Page 88 of Fighting for Her Heart

With the men unable to hear me, I go to Mom’s cage to release her. Clearly my magic isn’t strong enough to break through this illusion. Hers will be. I hope.

“Mom! What’s going on?”

“Ember!” She grabs the bars of her cage. “What are you doing here? You should leave. It’s not safe. They’ll be back.” Her gaze darts around, fear in her eyes.

“Who, Mom? Who will be back?”

“The Keepers of Light. If they find you, they’ll put you in a cage like they did to me and your men.”

“The men aren’t in cages.” I turn around.

Everything’s changed. The room’s no longer a private VIP area at a nightclub, it’s more like a dungeon.

My heart rises in my throat to choke me.

All three men are bound against the stone walls, held by clamps and cuffs that are clearly silver and burning them. Blood is draining from their arms, through needles and tubes kind of like the ones in a blood donation clinic.

But even worse, women are stroking their erections and fondling their balls, and a strange receptacle is attached to the tips of their organs and pumping, clearly designed to capture their ejaculate.

Ryker’s jaw is tight, as if he’s fighting his body’s physical reaction, trying not to climax.

“Stop that! Don’t touch him!” I rush toward the woman, who’s busty with blond hair, but she disappears before I arrive. So does Ryker.

“Over here,” a female voice says.

I turn to see Ryker reclined on a red velvet chaise. The same woman is riding him, her deep red skirt hiked up and flowing over Ryker’s body as she bounces, seemingly impaled on his stiffness.

The woman licks her lips as she turns toward me, a smug smile on her face.

“Mom.” I turn toward her.

Mom is shaking her head. She’s not looking at me, but at…

I turn back around and all three men are confined again, their blood draining into jars, their faces strained as the women continue to stroke their cocks and fondle their stones.

I lunge forward again, but slam into a glass wall. It stuns me for an instant, my head throbbing.

I bang against the glass, but the men don’t seem to hear or see me from the other side. And they’re clearly in pain, suffering from the burns and unwanted stimulation.

“What can I do?” I turn back to Mom. Her cage has disappeared. “Mom! Do something! Break the spell!”

“First, we should talk.”

“No!” I grab her shoulders. “First, we free the men!” I turn back to see them. “Is this really happening?” I shake my head. How can I know which version of my surroundings is true, ifanyof them are true.

“I’m not sure what’s real.” My throat is so tight the words have to squeeze out.

Mom slides her hand around my waist. “There is no illusion before you right now.”

This is the worst news. Terrible. My throat closes.

Breaking away from Mom, I race toward the men, determined to free them, but slam into the glass wall again. Then it clouds, fogging my ability to see my men being tortured behind it.

“Mom!” I thump the glass with my fists as I turn back toward her. “Why are you lying to me? Iknowthis glass wall’s an illusion. Get rid of it. Now!”

“Come,” she gestures toward two tan leather chairs that suddenly appear beside a fireplace that wasn’t there earlier. Between the chairs is a braided rug, and I spot other small pieces of furniture placed around. At one end of the fireplace mantle there’s a grouping of thick beeswax candles, half-burned, and at the other a grouping of vases that are brightly glazed one of them with a chip near it’s lip.

It all seems so real, even the fire is burning and sparking, the coals glowing at its base like it’s been burning for hours.