Shadows Before the Sun

Once I was done eating, I didn’t wait. I got up and walked to the main door I’d been brought through to the guard who stood there. “I’m done. I’m sure you have orders to take me to the Circe, so let’s get this over with.”

He regarded me thoughtfully, then turned and opened the door, ushering me into the hallway.

The Circe had allowed me to see Sandra in order to intimidate me, horrify me, and make me think twice about refusing them. It was a clear message on the lengths they’d go to get what they wanted. Well, it had worked. I was horrified, but not intimidated—okay, maybe I was, but that wasn’t going to stop me from ending their reign. I took exception to murderous, power hungry witches who tortured and killed my friends, and I wouldn’t rest until Sandra, Hank, and the countless other victims of the Circe were avenged.

And my determination to do just that was stronger than their intimidation.

Ahkneri had been called an instrument of retribution and vengeance, her sword, Anguish by Fire. Holding Urzenemelech had done something freakish to my arm, had somehow imbued it with the same kind of power as the sword—at least with the siren in my room it had seemed that way.

Okay, Sandra. You want me to accept myself? Consider it done. I’m about to become your avenging angel.

Unfortunately, my rousing internal pep talk only lasted the thirty seconds it took for the guard to lead me into another room.

I’d expected to go to the Circe’s inner sanctum, not a few steps down the hall. I knew immediately that the game had changed once again. Trying to brace myself for whatever they had planned, I went past the guard and into the unfamiliar chamber.

The door shut behind me.

And there was Hank.

And all the breath left my lungs, replaced by a cool acrobatic wind that tumbled through my chest and down into my belly. My feet seemed to grow roots into the floor and it felt like the entire room—not just me—held its breath.

It felt like years had passed since I last saw him. The size of him, the way he filled a room, struck me anew. He had healed significantly. The fact that he was standing on his own two feet was a very good sign.

He’d been bathed and dressed in clean clothing. His wavy blond hair was longer, more bohemian than ever, and his beard was gone, revealing a strikingly beautiful face, one whose lips usually curved like the devil and whose eyes glinted with shameless confidence.

But those eyes now stared at me flat and hard, like cold, dark sapphires.

I stayed frozen, suddenly unsure, heart pounding.

His aura was blank and there was a void, an absence of self where there should’ve been . . . something.

“Uh, surprise . . .” I said lamely, searching for more words. “This is not exactly the way I pictured rescuing you . . .”

He didn’t respond, just stared at me, his fists clenched at his sides. I wanted to edge back toward the door.

“So, um, you look better, Hank.”

“My name is Niérian,” he said, and I was blessed with the most gorgeous voice in all three worlds. Rich, deep, rough, potent . . .

Until his words sank in and lit a fire under my skin. He showed not even a flicker of emotion at seeing me. Nothing.

This wasn’t the Hank I’d expected to find.

All the blame for this sudden transformation was squarely on the Circe’s shoulders, not his. They’d done something to him, had messed with his mind, had tortured him so badly . . . hell, I’d stand there, too, and act however they wanted me to act in order to get out of that cell and away from the barbed whips.

My main concern was whether or not he truly believed in what he said, that he was now Niérian, and if the Circe had pushed him to a point of no return . . .

Knowing Hank like I did, there were only a few ways to knock him off balance and get through to him. I could come on to him, or I could piss him off. Quite frankly neither one appealed to me for various reasons, but I decided to go with pissing him off, since I had more practice in that department and knew how to push those buttons a lot quicker than the others.

After what he’d endured, I found it pretty distasteful to do what I was about to do, but there was no guarantee when I’d see him again. This might be the only opportunity I had to shake him up and get through to him.

I folded my arms over my chest and cocked an eyebrow at him, hating my next words. “Don’t tell me they got to you. What? A couple spankings and you’re the Circe’s new groupie? Didn’t expect you to roll over and kiss ass.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t seem to like that at all.

Oh yeah, big boy, I’m going to get under your skin, and this is just the beginning.

* * *

Chaos reigned inside of him.

Joy. Betrayal. Lust. Anger. Possessiveness.

Images flashed inside his weary mind, and he couldn’t separate out what was real or what was fiction.

When she first walked into the room, his heart lurched and he was consumed with the need to reach for her. But then the other images came and he wasn’t so sure. Those things she thought of him, those things she said, they cut him in a way that made him empty and hopeless.

She used him, lied to him.

And now she dared to stand there with her arms crossed and disdain on her face? She dared speak to him with such loathing and disrespect?

Before he knew it, he had her by the throat, shoved against the wall. “I would gladly go by whatever name the Circe chose as long as I get what I want in the end.”

Her brown eyes flashed fire. She choked out: “And what is it you want, Hank? The Circe are using you, poisoning your mind—”

“No different than you.”

“Oh, that’s great,” she shot back, struggling to speak. “Okay, so . . . poisoning your mind against me. I thought you were . . . smarter than that.”

His grip on her throat increased and then eased until he simply cradled her neck in his hand. His eyelids slid closed. Gods, he was tired. His mark was too warm, too uncomfortable. She was too warm, too comfortable, and, despite his will, his body leaned into hers until his forehead rested against her own. She smelled familiar. Good. Exotic. Untamed.

Full tilt, balls to the wall, the chief called her.

Niérian shook his head.

He didn’t need or want any more thoughts or memories, any more regrets. Yes, he’d had another life, pretended to be this Hank for a while, but none of it mattered now. And she was better off knowing she couldn’t save him.

Why she’d even want to after all the conflicting things he’d remembered of her . . . No, if he tried to solve that puzzle, his head would explode.

“It doesn’t matter,” he ground out. “Just tell them how to read the tablet.” His other hand lifted as though it had a mind of its own, tunneling into her hair, threading his fingers through its softness, and then toying with the ends. It wasn’t the color he thought it should be, but maybe he was wrong.

Gods, how he hated this woman! Tying him in knots like this, making him want her, even as she schemed against him and laughed at him. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take her. “Please. If you have any care for me at all, tell them . . . and set me free.”

Her breath was shaky. “What are you saying? They’ll let you go if I translate the tablet?”

Freedom to her meant something far different than what it meant to him. And even though he