“They didn’t say anything, but I read inside their minds.” Her sorrowful, brown eyes glistened. “The witch-Hunters had been spying on two women—a vampire and a pedestrian. The Brotherhood heard them saying they were coming to Great Misery Island. The girls are friends of yours. The witch-Hunters are accusing me of aiding the fugitives.”

At Omerelle’s words, a crushing panic began to take root. “Do you know what happened to the two women?” Rosalind asked.

Omerelle stared at her, and the woman’s willowy body trembled. “The witch-Hunters had already taken them by the time they got to me. They’re in the Chambers.”

Bile rose in Rosalind’s throat, and she covered her face with her hands. Not only did the Brotherhood have her twin sister, but they had Tammi and Aurora, too.

Anger crackled through her body. She wanted to storm the Chambers and punch a hole through Josiah’s face. As Caine tried to calm Omerelle, Rosalind took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady her nerves.

Omerelle picked up her cat. “I’m not staying here. Alu and I are going to hide from them.” She closed her eyes and chanted a spell; her body shimmered away.

Caine’s shot a worried look to Rosalind. “We need to get out of here now. Do you think you can do the teleportation spell again?”

She glanced down at the ring. “I think so. If you stay near—”

A hail of bullets cut through her thought, and pain speared her body. She crumpled to the ground, gripping her ribs. Caine rushed for Rosalind, his eyes black. He touched her chest, chanting the beginnings of a spell. Rosalind could feel the wound start to heal, until a spray of iron dust blasted Caine’s skin, snuffing out his aura. Another hail of bullets blasted Caine onto the ground. She looked up, catching a glimpse of a tall, thin man walking closer. Longshanks.

She gasped for breath.

Before she could sit up, pain exploded through her skull, and her world went dark.

Chapter 26

Icy water ran down Rosalind’s face, and she gasped. Her eyes snapped open, but she could see only white light filtering through dark canvas. Panic coursed through her, nearly drowning out the screaming pain in her lungs. Something covered her head—a hood, probably, and a rough piece of fabric gagged her mouth, compressing her tongue. She coughed, nearly choking on the cloth. Its oily taste was suffocating.

She needed to get out of there, but she couldn’t move. Coarse rope bound her wrists behind her back at an awkward angle. She tried to tear her wrists free, and her skin chafed against the rope. Terror exploded through her skull. Her arms had been fastened tightly to behind the back of a chair. When she tried to move her legs, she found they were trapped by rope, too. She was completely helpless, unable to do anything except exist.

She took a deep breath, the air burning her lungs. Gasoline. She was in one of the interrogation rooms.