"I was going to bring them back. Eventually," Devyn said, unrepentant.

"That hardly matters." The king turned to McKell. "Thank you for projecting the information. However, your plan to ruin the Targon in my eyes has backfired, for you revealed your own involvement, as well. You allowed my people to be imprisoned without a fight."

McKell opened his mouth to protest.

"No. Not a word from you." With a nod to his guards, the king added, "Take them to my dungeon, where they will stay until I decide what to do with them."

"No! Don't you dare move," Bride cried. They ignored her, marching forward, closer ... closer ... "Devyn, stop them."

"Can't," he gritted out. "Their energy is scrambled."

"No!" Bride shouted. I wish Devyn was safe. I wish Devyn was safe. He remained in place, a target of those armed soldiers. "Please, no." Her bravado was gone. "I'm begging you." She hadn't begged for anything since losing Macy. Not even Devyn's touch. Now, helplessness bombarded her. "Please. Allow Devyn and me to return to the surface. Please."

The men didn't pause, so she crouched, fangs bared, ready to fight them all if necessary. Devyn would rather die than be locked away, and she would rather die than let him.

"No one touches the Targon," she stated flatly. "He's mine."

"No harm is to befall the female," the king told his men, who reached their circle.

Bride grabbed hold of one and flung him away. She did the same to another, and then another, until someone grabbed her—Devyn, she realized, catching his wild scent.

"Do not fight this." He released her and willingly stepped back amid the guards, allowing them to tie his wrists behind his back with a whip. McKell's, too.

What are you doing! she wanted to shout. Why are you so accepting?

"As to why your ability doesn't work, Devyn," the king said. "I've been inside your mind before and learned how you do it. I have taken certain measures to ensure you are never so powerful in my palace again."

"Let him go, or I swear to God I will destroy you." Her mouth was so dry, her tongue felt swollen. The thorns inside her had seemingly sprouted thorns of their own, scraping at her, stinging. She had to calm down. "He didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted to see my birthplace and learn about my people. I can bring you the vampires. Just let him go. I wish you would let him go. Please.”

“Too late," the king replied. "AIR now knows we exist. The damage is done."

"They would have found out anyway! Your people have been attending auctions. In fact, AIR probably already knew, since they monitor that kind of criminal activity."

"Hush, love, and go with him," Devyn told her. He even smiled at her when her gaze met his. "I'll be fine."

White-hot tears burned her eyes, blurring her vision. No, he wouldn't be fine. He would be in torment. My fault. This is all my fault. "I'll go with-him if he lets you return to the—"

"Go with the king," he interjected, steel in the words. "Do not worry about me."

Did Devyn have a plan? Of course he did, she thought next, finally calming. It probably involved seducing a female guard, but that was okay. Freedom was the only thing that mattered.

"Fine," she said, lifting her chin. Maybe, while she was with the king, she'd remove his heart—if he had one— and set it on fire. Just in case Devyn's plan, whatever it was, fell through.

"If, at any time, she harms me in any way," the king told the guards, as if he could read her mind after all, "kill the Targon."

Bride nearly screeched in frustration and helplessness. Defeated before she'd even begun. No way would she risk Devyn's life.

What the hell was she going to do now?

Bride was escorted to a room of black velvet. The walls were draped with it, the floor covered in it, and what little furniture there was—two chairs facing each other—were dripping with it. All that soft darkness made her feel like she was floating through a night sky, no end to her torment in sight.

The king motioned her to the chairs.

"Majesty," she said, striving for a calm tone as she sat.

"Please, call me Manus." He claimed the other seat; then, with a wave, he dismissed the guard. They strutted from the room, leaving her alone with their sovereign.

I never should have come here. Being parted from Devyn was torture. Not knowing what was being done to him was agony. Thinking of him in a dark hole was anguish. Worse, it was her fault. She'd wanted to come here. She'd wanted him with her. But she would have given up both for Devyn's safety.

I love him, she thought then. I love Devyn.

Somehow, some way, he'd become the most important thing in her life. He was her home now. Not this place. Yes, she loved that there were other vampires here. Yes, she loved the darkness and the sweet scents and the closeness she felt to her mother. She loved that every question she'd ever had about what she was could be answered. Here, she wasn't different, she wouldn't be staked. But none of those things meant more to her than Devyn. The thought of being without him ... she shuddered.

"I brought you here so that we may chat in private," the king said, breaking the silence. "I want Devyn released immediately. Then I'll chat with you."

"He is not up for discussion," was the harsh reply. "Do not mention him again." Or what? Bastard. "Are you used to getting your way?"

"Of course." As if that settled things, Manus leaned back, crossed one ankle over his knee, and studied her. "Tell me about your life on the surface."

"If I do, will you have Devyn released?"

She never saw him move, but the next thing she knew, her brain was rattling against her skull, her teeth were cutting into her gums, and she was propelled off her chair and onto the floor.

There was a trickle of warmth at the corner of her mouth, and she knew it was blood. Shaking with anger, burning with the force of it, she wiped the smear with the back of her wrist and glared up at the king. "You slapped me."

"I warned you not to mention the Targon, and yet you persisted." He was perched on his chair, in the same relaxed pose as before. "Persist again, and see what happens." It was a challenge.

She'd always liked sparring with Devyn. Even from the very beginning. This man? Not so much. "Devyn told me you were a great guy," she said, climbing back into her chair. "I see our definitions of great differ."

A muscle ticked below both of Manus's eyes. "I was not always this way.”

“Your brother's death changed you." He'd get no sympathy from her. "Yeah, I heard."

"Were you also told he was returned to me missing several body parts?" The words lashed from him. "Were you told his abductor targeted me next? That I spent a week as her prisoner?"

"No," she said, and made a mental note not to look for Fiona the nefreti, after all. "You seem to have been returned with all your parts, though." Unfortunately. Fiona would have done Bride a favor if she'd cut off the man's hands. Her jaw ached, damn it! And she didn't need that on top of everything else.

Manus nodded, the action stiff. "I was."

"No one has a perfect past, you know? No one lives as long as we do without suffering somehow.”

“And what painful things have happened to you, little Bride?"

She couldn't tell him about her mother, so she said, "Having Devyn taken from me. I love him."

"Then you are truly hurting right now, and I am sorry for that. But I will not set him free. At one time, I was forgiving. At one time, I was merciful with my people. And what did that get me? A dead brother and seven nights of torture. I do not repeat my mistakes. I do not spare my enemies, and right now Devyn and McKell are my enemies."

"They would never hurt you."

"So you say. Yet I cannot read your thoughts, so how then can I trust you?"

That's what this was about? His inability to read her? "I wish for things, and I get them, all right? When you stepped into that room, I wished you couldn't read me."

His brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Would you like it if someone knew your every thought? I don't think so."

"I couldn't read you before I entered the room, yet I could read everyone else. Still." His eyes narrowed, but he didn't rebuff her. "Wish for me to read you."

And let him learn that she was nefreti? He'd kill her and Devyn without a qualm. "I wish that you could read me." No I don't, no I don't, no I don't. I wish that he is never able to read me. "Okay, done," she lied. "Go for it."

He stilled, not even breathing that she could see. Invisible fingers seemed to brush at her mind, trying to get inside. He frowned. "I still cannot. Perhaps you did not wish hard enough. Try again."

She nodded as if she were obeying. "There."

His frown intensified, and he slammed a fist into his palm. "Still nothing. Are you sure your wishes come true?"

"Not always. I only discovered the power a day ago, so I'm not exactly good at it." He sat at the edge of the chair, fairly panting with excitement. "Can you wish a person's death?”

“No," she said, because no way would she do that for him. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"In all my many years, there has only ever been one other I could not read." He settled back, excitement gone as if it had never been, disappointment in its place. "Can you guess who that was?"

Dread snaked through her. "Your mom?" she asked hopefully, though she knew that wasn't the answer.

"A female named Fiona. My tormentor. She was nefreti." Bride was proud of herself. She didn't flinch. "What's that?”

“Someone with too much power. Someone who must die.”

“And you think I'm a nefreti?"

"No," he said. "She hummed with so much energy, it was like a song in my blood every time she neared. That is not the case with you. However, none of my warriors can find her because she, too, can read minds. She knows when they are coming."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"If I can't read your mind, that must mean she cannot. That means I can use you against her. I just have to figure out how."

Three days passed with agonizing slowness. Bride was allowed to see Devyn only once a day to feed. She was blindfolded until she got there, ensuring the location remained hidden, and they weren't allowed to speak to each other. A guard always accompanied her to ensure she behaved. She'd been told that for every word she uttered, Devyn would receive ten lashes.

The silence was killing her. He was suffering, she could see it in his face. His amber eyes were dull, and bruises had formed under them. Every day he was dirtier and a whole lot shakier than the last.

She realized now, he'd never had a plan. He just hadn't wanted her hurt in a struggle. Whether he knew it or not, he loved her. Rather than bask in that knowledge as she should have been able to do, guilt was now her constant companion. Luxury for her, suffering for her husband.

Whenever she would finish drinking, having tried not to take more than a few sips, Devyn would keep his head tilted, silently urging her to take more. Maintaining her strength was important for finding a way out, but she just couldn't weaken him more than he already was. He would sigh, kiss her, hug her tight, and then gently push her out of the cell.

Each time she tried to read his mind, or at the very least send her thoughts into his, but she was still capable of neither. Those powers supposedly belonged to her, damn it, but all she found were the thorns and fire. Trying to forcibly extract them was worse than when they sprang up from her emotions. It was like ripping her body in half.

She wanted to tell him she was going to get him out of here, not to worry, that she stripped and camouflaged herself when everyone was sleeping and searched the palace for the dungeon, as well as whatever was quashing Devyn's powers. She wanted to assure him that she would find it, whatever she had to do, but she wasn't sure she would succeed, and the words always died in her throat. They weren't worth ten lashes.

After her meeting with Manus, she'd been given a spacious chamber with a large bed and lacy canopy. The walls were bare except for a painting of Manus. There was a marble vanity, which she now sat in front of, staring into the glass, wondering when to make her next move—and exactly what move to make.

"Good." Manus leaned against the room's doorway, arms folded over the wide expanse of his chest. "You're wearing the gown I had made for you."

Her eyes met his through the mirror, and her fingers clenched around the brush's handle. "Yes." As if she would deny his wishes. It was a velvet dress that matched the cape he always wore. Black with gold trim. The material clung to her curves, soft and luscious. At his request, her hair had been curled and now hung down her back in shiny ringlets. "Word on the street is, you're single. Maybe we should find you a companion," she said. So you'll leave me the hell alone.

He had come to her once a day to "chat," mostly questioning her about fights she'd been in, how she'd hidden herself from humans for so long. To her surprise, he'd been a gentleman. Not because he liked her but because he thought to use her against Fiona, his enemy. Still. She didn't want him getting any ideas about the two of them.

She sighed, remembering his other visits. He'd also had her wish for a few things—a meal to appear, her clothes to change on their own—testing the limits of her powers. For the meal, a human servant had tapped over his own feet, propelling into the room, falling and breaking his neck at their feet. For the outfit switch, her robe had brushed a lamp and caught fire. Bride wasn't too happy with this latest power and was now terrified of using it.