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to set her lantern down before kneeling near the bars. The dog’s yellow eyes tracked her movements without bothering to lift its head. If anything, it seemed to be resigned to its fate. But its body shivered, and she knew it was fighting the pain. She shivered in sympathy.
    “I want to help you.”
    A soft snort came from the dog’s snout, as if it understood her words and thought very little of her abilities to do so.
    Eliza glanced around, searching for something to strike at the lock, when she noticed a ring with a key hanging from a hook on the wall. She hurried to it, only to stop. She needed supplies. Turning around, she spoke to the dog. “I’ll be back soon.”
    Determination gave her speed. No longer afraid of what lurked in the cellar, she hurried to the kitchens, pilfered the cupboards for food, collected Cook’s medicinal kit that he kept on hand for household emergencies, and then grabbed a stack of freshly washed hand linens. By the time she returned to the cell, she was breathless.
    “Now then,” she said in a low voice, as she opened the cell door, “we’ll get you sorted.”
    The black dog, however, had other opinions on the matter and began to growl, a steady menacing snarl that curled its upper lip and revealed a set of wickedly long fangs.
    “It’s all right,” Eliza said. “I am going to help you.”
    The dog’s snarling intensified. He was chained against the floor but had enough reach to bite her if she came too near his wounds. Which wouldn’t do. Crooning softly, Eliza opened the green bottle she’d removed from the medicine bag. Mindful of the fumes, she soaked a rag. As if the dog knew precisely what she was about, it snapped and writhed, only to cut itself short with a yelp as the frantic movement jostled its leg.
    Eliza took advantage and threw the chloroform-soaked rag over the dog’s massive head. Enraged, it struggled to free itself, but the drug did its job. Soon enough, the dog fell still, and its breathing turned slow and steady. Eliza waited, counting to one hundred, before moving close. She dared not move the rag just yet, but took the time to try out the sole key on the padlock that held the dog’s chains to the cell. But it did not work.
    “Damn all,” she muttered, before setting the key ring aside. Frowning, she studied the dog’s leg. She knew nothing of resetting bones. Especially for a dog.
    “No matter,” she muttered. “First things first.” She’d clean those weeping wounds. Eliza rested her hand upon the dog’s hind quarter where the fur was slick and damp. But no sooner did her palm make contact then a great puff of glittering dust rose up around the dog, obliterating it from her sight.
    Eliza coughed and sat back on her haunches to get away from the swirling dust. Just as fast as it had appeared, the dust dissipated. A strangled sound escaped her. There, on the stone floor, lay not a dog but a man. Long, muscular limbs, broad shoulders, narrow hips. He was battered and wasting away now. Muscles stood out like thick hemp ropes beneath too-tight and too-pale skin. Skin that was slashed and bleeding.
    “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Gaping down at his badly broken leg, Eliza found herself too shocked to move.
    The heady scent of myrrh and heated male flesh surrounded her with dizzying effect. She knew this scent. The torment of it and how it made her breath quicken and her nipples tighten. No, no, no. It cannot be. With a trembling hand, she reached out and plucked away the linen that covered the man’s head. Her heart turned over in her chest as her insides plummeted.
    “You!” Her shout echoed in the small space.
    Gold eyes peered at her from under a mop of black hair. His rich, dark voice was weaker now, slurred and stilted. But it still had the power to unsettle.
    “Hello, dove. Did you miss me?”
    Adam.
     
    During his seven-hundred-odd years stuck in this life, Adam had been tortured numerous times. He’d like to think that, eventually, he