Michael's pain clubbed into Nikki, the force of it dragging a gasp from her throat and driving her to her knees.

She couldn't move, couldn't think, for too many vital seconds. Fire burned through every fiber of her being, and her shoulder was an explosion of agony.

Michael? She thrust open the link and called with every ounce of strength she had.

There was no answer beyond pain. Endless, endless, pain. Oh God. A sob tore up her throat, and tears blurred her vision. He couldn't die on her. Not now. Not when they were only just beginning their life together.

"Nikki? You okay?” Jake's question broke off as he swore softly and raced to her side. He knelt down beside her, his grip fierce on her shoulders. “What's happened?"

"Michael,” she somehow gasped. “Oh God—"

Jake shook her. “Break the connection, Nik. We have to get moving if we're going to help him."

She took a shuddering breath and forced a shield around her mind, blocking his pain as she'd been taught in psi lessons. “Okay,” she said, as the pain eased to a muted, constant ache.

Jake helped her upright. “Where?"

She gulped down fear and swiped the tears from her eyes. “Outside. To the left."

He grabbed her hand, and they raced into the corridor and down the stairs. Her heart pounded as fast as her feet, but deep down she knew she was never going to be fast enough to rescue Michael. Already the sense of him was being stretched, suggesting he was moving away, fast. Given the pain and the curtain of darkness that billowed across the link between them, she didn't think he was moving under his own steam.

They raced down the pavement, slowing as they neared a side street. Nikki pulled Jake right, then came to an abrupt halt.

There was blood all over the concrete.

Her eyes widened, and she had to shove a hand to her mouth to stop her scream. She'd seen some horrible things in her time, but this was worse than anything.

Because it was Michael's blood.

Because there was so damn much of it.

"Hell,” Jake muttered. He squeezed her hand then released it. “Wait here."

Nikki took a deep, shuddering breath. “No."

Jake's gaze was rich with concern. “You don't need to see any more than you already have."

"That's his blood, Jake. It might provide some clues.” She hesitated and closed her eyes. Michael's presence was moving farther and farther away. If they didn't give chase soon, they might lose him. “Get the car. I'll look around here."

Jake studied her, as if trying to decide if she was okay, then shrugged and jogged back around the corner to get the car. Nikki cautiously approached the blood and tried to keep a tight lid on the force of horror coursing through her. Don't think about the blood. Don't react to it. Just find Michael.

It was a mantra she repeated as she knelt beside the dark stain. Lord, so much ... She took another deep breath and looked beyond the pool of wetness. No sign of a bullet, or whatever else had torn apart his shoulder. No sign of a fight. He must have gone down straight away. She glanced back to the blood. Camille had once said that clairvoyance was a strange gift and often bore fruit in the oddest places. If she touched the blood, would her second sight spring into action? Or would it be her psychometry that delved whatever secrets the blood might hold? Or would she simply end up with nothing more than bloody fingers?

There was only one way to find out.

She blew out a breath, closed her eyes, and slowly, carefully, dipped two fingers into the warm, sticky pool.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then heat burned up her arm, and her senses leapt away, following the trail that led to Michael. Shapes began to form in the darkness of her mind, human shapes, and strange-looking boxes

She reached for them psychically—and was swept into Michael's presence. But unlike the previous times she'd used her psychometry skills to find people, this time she didn't become one with him. Instead, she seemed to hover above him, a frightened phantom who could do nothing more than observe.

They were in a van that smelled of grease and metal. Michael lay on the floor, pale and unconscious. Rivulets of blood trickled from beneath his shoulder, pooling near his head, matting his dark hair. Fear swelled through her, along with psychic energy, but in her phantom form, there was no release—nothing she could do beyond look.

Toward the front of the van, two men squatted near his feet. One was brown-skinned, thickset, and bald. The other reminded her of a scarecrow, with lank, long brown hair and ragbag clothes.

She drifted forward. The driver was tall, with thinning brown hair and a face that looked to have seen more than a few harsh winters. The hands that clenched the steering wheel seemed oddly blurred, shifting between human fingers and wolf's claws.

He was a shape changer, she realized, and turned her gaze to the man in the passenger seat. He was of average height, with thick black hair that contrasted sharply against his pale skin. His profile was aristocratic, arrogant, his body slender. He was dressed in black, his suit and shoes expensive looking.

He shifted, and suddenly she found herself staring into his eyes. Eyes that were a smoky, ethereal gray. Eyes that held no humanity whatsoever, only anger so deep-seated it could almost be called madness.

He raised an eyebrow, a smile touching his thin lips. “Well, well, who do we have here?"

A hand touched her shoulder. The vision disintegrated, and she jumped back to herself with a squeak of fright.

"Nik? It's me, Jake."

She put a shaking hand to her chest. Her heart thumped so hard it felt like it was going to jump out.

"You all right?” Jake continued.

"Yeah.” She rose and brushed her bloody fingers on her jeans. “I was just trying to find out where they might be going."

"With his blood?” Jake's voice was as incredulous as his expression.

"I haven't been sitting back and twiddling my thumbs during my lessons these last few months,” she said tartly. “They're headed south."

"Then so are we."

They climbed in to the Mercedes. Jake slammed the car into gear and took off with a squeal of tires. She grabbed the cell phone from the glove compartment and called the Circle, asking to be put through to Camille.

"What's happened?” The old witch's voice was nail-grating sharp.

"Michael's been shot and kidnapped. They're heading south in some sort of van.” She hesitated, frowning as she tried to remember what she'd seen. Images rose—blood glistening to widening pools near dark hair. Her stomach curled. She swallowed heavily and added, “The van is gray. Probably a mechanic's van or something like that. We're following in Jake's car."

"We'll get people in the air immediately.” Camille hesitated. “We'll get him back, don't worry."

No, they wouldn't. A sob escaped. She bit her lip and hung up.

Jake leaned across and squeezed her knee. “He'll be all right. He's tough, remember that."

She nodded, not daring to speak lest she lose it right then and there. She had to keep it together. Had to find him.

Because if she didn't, no one would.

She reached for the link between them again. There was no response from his mind, and the sense of him was growing more distant. “Left at the next street,” she said. “And hurry."

The car slid around the corner. The tires squealed in protest and the Mercedes fishtailed several times before Jake brought it back under control.

"They can't be heading for the airport,” he commented. “It's in the opposite direction."

She fought the urge to close her eyes as Jake wove in and out of the traffic. “They wouldn't get an unconscious person past security, anyway."

Ahead, the lights changed to red. Jake pressed his foot on the accelerator rather than the brake. Nikki tensed, her knuckles white with the force of her grip on the side of the seat. Cars moved into the intersection. Jake swore and slapped his palm against the horn. Then he gunned the engine, and the big car surged forward.

She closed her eyes and prayed that someone upstairs was looking out for them.

Tires squealed. Other horns blasted. Something hit the back of the Mercedes, and they slewed sideways. Jake swore, his hands slamming against the wheel as he fought to keep the car going forward.

Then they were through the intersection and speeding up the street.

She blew out a breath, but her relief was short lived. A car flew out of a side street and arrowed towards them.

She barely had time to scream a warning before the car hit and blackness swamped her.

Nikki drifted in and out of consciousness, as if caught in a fragmented dream. Pain was a beat as steady as her heart, pounding through her veins like blood. Her throat burned, and for what seemed like ages, she couldn't swallow. Could barely even breathe.

Voices swam around her. Many voices, except for the one she really wanted to hear. Lights as bright as any sun burned into her eyes. She tried to blink, felt the touch of heat against her cheek and eyelid. Realized someone was holding her lid open, pouring light into her eyes.

Something bit into her arm, sharp, stinging. The pain began to ease, and for a while, there was nothing but peace.

When awareness returned again, it was to darkness. She opened her eyes, staring upwards, seeing the white ceiling and wondering where the hell she was.

Then memory hit.

"Ohmigod,” she said, jerking upright. “Michael!"

Hands grabbed her. She fought their grip blindly, desperate to get free, to go to him. God, he needed her. Badly.

"Nikki!” Jake's voice cut through the haze of fear. “Calm down. It'll be all right."

Her strength left in a whoosh, and she collapsed into his arms. “No,” she sobbed. “It won't.” He was hurt—not so much physically as spiritually, and the ache of it pounded through her veins.

Jake hugged her tight. “Seline has put everyone who's free or on leave onto finding him."

It wouldn't help. She was the only one who could find him. The only one who could rescue him. Whether that was intuition or just plain old fear, she couldn't say.

She sniffed, then asked, “Are you all right?"

"Bruised, but fine.” He kissed her forehead and pulled back. “How are you feeling?"

"A little achy.” She shrugged and swiped a hand at the tears on her cheeks. “Where are we?"

"The Circle's private hospital."

"Why?"

His gaze searched hers. “You don't remember?"

She frowned. “I remember the car."

He nodded. “It sideswiped us. Turns out they were working for the men who'd kidnapped Michael. Camille has been working on them, but she hasn't been able to get much information out of them."

Nikki frowned. “But that means they were expecting us to give chase."

He grimaced. “It appears they were expecting a whole lot of things. Lucky for us, we were in the Merc."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, if it wasn't for the front and side air bags, you might be dead."

She stared at him for a moment, wondering what he was talking about. She couldn't die. Well, technically, she could, but only through decapitation. “What do you mean?"

He reached forward and touched her neck. It was only then she became aware of the bandage.

"The impact of the accident shattered the windshield and sent glass flying everywhere. If the air bags hadn't taken the force off the one that hit you, it might have sliced clean through your neck."

A chill ran through her. What were the odds of something like that happening in an accident? What were the odds that it was no accident?

She swallowed, but it didn't seem to ease the sudden dryness in her throat. “How long have I been in the hospital?

He hesitated. “Four days."

Her eyes widened. “Four days! God—"

Jake's hand clasped hers, squeezing lightly. “It's all right."

"It's not all right,” she said furiously. “Anything could have happened to him! What in hell are Seline and Camille doing?"

"All they can, believe me. But there's more to this than what you think."

"Like what?"

Jake's smile was weak and did little to alleviate the tiredness from his eyes. “I think I'll leave that for Camille to explain. You feeling up to a walk?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

He grabbed the robe off the end of the bed and held it out for her. She climbed out of bed, ignoring the aches that slithered through her limbs, and slipped her arms into the robe's sleeves. As she tied it together, she walked over to the mirror and studied her reflection. There was no puffiness or bruising from the beating Lenny had given her. And though the white bandage around her neck stood out like a sore thumb, there was no pain or soreness.

She'd healed very fast—yet another indication of her lost humanity. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Why was she even worrying about it? The only reason she was standing here today, on the verge of getting married to a man she loved heart and soul, was because of the fact she was no longer human. Get over it, she told herself fiercely. And go get your man back.

Jake tucked a hand under her elbow. “You ready?"

She nodded and let him lead her down the quiet halls. There didn't appear to be many people in any of the four wards they passed. Surely that was a good thing.

The double doors at the far end of the corridor swished open as they approached. Beyond was another corridor and four doors. Jake led her through the last door on the right. It was a small conference room. Camille sat next to a phone at one end of the table, her vibrant green and orange sweater practically glowing in the surrounding whiteness.

Jake pulled out a chair for Nikki, then sat beside her. Nikki met Camille's bright gaze. “What's happened?"

"Lots of things.” Camille's voice was grim. “But I'll let Seline explain."

The older woman pressed a button on the phone and Seline's harsh tones entered the room. “Nikki,” she said. “Sorry I couldn't be there in person, but it's far too dangerous for me to be venturing out of cover at the moment."

"Why?"

"To explain that, I'll have to explain a little history.” Seline hesitated. “I don't suppose Michael has told you about Hartwood?"

Nikki snorted softly. Michael had a habit of telling her as little as possible, though he was certainly better than he used to be. “No, he hasn't."

"I can see I'll have to have a word with him.” Seline's voice was tart, and Nikki smiled. She hadn't met the old witch yet, but she liked her more and more.

"Hartwood is where he and I first met,” Seline continued. “He'd spent years tracking down a man by the name of Emmett Dunleavy—"

"Why?” Nikki asked. “What did Dunleavy do?"

"Apparently, he'd killed a woman Michael cared about."

Nikki raised her eyebrows. The little he'd said about his past had led her to believe he hadn't really cared about anyone in those dark years. Obviously, that wasn't quite the truth. “And he found Dunleavy in this Hartwood?"

"Yes. Dunleavy was a sorcerer and worshipper of the dark gods. I'd been trying to stop him for years."

"Can I ask why?"

Seline hesitated. “Because I'm a big believer in the fact that those of us with special gifts have a duty to protect those who don't."

The answer didn't surprise her, because that was the motivation behind the Damask Circle, and Seline had started the Circle. “Did Dunleavy kill friends of yours as well?"

"No. He simply killed, and that was enough for me."

"Were you working alone?"

"Yes. The Circle wasn't yet in existence."

But it had come into being shortly after, though exactly how it had come into being, she wasn't entirely sure. “Did Dunleavy kill for the sake of it, or was there a specific reason?"

"The dark gods grant great power in return for blood sacrifices. Dunleavy moved from town to town, kidnapping virgins and sacrificing them on the night of the new moon."

"Sounds like a real nice type,” Jake muttered.

"Oh, he was a gem,” Seline agreed dryly. “Trouble was neither Michael nor I could take him out straight away. Dunleavy was a shapeshifter—one who can take on the form of anyone he has killed."

Nikki frowned. “So he's more like one of those manarei Doyle was mentioning in monsters class?"

"In a sense, yes, though Dunleavy comes from human stock, and the manarei don't."

"And he could take on male or female form?"

"Yes, which made tracking him doubly difficult. The moment we thought we were on to him, he shifted form. Plus, he'd already kidnapped two women by the time we'd got there, and I wanted to rescue them first."

"I'm gathering Michael wasn't too happy about that."

Seline cackled. “No. But nothing much frightens this old witch, even a vampire hell-bent on getting his own way."

"So what happened?"

"The upshot is that we rescued the two women, killed Dunleavy and burned his body. Unfortunately for us, the fire got out of control and half of Hartwood burned as well."

"What's this got to do with Michael being kidnapped?"

"What we didn't know at the time was that Dunleavy had a twin—Weylin. He's not only a shapeshifting sorcerer like his brother, but a vampire. And Weylin wants revenge."

"Then why not kill Michael straight out?” The words made her heart shudder, but it was something that had to be asked. Simply kidnapping him made no sense. Not unless Weylin intended torturing him, and as yet, that wasn't happening. She'd know. She'd feel Michael's pain, if nothing else.

"Because he needs him for the ceremony."

Nikki blinked and glanced at Jake, who shrugged. At least she wasn't the only one not following Seline's train of thought. “What ceremony?"

"I fear Weylin intends to bring his brother back to life."

Nikki's gaze went from the phone to Camille. “Can you really bring someone back to life after they've been dead for a hundred years?"

"Yes,” Camille said. “If the magic and your will are strong enough, you can do just about anything."

"But he's maggot food. How can he be raised?"

"A body is merely the vessel for the soul,” Seline commented. “It's Emmett's spirit Weylin intends to raise."

"But ... How?"

"To raise his brother's spirit from the hell to which it was consigned, he will have to replicate the events leading up to the night of the new moon—the night Emmett was killed."

Meaning they had five days to stop him. “So he needs Michael.” Nikki paused. “And you, Seline."

"Yes. A special delivery letter came addressed to me this morning. He has a list of Circle operatives. I have one day to appear in what is left of Hartwood. If I'm not there, he'll start killing."

"Insanity obviously runs in that family,” Jake muttered. “You can't go, Seline. It's suicide."

"I have no intention of going or letting anyone in the Circle get killed."

Nikki closed her eyes. If she had to go in alone after Michael, she would—but she had a bad feeling it would all go to hell if she went without Circle help. “So what do we do?"

Seline paused and said, “I want you to go in my place, Nikki."

"What?” Jake half rose from the chair. “No way!"

Nikki touched a hand to his arm, squeezing lightly to stop his protest, and asked, “How? I might not have met you, Seline, but I know you and I look nothing alike. Besides, it's very likely that Weylin tried to kill me. He knows what I look like."

"Weylin may know a lot about what happened in that week, but I doubt he realizes I was using magic to hide my true appearance. We'll use that same magic to hide yours."

"If he's a sorcerer, won't he sense it?"

"No. The spell will be similar to what he used to get Lenny in the building, but stronger. More hidden."

"So, you change my appearance, then what? I just waltz in there and get Michael back?"

"I wish it was that easy.” She paused again, and unease crawled up Nikki's spine. “For this ceremony to work, he will have to have all the major characters in place."

"How, when it all happened over a hundred years ago? Most of the major players will be dead, won't they?” But even as she said it, the image of the gnarled driver came to mind. She had a vague suspicion at least one of the major players was still alive. Whether he was still human was another matter.

Seline blew out a breath. “Yes. But all Weylin really has to do is get living replacements. His magic is strong enough to enforce role-playing."

"So what will I have to do?"

"There are three huge problems.” Seline's voice was grim. “The first being, you must do what you can to disrupt the sequence of events. But we do not know which events Weylin knows about, and which he will deem important for the ceremony. Plus, Michael and I were separated much of the time, and I do not know everything he might have done."

"So tell me everything you remember, and I'll play it by ear."

"Yes.” Seline paused again. “Then there is the sacrifice. Michael and I rescued the women on the night of the new moon. Letting them die is not an option, so you must try and find them before the new moon rises."

"Will that be enough of a change?"

"To be honest, I have no idea. Maybe the mere fact of you going in my place will be enough to break the spell, but you will be playing my role, so it may make no difference. I can't be sure. If I went in and tasted his magic, I might know, but for everyone's sake, that is something I cannot risk."

"I don't suppose we have anything on the people he might have snatched, so I can try and trace them with psychometry?"

"Not a hope. He could have taken them from anywhere, and we haven't the time to try and track them down."

Nikki grimaced. She didn't think it would be that easy, but she had to ask all the same. “So what's the third problem?"

"Weylin has raised a protection barrier around the old town. We can't get anyone in."

"If you can't get anyone in, how am I going to get in?"

"He'll create a door at a specified time. If anyone tries to come in with you, he'll kill everyone in that town, except Michael. Then he'll start killing Circle operatives."

Nikki blew out a breath and slumped back in the chair. “He's got all the bases covered."

"He's had a long time to plan this revenge of his. Beating him will not be easy."

Beating bad guys never was. “So, how many people are in this town?"

"Hartwood was an old mining town. He'd have to have enough people to cover the main players—barman, saloon girls, general store owner, preacher, people like that. At least a dozen, at a guess. And it is a guess, remember that. I have no idea what path his magic has taken."

"How can he possibly manage all that magic and still control all those people? Surely it would sap his strength?"

"It would, but all he would have to do is perform regular sacrifices, and his strength would be maintained."

"Meaning I might also have to try and stop those sacrifices?"

"Yes."

Great. She worried her lip for a moment then asked, “What about Michael? He has a strong mind and strong shields. How on earth would Weylin force him to play this little game?"

"Weylin tried to kill you. If he could enforce the belief that he had into Michael's mind, then he would put Michael in the same frame of mind that he was in a century ago."

"That doesn't answer my question.” She and Michael had their connection—he would know, deep down, she wasn't dead.

"It would take magic to enforce the role-playing. If what we've discovered on Lenny and Nadia is any indication, you will discover symbols painted on and around his spine."

"Meaning all I have to do is erase those symbols, and he'll be free of Weylin's magic?"

"Again, I fear it is not that simple."

"Nothing ever is,” she muttered.

Amusement filled Seline's voice as she said, “Not when it comes to magic, I'm afraid."

Nikki sighed. “So, what's the problem in this case?"

"It's twofold. First, the symbols will be inked into his skin, and they will need to be washed with a special soap before they start to fade."

"Meaning we take lots of baths?"

"This is a ghost town, remember,” Camille commented, amusement touching her thin lips. “It won't have running water, let alone hot running water."

"Guess that means electricity will also be at a premium?"

"Hartwood did have power a century ago, but I'm guessing only the section where the rangers stay would have power now,” Camille said. “And it wouldn't be necessary for any of Weylin's spells."

Nikki rubbed a hand across her eyes. She'd roughed it on the streets as a teenager, but her teenage years were long ago, and she was well and truly used to life's little luxuries—water on tap, hot food, clean sheets. It was sounding like those were going to be a little sparse on the ground. “Am I able to take anything in with me?"

"Weylin has provided a list of what can and can't be taken in. Candles, matches and a small camp oven are on the list. But we'll try and sneak some soap in, as well."

"What about food?"

"He has apparently stocked the general store, probably because I had a lot to do with the store owner."

Nikki had a feeling she didn't want to know the exact details of that. “So, what's the second problem with removing the symbols from Michael's back?"

"Michael himself."

Nikki's eyebrows rose. “Why?"

"He will be role-playing, remember, and will see you as me. He and I were never intimate, though my role as saloon girl meant we did share a kiss or three."

Seline paused, as if waiting for a reaction. Nikki shrugged, even though she knew Seline couldn't see the gesture. Michael had told her many times he and Seline had never been sexually intimate, and Nikki trusted the truth of his words. But he'd never said they hadn't kissed or touched, and she'd be a fool to think otherwise.

After another second of silence, Seline continued, “While instinctively he will be drawn to you, he will fight it, because deep down he knows that he and I never happened."

"So that's another way of maybe tripping the spell—dragging him into bed."

"Possibly. But one thing you should remember—the Michael you meet in Hartwood will not be your Michael. He will be rougher, harder."

How much rougher and harder could he be than when she'd first met him? He'd been so close to edge, so close to becoming one with the darkness, back then. And though he'd only really threatened her once, it was something she was never likely to forget.

"Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Plenty. But Camille will fill you in on the rest of it.” Seline paused and added softly. “Bring him home safely, Nikki."

She intended to.

After all, they had a wedding planned.