Mychael stood over me, his eyes sparkling. “So you’ve worked up an appetite, too.”

I flashed a grin. “I think I can put a respectable dint in whatever the kitchen sent up.” I sat up and the sheet fell down.

Oh crap, my nipples were hard. It was the cold air, definitely the cold air, though Mychael wouldn’t believe that; he’d probably think that I . . . because he was . . . because we had . . . Dammit.

I sighed and just left the sheet where it was. No use bothering now. “You wouldn’t happen to have something I could wear, would you?”

Mychael winked and sat the tray down across my lap. “Got just the thing.” The silk sleep shirt he retrieved from the back of a chair was the match to the pants he was wearing. He held the tray while I put it on.

I buttoned the shirt. “Perfect.”

Mychael grinned crookedly. “Now you can eat, retain your modesty, and prevent any cold-related . . . issues.”

I tucked the sheet around my waist, and lifted the cover off one of the two plates on the tray. There were eggs, bacon, cheese, fried potatoes, bread, and butter. “And my appetite would like to thank you in advance. How did you know when to have food brought?”

“I asked that it be brought in ten hours.”

I stopped with a fork of eggs halfway to my open mouth. “We’ve been in bed together for ten hours?”

“The minimal length of time for healing injuries as severe as yours is seven hours. I allowed another three for sleep for both of us.”

Meaning I’d been naked in Mychael’s arms for ten hours—and during seven of those hours, his hands had been all over me.

Since that image struck me pretty much speechless, I stuffed a forkful of eggs in my mouth.

Mychael pulled the nightstand over next to him and put the second plate on it. He had the same breakfast as mine and dug in with gusto. I imagine healing a naked woman all night and half the morning combined with what we had just done would give a man one hell of an appetite.

Mychael scowled at me between bites. “I know the answer I’m going to get, but I have to ask. What possessed you to throw yourself into a nest of Reapers?”

“Those things went after Dad. I—”

“A man who has been protecting himself against Reapers for centuries. Your father’s had plenty of practice. You, on the other hand, have not.”

I stopped chewing, and the fire crackled in the silence.

“So I tried to save someone who didn’t need saving,” I finally said.

“Someone who was trying to save you. That you’re still alive after what you did is nothing short of a miracle.”

I just stared at him. He didn’t know. If he couldn’t see Reapers, that meant he didn’t see the souls that tore their way out of the Saghred through me.

“Mychael, when I started screaming . . . did you see what was happening?”

“You were surrounded by Reapers.”

“You could see them?”

“No, but I could sense them.”

I took a breath and slowly let it out. “Mychael, four souls from inside the Saghred . . .” I stopped, my food suddenly like a rock in my stomach. “They came out of me and went into a Reaper.”

Mychael froze. “The Reapers took them out of you?”

I shook my head. “No, the souls wanted to go. They were . . .” I fought down the sensation that I’d felt, could still feel. “Squirming inside of me. They wanted to get out. They ripped their way out; it was like someone grabbed a handful of my guts and pulled.” I put my fork down, and made myself take another breath. “When they were out, the Reapers took them. I couldn’t stop them from going or the Reapers from taking.”

“Vidor Kalta told me he’d seen something moving between you and the Reapers, but he didn’t know what it was.”

Fear seized me as I remembered Kalta looking at my dad, recognizing what he was, what he’d been. “Kalta knows about Dad.”

“Vidor is the finest nachtmagus I know; I fully expected him to know your father for what he is.”

“You don’t sound concerned.”

“And you shouldn’t be, either. I’ve spoken with Vidor and he understands the need for discretion.”

“You trust him?”

“Without hesitation. Your father and Vidor are fine; you however are not. I’ve had Vidor ward this room against Reapers. There’s nothing strong enough to keep them out, but Vidor’s discouraged them. Just because you appear to be healed doesn’t mean that you are. You need sleep. I don’t want you leaving this bed for at least the next day, and this room until I have located and dealt with Sarad Nukpana.”

I sat up, sloshing coffee on the tray. “Not without me, you don’t.”

“Raine, you’re hardly in any condition—”

“Neither are you.”

“I wasn’t the one buried in Reapers.”

“You heard Nukpana; he wants me last. For the first time in my life, I have a dad.” My voice caught. “I never knew my mother. I’m not going to lose him.” I felt the sudden sting of tears in my eyes. “And I’m not going to lose anyone else I care about, either. Sarad Nukpana won’t stop until he takes every person I love. He said it, and I believe him. I will not lie here in this bed while that happens.”

“He won’t act on that threat immediately,” Mychael assured me. “Remember what Vidor said? After Nukpana fully absorbs the life force he got from General Aratus, he’ll become incorporeal again.”

“Meaning not solid.”

“Exactly. Nukpana will want to build up his power before he comes after one of us. He can’t risk failure. He’s issued his challenge; he’s knows we’re hunting him. He won’t act openly until he’s strong enough.”

“Which means there’s going to be more bodies,” I said, a lump of dread sticking in my throat. “Or ‘gifts,’ as Nukpana calls them.”

Mychael nodded grimly. “Magically powerful victims, probably with nothing less than mage-level talents. I’ve made Justinius aware of the danger to our senior mages. Whether they take the threat seriously is another matter. Our more powerful mages are known for thinking themselves invulnerable to attacks of any kind.”

I snorted. “If Sarad Nukpana gets hold of one of them, their thinking days are over.”

“True.”

“If we don’t stop Nukpana soon, no one will have enough power to stop him.”

“Except you, Raine,” Mychael said quietly.

“You mean the Saghred.”

“You and the Saghred are essentially one and the same.” Mychael’s eyes were intent on mine. “The Reapers know that and so does Sarad Nukpana. If he were to take you, he wouldn’t just have you; he would have the Saghred’s power.”

I knew what Mychael meant, and it scared me more than anything had ever scared me before. If Sarad Nukpana absorbed the life force, knowledge, and magic of enough mages, he would be unstoppable.

And if he took me and the Saghred, Sarad Nukpana would be a dark demigod with the world at his mercy.

So much for my appetite.

When I woke up, Mychael had already gone, and I was determined to be dressed and out of here in half an hour.

I had to find Piaras.

Piaras’s last name was Rivalin, not Benares, and we weren’t related by anyone, anywhere; but I loved the kid like a little brother, so in my book, that made him family.

Family that I knew was near the top of Sarad Nukpana’s kill list.

Piaras needed to know it and I needed to assure myself that he was safe.

I was two steps away from the bed when I remembered that the Reapers had shredded the hell out of my clothes. Damn. Well, I’d help myself to Mychael’s wardrobe. I just needed to get out of here, not make a fashion statement.

Then I spotted a familiar duffel bag leaning against his desk, and the shoulder harness holding my brace of swords was hooked over the back of Mychael’s chair. I grinned. If Mychael had wanted to keep me here, he’d just made a grave tactical error. For the past two weeks, I had been staying on the Fortune, so Phaelan must have sent along a few things, and Mychael had left them for me. An intricate knot tied the canvas bag closed. Definitely Phaelan’s work. He did it to let me know that he’d packed my bag himself, and that the knot was still intact told me Mychael hadn’t gone snooping. Good. If there was one thing my cousin knew how to do, it was pack for a quick getaway—or a jailbreak. No doubt everything I needed to get out of Mychael’s bedroom, his apartment, and the citadel was in that bag. Phaelan liked to be thorough.