Mychael and I stepped through the door together.

Duke Markus Sevelien was sitting in a chair, his feet bound, his wrists tied to the chair’s gilded arms.

And lashed firmly to his right wrist was a Nebian grenade.

My heart skipped a few much-needed beats.

There had been two open crates in the basement; I’d only looked in one of them. That one had been full. What did you want to bet a keg was missing from the other crate?

Or more.

Standing immediately behind Markus was a goblin who looked like an older version of Sarad Nukpana.

He was only slightly taller than me, slender and compact beneath his rich, silk robes, robes so black it was like he absorbed the light from the fireplace. Streaks of silver ran the length of his long hair.

Nachtmagus Janos Ghalfari.

The goblin held a sickle-like dagger to Markus’s throat; its blade flickering with light down its curved length, light not from the fireplace, but from a ward that fed the blade and shielded Ghalfari from attack and Markus from rescue. That blade could slit Markus’s throat or just as easily puncture that grenade. Ten seconds wasn’t a lot of time for Ghalfari to put much distance between him and that grenade before it blew, but I was betting he knew something I didn’t, like a quicker way out of here than the front door.

Standing near them both were two Khrynsani. I couldn’t see Sarad Nukpana, but he was here, watching me. I could feel him, sense his hunger.

So much for Plan A. I wondered if Mychael had a Plan B.

“Bravo, Paladin Eiliesor.” Janos Ghalfari’s voice was cool and urbane, just like his psycho nephew. “An impressive performance.” He took in Mychael’s shady street leathers and smiled until his fangs showed. “Though your performance for Karl Cradock was even more impressive. What would the Seat of Twelve say if they knew their noble paladin was a mercenary for hire by common criminals?”

A sick feeling rolled through me. We’d been betrayed big-time. Ghalfari had picked Markus as his nephew’s next victim as bait for us. Sarad Nukpana didn’t just want dinner; he wanted a feast.

“I’ve felt your delectable presence for the past hour, little seeker,” came Sarad Nukpana’s whisper from the shadows just beyond the firelight’s reach. I could barely make out a shape that seemed to float in the corner, darker than the shadows concealing him. His words came with an effort, but since they were for me, apparently it was an effort he was willing to make.

I wondered if he’d fed since General Aratus. That would explain why he was hiding in the corner, why his uncle and the Khrynsani were doing the dirty work. If Sarad Nukpana hadn’t fed, he’d be weakened; now was the time to end this. Markus was dead if Mychael and I so much as breathed wrong; we were all dead if Janos Ghalfari punctured that grenade. Though if Markus knew what Sarad Nukpana was going to do to him, he’d want us to act.

At least the Markus I used to know would want that.

“You can hide yourself from me, but you can’t hide my former prison,” Sarad Nukpana was saying. “The Saghred calls to those who have escaped it.” His laugh was hollow, soulless. “And now the loyal agent has come to rescue her handler.” His tone turned gleefully mocking. “I believe that is the correct term, is it not? It sounds like an animal that belongs in a kennel. But having met many elven agents over the years, I find the term to be all too accurate.”

I pretended to ignore him. Truth was, I didn’t trust myself to look at that dark shape floating in the shadows and not scream my head off. I kept my eyes on Markus and tried to keep my voice steady. “Markus, you’ve looked better.”

The elven duke’s lips twisted in a brief smile. “You, my dear, are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

“Only because I’ve come to save your ass.”

“That, too.”

Markus Sevelien was as lean as whipcord and just as tough, with dark hair swept back from a high and pale forehead. Dressed entirely in his customary black, the wiry elf sat utterly still, though it wasn’t like he had a choice with Ghalfari’s blade at his throat. Markus’s only movement was the tapping of one long, tapered finger against the arm of the chair to which he was tied—wisely the one without the grenade. Markus knew a lot of codes, but this was one I knew as well. His finger repeatedly tapped out a two- word message to me.

Kill them.

Markus was a realist; he knew he’d be dead right along with them. He didn’t care.

Kill them.

I could wipe the floor with every goblin in the room, but if I let the Saghred off its leash, I didn’t know if I could get it back under control—and considering who I’d be wiping out, I didn’t think I’d want to stop. The Saghred’s full power was terrifying, overwhelming, but it was also intoxicating. And deep down, some dark part of me wanted to do it again. It’d kill every goblin in the room, but it could just as easily do the same to me and Mychael.

I was in the same room with a pair of monsters and the scent of death was so thick in the air that it was all I could do not to gag. I was scared. More than scared, I was literally shaking in my boots. Though I didn’t know who scared me more: Sarad Nukpana, his death-loving uncle . . .

. . . or myself.

The goblin drifted out of the shadows.

My breath stopped and my heart tried to do the same thing.

Sarad Nukpana wasn’t solid, nor was he a formless specter. His feet were on the floor, but I don’t think he was using them to move. He’d retained every bit of his dark beauty. His angular face was flawlessly beautiful without sacrificing one bit of masculinity. His ethereal body drifted ever so slightly. Back and forth, back and forth, hypnotic, mesmerizing as a cobra, silent and beautiful—and just as deadly.

Nukpana smiled slowly. “Yes, my body remains the same. I have no interest in possessing others. Why would I want another body? I have always been most satisfied with my own.” He glanced at Markus. “Though it might be amusing to possess the duke’s body and pretend to be him for a day. Any longer and I’d be an elf permanently. Such a fate would almost be worse than being trapped inside the Saghred.” His eyes glittered like the black of a bottomless pool in a haunted forest. “But the feeling of my soul violating the body of another, pushing their soul aside, taking them completely.” He exhaled on a sigh that could only be described as pure bliss. “I have heard it said that the victim remains aware through all of it—the taking, the possession—and is helpless to stop anything I want their body to do.”

He wasn’t talking about Markus anymore.

My throat threatened to close up. “Then you’d be an elf and a woman,” I managed. “You couldn’t handle the pressure.”

“You’re right. The alternative would be so much more pleasurable.” Sarad Nukpana’s voice dropped to a sibilant whisper. “The cha’nescu—the soul kiss. Feeling your soul fighting me will be so much sweeter. Once I’ve taken you, I will control the Saghred as well.” He flashed a smile revealing fangs that looked all too solid. “It is as you would say, a win-win situation.”

I felt rather than saw Mychael move to step in front of me. I held out a hand to stop him, never taking my eyes from Sarad Nukpana.

“He fears for you and for good reason,” Nukpana purred. “The Saghred is even hungrier than I am. You can feel it, can’t you? I’ll take your silence as a yes. I fed earlier this evening; why shouldn’t you?”

“Who?” Mychael growled.

Nukpana dismissively waved a pale hand. “No one you knew. Don’t worry; there will be no corpses turning up in inconvenient places. My remaining two allies from inside the Saghred have finally served their purpose. I chose them specifically for their age and power.” The goblin’s smile was like the cat that ate the canary. “You might say that they gave their all for my cause.”

“You ate them.” Mychael was holding his power in check, but just barely.

“ ‘Ate’ would be an overstatement.” He laughed softly. “Considering there really wasn’t much to them to begin with. More like a refreshing drink complete with memories, skills, and power.” He stretched luxuriously and appeared to become more solid. “Yes, I’m feeling most refreshed.”

Those were the last two sorcerers, the ones we hadn’t found yet. Now we didn’t need to; they were here inside of Sarad Nukpana. Two of the most brutal and insane sorcerers in recorded history, and the goblin floating not ten feet in front of me had all that brute strength at his beck and call—at least, he would when he’d fully digested them.

And I had the Saghred at mine. My chest warmed, the power pulsing beneath the surface in time with my heart, the combined beat throbbing, a nearly deafening drum in my ears.

Sarad Nukpana knew. Whether he heard it or sensed it, he knew. “The Saghred grows tired of you.”

I forced myself to breathe around the urges the Saghred sent through my mind, images of sacrifice and blood, torture, and death. And feeding, always starving, never satisfied.

“The feeling’s mutual.” My voice was tight. It was all I could do to hold the rock back. “I’m sick and tired of it.”

“It desires someone of a like mind, someone who will use it. It desires a partner. You fear me, but most of all you fear yourself.” Sarad Nukpana’s voice was the barest whisper, coaxing, seductive. “You want to give in to me, to the Saghred’s hunger. But what you fear most is the certain knowledge that you will enjoy it. You’ve tasted its power before and your deepest desire is to taste that power again.”

Raw need swept over me, the need to take, to possess, to exult in the magic, the power. Sarad Nukpana was right, and I hated him even more for it. The rock was starving.

And so was I.

“Come to me, little seeker. Let us feed on each other.”

Sarad Nukpana was mine for the taking.

Mine. I could take him first, end this now, here in this room. Destroy the evil before it killed again.