The voice came again. “Help me.”
“No. Get out of my head.”
“Gaius, it’s Dara.”
He stilled, his hands curling into tight fists. “That’s impossible. You’re a trick of the Dark Lord.”
“No, Gaius,” the voice reassured him. “Your mistress is dead, but her death brought me here.”
He frowned. Was it possible?
The dimensions had been ripped open.
If the demons of hell could escape, why not the dead?
“You’re here?” he asked cautiously, his desperate need to be reunited with his mate warring with the memory of the last time he’d been lured by the promise of Dara.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Where?”
“Follow my scent.”
He hissed in shock as the evocative aroma of myrrh and cinnamon teased at his nose.
It was her.
No one else carried precisely that scent.
Only his mate.
Moving as if he were in a dream, Gaius stepped over the rotting corpses and forgotten weapons, headed toward a distant corner. As he neared, a black shadow seemed to shift, coalescing into a slender female form covered by a plain white gown stretched on the hard ground. His step quickened and the darkness again swirled to reveal an oval, honey-tinted face that was framed by a curtain of straight, blue-black hair.
“Dara.” Falling to his knees at her side, Gaius reached to stroke trembling fingers along the pure line of her jaw. “How is this possible?”
“We cannot speak now.” Her smile pierced his heart. “We must get out of here.”
Gaius frowned. “How? It’s almost dawn.”
She reached a slender hand to touch the medallion that still hung around his neck. “With this.”
Gaius pulled back. Had her slender body briefly turned to mist?
No. He gave a shake of his head. It had been a figment of his imagination.
This was Dara.
His beloved mate.
His heart couldn’t accept anything else.
“Where will we go?” he asked softly.
She offered another soul-stirring smile. “Anywhere we can be together.”
“Yes.”
Gathering her fragile body into his arms, Gaius laid his hand over the medallion and closed his eyes.