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His body collapsed onto Nika, and she stared up at me in disbelief. For one suspended second, neither of us moved. The world blurred into a mosaic of color—streaks of it without distinct shapes.

I glowered down at her. Fully visible, silver-haired, and looking like a banshee foretelling the death of someone she loved.

Creepy and ethereal.

Another wave of exhaustion struck. How many times had I switched forms now? Too many.

I wheezed and clutched my side and took a moment to catch my breath.

Then, I pointed my knife at my sister. “Get the fuck up and don’t die.”

A beast stirred beneath my ribs, pacing the confines of my heart, and I rolled my shoulders back and tried to tamp it down. I couldn’t show weakness to my sister.

“You’re real?” Nika’s voice came out thin and unsteady.

“Yes,” I said flatly, turning my back on her.

Anger stroked through my blood. I was an idiot. I’d just saved my enemy. Nika was helping Severin kidnap the girl—helping the Order.

I should have let him kill her, but instead, I’d just saved her life.

I was losing my mind, and unwelcome emotions poured over me. It was like someone had tossed a bucket of thick slime over my head. Each emotion was a different color, thick, sticky, and suffocating.

A scream sounded from behind me, and I snapped my head back to see.

A Russian soldier had thrown the girl over his shoulder, and he pressed his radio button. “Got her.”

Static crackled, followed by a voice that sounded like Severin's. “We have to get her to another compound before they get her.”

Another voice joined in. “They must not find her.”

“Don’t worry, she’s ours now,” the man holding her said.

The fuck she wasn’t. I charged after him, rage driving every step. I was almost within reach when something slammed into my side. Hard. The impact sent me flying into the wall.

Fuck. I’d forgotten I was in human form.

My head struck the concrete and stars swam across my vision, and by the time they cleared, a hand was wrapped around my neck.

“Hello, Ghost,” Severin snarled, tightening his grip.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Severin Volkov

Age 36

Present

I’d planned for every part of this meeting, but nothing could have prepared me to look this woman in the eyes.

Striking.

But striking wouldn’t cut it.

My gaze traveled over her, taking in every curve and unnatural feature.

Her irises were soft violet streaked with emerald green. Her hair fell in gentle waves, pure white. Not blonde. Not silver. White as fresh fallen snow in the dead of winter.