He also felt agony through the link and realized he was being pulled upward.
"No!" he yelled, fighting the upward pull. "NO!"
The link snapped.
No longer tied to the power Saetan was channeling, he became an empty vessel that the power in the abyss rushed to fill. Too much. Too fast. Too strong.
He screamed as his mind ripped, tore, shattered.
Shattering and shattering, he fell, screaming, and disappeared into the lightning-streaked black mist.
Surreal put the finishing touches on the spell she was weaving across a corridor that led to the inner rooms and toyed with the idea of shoving Cassandra into it just to see what would happen. She didn't have anything against the woman personally, but that sulky temper and the dagger glances Cassandra kept throwing back toward the Altar room were fraying nerves already stretched a little too thin.
She stepped back and rubbed her hands against her trouser seat. Calling in a black cigarette, she lit it with a little tongue of witchfire, took a puff, and then offered it to Cassandra, who just shook her head and glared.
"What are they trying to do that it has to be private?" Cassandra said for the tenth time in the past few minutes.
"Back off, sugar," Surreal snapped. "That smart-ass remark about her trusting you more than him was enough reason for him to toss you out the door."
"It's true," Cassandra said angrily. "A Sister—"
"Sister, shit. And I don't hear you bitching about the other one I caught a whiff of."
"I trust the Priest."
Surreal puffed on the cigarette. So that was the Priest. Not a male she'd care to tangle with. Then again, Sadi wasn't a male she cared to tangle with either.
She snubbed out the cigarette and vanished it. "Come on, sugar. Let's create a few more surprises for Briarwood's darling uncles."
Cassandra eyed the corridor. "What is it?"
"A death spell." A vicious gleam filled Surreal's eyes. "First one who walks through that—it'll burst his heart, burst his balls, and finish the kill with a blast of the Gray. The spell gets sucked into the body so there's nothing anyone can trace. I usually add a timing spell to it, but we want to hit them fast and dirty."
Cassandra looked shocked. "Where did you learn to build something like that?"
Surreal shook her head and headed for another corridor to set another trap. This wasn't the time to tell Cassandra that Sadi had taught her that particular little spell. Especially when she kept wishing he'd taught it to Jaenelle.
Daemon slowly opened his eyes.
He knew he was lying on his back. He knew he couldn't move. He also knew he was naked. Why was he naked?
Mist swirled around him, teasing him, offering him no landmarks. Not that he expected to find anything familiar, but even the mind had landmarks. Except this was Jaenelle's mind, not his, in a place too deep for the rest of the Blood to reach.
He remembered feeling a hint of her as he probed the abyss, remembered diving, falling. Shattering.
Something moved in the mist. He heard a quiet clink clink, like glass tapping glass.
He turned his head toward the sound, feeling as if it took all of his strength to do so little.
"Don't move," said a lilting, lyrical voice that also contained caverns and midnight skies.
The mist drew back enough for him to see her standing next to slabs of stone piled up to form a makeshift altar.
Shock rippled through him. The crystal shards on the altar rattled in response.
"Don't move," she said, sounding testy as she carefully fitted another shard of the shattered chalice into place.
It was Jaenelle's voice, but . . .
She was medium height, slender, and fair-skinned. Her gold mane—not quite hair and not quite fur—was brushed up and back from her exotic face and didn't hide the delicately pointed ears. In the center of her forehead was a tiny, spiral horn. A narrow strip of gold fur traced her spine, ending in a small gold and white fawn tail that flicked over her bare buttocks. The legs were human and shapely but changed below the calf. Instead of feet, she had dainty horse's hooves. Her human hands had sheathed claws like a cat's. As she shifted position to slip another shard into place, he saw the small, round breasts, the feminine curve of waist and hips, the dark-gold triangle of hair between her legs.
Who . . . ?
But he knew. Even before she walked over and looked at him, even before he saw the feral intelligence in those ancient, haunted sapphire eyes, he knew.
Terrifying and beautiful. Human and Other. Gentle and violent. Innocent and wise.
"I am Witch," she said, a small, defiant quiver in her voice.
"I know." His voice had a seductive throb in it, a hunger he couldn't control or mask.
She looked at him curiously, then shrugged and returned to the altar. "You shattered the chalice. That's why you can't move yet."
He tried to raise his head and blacked out. By the time he could focus again, she had enough of the chalice pieced together for him to realize it wasn't the same one Tersa had shown him.
"That's not your chalice," he shouted happily, too relieved to care that he'd startled her until she bared her teeth and snarled at him.