She stretched her hand toward the Fabergé egg on her night-stand and willed it to come to her. It didn’t move. She tried to transform it into a dagger. It stayed an egg. She attempted to make it vanish. It remained.

Bloody hell. What good was having a new power and not knowing what it was? She needed every edge to help her track down the ring. Anger coursed in her veins, filling her with a potent urge to destroy. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror. If she’d gone through all of that suffering for nothing … Her fist shot out and shattered the glass, leaving a spiderweb of cuts on her hand.

A door opened behind her. She scented Mikkel. He’d returned with her comar.

‘Leave the boy in the other room and come here.’ The gashes on her skin knit closed, leaving traces of blood behind.

‘Yes?’ Mikkel was at her side instantly. He took her hand and licked the blood away.

‘Don’t.’ She shivered in revulsion and yanked her hand back. Clutching it to her chest, she peered at him. Tried to read his thoughts. To get him to react in some way. Even setting him on fire would be a start.

Nothing. She cupped his face between her hands and stared into his gray eyes.

He smiled and reached for her hips. ‘That’s my girl—’

‘Quiet.’ She slapped his hands away, then replaced hers. She needed to think, to figure out what this new gift was. It would come to her. She just had to try harder. Maybe she could get into his head, see through his eyes. Become him.

Her spine tingled with energy. He jerked out of her grasp, his eyes wide. ‘How … what … you’re me.’

‘What?’ Her eyes refocused on her hands. Dark hair sprinkled wide knuckles and thick fingers. These were not her hands.

‘You’re me. Look.’ He pointed into the cracked mirror.

She turned. In a thousand different shards, two Mikkels stared back at her, one clothed, one not. She stared down at her transformed body. Mikkel’s body. Immediately, she imagined herself back in her own skin and just like that, she was. Without touching Mikkel, she tried to become him again. And did. She shifted back and forth a few times, then tried a few of the Dominus. Timotheius, Grigor, Syler … none were beyond her power. Her head spun and she tilted, catching hold of Mikkel as the dizziness took her. No power came without price.

‘Amazing,’ she whispered. ‘My new gift is mimicry.’

Laughter bubbled out of her throat as she changed back to her own form with a small amount of effort. ‘Get my robe. After I feed, we leave for the Americas.’

Mikkel nodded and held out the heavy crimson satin for her, helping her into it. She tied the robe’s sash and glanced once more into the shattered glass.

‘You will be unstoppable,’ he said.

‘Unstoppable? I will be the greatest ruler the vampire nation has ever seen.’ She smoothed her hair. ‘Lucky sod, indeed.’

‘Get off her,’ Fi yelled as she and Doc ran into the gym. She skidded to a stop at the scene before her.

‘Don’t think he’s listening.’ Doc pointed with the crossbow he still carried from patrolling.

Mal’s beast, as they’d named this curse-born rage state, crouched overtop Chrysabelle, looking at her like she was an allyou-can-eat buffet. He must have scratched her, because blood stained the fabric of her pajama pants. Not a good sign. Neither was the way Chrysabelle’s fingers were tightening around the handle of a nearby sword.

‘Doc, get the weapon.’

‘I think it’s fine where it is.’

‘You’re such a help.’ Fi realized Doc had probably never seen this side of Mal. She turned her attention to the beast. ‘I said, get off. Now.’ Mal had enough voices in his warped brain without adding another one. Plus there was the whole question of what might happen to her corporeal status if Chrysabelle lost hers. Or if Chrysabelle put that sword through his neck. As much as Fi hated being dead, being really dead would be worse.

Mal’s beast growled, his jaws inches from Chrysabelle’s face, but his words were aimed at Fi. ‘You’re not one of us anymore, mortal.’

‘Crap.’ That was exactly what Fi had been afraid of. In the past, she’d been able to talk to him from the inside, calm him down before the rage engulfed him and the beast took over. Being corporeal via Chrysabelle’s blood seemed to have rectified that. At least Fi didn’t have to hear those other voices anymore. They were enough to drive a person crazy. Obviously.

‘Everything’s fine,’ Chrysabelle whispered as she worked her fingers around the sword’s hilt.

‘Girl, you do not want to do that,’ Doc whispered back.

The beast dragged a clawed finger down her cheek and bared his fangs in a wicked snarl. ‘Everything is fine, isn’t it? You won’t like our version of fine, though.’

Fi edged closer. ‘Mal, I know you’re in there. Fight the voices. You can do it, you’ve done it before.’

His head whipped toward her. An eerie grin spread across his mutated face. ‘Malkolm is dead.’

‘No kidding, he’s a vampire. It’s a big part of the job description.’ Fi motioned behind her back for Doc to move in. She had to distract Mal enough to get him away from Chrysabelle before she took a swipe at him with that sword. ‘What are you after? Blood? I’ve got tons of that now.’

Mal shook his head. ‘This one needs to die.’

Fi caught Chrysabelle’s gaze, held up three fingers, and hoped to high heaven the comarré could take a hint. ‘What makes you so afraid of her, huh? She’s just a measly mortal, like me. Do you really want her in your head too?’