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  Her skin tingled painfully, and Morgan knew she was closing in on the rift.

  “There is nowhere you can run, little mouse. You’ll wear yourself out, making yourself an even easier target.”

  She swallowed hard at the taunt and veered left, altering course, the hairs on the nape of her neck rising, and she imagined she could feel his chilly breath against her skin. Though she knew the fear was the side-effect of his voice, it didn’t lessen her body’s involuntary response. She had no doubt if she listened to him for long, her brain would shut down, and she would surrender just to make it stop.

  When she emerged from the forest into a small clearing, the tingling of the runes escalated until she felt as if someone was trying to carve them out of her flesh. In the middle of the area, a section of displaced air shimmered, the temperature dropping until she could see her breath frost the air.

  The rift.

  Morgan skidded to a stop and whirled to face the threat.

  “You’re almost making this too easy.” The wraith floated out into the clearing, not even winded, studying her again, seemingly disappointed with her lack of fight.

  Something about his tone caused bile to burn the back of her throat.

  He wasn’t trying to kill her.

  In truth, he probably could have killed her at any time.

  For some reason, he wanted her alive, and that scared her even more.

  Chapter Three

  Morgan loosened her grip around the metal rope, allowing it to uncoil at her feet, determined not to give the wraith what he wanted without a fight.

  All she had to do was get him close to the rift, and she could send him into the void.

  Much to her annoyance, the imp crept into the clearing, its beady eyes locked on her.

  “What do you want with me?”

  “Me? Nothing.” The wraith solidified, seemingly amused by her question. “But someone has put a price on your head.” The creature wandered closer, completely unconcerned by the threat she posed. “What baffles me is why no one would pick up your contract.”

  Her lips thinned. “You’re a mercenary.”

  Morgan was an orphan.

  Of no value whatsoever.

  Who would put a bounty on her head?

  Or more importantly, why?

  The wraith sighed heavily, displeased when she ignored his question. When he floated toward her, Morgan could stall no longer. She used her speed to dodge his hands, then slammed her fist into his ribs. She met resistance for a second, then his form dissolved.

  Using his abilities against him, Morgan began to swing the rope.

  If the wraith wanted to grab her, it would need to take shape.

  He hovered outside the spinning metal as he studied the problem.

  “Foolish girl.” Without hesitation, he walked boldly into the whirl of metal, allowing it to pass through his body.

  Less than a foot away, he ducked under the swirling metal and reached for her.

  Without hesitation, Morgan jerked down the metal rope, grabbed the opposite end and quickly slipping it over the wraith’s head, locking the links around his neck. Using all her strength, she wrenched back, hearing the bones of his spine creak in protest.

  The wraith hissed in pain, dissolving in an instant, only to re-take shape a few feet away, gingerly touching his neck. He appeared startled that she’d nearly taken off his head. In a few more seconds, she would’ve had him.

  His face hardened, his blood-red eyes darkening with rage. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  Morgan snorted. “Did you honestly expect me to simply turn myself over to you?”

  She angled slightly to the left until the rift was directly behind him.

  Then she once again began to wind the thin rope.

  A growl of fury emerged from the wraith.

  Inch-long claws clicked in the silence, as if he was envisioning what he would do once he got ahold of her. His pupils seemed to grow while she watched. She couldn’t turn away.

  Pain pierced her skull, and she could feel his darkness crawl inside her head. The rope drooped and lost speed as she fell under the wraith’s sway, and her imagination took over. Claws dug into her flesh until her body jolted with agony. It took all her control to blink away the image of herself, sans skin, her body a pulpy mess, completely disgusted with herself for allowing him inside her head for even a second.

  “Impressive. Very few can break away from me once I get inside their minds.”

  Her head snapped up at his disgruntled tone. Her moment of inattention had allowed the wraith to get within arm’s reach.

  She whipped her arm back, the metal rope chiming in the silence, but when she tensed to fling it toward the wraith, the metal caught on something behind her and wouldn’t budge.

  Then she had no more time to think when the wraith streaked forward.

  A blow hammered into her solar plexus, launching her backwards. She stumbled, then dropped into a crouch, unable to catch her breath. Only her training allowed her to function past the panic of her lungs not working.

  The clink of metal caught her attention, and she watched the rope she’d dropped slink across the clearing. She fisted her hands, cursing her carelessness. Following the rope, she saw the imp, his beady eyes gleaming with avarice. He gave her a sinister smile, drool dripping from his teeth as he slowly and inexorably looped the weapon loosely around its small, clawed hand.

  Morgan had suspected the imp and wraith were working together, but actually seeing it boggled her mind.

  It was a well-known fact that different paranormal species were not friendly with each other, often territorial and willing to fight to the death over their prey.

  Unease churned in her gut at the aberration in their behavior.

  No way would she be able to take them both out on her own.

  If she wanted to survive, she needed to get rid of the imp first, since he was the weaker of the two and easier prey.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw shadows shifting. Morgan swiveled, spotting the wraith’s insubstantial form skim over the forest floor, and instinct took over.

  She threw a punch, aiming for the wraith’s throat, only to have her whole fist pass through his body. A thin film of cold slime coated her hand up to her wrist, and pain streaked down her arm.

  He had no such problem attacking her, dancing around her almost lazily as he landed blows. With each searing flick of his claws, gashes opened up all over her body, digging deeper and deeper with each cut.

  It was all she could do to get out of his way.

  When he aimed at her face, she lifted her hand, stopping his fist just short of slamming into her jaw. Her fingers slowly sank into his cloudy form, but didn’t pass through, and she gazed at her hand in speculation.

  The goo.

  It allowed her to touch him back, if only for a few seconds.

  Morgan gave him a cocky grin. Every creature had a weakness, and she’d found the wraith’s. “How about we make this fight a little more even?”

  Not giving herself time to change her mind, she dove toward the insubstantial creature. Passing through him was like taking a cold dunking in a stagnant swamp, but the wraith screeched, as if she was peeling off his skin.

  She only had a few seconds before the slime evaporated, so she had to make it count. She slammed her foot back, wanting to cheer when her boot connected with his back and sent him flying.

  Unfortunately, he passed completely through the tree without the satisfying crunch of bone, and she scowled.

  She took a step after him to finish the fight when the faint sounds of leaves crackled behind her.

  Without hesitation, Morgan leapt sideways, bruising her ribs when she slammed to the ground. She watched the bat-like creature, his wings spread wide, sail through the air where she’d been standing only seconds before.

  The imp.

  Morgan lunged forward, and grabbed the rope that trailed after the creature. The heavy, flexible metal smacked
her hand hard, tearing into her palm when she tightened her hold.

  The imp was pulled up short when the rope drew tight, and she yanked as hard as she could.

  The creature squealed in fright, unable to shake loose from the metal tangle, and slammed to the ground with a heavy thump that vibrated up her legs.

  Its small body lay unmoving, but she knew better than to think she’d killed him.

  Scrambling to her feet, she braced her legs, then used her considerable strength to haul back on the links.

  Still stunned, the imp hadn’t let go of the weapon, and she watched as the creature flew up once more with a pig-like squeal, flopping around for purchase like a fish out of water.

  It finally shook loose of the prison of metal and spread its leathery wings, but far too late.

  The imp crashed into the rift.

  The barrier rippled even as the imp shrieked in denial. With a flare of bright light, the imp disappeared into the void, where it would remain trapped. Without the help of a powerful witch or another rift, it would not be able to pass into the human realm again.

  A blow to the back of her skull sent her to her knees. Her ears rang sharply, and she cursed her carelessness.

  Never lose track of where your enemies are at all times was one of the simplest, most important rules of battle, and she foolishly allowed herself to be distracted.

  As Morgan leaned down to grab for the rope, her movements sluggish, the wraith took shape in front of her, and calmly stepped on the metal. “I think not.”

  He swung out, his foot connecting with her jaw, sending her flying backwards. She landed on her back, the world around her spinning as she struggled to stay conscious.

  She waited for the wraith to use his claws on her, bracing for pain.

  Instead, he clamped his hand around her ankle and dragged her toward the rift. Rocks and twigs gouged into her shoulders and back, but she barely felt the scrapes as a bone-deep terror rocked through her.

  She would not go back.

  Darkness rose from inside her, a deep, black nothingness that threatened to swallow her whole, her mind struggling against turning feral. If she tipped over that edge, she knew she would never emerge completely sane.

  The torque she wore burned unexpectedly, clamping around her neck like a vise, halting her downward spiral and allowing her to function.

  The knowledge that she’d been in the primordial realm before shocked her, and she tried to grab for the missing memories of her childhood—only to smack into a solid wall, her past still firmly locked away.

  The runes marking her shoulders flared in warning, making one thing clear…whatever tragedy occurred when she was a child took place in the Primordial World. Instinct warned her that if she crossed the barrier now, she would never return…possibly not even survive at all.

  Morgan twisted, grabbing for anything to stop her forward momentum, her fingers leaving deep furrows in the earth, but her efforts didn’t slow the wraith in the least.

  She rolled onto her back, repeatedly kicking at his shady form until her foot was coated with slime. With each strike, the wraith grunted, but refused to release her.

  She was only going to get one shot at this.

  When she was sure her foot was sufficiently covered, she bent her legs, pulling herself closer to the wraith, and kicked out for all she was worth.

  Her blow caught him in the back of the knee.

  He automatically released her to catch himself as he toppled forward or risk falling flat on his face.

  “You bitch.” The wraith glared at her, slowly pushing himself to his feet, his face twisting with hatred, his eyes malevolent. “You’re becoming a pain in my ass.”

  He took a menacing step toward her, and Morgan scooted backwards.

  She needed a plan.

  If she didn’t come up with something soon, she had no doubt he would win this battle.

  A vicious snarl tore through the silence, and Morgan laughed in delight. “You are so screwed.”

  The wraith hesitated, scanning their surroundings. He had only seconds before her reinforcements arrived, and he knew it.

  Morgan barely gained her footing when the wraith streaked toward her, yanking her around until she was facing away from him, then wrapped his arms around her from behind, pinning her own arms at her side. Morgan kicked back, then cursed when her foot passed through him, the slime having long since evaporated.

  A frustrated growl escaped her throat. “This is getting old.”

  She knew with certainty that if she didn’t do something, Ascher would arrive too late.

  As fear churned in her gut, the runes activated and sizzled against her skin, and she welcomed the pain. To her shock, the wraith shrieked in agony, the magic searing him at every point of contact between them, and the smell of charred flesh filled the air. She buried her squeamishness and ignored the instinctual need to pull away. If she showed any hint of weakness, she was a dead woman.

  The large, black hellhound burst into the clearing, his chest heaving from his mad dash through the trees. Wicked, three-inch fangs flashed when he snarled, hatred making his blue eyes glow. Nearly two hundred pounds and three feet tall, his appearance was enough to scare the shit out of any quarry.

  The wraith used her body as a shield, his arms banded around her tightening until her ribs creaked in protest, stealing her breath.

  “Ascher.” His name was no more than a whisper, her lungs unable to draw enough air.

  It didn’t matter.

  He heard her plea.

  He immediately crouched low and launched himself through the air.

  Morgan braced herself seconds before Ascher plowed into them.

  The impact knocked her free of the wraith’s clutches, and she smacked the ground so hard her vision dimmed. The sound of vicious snarling rang in her ears, and she woozily pushed herself up on her hands and knees.

  To her surprise, the wraith appeared injured, his normally black, cloudy form pierced by a number of large, transparent holes. Ascher was crouched low to the ground to her right, protecting her while she recovered, his eyes tracking his prey.

  The wraith floated right in front of the rift.

  Instead of escaping, the wraith cursed, then lunged for her.

  Acting on instinct, Morgan flung herself backwards…in time to see Ascher sail over her head, and slam into the wraith.

  The momentum sent them both flying through the air…directly into the rift.

  “Nooooo!”

  A flash of light blinded her, and the barrier rippled then began to fade as the magic powering it dissipated. Morgan sprang to her feet and rushed forward, already knowing it would be too late.

  The rift was gone.

  And so was Ascher.

  Chapter Four

  Morgan stomped back and forth across the clearing, cursing when she called upon the dormant magic in her blood and nothing happened. The runes on her back remained frustratingly unresponsive. The torque was preventing her from accessing the power.

  She focused on the embers of her anger, wanting to trigger her rage and rip the torque off her neck, but even with her extra strength, no matter how hard she tried, the metal wouldn’t budge. While she understood the torque was protecting her, right then, she felt nothing but hatred for it.

  Without magic, she couldn’t open the rift.

  She couldn’t go after Ascher.

  The loss devastated her, the hollow feeling expanding, crushing her chest, until breathing became difficult.

  They were after her, and Ascher sacrificed his life for hers. If the hellhound had been born with too much human blood in his system, he would be dead within days. The magical atmosphere of the primordial realm would weaken him until he slowly and painfully wasted away.

  He was at least part hellhound. He also accidentally ingested some of her blood when he bit her when he was injured, linking them together, but she couldn’t stop fretting…what if their connection wasn’t enough to save him?

>   Morgan wanted to stay, wait for the rift to open again, but it could take days or even weeks.

  And even then it didn’t guarantee Ascher would be waiting for her.

  What if the wraith returned?

  Or something worse?

  His sacrifice would be for nothing.

  With a heavy heart, she turned away, feeling as if she was leaving part of her soul behind as she headed back to the mansion.

  All she could do was wait and hope for his return.

  She refused to believe he was dead.

  Refused to believe he wouldn’t return to her.

  She first met the hellhound when she found him caught in one of the cruel traps the witches placed throughout the woods to catch creatures from the void. The beast was clearly starving, his leg severely injured from the serrated jaws of the bear trap. Despite knowing it would be dangerous, she couldn’t allow him to suffer. If the witches discovered him, they would conduct painful experiments on him with their magic.

  When they learned what they needed, they would drain him of his essence, taking the primordial magic that gave him life, until he expired, riddled with agony. The “experiments” would go on for weeks, and Morgan had no stomach for torture.

  She had pulled her weapon from its sheath to put him out of his misery when their eyes met.

  The intelligence there caused her to hesitate, and she reluctantly lowered the blade, instinct urging her to help him instead.

  When she edged closer, the beast snarled ferociously, jerking back, causing his leg to bleed freely.

  He saw her as the enemy.

  Knowing she would be in serious trouble if anyone learned what she was about to do, Morgan sheathed her blade, then reached for the torque around her neck. The necklace contained a spell to trap her magic in her body, blocking others from discovering her darkest secret.

  When she was a child, the torque was immovable. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t able to take it off.

  Until a few years ago.

  By accident, she learned that when she was around certain creatures, she was able to remove the necklace so she could help them.

  She also learned that she was able to break any spells or curses when the torque was off…such as the one preventing the hellhound from escaping the trap.