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  She jerked her hand away so fast, she lost her balance and would’ve fallen if Tate hadn’t been practically plastered to her back. “Get us in. Now.”

  Tate hesitated, glancing to Priest for affirmation.

  “Tate, get that door open.” The command came out of her mouth not as a mate, but as a prima. One laser focused on helping the suffering soul inside and running on pure intuition.

  “Do it,” Priest said from behind her.

  Whether it was Priest’s go-ahead, or the urgency beating off Elise, Tate moved in, gave the knob a twist that wouldn’t have been possible from an ordinary human and pushed the door wide.

  Darkness consumed the bleak room, broken only by the waning sunlight through the doorway and the faint glow of the television on the plain black dresser. Two double beds took up the bulk of the room, their simple bedspreads an unremarkable pattern of red and blue. But it was the woman huddled with her knees tight to her chest and her back plastered against the headboard that held Elise’s attention. Her chin rested on the back of her knees and her dark hair hung wild around her face so much of her features were obscured, but there was no missing the franticness behind her eyes. A glazed disconnectedness locked on to the television screen that said she was so far removed from reality she was dangerously close to shattering.

  Tate started forward, but Elise blocked him, plastering her hand against the doorframe and holding firm with a strength that startled her. “No.” Only when she was certain he’d heard and acknowledged her direction did she lower her arm and meet his stare, fighting against the incessant tug that insisted she tend to the woman straight away. “No men. Not until I say so.” Her hand still tingling from the sensation she’d picked up against the door, she splayed it over Tate’s heart. “I need you to trust me. She needs me.”

  Fear and frustration crackled and sparked against her already heightened healer instincts and for a second, Elise halfway expected Tate to refuse. Instead, he pressed his lips together with a visibly painful resoluteness and jerked his head in a sharp nod.

  It was all she needed. A green light to give in to the compulsion driving her forward.

  Two cautious steps past the threshold, the near muted chatter from the television superseded the natural sounds from outside and the stagnant discomfort of stale air pressed her on all sides. A high-end laptop sat open on the desk next to the dresser, its screen black. Beside it lay a semi-organized smattering of snack food—none of it healthy and most of it the type most easily picked up at a convenience store.

  Another two steps in and the shadows grew thicker, the need and desperation she’d picked up before now whispering like ghosts against Elise’s skin. Carefully, she stepped directly in front of the television and into the woman’s line of sight.

  The woman jumped as though she’d been startled out of a deep sleep and her eyes sharpened on Elise. A second later, she scrambled to the far side of the bed, her gaze darting between Elise and the doorway. “Who are you?”

  Elise froze and held up her hands. “It’s okay. You’re safe, I promise. My friends and I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

  The woman squinted as though trying to focus through the shadows. “You’re Elise Ralston.”

  Well, that confirmed they were dealing with the right person. The question was how she knew Elise in the first place, because she sure hadn’t ever seen this woman before. “I am, but I don’t think we’ve met. What’s your name?”

  Hesitating, the woman’s focus shifted to the doorway.

  “Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I know you’re hurting,” Elise said, inching a little closer. “I also know that you were at my house on Saturday. If there’s something you want—something you need—we can help you, but it would sure be a lot easier to start with if I knew your name.”

  “You’re safe,” the woman whispered.

  “Yes, I’m very safe. Protected. But I’d like to make sure you are, too, and I have a feeling you haven’t felt that way in a very long time.”

  Deep, aching sorrow pierced deep in Elise’s chest, the magnitude of it so powerful her knees buckled, and she stumbled forward a step.

  Before she could catch herself, Tate was there, his arm a steadying band around her waist.

  “You,” the woman said, almost accusingly. She backed off the bed completely as though prepared to bolt. Though, where she thought she could run considering the room’s layout and four of them between her and the door, Elise couldn’t imagine.

  “It’s okay. Tate won’t hurt you. He’s my mate. He’ll help you. We all will if you’ll let us.”

  She frowned at that, her gaze still rooted on Tate. “I saw you. Heard you. You were looking for her.”

  Plates from Wyoming.

  Tate had gone there with Garrett following a lead at the same time Alek, Priest and Kateri had come to find Elise and her mother. They’d said all they’d found were dead ends.

  “Tate wasn’t looking for me,” Elise said. “He was looking for someone else we thought might be in danger. The same way I was in danger. But Priest and Kateri found me and moved me someplace safe.” She paused long enough to let the information sink in. To let the truth of it resonate. “Please. Will you tell me your name?”

  She braced one hand on the old paneling behind her, her body trembling with what Elise sensed was the last of her strength and far too much adrenaline. “Sabina.” She stole a glance at Tate and swallowed hard. “Sabina Sterling.”

  Tate’s arm around her waist tightened, but otherwise kept his response in check. “The lead we followed,” he said low near Elise’s ear. “The name our seer saw was Sterling.”

  They’d found her.

  Finally.

  Or rather she’d found them.

  But if Elise couldn’t find a way to build some immediate trust and deflate whatever anxiety gripped her, the woman they hoped would be their seer prima might not be sane long enough to help them. She straightened and urged Tate’s arm from around her waist. “Sabina, tell me why you’re afraid. Tell me why you thought I wouldn’t be safe.”

  Sabina’s voice quavered when she answered, so thready and shallow it barely registered over the television behind them. “I thought they were helping him.”

  “Helping who?”

  Abject terror and desolation painted her features and her face blanched a ghostly white. “The man in my dreams.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The forest was perfectly still. The waters in the cove just down from Elise’s mother’s house lay smooth as glass. If the midday sun weren’t hidden behind a thick sheet of clouds it would have been a picturesque moment, but the deep gray sky and the energy in the air promised a torrent of rain at any moment.

  If Tate’s instincts were right, that wouldn’t be the only storm on the horizon. Not after the things they’d learned from Sabina last night.

  Priest sat silent in the Adirondack chair beside him, nursing what had to be his fifth cup of coffee in the last two hours. If he was anywhere near as keyed up as Tate was, he didn’t show it.

  “How do you do it?” Tate asked.

  It took a solid two heartbeats before Priest pulled his thoughts back from wherever they’d drifted. “Do what?”

  “Not keep Kateri locked up in the house where it’s safe.”

  Priest’s slow grin was that of a man not just aware of the kind of turmoil Tate was wrestling, but able to commiserate. “Don’t think I don’t consider it at least five times a day. Even if I tried, she’s got enough magic in her to decimate the house and go on about her business anyway.” He cocked his head and studied Tate. That shrewd once-over he’d honed since that fateful day Tate had followed his dad into the forest for training. “Our mates are strong for a reason. If we lock them up, we rob the clan of what they bring to the table. They’ll face their own challenges in their own way. Our j
ob is to be there and give them the backing they need to make it out safe.”

  Safe.

  Tate scoffed and refocused on the cove. “Easy for you to say. You can see Katy’s opponents. The ones Elise has to face, I can’t do anything but stand back and watch.” A task he’d done for hours last night watching Elise try to heal the fragile inner workings of Sabina’s mind—a by-product of Sabina’s self-imposed sleep deprivation over the past two months to avoid Draven reaching her in dreams.

  “Elise is our healer prima for a reason,” Priest said. “Trust her to know her limits.”

  “She’s had her magic for four days. Her instincts are spot on, but no one’s told her how dangerous it is for her to deal with the mental aspects of healing. If Draven’s been in Sabina’s head, there’s no telling what kind of traps he’s managed to leave in her mind. Elise wouldn’t have a clue what to look for yet. And who knows if she’s going to have to do more healing on Sabina once she wakes up or if some decent sleep will do the rest of the work for her?”

  “You gave her your mother’s records. She’ll learn.”

  Not the answer he wanted to hear. Not even close. Especially when Elise had done nothing but pore through the journal since Priest had helped Elise ease Sabina into restorative sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Lack of knowledge or not, he’d have much rather seen her get some rest herself than cram on all things Volán.

  The sliding glass door to the porch whooshed open.

  For a guy who’d been primed and ready to do battle this time less than twenty-four hours ago, Alek seemed to be back to his usual laid-back self now. “Hey, how’s Sabina?”

  “Still sleeping,” Priest said. “My guess, she’s gonna stay that way most of the day before she’s in any condition to surface and see if Elise’s healing was enough.” He finished off the dregs of his coffee and set the mug aside on the table between his and Tate’s chair. “You get any confirmations nailed down on Sabina?”

  “Everything checks out.” Alek leaned one hip on the rail surrounding the wood deck and crossed his arms. “Born and raised in Jackson, Wyoming. The Sterling name first shows in Jackson just shortly after your thing with Draven went down. Six months later, Sabina’s dad was born. The mother’s name was Melanie. No father listed. No other siblings.”

  The calm Priest had carried about him all morning turned weighted and as dark as the clouds overhead in a second. “I remember her. Quiet. Complete opposite to her husband.” He paused and sucked in a slow breath, as though wading through the memories of that night all over again. “It sucks she couldn’t acknowledge her husband on the birth certificate, but after watching him be murdered with all the other primos, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing if it meant keeping myself and my kid safe.”

  “So, the Volán heritage runs through Sabina’s dad’s side of the family?” Tate asked.

  “Looks like it.” Alek smirked in a way that said he had some bonus information to share and was mighty pleased with himself because of it. “That’s not the interesting part of the story, though. You know how Sabina said she’d overheard Tate give Elise’s name when he took a call outside her house, and she decided to track her for fear someone was after Elise, too?”

  Rather than answer, Priest just shot him an impatient look that said to get on with it.

  Alek chuckled and rolled with it. “Well, turns out saying she tracked her is a bit of an understatement. Sabina’s a private investigator. A really damned good one. If you think about it, the way things played out makes sense. A woman doesn’t want to go to sleep because her dreams are chock-full of some guy who wants to do her harm. Sleep deprivation feeds paranoia, so she’s on guard all the damned time, wondering if the guy who’s making it so she doesn’t feel safe to sleep is going to show up in real life. Then Tate and Garret show up, obviously snooping around, and mention another woman’s name. PI instincts kick in and she moves out of defensive mode and into protector mode looking out for Elise. Her being here Saturday night was probably all about trying to see for herself if Elise was okay.”

  “And with Elise and her mom showing as relocated only a little over a month ago, it probably looked like they were on the run on paper,” Tate said.

  “Exactly,” Alek said. “And you chasing her that night—combined with the lack of sleep and paranoia—probably put her over the deep end. It would sure explain her tearing out of here the way you said she did.”

  No shit. Tate had never met Draven and couldn’t pick him out of a lineup if he had to, but warrior magic or not, he’d at least consider hightailing it for safe ground if he thought the asshole was bearing down on him.

  Priest stood, moved around his chair as if headed back inside and snatched his empty coffee cup off the table. “Well, the good news is she’s here now and safe. If we can get her healed up from what she’s been through the last few months, the only major hurdle we’ll have left is finding Jerrik.”

  “Ah, but you’re missing the best part,” Alek said.

  Stopping midway to the sliding glass door, Priest twisted to meet Alek’s stare and cocked one eyebrow in silent question.

  “She’s a PI.”

  Priest waited.

  “A really good one.”

  The fact that it took as many seconds as it did for the pieces to click together for either of them only highlighted how little rest any of them had had in the last twenty-four hours. But it finally sunk in.

  Tate looked to Priest. “We finally got the person we needed to find the last primo.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She had a tattoo. An honest to God work of art that spanned her collarbone, delicately touched the crest of Elise’s shoulders and then dipped downward in a tempting V toward her spine. While the shape of the protective marking was the same as what Priest had given Alek—a traditional formation reserved for those chosen as primos—the patterns were entirely different. Intricate swirls that hinted of flowering vines intertwined with tribal knots that denoted an undeniable balance of femininity, grace and strength. And while the bulk of the work had been done in simple black ink, he’d incorporated the rich green of her house’s magic in the shading. A subtle touch that gave the overall appearance a surreal depth.

  All too aware of Priest behind her and watching her response in the mirror, Elise traced the healer’s symbol just below the hollow at her neck—a beautiful flowing design that looked like a bass clef on sheet music with an inverted impression below it and joined by an infinity loop between them.

  But her eyes went to her neck. To the space where Tate’s mark was missing.

  “He’ll give you another one,” Priest said.

  “Another what?”

  He chuckled and gave her a look that said she wasn’t fooling anyone. “I never know where my designs will take me when I do one with magic. Especially protection ink. I had to heal it to have a good surface to work with, but he’ll give you another one. Trust me.”

  In that, she wasn’t so sure. Yes, he seemed to finally be convinced that she’d liked it—both the look of it and the way she’d earned it. Had even watched her running her finger along the tender area and studied her response with a guarded curiosity. But other times, when he thought she wasn’t watching, he’d scrutinized the mark with an expression she couldn’t quite put her finger on. As though he both hated and coveted the action that had put it there and craved more despite his internal struggles.

  Around the room where he’d lived with Priest until only days ago were little reminders of the mate she’d only just begun to know. Ticket stubs from sporting events tacked onto a corkboard. Artwork in various stages of completion stacked on the desk and framed on the walls. A closet that stood open, now void of clothes post-move to the cabin. “Do you think that’s odd?”

  “Which part? That you miss the reminder? Or that getting another one is almost guaranteed?”


  She turned and met Priest’s gaze. “Maybe both.”

  He cocked his head, his eyes just a little more narrowed. Considering. “Does it matter what I think? What anyone beyond Tate thinks?”

  He had a point. A really freaking good one actually. And in the last few days, she’d had plenty of time to consider the impact his actions had had on her that night, as well as his careful, almost too tender attentions since then. “Yeah, well, Tate’s not exactly talkative on that point. Which is weird considering how open he’s been with everything else.”

  In all of a heartbeat, Priest’s expression shuttered. A careful neutrality that said she’d tiptoed into either uncomfortable or sacred territory. He turned to his tattoo supplies lined up on Tate’s dresser and started cleaning up.

  She gripped the towel wrapped tight around her breasts and ducked her head, the jeans she wore underneath and the soft terrycloth fabric not nearly enough armor for the conversation she’d started. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have gone there.”

  Priest hesitated, stared down at the floor for a beat, then started back with packing his ink. “There’s nothing you can’t ask or tell me, Elise. Part of my job is to be here for my primos.”

  “Not about relationship stuff, though. Especially not with how close you and Tate are.” She grabbed her top and bra folded on top of the desk, fully prepared to execute a retreat. Not that she really knew Priest’s house well enough to know where to go once she got past the bedroom door. “I’m sorry I made it awkward.”

  “You didn’t make it awkward.” This time a smile was in his voice. And while the most she could make of his expression was in profile, there was no missing the thoughtfulness as he packed the rest of his things in his duffel. He zipped it up, slung the strap over one shoulder and met her stare head-on. For a handful of seconds, he just looked at her, then seemed to come to a decision. “Mated Volán males have one drive that overrides everything else—see to their mate and their children. Every other concern or consideration is secondary. But our companion is part of us, too, and brings its own instincts and drive into the equation. When the two are in conflict, sometimes it takes a decisive action, or reaction, to force the two halves to find an order they can work with.”