Next came the kitchen. Large table, seven chairs. Bane pursed his lips. Had Zion taken the eighth?

They entered a different bedroom, half the size of the other and similarly furnished. Except for a small detail—Zion had taken the chair, placed a plastic tarp underneath it...and chained a human to it. Interesting development.

One of the victim’s eyes was swollen shut, the other rimmed red from tears and glazed with fear. Blood caked his mouth and chin, choking noises leaving him.

Zion had removed his tongue.

Nola burrowed into Bane’s side, her body racked by tremors. “Who is this? Why have you done this, Zion?”

The human spotted her and silently pleaded for help.

A growl rumbled from Bane, drawing the male’s gaze back to him, and the fear magnified. “Do not look at her. Do not ever look at her.”

“The next assembly is less than two weeks from now,” Zion said, patting the human’s head. “This male leads a human army employed by Erik. He and his men plan to attend the meeting from afar and pick us off from the mountaintops. They must be neutralized.”

“So why haven’t you killed him?” Nola asked, shedding some of her unease.

Bane ran a hand up and down her side, accidentally brushing the underside of her breast. Shit! Touching her had been a mistake, but letting her go had become an impossibility. “I can guess. The wand,” he said. “Only Zion can wield it.”

She frowned. “The magic wand? You weren’t joking about that?”

“No joke.” Zion tapped the diamonds embedded in his skin, in a specific order, then held out his hand. A thin wooden stick appeared in the center.

Bane’s mind buzzed. Could the weapon heal his shoulder or not?

“You might want to turn away for this,” Zion told Nola.

“I’m fine,” she said, but she inched closer to Bane, seeking comfort.

His chest puffed with pride. She’s falling for me. “Do it,” he said to the other male. “Nola can handle anything.”

Now her chest puffed with pride, and he almost smiled.

Zion moved behind the shaking captive, placed the wand’s tip against a groove between skull and spine—and shoved. The wood plunged through the man’s brain.

Nola squeezed her eyes shut as the victim grunted, jerked and sagged, his head lolling forward. His eyes remained open, a bright light shining from them. Brighter. Images formed.

“We’re watching a movie—through a dead man’s eyes?” Nola gasped out.

“Everything is energy,” Zion said, “even our thoughts. The wand can extract and project them, allowing us to view whatever part of his life we choose.”