The sight of him sitting there, vulnerable and alone, made her want to cry. Shame curdled in her stomach. She was such a fucking idiot. How could she let herself be baited that way? How could she be that fucking stupid?

She had to get to Asher. Had to. Although she couldn’t cover six feet in one lunge, she could certainly get to Asher a lot fucking quicker than Jonas could. Sadly, the shuck would get there first. Plus, the hellcat—who was now standing a few feet behind Asher—would probably rush to block her path anyway.

Godfuckingdammit. Knox, Drew’s here. But he’s not the Horseman. It’s fucking Jonas.

And she needed to get the bastard away from her son. Needed to think. Plan. Act.

She needed the flames of fucking hell, that was what she needed.

Jonas? Knox echoed, his voice a guttural growl.

Yes. Which still boggled her mind. But I can’t fry the fucker. Asher doesn’t have his shield up, even though he has a black shuck in front of him and a hellcat behind him. Also, Jonas has some guy with him. If I call on the flames to burn one of them …

The others could attack Asher before you get the chance to direct the flames their way. Knox bit out a harsh expletive. Keep them distracted as best you can, baby. I’ll be there soon.

“Asher, put your shield up, sweetie.” Harper knew he wouldn’t understand the words, but she hoped he might respond to the urgency in her voice. He didn’t. Instead, he beamed at the shuck and waved, apparently unfazed by its snarls. Yes, he waved.

She just hoped to God that his inner demon would encourage Asher to protect himself. It had done a decent job of that so far. She spoke to his demon as she said, I’m trusting you to protect him. She didn’t receive a response.

God, she wanted to cry. Scream. Rave. Beat her fists into something or someone. Preferably Jonas, the motherfucker. She had the power to kill him and it was oh, so close. All she had to do was tap into her link with her wings and use it as a bridge to the power that waited on the other end of it. It would be so very easy, but she couldn’t call on the power right then.

As the shuck released a loud growl at Asher, she tensed, coiled to spring even as she knew it could be a very bad idea. She couldn’t just fucking stand there while it hurt her son!

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” Jonas warned her. “If you do, I’ll have Drew rip out your son’s throat. I believe you’re well-acquainted with him, aren’t you? He’s been rather helpful these past couple of weeks. Who can blame him for standing with me after what Knox did to him?”

Harper narrowed her eyes, hands fluttering slightly with a desperation she tried to hide. She suspected the only reason Jonas hadn’t directed the shuck to attack Asher was that he didn’t want to risk him raising his shield. The Prime was also enjoying her fear for her son. It would be damn good if Asher felt that same fear, but he was still smiling at the shuck.

“You don’t really think you can keep me from my son, do you?” Harper asked, keeping her tone controlled and flat, hoping to hide the sheer terror choking her.

“Maybe not. But he can.” Jonas clicked his fingers at the man at his side, who sputtered a brief chant. And then, just like that, she was enclosed in an iron cage much like the one in the basement where Alethea kept her captives to feed the incorporeal, only its bars covered in what looked like lava. What the everloving fuck?

As her demon predictably lost its shit, ranting and raving and determined that these fuckers would die today, Harper grabbed the iron bars, intending to shake the cage, but the liquid fire coating it burned like a goddamn son of a fucking bitch. She snatched her hands back, grinding her teeth as her skin sizzled. Knox, don’t come into view. Jonas has a dark practitioner who can cage people with magick.

You’re caged? Fuck. I’m going to rip out their fucking spinal cords.

She could so get behind that plan. Stay downwind of the hellcat and the shuck. It was a wonder she’d managed to sound composed when her mind was in chaos at being separated from Asher this way. She wanted to pound her fists against the cage. But Jonas would love that display of emotion. The flames of hell would sever the iron bars, but she couldn’t call on them without risking the others harming Asher.

Please, baby boy, put up your shield, she begged him. But still, Asher didn’t.

Jonas studied her. “You lied about not having wings, I see.” He exhaled. “I suppose that was Jolene’s idea. She no doubt suspected you’d be hunted due to how unique they are, so she advised you to claim that you had none. Sensible. They’re quite beautiful—the colors of the flames of hell.” His eyes darted to the shuck as it weirdly whined and shook its head. “I did intend to cage the boy … but I think the sight of him surrounded by hellish beasts will terrify Knox much more than seeing him confined.”

Harper knew he’d be right on that, since it had instilled the same terror in her.

“Since you don’t appear to be deep in grief, I’m guessing that Knox is still alive.” Jonas sighed sadly. “I had doubted that the crash would be enough to kill him, but the hope was certainly there. I suppose you’ve already telepathed him with news of my presence. Good. I want him afraid for you. And what better way to frighten him than to slather your mind with a spell that will prevent anyone from sensing you—he’ll think you’re dead.”

Harper stiffened, stomach rolling. “That’s not possible.”

Jonas shot the practitioner a sideways glance. “Charles.”

She felt an oily tendril of magick poke her mind like a fingertip … and then she watched with a smile as Charles winced and rubbed at his temple. “Her mind is protected with sharp psychic barbs,” he complained.

Jonas’s mouth tightened. “What about the boy?”

A hiss slid out of her before she could stop it, which only made Jonas give her a gloating smile.

Charles plucked at his collar. “He may well have inherited her psychic barbs. Even if he hasn’t, touching his mind would be a bad idea if you really don’t want him to slam up his shield. A foreign psychic touch could make him and his demon feel threatened.”

“True,” Jonas ground out. “Look at him, Harper, just sitting there staring at the shuck—completely unafraid. Your son is either very brave or very stupid.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you. This won’t end well for you, Jonas, and you know it. I can’t even imagine why you started it.” She frowned as a hazy swirl appeared in front of the cage. Then, suddenly, an imitation of Heidi stood in its place, smiling slyly. Harper gave it a scathing look and then spoke to Jonas, “Ah, it’s your little pet dog again.” The incorporeal bared its teeth.

“That’s such a mean thing to say.”

The words didn’t come from the incorporeal. Or Jonas. Or the practitioner. They came from the person who strolled out of the trees and sidled up to Jonas.

Harper’s mouth dropped open. What. The. Fuck?

“It was the incorporeal you saw burn on the YouTube video,” said Alethea, smirking. “It took on my form so I could fake my death. Ta-da,” she sang, like she’d performed a magic trick. “Oh, come on, that was clever—admit it.”

“You didn’t even consider it, did you?” The incorporeal sighed, as if it pitied Harper. “I can maintain a physical form. And just as I can choose what form to take, I can change that form. Make it appear as though it is wet, burning, decaying—whatever I want.”

Harper slid her gaze back to Jonas. “You faked her death so that you wouldn’t be a suspect?”

“I did believe it was unlikely that you would suspect me of ever harming my sister. But, mostly, I did it because Thatcher was suspicious of her—he was having her watched because he suspected she was the remaining Horseman. Killing him would have been stupid of me, since some believed him to be the Horseman. It was far better to have him as a scapegoat. But I needed him to stop keeping tabs on her. Charles here was good enough to slather her mind in a spell that protected her from being sensed.”