Nathan crossed the open space to the office. Like the rest of the structure, it had been built of solid materials in an age that valued quality. Though the deep-red paint had peeled from the exterior walls, the heavy timber was still solid. He drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. A window high up on one wall filled the space with light. A doorway in the back led to a half bath. On a cot against the far wall, his son, Evan, reclined, one arm thrown over his back, the other attached to a support beam by a wrist manacle and chain. His son’s wrist was raw where he’d struggled against the metal cuff. With the aid of the sedative Nathan had slipped him, Evan was sleeping deeply.

A sliver of guilt sliced through Nathan. Keeping his son prisoner was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but no one ever said parenting was easy. A father often had to make unpopular decisions for his child. Someday, Evan might forgive him. But as long as the boy remained healthy—and able to sleep—Nathan could live with the consequences. Nothing mattered more than his son. Modern medicine had no cure for the disease that waited in Evan’s genes. Nathan would follow in his uncle’s footsteps and try the old way. As his Druid ancestors had bargained with the gods to repel the Romans from the shores of Britain, he would make a deal for his and Evan’s futures. No sacrifice was too great.

Nathan would walk through fire to save his son.

He watched, mesmerized, as Evan snored. His son was as yet unaffected by the sickness. Once afflicted, sedatives and sleeping aids only worsened the condition. Nathan should know. In the beginning of his illness, his uncle had been prescribed every known tranquilizer. Nathan thanked the gods he’d had the foresight to accumulate the medication.

How long would Evan be spared? Genetic testing had confirmed that his son carried the disease marker. It was only a matter of time.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a lighter. A spin of his thumb generated a small flame. He held the flame to his opposite forearm. Hot pain licked into him, a physical release for the agony trapped in his mind. The smell of singed hair and skin filled the space.

A car door slammed. Nathan released the red button. The flame flickered out, and he withdrew from the room, carefully securing the lock. He moved to the shadow of the barn door and peered around the edge. His assistant was crossing the barnyard.