I’d certainly be using mine if the damn thing hadn’t decided to die on me.

“No.” He paused. “Take three steps to your right, then five to the left. Watch the table—”

I crashed into said table and bit back another curse. “Warning me a little earlier might have been handy.”

“Sorry.”

There was little amusement in his voice, and again I frowned. This whole thing felt decidedly off . . .

“Almost there,” he added. “Just one more step.”

I hesitated, then cursed myself for doing so. Jak wouldn’t harm me. Bed me—given half a chance—yes, but not harm. Not only did he need me to get his story, but he was well aware just how thick and fast trouble in the form of Uncle Rhoan would hit him if he in any way caused me damage—physical or emotional.

I took that step.

Realized almost instantly it was the wrong thing to do when something grabbed me and held me.

But that something wasn’t flesh and blood but rather magic. I had one moment to wonder what the hell—who the hell—had me this time and even less time to fear; then thought was torn away and I knew no more.

Waking was a slow process and felt rather like the tedious climb to awareness that often accompanied a heavy alcohol binge. Thanks to our faster metabolic rate, it was harder for werewolves to get drunk than humans, but it was certainly possible if you applied yourself well enough. I had on several occasions, generally when I’d stupidly embarked on a drinking contest with Liana and Ronan, Riley’s two eldest. But at least I’d had the pleasurable buzz of consuming all that alcohol first. There was none of that joy here, just the sick queasiness and thick head that generally hit after consumption had well and truly finished.

For several minutes, I did nothing more than simply lie there, willing my head to stop pounding even as I wondered where the hell I was.

But as awareness of my surroundings grew stronger, I discovered that not only was I in a bed and naked, but I was spread-eagle, with my hands and feet tied.

What the hell was going on?

My first thought—naturally enough—was that I’d been raped, but I had no sense of violation. It didn’t feel like anyone had abused me in any way other than tying me. My body did ache, but I suspected it was more a residue of whatever magic had knocked me out rather than someone having forced themself on me.

Of course, no one ever had, so how could I be so certain that it hadn’t happened? God, the way I was tied certainly suggested that even if it hadn’t happened, it was very much in the cards. It was a thought that should have frightened me, but all it actually did was make me mad. Werewolves had a free and easy attitude when it came to sex, but force was an entirely different matter—and one that was not dealt with lightly. Fortunately, it was something that rarely happened among werewolves. But then, rape was rarely about sex and all about either gaining power over—or causing degradation to—another person.

Who the hell would wish either of those on me?

Even as the thought hit, the answer came. Lucian.

Touch not, Amaya said, her sharp voice cutting like razor blades through my brain. Tried.

Lucian?

Him, she spat. Tried to slice it off. Missed.

I blinked. As statements went, that was pretty dramatic, and it was one that had just a touch of amusement vibrating through me. At least I’d had a defender when I was unconscious.

It was just a damn shame that she’d missed.

I very much wanted to open my eyes and see where the hell I was, but caution prevailed. Until I had some sense of what was going on around me, it was better that Lucian thought I was still unconscious.

There was little in the way of movement or sound—other than the nearby rumble of traffic—to indicate there was anyone close, but the air was thick with the scent of dust and mold and age. Wherever we were, it wasn’t Lucian’s apartment. But he was here. His scent—lemongrass, suede, and musky, powerful male—was a strong undercurrent to the other scents.

So why wasn’t Azriel here, ripping Lucian’s head off his fucking shoulders?

Can’t, Amaya muttered. Blocked.

She had to mean magically, because there were few physical forces that could actually stop him.

So did those same restrictions apply to me becoming Aedh? I quickly reached for the magic. The pounding in my head sharpened dramatically—suggesting that part of me was trying to respond—but I remained as I was. In flesh and bound.

And that was a little frightening. We’d guessed Lucian had been capable of magic, but I hadn’t thought it possible that he could create a spell powerful enough to either bind an Aedh to human form or stop the movement of a reaper. And if he could do that, then he probably knew how to kill them, too. It made me suddenly glad that Azriel wasn’t here.

Besides, I wanted the pleasure of killing the bastard myself.

Not self, Amaya said, her background noise ramping up a notch. Me include.

Trust me, you’ll be included.

The hissing changed to a happy humming. I still wasn’t entirely sure whether that was an improvement.

I pulled on the ropes binding me to test their strength. There was no give and no sign that they’d break easily. No surprise there, I guess. Lucian was well aware of what I could and couldn’t do.

Just as, I suddenly realized, he was well aware that my friends were very much my Achilles’ heel.

God, was he the reason for Ilianna’s disappearance?

I hoped like hell he wasn’t, but the dread that filled me suggested otherwise.

I opened my eyes. The ceiling was wood and heavily stained and draped with cobwebs that hung in long, dusty strings. The walls to the left and the right had been semidemolished, but there was little to see in the rooms beyond except rubble.

The bed itself was wide and would have been comfortable if not for the ropes holding me so tightly. They snaked from my wrists and my ankles over each corner of the bed and were, I presumed, anchored somehow to the floor.

I lifted my head to see if I could spot anything else. There were industrial-looking windows running the length of the wall in front of me, but they were all covered with black plastic. Wouldn’t want the neighbors seeing what he was up to, after all.

Why the hell was I even here? Why hadn’t I been rescued? Azriel might not be able to get into this place, but he’d have to know I was here. Why hadn’t he called for help from Riley, Quinn, or even Tao?

I had absolutely no idea, and given it was a question that couldn’t immediately be answered, I turned my attention back to the ropes. They were thick, coarse, and tight, and my wrists were red but not yet bleeding. I yanked on the left one as hard as I could, but the only thing I managed to do was rub my wrist raw. The fucking rope didn’t give.

Amaya, any chance that you can cut the damn things?

She didn’t answer, but half a second later, her energy began to burn through my flesh. Slowly but surely, she moved from her position near my spine to the right side of my body, then into my shoulder. It was a weird sensation, and even weirder to see the broader end of her blade and her hilt find substance and stick out of my shoulder. Her sharp tip appeared near my wrist, and a second later, that arm was free.

She repeated the process with my left arm. This time, the Dušan twisted around to watch, though it kept its tail firmly wrapped around the bracelet of leaves inked into my skin. Of course, it was no more a tat than the Dušan was—it was one of Ilianna’s charms that the Dušan had made a permanent part of me. Just how she’d done it, nobody knew. The Dušans weren’t supposed to be active on this plane, but for some reason no one could explain, mine was.

The minute both wrists were free, I sat upright and reached for Amaya.

But in that moment, I realized I was no longer alone.

“Make no further move to free yourself, my dear,” Lucian said, “because I really would hate to shoot you.”

His familiar tones flowed over my skin like a warm summer breeze and made me hunger for the touch of his clever fingers. It was a reaction that annoyed the fuck out of me, if only because I knew my response couldn’t entirely be blamed on the spell he’d placed on me. Some of it was simple, old-fashioned lust.

He stood in the wide, unfinished doorway, an image of golden perfection, holding a gun. He was tall, muscular, and, if I was being at all honest, a perfectly formed piece of manhood. Lucian’s faults were internal rather than external, emotional rather than physical. His wishes, his desires were all that mattered to him. The wants and needs of others were of little relevance, even if he sometimes offered others utter bliss. He’d certainly offered it to me often enough, but he’d also magically bound me to ensure I kept coming back to him. He might have wanted my body, but he’d also wanted the knowledge of not just what was happening with the key search, but also my father and the Raziq. Lucian hated them with a passion and depth that was as fierce as it was frightening.

And the only way he could completely keep track of both their movements and mine was to read my mind when we fucked.

“What the hell are you doing, Lucian?” My voice was amazingly calm given the anger that surged through me. “Have you got a death wish or something?”

“The reaper may want to kill me,” he said with a half shrug. “But he will not overstep the rules to justify his own petty desires.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” My fingers twitched against Amaya’s hilt, and it took every ounce of willpower not to aim her steel at his black heart and release her. But he wasn’t a fool, and that meant I couldn’t be. Not until I knew the full length and breadth of whatever he had planned. “By kidnapping me, you’ve given him carte blanche to break the rules where you’re concerned.”

“Then he is most welcome to try to kill me. But I doubt that he will.”

His confidence was as irritating as it was unnerving. “What do you want, Lucian?”

“What I have always wanted.” His low tones were laced with amusement and slid across my skin like silk. “I want to fuck you senseless.”