Damien flexed his hand and hitched the canvas bag full of stolen bank records onto his shoulder. The men around him on the descending lift talked in hushed tones or rested against the iron grate of the cage while the stale air of the mine-shaft pushed over them.

     Except for Jack. Damien noted that his long-time friend, and second-in-charge, had kept his cool gaze fixed on him since exiting the mountain house they'd just robbed.

     The lift wheels whined to a slow, shuddering stop, and the ramp banged into place. After examining the main meeting hall, Damien gave the signal for his men to dismount. Without saying a word, he knew his friend would wait behind.

     He turned and found Jack leaning against the cage. Deep in the night of the mine and away from natural light, Jack appeared in his human form. The same tall, lean and tanned physique he'd had the day he'd been dragged under the earth's surface. Jack crossed his thick arms over his wide torso as his brow descended on his dark, almond-shaped eyes.

     "Care to explain what happened on the job tonight, pretty boy?" Jack asked.

     Damien flexed his hand. The one he'd used to choke that woman. His whole arm blazed with heat. His fingers tingled with lingering sparks, and his skin seemed less shredded and painful. His old slow-tempo heart skipped a beat at the realization that his body had changed.

     "Our kind, we don't heal," he whispered.

      The corners of Jack's wide mouth curved in a lazy smile. "No shit. You just figured that out after a hundred years, or did you forget...again."

     "I didn't forget...that." Damien adjusted the coarse bag on his shoulder.

      Sure, like all of the miners, his memory had some rather gaping holes. He could at least keep the basic facts straight, like he shouldn't have been able to walk away without killing that woman. He squeezed his fist and felt the heat that echoed from her touch.

      "Well, did you forget the queen ordered us to kill all witnesses? That skinny red haired woman, the one who saw us in our other form, the one you rolled around with on the floor? That would be called a witness."

      Damien winced, then checked over his shoulder to make sure the rest of his crew had headed out of earshot. "I didn't have to hurt her."

     Jack opened his mouth then shut it again quickly. He stood up straighter and uncrossed his arms. "You don't say." He spoke slowly, his intense stare locked on Damien.

     "I intended to dispose of her after she saw us change. The queen's orders were thundering in my head, making me move. Then I touched her, and everything cleared away and I had—ah well, free will I guess."

     The air before Jack became even blacker, and the folds around his eyes creased. "You're saying you didn't have to follow the queen's order?"

      Damien cleared his throat, the realization of what this could mean hitting him hard. "No. I made my own choice to leave the woman at the house."

      The other man didn't move, then blinked while shaking his head.

      "I know this sounds crazy," Damien said. Jack's face shifted into his no-shit look. Damien hurried on. "But it happened. If the queen hears about it—"

      Jack raised his palms. "She'd kill you a second time and several more of us to make a point."

      Damien ground his teeth at the thought of Everett, and what their current queen had done to him. "Yeah, it wouldn't be good if she found out."

      Jack tilted his head. "What's your plan?"

     "I got the documents." Damien gestured to the bag. "If it's cloudy tomorrow, I could go empty out the accounts and pass over the money."

     Jack nodded along. "Money works as a distraction. She might not ask for a full report if she gets what she wants up-front." He stilled and a strand of his straight hair fell out of its ponytail. "Think you could do it again?"

      "Resist an order?" Damien paused. He rubbed his fingers together, marveling at their change. "I don't know how it happened, Jack."

      "You're the most tied to this queen. If you broke free—"

      A thud sounded from near the gear train. "You boys ever leaving that lift?" shouted a tenor's voice. "I got me more parties to get home before sun-up."

      "Sorry, Christopher." Damien took a step towards the ramp and motioned for Jack to follow.

      Jack didn't move. "And the redhead?"

     A hot flush crept up Damien's cheeks. The break happened when he'd touched the woman. "What about her?"

      "She saw us, the real us."

      Damien waved his hand in the air. "She only saw me."

     "Even worse."

     "Maybe I'll go talk to her or something."

      Jack covered his face with his large palm and grimaced.

    "What?"

    "We're doomed."

    "I mean it. You fellas need to get-er-off that lift or I'm taking you up-top."

    "Give us a second," Damien yelled, then lowered his voice. "What do you mean we're doomed?"

     "You're not Mr. Personality around the ladies."

     "I can be quite convincing."

    "Convincingly scary." Jack's voice lightened. "Sure, you got a pretty enough face, if you stay in the dark. Still, you ever notice all them girls who hung around you a hundred years ago?"

    "What girls?"

    "Exactly."

    "Don't worry about it." Damien moved the bag to his other shoulder. "I'll handle her."

    "That's what I'm worried about."

     "How so?"

      Jack gave him a slow half-smile. "You giving her a hand."

     "Oh, bugger off with the rotting jokes."

     Jack sneered. "They never get old."

     The motor of the lift sputtered to life. "You boys off now, or you're going up."

     "Damien." The smile slipped from Jack's lips. "Too many saw what happened at that house. We've worked for a moment like this. You. Me"—he paused—"your brothers. Especially Everett. All this time. You can't let the queen find out. She would crush it."

      Damien squeezed his eyes shut as choking coldness filled him. He knew what Jack would say next.

      "If two or more of us know about tonight, it increases the chances of the queen learning," Jack finished, his face turning pale in the dim light of the shaft.

      The familiar chill of ice flooded into Damien's veins. Jack was right. As the one in charge of the Mammoth mine crews, he needed to clean this up—leave no loose ends.

     "Hold the lift, Christopher." Damien used his leader's voice, the one every worker under the queen was forced to obey. He turned on his friend and hated himself before the words even left his mouth. Here all they wanted was to be free, and he controlled the men, just like the queen.

     "Jack, I order you to forget seeing that woman tonight."

     The other man's shoulders slumped. His face whipped clean of all expression.

     "Go over and change. Remember we found what we were searching for"—Damien cleared his dry throat—"money for the queen."

      His voice thinned, and he glanced across the stone cathedral ceiling that formed the underground hall. He moved to the far side of the space in a blurred run.

     The rest of his team waited. Roland rested on an old crate while Olin and Brice were hitched up against the rough, stone walls.

     "So, Damien." Brice smoothed his hand over his oiled hair. "We were all speculating as to the nature of your involvement with that shapely member of the fairer sex."

     "How come you could touch her?" Olin jumped in.

     "I'm just saying, Olin." Brice pushed himself off the wall, clearly prepared for a speech. "If you care to give me my due turn, that there may possibly be vastly more significant ramifications to these proceedings than are highlighted at the surface of the event."

      Olin's mouth fell open in clear confusion at Brice's words. He tilted his head and studied the other man with glassed-over eyes. A look Olin often wore when trying to understand Brice.

      Roland frowned like a stone gargoyle and rocked on the crate where he sat.

      Damien steadied himself. He was the leader of the mine. Such as it was. The remains of tingling sparks lingered in his arm. For a hundred years they had toiled under their string of ruthless queens. Tonight he tasted freedom and maybe more.

     "Olin, Brice, Roland, I order you all to forget everything you saw back at the house."

     The crate snapped under Roland, sending him to the floor. With a blank expression, he searched the ground examining the splinters of wood like he couldn't recall how they'd arrived there. Brice and Olin blinked, then picked their bags off the floor and examined them with curiosity, seeing them again for the first time.

      "We had a good night, men." Damien clasped Brice on the shoulder and took another deep breath. "Good, good work. The queen will be very pleased. Very pleased."

      With slack faces, the trio nodded and shuffled deeper into the tunnels.

     There. His work was done. Ice fully consumed Damien, and he wrapped his arms around himself. His words left a hollowness that reverberated miserably all the way to his feet.

     "I'm sorry," he said to the empty meeting chamber. "I'm sorry I took your memories but this will keep you safe."

     He was their leader. If they had any hope of survival, he needed to separate them from this event. His current queen had a temper, and her strikes proved devastating. A room of wasted men could prove it. Damien would protect his crew and all the mine's groups from her wrath, if he could.

      His long strides took him to the lockers as he plotted his next course of action. He had work to do before the morning. Money to procure, and maybe, just maybe a girl to meet.