Wescott's estimate of a few weeks turned into more than a month of captivity for Reine. After the motorboat took her to a large yacht anchored in the middle of Lake Geneva, she spent long days in the company of just the crew, the Russian enforcer, and Dr. Giorgio Katsopolous. Wescott was a generous host in terms of food and atmosphere; many people would have paid handsomely for such luxury. But one thing he wasn't willing to provide before it suited him was Reine's freedom.

When the time finally did come, it was with little warning. The only indicator of impending change was the physician leaving the vessel a day earlier. It was early October when a private jet finally also took Reine back to London. She couldn't even imagine what her friends had been going through during her disappearance. Did Wescott tell them he was keeping her away? Or were they left guessing her fate?

Ushered into a waiting Rolls Royce, she begged the chauffer to drive directly to her Kensington townhome. In lieu of a reply, he just raised the privacy screen between the two compartments. After weaving through the city's traffic, the car finally stopped in front of the Palace of Westminster where the driver let Reine out onto the crowded sidewalk. He handed her a folded note before tipping his hat and speeding off.

Flipping the heavy cardstock open, she silently read the single line within: Chapel of St. Mary Undercroft.

What did this mean? Was Wescott instructing her to find this place? What was waiting there, and why should she even obey his wishes?

Baffled by the vague message, Reine looked up at the building in front of her. Gothic spires stretched overhead, and the afternoon sun reflected off the yellow, sandstone blocks to create an intricate pattern of shadows in the carved embellishments. With the summer tourist season over, few passersby were actually headed into the building. A lone policeman idled next to the public entrance of Parliament, but before Reine could approach him for directions, a loud noise diverted her attention back toward the street.

The roar of a powerful engine became increasingly louder, soon revealing a red motorcycle approaching at breakneck speed. It zig-zagged between cars, popping a wheelie as soon as the traffic was clear enough. Cutting in front of a sedan, the driver downshifted to slow the machine before hopping the curb a few feet away. Rolling to a stop next to the building, he cut the engine and disembarked.

"Hey! You can't park there," said the officer as he left his post, rushing past Reine to stop the misconduct.

Ignoring the warning, the rider removed his helmet and placed it on the seat. Digging into his back pocket, the lanky young man with a disheveled mop of blonde hair pulled out his wallet and flipped it open in front of the policeman.

"My apologies, sir. Enjoy your visit to Westminster," the officer said as he stepped aside after inspecting the document.

Gabe nodded and looking past the uniformed man, finally noticed Reine standing by the entryway. Closing the gap with a few long strides, he embraced her in a tight hug. "Oh my God. You're back." His voice was full of relief as he buried his face in her hair.

She also wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, reluctant to let go. When he made to pull away, she only allowed him a few inches. In spite of how they last parted, she was happy to see him.

Reaching up and cupping her face in one hand, he continued. "Are you all right? We've been looking everywhere for you."

Reine nodded. "I'm okay. Max?" she asked. He'd been on her mind constantly, and she was anxious to get any news about him.

"He'll be here soon. Come," Gabe said as he grabbed her hand, but Reine refused to move.

"Wait." She unfolded Wescott's note and lifted it for him to see. "I think I'm supposed to go here."

Gabe's jaw tightened as he nodded. "I know. That's where we're heading."

Reine didn't object further and followed his lead. When they reached the entryway, Gabe put his hand at the small of her back and ushered her through the opening.

"She's with me," he called over his shoulder to the policeman who'd resumed standing guard.

"What did you show him before, anyway?" Reine whispered as they entered through the massive, wooden door into St. Stephen's Porch.

He grinned. "My platinum membership card to the Order."

"I'm serious," she grumbled.

"Me too." He laughed before glancing down at her midsection. "By the way, are you sure you're feeling okay? You look like you're about to pop," he teased.

"Oh, stop. I've got almost two more months to go." Reine said, knowing she actually looked quite good for carrying twins. But she couldn't tell him that, and Gabe shook his head.

"Whatever you say." He continued to chuckle as they scaled the dozen steps onto a large, square landing. Passing Westminster Hall on their left and a grand, stained glass window on the right, they continued forward up another set of stairs into what was once St. Stephen's Chapel.

Destroyed in the fire of 1834 that leveled most of the palace, the space had been rebuilt into an art-filled passageway leading to the octagonal-shaped Central Lobby. Instead of taking the main route, however, the duo followed a small sign just a few feet into the room. It pointed toward a narrow corridor leading visitors to the Chapel of St. Mary Undercroft.

"Oh, so that's where we're going," Reine muttered to herself, but it didn't escape Gabe's attention.

"What?"

"I'm fairly well-versed in the ancient history of Westminster, but the name was unfamiliar." She sighed, recalling Mal's derision about her expansive knowledge base. "Now I know why. Wescott used the current name of the space, but I've only known it as St. Stephen's Crypt from when it was used as a place of interment with the former chapel above."

"Yeah, I think the Order holds all of their ceremonies down there," he said.

Reine stopped abruptly and grabbed his arm. "Is that why we're here? Is Max . . . is he submitting the Confraternity over to Wescott today?"

Pulling his lips into a tight line, Gabe nodded. "Technically he's personally joining the Order, but in the end it's basically the same thing. If Max leaves the Brotherhood, it'll grant the Order free-reign to take over."

Reine's hands began to shake at the thought of what was about to transpire. "Did you have to go through one of these ceremonies?"

"No, thank God!" Gabe exclaimed as he raked his fingers through his hair. When an older couple Reine recognized from the rugby match also entered the corridor behind them, he instinctively lowered his voice. "Luckily, Wescott didn't feel there was a need to publicly skewer me since he never considered me to be part of the Confraternity in the first place."

She bit her lip. "You do mean skewer in the figurative sense, I hope."

Watching the Order members pass by and descend into the crypt, he shook his head. "Unfortunately not. Supposedly it's a blood ceremony."

Reine gasped, but Gabe reached toward her face and stroked her cheek.

"It can't be as bad as it sounds." He smiled. "And Max can take care of himself. You know that."

Reine bit her lip to stop herself from saying she didn't know that. Not any more. But it wasn't her secret to reveal. While at first glance he was still a formidable leader, Max no longer had his immortality to protect him. Holding back the urge to cry - the pregnancy hormones were wreaking havoc with her emotions - she forced a smile.

Gabe leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. "Good. You shouldn't worry about things that are out of your control, anyway. I mean, what happened to that reckless girl who tried to race me on the icy Beltway in the middle of the night?"

"First of all, it wasn't icy. Second, it was ten-thirty tops. Third, I beat your sorry butt, and you know it. And fourth, . . . well, this happened." She cradled her stomach in her hands.

"Touché. " Gabe smiled and touched her belly. He appeared to be thinking something over, and his expression turned somber. "Please believe me when I say I want to be here for you, Reine, but I feel like I've missed out on so much. You're a completely different person."

She scoffed. "The prospect of mortality will do that to you."

"What do you mean?" He spit out the words, furrowing his brows in alarm.

"They didn't tell you?" Reine's heartbeat accelerated at her inadvertent slip. She was sure Wescott would have revealed the news just to spite her.

Gabe moved closer until their bodies were touching. Looking down at her from above, he rested his forehead on hers. "You're scaring me, Reine. Tell me what?"

Avoiding his eyes, she glanced past him toward the empty corridor. Before she could decide how to most tactfully explain what would happen to her after delivery, a group containing a familiar figure rounded the corner.

"Max!" Reine exclaimed, stepping out of the other man's hold. She rushed toward the newcomer, but instead of a warm embrace, he held her at arm's length. Letting his companions - including an unusually quiet, but wide-eyed Morgan - go ahead, he planted a quick peck on Reine's cheek.

"At least that bastard kept his word about returning you today," he quietly grumbled before straightening up and looking at her solemnly. "Listen, I have to go, but there's something I want to ask of you."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Max sensed her reluctance and continued. "Please, Reine. With all that's happened, you have every right to object, but I need you to avoid analyzing the situation. It is what it is, and most importantly, I know what I'm doing. If you have any feelings left for me, put those away for the next few hours, as well."

"What are you talking about?" She began taking quick, short breaths, her anxiety growing with each one.

Max's expression remained stoic. "What you're going to witness down there," he said, nodding toward the crypt's entranceway, "may be unsettling. It's an ancient ritual meant to symbolically disgrace an adversary into submission. But in no way should you attempt to intervene. Do you understand?"

Reine swallowed the lump in her throat. "Are you sure about this?"

"I know I sure as hell haven't earned it, but I'll never ask again, so please trust me just one more time." He kissed her forehead before stepping away.

"Good luck, man." Gabe extended his arm and shook Max's hand as he passed by. Max nodded in return before hurrying down the corridor.

Reine wanted to think of something - anything - other than what was about to happen, so she focused on the present. "It's nice to see the two of you being civil again."

"You know I worked for him for years before you were in the picture. We got along quite well, actually." Gabe shrugged. "Come on. Don't wanna be late."

Walking side-by-side, they descended the plain, stone staircase as it wound downward into the bowels of the building. The air became increasingly cooler, and an earthy-smell typical of subterranean spaces got stronger the lower they went. Their footsteps echoed within the narrow space, and a chill ran down Reine's spine.

She had been here once before. It was many years after the fire, when the crypt no longer housed any notable dead, nor even a wine cellar or horse stables, as legend had it. Still, the space back then had been untouched, and the plain, stone walls were blackened with soot. If Reine closed her eyes now, she could almost smell the charred remnants.

Reaching the last step, she was prepared to enter a similarly dreary, neglected underground chamber. Instead, when Gabe opened the unassuming, arched doorway, she immediately saw the space had drastically changed.

Veined marble, colorful paint, and gold leaf covered almost every visible surface of the small chapel. The neo-Gothic influence of the late Nineteenth Century was undeniable in the intricate carvings of pointed spires or floral trefoils as the duo passed through the small entry hall. Walking under a double archway whose gables were adorned with lion head motifs, they turned left onto the main aisle right before the Baptistery.

At least ten rows - perhaps more - of five chairs each lined both the right and left side of the space, and nearly all seats were filled. Their occupants turned their heads as the couple walked up the center of the room toward the chancel. No doubt curious about the stragglers, a low murmur filled the previously quiet chapel as they recognized Reine.

Without looking down, she reached for Gabe's hand and squeezed it for moral support. He guided her to the front, stopping at two conspicuously empty chairs in the second row. Morgan smiled from the adjacent seat, embracing Reine as she sat down.

"It's so good to have ya' back," the young woman whispered in her ear as the lights began to dim.

Everyone went silent once again. When only the faint glow of the golden, arched ceilings illuminated the surroundings, three knocks sounded from the rear of the chapel.

Reine swallowed the lump in her throat. The ceremony was about to begin.