the breeze; the long gown of cream-colored chiffon and silk billowed around her. She stood just under the tree, but no shade dappled her pale skin.

That’s when Verika realized it. There were no shadows here. She looked down at her feet, all around where she stood. No shadow.

Huh.

“Darkness cannot exist here in any form.”

She looked up.

The woman beckoned her forward, so forward she went on trembling legs.

Her eyes stung with tears as she crested the hill, took in a face that so closely resembled her own. “Hello, Mother.”

“Call me Moira.”

“I can barely remember you.”

“Part of the spell used to seal away your powers.” She held open her arms. “Hi, baby girl.”

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that she’d left when she was a kid, that Verika had resented her and loved her on and off ever since. All the burning anger and stinging betrayal melted away as she went to her mother and hugged her.

She felt solid, warm. Real.

“Is this happening?” Verika asked after a long while, pulling back. “Is it really you?”

“It is, darling.”

“Where are we?”

“Where do you think?”

“Heaven, I’m guessing.”

“Close. This is the in-between, a place between life and death where the living and the dead can meet.”

“So I’m not dead?”

“No, dearest. Not for a long while. But you must stop her.”

“Mistress Black.”

“Yes.” She lifted the amulet. “There is another reason I created this.”

Moira touched her daughter’s temple. An image popped into Verika’s mind, a set of instructions that left her tongue-tied in wonder. “I see,” Verika murmured. “Am I strong enough? Can I do that?”

“Yes, baby girl, and so much more. I always knew you were a gifted witch. And I couldn’t be more proud of you. Me and your father both.”

“My father?”

“Yes, baby. Know that we’ll always be watching over you, and that we’ll be waiting for you when it’s your turn to cross.”

Verika’s eyes burned as she realized this was good-bye. “But I want to stay with you.”

“Oh, dearheart.” Her mother took her into her arms and hugged her fiercely. “Part of me wishes you could because we miss you so much. But I also know if you stay you’d miss out on a wondrous life. We can’t take that away from you, even if it was our deepest wish.”

“Tell Dad I love him.”

“I will, baby. I promise.”

They hugged for a long time, Verika trying to memorize the scent of flowers and earth. Her mother had loved working in the garden, had hummed pretty tunes as she tilled and dug and watered in her wide-brimmed floppy hat. It was one of the few things she could remember: playing in the grass while her mother tended to her beloved flowers.

“You must go now.” Moira reluctantly pulled back.

“I don’t know the way back. I don’t even know how I got here.”

“You were able to come here because your power is linked to this realm, in a way, as Black Magic is the power of death. Not darkness,” she amended as a shadow passed over Verika’s face. “Death is a very natural part of life. There is nothing destructive or evil about it. It just is.”

“So how do I return?”

“Through here. With a leap of faith.” She took her daughter to the hillside, where a bluff rose up out of the deep blue.

“I have to jump?”

“Yes.”

“What if I drown?”

“You won’t. Trust me.”

Verika bit her lip, deliberated. Looked at her mother one last time. “All right.” She squeezed her again, pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I love you, Momma.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. And I couldn’t be more proud of you, your father and me both.”

Verika smiled as tears ran down her face. Swiping at them, she turned, forced herself not to look back for fear she’d lose her nerve and decide to stay.

She had a mate to get back to, a battle to win.

So she jumped.

Verika slammed back into the present, no longer a wolf but a human woman. The white dress she’d worn in the other realm had come with her, the billowy skirt whipping around her thighs, her hair a wild tangle of red about her fearsome face.

The tentacles of Blood Magic continued to beat against the magical barrier Verika had thrown up, its shimmering, translucent green surface cracking under the pressure like glass. The cracks spiderwebbed across the globe surrounding her and Elijah, spreading faster and faster.

Elijah Changed back into a man, his face paler from fear leaching the color from it. Questions were written all over his face, but he knew better than to distract his mate in a time like this.

She slowly turned her head to him, the look of a warrior on her face. “Do you trust me?” she asked, her voice strong and sure.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, grasping one of her hands. “With my life.”

She nodded once and turned back to Mistress Black. “I’m taking the shield down. When I do, I want you to close your eyes.”

“What?”

“One…two…three!”

The shield shattered with nary a flick of her finger, and the barbs of Blood Magic surged forward.

Then the night exploded with white light.

Elijah gritted his teeth, throwing up his free hand to shield his eyes from the blinding glow emanating from Verika’s amulet. It blazed hot and bright as the sun, burning up the strands of Blood Magic and filling the entire clearing with white light.

The gathered crowd slinked back in fear. Mistress Black hissed and cursed as the light approached her. “What’s happening? What sort of sorcery is this?”

“Ties that bind, ties of blood, return this ancient soul of old to the place she is meant to rest.” Verika’s voice boomed in the clearing, seeming to echo off the trees, the sky.

Storm clouds raged and lightning flashed as the light strengthened, enveloping Mistress Black. “What…?” Her high-pitched shriek was all that could be heard as she threw her head back, her spine bowing as her soul was literally pulled out of her. The human host she’d occupied collapsed first to her knees and then pitched face-first into the dirt as the light receded, dragging the screaming, clawing soul along with it.

Mistress Black’s soul, a gray ghost of her human shell, cast spells and curses alike, trying to break free as the light dragged her backward across the ground. Faster and faster it went, until she was sucked up in the crystal. Then the light winked out entirely, enveloping the lawn in darkness once more.

The tempest broke, the storm clouds dissipating as quickly as they’d come. The gale steadied and stopped, and all that was left was heavy silence.

Verika felt the weight of two hundred pairs of eyes on her, but all she could do was stare at the crystal in her hand. It no longer sparkled with magic. Its faceted surface was dull as a rock, leaving no hint as to the immense power locked within.

Darkness spawned by exhaustion—physical, mental, and magical—danced along her vision, but she fought it. She had to be sure.

She glanced up, where Mistress Black’s host lay unconscious upon the ground, and then back again at the crystal. A half laugh, half sob bubbled up, and her knees shook. “It’s over. It is done.”

“Verika?”

She looked up at Elijah, smiling and crying, her whole body shaking with the flood of emotions rolling through her. “We won. We won, Elijah.”

She took a step forward, just in time to collapse into his waiting arms and tumble into darkness.

The battle was over and done after that. The enemy forces that remained quickly surrendered, their leader gone, the spell to resurrect Mistress Black thwarted.

Verika hadn’t gone under long. Fifteen minutes, tops, though she’d wanted to sleep far longer. It was as if a part of her knew she was still needed by her friends, and thus wouldn’t allow her to rest just yet.

She lay on the field, under the open sky. Elijah had knelt beside her the entire time, stroking her hair, pressing kisses to her damp forehead. Someone had given him a jacket, pants. His feet remained bare and caked in blood and dirt.

He explained everything to her when she awoke, after ensuring she had water and was treated by a Blue Warlock for injuries, magical and physical.

“She’s exhausted her magical well, as it were.” The warlock stood. “But she’ll be fine in a few days, with plenty of rest. And she’s not to use her magic, not even for little things. You hear?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”

After the doctor left to tend to the injured, Elijah sat by Verika, waiting for an explanation.

She sat up slowly, massaged her temples as she gathered her thoughts. It felt as if someone had put her brain through a meat grinder and had stomped and pressed on every bone and muscle in her body. “I’m sorry for frightening you.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Verika’s hands shook in her lap as she recalled what happened, and she stared at the pendant in wonder, not touching it, not quite. “I heard her, Elijah.”

“Who, baby?”

“My mother. She spoke to me, inside here.” A hand pressed to her heart. “And here.” The same hand reached up to touch her head. “She told me what the true purpose of the crystal was, of the vision she’d had before creating it. My mother was prophetic. She knew of a great evil that would overshadow the world—unless I stopped it. Unless we stopped it together.” She squeezed his hand.

“I thought I’d lost you. It seemed like I did for a moment. I…I couldn’t feel you inside our bond.”

“I believe I crossed over to the other side briefly, at least, in astral form. Similar to dream walking, only my powers of death allowed me to cross over to the plane of the dead.”

“You died?”

“No, no, don’t freak out. My astral form, my soul if you will, simply left my body for a short while because my mother called to me through the power of the crystal.”

“Your soul ‘simply left your body,’ my ass.” He barked a laugh. “You say it so casually, as if it were nothing. And you expect me not to freak out?”

“I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in. It’s a lot for me too. I didn’t know Black Witches had this ability. I mean, I’d read about it, in old stories. Black Witches and Warlocks tend to stay out of the media due to the stigma tied to our magic, so not much is known about the extent of our powers.”

“You should write a book.”

She smiled. “Yes, maybe.”

“So you were able to rip Mistress Black’s soul out of that poor witch”—he shuddered—“and bind her soul inside that crystal?” He pointed doubtfully to it.

“Yes. It’s a soul gem. It must have cost my mother a great deal to create it.” She ran her thumb over the smooth surface thoughtfully. “Blood calls to blood…”

“What?”

“It’s why I was able to trap her. We share the same blood.”

“So you used Blood Magic?”

“No, not literally. A form of ancient magic rooted in blood ties. A purer branch of Blood Magic, before it was corrupted by years of witches bastardizing it for their personal gain.”

Elijah shook his head in wonder. “There’s clearly a lot I don’t understand about magic.”

“You did all right out there, by the way. Given all the magic that was flying around.”

“For you, I have to be brave. I want to be.” He took her hand. She flipped his hand palm-up, skidded her fingertips over his rough palm.

“I…I don’t think I would have been able to come back to this world if your presence hadn’t been in my mind to ground me. You saved me.”

“We saved each other.” He kissed her tenderly.

She leaned into him, closed her eyes, and relished his strength, the surety of his belief in her, in them. “Where are the others? Is everyone else all right?”

He pressed his lips together. “There were casualties. A lot of blood was spilled tonight. Even more were injured.”

“I should help in any way I can.” She started to rise, but Elijah pressed her back down.

“You good to move? Maybe you should take it—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to take it easy, Elijah Marshal Johnson. I’m a grown woman, and I can handle a little pain. This war started partly because of me. I need to see it through to the very end.”

He couldn’t argue with her, knew doing so would only anger her more. She’d just do whatever she damn well pleased, anyway. So he helped her up, made sure to support her weight as he led her out to the bloodied field.

“How were you able to turn back, to a human that is, before dawn?” he asked. “Most wolves can’t during their first Change.”

“I don’t know. I suppose the crystal did that when I came back from the other world. My human body was needed, not the wolf’s.”

They paused by a fire, where a figure burned at its heart. Verika’s eyes skimmed over a proud nose, hair the color of flame.

Mistress Black’s real body, she realized. Wise, she thought. Burn the vessel so there would never be a chance for the soul to return. That is, if it ever escaped. Which she suspected, if her mother had anything to do with it, would never happen.

Still, she closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for Mistress Black’s soul. She had been good at one time, Verika was sure. But she’d let hardship, oppression, and suffering eat away at that goodness until there was only bitterness and hatred. And it had destroyed her.

“What are you doing?” Elijah murmured.

“Nothing.” Verika gazed pensively at the fire. “Just thinking.”

Did she regret having to kill her? No. She had still done so many wicked things. The atrocities she’d done to her mate she would never forgive. For those evils alone, Mistress Black deserved her fate.

Karma always wins, she thought, as Satine had believed. She wasn’t sure where she stood on that until now. That everything you reap comes back to you eventually in some form or another. Now, she thought her eccentric teacher might have been right.

Unable to stand the stench of burning flesh, they walked away, toward the huge, dark house. Gage stood nearby, Danica safe at his side and seemingly without a scratch save for a bruise on her forehead. Gage spoke with a vampire, who nodded and strode off as Elijah and Verika approached.

“There’s the hero of the hour.” Danica walked up to her and kissed both cheeks. “We owe you our lives, all of us.”

Verika blushed, not used to the praise. Danica was the first person to say thank-you. Verika had noticed, upon walking through the field, that people for the most part stayed clear of her. Some gazed in awe, others in fear. She shouldered their stares with practiced ease, wondering whether maybe this was her fate for the rest of her life. She may be a hero, maybe was a savior even, but the Underworld still had a long way to go before the stigma associated with Black Magic was lifted. It had been taught to fear it for so long that it would take a hundred acts of goodness to lift the shroud of hatred over the dark house of magic.

Gage hugged Verika next, thanking her in kind, and then hugged his brother. “How’s the baby?” Verika asked, looking with concern at Danica’s stomach.

“Fine.” Danica rubbed a hand over her slight bump. “I knew the Change wouldn’t hurt it, as the child is a purebred werewolf, and Gage pulled me out of the battle before I could see much action.”

Verika bit her lip. It probably wasn’t her place to ask, but she was curious. “Why did you do it? Why join the fight at all in your…?” Her eyes ran over Danica’s belly once more.

Danica flushed. Her hands balled into fists. “I was scared—terrified, even—for my baby. But while I may soon be a mother, right now I’m a queen of wolves. And a queen protects her pack, her citizens, at all costs.”

Gage rested a hand on her back, gazing at her with understanding and adoration. “Spoken like a true queen.” He kissed her forehead, and she winced.

“So what’s the bruise from?” Elijah pointed.

Danica rolled her eyes. “Me being clumsy after Changing back into a human. I tripped and banged my head on a rock. How lame is that?”

Verika bit back a laugh. “You should make up some grand battle story as to how you got it.”

“Right?”

Their banter was quiet, the humor in it subdued by the heavy atmosphere of death all around them. Too many lives had been needlessly lost tonight to warrant much cheer.

Some more talk was exchanged, about numbers lost, about what happened next. The DPI had been called and were on their way to apprehend those in association with the Order of the Sun, and the leaders of every race in the Underworld were on their way as well.

“In other words”—Elijah looked around—“this place is about to turn into a circus.”

“We should leave,” Verika said. “We’re still some of the Underworld’s most wanted to the DPI.”

“She’s right.” Gage grimaced. “I have some legal details to work out before the warrants out for your arrest are lifted. You should leave before they get here, lay low until I send for you.”

Elijah gazed thoughtfully at the house, his eyes full of pain, hate. Regret. “There’s one more thing…” he murmured, looking at Gage. “The house clear?”

“Yes. We’ve searched every room, released any prisoners she’d been holding.”

Verika shivered as images of the dungeon flashed through her head. She could only imagine what it was like being held captive by that madwoman.

“Good.” Elijah walked forward, toward the bonfire, and retrieved a large stick. Flames licked its end as he marched right back to the house, punched a hole through one of the windows, and tossed the burning stick inside. Curtains caught fire first, and then furniture, the fire crackling and eating its way through the room.

Water witches and warlocks rushed forward to extinguish the flames, but Gage held out a hand. “No,” he commanded. “Bring more fire. Bring every Red Witch and Warlock we have at our disposal.”

As the highest commanding officer there, no one disputed him. They respected his command, his personal guards there to support him should anyone try otherwise. Before long, the entire house was ablaze, its glow staining the sky orange.

Verika and Elijah stared, watching years of darkness and pain burn away.

“I had a promise to keep,” Elijah said quietly. He never took his gaze off the house. “I think it’s time to leave this all behind me, in the past where it belongs.”

She went to him, and he opened his arms. “We should leave,” she murmured.

“We will. One more minute, I promise.”

They hugged each other, Verika resting her head against his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat. Elijah pressed a kiss to her head, took in her smell and the amber light of the new dawn lightening the sky on the horizon. Bloody and sweating, they held each other and watched the world burn until the sirens came, and they at last vanished into the woods.