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Voices cascaded around her. Distant whispers that all blurred into white noise through the blood pulsing in her ears. Gwen didn’t need to hear them to know what they said. She felt it. She was trapped.
Her nails cracked under the pressure as she clawed desperately at the glass. Sirus was just on the other side, but she couldn’t reach him. He looked furious and dark. Levian pushed him out of the way and tried her spell to open the mirror.
“It won’t work,” Gwen’s kidnapper said with amusement. Dread slithered up her spine.
Panicked, she flailed against him with every ounce of strength she possessed. Throwing limbs and kicking wildly. He only tightened his grip, squeezing so hard it pushed the air clear from her lungs, and she whimpered from the pain of her ribs pressing together.
“For so long…” he growled, his hot breath washing against the side of her head. His soft laugh made her freeze. The dark sound of pleasure in it. Her whimpered cry was stifled by his hand. “You’re mine,” he repeated with elation.
Gwen couldn’t tear her eyes from Sirus. The look on his face as he glared into the mirror behind Levian. As if he wanted to rip someone in two. As if he would tear the man holding her in two if only he could get to her.
“After all these years,” the man breathed in disbelief. “I have you.”
Like hell he did.
Gwen knew if she gave up now it would be over. A desperate rush of adrenaline shot through her, and she wriggled under his grip. She managed to slip her arm out from his hold and slam her hand against the glass so hard her palm stung.
There had to be a way.
She threw her elbow back, but he flung her against the mirror before she could try to hit him. He wasn’t even going to bother restraining her anymore. Her captor laughed again, sending a cold shiver rattling through her.
The displaced voices chattered at the edges of her mind. None spoke in words she knew, but yet strangely she felt their meaning. They were intrigued by her presence. Excited by what it meant. Curious about what she would do.
She looked at Sirus through the mirror. She just had to reach him. That’s all. The hum under her skin sizzled to the surface, a reminder that it was there. Waiting for her. A dark blue glow emerged from beneath her palm as she pressed it against the surface of the glass. Her entire body felt electric, alive, powerful. The whispers roared with anticipation.
If she could reach him, Gwen knew everything would be okay. She closed her eyes.
Her captor snarled a curse. She felt pressure around her arm just as a wave of pure energy shot through her. One moment she felt herself pressed against the mirror, the next she was standing back in the study.
“Sirus, this is—absurd,” Levian declared, just like she had before.
Gwen gasped, and her eyes flew open. Her body trembled, her skin sizzled, she tasted blood. Her eyes darted between each of them. They were exactly where they had been before. Like time had just—turned back.
Sirus’s expression was frigid, but his eyes narrowed on her. Whatever anger she’d felt toward him before had already evaporated. The moment the shock broke away and reality slammed into her, Gwen felt her attacker’s arm wrap around her waist again.
No, no, no.
She reached out with a panicked gasp, as far as her arms would stretch. Sirus was already moving. His fingers coiled around hers at the last moment—right as she was pulled back into the frigid surface of the mirror. His face was full of dark and terrifying fury.
* * *
Swords were in his hands the moment they passed through the mirror. The others slammed into the glass, trying to follow. Sirus didn’t look back. His eyes were locked on him.
His enemy was built much like Marcus. Broad and muscled with blond hair. His face was dark, unshaven, and rough. He had features similar to a zephyr, but he wasn’t entirely of their ilk. A half-born, perhaps. And cursed. Even without the mirror eyes, Sirus would have sensed a soulless being.
“Be careful, vampire,” his enemy warned as he held Gwendolyn tightly around her waist. A black blade pressed against her neck—a Dökk blade.
Her eyes were wide with panic, her breaths shallow. The creature pressed the dagger hard enough to indent the pale flesh along her line of freckles. The same place Sirus had savored under his tongue. Raw rage rioted through him, but he let not a hint of it show.
“You will not harm her,” Sirus stated. If this man was Nestra’s puppet, he needed Gwendolyn whole, and Sirus had no doubt this cursed creature did the zephyr High Priestess’s bidding.
His enemy cocked a smile. “You’re less than I imagined,” he observed, looking Sirus over. “The great vampire of the Wolves. The Hound of Hell.” He let out a breathy laugh. “You should have let her go. You’ll die here, Hound. There is no escape from this place without my help, and not even death can touch me here.”
Sirus’s markings sizzled from the oppressive, unfamiliar magick surrounding them. This place, whatever it was, was deeply enchanted. The second he’d passed through the mirror, Sirus had assessed the space in his periphery. The walls were ancient stone, lit subtly by ethereal light that floated in the air. Three mirrors hung in the round room: one Levian’s, one shattered, and another that hung dull but intact on the opposite wall. A darkened passage lay behind them.
“You will pray for death,” Sirus declared, willing the shadows near. Even in this enchanted place, they came to him.
The cursed one’s smile faltered, and Sirus recognized the familiar tinge of fear that slid over his face. Perhaps the creature couldn’t die here, but there were far worse pains than death. If he harmed her, Sirus would be sure he felt every single one.
