Danika had spent the better part of the week waiting for word that Caitriona had been found and that she was alright. She hadn’t been privy to any of the details surrounding Caitriona’s abduction, nor had she been able to talk to her sister since her rescue. She knew only that they had found her and they would return to the hacienda when it was safe to do so.

The wait was maddening. In the days since Nicolas and Duncan had left, Danika had rarely left the hacienda, staying close to Gabe in case he heard from Duncan and Nicolas. She trained both physically and magically six hours a day, preparing to go to war when the time came. And, now that Danika knew her sister was safe, she was hellbent on rallying behind Duncan’s war. They had to put an end to the New World Order’s tyranny—and it would take all their power and energy to do just that.

Danika looked up as Nicolas entered the hacienda. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His usually neatly combed hair was disheveled, his usually clean-shaven face darkened by the beard that was starting to fill in. His uniform was wrinkled, and he looked tired. Danika stood and crossed the room quickly, giving him a hug.

“When did you get in?” she asked him.

“A couple of hours ago,” he confessed. “I needed to brief the doctors on Katerine’s care.”

He started to say something else but she cut him off. “I need to see her,” Danika demanded, starting for the door. Nicolas grabbed her arm.

“Stop, Dani,” he barked. “We need to talk first.”

“Why?” Alarm laced her voice. “What’s wrong with Cat?”

“She’s lost her memory, Dani. Or some of it, anyway.”

Danika stumbled back, her usually carefree expression clouded with doubt and worry. “How?” Her voice trailed off. She had so many questions. “I want to see her,” she said again, with more resolve.

Nicolas placed his hand on her arm. “She’s resting now, Danika. She’s…had a difficult go of it these past few weeks. She needs time to come to terms with everything that’s happened.”

“What do you mean? What did Hawkins do to her?”

Nicolas ran his neatly manicured hand through his hair, uncertain how much to share with Caitriona’s sister. “Hawkins tortured and physically assaulted her,” he confided.

“What do you mean, ‘physically assaulted’?” she probed. “Isn’t the very nature of torture considered physical assault?” She placed her arms akimbo, tapping her foot impatiently. As was customary in the Mexican tradition, she had pinned the left side of her hair back, indicating her single status. The rest of her hair fell in glorious waves of chestnut across her shoulders and back.

“She was sexually assaulted,” he whispered.

Danika glared at him. “You were supposed to protect her,” she screamed.

Nicolas locked eyes with hers, refusing to back down from her penetrating gaze.

“I know,” he told her, his voice full of apology. He grabbed her arm, forcing her to acknowledge him. “Goddess, I know,” he groaned. “And I will have to shoulder that guilt for the rest of my life.”

After several seconds, her eyes dropped to the hand he still had on her upper arm. “Let me go,” she hissed.

He dropped her hand and once again they locked eyes. She wanted to erase the disappointment she saw in his eyes; disappointment, she knew, that could only be attributed to himself.

“Say something,” she growled.

“I will not make excuses,” he told her. “She’s lying in that bed,” he gestured to the bed chambers, “because I was too distracted to notice how badly she wanted to return to her century.” His voice shook with his barely concealed anger and frustration.

Danika slapped him hard in the face. “You don’t get the luxury of being distracted,” she told him, the anger in her voice punctuating her words.

He didn’t move. “I deserve that,” he told her, his hand rubbing his jaw where already a red mark was staining his cheek.

“Damn straight, you do,” she tossed back. She shifted the bow and arrow she had taken to wearing on her shoulder and pushed past him.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

She ignored his question and kept walking.

His long legs easily matched hers stride for stride and she marveled at how well matched they were. She sighed. This changed everything.

“Promise me you won’t do anything foolish,” Nicolas pressed.

“Not making that promise, Nicolas,” she ground out, slinging the bow to the opposite shoulder.

“Danika,” he shouted, grabbing her arm.

She glared at him until he dropped his arm once again. “Fuck off, Nicolas,” she told him, venom dripping from her voice. He started to follow but she made a gesture with her hand that she was certain he’d understand.