“Where am I? And who are you people?”
Ward advanced slowly, careful to keep his movements non-threatening, but putting himself between the hunter and his healer as she backed away from the bedside. He knew the importance of first impressions.
“You’re safe here,” Ward said softly, hoping to convey sincerity through his tone and demeanor.
The woman blinked slowly. Her gaze shifted around the room before settling back on him. “Where am I?”
“You are in my castle,” Ward replied. “My name is Hereward Tywyll. I go by Ward. My clan is Clan Tywyll. I am the king of the San DeLain gargoyles. I brought you here for your protection. Do you remember your name?”
“My protection?” Her eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of skepticism and slight amusement.
Ward chose his next words carefully, fully aware she hadn’t answered the question of who she was. “There were witches who were here in my woods. They were doing a ritual. One of black magic. They planned to drain you of your powers. I intervened and stopped it.”
The woman appeared to consider this, her gaze never wavering from his face. Then she swung her legs off the bed and stood up.
“I don’t remember asking for help,” she said quietly.
“That may be,” Ward acknowledged, hearing the underlying thread of steel in her voice. “But it doesn’t change the fact those witches were trying to sacrifice you using black magic in my territory. You may not have asked for help, but you needed it.” He paused, watching her reaction closely.
“You said you were the one who brought me here?”
“Yes.”
“So is that your human glamor?”
Ward raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer that question. Instead, he asked one of his own. “What do you remember?”
She pressed her lips together, then finally spoke. “Fire. Chants. And then, agony....” Her voice trailed off. “Finally, darkness.”
Something very close to what Ward assumed was pain danced across her expression.
“You were part of a ritual. Remember?”
“The fire and the chanting that I remember were not part of what you stumbled across.”
“What?” That made no sense to Ward. Then again, she was right. When he came upon them, there was no fire.
“I don’t mean to be a burden or a threat,” she continued.
“We need more than that if you expect me not to consider you a danger,” Ward stated bluntly. “You’re very powerful.”
“Fair enough,” she conceded. “My name is Rihanna Norwood. I was part of a coven in another realm—wizards and witches who bend not just elements but dimensions.” Her gaze flicked up to meet Ward’s again. “And something went very wrong during an experiment.”
“An experiment?” Ward asked. “Wait. Did you say—”
“Oh goddess,” Celine whispered. “Another realm?”
“Yes. Instead of expanding our reach across dimensions, it tore through them haphazardly—sending me here. Not long after that, some of the vilest smelling beings captured me. They experimented on me.”
“The hunters found you. And they mutated your DNA,” Ward surmised.
“At first, I didn’t understand what they were doing, but it became frighteningly obvious pretty quickly. With each successful manipulation, they added another paranormals DNA to mine.”
“Until they had mutated your DNA with that of vampire, a were, and a mer. The Power of Three,” Ward mused, trying to hide his horror. “Then, what? You escaped?”
“In a nutshell. I went to a coven for help. That was something I shouldn’t have done,” Rihanna admitted. “I expected help. Instead, I got betrayal.”
