The road to the gate looked much like the one they'd entered. It was made up of crushed, white quartz. Surrounding it were familiar evergreens and bushes. Remi was relieved to see the worldly vegetation. She didn't have any desire to be lost in Stilla ever again.

"This looks like Lake Bolboci," Gideon announced as he stopped at the marble post, studying its gold engraving.

Beyond the gateway, the outline of an icy mountain lake shown through the film lying across the exit. Towering pine trees clutching the slopes of steep hills looked to have been dipped in icing. Snow lay heavy on what little ground was visible of the shoreline. The sun hung low, casting a frigid shadow across the landscape.

"We'd better put our winter gear back on," Gideon observed.

Sprinţar's saddlebags had been transferred to Punct. Gírin looked to be doing better. Whatever Ethan put on his wounds was working miracles. Still, the mount was too injured to be loaded or ridden.

"Ready?" Gideon asked after Remi bundled up in her winter gear.

"More than," Remi replied with feeling as she snugged the fingers of her gloves on her hands.

Bringing out the wicked-looking knife, Gideon ran it across his palm. Once blood welled, he placed it on the ouroboros. As before, the filmy yet solid barrier over the gateway lifted.

Remi walked both horses closer. Cold air seeped into Stilla from the opening. There was no real want on her part to reenter the late winter's day. Other than to be gone from this sketchy realm and never return, that was.

"It looks as though we've been gone a full day," Remi observed. Then, taking a deep breath to brace herself against the brunt of the frigid air, she stepped through. The horses followed docilely. As soon as they were clear, Gideon came through.

"It's good to be back where the sun follows simple rules." The last of Gideon's words were drowned out when his phone came back online. The chirps and chimes kept coming.

"Christ," Gideon muttered. "Veto," he nearly yelled.

Fighting back a smile, Remi asked, "What was it this time?"

"Shwiff," Gideon said distractedly as another text came through. "Now Breqlynn's informing me that I've used up all my vetoes. I can only imagine what name she'll give us half-shifter-half-witches," he grumbled.

Remi had to bite back her mirth; the rougarou sounded so forlorn. It was good to be out of Stilla. She felt lighter.

Seeming to put the eventuality of Breqlynn naming his race behind him, Gideon called his man at Vârcolac Turn. As the phone rang, he put it on speaker. A short time later, a deep, male voice answered. "Did you forget something, Michaels?"

Puzzlement crossed Gideon's face. "No, Laris," he said shortly. "We're finally here. You can pick us up at the north end of Lake Bolboci."

The other man laughed. "Has the cold gone to your brain?"

Features darkening, Gideon blew out a breath. "Look, Olofsson," he ground out between clenched teeth. "We've had a long, hard journey. I'm in no mood for your jokes. Did you send out a search party?"

Grabbing Gírin's reins, Gideon began to walk along the rocky shore. There was a slight hitch in his step, but otherwise, one wouldn't have known a massive scorpion injured him in Stilla. Remi and Punct followed.

"Now who's joking?" the other man said, his Nordic accent thickening. "You cannot have crossed the mountains already." His tone was serious. Gone was all the mirth from before.

Gideon's ground-eating gait slowed. Remi no longer needed to jog to keep up with him. "Explain," he ordered shortly.

"You called me no more than an hour ago."

Gideon stopped at Olofsson's words. "What?" he snapped, more on edge than usual.

"You said you were starting over the mountain, and you'd be here in three or four hours."

Head whipping around, Gideon looked at Remi. After a stunned moment, her shoulders lifted. She had no clue how any of this was possible. If Olofsson told the truth, then their day in Stilla was but minutes on Earth.

"It can't be," Remi whispered. But the truth was, it was real. Stilla had allowed them to travel miles in less than an hour.

Shaking his head, Gideon tugged on Gírin's reins and began walking once again. "Meet us at the bottom of the path. We'll need the trailer as one of the horses has been injured."

"You're seriously here?"

"Yes, Laris."

"How can you be here?" the Norseman asked in shock and bewilderment.

"It's a long story." Gideon's tone grew weary. "I'll tell you later. My mobile is nearly dead. We'll see you in a few minutes."

Gideon led them to the bottom of a hidden goat trail of a road. It was more like twenty minutes before Laris Olofsson came down it to meet them. He drove an old Ford F-350, circa 1980. Behind the freshly painted green vehicle was a horse trailer from the same era. It hadn't received the same attention as the pickup. It looked as if rust and prayer were all that held it together.

"We're about halfway there," Gideon told Remi under his breath. He must've noticed how tired she was.

Laris came out of the pickup and toward them. He would have fit right in with his Viking ancestors, blond hair, braided beard and all. The massive man shot Remi a wink as he took Punct's reins. "I've got him from here."

Cuffing the large man upside the head, Gideon warned, "Behave yourself, Olofsson." The werewolf must be as tired as she, Remi mused. He wasn't his usual, calm self.

Both men were larger than any human Remi had met before. The Viking was more muscular than Gideon. Still, even as he shrugged off the blow, he looked to be put in his place.

Lifting both hands in the air, Olofsson backed up, followed by Punct. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't know she was yours."

Opening her mouth to protest any inkling of ownership, Remi was cut off by Gideon. "You should get in the truck. It should be warmed by now."

"I belong to no one but me," Remi muttered as she took Gideon up on his offer. She'd learned a valuable lesson from Trystan. No longer would she allow someone else to have that much control over her - not even a sexy-as-sin immortal man.

"No matter your claims," Olofsson stated as Remi passed him, "none are insane enough to cross Michaels."

"Enough," Gideon growled. "Help me see to the horses."

"I was trying to help," Olofsson feigned innocence.

"I don't need your kind of help," Gideon grumbled before Remi slammed the heavy pickup door shut. She scooted to the middle of the bench seat. Was the rougarou becoming possessive of her?

Closing her eyes, Remi leaned her head against the back of the seat. Flashbacks of her time with Trystan flitted in the darkness behind her lids. One memory slowed and played itself out in detail.

Remi and Trystan were at a party. It was the first time they'd gone out together in public. One of her friends' boyfriends came up to talk to her. Remi never took to the man. Her instincts had always urged her never to be alone with him. But she was polite toward him for the sake of her friendship. Regardless of her feelings, he didn't deserve what happened to him. She knew that now.

Opening her eyes, Remi straightened. She didn't want to reminisce. Unfortunately, the memory wouldn't be so easily silenced. The ex-boyfriend of her ex-friend's specter wouldn't let her forget.

Everyone was having a good time. Drinks were flowing, the music was pumping, and a sense of exhilaration permeated the air. It was a house party held at one of Trystan's other client's residences.

"Is this your mix?" Jason - that was his name - asked, referring to the music.

"No," Remi replied, trying to find someone, anyone she knew between the press of bodies. She didn't want to be "alone" with her friend's boyfriend. Sometimes being short really sucked.

"I should've guessed," the handsome brunette replied and moved closer, causing Remi's claustrophobia to rear its head. "Yours are much better," Jason whispered in her ear.

Nerves stirred in Remi's stomach at his nearness. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Her instincts told her to run, but she was essentially trapped.

"You're awfully close to my woman." Trystan was there. Remi was rescued.

The brunette man straightened. Remi remembered Jason had once been beautifully handsome, but not the details of his face. Now, his disfigured visage was the only thing she could recall.

"Just shooting the shit with Remi here."

Trystan puffed up. "She isn't deaf," he pointed out savagely.

The brunette threw up his hands in surrender. The move knocked the drink Remi was holding, and the Bloody Mary spilled down the front of her short, light pink dress.

"You did that on purpose," Trystan savagely accused.

Remi barely heard. She was too stunned, standing there mute as the liquid soaked into the absorbent, natural fabric. It would leave an ugly stain; she just knew it would. Her beautiful dress, an expensive present from Trystan, was ruined.

"No, I-" The rest of Jason's words were cut short. Trystan threw a punch, and it landed squarely on the other man's mouth. A couple of teeth were knocked loose, and the pain they caused Trystan's knuckles seemed only to enrage him further.

Not believing how quickly things had escalated, Remi said through a closed-off throat, "It was an accident." Either her words were too low, or Trystan was too incensed to hear. They did nothing to quell his fury.

Remi closed her eyes again. Slipping over the beating, she remembered the aftermath. Jason's face was so bloody and disfigured; it looked like she was watching a scene from a horror movie. He lay there, not moving and in a pool of his blood. His screaming girlfriend, Remi's ex-friend, blocked her vision of the savagery.

"Nobody disses my woman." Trystan was breathing hard. His clothes were bloody from the cast-off spray. The knuckle he placed under Remi's chin to bring her gaze up to his was dark red and wet. "I'll never let anyone hurt or embarrass you."

With those words, the horror Remi had witnessed seemed to slough away. The old, naïve her felt Trystan only wanted what was best for her. Besides, hadn't her instincts told her Jason was dangerous? Perhaps Trystan had gone too far, but it showed how committed to her he was.

A low groan escaped Remi. Lord, how she loathed that young, dewy-eyed woman. She'd seen Jason a few months later, his face covered in jagged scars. His one-Patrician nose looked crooked and not so prominent. No more would he be referred to as "beautifully handsome."

The passenger door opened. "Are you all right?" Gideon poked his head into the cab to ask. His brows were drawn down in worry.

Unlike Trystan, Gideon seemed to genuinely care. But that wasn't enough for Remi to stay if he were to prove to be just as possessive. She couldn't go through that hell again.

It was on the tip of Remi's tongue to say she was fine. Gideon would've heard the lie. She was anything but fine. Sighing, she told him, "I'm sore and tired. I feel as if I could sleep for days."

Grunting, Gideon sat next to her. "I feel the same."

Remi winced. Gideon's injuries were far worse than hers. The wounds from the mi'ir had barely closed. He hadn't limped once, even though his leg was likely crushed. It was probably more for Ethan, and now Olofsson's benefit than hers. Yet, the werewolf kept up the ruse after they parted ways in Stilla. Remi had just about forgotten his non-visible injuries.

"Worry not," Olofsson said as he opened his door. A fresh, cold wind blew into the cab, causing Remi to shiver. Gideon put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side.

"I'll have you back to Vârcolac Turn in no time," the Norseman promised.

Although Remi wanted to see the fortress she'd heard so much about, she was asleep in minutes. The cab was warm, she felt safe in Gideon's hold, and the pickup gently swayed as they drove over the snow-encrusted dirt road. The next thing she was aware of was being softly shaken.

"We're home," Gideon murmured.

Peeling open her eyes, Remi sat up straighter. They drove through an impressive gate in the middle of a fifteen-foot-tall stone wall. It reminded her of one she'd seen in medieval European castles.

"The wall is rebuilt from the remnants of a long-forgotten, previous building period," Gideon informed Remi when he caught her inspecting the structure. "These alone won't stop those of the races, or modern weapons for long. But they're warded," he continued. "That is by far a greater deterrent."

On the other side of the gate lay a village of sorts. Old, stone buildings dotted the inner courtyard. Beyond, in the back corner of the complex, a six-story tower rose toward the sky. The four-story main building embraced it. Its façade was smooth, with windows dotting each floor at even intervals. Wings bracketed the main structure, stretching off in two opposite directions. A massive, double-doored entrance was there to greet - or more precisely intimidate - visitors.

"The tower is the original structure," Gideon continued to play tour guide. "Each generation has added their own stamp on Vârcolac Turn." A thread of pride ran through the last sentence.

"They must have been megalomaniacs," Remi observed. The words were out of her mouth before she could think of the insult they were likely to inflict. Lawd, she was tired.

Instead of finding offense, Gideon chuckled. Then he said, "Looking at it now, it seems too large for the hundred or so shifters currently here." Sobering, he added, "But our numbers used to be greater."

"Ja," Laris butted in, no longer content to remain silent during Gideon's guided tour. "That last, förbannad war nearly killed us off."

"It nearly killed all of us," Remi added darkly. It was a wonder any people were left to repopulate.

"That and that we've not been able to recover our numbers as easily as humans," Gideon added.

"Ja," Olofsson agreed. "We cannot forget our inability to reproduce."

"You can't have children?" This revelation saddened Remi. She'd always wanted her own, and she wasn't getting any younger. Although she'd been with Trystan for three years, they'd never come close to the topic of babies. Were she to decide to be with Gideon now, the eventuality of being a mother would likely never come to pass.

"With another shifter?" Gideon answered, pursing his lips. "It's difficult. But we've recently learned that with someone of another race, it is possible."

Remi felt her cheeks heat. Her blurted question had embarrassingly told Gideon that she'd been contemplating having babies with him. What must he think of her?

A chuckle came from Olofsson's direction, breaking the brief, mortified silence. "Our witch queen is having triplets." He stopped before the stables, several hundred yards from the fortress' main building. Beside the wooden structure, a forge was lit with roaring fires. Inside, a blacksmith with massive, sweaty muscles was busily at work.

Seeing where Remi's gaze went, Gideon told her shortly, "We're dropping off the horses first. Then, we'll find you someplace more comfortable to sleep."

Leaning her head back against the bench seat, Remi called herself all kinds of a fool. She hadn't meant to stare. The blacksmith was just where her tired mind had decided to pause. Her eyes drifted shut, and the self-flagellation turned into dreams – naughty ones featuring her and a certain half-witch, half-werewolf. They left her aching and wanting.

The literal man of her dreams jostled Remi. She opened her eyes briefly. Gideon was carrying her across the graveled road in the fortress' courtyard.

"Sleep," Gideon ordered softly. "I'll take you to your room."

"Not a child," Remi murmured. But her eyes were already closed. Soon, she was embraced by Morpheus once more.

Remi was barely conscious of being laid on a soft mattress. A heavy quilt covered her, then she became lost in her current dream. Day turned to night, then dawn came. Her bladder woke her up sometime after that. Once she stumbled from the bathroom, she went back to bed. Sleep claimed her yet again. Never had she been so exhausted.

Remi didn't know how long she'd slept when she heard a quiet conversation through the door. "But we just want a peek," an unknown female's high, sweet voice pleaded.