“If we run into trouble, I’m to shift—get away and find help.”

“First make sure you are safe—then you may seek help.” He pulled her to him—so close he located her lips by a gasp of sweet breath. Bracing her face between the palms of his hands, his mouth sought hers with soft, hungry kisses. And she invited his tongue to delve deep and tangle with hers.

His cock rose with each soft, sultry caress. “I want to kiss your navel and move lower . . . to your lips.” Exeter broke off the affection before he lost all control. “Know this, Mia. I am coming apart inside.” His breath was harsh, labored. “I desire you much more than I can safely . . . control.” He exhaled, chastising himself silently. He had seen it coming—this forced intimacy had changed everything. Never in his life had he been this captivated by a woman. Mia’s courage and fortitude, the startling combination of physical beauty, brilliance of mind, and purity of heart. It was enough to drive him near mad with want for her.

Something hissed in the dark. Exeter jerked upright.

“What was that?” she whispered.

He rummaged around in an inside coat pocket for the battery-powered torch. “Let there be light,” he whispered and flipped the toggle switch. “And there was light.” He winked at her.

He shined the beam down one side of the corridor. No creatures. He turned in the opposite direction and shined the beam directly into the face of a hideous fiend he’d never seen before—one that grinned . . . and drooled.

Mia screamed, and they both backed away.

The strange being was human-like. Beady grey eyes, bulbous head, the limbs were skeleton thin. Was this a Skeezick? He remembered a description America had once shared. Gaping mouth filled with needle-like teeth and a good deal of drool.

“Hold on, Mia.” He picked up a large rock and tossed it. The figure broke up into shimmering particles and then reformed farther down the passageway. An image, one of those projections called holograms—likely used to frighten people away.

So . . . they were close.

Exeter pressed his communicator button and kept his voice low. “This is Exeter, I believe we may have stumbled upon Prospero’s den.” Footsteps echoed from behind—running footsteps. Exeter released the button and squinted down the corridor. A pale blue sword bobbed in the dark—it was Jersey and he was coming up fast. “Run!”

“Pick up your skirts, Mia.” They ran, half stumbling, toward a fork in the passage. Exeter caught Jersey’s eye. “How did you end up behind us?”

“The passage to the right doubles back—go left.” The Nightshade pointed with his sword into the dark. No time to ask who was behind them. He urged Mia forward. Rounding a blind corner they both sprinted down the corridor and nearly fell over.

Trip wire.

A bolt of energy shot up his spine. Using potent lift, he tossed Mia far forward as the bomb went off. The shock wave blew them all farther down the passage buffeted by an eerie squall of dust and a blast of orange-red flame. Skidding along the floor, an avalanche of rock and dirt descended on him, forcing air from his lungs. His hearing cut out as debris of all sizes and types rained down in silence. For a moment, everything sparkled—dazzling stars, then a quick fade to a gray haze populated by ghostly figures. He collapsed under the weight of the rubble.

Mia stretched her neck and moved forward, cautiously. She uncurled a pink tongue and licked the dust off his face. He groaned, and she sprang back—her survival instincts raw and edgy. A quiver ran down the length of her body, lifting a cloud of dust off her coat. She sneezed.

Exeter—I know you can hear me. He groaned again. His head, shoulders, and one arm were free; otherwise he was covered in stone. So why hadn’t he been crushed to death? The cat raised a paw and rubbed her face.

I have wrapped myself in a field of potent energy.

Mia sat up straight, on her haunches. Wake, Exeter.

Mia—can you—see Jersey?

She remembered now—there was another. Perhaps he was caught in the rubble farther back, or he was behind the collapse of the tunnel. I do not see him.

Any of Prospero’s men about?

No one but you and I.

His eyelids fluttered. Exhaling another groan, he turned his head enough to see her. “Mia—” With his free hand, he reached out. She lowered her head, and nuzzled his open palm. “Can you see the communicator anywhere?”

Cats don’t fetch, Exeter.

Still, she rose up on all fours and sniffed through the surrounding rubble. Exeter appeared to be making a great effort. Grunting and straining, he managed to pull his other arm free. A silver leash attached to an emerald collar was looped around his hand. Come to me, Mia.

She dipped her head and after a few attempts, he managed to buckle the collar. Try to pull me out—use potent force.

Mia tugged and pulled over and over, but couldn’t muster enough lift to move the ton of rock above Exeter. The cat’s breath became harsh and labored. Save your energy to hold off the rocks, and I will go for help.

“It’s too dangerous, there could be more cave-ins.”

You must trust me enough to let me go.

He offered a weak smile. I thought cats didn’t fetch. His fingers opened and he released the chain.

There was a small tunnel opening—an air vent that traveled high above the passageway. Before Exeter could change his mind or talk her into staying, she sprang to the top of a pile of rubble, dragging the silver leash behind her. Eventually, the small shaft would lead aboveground. Mia hunkered down, jumped, and slipped neatly into the opening. Once she reached the surface, she would find her way back to the hotel, and bring back the others.

A chattering, or more like the sound of angry people yelling, drifted down the air duct. Yes, she was almost certain they were human voices. Curious, the cat moved closer.

Be careful, Mia. The cat sent him a purr. The fact that she and Exeter could communicate so well emboldened her exploration. She crawled into a connecting passage that angled down, not up.

“Tell him anything he wants to know—he won’t get what he wants, regardless.”

She recognized Phaeton’s voice. The cat crouched, inching down the shaft until she came to a slatted louver covering. Mia narrowed her eyes.

America sat on a crude wooden bench, her hands bound by leather cuffs. Chains ran through her bindings, attached to rings mounted to the wall. “You must trust me when I say it won’t be long now.” On the other side of the small space, Phaeton was slumped in the corner of a cell. Heavy iron bars obscured some of her view, but he appeared to be brooding.

“What is—or was this place?” America tugged at her bindings. Mia wholeheartedly agreed, imagining the Bastille a more hospitable situation.

Mia—be very careful. Is there anyone else in the dungeon?

No use hiding her thoughts, Exeter apparently heard them all. The cat froze. A door creaked open. A man of striking appearance entered the room. His head was shaved, or nearly so—she supposed it was more of a close-cropped stubble. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Tall and broad shouldered like you, Exeter.

He wore a long silk robe that was frayed along the hemline and cuffs. The hair along the cat’s spine stiffened. He also held a whip—a flogger with a number of knotted leather strands at one end—a cat-o’-nine-tails. As the wizard approached America, the cat pawed restlessly, ready to spring. No one would lay a hand on America—not if she could help it.

Mia, what is happening?

Prospero.

Phaeton rose from his cot and spoke up. “America is prepared to tell you whatever you’d like to know, aren’t you, dear?”

The wizard scanned the room for a prolonged period. “No doubt you are both wondering about the explosion—the boom and rumble.” He spoke quietly, as he had in the hologram. Rather unnerving, the voice—soft and husky, like Exeter when he was aroused. The imposing man turned from America to Phaeton. “Sorry to rattle your cage.”

Phaeton returned his captor’s stare. In fact, she had never seen him glare at anyone like this—as if he would tear Prospero limb from limb, rip his eyes from their sockets, then grind him into small bits for the crows to pick over. Phaeton often played his enemies for fools, but she wondered if seeing America so close to her time—her belly large with their love child . . .

“If you touch her, I’ll have to kill you.”

Good God, Phaeton has lost his wits.

He’s in love. Exeter’s whispered answer caused her heart to race. It was obvious Phaeton loved America—truly and dearly. A shiver ran through the cat as she shook off his words. The very sentiment Exeter would never feel for her. She instantly quashed the thought.