It was still dark when Kildare awoke.

Wait. It was too dark.

Kildare squinted, looking for signs of torchlight or Alfaren werelight among the vague shadows of the display cases. Only a little weak, shadowed moonlight filtered through the skylight in the middle of the room.

Kildare closed his eyes and sat still, hoping the throbbing ache in the back of his head would subside. As it faded, he was able to focus on other parts of his body.

His back and shoulders ached. There was a rope around his chest, pinning him in place with his back against one of the pillars at the side of the room. His arms felt partially numb. He lifted his left arm—it felt strangely heavy, and he realized that he’d been bound, wrist to wrist and elbow to elbow on both arms, to someone else. He twisted his head, tried to get a glimpse around the pillar. It was too dark.

“Fir?” he whispered. “Fir? Snitch?”

Even his whisper seemed overly loud.

How long had it been since Mock and her friends had left them? Kildare tried to backtrack, tried to figure how long they’d been in the museum since they’d set off the fireworks. But even the moonlight was too dim to give him a clue. He felt hopelessly lost. His heart hammered hard in his throat. The fireworks would’ve attracted someone’s attention. There would probably be reinforcements from the city guard coming at any moment.

He ground his teeth. And Mock had just mercilessly left them to take the brunt of the blame.

“Fir?” he tried again. Kildare twisted his arm, seeing if he could wriggle his wrist free.

Someone grunted behind him.

Kildare stopped.

A few seconds later, Fir’s voice floated out from the darkness. “Is...is anyone there?” he croaked.

“Fir! Thank Naran Ara, you’re alive.”

Fir chuckled drily. “You’re desperate if you’ve been praying.”

“Shut your mouth.” Kildare tugged on his wrist. “Can you get yourself free?”

“Let me see.” Fir was quiet for a few moments, then muttered, “They’ve got us tied up tighter than a jungle snake’s prey. Okay, I can try, but let me know if it hurts you too much.”

“Got it.”

Fir pulled his arms forward, twisting Kildare’s arms back. Kildare bit the inside of his lip as it pulled at the sore muscles of his shoulders.

After a few seconds Fir swore and Kildare’s arms relaxed.

“What’s wrong?” Kildare snapped.

“This would be a lot easier if I’d been awake when they tied me up,” Fir growled. “How about your secret girlfriend? Why hasn’t she turned up yet?”

Kildare’s chest tightened. “She wouldn’t be here tonight.”

“Rot that,” Fir snapped. “She’s always around. You think we didn’t notice? Even after you supposedly had a ‘talk’ with her and she stopped stealing things from right under our noses, she was still around.”

“We had a talk, Fir. She knew this was a big score for us. She wouldn’t be around tonight.”

Fir snorted. “She was probably in it with Mock.”

A bitter taste filled the back of Kildare’s mouth, and for a second he thought he might vomit. No. She wouldn’t have. A bond-mate was a mate for life. She wouldn’t have abused that purely for a score.

His stomach churned.

A creaking sound echoed across the museum. Then voices and footsteps.

Kildare’s arms wrenched as Fir started to struggle. He could feel the Alfaren’s squirming as the ropes around his own chest tightened.

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“Kil...” Fir’s voice was panicked. “Kil, those are guards! We’re gonna get caught!”

“I know, I know.” Kildare looked back and forth in the darkness, hands shaking. There had to be a way out. He closed his eyes, searched for the feel of a fresh breeze against his face. If he could just get a message out to Serene...

The sound of voices was coming closer, breaking his concentration. Kildare gritted his teeth, trying to push away his panic. He could still feel it, snarling in the back of his mind. And all he could sense was the stale eddies of the museum air, musty and useless.

“There they are!” someone shouted.

Scales broke along the backs of his hands. Kildare opened his eyes and snarled at the armored guard standing in front of him.

The man yelped and jumped back, fumbling at his sword. “Edden! Captain Edden!” he yelled. “There’s a wyvern!”

“Kildare!” Fir hissed. “Kil! Settle down! They’ll shoot you!”

Kil jerked at the cords binding his wrists. Panic made him feel like he was drowning, like he could breathe deeply enough. Something tight around his chest snapped.

Fir shrieked in pain.

The sound of his friend snapped Kil out of his panicked haze just in time to see a blur at the edge of his blind spot. A tiny jab hit the meat of his bicep. Kildare twisted and snapped at the guard, who jerked his hand away just in time to avoid losing fingers. Kildare could feel his fangs sliding into place, so he bared his teeth again.

The room around him started rocking. Kildare swung around, trying to find Fir, but the movement made him sway and sag forward. It felt like he was on board a ship and the deck was pitching underneath him.

Kildare swayed again and put his hand out to catch himself. He stared at his hand, fingers splayed on the cool marble underneath him. That meant something. What... He was free. When had he gotten free?

The room pitched again, bringing a new sensation. Kildare swallowed back bile. Oh gods, he was gonna puke.

Hands grasped his arms, pulled him to his feet. Chains locked around his wrists. Kildare looked up, blinked, tried to focus. There was Fir, being dragged off with chains around his arms, kicking and yelling.

And Snitch, limp between two guards, long hair hanging in his face.

A man in the chest plate of a city guard captain stepped in front of Kildare, eyes narrowed.

Kildare cursed.

The man grinned. “I’d say that about sums up your problem, yeah.”

“I can explain, though,” Kildare said. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

The man’s grin fell. “You start up with that bull and I’ll order you gagged until you’re in front of a judge. Shut up.”

Kildare shut up. He’d known a few guys who could charm their way out of anything, but he’d always worked differently. There’d be no way he was talking himself and Fir out of this one.

Two city guards grabbed his arms and steered him toward the door. Kildare twisted around, searching for anything, anyone, who might help, but all he saw were city guards swarming the enormous display room, examining the empty cases.

As soon as he was outside, the humid sea breeze hit him full in the face. Kildare squeezed his eyes shut and formed his whirling thoughts into one tightly coalesced ball of emotion, and whispered.

“Serene. Help me.”

He opened his eyes and saw the shimmering, translucent opal thought flicker into the air on the breeze. Now he just prayed it got to her in time.

One guard slapped the back of his head, nearly jarring him to his knees. “Pray to whatever goddess you like, you’re not getting out of this, thief.”

Thief. The word was bitter from the man’s mouth and stung more than he thought it would.

Two barred wagons stood in the street. Snitch was already in one, arms chained behind him to the side of the wagon. As soon as he saw Kildare, his face twisted into a snarl.

“Rot you, you stupid pox-riddled dragon changer!”

Kildare startled away from him and stared. Snitch had never shouted at him like that.

“Hey, get a gag on him before he wakes up the entire city!” someone ordered. “And put the shifter in with the Alfaren—those two look less likely to kill each other.”

One of his guards broke off to pull open the cage door where Fir sat, huddled against the back wall.

“This is your fault, Kil! If you hadn’t kept secrets, Mock wouldn’t have left me! Mock wouldn’t have gotten scared and jumped forward on the plan! This is your fault.”

Kildare ground his teeth. Mock wouldn’t have jumped forward on the plan. She and Snitch had been in on this together. Why had she betrayed Snitch, though?

The guard lifted his wrists behind him, making Kildare wince and prompting him to step up into the wagon. Snitch’s yells muffled as the guard shackled Kildare’s wrists to the bars of the wagon. Kildare twisted to look over his shoulder. Snitch squirmed against his shackles, a bandana cinched between his teeth. His eyes blazed with anger.

Kildare felt sick. Half of his team had been planning to betray him. After five years. Had been keeping Serene a secret from them really been so divisive?

The guard straightened, then opened a crate at the back of the wagon, dug around, and pulled out a thick iron band with one hinge and a lock at the back. A shifter’s slave collar.

Kildare shrank back against the bars. Now he really felt like he might be sick.

The guard crouched in front of him and held the collar up. “I’m sorry, but protocol insists on this or fosseric, and I really think you want to avoid the fosseric.”

Kildare swallowed. “What about the dragonsbane you used on me in the museum?” He already knew the answer. Dragonsbane didn’t last long enough, and it didn’t cripple shifters in the way fosseric or a slaver’s collar did. He was already feeling mostly back to normal.

The man shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, and sounded like he actually meant it. He clicked the collar into place around Kildare’s neck and hopped out of the wagon, swinging the door shut behind him.

The wagon lurched and pulled forward, away from the museum.

He risked a glance at Fir. His best friend sat staring straight ahead, jaw clenched, refusing to look at him. Kildare hung his head, squeezed his eyes shut again.

Serene, please. Help me.