To his credit, Lukas didn’t tell him it would all be okay. That he’d find a way out of it. Lukas didn’t lie, and in some small way, Aidan was grateful for the lack of comfort. It was easier than getting his hopes up. Lukas just sat there, silently, gently touching Aidan’s shoulder, while Aidan broke apart.
He hurt. Every inch of him hurt. His body. His heart. His soul.
What hurt most, though, was the small shred of relief he felt inside.
Relief that it hadn’t been him on the pyre. Relief that he was still alive. Breathing. Even if only for a little bit longer.
Even though every inch of him screamed in agony, at least he was able to feel that pain.
That relief, that sheer betrayal of his body, hurt worst of all.
* * *
Aidan was dragged in for torture a second time that day. Or third, if you counted the pyre. Which he did.
And this time, he wasn’t there alone.
Kianna was already bound to a chair when he was brought in. She stared straight ahead, in her tattered pink T-shirt and bloodstained black denim. Same room as before—same dripping candles, same bare walls, same instruments coated with his blood. Beside Kianna was a second table, covered with clean instruments for her own interrogation. The stark silver made him wince.
Aidan halted in the doorway at the sight of her. At the thought of being tortured and questioned side by side. At the thought of the secrets they might spill about each other. His hesitation made a guard punch him in the gut. He was lifted like a sack of potatoes and thrown into the empty chair. Aidan blacked out from the pain, just for a moment, and when he came to he was strapped down and facing her.
Great. Front row seats to each other’s misery.
She stared at him with the same hard, unreadable expression she had at the pyre.
She didn’t say a word.
Neither did he.
“Ah, here we are,” Jeremiah said, closing the door behind him. “Old friends reunited at last. I have often wondered how deep your relationship goes. Today, it seems, I was right in believing it ran deeper than you let on. Perhaps we should find out just how deep your bond goes, and how we might use that to bring you both to salvation.”
Aidan didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know if anything he said would make it worse for her. Or him.
“Are you asking if we fucked?” Kianna asked. Her words were flat, humorless. “Because I sure as hell don’t know him biblically.”
There was a crack and spray of blood as Jeremiah smacked her across the jaw with a baton.
“I heard you had a tongue.” He paced around Kianna, eyeing her up and down. “Perhaps it is time for you to lose it.”
“The ladies won’t like that,” she replied. Still humorless. Still unaffected by fear. “Or the lads.” She peered past Jeremiah to look at Aidan. “Am I right? I’ve heard your tongue is legendary in the Guild. I know the boys like it when you—”
“Silence!” Jeremiah yelled. He hit her again with the baton, this time so loud Aidan was certain her jaw had dislocated.
Her head jerked to the side. But she didn’t wince or cry out like Aidan would have done. She just gathered her saliva and spit blood on the floor.
“We are not here to discuss your perversions,” Jeremiah said, his voice tight. “We are here to discuss your salvation.”
“Good,” Kianna said. She righted her head, stared Jeremiah down. “Because I don’t think you have time to discuss the first.”
Jeremiah thrust the baton into her gut, making her cough. Then he used his baton to stroke her unmarked forearm. Unmarked, save for the welts from her bloodletting.
“Such a unique specimen,” he said, as though Kianna wasn’t gasping for breath in front of him. “No magic to speak of, yet you willingly surround yourself with the damned.”
“Sex with sinners is better,” Kianna said dully. “Usually.”
“Kianna,” Aidan hissed. He didn’t want to see her beaten again.
To his surprise, Jeremiah only shook his head.
“How have you survived so long outside the walls?” he asked, his voice low and musing. “Without magic or the Lord’s grace, how have you managed to avoid death?”
“Death doesn’t want me.”
“We shall see.”
Jeremiah looked back at Aidan. His smile made Aidan’s skin go cold. Colder.
“I see why you picked this one,” Jeremiah said. “I don’t believe even the fire could have saved her. She will take work to break, this enigma. But that is why I have brought you.”
He set down the baton and moved away from Kianna. Stepped closer to Aidan.
“Leave him out of this,” Kianna said. And for the first time, Aidan noted a hint of desperation in her voice. Things clicked. She had been trying to incite Jeremiah to pick on her and only her. Because she knew she could take the torture. Aidan didn’t know if he felt proud of her or angry that she felt the need to save him like that. He just knew he hated that it was true. “He has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, I think he has everything to do with this,” Jeremiah said. He picked up a pair of pliers from the table beside Aidan, examining them in the flickering firelight.
“A magic-less Hunter and a speaker for the Dark Lady. What a fortuitous pair to fall into my hands.”
“The hell you talking about?” Kianna asked.
“Hasn’t he told you?” Jeremiah asked. He set down the pliers. Picked up the awl. Examined it with the same loving intensity. “Or has your dear friend kept that a secret from you, as well?”
Aidan grunted and shifted in his chair. Beyond Jeremiah, Kianna stared daggers at him.
“What is he talking about, Aidan?”
“Oh, this is good,” Jeremiah said. He looked from the awl to Aidan. “Secrets don’t make friends, and it seems you both have many to share. How fortuitous indeed.” He looked between the two of them. “We are about to learn so much more about each other, aren’t we?”
Jeremiah put down the awl. And picked up a pair of garden shears. They were clean. They were new.
Aidan blanched.
Jeremiah stepped over to his left side. Just out of eyesight.
“Our friend, it seems, has been hearing the words of the greatest evil our world has ever known,” Jeremiah said. “And not just hearing them. But acting upon them.”
“He’s lying,” Aidan said.
Kianna’s eyes narrowed. She knew when he was lying. At least she had the foresight not to call him on his shit.
“The light will reveal all,” Jeremiah said. “Now, girl. You will tell me how you have survived so long without magic’s touch. Could you perhaps be a different servant to the Dark Lady? A new kind of Howl?”
“Go to hell,” Kianna said.
“I don’t believe I will.” His hand clamped down over Aidan’s, grabbed Aidan’s pinky. The other brought the shears to the first joint of Aidan’s fingertip. “But I cannot say the same for either of you. Your sins run deep. Sins and secrets...”
Aidan struggled. Jerked against his chair.
“No, no please!”
“Speak, girl.”
Kianna was silent.
“Please! No!” Aidan screamed.
Kianna stayed silent.
The next sound was the pop of shears slicing through his knuckle.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“You feel...different.”
Tomás’s voice curled through Aidan’s dream, just as the incubus’s legs curled over Aidan’s lap. The room bled into focus: leather sofa, blazing hearth fire, white bearskin rug. And the incubus himself, draped across Aidan like a blanket, wearing little more than jeans and a smile. Firelight flickered deliciously over the man’s body, over the smooth, tender skin.
Even without Fire in his chest, Aidan sparked at t
he sight. At the closeness.
At the heat.
Despite himself, he reached out and trailed a hand down Tomás’s chest, letting his fingers—all five of them—ripple over the man’s sternum, his abs. Heat thrilled through him, snaking up his arm and down his spine, igniting pieces of himself he hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages. He could touch the incubus for eternity and never feel warm enough. He could press as close as humanly possible, and still feel light-years away from that great internal sun.
Tomás just watched, a small smile on his face and one arm cocked behind his head, the other resting on Aidan’s thigh.
“Different how?” Aidan asked. His voice seemed to echo in the emptiness, as though the room were nothing but shadow and furniture and flame.
“You seem—” Tomás began, choosing his words carefully. Aidan knew what came next: empty, broken, useless. “—hungry.”
Tomás languorously drew himself up to sitting, his hand going to Aidan’s chest. Just that touch sent sparks over Aidan’s skin, sparks that sizzled and crackled through his rib cage. But rather than filling him with fire like before, they danced around the void in his chest, the heat highlighting the lack he felt within.
That’s when it hit him.
Like an ache, a hunger pang, his chest called out in agony, a chord resonating with Tomás’s own emptiness. It made him want to draw the Howl closer, to feel the void that stretched between them. He knew the difference, even in the dream: Tomás’s Sphere had been depleted, inverted. It devoured heat, rather than creating it. Aidan’s was just...hidden. He knew it was there, deep in his chest, knew the energy center still worked, still gave him life, even if he couldn’t utilize it to work magic.
That almost made it worse, knowing it was there, just beyond reach. Knowing it was his own limitations holding him back.
Tomás chuckled.
“Still burning, despite it all,” he said, still rubbing Aidan’s chest in a slow, lazy circle. “What did they do to you?”
In answer, Aidan pulled back the sleeve of his black sweater, revealing flesh untouched by blades and brands—save for the scar seared across his Hunter’s mark. Just looking at it made the room tilt, as if even the dream knew how wrong it was.
“These are not the words of any god...” Tomás whispered. He drew his fingers down the length of Aidan’s arm, taking his wrist in his hands. Tomás didn’t touch the wound. He looked scared of it.
“She’s speaking to me,” Aidan said. He didn’t know where the words came from, or why he spoke them. He just knew that he had to convince Tomás to save him. Had to convince Tomás he was worth saving.
He never thought he would believe it, but the Howl was his only hope of getting out of here.
Tomás jerked his gaze up, something like concern quickly hidden in his eyes.
“Is she?”
Aidan nodded. “I hear her. Through Fire.” He didn’t tell Tomás he’d seen her. That he’d seen her as his mother. That she promised to bring his loved ones back. He swallowed the thoughts down and prayed Tomás couldn’t read them. “I saw the shard. Jeremiah has it.”
“Then it should be easy for you to procure.” Tomás’s touch burned against Aidan’s skin, pleasurable as it was painful. His grip was tight. Aidan watched the Howl’s eyes. He knew that Tomás wasn’t surprised. Knew the Kin had sent him here, into the heart of the Church, without any warning. It had been a trap, and Aidan had hoped that Tomás would show some sign of remorse over it.
He didn’t.
“What else does she say?” Tomás asked instead.
“She told me to get the shard for you,” Aidan said. “How could she speak to me? I thought she was dead. Killed by the Church right after the Resurrection.”
“She is.” Tomás’s voice was skeptical. “No one has heard her voice in years. Not even me.”
Even in the dream, Aidan felt the resentment in Tomás’s voice. He sat up straight. “Then why do you need the shard? I thought you needed it for her. How can she need it if she’s dead?”
“She rules over life and death,” Tomás said, as though reciting something he’d heard long ago. “To die in her embrace is to accept immortality.” He shook his head. “The shard contains my brother’s power, and the secret of his resurrection. Anyone would covet such a thing.” He cocked his head. “Tell me. What did my mistress look like?”
Aidan paused. Admitting this felt too vulnerable. But the ease of the dream intoxicated him. His words fell from his lips like sins. “She looked like my mother.”
“She is all of us our mother. What did she say?”
“She could bring my family back. If I served her. If I brought you the shard.” Aidan heard the words leave his lips, but he couldn’t register the gravity. He was serving the Dark Lady. He was a heretic, just as Jeremiah said. The trouble was, he was beginning to believe that the Dark Lady might not be the villain anymore. “But she’s dead,” he repeated.
“Death is no barrier when you hold the key. And you, Aidan—you can read the language of the dead gods. You can speak it. In doing so, you could rewrite history. You could reverse even death. As she did. Once.” Tomás’s hand finally trailed over Aidan’s scar. Aidan winced, and images of his torture flashed through his mind.
“If you knew the shard was here,” Aidan said, “why didn’t you come and get it yourself? Why send me? And why aren’t you getting me out?”
“The Church is the one place creatures such as I dare not tread.”
“Because of this?” Aidan asked, pointing at his scar. He took his arm back and pulled down his sleeve.
“No,” Tomás said, still looking at Aidan’s arm. “Not because of that.”
Something in Tomás’s demeanor shifted. He no longer seemed haughty, on the brink of tipping into madness or sex. He curled his legs into himself and stared at Aidan’s forearm, rubbing his own arms, as though the brand had seared itself onto his skin. As though he were a lost little boy.
“I cannot get you out of there, my king,” Tomás said. Even his voice seemed smaller. “I am sorry. I have failed you. But I know you will get out. You must. And when you do, we will make them pay. That, I swear.”
“Why are you helping me?” Aidan asked. Of all the questions he should have asked, of all the things he should have said, that was probably the last. It was also the one the incubus had yet to truly answer.
“Because she has chosen you as hers,” Tomás whispered.
Even in the cold of his brokenness, the statement was an icicle to his heart. It pinned him to the sofa. And as it melted in his disbelief, the cold water of its poison filtered through his veins, a promise inked into his very being.
“What do you mean?” Aidan asked.
“You know what I mean.” Tomás didn’t move. He didn’t tease. All taunting, all seduction, was gone from his voice. He remained curled there, voice muted. As though the Dark Lady was watching. “She speaks to you. She speaks only to you. You are her voice. And through you, she will be reborn into this world.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Tomás said. He unfolded himself as he stood. He looked shorter, somehow, weighted down by the promise falling from his tongue. “But first, you must free yourself from the Church.”
“I can’t get out of here.”
“Then you will die, and the Dark Lady will choose another to serve her.” Tomás’s stare was unreadable. “You are only special so long as you are useful. Remember this. And until you are freed, you are of no use to us. Bring us the shard, and I swear you will get your retribution. I will help you as I can, but you must still prove your worth.”
Aidan swallowed. It was his only chance. It might all be a fever dream, a hallucination. A severe case of blood loss. It was treason a thousand times over, but he was already damned. And when he thought of what awaited him—further torture, the d
eath of Kianna, being another faceless corpse on a pyre—he knew the choice was already made.
He would do anything to get out of here.
Anything to get his powers back.
Anything to make these bastards pay.
He stood and reached out, took Tomás’s hand.
“I want your word.”
“My word?” Tomás asked. His hand burned in Aidan’s, but Aidan delighted in the heat.
“Yes. When I get you the shard, I want my powers back. And then, we will burn the Church off the earth and rule from its ashes.”
Tomás smiled. Tightened his grip. “I always had faith in my Mistress,” he said. “And now I am certain she chose correctly.”
Tomás twitched his hand, pulling Aidan close, their chests touching, Aidan’s arm at Tomás’s side.
“Follow me,” Tomás said. “Serve me. And I will be yours unconditionally. And together, yes. Together we will restore your powers and rule this broken world.”
Aidan looked up into the devil’s eyes. Saw the Dark Lady staring back.
“Then I am yours,” Aidan said. He pressed himself up to tiptoes and pressed his lips to the Howl’s.
In Tomás’s embrace, Aidan finally felt warm.
Aidan finally felt right.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“The hell is this?”
Kianna’s whispered voice cut through the dark. Aidan woke slowly, consciousness bleeding in like molasses. First the dim light. Then the pain. Then the warmth curled behind him.
He jerked and turned in bed, elbowing the mass that had been wrapped around his back.
Something thudded to the floor with a muffled yelp, and then he saw Lukas struggling to standing in the shadows. Kianna stood by the closed door, illuminated by a candle held in one hand.
“How the hell do you find someone to shag in a torture chamber?” Kianna hissed.
“I—What?” Wait, had Lukas been spooning him?
“You were shivering,” Lukas said. “I’m sorry. I should have asked. But I thought—”
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