"It's likely a panic over nothing. I just thought you should know."

But it played on my mind until Peter called me later that afternoon.

"Got some news. Thought you might wanna know," he said.

"What is it?" I asked. "Has Mac shown his face yet?"

"Not to me. Val got an address out of those shifters. They were a bit cold to her when she approached them, but this morning, one of them contacted her."

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

I could hear his amus.e.m.e.nt over the phone. "He said Daimhn confirmed Val's story. Apparently, she confirmed that the h.e.l.lhound has been looking for a way to escape you for ages."

"Escape me? What, like moving onto fae territory?"

"Whatever Daimhn's game is, it worked," he said. "She helped us, whether she meant to or not."

"She doesn't help for free, which is something we should probably worry about."

"Worry tomorrow. Wanna come with? We're checking out a farm in Meath. It's supposed to be a favoured hangout for new pack members, but Val didn't like the vibe she got from Daimhn's bodyguards, so it could be trouble."

"Sounds interesting. Yeah, I definitely want to see this for myself. No luck on any of the other leads?"

"Turns out there are no other leads. n.o.body's seen any of the free shifters, or those closest to them, for quite a while."

That took me aback. "They're all missing?"

"Not necessarily. From what I hear, all of their belongings are gone, too, so they could have decided to run. I'm sure we'll find out what's really going on soon enough. We'll pick you up in an hour. Be ready."

I changed while I was waiting. I was curious about the farm. Was it a hideout or a meeting place, what had made the shifters decide to help Val, and why the h.e.l.l had Daimhn suddenly decided to pitch in? Likely her perverseness kicking in. I couldn't get in touch with her until night, anyway. Her current a.s.sistant was a volunteer, and I didn't trust the man's word. Humans could be manipulated-and unfortunately, they weren't the only ones.

When Val and Peter arrived to pick me up, I sensed the antic.i.p.ation in the car. The scar on Peter's chin deepened as he spoke, and his hazel eyes glistened with excitement. He'd rolled up his sleeves, displaying muscular, hairy forearms and the occasional flash of the crosses tattooed on his wrists.

Val was barely containing her h.e.l.lhound half. Her shoulders bulged into a half-shift, and the b.u.mps that ran from her forehead down to the nape of her neck kept sharpening and disappearing again. They were both looking for trouble, and I would have to be the boring one who kept them both on a leash, especially if we b.u.mped into Mac. He had likely wound us up in the hopes that we would attack first and give him a reason to get rid of us for good.

After well over an hour of driving, we pulled up outside a ma.s.sive gate surrounded by thick, unkempt hedges on an isolated country road.

"This is it," Val said.

"There might as well be a sign outside calling this a trap," Peter said.

I got out of the car and stood inside the open gate. A winding dirt track led toward several buildings, which were more barn than farmhouse. Beyond those were empty, sloping fields, and I barely made out the outline of a small cottage on the horizon. Most importantly, there were no cars and no signs of life nearby. So why did the shifters send Val here?

Peter leaned out the window. "Might as well do this properly."

"And when we get done for trespa.s.sing?" I asked.

"The gate's open, and Val was invited." He grinned. "In for a penny."

I got back into the car, and we drove through the gates and up the dirt track to the first barn.

Peter slowed then cut the engine. We all got out of the car. The barn was locked. The padlock and chain seemed excessive, given that the farm was in the middle of nowhere. It was decrepit, too. The only sign of life was the well-trodden path of flattened earth leading up to the doors.

Val pushed Peter out of the way and gripped the chain and lock. With a grunt, her shoulders expanded. I knew without looking that her eyes had turned red. She yanked the chains apart in one swift movement then flung the pieces aside. I gaped at Peter, who shrugged in a helpless gesture.

Val pulled open the doors before I could stop her, but the barn was completely empty. Still, something bothered me. I reached out with my other senses and spread out, trying to find signs of life. Many lazy spots of energy cl.u.s.tered beneath us.

"Underneath," I said after a moment. "There are people underneath the barn. Shifters. Be careful," I warned as the others immediately began their search.

The barn was full of dried-up hay and old tools, but I caught sight of footprints in the dust. I followed the trail to where it ended at a pile of musty-smelling sacks. I kicked them out of the way, revealing a trapdoor. I pulled it free, hearing the others make sounds of surprise behind me. The way below was dark, but I could make out steps.

"One of you stay and keep watch," I whispered then nodded when Val made to follow me. Peter looked impatient, but he didn't complain.

We descended the damp-smelling stairs until we reached the bottom. After a moment, my eyes adjusted to the weak lights illuminating a wooden hallway.

"This way," I said under my breath, taking the lead. Something pulled me onward, telling me I was supposed to be there. Maybe a lost soul needed me. I crossed my fingers. Please let me be in time.

Partway down the hallway, we began to find heavy wooden doors with crudely cut narrow openings large enough to see through. Behind the doors, people lay on beds, weak and unconscious, but breathing.

"Shifters," Val said.

"Free ones, once," I guessed. "Go upstairs and tell Peter to call Shay immediately. He needs to see this. Ask him to get in touch with Willow. She'll want to know about this."

Val left at once, and I carried on the search. The doors were all locked, and I could have easily found a way to unlock them, but the people within were safe for the moment. I needed to make sure Shay saw the entire scene as it I'd found it. If the makeshift prison was Mac's doing, and he'd intended to keep Esther there, then he was in trouble. Our find could solve all of our problems. But then I remembered that the shifters had willingly sent Val to the farm. To ambush her? Being held captive would kill Val. I made a mental note to punch Mac right in the nose next time I saw him.

At the very last door, the occupant was stirring, moaning as if waking from a disturbing dream.

"Don't worry," I said. "We've found you. You're safe now."

She blinked a couple of times and found me at the door. She seemed to understand I wasn't a shifter or a risk to her because she nodded then murmured, "Others. More."

"I'll find them," I promised her, and she fell back asleep.

I raced back to Val and Peter, my stomach turning. "I'm going to check out the other buildings," I said. "One woman was starting to wake up. Keep an eye out for Shay, and be careful in case the shifters planned for Val to come here and get locked up herself."

"Sc.u.mbags," Peter said hoa.r.s.ely. "They deserve-"

I squeezed his arm. "They're found out now. They won't get away with this anymore. This is a win, Peter. n.o.body can defend this c.r.a.p."

Val went to check on the women while Peter stayed at the front door to keep watch. I took his car and drove out to the next barn. It was falling apart, apparently succ.u.mbing to the last storm. There had been a trapdoor inside, but it was completely collapsed. I really hoped n.o.body had been in there.

I travelled on to the final barn then, dreading what I might find next. The door was already open, and a sack of rancid meat had toppled over outside. Wary, I crept into the barn and found the trapdoor. It had been ripped open.

"Weird," I whispered. I felt as though I were walking into a trap, but a desperate need to know made me keep going. Shay was on his way. No matter what happened, I would free those people.

Downstairs, there were more cells. My stomach sank as every cell I pa.s.sed revealed female occupants-all heavily pregnant.

"What the h.e.l.l?" I said under my breath. Then I heard movement from one of the cells. I chanced a look within. The pregnant woman inside looked deranged. She screeched when she saw me and flung herself at the door. Her scalp was visible under many bald patches, and her face was full of scratches. Her claws were present, as though she couldn't quite stop the oncoming shift. I backed away, terrified that the woman might harm herself because of me. If so many of the shifter women were pregnant, then it had to be by design, but that one poor woman looked absolutely insane.

I swallowed hard. Was that what untethered really meant, or had she been tormented?

I made my way upstairs again, sickened by what I had seen. I sent Peter a brief text, describing what I had encountered, but I switched off my phone, unable to stomach talking about it or saying the words aloud. Mac was sick, and he would pay.

Just to put the barns behind me, I moved on toward the run-down cottage in the distance. Filthy off-white net curtains hung across the broken windows. I got out of the car, needing to breathe fresh air. But I caught the scent of death instead.

A shiver of fear ran down my spine as I moved toward the cottage. The stench only intensified. The cottage hid death in its midst. At the doorway, I hesitated. The door had been torn off the hinges. And the distinct smell of old blood surrounded the frame. Splashes of it decorated the dirt, drying in place in a strangely hypnotic pattern.

I forced myself to step into the cottage. My eyes watered as the worst of the smell hit me, and my stomach roiled. The decaying body on the dusty floor before me had been there for days, probably since the meeting with the Senate. Mac's eyes were wide open and gla.s.sy, the only part of him unmarked. His mouth was distorted into a frozen image of terror, and a chunk of his cheek had been ripped away completely. Or eaten.

Somebody had tortured the shifter alpha. He was almost naked, his potbelly relaxed in death. I lifted the collar of my T-shirt to cover my mouth and chin in a vain attempt to stave off the smell as I moved closer to the body. Most of his body was bitten, scratched, or otherwise injured. His chest was bruised and covered in deep scratches and some kind of friction burn. Purple welts marked his wrists and ankles. His arms and legs were broken badly. The bite marks looked savage and many had ripped flesh free, too.

How many of my friends had wished him harm over the last week? We were in trouble. A killer was out there, torturing men and leaving women trapped underground. Had Mac been the perpetrator at all? Or had he caught the true criminal in the act? I couldn't make sense of the scene.

The smell overwhelmed me, and I had to run outside. I dry-retched, barely noticing a car approach. I a.s.sumed Shay had turned up to view the scene, but when I looked up, I saw a group of shifters.

The leader sniffed the air, puzzled. "Death," he said, and ran into the cottage.

The other four surrounded me.

"Relax." I held up my hands. "It wasn't me."

"Mac's dead!" came the shout from inside the cottage.

Strong hands gripped me from all directions. I struggled against the muscular arm around my neck, but it was no use-I was outnumbered. I really hoped Shay was on his way.

"It wasn't me," I said. "It's not a fresh kill, and he's covered in bites."

"So you came to relive the crime," a voice hissed in my ear. "And we all know you have fangs."

"You're being stupid," I said. "And I saw all those women you have locked up underground. The whole world's going to know what you lot have been up to."

A sudden blow to the side of my head made me dizzy. The tallest shifter, a mean-looking skinhead, gripped my ponytail and held me in place. The redheaded twins yanked my arms tightly behind my back as something was attached to my wrists. I managed to swivel my head enough to see they were the old Council's tags.

"What's this? Can't afford your own equipment?"

"Shut up." The skinhead pulling my hair kicked the back of my knee, forcing me to the ground. "We need to lock her up before she manages to escape."

"But she's tiny." The youngest of the group danced from one foot to the other in front of us, casting hesitant glances toward the cottage. He was likely in his early twenties, and for a shifter, he looked incapable of growing more than a few tufts of fuzz on his chin and upper lip.

"Never underestimate the tainted," the skinhead argued.

"n.o.body's ever been able to keep her in the cells," one of the twins said.

"We could keep her here," his brother replied.

The first twin snorted. "If Fionnuala couldn't keep her in the Council cells, then what chance do we have at holding her in a barn?"

"Not much," I said.

"Quiet, you," he ordered.

The skinhead gripped my hair a little tighter. "You know where we have to take her. We'll just watch her constantly. We lock her up, and then she can go on trial."

"Are you kidding me?" I managed to choke out a laugh. "Somebody out there killed your alpha, and you're talking about my trial?"

"You hate him. You and your people," the leader shouted from the doorway of the cottage. "Now you finally get what you deserve."

"We hated him because he treated us like s.h.i.t. He was a total a.r.s.ehole. But just because we don't like someone doesn't mean we torture them to death! What are you even thinking? His killer is walking free because you're wasting time on me."

"M-maybe she has a point," the youngest shifter whimpered.

"Enough!" the leader said. "I'll stay here and tend to the body. Haul her into the car and take her to the old Council cells. It's the only place that'll keep her. Watch out for her buddies. She might not be alone."

So they had missed Val and Peter. I bit my lip, hoping the pair of them knew better than to get involved.

The skinhead shoved me roughly into the back of the car, likely leaving bruises in awkward places. The twins argued over who had to sit in the back with me. The youngest shifter, apparently accepting his fate, meekly climbed into the back as the skinhead jumped into the driver's seat.

I ended up squashed between two sweaty shifters in the back. I tried to breathe through my mouth and not panic. My arms were already burning, my shoulders hot from the position. How the h.e.l.l am I going to find a way out of the cells this time? n.o.body would know where the shifters were taking me, and I was pretty sure the so-called trial was mostly of the fict.i.tious nature.

The car pulled away jerkily, sadly avoiding getting stuck in the mud. As we left the farm, more cars approached the gates. The twin next to me swore and pushed me down so my face rested against my knees. The car sped up and got away, but the shifters remained tense.

"This isn't comfortable in any way," I complained.

"Quiet," one of the twins said.

"Let her sit up," Skinhead said. "We've a lot to do, and I don't want her complaints to interfere with that."

The twin to my right yanked me into sitting position by my ponytail. I had cramps everywhere by then.

"There'll need to be a ceremony," one of the twins said.

The youngest chewed on his fingernails. "Who's next to be alpha?"

"I meant his death, not his successor, idiot."

"We need an alpha." The boy sounded whiney, maybe even afraid, and the twin next to me made a sound of disgust.

I moved in my seat in an attempt to get comfortable. I had to think. There were four shifters in the car, and I didn't fancy my chances in a fight, what with my arms tied behind my back. I could cause a problem, and we might crash. But I was the only one without a seatbelt and would probably shoot right out of the window. I c.o.c.ked my head to the side. On second thought, that might not be a terrible idea. I contemplated my chances for survival as the car turned onto the motorway.

The boy thumped my arm. "I'm talking to you!"

I blinked up at him. "Huh?"

His blue eyes looked watery, and the stench of his anxiety filled the car. "I said, did he suffer?"

"I didn't kill him, dumba.s.s. And did you see his body? He was tortured. Of course he suffered."

A collective growl went up around me.