Mick screamed at the invasion, though it was silence that echoed through his brain. Terror was a living thing, clawing its way out of his chest, fighting against the bonds of the Eye.
Accept. Give in. Or you will die.
How could he calm down and accept this when he couldn’t fucking breathe!
If you are dead you will be of no use to your Liza.
Mick tried to calm his racing heart and reached for his wolf. For the Pack, my brother. We must do this for the Pack.
He held still and waited.
Centuries passed until he had all but forgotten his name, his purpose, until at last he gave himself up to the agony.
And at length the pain eased. His limbs lengthened, settling into human form again, stiff and aching from the partial shift. Mick opened his mouth and found he could once again gasp for breath. Someone was weeping.
Not dead then, he thought vaguely.
Breathing was good. It eased the pain in his chest. As he lay there, he came aware of hands wrapped awkwardly around his shoulders, his head in a lap. The weeping woman.
He wanted to reassure her that he was all right, but speech seemed beyond his abilities just now.
“What did you do to him?” she snarled at someone.
He recognized that voice. It pulled at something hot and possessive inside him.
“Demon or no, if you’ve done permanent damage to Mick, I’ll find a way to make you bleed.”
He knew that voice too. Booming and angry. Somehow short. And the name, Mick. It rolled around in his head before settling.
That’d be me, he realized.
“He will wake.”
Mick frowned at the outside embodiment of the voice from his mind. There was something important attached to that voice. Something he was supposed to do. He fought toward consciousness.
A field of vivid Aegean blue resolved itself into a woman’s eyes. His woman. Sophie.
She looked down at him, her face run with tears. “You’re alive!”
“Seems that way,” he croaked.
“Are you all right?”
All right seemed like a mighty subjective term to him. But he forced his lips into a semblance of a smile to ease the lines of strain and worry on her face. “Let’s just stick with not dead for now.”
He struggled up and a glistening red stone rolled out of his hand and onto the floor.
That was when he saw the demon across the room and remembered. Liza. Kidnapped. I just made a deal with the devil.
“What time is it? How long was I out? Are we too late?” The words spilled out in a rush.
“There’s time still, but we have to go now,” said Sophie, grabbing one of his arms as Olaf grabbed the other and tugged up. “But can you make it? You’re not in any condition to fight.”
“I can make it,” he said, deliberately stepping away to prove he could stand on his own two feet. “I’ll do whatever needs doing.”
Olaf gingerly picked up the Devil’s Eye and handed it over. “I don’t ever want to see this, or Hefty Smurf over there again.”
It was warm now. Mick nodded and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks for your help.”