She’s bonded at least one witch—Lauren, the instructor Memnon questioned—and she nearly bonded Cara. And then those witches who attacked Nero, perhaps some—if not all—of them were bonded to this woman. Probably against their will.

And now I’m here, drugged and injured and restrained and very, very vulnerable.

“You cost me more than just a single girl,” Lia says. “You cost me six. And all for what, your naive belief in honor? Justice? Where was your moral superiority when you killed my girls? The ones who lay dead in the woods. Did you know they were as innocent as the shifter you saved?”

My stomach turns on itself as she stares me down.

Lia leans forward, placing her hands on my thighs. I lock my jaw against the pain, tears pricking my eyes. “Do you feel superior now?” When I don’t respond, she digs in her fingers and shakes one of my broken legs, and my vision darkens. “Answer me.”

Selene! Memnon’s voice is alarmed. Whatever is happening, I am here. I am always here, with you.

I cannot respond to my mate’s sentiment. Not when I’m sucking air through my nose, trying not to scream or retch.

Once I think I can answer Lia, I whisper, “No.”

The woman stares at me, her face pitiless. She must see something that placates her, because her expression smooths out.

“First things first,” Lia says. “Let’s deal with these wounds.”

I clench my jaw and steel myself for whatever she intends.

“Bones reseal, flesh be stitched. Sinew mend, and wounds be fixed.”

Thick, plum-colored magic flows out of her and pours over me in waves. It sinks into my skin, warming my body as it begins repairing injuries. Whatever I expected, it wasn’t a healing spell.

Not that the spell is particularly kind.

My legs jerk sharply, Lia’s power resetting them roughly. I lean over the side of the chair and heave, sweat and a couple of rogue tears dripping from my face. Her magic jostles my ribs, and it’s so much pain, too much⁠—

A wail escapes my throat. But the pain crests for only moments. Then it recedes into something more manageable as her magic fixes the worst of my injuries.

I sit there panting, sweaty strands of my hair sticking to my face. I want to ask Lia why she’s healing me, but I have a horrible feeling I’m going to find out soon enough.

As the pain lifts, so too does some of my disorientation. I’m still bone-weary, but the room no longer spins, and I can truly focus on the woman in front of me.

Once my body is all put back together, her magic dissipates from the room.

“You have been betrayed by your friends, Selene Bowers,” Lia says. “Just as you will soon betray others on my behalf. You won’t get a choice. None of you do.” She pushes away from me and stands. “Most of the time, I don’t give a shit about the lives of my witches,” Lia says, backing up. “But you? You’ve pissed me off. So I’m going to enjoy using you.”

She turns from me, toward the monster.

“Creature, round up six witches or mages.” Her attention returns to me when she adds, “One for every person Selene has cost me.”

The monster mechanically walks to a door behind Lia, then exits the room.

Lia reaches for her side and unsheathes a small blade. I stare at the gleaming steel, aware of what she intends to do next.

Memnon, I hate to be the damsel in distress, but I could really use you right now.

From the other end of our bond, I feel Memnon’s impotent rage. I’m sorry, sweet mate. I’m coming. Until then, mark our enemies. I vow to you their deaths will be slow.

By the time he reaches me, it might be too late.

“Normally, I like to do this at the coven with my bonded witches,” Lia says, tapping the blade against her palm. “There’s food and drinks and a small celebration. It’s civilized and fun.” She saunters toward my chair. “This will not be fun. I can’t even say how civilized it will be. You will hate me, that I’ll make sure of, but by then, you will be committed to me entirely,” Lia says.

A chill slides down my back at her words and the certainty in her eyes. I’d been too drugged and hurt earlier to feel real fear. But now it drips into my system.

I frantically reach for my magic again as she closes in on me. I can grab onto a few sluggish tendrils of it, but when I try to push it out, I sense only a thin stream leaving my hand, melting into the air mere seconds after I release it.

Fuck.

My legs aren’t tied to the chair, probably because they were twisted up too badly earlier. Her mistake. As soon as Lia’s within reach, I pull a leg back and kick her hard in the thigh.

She stumbles, nearly dropping her blade.

“Bitch.” Her magic swarms me, wrapping around my throat and choking me while magically binding my ankles to the chair. “I’m going to make you do awful things,” she vows. “Things you’ll abhor. Things that will make you want to crawl from your very skin.”

Terror congeals in my blood.

I reach for my magic again, but it’s useless.

Take my power, Memnon says, pushing his own through.

It hasn’t been working, I say despondently.

Try again anyway, he commands, a desperate edge to his voice.

When I coax his magic toward my center, it moves into me readily enough. The comfort of having this part of Memnon with me, inside me, takes the edge off my fear.

His magic swirls around my own power, mixing the two together, and when I direct Memnon’s magic down my arms, it goes where I call it, as though eager to please me. It even manages to drag my own magic along with it. But both of them stall at my palms. Not even a wisp leaves me this time.

Nothing still, I tell Memnon.

I only sense the barest breath of the sorcerer’s fear before he locks the emotion away. In its place is more power. He funnels it down our bond as though it might make up for the magical blockages.

Can you move? Memnon asks. Can you get ahold of a weapon?

My attention is ripped from him when the door behind Lia opens, and six individuals enter, followed by the clay creature.

Something’s happening, I say. I can’t talk.

I pull away from the bond as I study the newcomers. None of them wear masks like the last spell circle Lia presided over, and most of them are men with hard, unforgiving faces. I don’t recognize the two women in the group. They look older than most of the witches I go to school with.

There’s a flatness to all these supernaturals’ eyes, and intuitively, I know none of them will rescue me as I did Cara.

“I’m going to perform a binding,” Lia announces.

The group of six don’t speak, but they begin to remove their shoes and socks, setting them to the side of the room. Once they’re barefoot, they form a circle around me, with Lia at its head. The seven of them grasp hands, and then Lia begins to incant in Latin.

“I call on old magic and the darkness from deep beneath our feet. Lend us your power for tonight’s spellcasting. Our circle calls forth your magic.”

The hairs along my arms rise as I feel the spell circle form and the magical current rush around me from one arm to the next.

Only once the circle has been formed, does Lia join me in the middle of the circle. Dagger still in hand, she raises her arms and her blade above her head.

“I call on the darkness and the old, hungry gods who will bear witness to my deeds,” she incants in Latin.

The words are the same ones she used at the last spell circle. Only now, I sense those old, hungry gods somewhere deep beneath my feet in a way I didn’t a month ago. Their eyes are focused on Lia and me.

We will watch, they seem to whisper.

Lia lowers her arms, then presses the tip of her dagger to the tan skin of her forearm. Slowly, she drags the blade down, a line of blood welling as she goes. “You remember this part from the spell circle, don’t you?” she says to me as she works.