“I’ve written history books myself, you know?” He goes to touch one of the dusty shelves, then thinks better of it and snatches his fingers back. I catch the slight tremor again. Too much coffee? An alcoholic? “I specialize in one particular historical figure we call the Warlock.” He side-eyes me and waits as though expecting a response. When all I do is raise an irritated brow, he continues. “I’m quite the expert. The Warlock was a mixed-species Channeler with witch blood. So powerful, he won a rare secret, and nearly single-handedly conquered the supernatural world.” He gives me another funny look. “I think you will find his life story to be quite enlightening.”

I frown. What has some witchy megalomaniac got to do with me?

“Listen,” I say with a twinge of irritation, “thanks for the info, but am I getting out of that cage or not? If you can read my mind, it must be obvious by now I’m not a Blood Servant.”

He snorts and waves a hand. “Oh, I know for certain you have never been in the hands of the Anlu’kyr.”

I narrow my eyes. “But Flanagan’s convinced? He thinks I’ve had my memory sliced to pieces.”

“I assure you your memory is intact, dear boy. No, it is something else entirely that sets you apart from other Channelers.”

What’s he talking about? “You mean the blood tests?”

He levels me with a heavy gaze. “Come now, Michael. Open your mind to me. I am quite sure the High Priestess has informed you of your heritage. We both know how special you are.”

I’m not aware I’ve closed my mind. Heritage? And who’s the High Priestess? Is he talking about the name Sabel?

Crap. I try to force the word away, but the other man slowly smiles.

“Do you have any knowledge of your origins, Michael? Anything at all? What brought you to Lancaster?” His eyes are boring into me now, and an image of my piece of parchment blazes into my mind, the names Lancaster, Blackriver, and Sabel written across its yellowed surface in cursive script. It hangs there between us as clear and distinct as though it manifested in the air.

The breath stalls in my lungs, and my heart pumps faster. I hear a repeat of Alexei’s warning in my mind.

Do not tell the Lycan your true name, Michael Sabel. His precious Council will only fear you.

Quinton is the Council, and I’m pretty sure he knows I’m a Sabel. I have no blasted idea why that’s an issue, but if it’s something that’s going to keep me in chains, it’s something I don’t want him to know. I step back, try to force the image down. Bury it. It won’t budge. It remains in the front of my mind, glaring at me.