But for Adam, it was worse. On the next shout, he jerked against Eliza, trembling, not from fear but rage. He was close to cracking. Without hesitation, Eliza wrapped an arm about him and drew his head down to her shoulder. He let her gather him up, let her hold him tight, hold him back.

With each shout and moan from the outer room, he flinched, his muscles twitching as if feeling the hits. And she could only close her eyes, rest her head against his, and pray that he did not move. Hot tears ran down Eliza’s cheeks, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs.

The footsteps without stopped. Directly before their hiding spot. Silence.

Adam’s grip upon her hand tightened. Eliza dared not breathe, but her heart pounded so loudly that she feared they would hear it. The brush of a large, male thumb against her knuckles was a small but needed comfort.

“For the last time,” said Mab, as though she were speaking to recalcitrant children, “give me the coward Adam and his concubine.”

More silence. Then the scuff of a shoe. “Madam,” said a woman softly, “we’ve nothing to reveal. Adam is not here. Nor is this girl of whom you speak.”

“Well, then,” said Mab lightly, “I’ll leave you with this little reminder.” Her tone turned hard. “I shall check in regularly. I expect cooperation.”

They did not hear Mab go, but Eliza could feel it. As if a dark weight had lifted from her shoulders, leaving behind a deep ache. Yet they remained silent and unmoving. Until finally, Adam let out a great, rasping breath. “Never again,” he whispered so softly that she could barely hear it. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “Never again will I remain hiding while one of mine suffers.”

Regret formed a lump in her throat. “No,” she croaked. “Never again.” With the very tips of her fingers, she touched his sweat-slicked hair, but did not stroke it. She didn’t have the right. And so her hand fell. “I’m sorry I made you do it. I was afraid.” The confession hurt her pride, but it had to be said.

She felt him flinch and then lift his head. “No,” he said in a strangled voice. “No, you were in the right. I’ll not see your safety sacrificed for my pride.”

Beneath her hand, his skin was clammy, his body leaning into hers. Slumping. Eliza had little further warning before he fell against her breast.

Chapter Ten

Sin sprinted into the house and took the stairs two at a time. His breath burned in his throat, not from exertion but from fear. No sooner had he reached the middle landing than a door crashed open. A blur of movement, a snarl, and then a claw-tipped hand had him by the throat and slammed him into the wall.

Ian Ranulf, fangs extended, his human face stretching into lupine lines, snarled again as he squeezed Sin’s throat tighter. Shit and bloody, fucking hell. Ian was turning werewolf on him. Sin hung limp, trying not to fight back, trying to calm even as the walls began to rattle and his power surged under his skin. Another man burst from the room.

“Ian,” Archer shouted, deep and powerful. “Stop. It is Sin.”

Ian’s eyes, more animal than human, narrowed. A snort of hot breath hit Sin’s face. At his side, Archer eased closer, his expression stern. “He is your brother-in-law. Daisy’s brother.”

At the sound of Daisy’s name, Ian winced, a forlorn sound escaping him.

“Let him go, Ian.”

Ian blinked. In an instant, his face rearranged into a fully human visage. A deep breath, a shocked look, and Ian abruptly let Sin go, stepping back as Sin staggered.

“Apologies,” Ian bit out. Still pale with sweat darkening his long auburn hair, the man was a mess. “I reacted… badly.”

Leaning against the wall, Sin rubbed at his neck until he could find his voice. “And mine,” he rasped. “I should not have charged in as I did.” No, it was never wise to rush into a lycan’s lair. Especially not the king of the lycans. And not now of all times.

Ian nodded, a sharp, distracted gesture, and then looked away. His body was already turning back to the door from whence he’d sprung. A grim Archer gave Sin’s neck an assessing glance. “You’ll live.” His shoulders sagged. “Come along, then.”

As if going to the gallows, the three of them entered the bedroom. The lights were turned low, and a fire crackled cheerily behind the grate. But an air of desperation and sadness filled up the space.

Ian strode toward the bed, every line of his body tense and agitated. Sin did not want to look; a small, frightened part of him wanted to turn tail and run. But look he did. A lump filled his throat.

Still as death and twice as pale, his once vibrant and happy sister Daisy lay upon the bed. He knew she was not dead, they’d have told him, but he could not make himself believe she was truly alive. Not when her breast lay unmoving. Not when her once-glowing skin had gone utterly dull.

Christ.

Ian knelt by his wife, taking her smaller hand in his. Slowly, Sin approached, the bed looming larger and his sister growing smaller. A rustle of skirts caught his attention. Miranda rose from a chair at the other side of the bed. Her green eyes were listless.

“Sin.”

“Miranda,” he got out. And then he was at the foot of the bed.

Miranda came to stand next to him, and she caught up his hand with hers. He clenched her cold, damp fingers as if they were a lifeline. He’d just found his sisters, and they’d come to mean the world to him. He could not lose one now.

“How… what…” He took a breath. “What is wrong with Daisy?”