One of the men cuffed her into silence, and every muscle in Dageus’s body screamed. He closed his eyes, fighting the dark storm rising in him. I am a man and a Keltar. I will not lash out blindly, he told himself over and again. It was several moments before he managed to open them again and when he did, their gazes locked.

I love you, she mouthed. I’m so sorry!

He shook his head, rejecting her apology, hoping she understood that he was saying no apology was necessary. It was his fault, not hers. I love you too, lass, he shaped the words silently.

“How touching,” Simon said dryly. He motioned the men holding Chloe to bring her forward, stopping them half a dozen paces from the column to which Dageus was bound. “Having a private plane has its uses,” he said, smiling. “She was here before you’d even landed in London. And now my men will kill her unless you’d care to prevent it. Being bound should present no obstacle for a man with such power.”

“You son of a bitch.” Dageus strained violently against the chains, but to no avail. Without magic, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Rage consumed him, accompanied by the fierce temptation to use the most horrific power at his disposal. He could taste the potency of the ancient ones, piling up in the back of his throat, begging to be freed. The words that brought death coiled on the tip of his tongue. He wanted blood, and the beings inside him were lusting to spill it.

Simon had planned his strategy well. He’d drugged Dageus so he wouldn’t be able to control the amount of magic he used, taken captive the woman Dageus loved more than life itself, and was now going to kill her, unless Dageus used magic to prevent it.

And if he used magic to save her, he would transform.

It was inevitable, he realized with a peculiar detachment. This was it. He was backed into a corner with no way out. There was no way he would permit Chloe to be harmed. Ever. She was his mate, she held his Selvar. His life was her shield.

For a split second, a curiously suspended instant in time, it was as if he were there in the catacombs, yet not there. His mind slipped to a quiet place where memories flashed in swift conjunction.

He was seeing Chloe for the first time, standing in the misting rain on a bustling street in Manhattan. He was discovering her beneath his bed. He was feeling the lushness of her lips when he’d stolen that first kiss.

He was feeding her bites of salmon. Listening to her haver incessantly away about some obscure tome, her eyes sparkling. Watching her puff on a fat cigar.