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its own this was a threatening sound, even hair-raising. Soria knew better, though it was difficult to piece together anything coherent. However it was that her mind absorbed the languages of others, proximity was required, and time. Without being in his presence, Soria could not hold on to the meanings of each sound.
    But some things lingered more than she expected.
    No,
she heard him whisper.
No. Impossible.
    He looked miserable and ill, as though he hardly had the strength to lift his head. Soria waited for him to realize that he was not alone.
    When he did, it was a breathless moment. A profound stillness fell over him, a tremendous quiet—and the way he sat, staring, made her think of every time in the past year she had awakened in the night to a strange sound, pulled from one nightmare into the possibility of another. Vulnerable, frightened. Ready to fight.
    He began speaking again, but the only words Soria understood were “who” and “here.” His tone was firm yet reasonable, and there was an undercurrent of strength that she recognized.
    Do not fuck with him,
thought Soria, at the men and women in the video.
Do not move.
    But one of them did.
    It was Serena, stepping from behind, sunglasses pushed up. A faint light was in her eyes. The man twisted inside the coffin to look at her, and a tremor raced through him, his voice snarling into a jumble of words.
    You,
Soria heard, understanding only fragments.
You. Here. Dare you.
He sounded furious. Soria watched the video version of Serena hiss, golden light streaming from her good eye, teeth dropping into fangs. Fingers lengthening into claws.
    The man moved. Soria did not see him leave the coffin—the camera image jumped too much for that—but bodies scrambled, and between them she glimpsed a blur. Heard shouts, screams. Other men moved in, wielding the pickaxes and shovels they had been digging with.
    When the camera steadied again, the shifter-man was on the other side of the tomb. He did not attack, but studied those around him with pure disdain twisting at his mouth. He was huge compared to everyone else, his size and presence filling the small dark space until Soria began to feel claustrophobic simply watching.
    Give you. Mercy,
he rumbled dangerously.
Leave now.
But no one understood.
    Ripples of light surged over his limbs. Soria glimpsed scales, and flinched as one of the men lunged with a shout, swinging a shovel. He never got close. The shifter knocked the shovel away and caught the man across the face with a blow so strong his head whipped around a full one hundred eighty degrees. Neck broken. Head crushed. The camera jerked backward, picture tumbling wildly, until suddenly it stopped. It was still filming, but all Soria could see was feet and falling bodies.
    Serena reached out and shut the laptop screen. “We were unprepared for him. Then, and later.”
    Soria wet her lips, trying to steady herself. The group had been at a serious disadvantage, being unable to communicate. “He could have been reasoned with. He gave you chances not to fight.”
    “Only because he was in a weakened state,” the shape-shifter replied. “He killed several before we subdued him. And then later, during transport to this place.”
    It was a miracle they had stopped him at all, given his size and fury. Soria asked, “Had that coffin been tampered with?”
    “No.” Serena touched the young Chinese man’s shoulder, and without a word he stood and left the room. When he was gone the shape-shifter added, “You saw the rubble between the pillars? That was a seal. A door. We spent almost six months studying it before another aftershock brought it down. We learned enough, though. By our estimates, it was set in place several thousand years ago.”
    “Several thousand?” Soria echoed, jaw aching. “Really.”
    Serena’s long finger tapped idly against the laptop. “Perhaps three, to be exact. You think I lie?”
    Something cold and hard settled in Soria’s chest. “I