melting away. Instead he felt as if he were being roughly jerked through a curtain of lightning.
Mierda.
Darkness surrounded them, the electricity dancing over his skin and his hair floating despite the lack of a breeze. His teeth snapped together to muffle his scream, his only reality the feel of Nefri’s slender fingers still gripping his arm.
What the hell had he gotten himself into now?
Tearloch knew he should be sleeping.
At the moment his loyal tribesmen were finishing their task of clearing the rubble that blocked the altar they needed to complete the ceremony. And the wizard continued to hold his spell of protection that surrounded the caves.
What better opportunity to give his weary body time to recover?
Instead he stood at the upper level of the caverns, glancing with a heartsick longing at the overgrown fields and the star-spattered sky he could glimpse beyond the opening.
The darkness called to him to run free as his people were meant to do ...
Being locked within the spiderweb of stark, unnaturally smooth passageways was like being buried alive.
There was a faint stir of air as Rafael entered the large cave. Tearloch didn’t bother to glance in his direction. The annoying spirit was no doubt there to remind Tearloch that he dared not venture out of the range of his damned spells.
Typically Rafael ignored Tearloch’s obvious wish to be left in peace.
The wizard more and more often forgot he was a slave to Tearloch’s will.
“Master,” the spirit murmured.
“What do you want?”
“I believe there is something you should see.”
Tearloch turned a reluctant gaze toward the gaunt face that hovered in the shadows, a shiver of loathing inching down his spine.
“More surprises?”
“Please, if you would come with me?”
Words of denial hovered on his lips.
He was tired and his head ached.
Could he not have an hour without having to sort out some new disaster?
Then, knowing Rafael would remain hovering behind him like some sinister wraith of doom, he heaved a resigned sigh.
Who knew being the leader was such a pain in the ass?
Ariyal always made it look so easy.
Well, maybe not easy, he conceded, vaguely recalling the hours of endless abuse at the hands of Morgana le Fey.
But he had never complained.
“Fine.” He turned to meet the sunken eyes that flickered with crimson fire in the shadows. “What is it?”
The spirit gestured him to follow him back through the dark corridors, returning to the cavern where they’d spoken earlier. Once there he crossed directly toward the shallow pool in the floor, pointing a skeletal hand at the images that hovered on the surface of the water.
“Look.”
Tearloch was already prepared for the sight of the Sylvermyst who was standing in what looked like the middle of a barnyard.
“Ariyal.” Regret stabbed through his heart before he was hardening himself against the sight of his brother. “I already knew he was near.”
“But not alone.”
Rafael gave a wave of his hand. The image scanned back to include a beautiful, raven-haired woman who paced through a human kitchen, her fingers stroking the butt of the shotgun holstered on her hip.
“The vampire,” he breathed.
“His lover. Such a pity,” the spirit crooned, his words dripping like poison. “She has obviously clouded his mind. They are plotting to come and kill the child.”
Tearloch scowled. The treacherous wizard wasn’t fit to speak Ariyal’s name.
“What does it matter? You said your powers would prevent us from being followed.”
Rafael grimaced. “His ability to sense you is greater than I suspected. He should never have been able to follow us from London.”
“I warned you of his power.”
The spirit shrugged. “He couldn’t know your precise location or he would already have attacked.”
“Then why are you bothering me?”
“Because of this.”
There was another wave of his hand and the scene changed, revealing the graveyard overhead. It took a second for Tearloch to notice the misty shadow that drifted toward the entrance of the caves.
“A spirit,” he said, tensing in surprise.
It wasn’t a full-blown apparition. Merely a ghost that was easily called and easily dismissed. Which meant that it had been conjured to gather information rather than to perform a specific task. Ghosts were incapable of taking solid form.
“One of yours?” Rafael murmured.
“ No.”
“Can you get rid of it?”
“Yes, but the moment I do then Ariyal will know that I’m here.” Tearloch pressed a hand to his aching head. “Damn. We have to leave.”
“Wait.” Something in the wizard’s voice suddenly eased Tearloch’s panicked urge to flee. “Do not be so hasty. I believe we can use this to our advantage.”
“How?”
“The ghost is clearly approaching us