Turner shot a look at the sword, the only thing that seemed to frighten him. He showed no fear of the attacking Shifters.

Bowman decided to change that. He charged him, not bothering to shift, and grabbed Turner by the lapels of his padded jacket. Bowman jerked him from his feet. “What the fuck have you done with my mate?”

Turner’s eyes were icy behind his glasses, with absolutely no feeling in them at all. Bowman had never seen anything like it. Though Cristian could be cool and calculating, the man had fire inside him. Turner had nothing.

Bowman’s Collar went off. Turner jabbed something into the top of Bowman’s thigh—a knife? A Taser? Whatever it was, it hurt like hell, and Bowman’s skin crackled with the shocks from his Collar.

He transferred his hold to Turner’s throat, no longer interested in keeping him alive. He let his claws come to cut into Turner’s flesh, but felt his own body weakening as the Collar kept up its punishment. Blood ran hot against Bowman’s leg, and he heard something crack.

The Sword of the Guardian swooshed past Bowman’s head. Turner’s eyes widened, and he shoved Bowman away as the blade came down.

The fire high in Bowman’s thigh left him, though clenching pain remained. He heard Gil’s shout.

“Grab the—” He said a strange word Bowman didn’t understand. “Aw, damn it!”

The mists swirled, and Turner was gone. Bowman fell to his knees, his Collar still sparking.

“Dad!” Ryan was at Bowman’s side, his small hands reaching for him. Cristian came to him as well, his touch surprisingly gentle as he steadied Bowman.

The mists thickened. Bowman reached for them but felt only moisture on his hands.

Kenzie! he called silently, then collapsed into the arms of his son and his archenemy.

* * *

“Bowman!” Kenzie leapt to her feet. Brigid lifted her head from where she lay and regarded her quizzically.

All was silent.

Kenzie had heard Bowman’s voice; she knew it. A call across distance, mists, worlds . . . Wherever the hell she was.

Another trick? Kenzie turned slowly in a circle, searching. The vision she’d had earlier had shown her Bowman and Ryan smiling, happy, beckoning her to join them.

This time, she’d heard only Bowman’s voice, which had been filled with rage, pain, and anguish. No smiling illusion. Desperation, hurt. Emotions that had grabbed Kenzie and wouldn’t let go.

“Bowman!” she shouted back in the same desperation. “I’m here!”

The echoes of her words died, and silence descended.

“Did you hear him?” Brigid asked, her voice gentle.

Kenzie nodded, her eyes wet. “Like he was standing next to me. Shouting in that crabby way of his.” She gave Brigid a shaky smile. “Have you heard your kids or sisters calling to you?”

“No.” Brigid shook her head. “They only stand where I cannot reach, tempting me to go to them, but I cannot hear their voices. They are demons in fair guise.”

“This was different.” It had been Bowman’s true voice; she was certain of it.

Kenzie’s chest ached, her breath catching. She turned from Brigid so the Fae woman wouldn’t see the tears rolling down her face.

Bowman, Kenzie called silently. I’m here.

I love you.

* * *

Bowman’s eyes jerked open. He was lying, of all places, on the bed in Turner’s wrecked trailer house. The bedroom ceiling was still intact, but the walls were full of holes from where Shifters had torn away wallboard, searching for anything Turner might have hidden. The bed had been shoved into the middle of the room, with Bowman spread out on it.

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.”