The harder he tried to ignore the fear and panic, the louder the chorus of discomfort and distraction became.

He needed a target image, a place to train his brain to.

From out of nowhere, he pictured that receptionist when he’d first seen her. She’d been sitting behind a neat little desk in a majestic sitting room. Everything had intimidated him—the silk wallpaper, the fancy rug, the clean smell … her.

But she hadn’t treated him like the scrub he was. She had looked up at him with eyes that had stopped his heart in his chest—and then she’d said her name.

Paradise.

Her voice had been so beautiful, he hadn’t even heard her properly. And then he’d blown things completely by not shaking the hand she’d offered. The trouble was, his brain had frozen because she was so …

His body dematerialized without him being aware of it. One moment, he was suffering and stuck in his corporeal form … the next he was flying out from the pool. With no destination in mind, he tumbled through the air as he had the first few times he’d tried the trick after his transition—and then he got hold of himself and projected his form into the far corner, against the wall.

As he re-formed, Novo was already there, braced and ready, but massaging one of her shoulders as if she were either rubbing pain away or assessing if the damn thing had dislocated.

One by one, four more dripping and damp trainees made it out of the pool: The athletic male from the pommel horse. The one who looked like a murderer, who had piercings and tats on only one side of his face and neck. The guy who’d had his arm around Paradise. Another male who was tall and strong.

He had no idea what happened to—

The receptionist was the last to re-form, and Craeg had to turn away or exhibit an emotion that was unacceptable. To distract himself, he tried to see what was happening in the pool to the five who’d been left behind—

A door opened right beside them all, and as a stiff, cold breeze came at them, he smelled the outdoors.

Whatever was on the other side was dark.

“Who goes first,” Paradise asked.

“I will,” the pierced, Goth-looking male answered. “Nothin’ to lose.”

Craeg frowned as the sudden silence around them began seeming like a bad omen: The shooting had stopped. Which could mean that that part of the test was over … or the Brothers were taking aim again.

No, they were gone—all that was left in the pool were a couple of trainees who had broken in half, the soaking wet, sobbing figures sitting on the damp concrete with their heads in their hands or their bodies in the fetal position.

Shit. Where were the Brothers now?

“I’ll go with you,” he said to the Goth.

The pair of them were the biggest of the group, the tip of the spear, so to speak—and though he’d gone into this thinking about solo survival, he was beginning to reconsider that strident position. At least for the short term.

If an attack came at them, two were better than one.

Novo spoke up. “I’ll take the rear.”

The athlete fell in beside her. “I can help cover that, too.”

“You three,” Craeg ordered the blond female and her … mate? BF? And a guy who was good looking in a pretty-boy kind of way. “In the middle.”

At least that way, he wouldn’t worry about her.

Not that he was.

“Move out,” Craeg said.

He and the hard-core male went over the threshold together, their combined shoulders nearly filling what turned out to be a tunnel—and once they were in there, a distant flickering light became a guide they slowly progressed toward.

“What’s your name?” the Goth whispered.

“Craeg.”

“I’m Axe. Nice to fucking meet ya.”

Paradise expected anything to happen as they made their way as a group through the tunnel. Tight quartered, anxiety ridden, slow moving and wrung out, she waited for another shoe to drop, something to jump at them, fall on top of them, knock them down.

When they simply emerged outside by a bonfire, her jangling nerves didn’t know how to process the lack of attack.

And then her brain really couldn’t grapple with the fact that there was a table set up with bottles of water on it and energy bars and pieces of fruit.

Was this the end? she thought as she looked around at the pine trees, the underbrush, the stars above.

“I’m thirsty as hell,” Peyton said, beelining for the Poland Springs.

The male she couldn’t help but keep track of stopped him. “It could be a trap,” Craeg said, going over.

“You’re paranoid.”

“Did you try the food before? You like throwing up?”

Peyton opened his mouth. Closed it. Cursed.

Craeg measured the setup. Tapped the earth with the toe of his wet boot. Moved forward from the side in a crouched position. When he got close, he bent down and put his eyes on a level with the orderly array of bottles. He lifted the skirting on the table and looked underneath.

Then he picked one of the Poland Springs up slowly.

Paradise’s heart thundered. She was dehydrated, too—even after feeling like she had swallowed half that pool. But she was scared to get poisoned.

God, she had never been in this situation before—consumed by thirst, confronted by drink, and yet frozen from getting what she wanted.

“This is not sealed,” Craeg announced.

He picked up another one. And another. On the third, there was a crack! as he freed the cap. Taking a sniff of the open neck, he tested a sip.