Grandma returned his smile, and though the shadows in her eyes remained, she seemed happy enough now. “That you are, little hellion. Run along and join your friends,” she said with a throaty laugh. “You’re practically vibrating with impatience.”

Leaping to his feet, Kalen grabbed the box and gave his grandma a quick kiss as she rose. “Thanks! I promise not to take it off!”

The heavy visit at an end, he once again looked forward to his Saturday and all the promise it held. Jogging to the front door, he yanked it open. And suddenly stopped. Turning, he faced the woman he loved more than anyone on earth, hurried back to her, and impulsively threw his arms around her middle. Hugged her close and breathed in her sweet scent.

“I love you, Grandma.”

“I love you so much, my boy. Always will.” She kissed the top of his head. “Go on now, have fun. The day is wasting!”

Grinning at her, he turned and dashed out, down the porch steps, his heart light. He’d think about the bad stuff later. Everything would be cool. Right?

It might have been. If only he’d kept his promise.

And if only he’d known that the lingering warmth of her love, enveloping him like a cozy blanket as he pedaled away, would have to last him for the rest of his life.

Kalen Black stood apart from his team, awash in guilt. Impotent in his shame.

Right this second the Alpha Pack’s beloved resident Fae prince, Sariel, might by dying. On top of that, Aric Savage’s mate had nearly been killed a short while ago by the witch Beryl before Aric ripped out Beryl’s throat, thereby putting an end to any information they might have gained from her.

The danger surrounding them all increased daily. Hourly. A traitor walked among Kalen’s friends and colleagues, slowly drowning in the darkness clogging his lungs. Overtaking his soul.

And it’s all my fucking fault . . . because the traitor is me.

As Aric tended to Rowan and the prince was rushed to the infirmary, Kalen hung his head. He tried to find comfort in the fact that Aric’s mate was all right, but it didn’t work. Then he wanted the earth to swallow him when Nick Westfall, the Pack’s commander, ushered everyone into the conference room and demanded to know, “How the fuck did Beryl get out of Block T?”

“I let her out.” His voice caught. “God, I’m so sorry—”

“Why? Did she seduce you, or was it Malik?”

Kalen died a thousand deaths during the questions that followed his confession and the truthful answers he supplied. In Kalen’s wretched lifetime he’d suffered abuse and humiliation. Isolation. Starvation. More horrors than most people ever had to face.

But none of those were worse than almost achieving his dreams of a home, a job, a family of sorts, and most of all, acceptance among those who were as different as himself. Almost. Before Malik, king of the Unseelie and Sariel’s evil sire, decided that Kalen Black—Sorcerer, Necromancer, and panther shifter—was exactly the sort of powerful ally he needed in his quest to rule the world.

And that he’d begin by taking over Kalen’s mind. One wicked suggestion at a time.

Facing them all, Kalen whispered his admission. “Not her. Malik.” He resisted the urge to squirm under Nick’s hard gaze.

“He gained control of your mind long enough to make you let her out?”

“Yes, sir. I think Beryl spelled me back at the house where we caught her. My defenses are . . . crumbling. I can’t keep him out for very long at a time.”

The witch had placed a bloodied finger to the center of Kalen’s forehead and whispered, “Abyssus abyssum invocat.”

Hell calls hell.

“Jesus,” Aric said, his tone dripping with horrified disgust.

The red wolf wasn’t any more disgusted with him than Kalen was with himself. Though the spell wasn’t Kalen’s fault, and he hadn’t known that Beryl would try to murder the Fae prince, it hardly mattered. He was to blame. He should’ve been stronger, even without the protection of his silver pentagram pendant. The one he’d given weeks ago to Dr. Mackenzie Grant, his onetime lover, and made her swear never to remove.

Nick cursed and rubbed his eyes. “Okay. We’ll figure this out. At least now we have Malik’s human name—Evan Kerrigan. Grant is tracking him down, gathering intel. With any luck we’ll have his location and a complete profile soon.”

The man Nick referred to was General Jarrod Grant, Mackenzie’s father. Kalen wondered what the man would think of what Kalen had done to his precious daughter. He doubted the man knew—Kalen was still in one piece.

When Mackenzie walked into the room, her blue eyes briefly meeting Kalen’s, they were filled with such pain it stole his breath. Kalen could feel nothing but self-loathing. As she looked quickly away, his gaze settled on the beautiful doctor, hungrily devouring the woman he could never have again, never allow into his mind or heart. The woman he had to protect at all costs from Malik.

From himself.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we knew you’d want word of Sariel. We believe he’ll recover.” Murmurs of relief sounded around the room. “But he was already weakened from some health issues stemming from being in our world, so healing will take time. He’s stable, though, so I wanted to pass the good news along.”

“Thank you, Mac,” Nick said, bringing Kalen back to the present. The doc returned Nick’s tired smile and left.

Without looking at me again.

Nick went on. “All right. I need to speak to Kalen. We’ll adjourn for now and discuss this mess later.”

Nick nodded at Kalen, indicating for him to follow. He trailed the commander, wondering if he could take the man in a fight. Nick was tall and muscular, strode with his broad shoulders back, head up, all easy grace and confidence. Yeah, this man could walk the walk, but he also had the power and skill to back it up. Kalen had seen him take on dozens of enraged Sluagh, huge batlike creatures that were Malik’s drones. Just swat them down like they were flies and spit on their carcasses. The man didn’t need the gift of sorcery; he could definitely dispose of Kalen with brute strength alone.

Not that Kalen would defend himself. No. Whatever the white wolf chose to dish out, he deserved.

In Nick’s office, the man closed the door and walked to his desk, parking his ass on the edge of it. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his short black hair threaded with silver at the temples and crossed his arms. “Sit down.”

Kalen complied without comment and waited.

“Tell me exactly what happened before you were compelled to set Beryl free. Don’t leave anything out.”

That was not a scene he’d wanted to revisit. Ever.

But the steely look in Nick’s deep blue eyes said that Kalen wasn’t getting out of telling the truth. He took a deep breath. “I was in my quarters about an hour ago and the bastard started prying into my head again.” They both knew the bastard he was referring to was Malik. “He told me that he’d never abandon me as everyone else in my life has done.”

“Smart,” he said, an edge of disgust to his tone. “He’s isolating the vulnerable cub from the pack, playing the doting mentor.”

“I’m not a cub.” His youth was a sore spot. Always had been, ever since he’d been kicked out of the house at the age of fourteen. A lifetime ago, it seemed. He’d had to scrabble, suffer, for every morsel that eased the hunger in his belly. For every night not spent in a dirty alley under a cardboard box.

He didn’t feel twenty-three—he must be a hundred.

“Trust me, you are, despite all that power the Unseelie asshole is attempting to harness in you. I don’t say that as an insult,” he said seriously. “What I mean is that in you, Malik has found a young, extremely powerful Sorcerer on the cusp of becoming all he is meant to be. As strong as you are, Kalen, you’re nowhere near the level you’ll be in a few years, then a few decades. With you, it’s like when the very first coach ever saw Michael Jordan in action and said, ‘My God, that kid is going to be the greatest player in the NBA one day.’”