Becca bolted out the door before the monster, with his dangerously alluring presence and impossible magic wind, could grab her again. Her movements were jerky as she fought to run against her spasming muscles, and the cold stung her cheeks and bare arms and legs. On either side of her stretched an abandoned street with tired, three-story brick stores crowded close to the edge of a sidewalk that was half broken concrete and half snow bank.

Left or right? She couldn’t see a light in any of the nearby buildings, and the store across the street from her had a broken sign and boarded-up windows.

She ran left, as fast as she could, ignoring the cold, the agony of her seizing body, and the bite of ice and broken sidewalk on her bare feet. If this was still a nightmare, she couldn’t give in and stop, and she couldn’t risk banging on doors and begging for help. That wouldn’t work. Of course, just running wouldn’t help, either. The prison was her mind, and she couldn’t escape from herself.

But a part of her wasn’t sure anymore. That monster— no, the devil’s master — God, she’d recognized his thoughts and essence the moment she’d seen him and hadn’t been surprised he’d exuded intense, raw masculinity. A part of her had sensed that the moment his thoughts had appeared in her dreams. He’d been determined to convince her this was real. And God help her, a part of her wanted him to be real.

But wasn’t that just part of the nightmare?

Except—

Her throat tightened and she fought back a sob. She needed a safe place to get her bearings, but the shock and fury from the monster’s thoughts still raged through her. It wasn’t possible. None of this was possible. But she no longer knew what was possible and what wasn’t. And what about Glenn and the others? What about Werner? Were they creations of the nightmare, or were they real? Stanbury? The facility?

No, they had to be figments. It couldn’t be real. But the devil’s master had said it was. And he was sorry. They’d ripped into her soul, tore at her essence, determined to ignite the impossible hiding dormant within her, for hours, days… years?

She stumbled, shooting pain through her chest and shoulder from her broken bones, before the drug-induced weight from the Versed swelled, dimming the agony and weakening her muscles enough that the convulsions didn’t overwhelm her.

It couldn’t have been years. It wasn’t years, because it wasn’t real.

She should have frostbite on her bare feet by now. Surely that meant it was a dream. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. She should be starving… she was starving. But did that mean—?

God, she couldn’t think straight… no, that had been the devil’s master. He’d been worried about not thinking straight. Except—

God damn it.

Someone said something, too softly to make out the words, and her heart skipped a beat. She wrenched her gaze up then down the street. It was help? Danger?

No one was there. Which meant it had to be the devil’s master waking—

Except the essence inside her was different. She couldn’t explain it, only knew on an instinctual level that it hadn’t been him.

Most likely her imagination and just another figment from the nightmare… if this was a nightmare… which it had to be? How would she even be able to tell?

No. Shelter and clothes first. Determine reality second. And not even think about how hot the devil’s master had been in person. Jeez, why did this have to be a nightmare? He was as attractive as his presence had felt. Except that was just part of the horror, another torture to add to all the others.

God, if he’d heard that— But thank goodness, his thoughts were still quiet. They’d gone quiet the moment she’d hit him and reached the door. She prayed that meant he was unconscious, and when he woke, he wouldn’t renew the connection — because any kind of connection with him was a bad idea.

Escape and regroup. That was what she needed to focus on. Werner had established an emergency meeting place almost two weeks ago, when their first hideout had been raided by the devil. If Werner had escaped Stanbury’s men, he’d be there. And it had looked, with that parting glimpse she’d gotten before the devil’s master had jerked her away, that Werner had escaped. That’s where she needed to go. Werner knew more of the others who’d been prisoners in the cave than she did. They’d create an assault force and get Glenn and anyone else back.

And she wasn’t going to acknowledge how those thoughts fit in with the nightmare versus reality. Right now, the thoughts steadied her, gave her a purpose, and that was the only thing holding her together.

Before Stanbury had dragged her off the street, she’d had a ten dollar bill stuffed in the toe of her boot for emergency transportation and food. What she wouldn’t give for those boots now, with or without the money. What she wouldn’t give for summer weather. It’d be too much to ask for a clothesline filled with clothes hanging nearby, but she wouldn’t turn down an open window, either. That at least would indicate if any of these buildings had occupants, which in turn would mean clothes and shoes.

She reached an alley that ended forty feet down with a brick wall that was too high for her to climb with her cracked collarbone, but she slipped into the shadows anyway and pressed her back against the wall. A moment to catch her breath and think. That was all she needed. She strained to hear sounds of pursuit from the devil’s master.

Someone said something again… no, a few someones, whispering, but she couldn’t tell if they were having a conversation or how many there were.

Her pulse beat faster, and she glanced down the street again. Still no one following her and no sign of the devil’s master. It had to be the Versed. It made her dizzy, dragging at her senses, and everything was getting muddled. Even with the adrenaline from the fight helping to burn through the drug’s effects, she couldn’t shake it. There wasn’t anyone around. It was her imagination or the nightmare. She just had to keep in mind her priorities: clothes and shelter, and thank God, across from her in a large, clean storefront window stood a mannequin wearing a beaded embroidered full-skirted wedding gown.

Finally, something was going her way. She wasn’t going to hold her breath the gown store had anything practical to wear or even pantsuits in impractically thin fabric, but hey, it might have shoes — and she’d take unpractical footwear over no footwear any day.

The cold seeped through the thin hospital gown, making her teeth chatter. At least she was dressed in something that wrapped around her body and attached at the hip and shoulder, and she wasn’t running around with her ass hanging out. It surprised her the nightmare hadn’t stuck her with that, and soon, if her luck stuck, she’d be in something warmer.

She groaned—

No… wait…

Her pulse stuttered. This wasn’t possible, this—

Aw, shit. She hadn’t groaned. He had. The devil’s master was waking and she could still hear him.

“God, just get out of my head.”

That’s what I’ve been trying to do— When he’d gone after her at Stanbury’s facility and then again in the abandoned building she’d just escaped from.

Yeah, right. He’d only rescued her from Stanbury’s men because she could tell Stanbury his every order to the devil and the others. If Stanbury’s men had been trying to kill her, he would have sat back and watched.

That’s not tru—

Don’t even try. I’m not an idiot.

A flash of pain cut through the Versed, more voices whispered at the edge of her hearing, and the muscles in her chest tightened. Shit. She had to get him out or she was going to collapse, and then he’d find her.

How about a truce. We meet and work this out. He almost sounded sincere. If he hadn’t just tried to stab her, she might have believed him.

You’re a monster. Like the others. Oh, God. What if the voices were the monsters still in her? But that didn’t seem right. They were… she couldn’t explain it and didn’t have the time to figure it out. All she knew was the devil’s master was different. He wasn’t inside her like the others had been and neither were the voices. Those monsters—

Dragons. They were the spirits of—

Monsters. After what they’d done to her and the other captives, giving the monsters a name didn’t make them less of a monster. They’d been in her, tearing at her from the inside out. They’d—

Another slash of agony cut through her and made both of them groan.

But this monster, the devil’s master, was different. He wasn’t inside her, fighting her soul for her body. He was—

Still a monster. The monster the other monsters feared. He—

Nero. He sounded exhausted. My name is Nero.

I really don’t care what your name is. A gust of wind swept into the alley, making her teeth chatter and her heart skip a beat. Was that him controlling the wind? But she didn’t see him, and the gust vanished. She needed to put more distance between them and get away. It was her only hope. She had to end this conversation and get across the street to the—

Where? His thoughts in her head tightened, as if trying to focus.

There. That? He was stuck, merely a passenger. Did that mean she had control over him?

Mother, that was the truth… Except she was pretty sure he had thought that and not said it directly to her.

In fact, if she thought about the last few minutes, they’d been half responding to thoughts spoken directly to each other and half to just thoughts.

Oh, God. If he could hear thoughts she wasn’t thinking at him—?

She needed to be more careful. The monsters from before had made it clear. If the dugga —the monster she now knew was the devil’s master — got a hold of them, both monster and human would be killed without a second thought. He’d already tried to kill her once. She couldn’t let her location or where she was going to meet Werner slip out. Hell, she didn’t even know if she could control that.

The drug-induced weight in her limbs flared and her heart leapt into a rapid tattoo. She had to get him out before she did anything. Out. Get out. He had to get out now.

I’d love to, he growled back, but a sense that he couldn’t let her go seeped past his mental words and tone. She endangered everything.

I’m not a danger to you.

You’re the greatest danger I’ve faced in recent history.

Yeah, right. That was just more proof that this was a nightmare. Sure, she’d been a competent soldier and risen to the rank of captain before retiring, but she was still only one person. This monster controlled the wind and the other monsters feared him. She couldn’t possibly be a danger to him. Besides, it was just a nightmare.

It’s not a nightmare. Although it was certainly becoming one for him. Mother, he had no idea how to make her accept this was real.

It isn’t real. And she was shutting him out. She concentrated on the essence within herself, that part of her, her soul, that the other monsters had forced into a tiny mental box. She was stronger than some nightmare monster, and she would kick him out.

Her muscles trembled, shooting agony through her chest and shoulder. The monster, Nero, groaned.

Becca, please.

That’s Captain Scott to you. It was her mind. She was in control.

Nero’s essence gasped as if fighting for breath. Her trembling increased, but the Versed, still coursing through her veins, dulled the edge of the pain and the convulsion. She was kicking him out and taking charge. Her nightmare. Her mind.

Another blast of agony shot through her, and Nero screamed.

Son of a— His essence snapped tight into ferocious primal rage, his murderous intent clear, making her pulse race faster.

This is my head. I said get out.

And I said I’d love to. But there was nothing in the raging emotions indicating he wanted out or had any intention of letting her go. He wanted her gone, wanted the danger she presented to be eliminated, and he’d stop at nothing to end her.

Fuck you. She tightened her will on him and imagined a solid metal box. If those other monsters could lock her away in her own head, she could lock him away.

Another blast. Nero screamed again. Something squealed. But it wasn’t his essence being forced into the box. He was still too big for her to mentally hold on to. She had to crush him down, had to—

A thunk. Heavy metal? Voices? Whispered voices…? No, not whispered—

She blinked, not realizing she’d been so focused inward that she’d stopped paying attention to her surroundings. A black van, like the van Stanbury’s men had driven when they’d first picked her up a few days ago, had stopped at the alley’s mouth, and two men in tactical gear rushed out while two more stayed in the van, the one on the right aiming a Glock — not a Taser — at her.

How the hell had they found her?

But it was a dream. Of course they’d found her.

“Get in the van,” the guy on the left said. His hand dipped to the sidearm holstered at his hip, and he squared broad shoulders almost twice the width of hers.

“I’m not going back.” Not to the devil’s master, not to the monsters in the cave, and not to Stanbury. Becca tightened her grip on the knife and widened her stance. The whispers grew louder, pressing against her senses. She darted her gaze down the street, but knew, with gut-churning certainty now, that the voices were inside her.

Becca. Nero’s essence flared, cutting through the other voices and straining against her mental grip. What’s going on?

With the Versed still dragging her down there was no way she’d win a fight against one of these guys. But they had her cornered and fighting until she could get past them was her only option. God, it’d be so much easier to concentrate if the voices would just shut up.

Becca—? Four of them? Nero swore and groaned. Holy Mother, that hurt. Hold on. I’m coming.

I said get out of my head.

And I said I’d love to, he barked back at her.

The man on the left jerked his chin at the other guy — a smaller guy with a fist-sized welt on his cheek, probably from the fight at Stanbury’s hospital. Welt Guy lunged at her, reaching to capture her arm. She leapt into his attack, sidestepping his grab, and thrust the knife blade under the bottom of his Kevlar vest and into his gut.

He screamed, and the first man seized her other arm and yanked up. Pain exploded through her shoulder, across her chest, and over her neck.

Nero howled in her head and a thick darkness swept around her. The whispers grew louder, turning into the roar of a crowd, the words still unintelligible and grating against the inside of her skull.

Welt Guy seized her other wrist and snatched the knife from her hand. They heaved her to the van’s door, and the man with the Glock jumped out to cover them. The fourth guy set a phone on the floor by his feet and twisted his fist into the front of her hospital gown.

She wrenched against his grip. No way in hell was she getting into that van. There’d not be another opportunity to escape if she let them capture her again.

One of the men behind her shoved her forward, smashing her face and chest against the van floor. Van Guy bumped the phone with his foot. It skittered closer and the screen flared to life. A stationary green dot flashed on a map, and the words at the top read: Subject 147006 – Rebecca A. Scott.

What the hell? She wrenched again, fighting to get free.

The first guy leaned against her. “Go ahead. Fight all you want. Even if you manage to get away, we can still find you.”

Van Guy chuckled. “Yeah, you’re low-jacked.”

“Like a criminal on house arrest,” Welt Guy said.

But she wasn’t wearing an ankle or wrist bracelet. It had to be in her clothes—

“More like an expensive car.” Glock Guy sneered. “And the tracker is implanted under the hood.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and the crowd’s noise thundered in her head. “Implanted?” Now she knew it had to be a nightmare, but if it wasn’t—

God, she didn’t want to think about that. All the things she’d survived, and the hopelessness of this reality. Even if, against all odds, she could escape Stanbury’s hospital again, they’d always be able to find her.

Hold on, Nero growled. Pressure filled her head, and the sense of an enormous power rushed over her.

“Holy shit,” Van Guy said, his gaze locked behind her, and his grip on her gown loosened.

Becca twisted enough to see. A black hole swelled to man-size against the front of the closest building and Nero leapt out. His expression was hard, his eyes filled with a deadly calm, and he looked every bit the monster the other monsters feared.

The man with the Glock fired two shots. They slammed into Nero’s chest near his heart, drawing a roar and a ferocious wind that ripped Glock Guy from the van and tossed him against a streetlight pole with a sickening crack. Blood rushed over the front of Nero’s pale blue dress shirt, and the muscles in his jaw clenched. His pain burned past the Versed and across Becca’s chest, but the man— the monster didn’t drop.

“Get her in the van,” the first guy said. He released her and drew his Glock from his hip holster, but Nero flicked his hand and another blast of wind smashed the guy through the boarded-up window of the store beside them. Another flick and a whip of wind sliced deep into Welt Guy’s forearm. His hold on Becca’s wrist loosened, and she wrenched free from both his and Van Guy’s grips. She punched Welt Guy in the face. His head snapped back, and the knife he’d taken from her fell to the van floor.

She seized it and slashed at Van Guy. He staggered back, scrambling to draw his Taser, but another gust of wind smashed him against the van side and shoved him and the vehicle into the center of the street.

“Come on.” Nero grabbed her forearm. “We have to get out of here.”

She jerked around and rammed the knife into his gut. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

His wind snapped around her, yanking her closer to him and pinning the knife in his body.

Holy God, how is he still standing? Shot twice and now stabbed. His agony radiated through her, churning with the screaming crowd in her head, and the Versed.

“I’m not letting them take you again.” A black vortex formed under their feet, his power straining, as if the pain, controlling the wind, and now summoning the vortex were too much.

Please let it be too much. Please let his wind falter when they stepped through to the other side, and please let there be a way to escape. It was her only hope. Stab him again and run like hell—

Except he was still in her head, and it seemed he could find her as easily as Stanbury’s men could with the GPS tracker embedded in her body.