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the night she’d returned to find Callum murdered.
    Callum had never been a supporter of the Order. He had always gone his own way. Cass had been the most powerful witch ever born, and the Order had wanted to keep her in their control.
    They had urged her to choose Malachai. As if she would have ever chosen that snake. She’d hated him from the time they were children growing up together. He’d been friends with Jarrod but never with her. He didn’t even like women. But that hadn’t mattered to him because she would have given him the one thing he did love. Power.
    Anyway, she’d taken one look at Callum and known he was the one. Malachai, by then well on his way to his dream job as head of the Order, had been enraged. He’d waited until Cass was away and murdered Callum, stabbed him through the heart.
    “He still loves you,” Jarrod said, breaking into her memories.
    She slammed her glass down on the table. Of course, Callum loved her; the bond between chosen mates was unbreakable. Even she hadn’t broken it, just hidden it deep inside her to make the pain bearable.
    “It doesn’t matter. Don’t you understand—I can’t allow myself to love him. I daren’t risk it a second time. I have to keep him out.”“You’ve become good at that.”
    “I’ve had to,” she snapped.
    Jarrod studied her in the dim light, and she locked her muscles to stop herself squirming under the intense scrutiny.
    “It’s not only the risk,” he said. “You don’t believe you deserve him back. You’re still punishing yourself for everything that has happened on Arroway—”
    “That’s because everything that happened is my fault.”
    “No,” Jarrod said, his tone fierce. “It wasn’t your fault—only Malachai’s.”
    “I should have had better control.”
    “And you’ve punished yourself ever since. And it’s not only Callum—you won’t let anyone close. I’ve seen the way you fend off Freya’s advances. She wants to be your friend and you push her away.”
    “I’m a dangerous person to have as a friend.”
    “No you’re not. You’re loyal and brave and will do anything for the ones you love.”
    “Yes—I’ll do anything,” she said not hiding the bitterness of her words. “Look what I did last time. I won’t risk that happening again.”
    “You were never a coward.”
    “I understand the stakes better now. What happens if I relax my guard, allow myself to love him again and I lose him? What will I do this time? What would you do if Freya was killed?”
    “I don’t know.” Jarrod’s eyes darkened and he rubbed at his forehead. “But you need to talk to Callum.”
    “I will.” And that was going to be fun. Not.

Chapter Three
    Callum paced the floor of the room they had given him. Coming to a halt, he smashed his fist into the wall. He wanted to get out there, find Cass, discover why she had run from him.
    Jarrod told him to be patient; he’d find her, talk with her. But Callum had had a long time to be patient, stuck in a limbo between life and death. And he didn’t want to be patient anymore.
    He wanted Cass. He wanted her to hold him, tell him she loved him, and the last thousand years had been worth the pain because they were back together as they should be. He wanted to sink himself into her body, forget everything except the two of them. Instead, she had taken one look at him and bolted.
    She’d changed. Though she was still beautiful, there was a hardness to her features, a guardedness in her eyes. She’d been dressed as a man, in tight black pants and a black shirt, her beautiful hair cropped short—as though she would deny she was a woman. And she’d cut out the mark—all that remained was a scar on her cheek.
    Why had she run from him? He crossed the floor with its soft covering, drew back the curtain, and stared out at the buildings all around. More buildings than he had ever seen in his life. On the way here, Shayla had explained that this was another world. A world called