Yet here was Randolph Loring, hunting her.

Tendrils of a cold, ancient magic tickled her body, and she whirled, nearly jumping out of her skin. Someone was coming right for her on a sleek, black motorcycle.

The shadow mage.

Her mouth went dry as he pulled to a stop beside her. “Get on the bike or you’ll die.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a rescue attempt, but his commanding voice was awfully convincing either way. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

As if he’d tell her the truth.

“I already told you what’s happening. They know about you. I told you to run, and you didn’t listen.”

She shook her head. “But—”

“You don’t have time. You can come with me, or let the mage-Hunters murder you. Your choice.”

She wanted to throw up. She couldn’t believe she was even contemplating the advice of a shadow mage, yet Randolph Loring was hunting her. There would be no trial, no chance to explain herself.

Gunshots rang out, and an unholy pain splintered her shoulder. She screamed, instinctively dropping to a crouch, hands clutching the bleeding wound. The pain ripped her chest apart, taking her breath away.

I need to get the hell out of here before they slaughter me. Trying to block out the pain, she jumped on the bike and wrapped her arms around the mage’s waist. With her face tucked in close to his leather jacket, she stifled a scream as he took off.

The helicopter swerved above, and another hail of bullets ripped through the night air. She flinched. She would die, slaughtered by her own people before she got the chance to defend herself.

The mage sped through a roundabout. A powerful wave of magic vibrated over her skin as he chanted a spell.

The gunshots fell silent, and the helicopter wavered in the night sky before careening off course. Was the mage actually controlling the goddamn wind?

Horror punched a hole in her gut. She’d just been shot by the Brotherhood and taken up with a powerful monster—one capable of murdering a whole legion of Hunters. Tears pricked her eyes, and she clamped them shut, trying to gain control. She couldn’t let herself fall apart.

As they raced through Cambridge, the wind rushed over her skin, making her shiver. Or maybe she was shivering from the certainty that the rest of her life would be spent as a fugitive. She’d end up as the mage’s sex slave, or a vamp’s blood-bag, until someone decided to reap her soul for the god of night.

The searing pain in her shoulder stole her breath. Think of something calming. That was what she always did when the world seemed in danger of shutting her down. The beaches in England, the hawthorns, blue and yellow wildflowers.

It wasn’t working.

Nauseated, she heard the sorcerer chant another spell—and gaped as both their bodies glimmered out of view. Gods, the invisibility is a mind-fuck.

That’s it, then. She’d just hurled herself into the dark side, and now she couldn’t help but second-guess her choice. Had Randolph Loring really come for her? What if this was some sort of test—one that she’d failed, wretchedly? Or what if it had been a horrible series of accidents, and she’d just thrown herself at a seductive shadow mage?