The cell they brought Julius to stank of mildew. When they pushed him up against the wall to drag over a bench for him to sit on, he discovered the walls were made up of basketball-sized stones held together with some sort of crumbly mortar. The bench scraped along the floor as they dragged it in. The thing was full of dark, roiling energy and as he stared at it through the hood, he wasn’t sure he was seeing it right. Instead of a flat surface, the bench looked more like something from a gym—a flat board to sit on with another plank angled slightly back to lean against.

Duncan joined them in time to muscle Julius over to the bench. “Sit.”

He straddled the thing and his ass hit the wood hard when Duncan’s hands settled on his shoulders. He pulled Julius against the angled back and held him in place.

Harrison and Scott grabbed a bunch of the rubbish littering the cell and hauled it out.

He shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable spot. The damn bench had a hole running the length of the seat. “What the hell is this?”

“This here?” Why did he hear a smile in Duncan’s tone? “Ever hear of disembowelment? See that hook over on the wall?”

Julius glanced to his left. There on the wall, a long, thin and rusty metal hook hung with the same roiling dark energy surrounding it. His gaze dropped to the cut-out running down the center of the ‘seat’ of the bench. “Guess it’s a good thing I don’t have any internal organs.”

Duncan leaned down close, and whispered, “Always wondered if the darkness could be pulled out of a daemon.”

If Duncan was trying to unnerve him, he’d succeeded.

Harrison and Scott came back into the room.

“Where’s Kat?”

“Don’t you worry about her anymore.” Scott locked a shackle around his wrist. The big, heavy iron kind. He wasn’t sure how long it’d been since these cells had been used, but he’d wager everything in this room was antique. “We’ll take good care of her.”

The door to the cell opened and James came in. “You got him secured? Angie’s waiting out here.”

Harrison secured his other wrist to a shackle on the opposite wall. “That woman gives me the creeps.”

Scott lowered his voice, too. “You don’t have to like her, son. Just have to work with her.” He knelt down by Julius’ leg. Jesus, the bench even had shackles attached to it. They secured both his ankles. Scott stood. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Harrison opened the door. “Angie.”

“I work alone.” Whoever she was, she had a sultry voice.

The males all filed out of the cell.

A woman entered. At least with a voice like she had, he assumed she was a woman. Her energy was so dark, there was little light to reflect off her shape.

Angie Dorset. Daughter to Senator Dorset. Scenter for the church. She’d known about daemon kind her whole life, but no one believed her. Especially not her father. When she told him that he was about to marry a daemon, he ignored her. Threatened to put her in treatment. So she killed the female. Her father testified against her and she went to jail.

Julius froze. In the early days of the church, they used people called Scenters to find daemons.

“A Scenter, huh? Didn’t think that was still in practice.”

“Oh, you know how these things are . . . they pop back into fashion when needed.” She tipped her head to the side.

He didn’t like her. She seemed to be enjoying herself. “So sniff and get out.”

“I’m curious.” She walked closer. She brought her hands to his throat and he jerked back.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve seen the other one’s face. I want to see yours.”

“What other one?” He leaned his head back, trying without success to stay out of her reach.

Her fingers snaked under the edge of his hood and she jerked him forward.

“I’m a mesmerist, lady. Uncover my face at your own risk.”

“Your concern is sweet.” Her icy fingers brushed his neck as she untied the strings. Cool damp air breezed over his face as she lifted the hood. He should be grateful, all he’d wanted was to have the damn thing off. But he didn’t want her to see his face.

“I thought you were in jail. You killed your father’s fiancée, right?”

“Funny how it’s always the handsome ones who are the biggest assholes.” She trailed one of her fingers across his chest, right above the laceration Harry had given him. Then she dug her thumb into the wound.

Fucking fuck. He clenched his teeth against the pain. “Get out.”

“Daddy fell all over himself apologizing when he discovered daemons are real and I saved his ass.” She lifted her leg over his, and sat on his lap, facing him. “The thing about catching a scent is that you have to get right up close.”

Holy hell, what was happening? “Get. Off. Me.”

Instead of moving, she leaned in closer, trailing her nose up his neck. He tipped his face back and caught a glimpse of her. Black hair, black eyes. Pale skin. Thin body, thin lips.

She was not someone he wanted to be alone with. Why the hell were Scott and Harrison involved with her? They seemed decent enough, males he’d be friends with if things were different.

“I’m not sure if I want to hurt you, fuck you, or both. You’re kinda the ultimate bad boy, aren’t you? Exactly the kind of guy my dad would freak out over.”

What is she doing, trying to get back at Daddy by doing a daemon? “How ’bout we skip straight to you leaving.”

“Thing is, I haven’t had the chance to be around many men.” She rubbed her breasts against his chest. “And you are handsome. For a daemon.”

“Not interested.”

“Who asked?” She reached between them, put her hand over his crotch and squeezed. Hard.

Stars bloomed behind his eyes.

When she released him, he sucked in a ragged breath. “Watch your step, little girl, or you’ll end up right back in prison.”

She shook her head. “I’m a government asset now. No more prison for me.” She leaned forward and tried to kiss him.

“Harrison.” He turned his face to the side. This was bullshit. “Harrison!”

The door opened. Harrison’s aura went from deep blue to muddy red. George bristled as he curled himself around Harrison’s neck. “Get out.” Harrison ground the words through gritted teeth.

Angie huffed. “He’s not DDC staff.”

Harrison pushed the door wider. From out in the hallway, Scott and Duncan stared back at them.

She rolled her eyes and got up. Swaggered out the door.

“She took his hood off.” He jerked his chin toward where she’d disappeared down the hall. “You better keep an eye on her.”

Scott and Duncan followed her, leaving him alone with Harrison.

“Thanks.”

Harrison’s gaze narrowed on Julius and he walked over, pulled the hood back down, tying it tighter than it had been before. “Did you mesmerize her?”

That was rich. Laughter bubbled out of him, but right then, if he didn’t laugh, he’d cry. “What’s the matter, pup, jealous?”

“What the hell happened to you? James said you were pretty cool at one time.” He shook his head. “That Watcher fucked you up, didn’t he?”

Julius’ misplaced humor died. “Watcher?”

“Yeah. I was there at the exorcism, remember?” He shook his head again and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Exorcism. Watcher.

Watcher, not watch her.

It’s all the same in the end.

His breath hitched and memories rolled through his mind.

He was supposed to meet Leopold in the fifth tower, east of the Citadel—that’s the last time he’d been in Machon, over three-hundred years ago. Traveling through Machon to the tower and climbing all the way to the top had taken most of the day.

When he arrived, he entered a massive, empty room. He’d been worried about the meeting being a set up, but no one had been waiting to ambush him. There were no furtive noises, no movement at all aside from the flickering light and shadow from hundreds of torches spread throughout the room.

“Hello?” he called out into the emptiness. “Leopold?”

Julius edged deeper into the room. The coven visited the towers each year to bring offerings to the Watchers. Katherine had been to Machon with the coven to pay homage a few weeks ago. No offerings had been left in this tower. Nor had there been a name etched over the door. The tower gave every appearance of being empty.

He made it to the center of the room and turned a slow circle. “Hello?”

Did he have the wrong tower? He headed back to the entrance.

The shadows and light shifted on the walls. It was an illusion. It must be, but the effect was eerie and the tiny hairs on his nape lifted.

He picked up his pace, but as he neared where he thought the door should be, the shadows swirled around the walls of the huge room, spinning in an agitated dance that disoriented him.

With a glance behind him, he thought he glimpsed the door on the other side of the room. Shit!

The light from the torches flickered and some went out altogether. The shadows grew. There was nowhere to run, he couldn’t even put his back to the wall. Shadows surrounded him. “Who’s there?”

The shadows stilled. Then they peeled themselves right off the wall.

“Jesus.” His voice shook. So did his hands.

He drew in an erratic breath, backing away from the looming shadows, the void swallowing all the light in the room. The shadows encircled him.

“The exorcists psalm. Jesus, what is it?” He’d seen Katherine perform the ceremony. The spell had something to do with shadows or was that a different one?

It was growing closer, the inky nothingness, and while he couldn’t remember which psalm was the right one to say, he recited the only one he could remember, “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.”

The shadows lashed out with tendrils of blackness. Thick whips snapping around him. There was something in there, inside the shadows.

The prayer wasn’t working. If he’d believed in such things, his petition might have had effect. But he didn’t.

The darkness swirled between him and the torches, cutting off the light. He couldn’t even make out the distant ceiling—the shadows blacked out the whole of the reality he’d always known.

Whatever hid in the shadows loomed over him. A skeletal face. As he stared into the deep black eye sockets, images flashed before him. Scenes of war. Famine. Destruction. Some from ages past, some from times yet to come. Fire streaked across the sky. Mountains burst into sand. Oceans evaporated. He saw weapons not yet created, not even yet conceived. And bodies. Piles of them. Mountains of them.

The scenes played out so fast he couldn’t quite make sense of them. Couldn’t quite understand what the weapons were or why they were used.

And when the darkness folded around him, he didn’t fight. Seeing what would come, how the world would die, he had no desire to be witness to any of it.

He didn’t scream. It would seem almost obscene to do so in such absolute silence, in the presence of the image of an Earth full of the dead and dying.

The shadows closed around him.

They surged through his pores.

Flooded through his mouth and ears and nose.

His molecules seemed to pull apart to allow this other, feral, hateful thing in. He didn’t scream. He wanted to. His whole body throbbed. The pain stole his breath from his body, froze his muscles, and made it impossible to breathe.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, muscles locked, mouth opened on a silent scream, eyes bulging with the horrors he’d seen. He stood there and he was sure he was about to die. Everyone would die. Agony overwhelmed him.

Something pressed against his skin, not from the outside, but from the inside. Something pressed and stretched and filled him to the point he wasn’t sure there was still room for him. His head ached with an unknown pressure as laughter—incessant and insane—filled his mind.

He opened his mouth to moan, to put sound to his misery but instead words tumbled out. Strange words he didn’t understand in a strange voice—part his, part of something else. Something horrible.

Whatever was in him settled deep. Stilled. Then the itching started. Like little bugs with tiny legs zinging and zagging under his skin. He tried to lift his hand to rub the itchiness away, but his arm wouldn’t move. Not to go where he wanted it to go. The itchy sensation made his flesh crawl. Made his hair stand on end. Made him wish he could trade the unbearable pain for the itch he couldn’t scratch.

He must’ve blacked out, because he opened his eyes, staring at a vortex of swirling ash.

“ . . . in the shadows.”

The powdery substance rained down like corrupted snowflakes, dusting him and the floor, turning everything black.

What the hell happened? His whole body ached, throbbed. His skin itched from the inside. He tried to look around, but his head wouldn’t cooperate. Instead of lifting, his head twitched to the side.

“I saw something in the shadows.”

Who the hell was talking? That voice didn’t sound quite right. “I saw something. . . .” After a moment he realized he was babbling. “I saw something in the . . . .” Repeating the same thing over and again, “In the shadows.” His arm, the one he was trying to use to rub his skin, kept flopping off to the side like a dying fish on the beach. “I saw something in the shadows. Something’s in the shadows.” He was lying on the floor, covered in ash. “And something’s in the shadows.”

“What’s in the shadows?”

Scott’s question brought him back to the present. He tried to turn toward him, his head twitched to the side. Once. Twice. He tried to answer, “Something. Something’s in the shadows.”

Harrison peered down. “Look at his hand.”

Scott came closer.

Julius couldn’t look. He felt his hand twitching and jerking against the chain, though. His body wasn’t working right. His mind was. He saw Harrison and Scott’s auras. Recognized them. He felt the rough wooden bench beneath him, the cold metal chains on his wrists. He was aware.

“Julius?” Scott leaned forward, too.

Fuck off. The words were there, but he couldn’t get them out. “There’s something in the shadows.”

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

Harrison shook his head. “Don’t know. I thought it was a trick at first, but . . . better go get the others.”

Scott nodded. “On it.” He straightened and left.

No. No one else needed to see him like this. Come on, boss, focus. Get control back. He opened his mouth to tell Harrison he was fine, “Something’s . . . .” He snapped his jaw shut.

Jesus, he was here. Alert. Aware. But it was like he was trapped inside a malfunctioning machine. “Some—” He pressed his lips together. Focus. Breathe. And quit shaking, for fuck’s sake.

“Dude, relax, okay?”

Relax? How? He’d just remembered being possessed. That fucking thing had gone inside him. A Watcher had possessed him. And while he couldn’t remember why, he did remember he’d been at that tower to see Leopold. Leopold had set him up. He was going to ash the fucker. He just needed to get out of here first.

Daemons piled through the doorway and he wanted to cringe. At least his damn face was covered.

Trina filled his vision next, the deep hues of her aura vibrating with tumultuous energy. “Are you remembering?”

“I saw—” He clamped his mouth shut. Nodded. His arm jerked so hard the chains clanged against the stone wall, making her jump.

“Duchess, you’re too close.”

She ignored her mate. “Tell me. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He couldn’t settle his breathing, air sloughed in and out, heating the inside of the hood, stifling him.

Her fingers brushed his throat.

Duncan stepped closer. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want him hyperventilating before I get answers.”

Duncan nudged her out of the way. “I’ll pull it up, but the hood stays over his eyes.”

“Fine.”

The hood lifted and cool air bathed his lower face. Duncan moved behind him and pulled the hood tight over his eyes.

“Tell me,” Trina demanded again.

“I saw something in the shadows.” The words tumbled out.

“Here?”

“I saw something in the shadows.” His inflection changed, but not the words. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Get Kat.”

No. Not that. She didn’t need to see this, whatever this was. He lifted as much as his restraints would allow, straining toward Trina. “I saw—”

Something hard and heavy slammed into the back of his head. And then he saw nothing.