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Torin stared in horror at the scene unfolding before him. Pinned by two more massive werewolves, he couldn’t fight his way out fast enough to get to Gwyn as she was impaled in each shoulder and hauled into the ruins.

He saw Rhona and Colette sneaking into the ruins after them, so he did the only thing he could and pulled out the special knife Makari had given him.

Stabbing the second beast through the throat, he heard rather than saw the beast fall, the silver burning its way through the body. He hurried after Rhona and Colette as they snuck into the castle’s darkened interior.

Protecting their backsides, he stepped through the doorway just as the massive werewolf pinned Gwyn to the far wall. The only warning Torin got was the malodor hitting his nostrils just before the blade struck.

With a quick sidestep, Torin swung his long sword and sliced across the furred stomach of the newly made werewolf confronting him. He was too new and untrained, maybe several hours old, if even a day, and couldn’t seem to sync his torso with his legs as the young beast tilted sideways.

With a growl, one side of his upper lip curled above one white fang, also giving away his age. If he had been older, his teeth would have been stained and his breath putrid.

With a quick forward motion, Torin stabbed the smaller knife into the Ironclaw's side and pulled out the serpentine blade with a twist of his wrist. Stepping back, the beast's eyes widened in horror as it pawed at its chest.

In slow motion, he dropped to his knees, the small veins in his eyes turning silver. With a harsh gurgle escaping his throat, he fell face-first onto the dirt-covered floor.

Taking two steps toward Gwyn, Torin growled when another Ironclaw lunged for him, pulling at his sword. This one managed to get too close and raked his claws across Torin's fur-covered hip, slicing the belt around his waist in two.

Before the leather touched the ground, Torin spun around and stabbed the werewolf in the back, letting the silver do its job, but again, two more werewolves stepped between him and the women.

A deep snarl barreled up his chest in frustration. So much for Gwyn's estimate of only six or seven of these walking nightmares. Where in the hell were they coming from? He glanced at the three women, not liking how close they were to the massive Ironclaw leader.

When the beast grabbed Gwyn, once more tossing her over his shoulder, icy fingers snaked around Torin's heart and squeezed. A new Ironclaw appeared on his left, snarling as he raked his claws across Torin's upper back and pulled his gaze from the blackened doorway where Gwyn had disappeared.

Torin turned his head, slightly lowering his muzzle, and stared into Kilian's brown gaze. The light gray wolf's black-tipped ears tilted backward and forward before he turned, jumped over a pile of bodies, and raced into the ruins after Gwyn and the black Ironclaw.

With a final thrust, Torin killed the last beast, severing its head, and glanced around. The other Immortals seemed fine with no more than a few quick-healing cuts. Rhona and Colette stood off to one side unharmed as well.

He marched across and stopped in front of Rhona, his hands on his hips, ignoring the stubborn tensing of her jaw. "What in the hell did you think you were doing? You could've gotten yourselves killed!"

Rhona matched his glare. "Oh, pshaw! Evidently, I knew exactly what I was doing. We're alive, aren't we?" She picked up a small canvas bag he hadn't noticed before and held it up. “I came prepared,” she said, patting the bag. "Now, go save your woman. Leave that evil Fae to me. He's down there somewhere. I smell his stench."

Torin exhaled before motioning for the others to follow. Once inside, he was met with two doorways at opposite ends of the room. Makari walked to the doorway on the right and poked his head inside. With a glance, he stepped back and shook his head. "Nothing there but two empty cages," he whispered.

Torin walked to the other end of the space and stopped short of entering into the room. It wasn't a room at all but a narrow stairwell leading deeper into the bowels of the house.

The musty air wafting toward them was heavy with moisture as if the area below hadn't been disturbed in quite some time. He took a deep breath and fought back a cough as he inhaled the subtle hint of sulfur mixed in with the damp earth.

Knowing Gwyn’s and the babes’ lives rested on their stealth, they eased down the hand-chiseled stone stairs. Just as he stepped off the last step and into what, at one time, had probably been a cellar, he heard a voice he had tried to forget for the last thousand years—a voice he had never wanted to hear again.

* * *

Gwyn met Torin's tortured gaze. She would give just about anything to take away the pain she saw on his face and in the depth of his amber eyes. She wanted to rush over, throw her arms around him, hold him close, and feel his heart beating next to hers. Instead, she was trussed up like a Christmas lobster.

Her bound wrists had been fastened to a massive iron ring above her head, and her feet were precariously balanced on a wobbly gray stone. How had she managed to get herself into this? Oh, right. She wanted to go shopping. It must have been the excessive female hormones surging through her body that made her forget how much she loathed trying on clothes.

As the other Immortals fell in behind him, a bitter smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Her army had arrived. Too bad they were too late. She stared at her mate's handsome face, worry etched in every crease. Even in his wolf form, he was beautiful to her, and for the first time noticed how, like Kilian, his ears were edged in black fur.

His gaze pierced hers, and the furrows between his brows deepened. The steady tic of his jaw as he clenched his teeth and the almost complete disappearance of his tight, black lips showed just how worried and scared he was.

Whether wolf or man, Torin was everything she had ever dreamed of for herself. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of life. They were supposed to have a happily ever after—with a long marriage and many beautiful children.

Tears pooled in her eyes, trailing down each cheek in a single line. At least she had come to know him—the strength and conviction that flowed through his veins—and felt his love for her in his enormous heart. However, she wasn't crying for herself. Her tears were for their children, whose lives ended before they even began.

Their son and daughter would never know their father or experience how funny their aunts and uncles could be. They would never understand how deeply their parents and other Immortals loved them.

In two long strides toward her, Torin slammed into an invisible barrier the Dark Fae had erected around her. Kilian caught him as he stumbled backward and pushed him upright. The Immortals formed a semicircle facing her. Rhona and Colette stepped off the staircase and stood beside Makari.

Torin growled, his eyes darting around the room before resting on her. Are you all right? he whispered in her mind, soothing her growing agitation.

Yes. The black Ironclaw is acting as Fer-Diorich's emissary in this world, she whispered back. The Fae doesn't have enough strength to cross without our death—mine and Morgan’s.

He growled again, throwing his arms outward as he hollered to the ceiling. "Show yourself, you coward! You prey on women and children instead of fighting us like a real man! I've waited a long time to kill you, Fae! Show yourself!"

She shook her head. “Torin, please. This is what he wanted. He wants you and the others off-kilter—like when you were his prisoners. Don't give him that satisfaction."

He pressed his palms against the shield but immediately jerked away, shaking them at his sides as if stung. He turned toward Rhona. "It’s like an electrical field. How do we free her?"

Rhona walked around the invisible wall with her head cocked to one side, studying it with a gimlet stare. She nodded and dug in her bag, pulling out a small bowl, a paintbrush, and a silver athamé. She placed the three items in front of the barrier and motioned for Colette to stand beside her.

With the small knife, she sliced across the light brown skin at her wrist, turning the wound over the bowl and letting the fresh blood drip into it until only the bottom was covered. She then dipped the paintbrush into the blood and painted several symbols on the invisible wall.

The moment she finished with the last symbol, they disappeared in a quick flash of white light. Stepping back, she grinned at Gwyn. "Morrigan is so proud of you—her youngest granddaughter. Stay strong, my dear. When I begin, focus on what I'm saying and meld your magic to mine. You—and yours—are stronger." She gave Gwyn a subtle wink and closed her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Rhona chanted in a low voice, her sing-song cadence filling the small room.

"Earth and water, fire and sky, light the flames and watch them rise.

I invoke the gods from times gone by.

Standing before the sacred signs, we beseech you, Morrigan, to correct this crime.

Between our worlds, I invoke the path.

Bestow your powers against his wrath.”

The Immortals locked arms behind Rhona as her voice rose, carried by an unnatural wind as it screamed through the room.

Gwyn closed her eyes against the stinging lash as the wind whipped her hair over her face. When she heard the flapping of wings overhead and the shrill cry of birds, she squeezed her eyelids shut, the echoing calls making her ears ring.

Holding her breath, she forced her eyes to open as the blood symbols appeared again, this time blazing to a brilliant orange in front of her, then burning black, each turning into a fine ash that sifted to the floor.

"Focus on the shield, Gwyn. Imagine it as a glass door and slide it open," Rhona instructed.

Gwyn scowled. "A door? Seriously?"

Rhona nodded with a wide smile. "You can do this. Focus your magic. Believe in yourself and call up your Fae blood, Gwyn DuBois, daughter of Meagan DuBois, granddaughter of the Celtic goddess, Morrigan."

Swallowing her fear, Gwyn did as she was told. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain if this worked. She cleared her mind and reached for the area deep inside her. Her magic grew, a boiling force churning to be released like a building storm, as she called it forth.

A tiny blemish appeared on one side of the barrier, and then an exact duplicate appeared on the opposite side. With a quick flare, a red line blazed between the two points, locking them together.

A loud crack filled the room, and with a blaze of fire, the line widened into a growing fissure. Hundreds of minor fiery cracks branched out and covered the entire barrier until it shattered, showering everyone in the room with a blast of hot air.

Torin stared at a spot on the back wall close to the ceiling behind Gwyn. An indistinct haze fluttered, then darkened as it pulled away from the stone until a shadowy cloud bobbed above her head.

He nudged Makari who did the same to Fáelán. The dark gray wolf's eyes widened when his gaze fell on the shadow. Torin stepped toward Gwyn but found his leg frozen in mid-stride. He willed his muscles to obey without success.

Magic radiated around her, covering her skin like the buildup of static electricity without the painful shock. She tugged at the iron ring pinning her arms overhead, and her jaw dropped when the rope slithered to the ground. Her numb arms flailed as she tried to keep her balance on the unsteady support.

She fell off the rock and tumbled to her knees, drawing in a sharp breath as the circulation returned to her fingers and toes and raced up her arms and legs like a thousand fire ants. Ignoring the pain was nearly impossible, but she stretched out her arms and turned her face to the sky, amazed at the incredible power surging through her.

She focused on Torin as sulfur permeated the air. More Ironclaws had arrived. Forming a tight fist with her outstretched hand, she squeezed until the veins running along the back of her hand popped out.

She squeezed her fist even tighter, the knuckles blanching, and the first werewolf to reach the bottom of the stairs curled up with a scream, his middle depressing as if being pressed in a giant vice.

He gasped for air, grabbing for his throat, and his outstretched legs kicked a few times. Like the snapping of dry twigs, his bones cracked loudly in the quiet room. The body lay unmoving as blood trickled from the eyes and nose. His black tongue hung from one corner of his open mouth, and his rounded chest shook as he struggled to breathe. One breath, two... His chest stilled, and with a long gurgle, he died.

No one moved. Their gazes focused on the body—even the werewolves still standing behind them on the stairs. Looks of incredulous horror stamped on everyone's faces as they tried to figure out what they had just witnessed.

Torin, the first to recover, met her gaze. Whatever held him as still as a statue disappeared, and he dropped his raised leg. He turned, jerking his stiff body around like a toy soldier, and faced two Ironclaws as they jumped from the top of the staircase to the floor in front of him.

She swallowed her frightened scream and followed his graceful movements around the room. She had never seen anyone fight like him. He moved like a dancer; every motion was fluid and sure.

Each step flowed like water as he twisted and turned in wide arcs, lunging and slashing with his sword and knife until the Ironclaw lay at his feet, its upper body ripped to shreds. Large amounts of liquid silver spread through the pooling blood on the hard-packed dirt floor around its torso.

Torin turned, his eyes widening as a tall shadow seemed to step through the stone wall beside her. This beast was a behemoth compared to the others, and from the way he held himself still, he seemed to be waiting for a command. The shadowed head turned as if surveying the room, noticing everyone and everything.

"I know you are here, Fer-Diorich," Rhona's voice rang clear from somewhere Gwyn couldn't see. Finally, she stepped out from between Fáelán and Kilian. "Why do you still hide?" She winked at Torin and grinned, continuing to bait the Dark Fae. "I thought your first move would pack a bit more punch."

"Who are you to talk to me?" His bodiless voice filled the room, as smooth as molasses. Mesmerizing. Gwyn shook her head, not liking how he tried to fill her mind, willing her to listen only to his words and pulling her attention away from Torin.

He was Fae, and he could use his voice as a weapon. It was a very effective weapon, too, from how the Immortals paused. Even Rhona frowned, looking a bit confused. But Gwyn was confident Rhona was part Fae, too.

The shadow moved beside Gwyn. "I will be given what's owed per the curse. It is my right."

"Think hard about what the gift of power truly is, Dark Fae." Rhona's short body seemed to grow, lengthening and thinning as she talked. "You can accomplish much more using your power for the greater good. Yet, you have chosen evil. What has it gotten you, Fer-Diorich? You will never know the pleasure of love or friendship. You have doomed yourself to a painful existence, to remain forever in the Unseelie Court."

"You have no right to judge me—no one judges me!" the Fae screamed, his shadowy form thrashing as if held by invisible bonds. "You are no more than a mortal!"

Gwyn's face remained passive, her magic continuing to build. She dared not move, but inside, she trembled like a leaf, wanting to run from the room as fast as possible. In her mind, she repeated the prayer to keep her unborn twins and Morgan safe. The power seeping from the shadow was immense and scared her more than anything ever had.

Standing just behind Rhona, Colette's body stiffened, the color bleeding from her eyes and leaving them an eerie white. She spoke in an unfamiliar, raspy voice."The chosen protector must strike with the blade forged from the fires of the gods. With their powers combined, the protector and descendent will defeat the Dark Fae and his army, locking him inside the Unseelie Court."

A sharp tingling flowed like lava through Gwyn's veins as waves of hot and cold assailed her. The tiny hairs on her neck and arms stood on end as a heavy sense of dread filled her chest. The room turned black, and a tunnel of light appeared inside her mind.

Morgan! she screamed. Through their mind link, she searched for the familiar feeling of her twin, but the link between their minds had been severed. Where a moment ago, she felt her sister's warmth and love, now, there was only darkness. Gwyn's panic and magic tore through her chest and seeped into the surrounding room.

What had happened to her sister?