Carrick engaged Ronan before the other warrior reached Bane. The two were distracted. Bane grinned—and cleaved Carrick’s arm from its socket with a quick scratch-and-bash. As the smug prince fell, black blood spraying from his wound, Bane turned his sights to Ronan, but the male had already engaged with another.

Moving on once again. Colt, where was Colt? Blood, viscera and severed limbs littered his path. Grunts and groans provided a macabre soundtrack.

A distinctive scream rose above the others—Vale’s. Without hesitation, Bane switched directions; Knox wouldn’t make it back to the girl in time.

The things I do for my woman.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Tips and tricks to wreck your life

NOLA WRITHED ON an unfamiliar hotel bed, inundated by unspeakable pain, too hot, too cold, sobbing and shuddering. She’d pretty much vomited out all of her internal organs. Her heart beat too hard and too fast, her joints had swelled and every bone in her body throbbed.

Had her link to Bane weakened somehow? Or had something terrible happened to him?

No, no, no. Not Bane. He was too strong, too cunning. But, but...why am I so sick?

Fear invaded, spreading like flesh-eating bacteria. She covered her mouth, hoping to ward off the next round of dry heaves.

And what if Bane had shifted? Drogo wouldn’t hesitate to harm Vale, Zion and Knox.

Now terror invaded, skittering down her spine.

Should have accompanied the guys to the arctic. She could have hidden near the meeting site, and calmed Bane at the first sign of a transition.

Nola Lee, dragon tamer. Oh, the irony. She could stop a bloodthirsty beast with a word, but she couldn’t walk into the bathroom to pee, her body simply too weak. In fact, if Bane didn’t return within the next hour or so, she’d probably wet the bed.

Humiliation prickled beneath her skin.

She’d tried to mist and travel back in time to revisit a favorite memory, anything to distract her from the pain, but the weakness affected her abilities just as much as her physical form. All she’d managed to do? Time travel the old-fashioned way—aka remembering.

Desperate, she did a little more remembering, closing her eyes to relive the time she’d sat on a porch swing with Carrie and Vale, sipping sweet tea.

That day, Carrie had said:

Do you think a twenty-dollar bill is worth any less if it’s dirty and wrinkled? No way in heck! You might be a little rough around the edges, but you are still priceless.

She’d gone on to add:

In boiling water, the potato softens, the egg hardens, but the mighty coffee bean changes the water. Don’t let difficult times weaken or harden you, girls. Get up and change the situation.

Happy to. But how?