At that moment, the hangar door slid open with a loud screech and multiple male voices echoed in the cavernous space. The moment of truth was at hand, and she would have been lying if she’d said she wasn’t nervous. The noises of the men preparing to leave, opening more doors and gathering equipment, reached her ears. Hesitating, she glanced at her new friend.

“Go on,” he urged. “Before it’s too late.”

“You sure this will work?” A stupid question to ask a magical fairy, maybe, but understandable.

“Positive. Go!”

Pushing to her feet, she gave Sariel a nervous smile. “Thanks. See you soon.”

“And with any luck I’ll get to meet this brother of yours.”

Emotion clogged her throat, so she opted not to answer. Instead, she heaved a deep breath, stepped around the back of the SUV, and began to walk slowly toward the group that was gathered next to two of the Hueys, busy holstering guns and strapping on knives. Part of her was relieved to see some good old-fashioned artillery in the midst of all the crazy I’m-not-human crap. The other part was worried that Sariel was wrong about the spell working around these guys.

But no one noticed as she walked right up to the group. What a freaky trip. Damn, she’d love to use this trick on the guys back at the station.

Nick slung a pack over his shoulder. “Kalen, you and Hammer ride with me.” The Sorcerer and the bald man, who she guessed to be Hammer, answered in the affirmative. Jaxon, Zan, and Ryon headed for the second copter.

Four pilots climbed into the copters, a pilot and a copilot for each. Since they hadn’t been introduced earlier as team members, and weren’t armed, she figured they might be hired as needed per mission. This would leave the rest of the team free to deal with whatever they were facing.

Rowan hovered as the two groups of three separated and began to board the copters. Just as she took a step, Nick whirled and gazed in her direction with a frown. Heart pounding, she froze. He searched, and at one point his eyes actually met hers, causing the spit to dry up in her mouth. How the hell could he sense someone there when the others hadn’t?

After a few nerve-racking moments the boss turned and climbed aboard his waiting Huey. Rowan hurried to scramble into the other one. No way was she taking a chance on some psychic dude ferreting her out before she was ready.

The men got settled. Spotting an empty jump seat at the back, she sat down and tried to calm her fears. Not for herself, but for what she might find when she saw her brother.

A hum sounded overhead—the roof hatch opening. The Hueys geared up for takeoff, shuddered, and lifted, the noise deafening.

She was in this op for the long haul now.

No turning back.

Help me. God, please.

Or just let me die.

Aric curled into the fetal position on the grimy concrete floor of his cage and tried to breathe through the agony. But the pain wrapped around his ribs, squeezed his lungs, so that drawing in air was nearly impossible. Every inch of his body throbbed, and his balls burned and ached where Bowman had taken what didn’t belong to him. But all his equipment down there was still accounted for, not that it would matter soon.

Never had he wished for death. That was before he’d been treated worse than an animal, before he’d experienced the worst of humanity and had it driven home that if his team didn’t find him, and soon, this was the end of his life.

I want to go out on my own terms. Not bound and stripped for parts until there’s nothing left and they stick a needle in my arm.

He opened his bleary eyes, squinted, and then winced as even the dim light coming from the adjoining lab pierced his brain like a laser. Twisting his head, he saw nothing but bars all around and above him, a miniature prison not even tall enough to stand in. It’s a damned dog kennel. If he’d been capable of laughing, he would’ve. Reaching out, he skimmed a shaking hand along the floor, cursing that he was too weak to raise his fucking arm. If he could barely move, he sure as hell wouldn’t have the strength to do himself in.

Goddamn, he couldn’t believe he was being forced to consider that kind of shit. Pissed, he used every ounce of strength to push himself to a sitting position. It took several minutes and when it was finally accomplished, he leaned his bare back against the bars—an act that probably took off several strips of skin.

“Fuck!” Pitching forward, he tumbled away from the bars, panting.

Silver. The bastards had used motherfucking silver bars to line the cage. Why the metal had burned him, however, was baffling; simply coming into contact with silver wasn’t supposed to hurt in his human form. Being stabbed or shot with it? Sure. So this went down as one more torment to face, the fact that even if he regained the power to shift or use his other gifts, he couldn’t bust out.

He couldn’t take this much longer. He and his wolf were already going out of their collective minds at being held against their will. Hunched over, he concentrated on calming himself. Taking in air, exhaling. As he did, awful smells began to invade his battered senses.

Urine. Feces. Unwashed bodies and the stale, untouched crap that doubled as food. The stench turned his stomach and he concentrated on not being sick. That would only make things worse and—

Another smell seeped into his consciousness and Aric slowly raised his head. I know that scent. Oh, my God.

“Micah,” he whispered. Then louder. “Micah?”

No answer. For the first time, Aric took stock of the area outside his own prison. His cage was one of many in a row against the wall, and several other figures lay crumpled in theirs much as he’d been when he’d awakened, naked and hopeless. Closing his eyes, he inhaled through his nose, desperately shutting out all but the one scent he wanted to discern, following the trail to the end.

Behind him. Somewhere close. Scooting around to face the opposite direction took forever and left him panting, aching as though he’d been beaten with hammers. But he had to learn the answer to the question that had haunted the Pack since they’d discovered their brother might be alive—where was Micah?

And the answer was right in the next cage. His old friend lay on the dirty floor, curled into himself as though that would keep the monsters at bay. Micah’s brown hair, once a rich sable color worn to his collar, was now filthy and matted, so long it pooled on the concrete around his head. Strands hung over his angular face and his eyes were closed. The man’s breathing was ragged, the horrible rattle in his lungs attesting to his lack of medical care. That fact plus a plate of uneaten dry dog food by the barred door—fuck those assholes for giving his friend that shit—and Micah’s pronounced ribs, hip bones, and concave stomach, told the story of just how critical his situation had become.

His friend was on the brink of death, and Aric could only sit and do nothing.

The urge to reach through the bars, offer comfort, was overwhelming. It hit him that this was likely part of the reason the metal was made of silver, to keep the “test subjects” from having any sort of positive contact, to kill all hope, and it made his blood boil with rage.

“Micah? We’re gonna get the fuck out of here, soon as the Pack comes,” he whispered. “And they will come. You hear me?”

His friend didn’t stir.

Aric lowered his head. And for the first time he could recall, tears dripped off his chin to mix with the filth on the floor.

Talk was scarce on the helicopter, given the noise. Rowan would’ve felt a little better with a few more details about where they were going and the plan of action on arrival, but that would have to wait. For now, she sat and eyed her group, still amazed that they were oblivious to her presence.