If Rowan an Morgaine, whose mere presence made him feel more whole than he had ever known was possible, could not incite him to passion, then he would never be able to truly have a mate. He would always be alone. And cold.

His instinct demanded that he keep Rowan near him. But he wanted more. To forever be denied it, the intangible something that hovered ever just beyond his reach, would destroy all that was left of him.

"I'll keep running, Lucien," Rowan hissed, no doubt wishing him destroyed already. "You've taken everything from me. There's nothing you could give me that I want."

"Ah," Lucien murmured, savoring the moment, "but I think there is. The Dyadd Morgaine are ... were ... a rather fiercely loyal lot, yes?" When she simply glared at him, green eyes venomous, he continued. "So I would think that any Dyim would do whatever it took to protect another. For instance, a wayward brother whose return to a certain forest has been a woefully ill-kept secret. Drak knows what might befall him if he attracted the wrong sort of interest, what with his, mmm, interesting abilities. Pain. Torture. Or worse ..."

He watched her digest it, saw the defiant light in her eyes gradually fade as the implications of what he'd said set in. Saw her mouth the name of the one who had stupidly, unwittingly allowed himself to be the thing that would at last drive Rowan into the arms of her waiting dragon.

Bastian.

The Drak still smiled upon his dark children after all, Lucien thought. In his hour of need he had been saved.

He laughed, though it was barely audible over the whispering rush of different realities brushing constantly against one another. The Tunnels had a deceptively soft sound, one that had been known to cause madness in those who listened too long. Lucien's smile widened, now much closer to a triumphant snarl. If the daemon were right, Bastian an Morgaine, only son of the Goddess and doting brother to his beloved, was back in this world. If he had to hunt him down with the blackest magic in order to make Rowan accept him, he would do so. She would not refuse him again. And though he thought that what had been done to her people was distasteful at best, he was ready to do whatever must be done.

Rowan was a lone bright spark in the cold darkness that had been his existence. Ironic that the pain he sought to escape might be all that could bring her to him.

But if that was so ... then so it would be done.

He knew she was gone the moment he awoke.

Gabriel didn't bother to dress. He'd opened his eyes with fear rippling over his skin, gooseflesh raised over every inch of his body. Not thinking, running on instinct, he'd Changed before his paws had even hit the floor. Limbs lengthened, fur sprouted almost instantaneously as he'd sensed trouble better faced as a Wolf somewhere out in the night. And of course it had to do with Rowan. The woman's middle name was probably "trouble," or whatever the Drakkyn equivalent was. It would almost have been funny, the way she seemed to embody absolute disaster, had he not been gripped with the terrifying certainty that this time she'd put herself in mortal danger.

It was the dream that had wakened him, Gabriel thought as he raced down the hallway, not even bothering to look into the room where she was supposed to be sleeping. Rowan had been standing in the midst of some sort of terrible battle, watching the carnage with eyes that seemed to hold all the sadness of the world. He'd pulled her away into darkness and safety, desperate to remove the defeat he saw so clearly stamped across every beautiful feature. And when she'd finally turned to him, instead of the brash and difficult woman he'd met at Iargail, there had been a wounded and fragile creature with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. It might have been nothing but a dream, but he didn't think he would ever forget the hope and fear intermingled in Rowan's gaze when she'd asked him whether he would love her.

In his sleep, he'd been sure he could. Upon waking, all he knew for certain was that he was feeling something strong for her. Whether it would wind up being love or just an uncontrollable need to throttle her was still, in his mind, completely up in the air.

But he was never going to find out if the woman managed to destroy herself and/or the world as he knew it. Unfortunately, he had a bad feeling that was exactly what she was up to. And the closer he got to the chamber of the Lia Fáil, the more certain he was that Rowan was down there. Worse, that she was not alone.

Gabriel growled low in his throat as he approached the old chapel, seeing the gaping hole in the ground just as it had been that terrible night Malachi had tried to destroy them all. He raced toward it, feeling the warm rush of sensation that he had come to understand was his own awareness of the Stone. In the months since his cousin's betrayal that sensation had become a comfort. But something was wrong. The entrance was dark, the torches extinguished. And from the deep darkness beneath the ground poured waves of icy air that slapped at the skin beneath his fur and stung his eyes.

Gabriel's massive paws made no sound as he descended, the cold seeming to thicken as the steps curved ever downward. His night vision, always exceptionally sharp, threatened to fail him in the oppressive darkness. It was only memory, and the fact that he'd been down only the night before, that kept his feet from faltering. He slowed as he approached the door at the bottom, sensing rather than actually seeing that it was swung wide. It was no real surprise. What he hadn't expected was the absolute pitch blackness that poured from the chamber itself, nor the low, insistent rushing sound that seemed to be coming from inside. It wasn't exactly loud. But something about the noise scraped against his nerves so badly that he wanted to cover his ears and howl.

Gabriel stopped just outside, crouching low to the ground, ears pinned back against his head. His impulse was always to rush in. But if, as he suspected, Rowan's would-be lover had shown up to claim what he believed was his, caution was necessary. The little he'd seen of what the Andrakkar were capable of had taught him that, if nothing else. Still, it was hard to stay motionless when a deep and disembodied voice echoed through the chamber and reached his ears.

"Your tears disappoint me, Rowan. Did you really think I'd just let you go?"

"Don't worry, you bastard. These tears aren't for you. I would never waste them like that."

Her voice, at least, sounded strong. But the thought of Rowan in there, making her stand alone with tears still wet on her cheeks, was more than Gabriel could bear. His muscles tensed, claws digging in for purchase on the weathered stone floor. He squinted into the chamber, but there was nothing, not even a faint hint of where Rowan stood. Gabriel gritted his teeth. He was going to have to go with scent alone. It would have been less nerve-wracking if he were going to get more than one chance. Thankfully, he found he was already so attuned to her that after only a few quick breaths he had no doubt as to where she was.

Or where he was, for that matter. Gabriel bared his teeth, razor-sharp, as he caught a faint whiff of smoke and something unsettlingly like incense. Childhood memories of attending the occasional mass flickered dimly in his memory, and in his animal form there was only one impression that kept repeating in his mind, strange but somehow fitting—Lucien Andrakkar smelled like a burning church.

"They're wasted, nonetheless. Come to me, and all will be forgiven." That voice was like dark velvet, sinfully soft but with an undercurrent of evil that raised Gabriel's hackles as almost nothing ever had. Such a voice could have belonged to the devil himself. And perhaps it did. He waited for Rowan's tart retort, knew this was the moment she would bring things to their breaking point. But the silence simply spun out for long moments, leaving Gabriel beginning to shiver in the frigid air, until at last he heard her reply. It was quiet, thoughtful. And utterly defeated.

It was the last thing Gabriel had ever expected.

"If you'll keep your word, then I will come."

In that instant he knew how she must look. She would be as he had seen her in his dream, a broken goddess, resigned to a future so bleak that to look into her eyes was to see nothing but an endless abyss. He could not let it happen.

Not to his mate.

That dark voice was now laced with delight. "Reach out... that's it. Just grasp my hand, and I'll pull you through ..."

Hot rage seared his soul like nothing ever had, not even the first time he had battled this very Drakkyn scum. That he would even presume to lay a hand on her, to touch what was not his to take, caused a fury to coil tighter and tighter within Gabriel's chest until it became no less than a killing rage. His blood boiled, his heartbeat roared in his ears until the darkness, the cold, the world outside the chamber was all but forgotten.

I am Wolf. And she is mine.

At that simple thought something within him snapped. Gabriel sprang forward with a deafening roar, clearing an incredible distance and pistoning into Rowan, knocking her to the ground. He barely heard her pained gasp as he slammed into her, his only thought to keep her here, keep her safe. One quick snarl to warn her to stay, and Gabriel moved to place himself between her and the Stone. It was, he now knew, the source of that horrible, pulsing blackness. Their precious beacon of light, used for blasphemy.

For once Rowan did as he asked and stayed silent and still. Small consolation, considering what he was now facing. One of the Andrakkar, the serpent-sorcerers who wanted to kill his Pack. This one in particular sounded extremely displeased.

"A thousand years without the arukhin, and now it's impossible to be rid of them! Is this who you choose to hide behind, then? A lesser shifter of polluted blood and questionable skill, so far removed from our people that he barely knows who he is?" Lucien stood just beyond the Stone in some other chamber, cassock flapping in an alien breeze, violet eyes burning. He was so furious he was nearly spitting. As Gabriel stood still, a menacing growl his only answer, the ground began to shake ominously.

"/ will make you pay, wretched shifter, for this insult. You are not fit to guard your pathetic world, much less a woman such as she. Leave now, or you're about to learn an entirely new definition of pain. This is no business of yours. Rowan is mine."

Gabriel remained where he was, hearing Rowan's rapid and shallow breaths behind him. Her terror was a palpable thing. So, now, was his determination to protect her. He was barely capable of intelligible speech in Wolf form, but with a guttural snarl, he managed to make his position perfectly clear.