Prologue

"You realize, of course, that the Dark Ones will be looking for her, too."

The wizard nodded.

The small, white-haired woman grunted. "You’ll have to bring her back."

His stare was cold. Hard. "She may not want to come."

The woman leaned over a fat black cauldron. "That doesn’t really matter, does it?"

He shook his head.

Fog drifted lazily from the cauldron. "When do you leave?"

"Tonight." His silver gaze locked on the fog.

"Good." She stared into the cauldron. "Your bride has waited too long as it is."

One

Sara Myers woke with the sudden, shocking certainty that she wasn’t alone.

Someone was in her house. In the bedroom. With her.

She could feel him, standing there, standing close to her. So close that she could hear the steady sound of his breathing.

Fear pumped through her. Her heart pounded and her hands began to shake.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. She’d read stories about this. About men breaking into women’s homes and attacking them while they slept.

She kept her eyes closed, trying to think, trying to figure out what the hell she should do. She could try screaming. If her neighbor happened to have his hearing aid in, then Carl would have a fifty-fifty shot of hearing her.

Or she could try to fight him. She’d taken a self-defense class at the Y. She knew how to go in hard and fast on a man’s weak spots. Oh, yeah, she could fight. Eyes. Ears. Groin—

Then again, maybe he wasn’t there to attack her. Maybe he was just a robber. Maybe he just wanted to steal her blind, and if she kept her eyes closed, he’d go away. He’d just go—

The floorboard near her bed squeaked, and Sara shot out from beneath the covers, screaming at the top of her lungs.

A dark shadow lunged for her, and a man’s large hand slammed down over her mouth.

The guy was tall and well-muscled. She could feel his body pressing against hers. She threw her hands up, trying to press her thumbs into his eyes.

He growled and twisted away from her. Her nails raked across his face, and she lifted her knee, preparing to deliver as hard a hit to his groin as she could.

"Dammit!" His voice was a grating whisper in the darkness. "Stop it! I’m not here to hurt you!" He took a quick step away from her.

She stumbled back and reached for her nightstand drawer where she kept a Mag flashlight. Carl had given it to her last Christmas. As far as weapons went, it wasn’t much. But it was better than nothing.

"You don’t need that," he said softly, moving to turn on her overhead light. "I told you, I’m not here to hurt you. There’s no need for you to be afraid of me."

She blinked, her eyes adjusting quickly to the sudden flash of light. When she got a good look at the man who had broken into her home, she knew she was in serious trouble. He was, without a doubt, the most dangerous looking man that she’d ever seen.

Physically, his size alone was intimidating. He had to be at least six-foot-two, maybe six-foot-three. His body was thick with muscles, his shoulders broad and strong. His long, pitch black hair was pulled back into some sort of tie at the nape of his neck. He had thin lips and a sharp, almost hawkish, nose. His light silver eyes were glinting and hard, and his jaw was strong, sculpted, and currently clenched.

He wore black leather—a heavy leather coat that clung like a second skin to his wide shoulders. Beneath the open coat, she could see that he wore a simple black shirt and a supple, black pair of pants that melded tightly to his powerful thighs. His feet were encased in high black boots, and a black belt wrapped around his waist. A wickedly sharp knife hung from that belt.

Oh, my God. Her gaze locked on the weapon. The knife was huge. And sharp. And the hilt was covered with jewels.

"Don’t be afraid of me, Sara." There was a plea in his voice. "I promise you, I’d never hurt you."

So said the man with the enormous knife. She swallowed and forced her gaze to lift, forced herself to meet that chilling silver stare, and then she realized he’d called her Sara. "H-how do you my name?"

He lifted his hands up, palms forward, and took a hesitant step toward her. "You’d be surprised by the things I know about you."

That wasn’t reassuring. She lifted the heavy flashlight, her fingers tightening around its base. She held it like a bat, ready to swing at any moment. "Look, buddy, I-I don’t know who you are, but I want you out of my house. Now!"

He took another slow, gliding step toward her. "I’m afraid I can’t leave."

"Yeah, you can. It’s really easy. All you have to do is just walk down the hall and go out the front door. If you go now, I won’t even call the cops. We’ll just forget this whole thing ever happened." Yeah, right. She’d be on the phone to Sheriff Harty before the nut job in front of her had even left her porch.

His brilliant silver gaze seemed to shimmer. "I can’t leave you."

"Sure you can." She sidestepped, trying to head casually toward the bedroom door. "Just go. You’re a big boy, um, I mean guy. You just go right ahead and walk out of my house. I won’t stop you." She could feel her knees shaking, but she’d be damned if she’d let this guy see her fear.

"I can’t leave you," he repeated softly, his voice a deep rumble. "You’re in danger."

Like she hadn’t already figured that one out. After all, there was a strange man with a very large knife in her bedroom. If that didn’t spell danger, she didn’t know what did. Okay. Time to play hardball. She was just steps away from the bedroom door. If she could distract him, she could make a run for it. And she was a good runner. She jogged three times a week around the park.

Her fingers clenched around the base of the flashlight. She wouldn’t have much time. She’d have to move fast.

He frowned, studying the raised flashlight with a puzzled expression.

Sara swung the flashlight, hard and fast. She heard him grunt as the weapon made contact with his midsection. He doubled over, and then she ran as fast as she could, heading straight for the door.

She could hear him groaning behind her. A smile stretched across her lips, and she jerked her bedroom door open. Her bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor as she fled down the hall. Just a few more feet. She could see the front door. So close—

He tackled her. Her body was thrown to the floor, and she gasped as all of the air was knocked out of her.

He stretched her arms above her head, and his heavy legs pinned her in place. The leather of his boots rubbed against the skin of her bare legs.

The hardwood pressed against her stomach, and she knew that her shirt had risen beneath her. As usual, she’d been sleeping in an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She wished she’d been wearing the ankle length gown her friend Trish had given her for her twenty-ninth birthday. She hated having her body revealed to this stranger.

She bucked beneath him, desperately wanting to be free of him, to escape.

His hands tightened around her wrists. "You shouldn’t have done that." The words were spoken into her right ear, and she shivered.

"Let me go," Sara whispered, pulling against his grip. She couldn’t stand being pinned down like this. She jerked, trying to twist her wrists free. "Let me go!" This time, the words were a scream.

He moved in a blur, flipping her over onto her back. She peered up at him, straining to see his features in the shadows.

"Promise me that you won’t run again."

"I promise," she said instantly.

She could feel his gaze upon her, feel the weight of that silver stare. She held her breath, hoping that he would believe her, hoping that he would give her freedom. That he would let down his guard for just a moment.

"All right." His body lifted and he reached down, pulling her to her feet. "If you’d just give me a chance to explain—"

She lifted her knee, aiming for the general area of his groin. When she heard him groan in sudden pain, she knew she’d found her mark.

But she didn’t waste time congratulating herself. She hopped to her feet, lunged for the door, and fumbled with the lock, turning the deadbolt and then unhooking the chain. She yanked open the door—

And a heavy, hard hand slammed against the wood, effectively shutting the door and trapping her inside.

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. "Dammit, you said you wouldn’t run! You promised!" There was anger in his voice. Anger, and a strange hint of hurt. Moonlight trickled through the blinds of a nearby window and illuminated his frowning face.

Her lips curved in a parody of a smile. "I lied." Like she was going to worry about keeping her word to a criminal.

His fingers tightened around her shoulders and a muscle jerked in his jaw. His hair had come loose in their struggle, and dark, heavy black strands clung to the strong planes of his face.

Damn. The man’s hair was longer than hers. Her own blond hair was cut in a chin length bob, but his hair fell in thick waves to his shoulders. It was a ridiculous thing to notice, but for some reason, her gaze was drawn to that dark mane of hair. It was so thick, and it looked so smooth.

She took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? A maniac had broken into her house and she was staring at his hair?

Sara felt every muscle in her body tense at that faint sound. She knew that sound.

Oh, thank God! It was the sound of Carl’s cane on the sidewalk. He must’ve had his hearing aid in, and the dear, sweet man was coming to her rescue!

Her captor frowned and tilted his head to the side. "What’s that sound?"

Sara blinked, hoping her large blue eyes looked innocent. Her grandmother had always told her that she’d been gifted with a pair of lying eyes. She’d used those "lying eyes" to her advantage more than a few times. Deliberately, she blinked again. "What sound?"

She shrugged, feeling the heavy weight of his hands against her skin. "I don’t hear anything." Come on, Carl, she thought, come just a little closer.

"Someone’s out there," her captor said, pulling her away from the door and forcing her to step behind him in one swift move. He pulled the knife from his belt and reached for the doorknob.

"What are you doing?" She grabbed his arm. He couldn’t go after Carl. Her neighbor was eighty years old! And this man, whoever he was, looked like he was in his mid-thirties. And he outweighed poor Carl by a good ninety pounds.

"Let me go." He shrugged her arm aside. "I have to protect you."

Her jaw dropped. "What?"

"Go to your room. Lock the door. I’ll come for you when it’s safe." His tone was fierce, like a commander who was used to giving orders. The knife glinted.

She sprang forward and blocked the door. She spread her arms out, grabbing the hard wooden frame. "Wait! Stop! That’s my neighbor! You can’t hurt him!"

"Sara?" It was Carl’s voice, thin with fear. "Are you all right?"

The man before her blinked once, then slowly lowered his weapon. "You know him?"

"Yes."

The stranger closed his eyes a moment and inhaled deeply. "I don’t sense evil from him."

"Uh, right. No evil there." Her gaze dropped to the glinting knife. If she could just get psycho-boy to put it down…

His eyes snapped open. "Psycho boy?" His face twisted. "Who is this psycho boy?"

How had he—

"Sara!" Carl was pounding on the door. "Sara, girl, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

No, she wasn’t all right. There was a maniac with a knife in her living room, but if she screamed, he might attack Carl.

The maniac in question frowned and looked down at the knife. "I’m not going to hurt him. You can relax. And I’m not a maniac." His lips thinned as those strange silver eyes returned to rest on her face. "Neither am I ‘psycho boy.’"

Oh, my God. Was he reading her thoughts? He couldn’t be. That was impossible. That was—

He vanished. One moment, he was standing in front of her, nearly six foot three inches of intimidating muscle and man, and in the next instant, he was gone.

She screamed.

Her gaze flew frantically around the room. Where had he gone? Where was he? He had to be there—

"Sara!" Carl’s voice was shaking. "I’m going to call the cops!"

She whipped around and jerked open the door. Carl stood on her porch, dressed in his customary black robe and red pajama bottoms. His right hand was clenched around the top of his cane. When he saw her, he jerked back in surprise.

Sara grabbed him, barely managing to stop him from falling onto the wooden porch.

"Carl, thank God!" She had met Carl right after she moved into the neighborhood three years ago. He had a habit of spying on his neighbors, and in that moment, she could have kissed him for being so nosy. "Someone’s in my house!"

His brown eyes seemed to double in size. "What?"

Grabbing his arm, she quickly led him down the porch steps. "Come on, we’ve got to get out of here!" She glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze darting past the open front door. She couldn’t see the man anymore, but she knew that he was still there.

She could feel him.

Don’t run from me, Sara. His voice drifted through the night to her. Don’t be afraid of me. I’m here to protect you.

"From what?" She asked, shaking her head dazedly.

Carl jumped at her voice and looked at her, his eyes still far too large for his face. "Girl, are you all right?"

Her heart nearly stopped. She knew she’d just heard the man’s voice. She couldn’t mistake that deep, rumbling voice. But he wasn’t anywhere around. And Carl was looking at her like she was the crazy one…

"Did you hear him?" She whispered, clenching her fingers around his arm. "Did you just hear him?"

Carl shook his white head slowly.

She swallowed back the fear that rose in her throat.

* * * *

"The place is clear." The man in the blue uniform with the shining gold star stepped out of Sara’s bedroom and headed down the hall. "Whoever your visitor was, he’s long gone."

Actually, Torian le Fury was standing two feet away from the mortal. He’d used a simple cloaking spell to hide his presence.

"Are you sure about that, Mac?" Sara asked, her face appearing strained. "Did you check all the rooms?" Her hands were fisted and her lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Mac" stepped directly in front of Torian. The human was so close Torian could smell him and easily hear the sound of his breathing.

Mac lifted his hand and touched Sara’s cheek. Every muscle in Torian’s body tensed at the contact.

"Relax, Sara. There’s no sign of your intruder. He’s gone."

Torian didn’t like seeing the other man’s hand upon Sara’s delicate flesh. No, he didn’t like it at all. A low growl rumbled in his throat.

Sara’s bright blue eyes widened and she jerked back, her gaze searching the room. "Did you hear that?" She whispered, lifting a hand to the pale column of her throat.

Mac frowned.

You heard nothing. There’s nothing here. The house is safe. Torian issued the compulsion without a second’s hesitation.

Mac slowly shook his head. "I didn’t hear anything."

Torian smiled.

The sheriff seemed like a nice enough fellow, when he wasn’t touching Sara, but Torian needed to get the man out of the house. He wanted to talk to Sara, to convince her that he wasn’t a danger to her.

Torian knew that he’d handled things badly. He hadn’t meant to scare Sara. Scaring her had been the last thing on his mind. He’d planned to make contact with her tomorrow. He’d thought he’d go down to her gallery and introduce himself in a normal, human way that wouldn’t threaten her.

But he’d been drawn to her. As the darkness of the night had covered the city, he’d felt a strange stirring inside his body. A need. A need for her. And he hadn’t been able to stay away. He’d had to see her. To smell her. To touch her…

She was everything he’d hoped.

So beautiful. So pure.

She was small, barely reaching his shoulders. Her body was tiny, delicately proportioned. She had golden hair, a bright, shining mane that fell to her chin. Her skin was a pale porcelain, her complexion absolutely flawless.

She had large, beautiful blue eyes and a small, straight little nose. Her chin was slightly pointed, and her cheekbones were high slashes. Her heart-shaped face and delicate brows gave her an almost pixie-like look.

Of course, Saralynn Eden Myers wasn’t a pixie. She was a witch. A hereditary witch with enough power in her small body to destroy the world.

And that was why Torian had crossed the dimension web to find her. To claim her. He needed Saralynn. He needed her power, her magic, and he would do whatever he had to do in order to possess her.

He was just lucky that he’d gotten to her first. The Dark Ones were also after her, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let them get their hands on her. He’d die first.

"Yeah, everything’s clear." Mac was walking toward the door.

Sara followed on his heels. When she’d returned to the house, she’d pulled on a pair of faded jeans, but she hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. Torian rather liked her small feet, and her hot pink toenails.

"Will you keep a patrol in the area, just in case that nutso comes back?" she asked.

Torian frowned at her.

Mac opened the door. "I’ll get Quint to circle by. And if you see any sign of that guy again—"

"You’ll know." Sara shook her head, and her short blond hair swung gently against her face. "If that creep comes back, I’ll scream loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear."

One corner of Mac’s mouth hitched up. "You know, if you get too scared, you could always come to my place." When Sara just stared at him, he blinked innocently. "Hey, what are friends for?"

A loud roaring seemed to fill Torian’s head. The mortal was actually flirting with Sara. The fool didn’t know how close he was to serious injury.

"I don’t think friends are for that, Mac." Sara pushed him over the threshold. "Good night."

"Ah, Sara." He put his hand over his chest. "You’re breaking my heart. Why, why do you torment me so?"

A laugh slipped past her lips. A light, musical laugh that instantly captivated Torian.

Mac winked at her. "I’ll see you later. Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks."

Sara stood in the doorway a moment longer, and when the policeman got into his car, she stepped back. Then she sighed and shut the door. "You never change, Mac," she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck.

Torian watched her as she carefully turned out the living room lights and then padded into the kitchen. He realized that he liked to watch her, liked to watch the expressions on her face and the graceful movements of her body. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk.

"Sara, we need to talk."

She jumped and spun around. The milk carton fell to the floor and white liquid spilled across the tiles.

Sara’s wide blue-eyed gaze swept around the kitchen. She crept forward, not even appearing to notice the milk that coated her colorful toes. "Who’s there?"

Torian took a deep breath. Great, she was scared again. He could almost smell her fear.

He didn’t want her to fear him. He needed her to trust him, to love him, not to fear him.

He waved his hand in front of his body, instantly making himself visible.

Sara screamed, the sound deafening.