A chair, I realize.
I try to move my arms, but they’re restrained at my back, the angle of it pinching my shoulder blades.
My mangled legs droop from the chair, and the position I’m now in places so much pressure on them, the pain is relentless.
Think I’m going to retch again…Even my thoughts come sluggishly.
Selene!
My eyes flutter closed to stop the room from spinning, and I swallow down my rising sickness.
Memnon? I say dazedly.
I’m right here, he says. Stay with me.
“Look who I’ve found,” says a feminine voice in front of me, drawing my attention away from my mate. “A broken little witch lost in the woods.”
That voice sounds vaguely familiar.
I’m about to open my eyes when something presses into my wounded leg.
I scream, then I do lean over and vomit as the fiery agony consumes me.
Down my bond I can hear Memnon bellowing my name.
“Look at me,” the voice commands, and there’s magic woven into the order.
My face is forced back to the woman speaking. She has rich brown hair and soft, Bambi eyes that give her face an air of innocence. The woman is lovely—lovely and familiar, and maybe I could place her if my body weren’t bathed in agony and whatever drug I’ve been given.
“Do you remember me?” she asks, echoing my thoughts. “Because I remember you.”
My leg makes a wet sucking noise as she removes her finger, the digit now bloody.
I shriek from both pain and horror.
SELENE! Memnon’s voice booms in my head. Whatever is happening, stay with me, he pleads.
Can’t…talk…
“Towel,” she orders, reaching out a hand.
From the shadows, the humanoid creature steps forward, its face and hands whole once more. In one of those hands, it holds a white cloth, which it gives to the woman.
She takes it without looking at the monster, meticulously wiping the blood from her finger before tossing it aside.
It’s all so practiced. The readied towel, the chair, the bindings, her steady, sure, familiar presence.
I notice now what I didn’t before: she commands the creature, just as the high priestess commanded the creature the night of the spell circle. That’s who this is. The high priestess.
My eyes snap back to the woman too fast, and the room spins.
“Did you think you’d never see me again?” she asks.
I try to sharpen my mind, because this is important, but the pain and the blood loss and whatever I’ve been drugged with disorient everything.
This must be what the high priestess gave the shifter girl, Cara, before she tried to bond her. It must affect our magic.
“Ever since that night, I’ve been looking for you,” she says.
She wants you, one of the witches who attacked Nero had warned me.
Who? I’d asked.
Lia.
I stare at the high priestess, putting a name to her face. Lia. More than surprise, I feel…dread.
She’s bonded at least one witch—Lauren, the instructor Memnon questioned—and she nearly bonded Cara. And then those witches who attacked Nero, perhaps some—if not all—of them were bonded to this woman. Probably against their will.
And now I’m here, drugged and injured and restrained and very, very vulnerable.
“You cost me more than just a single girl,” Lia says. “You cost me six. And all for what, your naive belief in honor? Justice? Where was your moral superiority when you killed my girls? The ones who lay dead in the woods. Did you know they were as innocent as the shifter you saved?”
My stomach turns on itself as she stares me down.
Lia leans forward, placing her hands on my thighs. I lock my jaw against the pain, tears pricking my eyes. “Do you feel superior now?” When I don’t respond, she digs in her fingers and shakes one of my broken legs, and my vision darkens. “Answer me.”
Selene! Memnon’s voice is alarmed. Whatever is happening, I am here. I am always here, with you.
I cannot respond to my mate’s sentiment. Not when I’m sucking air through my nose, trying not to scream or retch.
Once I think I can answer Lia, I whisper, “No.”
The woman stares at me, her face pitiless. She must see something that placates her, because her expression smooths out.
“First things first,” Lia says. “Let’s deal with these wounds.”
I clench my jaw and steel myself for whatever she intends.
“Bones reseal, flesh be stitched. Sinew mend, and wounds be fixed.”
Thick, plum-colored magic flows out of her and pours over me in waves. It sinks into my skin, warming my body as it begins repairing injuries. Whatever I expected, it wasn’t a healing spell.
Not that the spell is particularly kind.
My legs jerk sharply, Lia’s power resetting them roughly. I lean over the side of the chair and heave, sweat and a couple of rogue tears dripping from my face. Her magic jostles my ribs, and it’s so much pain, too much—
A wail escapes my throat. But the pain crests for only moments. Then it recedes into something more manageable as her magic fixes the worst of my injuries.
I sit there panting, sweaty strands of my hair sticking to my face. I want to ask Lia why she’s healing me, but I have a horrible feeling I’m going to find out soon enough.
As the pain lifts, so too does some of my disorientation. I’m still bone-weary, but the room no longer spins, and I can truly focus on the woman in front of me.
Once my body is all put back together, her magic dissipates from the room.
“You have been betrayed by your friends, Selene Bowers,” Lia says. “Just as you will soon betray others on my behalf. You won’t get a choice. None of you do.” She pushes away from me and stands. “Most of the time, I don’t give a shit about the lives of my witches,” Lia says, backing up. “But you? You’ve pissed me off. So I’m going to enjoy using you.”
She turns from me, toward the monster.
“Creature, round up six witches or mages.” Her attention returns to me when she adds, “One for every person Selene has cost me.”
The monster mechanically walks to a door behind Lia, then exits the room.
Lia reaches for her side and unsheathes a small blade. I stare at the gleaming steel, aware of what she intends to do next.
Memnon, I hate to be the damsel in distress, but I could really use you right now.
From the other end of our bond, I feel Memnon’s impotent rage. I’m sorry, sweet mate. I’m coming. Until then, mark our enemies. I vow to you their deaths will be slow.
By the time he reaches me, it might be too late.
“Normally, I like to do this at the coven with my bonded witches,” Lia says, tapping the blade against her palm. “There’s food and drinks and a small celebration. It’s civilized and fun.” She saunters toward my chair. “This will not be fun. I can’t even say how civilized it will be. You will hate me, that I’ll make sure of, but by then, you will be committed to me entirely,” Lia says.
A chill slides down my back at her words and the certainty in her eyes. I’d been too drugged and hurt earlier to feel real fear. But now it drips into my system.
I frantically reach for my magic again as she closes in on me. I can grab onto a few sluggish tendrils of it, but when I try to push it out, I sense only a thin stream leaving my hand, melting into the air mere seconds after I release it.