He came to a halt directly in front of her, his eyes glowing with an odd radiance. “Witch.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s Sally,” she snapped before she could halt the impulsive words. “It’s not that hard to remember.”

The vampire shrugged. “Your name doesn’t matter.”

Sally sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the heavy scent of vampires that filled the musky air. Wasn’t there some sort of saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar?

“No, I don’t suppose it does,” she muttered, pinning a stiff smile to her lips. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have gone to Styx, but I”—her smile widened as she was struck by inspiration—“I was worried about you.”

The lean face remained devoid of expression, but the glow in his eyes flared with something that looked like hunger. “How very extraordinary that you should be acquainted with my host,” he said.

“Host?” She wrapped her arms around her waist as a shiver shook her body. “I don’t understand.”

He acted as if he didn’t hear her, the unnerving gaze sliding over her pale face. “Perhaps it was merely fate ensuring that you would be available when I needed you.”

“You . . . need me?” With a frown she glanced toward the male vampire who was hovering near the motionless female, pretending he wasn’t listening to the conversation although his tension was a palpable force in the air. He didn’t behave like an eager accomplice, not even when he’d kidnapped her from her bedroom, but it could all be an act. For now she had to assume he was one of the enemy. At last she glanced back to Gaius. “You didn’t bring me here to punish me?”

He tilted his head to the side in a distinctly un-Gaius-like motion. “Punish you?”

“For going to Styx.”

A smile that was more terrifying than reassuring curled his lips. “You aren’t here for punishment.”

“No?”

“No.”

She shifted beneath the glowing gaze, feeling as if he were rummaging around inside her.

Even worse, she was beginning to suspect that the glow in his eyes was more than just madness or the compulsion she’d first assumed. He looked . . . possessed. As if he had been taken over by another creature.

It was freaking creepy.

“Then why?”

Without warning, Gaius (or whoever the heck he was now) turned to point at the hole that Roke had punched into the wall. “Because of that.”

Sally was briefly disoriented, as much from the sudden realization that she could actually sense Roke through their bond despite the distance (if she hadn’t been neck deep in trouble she might have wondered what was causing his frantic desperation). As from the struggle to accept that Gaius had some other reason for kidnapping her than mere retribution for tattling on him to Styx.

“The safe?” she asked in confusion; then she gave a sudden blink. “No. The book.”

“Yes.”

She hesitated, hoping her sluggish mind would catch up with the rapidly shifting situation. “You want me to break the spell?”

Gaius made a sound of disgust. As if she was unbearably stupid.

He’d get no argument from her.

“There’s only one way to break the spell and destroy the book.”

She frowned. “Only one?”

Gaius nodded. “You die.”

The words were said with such indifference that it took a second for Sally to react.

“No.” She took a stumbling step backward, wondering if this was some hideous nightmare. “No, I have the counterspell brewing at Styx’s lair.”

Gaius waved a hand. “A worthless concoction.”

She pressed a hand to her racing heart, trying desperately to hold back her panic. “How do you know?” she forced herself to ask. “I can promise you that my brews are more potent than most.”

“There is no counterspell because it’s sorcery.”

Sorcery? She shook her head.

There were all types of magic.

Spells conjured by witches and wizards, both white and black. Demon magic that called on their natural powers. And the gifts of magic that were bestowed to prophets and other individuals blessed by fate.

Or cursed.

But sorcery was supposed to be an ancient magic that came from a place deeper than spells brewed in a cauldron or even the bloody altars.

It came from the very soul, devouring a piece of a witch’s life force with every use.

“I’ve never . . .” She shook her head. “I thought it was an urban legend.”

“No legend, although from what I’ve discovered of this world, the magic is not nearly as potent as it used to be,” the creature that used to be Gaius murmured. “Still once the spell is cast it’s unbreakable until the last witch is dead.”

Her mouth went dry. He spoke with an unshakable confidence. Right or wrong, he truly believed the book was protected by sorcery.

And that her death was the only thing that could give him what he wanted.

“I didn’t cast the spell,” she managed to croak.

“Of course not.” A hint of impatience twisted the gaunt features. “It was cast at the beginning of time. When witches were in the power of the Oracles.”

“Witches in the power of the Oracles?” She made a sound of shock. She’d always been taught that witches had been created out of a human need to balance the growing power of demons and their Commission. “Are you kidding me?”

Gaius shrugged. “Before the great schism.”

“The great . . .” She abruptly pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. “Never mind. I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“For the truly powerful witches soul-bindings can be transferred from mother to daughter.” His glowing gaze flicked over her slender body, which felt far too exposed by the skimpy muscle shirt and stretchy pants. “An unbreakable chain.”

She forgot how to breathe as she accepted the only logical conclusion to his explanation.

“So my mother . . .”

“She was one of the heirs.”

A shrill, humorless laugh was wrung from her throat. She’d never been truly satisfied with her mother’s claim that she’d chosen to have a daughter to ensure her power base. After all, there was no guarantee that Sally would be born with enough magical abilities to be more than a drain on her resources. It was far more practical to take on an apprentice who was old enough to display the level of her talent and yet young enough to be molded into a loyal acolyte.

Now she understood.

Her mother needed a blood heir to pass on her duty.

“No wonder she was so anxious to have a daughter,” she muttered, wryly wondering when her mother had intended to tell her the truth.

Perhaps on that memorable sixteenth birthday?

What a grand irony that would be.

“Yes,” Gaius agreed.

“How many heirs are there?”

Gaius turned toward the gaping hole in the wall, his hatred toward the book pulsing through the air. Sally shivered, taking the opportunity to sneak a quick peek at the two silent vampires standing across the room.

The female remained impervious to her surroundings, but the male met her glance with a small nod of his head toward the door.

She frowned. What the hell did that mean?

That she was supposed to make a run for it?

That there were more enemies hidden outside?

That . . .

Her desperate thoughts were interrupted as Gaius abruptly turned back toward her.

“They began with thirteen,” he said as he answered her question. “The numbers varied over the centuries.”

“You kept track of them?”

He smiled with a cruel pleasure. “Most of them were kind enough to remain together in the same coven, so when the Dark Lord began to thin the barriers between dimensions I was able to nudge my children into getting rid of them.”

She knew. The minute he spoke the words she knew that he meant the coven that she’d seen so gruesomely murdered in the photo.

And he spoke of the massacre as if they were mere bugs being squashed.

Blessed goddess.

Her hand shifted to press against her stomach, trying to stifle the churning nausea.

“They were slaughtered,” she said in a raw voice.

The . . . Gaius-creature shook his head. “All but one.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “My mother.”

The strange glow in his eyes flared, but prepared for his anger, Sally was rattled when instead it was her own simmering anger and fear that was stoked higher.

As if Gaius was capable of draining the emotions from her.

“I couldn’t have known she had left the coven,” he complained. “But when the spell remained intact I realized there must be one left.”

She quivered, trying to regain control of her emotions. Now, more than ever, she needed a clear mind.

“Two left,” she absently corrected.

That horrifying smile returned. “No. Only one. Now.”

Profound shock gripped her, crushing any grief she might have felt.