“No.” Graham tilted his head to gaze at the ceiling, which was lost in darkness. “I think it’s on a ley line.”

“A what line . . . ?”

“Ley line,” Graham said. “Magical lines that radiate around the world, many with gateways to Faerie. The sucky thing is, Shiftertowns are sometimes built on ley lines. The Austin Shiftertown has one. My Shiftertown in Elko didn’t, but Bowman’s in North Carolina does. I didn’t think the Vegas one did; but I know there’s a ley line up by Hoover Dam. Probably the same one or a branch of it.”

Misty listened in surprise. “Why would Shifters build on the ley lines if they’re gates to Faerie? I thought you hated the Fae.”

Graham moved his gaze to her, while he absently petted the cubs, who were still huddled against him. “We didn’t build the Shiftertowns, did we? We were sent to them. Not our choice. Probably another Fae conspiracy—they’ve been trying from the beginning to make Shifters slaves to them. But I’m not letting Dougal or these little guys ever come under the Fae. Fae are cruel, evil shits, and we should eradicate them.”

“I am pained to hear it.”

Misty jumped. The tall Fae who’d been the hiker stood behind Graham, a long sword in his hands. He hadn’t been there a moment ago, and he hadn’t appeared with a bang or even a faint sparkle. One moment he’d not been there, and this moment, he was.

The cubs were on their feet. But instead of cringing against Graham, they were snapping and snarling at Oison.

Graham let out a sudden groan and clamped his hand to his side, right where he’d been shot. To Misty’s horror, the wound began to flow with blood. Graham sat in silence after the first grunt of pain, but his face lost color as the blood poured out.

Misty was on her feet. “Stop it!”

“He was only cured of the wound because of me,” Oison said calmly. “I can reverse the spell anytime I wish.”

“Wasn’t a cure,” Graham said through his teeth. “A curse, more like it.”

“I helped you, Shifter,” Oison said. “I took away the pain. I stopped the bleeding and ensured you didn’t take sick. That is not a curse. That is me helping the being I wish to see at my side. What I did is no different from you keeping your nephew safe from the wolves who torment him, or the cubs from predators. I look after my own.”

“Don’t even . . .” Graham rose to his feet, holding his side all the while. It pained him to stand, but he shook off Misty’s hand and got himself upright. “Don’t pretend you’re my pack leader or anything like it. You know damn all about being a leader.”

“And you know everything about it, which is why I want you.”

Graham dragged in a breath. “Well, I don’t want you, ass**le.”

Graham changed to his wolf so suddenly Misty blinked, and at the same time he leapt at Oison. Oison lifted his sword, and brought it down . . .

“No!” Misty screamed. She knocked into Graham. She couldn’t impact much of his momentum, but she managed to change his path so the sword didn’t reach him. The blade scraped across Misty’s side as Oison swung it, biting deep before the Fae yanked it back.

She heard snarling, huge and ferocious from Graham, small and vicious from the cubs. Then pain. Nothing but pain.

It flooded her body, blotting out all sight, all sound, all other feeling. She must have fallen, but Misty didn’t register it, only found herself facedown on shining black rock. She heard cries of agony she didn’t realize she was making.

Kyle licked her nose, yipping in distress. Graham was roaring, his blood splashing down on her, or maybe that was her blood. The pain was complete, erasing past and future, any pleasure Misty had ever experienced. There was nothing but hurting, and she’d never feel anything but pain again.

The Fae shouted, and dimly Misty heard a clatter of his sword. Graham’s snarling went on, and then his body landed next to hers, human once more, blood pouring out of him. He got to his hands and knees and put his strong hand on her head.

“Misty. Stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Misty said. Or thought she said.

Kyle left off licking her face. He joined Matt, the two of them bracing themselves in front of Oison, who was still standing, minus his sword. Oison looked angry. He pointed at them, as he had in the dream.

“No,” Misty whispered.

She had no clue what Oison’s pointing finger could do—shoot fire? Cast another spell? Move back and forth while he admonished them? Misty wanted to claw her way to the cubs, to protect them, but she couldn’t move.

Graham was moving instead. He was shifting as he dragged himself to the cubs, leaving a trail of blood smeared on the polished black floor. He leapt at Oison, his mouth wide, teeth bared. Oison spun out of his way nimbly, but Graham followed him with great agility, his claws going for Oison’s throat.

Oison dropped, rolled across the ground, and came up with his sword in his hand. The blade hummed, runes on it glowing like fire.

He shouted a word, pointing the sword at Graham. Graham fell in midair, his body thumping to the rock floor with an awful sound. The cubs ran to him, positioning themselves on either side of him, howling furiously.

Oison kept shouting words Misty didn’t understand. Graham was silent, but he rocked in pain. The intensity of the pain came to Misty as though threads connected her with Graham, squeezing her heart, making her ache for him.