Help me, Nikolai!

Her voice sounded in his head as clearly as if she’d been standing right beside him.

He’d never had this happen before, a kind of consciousness while he was sleeping. And he was still asleep—or at least caught in his kind’s version of sleep. He was aware of his own consciousness trapped deep inside his body, but not of anything in the outside world.

Nothing except Lauren, of course.

He didn’t know if it would work, but he was sure as hell going to try.

Lauren, baby. Where are you?

Her voice came back to him. I don’t know, but it’s a very old building. Thick stone walls and narrow windows. I’m locked up in here like some kind of princess in a tower.

Who’s taken you? Do you know his name?

No. He’s very tall, slender, black hair.

Has he touched you?

She fell silent. Rage grew within him.

Has he touched you, Lauren?

I feel like I’ve betrayed you, I’m so sorry, Nikolai.

He wanted to rip his heart from his body and crush it beneath the sole of his shoe.

No, you haven’t, baby. You haven’t. I’m the one who failed you.

He was trapped inside his body, like someone buried beneath ground, and all he wanted was to break free and try to find her. But it was against who he was as a relatively young vampire. He was bound by the forces of what made him who he was, and though he struggled and fought against it, there was nothing he could do to break free.

Are you there, Lauren? Keep fighting him, baby. We’re going to find you. We’re coming to get you, okay?”

But there was no response this time. A hollowness echoed inside his head.

He filled the emptiness with his own screams of rage and frustration, and knew he would continue to do so until the sun finally went down and he was able to rise again.

***

The moment the sun set, Nikolai burst from his undead sleep.

He’d lain down fully clothed, so he had no need to dress or take any time for himself to prepare for the day. One thing had changed, however. His throat was dry and scratchy, and his skin itched with a need to feed. The Thirst was already taking hold.

He threw open the bedroom door and stormed out into his living room to find it filled with people—Henry, Ivan, the two bodyguards, Jennings and Price, and two other people he didn’t recognise.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” said Henry, getting to his feet. “Nikolai, I want you to meet my colleagues, Delia Costanzo,” he introduced the woman—a vampire who Nikolai instantly recognised as being ancient. Her dark hair was cut to her chin, and she regarded him with dark brown eyes that reminded him of Lauren’s. “And Mac Ferguson,” he gestured to the man.

From the scent, Nikolai could tell the man was a wolf shifter. He was tall and broad shouldered, with short cropped reddish hair and light golden eyes.

Nikolai ignored them, not caring if he was being rude. His news was too important for niceties. “I dreamed of her. I mean, she contacted me in my dreams. She gave me a description of where she is, and the vampire who has her.”

The female vampire frowned. “She did? Did she give you any names?”

“No, only a description. A tall vampire with dark hair, and he’s walking in the light, so he’s an ancient. She’s somewhere very old, with thick stone walls and narrow windows. It sounds like a castle of some kind.”

Delia’s frown deepened. “That’s not much to go on.”

“At least it’s something,” he snapped. “What have you been doing to find her while I’ve been incapacitated?”

“Now, there’s no need for that, is there?” the red-haired man said, and Nikolai picked up the Scottish lilt to his accent. He said it good-naturedly, but Nikolai recognised the warning behind his tone.

“He’s struggling,” Ivan said, stepping forward with something in his hand. “He needs blood.”

He was right. Nikolai could barely swallow. The Thirst had got worse while he slept. He realised the thing Ivan held was a bag of blood, and he snatched it from his maker’s hand and brought it to his lips. The fluid flooded down his throat and he swallowed, and swallowed, draining the bag until he was finally able to think clearly again.

“We’ve been planning a spell to find her,” Henry said when he’d finished. “It’s a location spell created especially for finding Bloodmates, but we need to use your blood to make it work. Because she’s your Bloodmate, you are inextricably linked, and your blood will be able to help me pinpoint her location.”

Nikolai nodded. “Whatever you need, it’s yours. Drain me dry, if you have to.”

“There’s a second part to the spell. It will also tell us how long you have left before the Thirst takes hold for good, and you reach the point of no return.”

Nikolai glowered at him. “You mean it tells you when we reach the point where you’re going to have to kill me?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

From his bag, Henry withdrew five white pillar candles and a couple of other items. He arranged them in the centre of the room in a circle. In the middle of the circle, he placed the other items—a compass for direction, an ornate wooden hourglass to mark the passage of time.

“It would be better if we had something of hers as well, something personal,” he said.

Nikolai looked around, feeling hopeless. “Nothing is hers. Everything she came here in, even the clothes she was wearing, had been forced on her by Deacon.”

He experienced a sudden wave of sadness that there was nothing of her left. Nothing he’d be able to remember her by if they didn’t manage to get her back. No, he shouldn’t be thinking that way. They would get her back. And if they didn’t, he wouldn’t need to remember her, anyway, because he’d lose his mind, and then the people who were trying to help him now would have to put a stake through his heart.

Henry motioned him forward. “I need your blood now. When the candles ignite, I need you to anoint the items in the centre with your blood. Can you do that?”

Nikolai nodded. “Of course.”

Henry held his hands out over the candles, and his eyes slipped shut. He began to mutter, a language Nikolai didn’t understand, but which he thought to be Latin. Suddenly, the witch clapped his hands together and shouted, “Opus ignis!”

The compass began to spin, and, apparently of its own accord, the hourglass flipped over and the white sand began to trickle through the narrow gap into the empty space beneath.

“Now, Nikolai,” Henry roared.

Nikolai sank his teeth into his wrist, pain searing up his arm. He did as Henry instructed and held out his arm, moving so the blood dripped over the items in the middle of the candles. He was aware of everyone around them watching—the ancient vampire Delia, and the red-headed werewolf, Mac. They stood a little too close together, and Nikolai wondered if there was more than a professional relationship between the two of them. Not that it was any of his business.

The candle flames guttered with the blood, but then burst higher than before, the flames—orange, red, and yellow—reaching into the air. The atmosphere in the room changed, and instinctively, Nikolai took a step back. When he glanced back at Henry, his eyes were no longer blue, but entirely black. Light seemed to dance across his body, and the compass in the middle of the room spun wildly. He glanced back at Delia and Mac, trying to get an idea if this was the usual sort of thing, but both their expressions were unreadable.

Henry’s hands lifted higher, and with it rose the candle flames, far taller than their wicks would have allowed. His fingers trembled, sending the spasms down through his arms, his face tensed. The compass continued to spin, faster and faster, and though the sand trickled through the hourglass, it never appeared to get any less.

Nikolai wished he could see what Henry was seeing—Lauren, he hoped, safe and well, with obvious directions of how to find her.

This spell was their only hope.

The tension in the air increased, the molecules vibrating with power, enough to make glass shatter.

With a roar, Henry dropped to his knees, and each of the candles blew out as though by a sudden gust of wind. The compass came to a standstill, though the sand continued to trickle through the hourglass. Henry stayed in that position, on his knees, his head hung. He heaved in great breaths, his shoulders rising and falling. When he lifted his head again, Nikolai saw his eyes were back to blue.

But that wasn’t the main thing he saw in them. He’d hoped to see triumph, but instead he perceived failure.

A cold fist wrapped around Nikolai’s heart. “It didn’t work.”

Henry shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nikolai. These spells are difficult, and not having anything of Lauren’s only made it harder.”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The female vampire Delia stepped in. “Where was she before she came here? Do you know where she was staying?”

Nikolai shook his head. “No, only a hostel. That’s all she ever told me. It could be anywhere in London.” He thought of something. “But perhaps the werewolf who snatched her would know where it is.”

Henry shook his head. “He’s long gone. It’s the first thing we did after I met Delia and Mac. The club is all locked up. We’ve already searched it for clues, but they cleared the place out before they left.”

“Dammit.” Nikolai slammed his fist down on the table. “I knew we should have just ripped that place apart when we had the chance. So, what do we do?” He looked between them all. “Come on, this is your job. You’re supposed to find Bloodmates, remember, and my Bloodmate is missing!”

“We’ll put out some feelers, Nikolai,” Delia said. “We’ve searched the club, and we’re still trying to find Deacon, or any of the other wolves who were at that club. We’re questioning everyone we can.” She glanced down at the hourglass. “But your time is running out, Nikolai. That hourglass is enchanted. It’s counting down the number of hours you have left before The Thirst takes hold for good. When the sand runs out, then we will know we’ll have to put an end to your existence.”

“You’re going to kill me, you mean. Why not just say it as it is?”

She gave a single nod. “Very well. Yes, when the sand runs out, we will have to kill you.”

“How long do I have?”

“It’s already been nearly twenty-four hours. You have maybe another day left. Two, at the most.”

The itch at the back of his mind had already grown stronger. He needed more blood. If it felt this bad now, he couldn’t imagine how he’d feel another twenty-four hours from now. Would he even be able to think straight?

Stepping forward, breaking the circle of candles, he snatched up the hourglass. He flipped it over to make the sand run the other way, as though the inanimate object could do anything to give him more time, but to his amazement, the sand continued to flow through the narrow neck and into the same bulb, so it was now rising, working against gravity.

“Impossible,” he growled. Anger and grief poured out of him, and he directed it towards the object and threw the hourglass. It hit the wall, and bounced off, landing the right side up, the sand continuing to flow.

“There’s nothing you can do to change it, Nikolai,” Henry warned. “Events have already been set in motion.”

“And you’re doing nothing to change them!” he roared. “You’re supposed to be the best, but you’re doing nothing!”

He paced, his fists bunched. He wanted to tear at his head and claw at his skin. He’d put all his hopes into the spell working, but it hadn’t, and now he had nothing. No hope. No Lauren. No life. He wanted to rip his home to pieces, to take all his aggression out on the things around him. It was either that or attack the people, and if he did that, he was as good as dead. But how could he help Lauren now? She could be anywhere, and time was running out. The hourglass was pointing that out, as though it was mocking him.

But a voice spoke.

“I think I know who’s taken Lauren.”

Nikolai and all the other people in the room turned to Ivan.

“What?” Nikolai said.

“I think I know who took her. I’ve been suspecting it for some time, but I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong, and I was leading you all in the wrong direction.”

“Who?”

“His name is Sergei Kozlov. And he’s my maker.”