Nausea roiled within his gut, and his head became fuzzy, thoughts refusing to form properly—and yet what could he know about what was done unto him the now? He was alive no longer, his body an abode which had been locked by death’s key against his soul’s reentry . . . unless all his prayers to be of service unto his first cousin had been honored? Mayhap—

A free fall followed a sudden release of the stifling compaction, his senses informing him that he was set upon a descent through air that offered no sufficient drag to slow him down. And as he strained to see where he was, his vision left him. Throwing out his arms, he clasped at nothing. Kicking his legs, he encountered nothing. Twisting and turning . . . he came up against nothing.

And in the midst of it all, there was no fear, only rage, as was his nature.

Dhunhd.

Having rejected the gift of the Fade, having forsaken the eternity of love and life he had miraculously been given in spite of his earthly actions, he was now being punished for the temerity of attempting to determine his own destiny.

The Omega’s den of suffering was to be his infinity—

Without preamble, a stunning impact registered throughout his limbs, his torso, his skull. It was as if he landed flat upon his back on the most unforgiving of stone, but without the bounce that would have characterized such a fall from such a height.

Blackness.

Utter blackness.

A claustrophobic strangulation claimed his windpipe, and he began to pant, his breath, heavy and urgent, echoing close unto his ears . . . what madness was this? He seemed to be in an enclosed space. A tight-quartered, clearly defined space.

Placing his hands up—

Sahvage could not bring them unto his chest. There wasnae room for him to bend his elbows, and his knuckles rapped against something hollow.

Wood. Directly above him.

Kicking his feet, he encountered the same down at the terminal of his body. And spreading his arms a-width, he learned the limits of his confines, so narrow and contouring of the shape of his corporeal form.

His conscious intellect informed him of his location.

And even as his mind rejected the conclusion, and his temper rose to unsustainable levels, it was as yet inescapable.

Could he be in a coffin?

As Nate stared at the female he had spent all day thinking about, he felt suspended in thin air even though his feet were on the ground. She was just as he remembered, her pale hair streaming out from under the hood that covered her head, her hands hidden in the folds of her long, loose black coat. And as with before, she was off to the side, standing alone.

“Hi,” he said, lifting his hand.

When she took a step back, he put both his palms out. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

She didn’t move away any farther, but she looked behind herself as if to be reassured that the coast was clear for a dash. Or a dematerialize.

“I’m Nate.” He pointed to his chest—and then felt lame. Like there was anyone else around making intros? “Are you . . . did you come back to see this again?”

She glanced at the divot in the earth.

“It was amazing, right? Who’d have thought—a meteor. Out here?”

Nate cleared his throat and wanted to get closer to her. But he stayed where he was, and like an idiot, even though they were only six or seven feet apart, he spoke more loudly. You know, just to make sure she heard him.

Over the din of the absolutely quiet, no-sound-anywhere forest.

God, he was an idiot.

“My buddy Shuli and I were working.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “We’re helping renovate a house over there, across the field. Anyway, we saw the flash of light in the sky. Did you see the flash? It was amazing. So . . . ah, where are you from?”

Great. Next thing you knew, he’d be asking if she came here often. What her major was, even though they were vampires, not human. Whether she’d like a drink, in spite of a total absence of bartenders, liquor, or glasses anywhere near them.

Such game. And he didn’t even like alcohol.

“I live in town. With my parents.” He tacked that second part on to make himself seem more approachable. “Do you live with yours?”

As opposed to a mate. Who was, like, big as Murhder and as possessive as a guard dog. Who would likely tear Nate limb from limb with his teeth and bury the pieces in his yard.

“My mom’s a scientist. My dad’s—” No, wait, he wasn’t going to talk about the Black Dagger Brotherhood. “He’s a fighter for the . . .” No, he shouldn’t mention the King. “He takes care of people.”

The female’s head turned to the impact pit again, and he got a good look at her profile. It was . . . well, as perfect as the front view of her face was. Her features were fine and well-balanced, her eyes set a little on the deep side, her mouth a wisp of pink between her nose and her chin. There was a shriveled brown leaf in the ends of her hair, a leftover from what had fallen in the autumn, and he was so tempted to go over and pick it out of such delicate entrapment. Put it in his pocket. Keep it safe throughout his shift.

Hide it in his bedside table when he got home. Hide it forever.

Something told him he was going to want proof that he’d actually stood with her.

“Last night, I was going to talk to you.” Jesus, he sounded pathetic. “I wanted to say hi. But I didn’t think—well, there were a lot of people around.”

She continued to stay silent, but as her eyes returned to him, they didn’t leave—and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. She looked wary and weary.

And that was when he saw the dirt on the folds of her cape-like thing. And noticed how pale she was.

Nate narrowed his eyes. “Did you spend the day out here?”

She took another step back.

He shook his head. “I’m not judging. I just . . . it’s not real safe. From the sun. From other things.” He gave her a chance to say something. “Look, is there someone I can call for you?”

When he took out his phone, she put some more distance between them, the fallen pine needles rustling under her feet—which he could not see, and he hoped had shoes to cover their soles.

“Please,” he said. “Just let me help you. I can call for help. Who can I call for you?”

“I am lost.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I am lost.”

He pointed to his ear. “I’m sorry, I, ah, I can’t understand what language you’re speaking. Can you—of course you don’t speak English or you’d be speaking English.” He talked slower—which was frickin’ stupid. “I’m calling someone who can help.”

With a hand that was kind of unsteady, he pulled a number out of his contacts and put things on speakerphone. “Just give me a minute. She’s a good female, she can help—”

Two rings in, and from out of the tinny speaker, Mary, the shellan of the Black Dagger Brother Rhage, said, “Nate! How nice to hear from you. You all are doing such great work out at Luchas House. We’re moving the rest of the furniture in tonight—”

“Mrs. Mary, I have a problem.” He locked eyes with the hooded female and prayed—prayed—that she stayed where she was. “I’m here with a . . . friend . . . and she isn’t speaking a language I can understand. She needs . . . a friend. Can you help me help her?”