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understood why the Alpha disliked him and had no way of changing his opinion. Sylvia lay at the crux of that complicated mess.
    Instead, he stayed out of Derek’s way. Quite frankly, he didn’t know which one of them would win should Derek ever give over to his rage.
    At six feet eight inches, Derek was built like a linebacker, and Victor felt it wise to maintain his distance. Silver studs shone bright against the werewolf’s black skin. Piercings in his ears, nose and lip showed he could withstand constant pain. Only the strongest, or the craziest, of werewolves pierced themselves with the metal that burned them.
    Sometimes, though, he enjoyed tweaking the wolf’s tail, watching him erupt. It was a weakness, true. One he didn’t plan on fixing.
    These past few months he’d left Derek alone. Witnessing the Alpha’s agony over Sylvia’s abduction brought home his own pain. His failure to save his sister. Sweet Sylvia was in the hands of sadistic bastards. Another woman in his life destroyed on the whim of another.
    Anger over this delay ripped through him, and he wanted to blast the interfering Fae with an electrical bolt. How dare she stop them?
    He curled his fingers into tight fists, squeezed his almost uncontrollable rage into a tight ball and shoved it deep down inside. Starting a war with the Fae would not help Sylvia, no matter how satisfying he would find it.
    Markus nodded his head, unconcerned that several strands of his hair remained in Seraphina’s grasp. “Creature, you stay by my side until we’re through the portal. You will help my people or the prisoners when they need it. You may not allow harm to come to them if you can stop it. Understand?”
    “Mmm, I love a forceful man. I’ll gladly stay by your side,” she purred before nipping at Markus’ ear again. “We have an agreement. But first, I must change into my battle gear.”
    Victor shook his head in disbelief. The Fae was mental for poking the dangerous mage.
    Raising her arms to the sky, Seraphina threw her head back. Her hair writhed and danced in a non-existent wind, sinuously wrapping around her pale limbs. An erotic dance that left him lightheaded and lustful.
    Her short, white dress flowed from her body, disappearing wherever her hair touched it. Leather straps formed and crisscrossed over her breasts, scarcely covering them. A leather skirt now hung low on her hips and stopped mid-thigh.
    While he stared and wondered how the hell that getup would protect her, she pulled her hair to one side, showing off a bow and quiver of arrows. Great, stuck in the medieval ages. Damn Fae would die once the humans pulled out their guns.
    Then again, what did he care? One less Fae was a good thing.
    “Well, what are we waiting for?” she demanded as she grabbed a hold of Markus’ arm and stalked to the front, clearly impatient to continue.
    Interlude now over, the Enforcer men and women picked up the pace, eager for bloodshed.
    Sylvia’s abduction weighed on them. Her training and natural speed should’ve aided her. Instead, she’d disappeared without a struggle. Victor had searched the art gallery, thinking a clue had been missed. A useless hope. The Enforcers had scoured the place and found nothing. No video feed, no physical evidence and no eyewitnesses.
    Either she had left with someone she knew, which meant a traitor in their midst, or the humans had found a way to neutralize an Enforcer.
    Victor patted his pockets, checking his spell components and weapons. His long overcoat hid several pockets both inside and out. Made for mages, plastic lined each pocket, and each was divided into smaller compartments. Spell components took up little space, as most were powders and dusts. The main thing was to remember which component was where.
    Once he’d tried to put out a raging fire. He had thought he’d grabbed a pinch of rosemary for his rainstorm spell and instead had grabbed marjoram. The results had been disastrous. While he’d expected