Michael grabbed a fistful of the nearest man's shirt, attempting to remain upright as the air howled around them.

The stranger instinctively stepped back, and for a moment, they both teetered over the edge of the whirlpool of magic that sought to suck them to God knew where.

Michael reached out with his thoughts, trying to touch his anchor's mind, trying to break the control Dunleavy had over him in order to save them both. But at that moment, the man raised the stake he held in his hand and stepped forward. The whirlpool grabbed them, dragging them into its depths.

And suddenly he was free falling, tumbling down and down and down.

Even a vampire couldn't escape a hole as deep as hell itself. He wasn't about to get trapped in hell.

Though disorientated, he flung out his arms, trying to get some idea as to what was around him. He hit flesh first and grabbed the man, knowing he had to save him if he could.

His free hand brushed walls, but they were too smooth to provide any real purchase. Then he hit wood, but it slithered past too fast for him to grab.

More smooth rock. Another piece of wood.

This one he managed to hook his arm around. The abrupt halt tore at muscles, and the sudden deadweight of the stranger damn near popped his left shoulder out of its socket.

He hissed, fighting pain, fighting to keep his grip on the wooden beam and the stranger against the pull of the magic and gravity. He blinked the beads of sweat from his eyes and looked around.

They were in one of the vertical shafts. It wasn't all that wide, and aging beams lined the drop, with supporting beams spanning the gap north to south. If he'd hit any of them in those first few moments of free falling, he probably would have broken his back. But luck had been with him, and he'd fallen right through the middle.

He couldn't see the top of the shaft, and he had no idea just how far he'd fallen. He glanced down. The beams continued on for a while, and then the wood gave way to unnaturally smooth rock. Dunleavy's doing, he suspected. The bastard was probably trying to ensure the hole was deep enough to cage a vampire. If he'd fallen much farther, he would have been caught in that cage.

Material tore, and the stranger dropped a little. Pain ripped up Michael's arm, burning through the rest of his body. He swore softly. The man's weight must have torn ligaments when they'd come to that sudden halt. And it wasn't like he could shift his grip and make both of them more comfortable.

He needed help.

Needed to know if Nikki was okay.

He reached out to her, but the link between them was little more than a black wasteland. He swore again. Dunleavy had her. He knew that without doubt.

He tried instead to use his kinetic skills, but they were still locked in glue. Nikki was right. The circle around this town was blocking basic psychic abilities. So why could she use her flames? And how could he siphon her ability to sense evil when that, too, was a psychic skill? Was the fact that they shared that skill somehow able to give it immunity from the spell?

Right now, that was a question he didn't have the time to ponder.

He glanced down again and lightly toed the stranger in the face. “Wake up.” Though he knew it probably wouldn't succeed, he tried to reinforce the words telepathically. The man's mind was a mental minefield he didn't have time to traverse. He had to get to Nikki. Had to get moving.

He toed the stranger again, less carefully this time. The man jerked and cursed, and Michael hissed in pain as the fool's action sent them both into a gentle swing.

"Keep still,” he snapped.

The man's gaze jerked to his. There was no awareness of the situation, no life, in the blue of his gaze, only a curious blankness. He was still under Dunleavy's control.

And Dunleavy wanted Michael suffering, then dead.

The stranger swung the stake he'd somehow clung to, rapping Michael across the shins. He cursed and shook the idiot, trying to make him lose his grip on the stake. It didn't do any good. The wood hit him again, and the nails that had been rammed along its length tore past his jeans and into flesh.

There was only one thing to do, and he did it.

The stranger didn't even scream as he fell, but rather, was still mindlessly trying to hit him. After a few moments, water splashed. With any luck, Dunleavy had left the stranger with enough common sense to tread water. Though whether he'd be able to stay afloat long enough for Michael to get help was anyone's guess.

And right now, he had more important things to worry about. Kinnard's threat rose to haunt him. He pushed it away savagely and hooked his other hand around the beam. Pain slapped through him, and his breath hissed through clenched teeth. His shoulder had definitely been damaged, but at least he could still move it. Could still hold on with it, though it hurt like hell, and his grip was a lot weaker than it should be.

He took a breath and swung his body, hooking his feet around the beam before carefully climbing onto it. Once secure, he took another breather, wiping the sweat from his eyes as he glanced up. The next beam was about eight feet away. Not much of a leap if he stood.

He edged his way along the beam until he reached the wall. Using it to steady himself, he carefully climbed to his feet. For a minute, the tunnel swam around him. He blinked the sensation away and looked upwards, judging the distance. Then he lunged.

He caught the beam, holding on for grim death as his body swung like a pendulum and pain burned white hot up his left arm. Ignoring it, he swung his legs, hooking them around the beam and clambering on top of it.

He repeated the process over and over.

By the time he neared the top, he was drenched in sweat, and the burning in his shoulder had spread to the rest of his body. He was shaking with exhaustion, and his vision was so blurred he could barely see the beam beneath him.

He needed blood. Needed to replenish what he had lost.

And he didn't have the time to do it, because Nikki was running out of time. The longer Dunleavy had her, the more he could do to her. The images he'd seen in the woman's mind rose to haunt him again, and he swore savagely.

Nikki wasn't being abused yet. He'd know it, feel it, if she were.

But that didn't mean she wouldn't be if he didn't get there soon.

He looked up. The top of the shaft was about ten feet away. As bad as he felt, it might as well have been a hundred. He scanned the rim, looking for something he could grab if he missed the edge. Three of the side supports were basically rotten near the edge, thanks to the water dribbling down the side of the shaft. If he grabbed those, they were likely to splinter and give way. The fourth one was the only one out of the water's path, and it looked secure. That was the side he had to aim for.

He shifted his position so that he was more in line with the edge. Then he flexed his fingers and jumped. Exhaustion had sapped his strength, and his leap wasn't as high as it should have been. He cannoned into the side of the shaft rather than the top of the hole, and scrabbled wildly for the edge even as he began to slide back down into the shaft. His fingers slid across the stone, and at the last possible moment, hit a crevice. He wedged them deep, halting his fall, his arms shaking with the effort of holding his wildly swinging body. After another shuddering breath, he hauled himself up enough so that he could place his foot on the top of the nearby support beam.

Then he launched himself out of the shaft. He hit the slick rock surface of the cavern and slid along for several feet before crashing into another rock.

He didn't do anything—couldn't do anything—other than lie there for more minutes than he cared to count. His breath was a harsh rasp that echoed through the silent cavern, and every nerve ending shook—ached—with pain. And though the air was thick and damp, the smell of blood was sharp. His blood, coming from the wounds on his thigh and arm. He'd have to tend to them before he moved, or he'd be in trouble long before he got to Nikki.

He pushed into a sitting position and tore off a shirt sleeve. After wrapping it around his leg and securing it, he looked at the wound on his arm. It was deep enough to see bone. Luckily, it had been caused by the nails in the wood rather than the wood itself, and it would heal okay. Unlike the slice he could feel burning on his cheek. But the cut on his arm was bleeding profusely, and he couldn't afford to lose any more blood.

He grimaced. Blood was blood, and though he couldn't survive on another vampire's blood, sucking down his own would at least help counter lightheadedness, while licking the wound would quicken the healing process.

He stood. The cavern spun around him, and then it lurched to a sickening stop. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and raised his arm, suckling his wounded flesh as he stumbled forward.

There was no sound beyond the trickle of water in the darkness ahead or behind him. No heartbeat. No sense of magic.

Trepidation rushed through him, and he broke into a run. The tunnel widened, became a bigger shaft. He followed it, reaching for the memories to guide his steps. He slid right into one side shaft, then right again into another. The past loomed before him, and as he slid into another shaft, he came to a sudden halt.

A body hung from the ceiling, dripping blood into the center of the pentagram. A pentagram protected by a small circle of black stones, and nothing else.

Dunleavy was using the Standard Mine pentagram all right, but it was for one of his regular sacrifices, not the ceremony that would bring Emmett back to life.

Seline had been wrong. He'd been right all along.

Weylin was going to perform the ceremony where his brother's body lay—under the church.

It was the cold that woke Nikki. For several seconds she lay still, keeping her eyes closed as she tried to determine where she was and what was going on.

To her right, someone was murmuring. The harsh tones suggested it was Kinnard—or rather Dunleavy, in his Kinnard guise.

Beyond the sound of Kinnard's voice, there was little other noise. The wind was a distant howl, but the air around her was thick and still and icy. She was lying on dirt rather than stone, which was odd, because it felt sandy rather than clayish.

She cracked open her eyes. A flashlight sat on old, wooden shelving, its bright light spilling across the ceiling and down the walls. She was in the church, not the mine. Michael had been right.

The murmuring had moved and was now coming from behind her head. She cautiously tried to shift her foot and discovered she was tied—discovered that both legs were tied, along with her hands.

And she realized something else. She was naked.

As images of what had been done to the women in the whorehouse and the hotel filled her mind, fear swelled. But fear was what Kinnard wanted, what he fed on, and she ruthlessly pushed it away. The little worm wasn't going to get the better of her—and he certainly wasn't going to get her without a damn good fight.

She opened her eyes and tilted her head back. “You praying to those gods of yours to save your soul? If not, you'd better be, because I'm going to make sure you're sent back to the hell that spawned you."

Kinnard's gaze met hers, the ghostlike depths filled with amusement and scorn. “Girlie, you're in no position to be threatening me."

"If you think that, you're a fool."

"And if you think your vampire is going to come to your rescue, you're a fool. He's either fallen to his death by now, or he's trapped in a hole deep enough to swallow the Empire State Building. Either way, there'll be no last minute reprieve."

"I don't need a vampire to rescue me.” And Michael wasn't dead or trapped. He was hurt, granted, but he was free and coming for her. His anger and determination burned through the link, a force so great she couldn't reach past it, couldn't tell him she was alive and unhurt. But he'd know, the same way she'd known about him.

"No?” Kinnard's tone was scathing. “Let's take stock of your situation, then. You're naked. You're tied, legs and arms akimbo for my viewing pleasure. You're in a pentagram that will allow no one to enter but myself and those I serve."

Meaning she could get out if she somehow managed to get free? That's what his words implied, and she hoped it was true. She began working on the ropes binding her arms, twisting and tugging as imperceptibly as she could while he continued talking.

"And if you're thinking you can raise your fire starting ability, think again. I've changed your particular muting spell to include that little psychic talent."

Her flames weren't a psychic talent—not according to Seline, anyway. But she wasn't about to disabuse Kinnard of the notion, not when it could be the one thing that saved her.

"I warned you when I first met you that you didn't know as much about me as you thought. You still don't, and that lack of knowledge will kill you."

He snorted softly. “I'll have to give you top points for courage, girlie. Ain't many women who'd be feeling so smart-mouthed when lying in the position you're lying in."

"Ah, but you see, I'm not just a woman. I'm a witch. And over the years I've faced, and defeated, evil far worse than you.” She gave him a cold, hard smile. “I believe one of them currently rests in the coffin in that alcove above me."

He hissed at her and stepped forward, his fingers clenching around the ceremonial silver knife shoved carelessly through the belt at his waist.

"And won't your dark gods be pleased if you kill their sacrifice before the appointed time?” She arched an eyebrow, feigning an indifference she didn't feel. “You think they'll still grant your brother his freedom?"

He hissed again and spun away. She heaved a silent sigh of relief and continued tugging and working at the bonds on her wrists. The left one was definitely looser, but freedom from the ropes was nowhere near close enough.

Life sparked through the link, and the relief she felt belied her earlier tough words. Where are you?

In town, approaching the church. He hesitated. You okay?

He hasn't touched me yet.

His relief was a tidal wave that all but drowned her. I had visions...

So did I. But I don't think he's completed the full ritual yet, and I don't think he'll try anything until then.

I hope you're right.

So did she. I'll try and keep him off balance until you arrive. Maybe he won't notice your arrival until it's too late.

It was a slim hope, but better than nothing. She turned her attention to Kinnard. He was back to mumbling.

"Hey, slug boy."

He looked up, eyes glimmering with anger. “You will feel my flesh on yours, you know. You will feel me in you as I tear your limbs apart, and my gods take your heart and then your mind."

"Like hell.” Yet even as she said the words, fear trembled through her.

Kinnard sucked deep and smiled. “Ah, there's nothing that tastes quite so good."

Damn it, she couldn't let him get to her. He wasn't going to get fat on her fear, not if she could do anything to stop it.

"Why the gnome face, Kinnard?” she bit back. “Why not the pretty boy features? Hell, evil coming from such perfection would terrorize your victims more, wouldn't it?"

"This is the face I was born with, and the one I am most comfortable with.” His mouth twisted. “Emmett is the pretty boy. Because I'm his twin, I can share his form."

"And the slug?"

"We come from a family of shifters."

"And ugly boy got the ugly form?"

Hate glittered in his eyes. Hate and old anger. Yep, this was definitely one of his hot buttons.

"That form is more versatile than most would think."

"But I bet you weren't exactly welcome amongst the shifter fraternity.” Especially considering what he liked doing while in that form...

He snorted softly. “They're all—” He stopped and swung around. “So, your lover is free."

"You never can keep a good vampire down,” she commented, twisting and tugging on her bonds less cautiously. Now that Kinnard knew Michael was free, her window of escape had decidedly shrunk.

"It won't matter, you know. I'm not foolish enough to leave the church unguarded."

Even as he spoke, the sounds of fighting began to drift down into their hole.

"And here I thought you didn't have too many conscripts left in town."

Kinnard flashed her a cold, cruel smile. “There are the women and the barkeep. And since your vampire considers himself a protector of women, I doubt whether he'd use full force on them. It'll delay him, and in that delay, you'll die."

He began to murmur again. She knew she couldn't let him complete whatever spell it was he was working on, because if he did, she suspected she'd be gone. The two men on the roof had died with a smile on their faces, and the spell was probably the reason why.

She tilted her head back, her gaze locking on the coffin. Reaching deep, she called forth her flames, putting as much force into them as she could, willing them to burn wood and flesh and bone until there was nothing left, not even dust.

Power burned through her body and leapt from her fingers in a huge ball of fire. Dunleavy made a strangled sound in this throat and flung out a hand. White light darted across the room, clashing with the flames. For an instant, they stopped, as white light and red rolled and boiled around each other in midair. Another wave of power surged through her, though this time the call was not her doing. It was almost as if the flames themselves were calling for more energy. The fire ball burned brighter, then broke away from the white light and leapt across the coffin.

Kinnard's furious howl wasn't even remotely human. Nikki tugged harder on the ropes, and managed to get one arm free. She twisted, grabbing the rope binding her right wrist and pulling on it as hard as she could.

Air screamed above her. She looked up and saw the hilt of the knife aimed at her head. She threw herself away, the rope burning into her wrist as it bought her to an abrupt halt. The knife hilt smashed across the side of her face, and everything seemed to go red. Skin tore, bone cracked. Despite her vow, she screamed.

There was an answering bellow from above, and fury burned through her mind, through her soul. That was the answer, she thought dazedly. That would free them. Save them.

"Move and she dies,” Kinnard yelled. “Your choice, vampire."

"If you don't move, your brother burns.” Michael's voice was cold, harsh.

And weary. Nikki blinked back tears and fought the pain that threatened to sweep her into unconsciousness. Kinnard stood above her, his arm raised, the silver knife glittering in the harsh light of the flames behind them.

"My magic protects my brother. The flames only consume wood."

She closed her eyes and reached for the link. You can use the flames to attack Kinnard. He won't be expecting that.

You sure?

Yes. Why she was so sure, she couldn't say. But she'd always trusted her instincts, and she wasn't about to stop now. Do you remember that moment of oneness when we last made love?

Sunshine ran briefly through her mind. I'm not likely to forget something as beautiful as that.

If we repeat that, I think we might be able to use our psi skills. Kinnard's spells cater to the particular talents of a particular person. By binding our minds, we bypass his spell.

"Show yourself,” Kinnard continued. “Come down here. But cautiously, mind you, or the knife will feast on the girlie's heart."

"I'm coming down."

Through the blur of tears, she saw his silhouette appear briefly above them. Then he crouched and leapt down. She tried to look at him, but Kinnard's boot hit her cheek. Pain flashed white-hot through her face, and bile rose to her throat. She swallowed heavily and remained still.

If I had the strength and the time, I'd rip the bastard apart limb by limb for what he's done to you.

I'm okay. It was a lie, and he undoubtedly knew it. We need to link.

Done. He thrust the link wide open, and suddenly, she was with him, in him, part of him. Their souls twined, merged, and every fiber of their beings rejoiced in a joining that was sensual, powerful, and very definitely otherworldly.

Power surged through them, became them. Flame flickered to life across Michael's fingers, and he raised them.

Kinnard's eyes widened. “That's not possible."

"I warned you, Kinnard,” he said. “You didn't know enough about either of us."

Kinnard made a gargling sound, and the knife plunged toward her. Michael made a flicking motion with one hand, and the knife was torn from Kinnard's fingers. Then that energy was battering Kinnard, and he flew across the room, smashing through the shelving before sliding to the ground.

Michael's gaze met hers. Suddenly, the power that flowed through them both was concentrating on her, sweeping down her limbs, across her fingers, and around her ankles. The ropes binding her fell away.

Get Kinnard. Was it her thought or his? She wasn't sure, and in the end, it didn't matter. Not as long as Kinnard was taken care of.

She rolled onto her hands and feet and crawled out of the unfinished pentagram. Pain was a distant echo, held at bay by the oneness, but they'd both pay for it later. She knew that without a doubt.

Michael hadn't moved. He raised another hand, and suddenly Kinnard was there, right in front of them, squirming like the worm he was as he dangled several feet off the ground.

"You know, if I had the time, I'd ensure your death was as painful as I could possibly make it."

Michael's voice was flat, devoid of any sort of emotion. Yet, she could feel his anger, his weariness, and most of all, his desire to just get it over with so they could get back to a more normal life.

"But as much as you deserve to die like you made your victims die, I can't be bothered wasting the time on a worm. Especially when I have wedding plans to finalize."

Kinnard snorted. “Your woman's dead, vampire. I killed her. Arranged to have her pretty head sliced off in an accident."

"You think so? I think she's sitting very close by."

Kinnard's daze darted to her then back to Michael. “No."

"Yes. That's Nikki, Kinnard. Not Seline. Your ceremony was doomed to failure from the very start."

He screamed then, a high, unearthly sound that vibrated off the walls and sent chills racing down her spine. The power surged. Kinnard's silver knife rose from the ground and slashed with unearthly force across Kinnard's neck. The screaming stopped, and the power died. Kinnard hit the ground, his body flopping at odd angles, his head rolling away into the darkness.

Suddenly, Michael dropped beside her and carefully dragged her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed the good side of her face against his chest, listening to the wild beat of his heart, knowing her own strained just as badly.

"So,” she said, her voice cracked with exhaustion. “What now?"

"Now, we sit here and watch the bonfire while we wait for the cavalry to come and pick up the pieces."

And that's exactly what they did.