The force of Laasya’s blow hurls me through the air and slams my back into the far wall. It feels like a giant fist squashing my insides against the sandstone. A strangled noise leaves my throat as I flail at my chest to break the invisible pressure.

Laasya walks forward, hands at her sides. Pity furrows her brow.

While I dangle, breathless, from the wall, Mason recovers his sword, and Seonu pulls her knives. Both sets of blue eyes pin me with furious intent.

“Keep him there,” Seonu orders.

“I knew this would happen,” Mason spits. “Fucking vampires.”

Laasya’s big brown eyes plead with me. “Please, fight the prince’s call, Michael. I know you can.”

Her words trickle through the smothering blanket of Alexei’s will and light a tiny moment of resistance. I push against the seductive embrace overwhelming my heart. I want to fight him; his influence scares the shit out of me. But it feels different this time. It comes with more than the all-encompassing pull. A blood-deep knowledge lights my veins that my family stands at the gate, waiting for me. It’s not that I can’t fight him. It’s that I don’t want to.

I wait for you, my love.

My face contorts. I shake with agony as the Call meets the strength of Laasya’s hold. The Flame I absorbed in the test room seethes like a pressure cooker ready to burst. Its hot presence pulses through my veins in response to my need.

And a deeply buried urge, twined like a seed at the base of my abdomen, nudges for release.

Laasya’s brown eyes widen. “Don’t, Michael.” She raises her hands, palms out, doubling the pressure crushing me to the wall. My limbs flatten against the stone. I’m panting gulps of air to avoid asphyxiation.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp.

Power explodes from my center and pulses out like a bomb blast. Silver-white Flame rips across the room. Laasya and the two soldiers speed backward through the air as though struck by a hurricane. All three crash against the far wall. I hear the crack of a head hitting stone. Weapons smash to the ground.

As I thud to the floor, sucking in breath, I’m hit by an overwhelming exhaustion and a sudden emptiness. But also clarity.

“Laasya.”

I stumble to my feet and stagger over to her. She’s unconscious, a tangled heap of brown limbs. Please be okay. I kneel and stroke back her mess of hair. My fingers meet wet warmth. No. God no. But she’s breathing. A vein pulses at the side of her neck. I gently shift her thin frame into a recovery position.

You must come now, Michael.