In that moment he realized that shutting himself off as he had was not doing her any favors. Sure, it might prolong his life, but it could just as easily cost hers. She didn’t know what to expect, and the only way she could was to either live through it—which they didn’t have time for—or for him to show her what he’d lived through.

Cain’s job was to keep her safe, and the best way to do that was to teach her how to stay alive in combat. Because if she chose to stay with him, war would be her life from now on. It wouldn’t be a safe place filled with clean, beautiful things. It would be scary and dangerous and dark.

But he needed her. And the world needed her, too, even if it didn’t know it.

The car rocked as a truck sped past them. She was still staring, waiting for her answer.

Once he did this, he wouldn’t be able to undo it. His skills with removing memories weren’t that good, and he wouldn’t risk damaging her.

“Be sure, Rory. Once you see these things, they can’t be unseen.”

“I’ve already had my share of nightmarish memories. A few more is no big deal.”

“You had two horrible days in captivity, and a few fleeting encounters. I have centuries of battles in my head.”

“If you can take it, I can take it. Besides, think of all the strategy and tactics you know, all the information you’ve collected.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, hoping for a reprieve.

“I’m sure.”

Cain nodded and cupped her face in his hands. Feeling her skin against his again eased some of the raging terror stampeding through him. He still hated this, but at least it was easier to face when he was touching her.

He gathered up the things he’d seen, the battles he’d fought, the demons he’d killed. He collected it all together in a growing ball of images and sensory details. The barrier he’d built between them dissipated like smoke in the wind, letting a roar of pure thought flow out of him.

Rory jerked and made a choking sound. Her body went tense, and her eyes rolled back in her head. A silent scream ripped through her, but she didn’t try to fight him. She didn’t try to stop the torrent of information. She accepted it into herself, without judgment for the things he’d done or hadn’t done.

His failures blazed in blinding detail as they bubbled from the depths of his memory, but Rory absorbed them, too, unfazed by his countless mistakes.

Slowly, as the memories flickered and died like a flame starved of oxygen, she drew in a long, sucking breath. “Wow.”

Cain studied her face, certain he’d see disgust or at least disappointment cross her features. Instead, what he saw was sheer awe.

“You really are old,” she said.

A rusty laugh broke free of his chest. “That’s all you’ve got to say? I show you my life’s work and that’s it?”

“Yeah, sure, there were monsters and junk. But damn, Cain. You’ve held up well, all things considered.”

“You’re not afraid? You’re not upset?”

“I’m completely blown away. You’ve been through some awful stuff—lots more than me. Kinda makes me feel safe.”

Shock rattled him. That was the last thing he’d thought she’d say. “Safe?”

“Yeah. I mean, look at all the crazy shit you’ve survived. With you on my side, I’m invincible.”

“Hardly. And don’t you dare go getting cocky on me. That’s a good way to get us both killed.”

Her eyes went wide and she gripped his arms hard enough to leave bruises. The color leached from her skin and her whole body began to shake.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The demon. It . . . figured out what just happened. It knows what’s in my head now—all that information you showed me, how you fight, what you know, where you live.”

“What about it?”

“The demon wants to see it, too.”

Chapter 25

Rory tried to get a grip, but panic was coursing through her, piling on top of the crazy collage of memories Cain had put in her head. She wanted to play it cool, to pretend that what he’d done hadn’t rocked her all the way to her foundation. Making light of what she’d seen had helped dispel some of the lingering fear and pain left behind. But she couldn’t be flippant about the demon. Not when she felt how close it was to breaking free.

“I think we need to find Ronan,” she said. “I’m not sure how much longer his box is going to hold.”

Cain was already dialing his phone before she finished speaking. “We need to meet.” He listened for a moment. “Yes, we’re close. We will be there.”

Cain pulled back onto the road.

Rory was hit with a barrage of images as a cluster of cars passed. She closed her eyes and tried not to let the bright flicker coming at her make her puke. People were walking, driving, watching TVs. It all slammed together, clashing in discordant, nauseating chaos. She gripped Cain’s hand, not caring that it made her look weak. She couldn’t fight the visions, too. Not now. It was taking all of her concentration to hold together the shaking walls of the cage Ronan had constructed.

As her skin met his, visual peace settled over her, making her slump with relief. Now that one set of stimuli was gone, she felt the jarring rattle of the demon in her head. As soon as she noticed the thing searching for a way out, it stopped. She could feel its sinister intent, but the specifics of what it was trying to do were lost to her. It wanted to break free, but there was more to it than that—more even than its desire for the knowledge Cain had given her. She just wasn’t sure what it was.

The one thing she did know was that it was close to busting out of the cage Ronan had formed, and if that happened, there wouldn’t be a thing she could do to stop it from hijacking her body. With Cain this close, she had no doubt he’d be her first casualty.

* * *

The woman was getting closer. Raygh could feel her drawing near, bringing with her both information and blood. He wanted to shove himself into her mind and force her to come to him, but he restrained himself, biding his time. Breaking out of the cage the Sanguinar used to protect the woman’s mind would take too much effort. Weaken him.

Eventually, she would be his to punish. He would take from her the knowledge the Theronai warrior had given her, and then use what was left of her to quench his thirst for vengeance. She’d been there when Krag had died. She’d allowed it to happen, mocked him. That was not something he could let go unanswered, no matter how enticing the knowledge she carried within her was.

None of his minions had managed to find more blood for him. It was as if all of his targets had disappeared into hiding, out of his reach.

The idea infuriated Raygh, making him wish for something to kill.

Canaranth entered the throne chamber with two male Slayers in tow. Both were bone thin, filthy and covered in festering bite marks. Fever burned in their eyes, barely visible beneath a wild mass of tangled hair.

Zillah had kept this potent stash of blood a secret, locked away in the deepest recesses of these caves. It wasn’t until Raygh had taken over the other Synestryn’s holdings that he’d made the delightful discovery.

The Slayers had been kept in relative submission through years of hunger and fatigue. Zillah had been careful to keep them alive, but only barely—only enough to produce more blood to replace that which he’d drained. Still, even after years of captivity, the blood flowing through them was a powerful cocktail.

No wonder Zillah had been in such robust health when he’d been sentenced.

“Bring them closer,” ordered Raygh.

Canaranth shoved the Slayers forward. They were naked, clothed only in dirt, dried blood and scars. Their chins tipped up in defiance, and their eyes promised retribution. Too bad neither one would live long enough to fulfill such promises.

Raygh touched the forehead of the first man. Violent thoughts filled his head. There was little sense to be made of what Raygh saw—no useful information. The man’s lean muscles clenched as he strained against the rope holding his wrists behind his back. He bared his teeth, letting out a low growl of warning.

How adorable.

Raygh shoved his head back and bit his throat, sucking down huge gulps of hot power. It took only seconds to empty the Slayer of blood, at which time, Raygh let him fall to the ground.

With a thought, he gave the surrounding demons permission to feast on the remains, which were quickly dragged off in the jaws of dozens of his minions.

Raygh turned to the second man. There was no hint of fear in him, not even after having seen what had just happened to his kin.

He shoved the other man’s head back, but Canaranth’s words stopped him. “You’re going to kill him, too?”

Raygh regarded the human-looking creature, questioning whether his usefulness was worth him daring to speak his mind. “Why should I not?”

“The blood of a Slayer is powerful. Zillah lived off of these few men for years. If you kill them all, then they can no longer feed us.”

“So, go out and bring me more.” Raygh needed more blood, more power. He had to be strong enough to break through the chains that bound him in place, preventing him from bringing to him what was his.

“More? But we lost hundreds of our own collecting these few men.”

“Our own? You mean mine.”

Canaranth bowed his head. “Of course, my lord. I meant no disrespect.”

“Then perhaps you should not question my actions. If I want to drain every Slayer on the planet, then that is my right. And it is your duty to make it possible.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Raygh twisted the Slayer’s head to the side and bit deep. His body spasmed, then went limp as death fell over him.

Raygh cast the body aside. “Now go and fetch me another Slayer from our pens. I need more blood.”

Just a little more blood, and he was sure he’d have the power to break through the last, dwindling defenses that kept him from the minds of his prey. Before sunrise, they’d be on their knees at his feet, begging him to kill them.

* * *

Foolish. Canaranth was convinced that Raygh was a narrow-minded, foolish beast. He had no idea what it had cost to collect the few Slayers housed below, or what it took to control them. If they were fed too little, they died. Too much, and they fought back, killing everything they could reach. The only reason it made any sense at all to keep them was because they healed so fast, regenerating gallons of blood that helped keep Canaranth’s kind alive.

Killing them was stupid and wasteful, and at this rate, the few Slayers they had left would be dead by sunrise.

Perhaps it was time. Canaranth had spent every night since Ella’s escape wondering how she was, wondering if their child had survived. He wasn’t supposed to love her. He wasn’t even supposed to be capable of love. But if what he felt for her wasn’t love, it was as close to it as Canaranth was ever going to come.

He needed to be with her. He’d told her he’d come for her. And now his own cowardice held him back.

She wasn’t going to want him. And even if she did, he had nothing to offer her. She was human. She needed a human life with a home and food and sunshine. All he had to offer her was a dark cave filled with blood and pain.