by Nadine Mutas
Stepping into the cone of light from the lone bulb, Seth gave Drake’s shackled form a once-over, his blue eyes as cold as glacial ice.
“I see you’ve stopped struggling against the restraints. Smart.” He turned his back on the table, and the clink of metal echoed in the dank room. “Perhaps you’re ready to tell me what you did with the serum.”
Drake craned his head to see what Seth was picking up from what looked like a small tray on a sideboard along the wall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Games.” A flash of light glinted off a blade Seth raised to slide over the thumb of his other hand. Blood pooled along the small cut. He licked it off. “Thing is, Drake, I enjoy playing. Do you?”
A shiver started deep inside him, spreading outward to rattle the manacles around his wrists. “I didn’t do anything. I swear.”
“You know me,” Seth said, facing the table again, the wicked sharp hunting knife still in his raised hand. “You know not to take me for a fool. You stole the serum. You ran away with it.” He waved the blade nonchalantly. “Probably to use it on a witch without our sanction. Was it because you’re an especially impatient idiot and didn’t want to wait your turn, or is it perhaps that you wanted that particular witch for yourself, and didn’t want to risk someone else winning the bid for her?”
Drake gritted his teeth to keep from answering, but of course Seth noticed.
“So that’s it.” Seth’s cold smile sent frost into Drake’s veins. “You covet a special witch. Tell me, have you used the serum on her already?”
“I’m not gonna tell you anything.” If he did get out of here by some miracle, it wouldn’t do to have blabbed about Lily. He could still claim her for himself.
“Oh, you’ll talk.” He lowered the knife to Drake’s exposed torso, hovering the blade over the soft flesh of his stomach. “Where to cut, where to cut…? Can’t damage you too badly yet, or I won’t get all the information out of you.” He sliced a precise line over Drake’s chest, stopping at his collarbone.
Pain fired along Drake’s nerves, and he cried out.
“Did you use the serum on a witch?”
Panting, Drake pressed his lips together, refusing to answer.
“Let’s try this again,” Seth said in a voice so calm, he might as well have been talking about fixing a flat tire.
Again and again the blade cut into Drake’s skin until the smell of blood saturated the air, his body crazed with pain from countless wounds.
“Fitting, don’t you think,” Seth said, as he wiped the hunting knife on a cloth, laid it back down on the tray and picked up a horror-inducing drill of some sort, “that you should bleed on the same table we used to drain the first witch. You should have seen it. Such potent magic, I could almost taste it on my tongue just by inhaling the air down here. Well,” he added, turning back to the table, “the last of her blood’s gone now, thanks to you.” He flicked the terrifying drill with a finger, and muttered more to himself, “We’ll need a new witch soon if we want more serum.”
When Seth moved to apply the drill to Drake’s already mangled arm, Drake yelled, “Stop! Please.”
Seth halted, raising one eyebrow. “Did you use the serum?”
“Yes.” His lips quivered, a bead of sweat ran down from his forehead.
“Was it successful?”
He nodded.
“Did you mate with her?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
Ice-blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate being lied to.” Seth switched on the drill and bored into bloody flesh.
Drake’s scream rended the air. “No!”
The drill stopped. Seth tilted his head. “No?”
Drake shook his head, tears streaming from the sides of his eyes. “I didn’t. She’s still available.”
“Good.” The beatific smile on Seth’s face contrasted starkly with the blood on his hands. “I see we’re getting somewhere. Tell me her name.”
“No.”
“Drake.” Seth’s tone was so gentle, almost loving. “Tell me her name, and I will pardon you for your transgression.” He petted Drake’s sweat-soaked hair, the drill casually hanging from his other hand. “You’ll even be allowed to bid on her. Who knows, maybe you’ll win?”
Heart thumping wildly against his ribs, he blinked against the tears pooling in his eyes. “Lily,” he croaked. “Lily Murray.”
“Ah, yes.” Seth’s eyes flashed with recognition. “An excellent choice. Young and strong. More fire than I’d prefer in a mate, but to each his own, hm?” He put the drill away. “Since you haven’t mated with her yet, I assume she escaped your tender care. Where is she currently hiding?”
“I—I don’t know for sure. She’s with another duhokrad. Goes by Alek. I haven’t found where he lives yet.”
A flicker of anger in Seth’s controlled aura. “You let her hook up with another male?” His eyes twitched before he caught himself. “No matter. We’ll find her. Now—” He selected an axe from the tray. “Thank you for your cooperation, Drake.”
Drake’s heart stuttered. “Wait. You said—”
The bulb’s yellowish light glinted on the sharp blade as Seth brought it smoothly down on Drake’s neck.
Chapter 21
An audience with the Demon Lord always involved some form of humiliation. Like being forced to take the scenic lake route, and then showing up before Arawn dripping wet and chilled to the bone.
Alek waded out of the lake and trudged up onto the shore. Pausing for a moment, he shook his head, then peeled off his soaked tee and wrung it hard. Water hit the sand with a muffled splash. Ten years. Ten damn years of working for the son of a bitch, and he’d never figured out another way to reach Arawn’s lair. And there were other ways. Those closer to the Demon Lord traveled back and forth without arriving soaking wet.
He eyed the crumpled, soggy lump in his hands and grimaced. He’d rather have the cool night air assaulting his bare skin than put that dripping wet T-shirt back on, but appearing topless before the Demon Lord was not an option. Not that Alek had any problem with showing some skin, no. Arawn simply liked to keep his supplicants uncomfortable. Having to wear soaked clothing to an audience with him would accomplish that nicely. Bastard.
He gritted his teeth and pulled the tee back on. Turning to the vast expanse of water, he called, “Thanks, Kalista. I’ll be back in a bit.”
The nymph who’d taken him through the lake smiled while she swam in lazy circles, her pale skin luminescent in the moon light. “My pleasure. I will wait for you.”
Her purr followed him as he set off down the path into the darkness of the forest, conscious of gazes on him, invisible in the dark, guards hidden in the shadows. They let him pass because he was one of Arawn’s. Any unwelcome guest would meet a swift death if he dared set foot in the Demon Lord’s inner dominion.
At a fork in the trodden path, he paused. Tilting his head to the side he called out, “Anyone kind enough to point me to His Grace?”
Arawn’s home in the woods was spread out over winding trails, haunted groves, and an underground maze of tunnels and dens brimming with age-old magic. Unless Alek knew exactly where to find the enigmatic son of a bitch, he might wander for several nights.
“To your right,” a female voice answered a second before a wolf shifter in human form emerged on silent feet from the shadows.
A mane of tight dark curls tumbled around a face of bronzed ebony, hazel eyes watching him with the kind of sharp intelligence that made Zaina one of Arawn’s elite soldiers. Many had underestimated her in the past because of her gender and petite frame, as Alek had observed on more than one occasion. None of them would ever make that mistake again.
“He’s in the clearing by the waterfall,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Thanks.” Alek nodded at her and took the path forking off to the right.
The quiet of the forest whispered over his skin as he moved through the trees, the chill of th
e air penetrating his soaked clothes, seeping into his bones. Well, at least it was September, and some summer warmth still lingered. He’d been summoned to an audience with Arawn in winter once, and his balls had stayed frozen for a good two days.
He now followed the faint dancing lights blinking in and out of sight several yards ahead, and, with the same caution one would use to navigate through the enclosure of a sleeping tiger, he stepped onto the clearing.
The sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks. The Demon Lord stood on a grassy bank in front of a waterfall, illuminated by a slowly swirling swarm of fireflies—next to a grizzly bear the size of an SUV. The moment the bear spotted Alek, it let loose a rumbling growl that echoed in the clearing. The fireflies swirled faster in an uproar. Lips curling back from an impressive set of yellowed teeth, ears flattened against its head, the grizzly rose on its hind legs, its focus locked on Alek.
His heart pounded against his ribs. His muscles tensed to deny the instinct to turn and get the hell out of there. Demon he might be, but he wouldn’t stand a chance against a grizzly weighing eight hundred-something pounds.
The bear, however, was not the most powerful predator in the clearing.
Arawn turned to the grizzly, laid his hand on the expanse of its chest, completely unconcerned about the destructive animal force in front of him. The bear stopped growling. Digging his fingers into the mass of fur, Arawn spoke a word in an unknown language, his voice a rumble in the dark.
With a throaty huff, the grizzly dropped down on all fours again. The fireflies quieted and resumed their lazy swirling. As Arawn’s hand stroked over the bear’s back, the beast lowered its head and closed its eyes. The night was still for the span of a heartbeat.
An instant later, the grizzly turned and trotted away. The brush still rustled with its retreat when Arawn faced Alek. Always, he seemed to compress the air around him, as if he demanded more space than nature could grant him. Seeing the Demon Lord out in the open, under the promise of endless sky, was by far more preferable than meeting him in the confines of a room. Out here, there at least was enough air left to breathe.
Even though his build was massive, as if he’d been carved from the first elements that had seeded this world, his form was human still. Well, human enough to walk among people undetected for the wildness of his true nature, although even those not gifted with magic would sense he was more. The otherness that imbued all his forms—whether human or animal—would sneak past any ignorance, would leave a niggling sense of discomfort, an instinctual awareness of being in the presence of something one should run from. Fast.
“Aleksandr.” He inclined his head just the slightest bit, taking in the soaked, dripping condition of Alek’s clothes, before he raised his eyes again to pin Alek with the kind of unnerving stare that was the Demon Lord’s look of relaxed indifference.
Alek immediately averted his eyes. A consuming rush of heat infused his blood, centering in his stomach with a swirl of nausea as he went down on one knee against every instinct in his body, and bowed his head. “My lord.” Underneath the skin on his fingertips, his claws itched to slide out. Just one slash. One well-aimed slash at the bastard’s throat was all he craved.
Only it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. And the attempt alone would cost Alek his life.
So he simply got to his feet again, careful not to look into Arawn’s eyes. Those eyes of green and gray, of secrets lost in the woods. Others might lower their gaze out of deference. To Alek, it was born of hatred. He had no desire to make eye contact with the monster who had ripped a gaping hole in his family barely a decade ago.
“What brings you here?”
Alek cleared his throat. “I would like to ask you for something.”
“Obviously. You would not be here unless you would have me grant you a favor of some kind.” It was probably as close as the Demon Lord would come to saying, Spit it out.
Here we go. “There is something in your possession that I need.” He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Arawn had the stone, or at least that he had it at some point, because Alek was the one who delivered it to him. The Demon Lord had sent him on a mission a couple of years back, to retrieve the gem from a fae in payment of a debt. He still remembered the feel of the crystal in his palm, its warmth due to the magic slumbering inside. Its pink color, which he now knew meant it remained unused.
A tilt of the head from Arawn, the movement anything but human. “And what would that be?”
“The nymphenstern I brought you a few years ago.” He inhaled a heavy breath. “If it’s still unused, that is.”
The Demon Lord stilled, and the air seemed to freeze around him as well, the fireflies halted in their lazy flight path as if someone had pushed a universal pause button. When he spoke, his voice was rough silk over a blade. “Tell me why.”
Alek’s thoughts raced. How much information could he—should he—offer up to Arawn? If he told him about the witch turnings, it might open a can of worms. What if the Demon Lord decided the idea of transforming witches into duhokrads was so awesome, he wanted to adopt that practice himself?
At first, Alek might have welcomed the fact that Lily had been turned—would still support it if it didn’t threaten to break Lily—but the truth was, the whole project was a fundamental violation of the witch victims’ identity, body, and integrity. If the knowledge of how to produce the serum fell into Arawn’s hands, and he chose to carry it on himself, the consequences would devastate the witch community.
And because he knew it would devastate Lily as well, he struggled to find an explanation that would satisfy Arawn’s curiosity without giving too much away.
“It is needed to heal my—” He did a mental double-take, unsure what to call Lily. Girlfriend didn’t seem to express just how much she meant to him, and yet, mate didn’t apply—yet, or maybe ever. “The female I love.”
“What kind of illness could be cured by the magic of a nymphenstern?”
Like a dog with a bone. Just wouldn’t let it go, would he? If he lied outright to Arawn’s face, the Demon Lord would sniff it out immediately, so he tried to stay with the truth as far as possible. Keeping his aura tightly controlled lest it show the surge of irritation and impatience that racked him, he said in a deliberately bland voice, “Her condition is special and rare. There’s a potion that can treat her, and one of the necessary ingredients is an unused nymphenstern.”
“Who will brew the potion?”
Careful, careful. “I contracted a witch through an acquaintance.” It wasn’t unheard of for witches to do occasional magic for otherworld beings, sometimes covertly, as in case of dealing with demons, to avoid repercussions in the witch community.
Apparently satisfied with his answer, Arawn turned his back on Alek. A blatant display of the arrogance that lay upon him like an exquisitely tailored cloak—the Demon Lord was so sure of his superiority and power that he didn’t even perceive Alek as a danger to him. No predator would turn his back on a real threat.
Alek breathed through his nose to calm himself, pushing down the rage heating his skin by sheer force of will. Soon he could leave.
“I will demand a price for the stone.”
Naturally… “I’m aware of that, my lord.”
Arawn prowled closer, moving with far too much grace for his powerful frame. The air around him shimmered, as if the fabric of the world itself couldn’t decide whether he fit into this plane of existence at all. “Do you know why I assigned you the task of watch duty?”
“No, sire.”
“Your term of service with me will soon come to a close.”
Like I don’t know. There was a countdown on his phone, and—just because he reveled in the physical act—he crossed out the days on the calendar on his fridge as well.
“I had thought,” Arawn continued, “to avoid endangering your life with a risky task so close to the completion of your service.”
Alek’s head jerked back as if slapped. Mind scram
bled, he stared at Arawn, speechless for a few seconds. A tingling, unbidden feeling spread in his chest—utterly misdirected, though. Had it been anyone else before him, Alek might have believed those words showed authentic consideration and…respect. But this was Arawn. The same Arawn whose hands were still stained with the blood of Alek’s family.
Consideration, my ass.
Muscles sore from the tension, Alek bowed his head, disgust clawing him bloody on the inside. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness—” he bit back the insult that leapt to the tip of his tongue, yearning to be set free “—my lord.”
“You have always been one of my best enforcers, Aleksandr. You have not failed me once.”
Only because I know what failing the Demon Lord would get me. Alek had enough self-control—though barely—to swallow that comment before it left his mouth.
“My price,” Arawn said, his voice a rumble in the semi-dark of the fireflies’ glow, “for giving you the nymphenstern, which is unused still, is the continuation of your service to me.”
His heart stopped for a moment that seemed far too long, the gloom of night stretching its greedy hands to grab his soul, and pull it under. “For how much longer?” he rasped.
“Until death takes you.”
His whole life, serving the one who murdered his parents. Shaking with an inner rage he had no means to vent, he raised his head, met eyes of deepest green and swirling shadows. For Lily. “I accept.”
For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Lily called Alek’s phone. Pacing in the spare bedroom Dima and Tori had so generously ceded to her, she listened to it ring and ring until the call rolled over to voice mail.
“Where are you?” she whispered, checking her texts. No reply from him.
What was going on? Had she pushed him away too often? He’d still come to her aid when she needed duh—Dima admitted later that he had tipped him off, assuming Alek would want to be the one to help her—but then he left without so much as a word while her world shattered to pieces around her.