Selyn pressed her back against the sharp stones lining the cavern wall and attempted to become one with the shadows. She listened intently as Roland’s footsteps receded in the distance and faded into silence, yet still she waited.

They were too close to success to take any chances now. Too close—finally—to tasting the freedom that had forever eluded the forgotten daughters of the exiled women warriors of Lemuria.

Anger welled up inside, a harsh and biting pain reminding Selyn once more of her need for revenge, of her soul-numbing hatred for the people who had condemned her mother, her sisters—all of them—to lives of slavery.

Such was the reward mighty Lemuria gave its bravest warriors. Slavery until death brought release from toiling in the fetid mines far beneath the levels where the free folk lived. Toiling where the air was thick with the pollution of their labors, fouled by the seething anger carried within the hearts and souls of the Forgotten Ones.

Selyn clenched her fists and closed her eyes against the simmering pain of resentment. Not now. She could not allow herself the luxury of anger. Roland had cautioned her, and she would listen. He was a good man—one of the few good men she’d ever known. A true son of Lemuria, not one of the sadistic guards who kept the women imprisoned in the mines, and definitely not one of those damned aristocrats who thought themselves above the common folk.

No, Roland understood honor and integrity. His loyalty was to his world, not to the few who governed so unfairly. He’d become a good friend, braver than most because he had more to lose—a wife, a child, his position as a respected sergeant of the Lemurian Guard.

Selyn risked nothing. She’d long accepted the fact that as a slave, her life had no value. As a free woman—even if she were of the aristocracy—she would have no voice. Gods willing, that was soon to change. She remembered the stories her mother had told, and they gave her hope.

There’d been a time when women held positions of leadership as members of the Council of Nine, when mothers had fought demons beside their men as respected equals, and gender had neither defined nor limited status or personal autonomy

Finally, Selyn and the other Forgotten Ones sensed freedom.

Freedom and change, and a chance for revenge.

Roland of Kronus caught Alton’s terse warning the moment he reached the upper levels of Lemuria. Damned telepathy was useless in the mines and useless between dimensions, but obviously it was working now.

This was a message he’d been dreading ever since the invasion of demonkind into Earth’s dimension had begun. Alton’s steady voice carried more assurance than Roland felt, but Alton had been raised to a life of privilege, destined to one day rule their world. It appeared he was finally getting his chance, but nine hells! The risk to all of them could not be denied.

We’re moving against my father tonight, Alton said. Ginny and I are hiding out in Taron’s rooms until it’s time to act. Artigos must be removed from the Council of Nine as soon as possible. There’s no doubt he’s possessed by demonkind. I need to have a firm grasp of the council before Taron arms the Forgotten Ones.

Roland nodded as he answered, considering their next steps even as he replied. The Forgotten Ones needed to know what was going on. Somehow he must locate Selyn without alerting her guards. Taron should be notified as well, though that would mean traveling even deeper into the bowels of Lemuria.

Taron had been far below and out of touch for days, creating enough crystal swords to arm each of the Forgotten Ones. He should have close to the full one hundred blades by now, each awaiting her owner.

One hundred crystal blades capable of sentience—alive with the souls of ancient warriors and Lemuria’s most powerful weapon against the scourge of demonkind.

With the thought of the crystal blades in his mind, Roland replied to Alton. I’m returning to the mines now. I’ll inform Selyn that the timetable has been moved up, and contact Taron as well. I should be back before you move against Artigos.

Roland also sent a quick message to his beloved wife. Chara was used to the long hours he kept, though she had no idea the danger he faced. There was no point in alarming her with the truth of his actions. No point at all. Sighing, he turned back along the dark tunnel, quickly retracing his steps, returning to the lower levels where the Forgotten Ones toiled.

The steady drip, drip, drip and the soft hum of overtaxed air purifiers were the only sounds Selyn heard as she cautiously pushed herself away from the cavern wall and moved silently through the darkness to the sleeping level.

With any luck she might be able to catch a couple hours of rest before her shift started, but she’d missed the evening meal and it would be a long time until she had another opportunity to break fast.

A hulking shadow suddenly filled the narrow passageway. Light glinted off pale eyes set in a massive frame a full foot and a half taller and three times wider than her own.

As usual, luck sucked. Selyn straightened to her full height, raised her chin and looked the guard in the eye. That alone should be enough to piss him off. If she could make him angry enough, he might even forget to ask why she was wandering along a passage so far from her cell.

“Ah, Birk. Fancy meeting you here.” She folded her arms across her chest and hoped to the nine hells he couldn’t see how she trembled. Showing fear was the same as giving up.

Selyn never showed fear. Never would she give up.

The huge guard didn’t say a word. His fist came out of nowhere. The crushing blow to her cheekbone left her lying dazed and barely conscious on the ground.

He planted his hands on his hips and leaned over her. “So, bitch. You want to tell me what you’re doing out here?”

Blinking back the shooting lights blinding her vision, Selyn shook her head.

He grabbed her hair in a meaty fist and jerked her to her feet.

“Ouch! Nine hells!” She twisted, but he grabbed her breast through the thin cloth of her robe and squeezed, digging his thick fingers into soft flesh.

“Ah!” Excruciating pain made her nauseous. Frantically, Selyn bucked and writhed, but his fingers only tightened on her breast and in her hair. She lashed out with her bare foot, connected just below his right knee.

Birk cursed. His leg buckled and he lost his grip on her breast. Selyn jerked her head up as he fell and slammed him under the chin. Her long hair was still tangled in his fist and he pulled her down with him.

Scrambling beneath his massive weight she broke free, kicked again and caught him soundly between the legs. Birk roared in pain and clutched his balls, but her hair was still trapped in his fist and he jerked her head sharply down and caught her between his thighs.

Twisting, turning, Selyn struggled for freedom. Birk flipped her beneath him, clamping down on her head and shoulders with his powerful legs. Enraged, he tore his hand free of her hair and punched her with both fists, landing powerful blows across her chest and along her ribs.

She felt one rib crack, and then another. Gasping, unable to move or catch her breath, her vision clouded. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight, could not give up. Not this close. Not with freedom only days away.

Blow after blow slammed into her ribs. Frantically Selyn sucked in a breath of life-giving air and tasted blood in her mouth. Darkness broken by fitful flashes of sparking lights closed in on all sides as the terrible pounding continued, yet somehow, she floated free, apart from the beating, as if she hovered in a separate space, beyond pain, beyond fear.

Maybe freedom would finally come as her mother’s had—in death. Did it really matter anymore? Selyn no longer felt the blows, even as Birk continued to pummel her unresisting body.

A beautiful, achingly familiar face swam hauntingly just beyond her reach. With split and bleeding lips she whispered her mother’s name.

“Elda?”

There was no answer, no sign of recognition, but it was okay. Her mother had found peace in death, and she’d been reborn to fight again. Reborn in the crystal sword called DemonSlayer.

Was that to be Selyn’s path out of this hellhole? Through death? No matter. Not anymore. Giving in to the darkness, Selyn gratefully embraced the only freedom she had ever known.

At last.

Freedom, and darkness, and death.

As soon as he reached Selyn’s level in the caverns, Roland cast out his thoughts. Always before, the young woman had responded immediately, even if he awakened her from sleep.

There was nothing. A great void where her active mind should be. He glanced along the shadowed tunnel and prayed to the gods he’d not be discovered. He had no business at this level. None at all, but Selyn should have answered by now.

He grasped his crystal sword and walked purposefully down the dark passageway. Calling silently for Selyn, he rounded a slight curve and stopped dead.

A body lay in the middle of the corridor. A woman’s body. From the long tangled mass of her coal black hair and the coppery color of her skin, it could only be Selyn. Roland glanced both ways, saw no one, and raced to her side.

Her eyes were closed, her face battered and swollen, her slave’s robe badly torn. Bloody saliva foaming at the corner of her lips was the only sign Selyn still lived.

Roland couldn’t risk a call for help. The only ones strong enough to have hurt Selyn this badly were the guards who watched the Forgotten Ones. Selyn’s trips to the surface must have been discovered, but how could anyone have done such a horrible thing? Roland had to get her out of here, now, and hope like the nine hells she lived long enough for him to get her to a healer.

Carefully, he gathered the broken young woman up in his arms and carried her down the dark tunnel. He reached the stairs without anyone spotting him, and began the long climb to the surface. He couldn’t take her to anyone in Lemuria. Members of the aristocracy either did not know of the Forgotten Ones, or if they did, they refused to admit their existence. It would have to be someone on Earth.

Selyn was still alive, but barely, when Roland finally reached the upper levels and made contact with Alton. The young aristocrat didn’t hesitate. He set his earlier plans aside and told Roland where they could safely meet.

Almost an hour later, Roland passed through the Lemurian portal that led directly into the energy vortex in Bell Rock, a large formation outside of Sedona, Arizona. Alton waited in the dark cavern with his woman, Ginny Jones, close beside him.

The Lemurian heir to the council took one look at the battered woman in Roland’s arms and cursed, shaking his head in dismay. “Ah, Roland, my friend. How could this be?”

Roland was shocked to see Alton’s eyes sparkling with compassionate tears—tears that reaffirmed Roland’s decision to follow Alton no matter where he might lead.

Ginny gasped and stepped close. “Oh, my god.” She lightly touched the pulse point on Selyn’s throat and looked up at Roland. “She’s still alive, but her pulse is so weak. Who did this to her?”

Roland shook his head. Anger, frustration and the strain of carrying Selyn so far had him blurting out, “One of the gods-be-damned guards, I imagine. They treat the women most cruelly, but I’ve never seen one beaten so badly.”

“Will she live?” Alton’s soft question calmed him.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I’m sure she’s got broken ribs, internal injuries. She’s a tough one, though. She’s still breathing.”

Alton wrapped his arm protectively around Ginny. “I had no idea when you contacted me that she was hurt this badly.” He glanced at Ginny. “Do you think Dawson can help her? He’s a veterinarian, after all, not a doctor for humans.”

Ginny stared at Selyn so intently, Roland felt as if she were trying to force the injured woman to heal by the strength of her will alone.

“He’s going to have to,” she said. “Alton, we have to see if Dax and Eddy can bring BumperWillow. Willow might be able to help, but we need to hurry. Roland? Can you come with us?”

He’d not spent much time in Earth’s dimension, and never here in Sedona. It was forbidden, after all, but a young woman’s life was in his hands. “Yes,” he said, gazing at the battered girl in his arms. “I can.”

Alton led the way through another, smaller portal. They stepped out into a cavern almost identical to the first. “We just moved from one side of Sedona to the other,” he said. He pointed to a shimmering gateway on one wall. “That’s a secret portal we’ve discovered that leads directly to the chambers of the Council of Nine. I don’t have time to explain it now, but do not use it to return. It’s too dangerous. We’ll go this way.” He nodded toward another glowing portal. “We’re meeting a friend of ours here who should be able to help the girl.”

Lightly he touched Roland’s shoulder. “I can take her if you’re getting tired. He’s got his vehicle waiting nearby.”

Roland nodded. “I’m okay. Let’s hurry.” Even though his arms ached from carrying her, Roland didn’t want to risk further injury by shifting Selyn to Alton’s grasp. She hadn’t stirred, but she drew soft, shallow breaths, proof she still lived. Thank the gods she was unconscious and unaware of her pain.

They stepped out into a star-filled night. Roland had seen stars once before, when he’d fought demons less than a week ago on the flanks of Mount Shasta, but he knew he’d never see them enough. Damn it all, but his people had lost too much when their continent sank beneath the sea.

They had survived these many millennia, but at what cost?

Lives without stars, without the warmth of the sun? Anger gave Roland strength for the short hike down a dark path. He was still grumbling to himself when they rounded a curve in the trail. Alton flashed his handheld light at a large vehicle waiting in the shadows. A tall, lean, dark-haired man climbed out and quickly opened the back door. Roland nodded without speaking and carefully slid into the wide seat with Selyn still in his arms.

Ginny took the seat just ahead. Alton got in beside the driver in the front. The two men conversed softly, but Roland couldn’t hear what they said. Ginny remained quiet, though she’d turned and was watching Selyn.

After a short drive, they pulled into a well-lit yard with a low, sprawling building that appeared to be made of smooth stone. Holding Selyn as carefully as he was able, Roland quietly followed as the other three led him inside the structure. They walked down a long hallway into a brightly lit room behind a heavy set of double doors, where he finally laid his bruised and bleeding burden down on a narrow bed.

Finishing up after a long day at the clinic, Dawson Buck had been prepared for another quiet night at home when his cell phone rang. He’d certainly never expected to hear Alton’s voice. When he’d recently offered to help his new friends in their battle against a demon invasion, Dawson honestly hadn’t thought anyone would ever call.

He was, after all, merely human. What good could a mortal do among creatures who were not only immortal but capable of things he’d only read of in his favorite science fiction novels?

But when Alton told him that one of their kind was badly injured and needed medical attention, Dawson hadn’t hesitated. He’d quickly finished up the nightly feeding of his canine and feline patients, locked the doors to his clinic, and raced to the parking lot at Red Rock Crossing near the energy vortex at Cathedral Rock.

And there he’d waited. He’d had plenty of time to think about the changes in his life since that morning a little over a week ago when he’d arrived a bit late to work and discovered the clinic was already filled with dozens of animal patients, all exhibiting the same unbelievable behavior.

He knew his staff thought he was slightly nuts when he’d suggested the pets were all possessed by demons. Of course, he was well aware that the women who worked for him figured it was part of his charm. They loved to tease him about the fact he was so open to the odd stories about the land around Sedona and the energy vortexes that most folks thought of as nothing more than fodder for the tourist trade.

His Aunt Fiona had been the only one who truly understood him. When he was little and talked to his imaginary friends, she’d called him fey. As he’d grown older and lost himself in books with tales of the unusual and unexplained, she’d merely nodded and said he was learning to understand things that a lot of his real-life friends would never be able to see.

The imaginary friends had eventually faded away, cast out by a teen-aged boy’s need to act like everyone else, but Aunt Fiona had understood. She’d told him that when he was ready, they’d come back.

Now, as he led this most amazing group of obviously mythical creatures into the small clinic he kept at home, Dawson sent a silent thank you to his long-departed aunt.

He could almost swear he heard her chuckling laughter and the soft, Gaelic lilt to her voice whispering, “I told you so, me boyo. I told you so.”

Dawson glanced at his wristwatch. It was almost five—the time when he normally crawled out of bed—but he’d worked on Selyn most of the night. By now, he figured Alton and the big Lemurian guard he called Roland were probably sacked out on the couches in the main quarters of the house.

He hoped Ginny had gotten some sleep. She’d looked exhausted and a little bit numb from all the blood by the time they’d finished, but the poor girl’s injuries had been extensive, and well beyond his training. He’d suctioned blood out of chest cavities for dogs and cats that’d been hit by cars, but he’d never done it for a woman with a punctured lung—at least, not until last night.

Dawson gazed down at the young woman now sleeping in the spare room of his home and hoped he’d done the right thing. He was a veterinarian, for crying out loud! He dealt with dogs and cats, birds, rabbits and the occasional hamster or guinea pig.

Not young, beautiful women barely clinging to life. What if he’d screwed up? What choice did he have? None at all, according to Alton. They couldn’t take her to a human doctor, couldn’t take her to one of their own healers. It had been Dawson Buck or no one. Her lung had been the most serious injury, along with bruising to her spleen and liver. Her cracked ribs would hurt like hell for awhile, but they’d heal. He’d stitched a couple of spots on her side where heavy blows had actually split her skin, but most of her injuries were bloody scrapes and bruises and contusions.

The darkly defined fingerprints on her right breast sickened him. More than once during the long night he’d thought of killing the one who did this to her. That was so unlike him. Dawson had never been the violent sort. He abhorred conflict of any kind, which was why he’d chosen animals as his patients. Dogs and cats were more what you see is what you get kinds of patients. They rarely came with baggage, and they didn’t hold grudges.

Even now, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected when Alton called, but it certainly hadn’t been a beautiful young woman who’d been beaten nearly to death.

He rested his fingers on her shoulder, one of the few spots without the mottled black and blue and red from bruises. “Dear God. Let her live. Please, let her live.” Taking a deep breath, Dawson tried to ignore the rapid pounding of his heart. For a brief moment, he thought of all the laws he’d broken by treating a female victim of an obvious assault. Any other medical doctor would have followed the law and reported this to the police. Another veterinarian would have made sure she was treated properly, in a hospital for humans.

Then he bit back a nervous laugh. Who was he trying to kid? She wasn’t human. Maybe he hadn’t broken any laws after all, but after he’d looked at all her injuries and realized how terribly she’d been hurt, Dawson had known there was no question at all as to whether or not he’d treat her.

Now he could only hope and pray that his efforts had helped and not harmed her. He gently touched a dark bruise on her cheek. Thank goodness the facial bone was merely bruised, not broken. Her bruises would fade, the ribs heal. Within a few days she should be feeling better.

But what of her state of mind? A beating this horrific had to leave more than bruises on the body. He’d learned that these Lemurians healed much faster than humans. They were obviously a lot tougher, too. Her injuries might have killed a human woman.

They would definitely leave emotional scars with a human, as well. He had no idea how a Lemurian might react to such horrible treatment. Alton said she was a slave.

Then he’d really confused the issue when he told Dawson that Lemurians were a free society, that they didn’t believe in slavery. He, Alton of Artigos, the son of Lemuria’s Chancellor, had not even known of the slaves’ existence. Not until Selyn had bravely escaped her captors and told his friend Taron of their plight. And then, so as not to raise any alarm, she’d returned to her untenable captivity deep in the mines.

Obviously, there were things going on in Lemuria that were every bit as convoluted as human politics. And even more obviously, this young woman was unquestionably a hero.

Dawson carefully pushed her tangled hair away from her face and tucked the soft blanket around her badly beaten body. He couldn’t bear to look at her injuries now. He’d done all he could as a doctor with the proper professional detachment his role required.

Now that he was finished repairing her injuries, he realized he saw her as any man would a beautiful woman. Those dark bruises and bloody contusions were a travesty, a horrible insult to such perfection. He’d never seen anyone as beautiful as Selyn. Even battered and bruised, she was lovely.

Never once in his life had he lusted after a patient.

Shaking his head with the convoluted stupidity of his thoughts, Dawson left the room, mumbling under his breath, “Of course not, you idiot. All your other patients have four legs.”

Selyn drifted awake in a world of pain. Eyes closed, she took a moment to catalog the various parts of her body. Obviously, she had survived Birk’s horrific beating, though she wondered if she’d be whole, even if her injuries healed.

She wriggled her toes, then her fingers. They worked. That was good. Slowly, cautiously she licked her dry, cracked lips with the tip of her tongue. Her chest ached and it hurt to breathe, but at least she could draw sufficient air as long as she did it carefully.

Taking another breath, she noticed the stench she’d long associated with her world was missing. Instead, the air lacked any discernible scent at all. Squinting through swollen lids, she saw cream colored walls and shelves neatly filled with books and jars and unfamiliar stuff. There were cabinets with closed doors and light streaming in through a window.

Window? She knew what windows were, but in the mines they looked out onto dark caverns and poorly lit passageways. Blinking, curious enough now to risk drawing attention, Selyn tried to sit up. “Nine hells and then some!” Gasping, she lay back against the pillow and tried to catch her breath.

The door flew open and a tall, lean man stepped into the room. “Don’t move. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I just figured that out on my own, thank you.” Aware she wore nothing beneath the blanket, Selyn tugged the soft folds higher, almost to her chin. “Who are you? Where am I?”

He smiled. “I’m Dawson Buck. You’re in my clinic, in Sedona, in Earth’s dimension. Roland of Kronus brought you here last night, but you were unconscious.” He shook his head and smiled even wider. “I wasn’t sure you’d awaken this soon. You must be healing faster than I expected.”

There were dimples in both his cheeks that were only partially hidden by his neatly trimmed facial hair. She’d never seen a naked man, but she’d been told that Lemurian men had body hair in places besides the tops of their heads, though rarely on their faces. She knew absolutely nothing about human men, but she found the dark hair framing this one’s lips and covering his chin absolutely fascinating. Besides, it was easier to concentrate on the odd hair on his face and those delightful dimples than to think of what he’d just said.

She was on Earth? But how? Lemurians were forbidden to leave their world, though she knew Alton of Artigos had crossed through the portal. But Roland?

“It was last night?” She wanted to sit up. She wanted her clothing and she wanted to get away while she had the chance. Earth! She’d dreamed of one day seeing Earth. Maybe she could disappear into one of the cities she’d heard tales about.

Disappear and never return.

Never have to face Birk or any of the other guards again.

Never hold the crystal sword Taron is replicating for me even now.

Selyn thought of her mother’s spirit, bravely fighting demons once again as the sentience in the sword called DemonSlayer. Who would inhabit the sword Taron might have already finished making for her? What woman warrior would be her partner in battle? If Selyn left now, she’d never know.

She’d be forever a fugitive, trying to exist in a world where she didn’t belong. No, she couldn’t leave. As one of the Forgotten Ones, as the daughter of a woman warrior, Selyn knew she was honor bound to stay.