"... not yet identified a direct link between compatibility of Destined pairs and abilities. In fact, researchers have theorized levels of a certain hormone that enters the bloodstream upon activation of a mate bond may result in the manifestation of particular abilities..."

—Hallie Jones, Talk Show Host, The Jones Show, Season 4, episode 7

The first thing Wylan noticed was the floor underneath him moving.

The second thing was the muted sobbing close to him. His head, neck, and shoulders ached fiercely. With a groan, he sat up. Opened his eyes.

His arms were yanked tight and zip-tied tightly behind him. His fingertips touched cool, uneven sheet metal. His legs were similarly zip-tied at the ankles.

Someone had propped him upward against the wall of what was essentially a small metal box. A dark metal box. He peered around, trying to make sense of the surrounding darkness.

Someone across from him sobbed again. They couldn't have been but a few feet, if even, from his own spot. And yet, he could not see them. "Hey."

The crying sounded like it was coming from a woman, however, a male voice from the across the way answered him. "We're in a storage container of some sort."

Wylan locked onto the voice and frowned. "'We're'?"

"Mary, I, and you."

Mary.

"And you are?" Wylan asked carefully.

"My name is Greg."

"Mary and Greg... Daniels?"

"You know us?"

Stars. Fucking. Damn. It.

What were the odds? Maybe, in all this shit storm, the Stars had decided to give Wylan one thing. Just one.

He'd found the Daniels.

"Just us?" He asked carefully.

"There's another guy. He's still out."

"How long has he been here?"

"He came when you did."

Thad maybe? If only he could see in this unending nightmare.

If it was Thad, the fact they were alive right now and not in a pit or discarded off the side of a highway was an absolute miracle.

But why keep them alive?

"Was he visibly injured?" Wylan asked.

"It was hard for my eyes to adjust when they finally opened the door," Greg said. "But he looked to be in about the same condition."

Relief settled like a cool blanket over his skin.

Chasing that relief was a tightness he identified as worry. Because where the fuck was Iris?

They'd dragged her away. Tucked her into a vehicle and drove off. And he hadn't been quick enough, strong enough, sharp enough to stop it.

It would be a regret he would live with for the rest of his life. Just knowing now his mate, his Destined, was in danger and he could do nothing to stop it, had his entire body tensing up.

What if she was—? He cut off the thought, sensing the emotional spiral that would only accompany that thought. Iris needed someone to help her, and emotionality would only slow him down.

And so he took one huge breath, sucking in air until his lungs cried out, and then slowly released it. He ignored the aching muscles and all the other pains.

This was what he trained for. This moment was what made true agents. And this moment was one that he'd spent all of his years training for. They'd done the hard work for him, presenting him right to Iris' parents.

"Greg, Mary, my name is Wylan Garrick. I believe that man over there is my partner, Thad Thompson. We are agents for the Crown." His fingers worked at the zip ties, trying to trace the lines and find a way out. "We will do everything we can to get you out safely and back to your daughter."

"How do you know about our daughter?"

Somehow, in the darkness and the serious of the situation, Wylan found a small grin. "Your daughter is a good friend of ours."

~

Something slammed into Iris' side. And then splashed over her. Water.

Iris sputtered awake. Blinking through bleary eyes, she came to.

"About time," a voice said. "I was starting to worry we'd overdosed you. You're a lot smaller in person."

Iris blinked and glanced around her. She was in a warehouse of some sort, rows of racking and piles of plastic wrapped boxes of materials stacked up around her. She couldn't pinpoint how big the place was. The racking was too tall and dense around her.

They'd tied her around the waist, her arms trapped at her side. One of the metal poles dug into her back. Her hair was stringy and stuck to her cheeks.

A man was crouched in front of her. A skinny man with a full head of dark hair and a carefully pressed gray suit. He tsked at her, his eyes roaming her frame. "What would the kingdom say if they saw Driana now?"

Iris frowned at him, trying to ignore the fear that settled like a cold weight in her stomach at that name. Driana.

He knew.

She'd never been good at feigning ignorance, but her gut told her that her life was on the line. She would play as best she could. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Who are you?"

The man shook his head. His eyes glittered. "I love a game just as much as anyone else, but this is a little pathetic, don't you think?" He got closer to her, enough that she could see the line of stubble along his jaw.

Who was this man?

He reached forward and tucked some of her muddy hair behind her ear. She flinched back from his touch, nausea curling up inside her. As if her body automatically responded to the evil hidden in his calm tone. "We did a DNA test."

Her ears rang. How had they been able to do a DNA test?

"There's quite a few people looking for you, Princess Driana," he said.

They did a DNA test. He thought she was Princess Driana. That meant...

Something unlocked inside her, as if now, the solidifying truth caused a physical reaction. Any doubts she'd had about who she was slid away.

Reality settled its claws into her skin.

Princess Driana Stasia Antonov.

Me, Iris thought. It really is me.

The man tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "You didn't know?" He threw his head back and cackled. "Oh, it just keeps getting better."

"My name is Brannon," he said, "and depending how the next few minutes go, I may be the very last face you see, Driana."

She tried desperately to find her voice box. "You—you killed all those women?"

Brannon put a hand to his chest. "Me? Of course not. I am nothing but a facilitator, my dear. But it's nice to know you've noticed our work."

Work. As if it were nothing but a project he'd been a part of rather than ripping away other people's lives. Her lip curled.

"If it helps, we've finally found what we've been searching for." Brannon stood slowly, uncurling what Iris noted to be a very tall frame as he came to his full height. "I've waited for this moment for quite a long time."

He checked a sleek watch on his wrist. "And as much as I love the idea of sitting here relishing in this moment, I am not particularly stupid. The longer we sit here, the more opportunity we give to those with resources to just maybe find you. I did not work as hard as I did so that they could sweep this moment from me."

He gestured to his left. A bulky man in sweats came around the aisle and handed a tablet to Brannon.

Brannon presented the screen to her.

It was a small room of some sort, and a greenish film covered the picture, as if it was some type of night vision. But as her brain processed the picture in front of her, terror washed through her and held on.

They tied her parents up next to each other, her mother crying. Her father looked across the way at Wylan. Wylan, who was similarly tied up. In the corner was Thad, who was passed out, his hands bound tight behind his back.

Brannon noticed her reaction. "It's not just the parents, is it? I noticed how that agent—Wylan Garrick, is it?—reacted to you in the field. Marisol noted it as well. Caught a bit of feelings for the agent, have we?"

He handed the tablet back to the burly guy who walked away. "He might have saved you once or twice, but dear, that's no reason to love the man. He's just doing his job." He glanced around them pointedly. "And a terrible job at that."

"I figured we have two options here," Brannon continued. "I will let you decide. After all, can't have anyone thinking I'm not magnanimous."

"First option is simple," Brannon said. He crouched again in front of her, so that he could look her straight in the eye. There was nothing but hollow, inky apathy behind those eyes. "Just play nice. I think you might be useful to us. Work with us, and I'll keep you and them all alive."

"Us?"

"The Circle." Brannon smirked. "Nothing too scary. It's only a matter of making the decisions we want you to make. Grease the palms we need you to." He looked at her pointedly as he said, "Marry the candidate we choose for you."

A tear slid hot down her cheek. "And if I don't?"

"Then your life is forfeit. And so is theirs." Brannon settled an elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his palm. "Choose carefully, Driana."