Nic swallowed back the bile and bitter hatred at Laryn’s betrayal. And what had it gained the other woman beyond Nic’s misery? Nothing, so clearly that single goal had been enough for Laryn. It was difficult to grapple, being hated that much, but it also wasn’t her biggest problem at the moment. “If Lord Phel is dead—” She didn’t, couldn’t, believe it. “—then why am I still bonded to him?”

“Are you so sure you are?” He sounded pitying, insinuating that she didn’t know her own mind.

“Yes. I know the bond survives, because my wizard is not dead.” At least, he hadn’t been when she was taken away. And now that they’d been separated by such a distance, she couldn’t sense the bond between them at all. Something she tried not to dwell on. No sense losing her mind sooner than necessary.

Sergio waved that off as of negligible importance. “Comatose, then. An unoccupied corpse kept alive by Refoel magic, delaying the inevitable. Your wizard’s spirit has already escaped his cage of flesh, and no amount of Refoel magic can put it back. Eventually that husk of an upstart wizard will cease to function.” He leered at her, looming closer. “And guess who will be right here to bond you when that happy moment arrives? I will never be so weak and incompetent as to allow another wizard to steal you away, rest assured.”

Nic was proud of herself for refusing to flinch—and declining to contemplate the scenario the vile Sammael wizard painted. Gabriel would live. He had to live. She would continue to believe. Otherwise, the despair would break her.

Sergio nodded, taking her silence for assent. “You may as well accept the inevitable, Familiar,” Sergio crooned, his version of being charming, oily as it was. “You have always been destined to be mine. I was your first suitor, after all.”

“That didn’t work out so well for you,” she pointed out coolly. “As Wizard Jadren noted, you had your shot and failed.”

Petulant irritation contorted his face. “A chance of fate, of passing importance, and now remedied. That same fate has ensured I’ll be your last suitor. You are pregnant, so when you are mine, the child will be, too. An heir to follow me in leading House Sammael to glory.”

The prospect of her and Gabriel’s child growing up in this travesty of a family made Nic feel sick—and frightened her more than any of his other threats. She wouldn’t let it happen. Even if she had to crawl back to her father, beg him to forgive her, she’d protect this child. “I will never be yours.”

Sergio tsked, making a show over looking around her prison. “Your intelligence sadly lags behind your MP scores. You already are mine.”

“I am a prisoner, apparently, in House Sammael—but this is illegal. Clearly there was no warrant. The Convocation will never stand for—”

Sergio slammed a hand against the wall beside her head. So help her, she did flinch. Worse, he saw it and was pleased. “The warrant is valid, my disobedient familiar, and I have you here with full knowledge of the Convocation, as I volunteered to handle your punishment and retraining myself. Such is my duty to the Convocation.”