Suddenly a familiar buzz began in his head. A tingle began in his spine and the room went fuzzy as the oncoming vision gripped him. One he’d been plagued with before, but this time in more agonizing detail.

Nick was kneeling in the middle of a field, racked with pain as cold rain lashed down, stinging like needles. Lightning split the sky, took a jagged path to the soaked earth, scorching it in spite of the downpour.

All around him, his Pack battled the Sluagh. His brave men cutting a swath through Malik’s batlike Unseelie minions, losing ground with every passing second. There were hundreds of the terrible beasts, swarming, screeching. Far too many for either fierce wolves or men with magical gifts to defeat.

They were all going to die.

High on a pinnacle stood the Sorcerer with his staff, holding it aloft. Screaming at the Unseelie enemy and at the heavens for help that would not come.

And then a bolt of lightning streaked from the boiling black clouds, making the night as day just before it hit the end of the Sorcerer’s staff. A massive detonation shook the ground and the world fell away.

Fell and fell. Taking Nick and his men into the abyss.

Nick jolted back to himself, sucking in great gulps of air. His heart slammed against his sternum, wild with adrenaline. Fear.

“Oh my God.”

That had been the end. The ceasing of life. But the question was, whose? Which side had Kalen chosen in that final act, that last devastating second? Eternal darkness or light?

One thing was for certain—unless Nick made a phone call right this minute, neither he nor the rest of the Pack would ever know that answer.

And he knew then that, for the first time in many years, he was going to break his vow never to interfere with destiny.

He picked up the phone. Hit speed dial. Within seconds, his friend answered. And he uttered the words he’d never thought he would say, not to this man.

“Jarrod, I need you here.”

Instantly, the general barked, “When?”

“Yesterday.”

“How many teams?”

He let out a sigh of relief, though he was careful not to allow Jarrod to hear. God bless the man. “Several. Don’t mobilize them yet, just have them ready.”

“You’re about to fuck up my life, aren’t you, boy?”

He didn’t object to his friend’s use of the term “boy” even though he was much, much older than the general’s human years. It was meant in affection, and was nearly his undoing. “Yes, sir. I’m afraid so.”

Grant gave a quiet laugh. “Well, a cushy retirement was sounding awfully boring anyhow. Give me a couple of days to square things here. Then I’ll be there. See you soon.”

“Jarrod, . . . thank you.”

“No need for that. Just don’t tell my baby girl I’m coming. I want it to be a surprise.”

Oh, it will be. For both of you. “Sure.”

Nick hung up the phone and didn’t move again for a very long while.

Kalen wasn’t surprised to be met by both Mackenzie and Melina when he walked into the infirmary. The women stopped in front of him side by side, their stance more than a wee bit militant.

“I swear I’m not going to say or do anything to upset him,” he said, holding up a hand before either of them could speak. “I just want to apologize.”

“He’s agreed to see you. But to be frank, I shouldn’t even allow you near him,” Melina said in a steely tone.

Kalen winced. “I won’t hurt him. You have my word.”

Won’t you?

Shit! The shields had slipped without him realizing it, and he’d need to fully concentrate to shore them up again. Trouble was, his energy was shot from shielding all afternoon.

“You’ve got ten minutes. He’s better but still not at full speed, and I won’t have anything setting back his recovery. We’ll be nearby.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Melina turned and stalked off, but Mac stepped forward and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “It’ll be fine. He’s in the third room on the left. Go.”

“Thanks.” Giving his lady a quick kiss, he headed for Sariel’s room. Outside, he knocked.

“Come in.”

He wasn’t certain what to expect, but the sight of the Fae prince brought him up short just inside the doorway, guilt making another ugly appearance. The faery’s cheeks were gaunt, the angles in his face more pronounced than usual. There were smudges under his golden eyes that indicated lack of sleep and illness. His long blue hair, normally a shiny sapphire shade, was dull and lifeless. As were the wings that drooped on either side of him, feathers hanging to the floor.

As he met Kalen’s gaze, Kalen saw a weariness in those golden orbs that showed how extremely ancient a being he was, despite his youthful looks.

“Come and sit. I won’t turn you into a toad,” Sariel said in attempt at levity.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Moving to the prince’s bedside, he took a seat in a vinyl chair. “I’m sure you hate the sight of me right now.”

The prince cocked his head. “No, I can’t say I do. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“How can you say that? I let Beryl out and she nearly killed you!” He shook his head, trying to comprehend how the Fae could harbor no ill will toward him.

Sariel sighed, his tone resigned. “Kalen, the witch nearly killed me at my father’s urging, not yours. My death has been his goal for the past few years, and these most recent months have nearly seen him succeed more than once. He won’t cease until one of us is dead, and that blame cannot be laid at your feet.”

Kalen felt anything but blameless in the whole deal. God, what must it be like to have your own father actively out to kill you? Kalen’s dad had been a mean, abusive old motherfucker and he’d enjoyed hurting his son, but he’d never actually tried to murder him.

Yes, I want my spawn dead. I’ll spread him on an altar in chains and use my own talons to slice off his wings. Then his balls and cock as he screams in agony, begging for mercy. And then I’ll rip his heart from his chest and feast on it.

Kalen stared at the prince, shaken.

“Kalen? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Gathering himself, he strengthened his shields. “Why does he want you dead?”

“I’m his only son, the product of his rape of my mother, the Seelie queen. My brothers are her legitimate offspring with the Seelie king who reluctantly raised me as his own. As Malik’s progeny, I am the only being with the power to destroy him.” He studied Kalen thoughtfully. “Or so I believed until recently.”

Kalen ignored the prince’s insinuation for the moment. “So why’d he wait until the last few years to go after you? You’re something like eleven thousand years old, according to what I overheard.”

“Yes, give or take.” His smile was sad. “Though thousands of years are a mere blink in time to the Fae in general, some days it seems an eternity. Anyway, in most cases it takes millennia for us to reach our full potential. And when we reach our maturity, we get our wings as well.”

Kalen’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. That means . . .”

“Precisely.” The prince sounded smug. “When you attain your full power, you’ll get your wings, young Fae.”

“Wha—how did you know?” he stammered.

“I’ve known you were Fae since the second you entered the compound.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he snapped in irritation. “Instead I had to hear it from Malik. And he claimed he didn’t have a clue as to why I don’t have wings.”

Sariel made a face. “As humans say, my sire lies like a fucking rug. Don’t believe anything that passes his foul lips, Sorcerer. I mean that.”

“Okay. So how come you didn’t mention my heritage to me?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t certain that you didn’t already know, and I didn’t want to broach the subject until we were better acquainted.”