He sat up straight, which stabbed pain deep through his middle. “Kenzie!”

She wasn’t there, of course. But he’d heard her voice, loud and sweet as a bell. I’m here. I love you.

Bowman tore the sheet from his lower legs and swung out of bed. He was naked and had bandages wrapped around his chest and thigh, the cloths stained with dried blood.

Jamie filled the doorway, now minus a door. “What are you yelling about?” Jamie growled. The man looked taller than ever in the doorframe, his head touching the top of the opening. He appeared to have recovered from his Collar shock and his fall, though his face retained a greenish tinge. Collar hangover was a bitch.

Bowman grabbed his clothes from the bottom of the bed. “You couldn’t leave my underwear on? You needed to see everything I had?” His heart was pounding, his voice harsh. Sentimentality right now would finish him, so he stuck with temper and gibes.

Jamie, true to form, flipped him off. “Get over yourself. You were stabbed by a knife—a Fae dirk, Cristian called it—and it barely missed your junk. Pierce had to stitch you up. He wasn’t thrilled about it, by all the swearing he did.”

Bowman looked down and saw white tape over a line near the base of his cock. He shuddered. “Too damn close.”

“Be grateful. Now when you find your mate, you can still show her how happy you are to see her.”

“I intend to.” Bowman drew a long, agonizing breath, realizing he had a few cracked ribs. “She’s alive. I know she is. I just don’t know where.”

Jamie’s hard gaze softened. “We’ll find her, boss.”

“Damn right we will. Where is Gil? Whoever or whatever he is, I need him to give me some answers.”

“He’s still here. You haven’t been out that long.”

Bowman winced as he leaned over for his boots. “What did Pierce sew me up with? A machete?”

“I don’t know. I just hope the dirk wasn’t poisoned. Fae weapons tend to be.”

Bowman went cold, though a quick assessment told him he felt normal for recovery from a stab wound. Which was to say deep pain, soreness, and anger. “Thanks, Jamie. You’re good at making your patients feel better.”

Jamie shrugged. “I’m realistic. I came to help you get your ass up to show Cristian you’re all right, before he tries to take over.”

“You said I haven’t been out that long.”

“An hour or so. That’s enough time for a Dimitru to decide it’s his turn to rule. I don’t feel like taking orders shouted in Romanian, so get out there.”

Bowman gave him a tight grin. “You’re a shit. I appreciate it.”

“I live to serve you, boss.”

“The hell you do.” Bowman pressed his side and groaned softly, but he knew he was already starting to heal. He was good at it; he’d had a lot of practice.

He and Jamie went out together. The sun was up, the woods cold, the ground filmed with frost. His trackers and Cristian were continuing to sift through Turner’s things. Pierce lay on a piece of tarp, eyes closed, his sheathed sword lying next to him. He was their combat medic and a good healer, but he always needed to rest afterward.

“Kenzie’s alive,” Bowman said from the doorstep. The others stopped what they were doing to look at him.

“How do you know?” Cade asked, his dark eyes hopeful and skeptical at the same time.

“I heard her.” Bowman shook his head and stepped down to the ground. “Maybe I dreamed it. I can’t tell. But . . . I know.”

He saw the uncertain looks, but he didn’t care. Ryan was right—it didn’t matter about the mate bond. He and Kenzie had a connection they’d formed the moment they’d first seen each other. They belonged together, and nothing could change that.

“Hey, Dad,” Ryan said, strolling to him, Gil behind him. “Feeling better?”

Bowman growled at them both. “What are you doing with him?” he snapped at Ryan.

“You always tell me we should keep our friends close and our enemies closer,” Ryan returned calmly. “Did you come up with that saying?”

“No.” Bowman couldn’t remember who had coined the phrase, though Kenzie no doubt would know. “But you were supposed to stay with Afina.”

“I know.” Ryan shrugged off his father’s orders. “But I had an idea, and I had to come out here to test it. Gil thinks it might work. I just need to . . .”

Ryan turned around and darted to Pierce. Before Pierce could come awake, Ryan had the Sword of the Guardian in his hands, struggling to unsheath it.

Pierce opened his eyes, blinked, then got to his feet with Feline speed. “Hey, don’t touch that.”

Ignoring him, Ryan ran with the sword to the place where Turner had come out of the mists. Gil, closest to Ryan, went after him and caught him.

“Whoa, slow down there,” Gil said. “You don’t know exactly what it’s going to do.”

“So?” Ryan struggled from Gil’s grasp and finally managed to pull the sword out of the sheath. “It’s worth a shot.”

“What is?” Bowman demanded, his voice thundering. “Ryan, put that down.”

A beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and thick trees and landed on the sword. The blade glittered brilliantly. Or was the sword itself creating the light? The lit runes seemed to dance.

Mists suddenly boiled up around Ryan. Bowman shouted and leapt forward. Gil seized Ryan and held him tightly as the sword shot forward, trying to pull Ryan with it.