Nick stared at him, stunned. “He admitted this?”

“Yes, and that’s not all. He said he knew that by driving Mac out of her mind, he’d force me to give her the pendant, leaving me vulnerable to his machinations. I’m the one he wanted all along. He somehow knows way too much about me, wants to use me—and I’m afraid he’s slowly winning the battle.”

The dread that had taken root morphed into fear. What entity was such a great physical force in the universe that it could manipulate a Sorcerer who had few equals?

There were only two possible beings on that list, and either of them taking control of Kalen would spell disaster for everyone. And why? What is his ultimate goal?

First, they had to contain the threat.

“Kalen,” he said, “I can’t let you leave. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The Sorcerer stared at him for a long moment, then swallowed hard. “If I go, you’ll hunt me down and kill me.”

“If you go rogue and fight us, yes. I’ll have no other choice. But if you stay, we’ll monitor you and do all we can to free you of his influence, whoever he is.”

“Then I guess I have no other choice but to stay,” he said bitterly.

“There’s always a choice.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” Green eyes pinned Nick, begging for the truth.

The vision that had been threatening finally exploded in Nick’s brain. His head fell back as the office vanished and he found himself racked with pain, kneeling in the middle of a field as cold rain lashed down like needles and lightning split the sky, then zipped down to scorch the ground.

All around him, his men battled unearthly creatures from hell and beyond. Losing ground with every passing minute. Facing their doom.

And on a high pinnacle stood the Sorcerer with his staff, soaking wet. Screaming to the heavens for help that would not come.

A detonation shook the ground and all was lost in a maelstrom of wind and rain. Of blood and tears. The world fell away.

“Nick!”

Dead. Was he dead?

“Nicky!”

Nick’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, sucking air into his lungs. Kalen was crouched on the floor in front of him, shaking his shoulders, face panicked. “I’m okay,” he croaked.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” No.

“Jesus,” Kalen breathed. Standing, he took a step back. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry, kid.” He took a few steadying breaths.

“Nick, am I going to die?” he asked softly.

Oh, God. Don’t you understand I wouldn’t tell you even if I could? “We all die sometime. But I know what you mean, and I honestly can’t tell you because I didn’t see that.”

Technically, it was true.

“Am I going to hurt any of my friends? Innocents?”

“I don’t know.”

Seconds passed in heavy silence.

“All right.” Kalen sighed. “I’ll stay.”

“Good. Keep me posted on any developments with the creature. In the meantime, be ready to roll. I have a feeling that lead on where Aric and Micah are being held just may pan out, and soon.”

“Will do.”

With that, the Sorcerer walked out and left Nick alone.

So alone. As he’d been for the past two and a half centuries.

The fierce arguing reached Aric’s ears long before the combatants came into view. A woman’s and a man’s voices. No, two or three men. Beryl and who else? He couldn’t make out their angry words over the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his head, and decided it didn’t matter, anyway. There wasn’t much left of him but a slab of meat hanging in chains, and the wicked stepsister would carve up the rest soon enough.

Was there anyone on the planet who gave a damn what happened to him?

He wasn’t a guy normally given to loads of introspection, but there was nothing to do in this hellhole but think. The longer he remained their special guest, the more the twin demons of doubt and fear eroded his confidence, unraveled the threads holding together his sanity.

But maybe losing his mind wouldn’t be a bad deal.

As footsteps neared him, he lifted his chin slightly to peer at the group through the fall of his long, dirty red hair. He wished he hadn’t, because even more than Beryl, the sight of three men, two in lab coats and one meathead that was obviously the hired muscle, chilled his soul the way nothing else could have.

Except for their heated conversation.

“. . . better be glad I’m not making a phone call,” one of the men said coldly. He was average in height and looks, brown hair. Outside of this place, nobody would give him a second glance.

“Do it, Bowman,” Beryl retorted with a self-satisfied smirk. “And see who he blames. You’re the employee, not me. You’ll face his wrath for letting a test subject get away.”

Dr. Gene Bowman of NewLife Technology. The former supervisor of Jaxon Law’s new mate, Kira Locke. Sweat rolled down Aric’s face.

Bowman remained unmoved. “If you honestly think spreading your legs for some demon is going to protect you from any fallout from what you’ve done, you’re sadly deluded. This project is much bigger and more significant than your petty games. What we’re on the verge of accomplishing is huge, and he’ll let nothing get in the way—especially not a slutty, mediocre witch who’s easily replaced in his bed.”

Aric missed Beryl’s pissed-off retort. His brain was too busy reeling at the overload of information. Demon? Was that a slur against Orson Chappell, or had Bowman meant “demon” in the literal sense? Anything was possible—including the idea that Chappell was not the head of the snake, something Nick and the team had feared. Whoever the head slimeball might be, Beryl was sleeping with him.

Bowman turned to the muscleman and the other guy in the lab coat. “Get him down from there and take him to the lab for prep.”

Before that moment, he’d only thought he’d known fear.

The taller doctor and the meathead released his wrists, allowing him to drop. Arms dead from little circulation, limp as cooked noodles, he face-planted on the dirty concrete floor with his legs still attached to the wall, spread-eagle.

It was the single most degrading moment of his life.

Then the doc and the muscle guy hauled him up, easy as pie considering all the weight he’d lost, one taking him under the arms, one getting his ankles. Carried faceup, naked body on display and nobody caring, his carcass no better than a number to write down in their sordid files.

After an ascent in an elevator, he tried to keep track of the twists and turns they made, but he was simply too exhausted. Disheartened. Several minutes later, he found himself in a stark space that distinctly resembled an operating room.

It was then he noticed the drain in the tiled floor.

When they placed him on his back on a steel table, he began to struggle, attempted to call his fire or his wolf. Anything. But the “gifts” he usually cursed had deserted him when they counted most, and his rebellion was short-lived. A needle slid into the crook of his right arm and a cold burn seeped through the limb, stretched icy fingers across his chest. Suddenly he had trouble breathing, whether from the medication or sheer panic he didn’t know.

The freeze slowly crept across his stomach, to his groin and legs. With the cold was the realization that he couldn’t move at all—though his mind remained aware.

Bowman’s hated, innocuous face appeared over him, smiling faintly. “Console yourself with the thought that this is for the greater triumph of mankind. Now relax.” To the other doctor, he said, “Note that the experimentation on number five fifty-two has commenced.”

“Wh-what’re you doin’ to me?” he slurred. His tongue felt heavy as a wet blanket, his thoughts growing sluggish. He peered at a bright light overhead and it quadrupled, as did the faces above him.