Like a tornado, the dark funneled around him, full of sound, burning with her fury. The stinging whip of her power lashed his arm, his face, his body. But he held on.

Then her eyes met his, and her madness smiled.

Inside,” Bran ordered. “Inside now. Be ready. Injuries?”

“Burns, cuts, crap. And more crap,” Riley managed. “The sun’s going down.”

To solve the problem, and because she limped as she ran, Doyle simply scooped her up, carried her like a football into the villa.

“We’ll deal with injuries in Ireland. Let me help you.” Sasha dropped down to drag off Riley’s boots.

“Look, I’m not a priss, but how about averting your— Damn it, no time.”

She tossed modesty away with her shirt.

Doyle unhooked her belt. “You can’t run.”

“I know it, I know it. Sawyer—”

“He’ll come back to us. We have to believe.” Sasha gripped Riley’s hand even as it began to change. “We all have to believe.”

Riley’s only answer was a howl as she rolled to her hands and knees, gave herself over to the moon.

“Can you see him?” Annika knelt down, wrapped her arms around the wolf, pressed her face into the warm fur to comfort them both. “Sasha, can you feel him? Please. Please.”

“No, but I don’t when he’s traveling. He’s strong, Anni, and smart. He pulled her away.”

“She never saw him coming,” Doyle added. “He took her by surprise. The kid’s got balls of steel. He’ll come through. He’ll come back.”

“We’re going to live on the island.” As she spoke it, like a prayer, tears streamed down her cheeks. “He’s going to build a house, and I’ll stay in the sea. We’ll swim together.”

“I know.” Because she felt Annika’s fight not to despair, Sasha knelt beside her, took her and the wolf into an embrace. “It’s lovely. We’ll all come see you, swim with you.”

“He’ll come back to me.” Annika drew in a breath, raised her head. “Just as he did before. He’ll come back to me.”

When he did, he fell at her feet.

“Sawyer, Sawyer.” She dropped onto him, covering his face with kisses. “You’re hurt.”

“Not that bad.” He kissed her back, and hissed as he managed to get to his knees. “Pretty bad,” he admitted. “The disconnect was tricky. She’s got a hell of a grip. I don’t know where I dumped her, or how long we have until she figures it out, but we should get the hell of out Dodge.”

“You’re weak, brother.”

“Not that fucking weak,” he shot back at Doyle, but accepted the hand to help him to his feet.

“I believed in you.” Annika took his bloody hand, pressed it to her cheek.

“I could feel it. Keep it up.”

“You have the coordinates.”

He nodded at Bran, tapped his temple. “Set. I could probably use a boost.”

“You’ll have it.”

“Don’t forget my bike,” Doyle told him.

“Got you covered.” He glanced at Riley. “First time I’ve ever traveled with a werewolf.” And grinned at her low growl. “Okay, gang, second star to the right and straight on till morning.”

“I love you, Sawyer King.”

“Keep that up, too.” He pressed his lips to Annika’s, mentally pulled his battle-scarred friends in close.

With Annika’s arms around him, he took them traveling to where two stars shined quiet, and the third waited to light again.

The mother of lies tumbled through time and space. A storm of wind and sound whirled around her. Worlds rushed by, grazing her flesh with their edges as she fell.

As she bled—bled!—power seeped out of her, drop by drop. She gripped the reins of her fury in hands that burned and burned, gathered all she was, all she had.

Weak, weaker, fading.

She dropped through the world like a comet of ice, and the earth quaked when she fell onto the floor of the cave, by the silver steps she’d created.

She tasted her own blood in her mouth, swallowed it, but had no strength to rise. So she lay, wrapped in pain.

Dimly she heard the click of claws on stone.

“My queen, my god, my love.”

Scaled hands lifted her head, stroked her, while the beast she’d created from man made guttural croons.

“I will kill them all for you,” it promised. “I will help you heal, grow strong. Drink.” It held a goblet to her lips. “Drink, and rest and heal.”

She drank, but the few drops of the seer’s blood barely touched the pain, barely cleared a single layer of mist from her mind.

But she saw now, reflected over and over on the polished stones of the chamber, the beast who cradled her. Saw her garments tattered, torn, singed. Saw a second white streak snaking through her hair.

And the lines carved deep around her mouth.

In her eyes, where lines, more lines, fanned, a vengeful madness bloomed.

It lifted her.

“You will sleep. I will feed you, and tend you, and bathe your wounds. You will heal again, my queen, and I will avenge you.”

Something stirred inside the pain, the fury, that might have been gratitude. Then as it carried her to her bedchamber, she slept, and dropped into bloody dreams.