Alise stood nearby, Han behind her with his hands on her shoulders, ready to defend them against attack. And Jadren flanked their other side, sword in one hand and machete in the other, as he shifted from foot to foot restlessly. “Even if you can reach her, you can’t access her magic without touching her,” he argued, not for the first time, either. Another reason quiet meditation hadn’t been an option.

Gabriel ignored the argument—not for the first time—and extended his senses toward Nic. She was there, hot and bright as midsummer sunshine, bursting with magic, frustration, and despair. Oh, Nic…

His heart bleeding for her, he sent all his love, wanting to wrap her up in it. She responded to him ardently, as she always did, her magic and love full of scarlet passion. He imagined asking her to share her magic, and she laughed that he asked. Take. Have.

It poured into him like a draught of the most potent wine conceivable. If wine could be made from roses, it would taste and feel like this. Gloriously inebriating, deeply nurturing. Beside him, Selly gasped.

“What?” Jadren demanded. “What’s happening?”

“Shh!” Alise hushed him sharply.

Gabriel laughed, a breath of air, giddy with the flush of Nic’s magic. She was there. Alive and well, sensually overpowering. He groaned his pleasure, the perfection of the exchange, feeling as if he’d sunk into the hot embrace of her body, shuddering with need only she could satiate. “Just like that,” he murmured.

Hoping she understood, he urged her to take cover. Then, taking the bountiful magic she’d supplied, he pulled moonlight into hooks, digging them into the eaves of the slate roof capping the tower. Then pulled.

“Dark arts take me!” Jadren yelped as the roof spun up, then crashed into the crevasse below.

To be fair, all the others, even Selly, who’d felt him do it, exclaimed in astonishment. Gabriel smiled in grim satisfaction, tightening his hold on Nic, reassuring himself she was whole and well.

“That’s all well and good,” Jadren declared, sounding as if it were anything but—though a faintness to his voice showed he was impressed by the feat. “Now what? Are we going to fly over there and haul her out?”

“No,” Gabriel answered, finding the silver threads that wove back and forth between them. “She’s going to fly out.”

Nic gazed in bewilderment at the open sky above, gray clouds scudding in a high wind. Apparently her insanity had progressed further than she’d guessed—though, did insane people know they were crazy?—leading her into illusions of freedom along with the wish-fulfillment of feeling Gabriel’s magic intertwined with hers. Getting to her feet, she nevertheless gulped great lungfuls of fresh air, the chill bracing after the cloistered air of the tower.

For an illusion created by her own longings, it was surprisingly realistic. It even felt like her blood brightened, her system energized by the sight of a world beyond her dismal prison. Silvery moon magic sang along her nerves, and cool water coursed through her bloodstream, Gabriel’s essence running along her skin with sensual caresses. As in the arcanium, the silver threads he’d embedded in her with erotic precision glowed just beneath her skin, tightening in a web that—