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“You led us a merry chase, didn’t you, my little witch? But it’s over now.”

She struggled against his hold, trying to see where Jonathon was. He cast her aside and one of the others caught her, spinning her around and holding onto her wrist with a vise-like grip. She watched as the leader walked over to Jonathon and kicked him in the stomach, making him land face forward in the dirt.

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“No, leave him alone!” she screamed, but she was ignored. Jonathon tried to stand up but could only make it to his knees. The Believers began circling around him like Indians around a wagon train, while she watched helplessly.

“So what have we here?” one taunted.

“Thought he was gonna git that bitch fer hisself.”

“Is that it, Jonathon? Did ya think you would get a chance to fuck her before giving her to Preacher?”

“Too selfish to share?”

“Did she seduce you?”

“She’s a witch castin’ dem evil spells. Bewitchin’ a man to do things.”

“Damn purty witch, though. Damn purty.”

Richelle could feel lustful urges rising as the men began eying her, some licking their lips while others blatantly rubbed their crotches.
Oh, Goddess,
not again.
She struggled against her captor’s hold but could only watch helplessly as the Believers taunted Jonathon.

“Is that it, Jonathon? Did you fall in love with her?”

“No. I think the answer is much simpler.” All the men stopped as the leader walked over and bent over to be face to face with Jonathon, his reeking breath blowing in his face as he spoke. “I think what we have here is nothing more than a disbeliever…a traitor.”

He backed off a few steps and sneered as Jonathon swayed on his knees.

“Is that it?”

“Get an attack of conscience?”

“Nah, he a chicken-shit coward,” the boy who had led the others to them sneered. “Just turned yeller.”

“’Fraid of dem ’mortals?”

“I’m not afraid,” the boy emphatically declared as he puffed up his chest in a prideful gesture.

“It makes no difference. There is only one punishment for his betrayal.”

“Just make sure you tell them all,” the boy whined, “I was the one that found ’em.”

“They will know, Isaac.”

“An’ I wanna be there when he goes before
Him.
I wanna watch him be punished.”

“He will not be going before
Him.
”

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Jonathon struggled to get to his feet, forcing his body to stop swaying as he looked into the eyes of his accuser.

“There is only one punishment. Death,” the leader stated coldly.

Reaching into his back waistband, he pulled out a gun and pointed it at Jonathon.

“No!” Richelle screamed.

“May you rot in hell, traitor.” The leader raised his gun, smiling vindictively as he aimed it at Jonathon’s heart. With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Richelle yanked free from her captor. She broke through the ring of men rushing forward to stand between Jonathon and the leader.

“Good-bye, Jonathon.” As the leader fired the gun, Richelle threw her arms around Jonathon, her mind envisioning an invisible shield surrounding them to protect them from the bullet. She closed her eyes as she clung to Jonathon, waiting for an explosion of pain from a bullet finding its mark, which never came. Opening her eyes, she turned to see the bullet hovering in midair no more than six inches from her face. And then it fell harmlessly to the ground. The Believers began to fidget and the wind began to rise.

Richelle still clung to Jonathon as he toppled to the ground. She shifted so she could cradle him in her arms, his head lying against her chest. She used her hand to cover his face, protecting it from debris swirling in the air.

The wind began whipping her hair wildly, and the Believers began to back away into a group before Richelle with fear in their eyes. All except for one.

The leader stepped forward and aimed his gun at Jonathon’s head.

Richelle cradled him closer but didn’t hide her eyes this time. Instead, her gaze bore into his head as if daring him to pull the trigger, realizing he was nothing more than a cowardly bully.
He wouldn’t be so brave if he didn’t
have a gun
.

She kept repeating that thought—
He doesn’t have a gun, he doesn’t
have
a gun
. She felt her face grow hot.
He doesn’t have a gun.
His hand trembled at first until he took a deep breath, and with great effort, he pulled the trigger.
Click.
He stared in frustrated disbelief at the gun in his hand. He aimed again.
Click… Click.
Nothing happened.
Click, click, click.
His rage evident, he threw the gun aside and pulled a knife from a bootstrap.

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She showed no fear as he towered over them, raising the knife to drive it down. She waited, but he never completed the downward stroke. His arm began to shake as he tried to force the blade down into Jonathon’s heart, but he stood immobile, as if someone or something were holding his arm in midair.

“The…Immortals,” Jonathon whispered.

Then suddenly from thin air, two figures appeared behind the Believers, their eyes red as flames of fire. Each flailed an arm and Believers went flying through the air in all directions, and then each of the two figures went after the men individually. Richelle watched in awe as each man was handled efficiently…and permanently.

“Noooo!” the leader wailed as he tried to strike with the knife. “He cannot be allowed to live!” Laboriously, he took a step forward with a malicious curl to his upper lip. Then his sneer disappeared and was replaced by confusion and hatred. “He must die.”

Richelle pulled Jonathon tighter against her as the leader’s eyes bulged out. Gasping for air, he dropped the knife to clutch his throat. After a moment he fell to his knees and then after a few more moments he fell prostrate on the ground, motionless.

He was dead.

Richelle buried her face against Jonathon’s head, her hair falling forward to block her view of the dead man who lay at her feet. In her heart she wanted to feel a pang of regret for the men’s demise as they fell under Immortal justice. Instead, she cried with relief, kissing Jonathon’s forehead and hugging him. The wind died down as the Believers either lay dead on the ground or had run away. She looked up to see the two Immortals approaching her, one dragging the boy along with him. But before they could reach her, another hooded figure materialized before her.

He was dressed differently than the other Immortals. While they wore black contemporary clothing, he was clad old-worldly breeches and a poet shirt covered by a long robe. The first two radiated a passion and intensity rivaling the Believers’ fanaticism. But when this one removed his hood, his long silver hair and eyes gave him a serene and ethereal appearance.

Despite the immense power he emanated, Richelle could sense a deep sadness and vulnerability in his wise soul. She could feel the pain cutting him to the bone as he skirted the edge of dark and light, of Immortal and

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Vampyre. And as she peered deeper into his memories, she was shoved out of his mind, and the walls locked down tight. But she didn’t need to see any more. She had recognized him immediately from Madame Selene’s visions.

With a breathy quality in her voice, she whispered his name in reverence.

“Nicolae.”

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“Awake, Valya.”

Feeling sluggish, Valya slowly awoke to the commanding voice calling to him from a distance. He was finding it difficult to come fully awake and then he remembered.
Nicolae.

“Awake, Valya.”

“Nicolae, you son of a …”

“It would not be wise to insult she who was my mother.”

“Wait until I get my hands on you!”
Valya sat up quickly, resulting in a bout of dizziness he was unaccustomed to. Nicolae must have exerted a great magnitude of energy to send him into a deep sleep, so deep he could not awake without help.

“We have Richelle.”

Valya closed his eyes and sighed with relief. There was no one more powerful than Nicolae. She would be safe with him until she was in his arms again.

“We have to tend to the wounded, and then I will return with her.”

Valya tensed immediately at the mention of injuries.

“Is she hurt?”

“She is not hurt.”

“I will come to her.”

“No. You will remain there until I bring her to you.”

“You press your luck,
Great One
. She is
my
life mate.”

“Yes, she is,”
Nicolae concurred
.
“
And as such, she is at risk as long as
she is un-mated, from Luka as well as other mortals. You need to prepare to
complete the bonding ritual.”

Valya reluctantly agreed. At this moment, he felt like he had imbibed large amounts of spirits. As Immortals were not immune to the effects of alcohol, he was always careful not to ingest the blood of those who had been

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drinking, as it also diminished the potency of the blood. It was his supposition that this was what a hangover felt like.
Why do mortals do this
to themselves?

“Because they are fooled by the delusion that they are in control,”

Nicolae replied to Valya’s rhetorical question.

With any luck it would not take long for the effects of the sleep inducement to dissipate. He didn’t like feeling as if his head were immersed in a vat of mud.

“How long will you be?”

“Not long. Roman and Stefan will take care of the bodies. Richelle will
help me take Jonathon back to the Protector’s lair so I can heal him. Then I
will return her to you.”

Valya didn’t respond, but he grew agitated, like a caged tiger smelling blood. He didn’t like the idea of waiting, sitting on his hands so to speak.

But Nicolae had spoken. After the Triad, Nicolae’s word was law.

So he would do as he was told.

“Bring her safely back to me. I will wait.”

* * * *

Richelle was a little wobbly materializing across town to the Protector’s home, and though Nicolae offered to carry Jonathon, she refused to relinquish her hold.

“Where should I put him?”

“Follow me.”

Nicolae led her through the apartment to two closed doors. Opening the one on the right, he waved his arm and Jonathon disappeared from her arms to materialize on the bed, his clothes removed but covered from the waist down by a sheet. Richelle, her eyes downcast, blushed and Nicolae chortled.

“After all you have been through, you blush.”

She ignored him as she went over to Jonathon and sat on the edge of the bed. Brushing his damp hair away from his forehead, she was struck by how much he resembled a little boy sleeping. When Nicolae removed Jonathon’s clothes, he must have cleaned him in some way as well. His dirty face and hair were washed and the odor indicative of the Believers was gone, although he hadn’t reeked as the others did.

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“That is because his odor was of dirt and sweat. Much like the Guardians, you were able to smell the evil corrupting the Believers’ souls like an infected wound,” Nicolae remarked.

“But how could I—”

“How could you smell their evil? Your gifts.”

Richelle shook her head.

“My gifts are empathic and telepathic in nature.”

“Your gifts are so much more than that.” Their eyes locked. His gaze was kind and gentle, like a father’s. Like Duncan’s. She mulled over things that had happened, transporting from the carnival to the loft, the door lock, the bullet, the gun not working.
Was it really me who did all that?
She shook her head again as if denying it would make it not so.

“Believe me, little warrior witch, your gifts are more than you have imagined. Within you lies an untapped power that will be realized as you complete the bonding ritual with Valya—enough power to destroy Luka and thwart his evil plans.”

“To feel and hear thoughts and emotions in both man and beast is enough.” She harrumphed softly as she checked Jonathon’s wounds. She wasn’t surprised to find that they were healed, leaving jagged scars as reminders.

“It’s funny. We call them animals and yet their thoughts and emotions are so open. Wolves don’t cruelly hurt each other or kill for sport. They hunt for food and fight to protect the pack. They say man is superior, and yet, how often do we hurt and maim and kill for nothing more than empty prizes as glory…lust…power?”

“But yet, there is a power struggle in the pack to see who will dominate as the alpha wolf.”

Her eyes shot to Nicolae. Infuriated, she defended her wolves the same way she defended them to critics who were against Dr. Samuels’ wolf repopulation program.

“It’s their nature. And once the alpha male has been established, he doesn’t try to dominate or take over other packs. He simply leads the pack in their daily search for food, shelter, and protection. In this way, they are no different than man. They want to live a peaceful existence.” She turned her attention back to Jonathon, brushing a stray lock away from his forehead. “It

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is man who goes against nature and destroys what he touches to satisfy his own selfish needs of self-worth.”

“Not
all
men,” he chided calmly. Richelle looked down at Jonathon and placed her hand over his heart.

“No. Not all men.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Will he be all right?” She touched her forehead to his, trying to sense his thoughts, but he was as blank as Valya was when he came to her in the meadow as a wolf.

Nicolae watched her gentle act. So good and kind, she would breathe fresh air into his people. But as a woman alone, she needed protection.