She launched into a run for the door. He snatched her arm and yanked her back. Gripping her under the chin, his fingers pressing into her jaw, he held her still, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“You dare to make a cuckold of me,” he whispered between gritted teeth.
“Let me go. I am leaving you.”
He grinned. “You aren’t going anywhere. Except where I tell you. And since you enjoy playing the whore, tonight I have a surprise for you.”
“You’ve gone mad. Let me go!”
She struggled and twisted out of his grip, leaping for the exit. Two men appeared in the doorway. One of them she recognized at once: Lorken, the high demon who’d attacked her and George the day before. Her breath caught in her throat as she backed away.
“Hold her,” came the chilling order from her husband.
Within a single moment, they grabbed her arms, and she felt Clyde’s cold fingers wrapping around her throat from behind. He put his lips close to her ear.
“You’re going to learn once and for all how to obey, my wife. Drink,” he demanded.
Clutching her jaw, he forced a glass to her mouth and poured. She coughed and spluttered but the liquid—alcohol with a medicinal taste and a hint of saffron—slid down her throat. Laudanum. She knew the foul concoction from when she broke an arm falling from her horse as a girl.
She tried to spit it out, but Clyde kept her head tilted, a vise-like grip on her jaw, pouring the glass till it was gone. She fought and twisted, but they were too strong. Her vision hazed. An icy aura gripped her body. Her limbs went numb as she drifted away, falling into darkness.
Chapter Twenty
Katherine was in a carriage, the telltale rattle along the cobblestone street waking her. Slipping in and out of consciousness, she remembered being lifted, having her clothes removed, then being redressed and hearing the voices of men. Shame was not what she felt as she slowly came back to herself. Fear—chilling and raw.
Blinking awake, she found herself within a darkened cab, Lorken and the other man—no, demon—sat across from her. Clyde was at her side, adorned in a top hat and evening dress, his golden lion’s head cane propped between his legs. Out the window, she saw only woods shadowed by night.
“Just in time, darling,” said Clyde, arrogance and bitterness lacing his every word. “We’ll be arriving in a moment.”
Her chest and ribs felt constricted, her corset lacings too tight. She glanced down, lifting the flap of a red cloak draped around her shoulders. They had fit her into the white dress, hoisting her breasts to embarrassing heights. She would never bare that much flesh of her own free will. Clyde’s haunting words before he rendered her unconscious echoed through her mind.
“Where”—her throat was rusty from the lingering effects of the drug—“where are you taking me?”
“To a party,” answered Clyde lightly. “And you will be the belle of the ball.” He chuckled at his own private joke.
Katherine’s hands trembled in her lap. No gloves. A lady always wore her gloves. Her heart faltered at the significance of this item absent from her hands.
The carriage rolled to a stop. A brutish-looking man in evening dress stepped up to the cab window, caught sight of Clyde, then motioned them through a gate. Katherine didn’t recognize where they were as the carriage rattled on for a few more minutes. The door opened, and a coachman she also didn’t recognize held out his hand for her.
“Go on, Katherine. Don’t leave the man standing there like a fool.”
She knew there was no point in struggling or screaming for help. She was caught in a nasty situation. The ominous aura hovering around her warned her of a terrible danger. But screaming her head off would do no good at this point. She would observe her surroundings and find a way to escape whatever hellish trap she’d fallen into.
Accepting the coachman’s assistance, she alighted onto a cobblestone path leading toward a dome-shaped atrium, looking much like a greenhouse or nursery, though it sat on the edge of a wide lake. Clyde led them toward the door, with Katherine behind him and the two demons behind her. She was perceptive enough to understand they were not escorting her for her safety but guiding her like a prisoner. Like Andromeda being led to the sacrificial rock, where she was bound to await the Kraken, Katherine wondered what terrible fate awaited her, what monster would emerge from the deep to destroy her.
Once inside the small building, they were met by two men. No. Not men. Their shining red eyes told Katherine they were certainly not human. They took Clyde’s hat and overcoat but did not approach her. One of them held a silver platter of simple red masks. Clyde, Lorken and the other demon donned the masks. Without a word, Clyde led them toward stairs going downward. Her pulse racing like mad, Katherine looked back, hoping for some way to escape. Lorken and the other one blocked any retreat. With no other option, she descended behind Clyde down a steep stairwell that must be taking them underground.
At the end of the stairs, a long corridor lit with sconces extended before them. But Clyde stopped at a door to the left and rapped his cane three times. The door opened. Ushered inside, Katherine was immediately gripped with the urge to run far away as fast as she could. Instead, she held her chin high, facing whatever evil awaited her with what remaining grace she could muster.
It was a small chamber, lit by six-tiered candelabra spread about the room, which was nothing more than some sort of lounging parlor. Seated in an overlarge leather wingback was the man she knew as Mr. Calliban. His lovely and robotic wife was not here. As a matter of fact, no women occupied the room, though half a dozen additional stalwart men in evening dress lingered at the edges, wearing red masks. Mr. Calliban remained unmasked. Like a helpless sheep thrust into a den of wolves, she sensed the imminent danger and felt her chances of survival dwindling.
“Well, well, well.” Calliban stood, placing his glass of port on a sideboard. “You did not disappoint, Clyde. I wasn’t sure you had the fortitude to bring her.”
“I do not break my vows. Though others often do.” His glare fell upon Katherine, but she ignored him, watching the tiger stalk closer. Shadows played across Calliban’s dark complexion as he moved past the candlelight. His tall, lean figure glided toward her in a smooth line. As if a cobra were drawing closer in the tall grass, unseen, she withered at his approach, wishing she could disappear.
He was a high demon. A prince. She hadn’t the time to discover all the attributes of such a title from George, but the sinister power vibrating in the room told her enough. Clyde stepped behind her, unhooked the crimson cloak at her neck and removed it. The gaze of every man raked her with cold lust, though Calliban simply smiled as if he were a true gentleman meeting a beautiful woman.
“You are quite lovely,” he said, moving well within her personal space, placing a finger below her chin to guide her gaze to meet his. Only darkness dwelled there.
“Please,” she whispered. “I don’t belong here.”
“Actually, you do.” His finger trailed away from her chin, along her skin, down her neck to the hollow between her collarbones. “You are the lover of George Draconis.”
A fact. She would not deny him now, though her survival instincts beckoned her to lie. “He will come for me.”
“I am sure that he will. We are counting on it,” he said, inching closer. “I can still smell him on you.” Calliban’s eyes flashed bloodred, then back to obsidian orbs that pinned her in place.
She stepped back, directly into her husband, who wrapped his hands around her biceps, keeping her still.
“But when he comes, he will find you…changed.” A few men snickered. “And slightly more worldly than before.”
“Please,” she begged again, a tear burning hot down one cheek. “Don’t.” There was no mistaking that what virtue she had left, he planned to take from her.
“Shhhh,” he whispered, long fingers wrapping ar
ound her throat. “You are worth too much to throw away to the pack.” He glanced at the men to his right, then lowered his head and brushed his mouth against her trembling lips, biting her lower one, releasing it slowly. “You will fetch a high price from a special clientele.”
He stepped back, running his tongue along his lip. “Mmmm. A very high price.” He motioned for a man at the door to take her.
“My lord, do you not want to cast her with your essence?”
“No.” His grin cut his face in half with dark foreboding. “I do not. I want the lover of George Draconis to feel every ounce of fear and pain as her virtue is stripped from her. She will not fight or struggle, for she knows that if she does, not only will she die after extensive tortures that I will implement myself, but every person she loves will endure the same fate.”
He stormed from the room. Clyde released her and followed. The other men pressed close around her. There was nothing she could do but follow their orders and suffer whatever doom they had planned.
As she walked on unsteady legs down the corridor toward an open room, she remembered George feeling guilty for having drawn the attention of Damas, the demon prince he loathed. But it was the attention of Calliban that he should’ve feared more. She wished she could go back to this morning, to that moment in George’s parlor when she read his letter with the sun shining on the garden, when Lady Helene convinced her she must do what was right and honorable. This world did not live by honor. And her husband was a part of it. Naïve and trusting, she had made a decision based on what a proper lady would do, despite the fact she had done something a lady should never do. She had wanted to make the ending right by Clyde, no matter that he had never treated her with the respect she deserved.
But this was not the world in which she’d been brought up. This world operated by rules where honor played no part at all. She had made it so easy for them. And now she must accept whatever fate had in store for her.
Entering a circular room, she observed that chairs had been placed on a dais along the wall. Numerous sconces encircled the room. Shimmering shadows reflected on the floor, which drew Katherine’s gaze upward. A glass ceiling did not exactly reach up to the sky. Water rippled overhead, the moonlight shining through from above. They were under the lake.
A red velvet carpet stretched across a square of wood flooring, painted black, which occupied the center of the room. Another dais stood behind the velvet carpet, upon which sat a gold-painted chair, richly carved and ornamented. Calliban stalked across the floor, then sprawled back in the chair. Not a chair. A throne. Katherine hitched in her breath, scanning the faces of the strangers seated in the room. All men, many of their eyes gleaming red. This was an audience of demons, not men, she realized as she was nudged toward the red velvet carpet. Clyde turned her about to face the room and stood behind her. A group of three violinists sat in one corner.
“Greetings, gentlemen,” said Calliban from his throne. “I welcome you, one and all, to this unique gathering with a prize worth your travels from abroad.”
The many demon lords in the room were still and watchful. Katherine felt the weight of their stares fixed on her. They appeared as normal gentlemen in evening dress, though each of them had fine physiques and lustrous hair shining by torchlight. Not a small, weak one among them. She swallowed hard at the thought that high demons possessed all the physical traits needed for seduction on a potent scale. In addition, a tantalizing energy weighted the room, promising danger and temptation.
Her breath came hard and fast, her chest heaving despite the corset’s constriction.
“As you can see, we have an exquisite lady who promises to satisfy your many diverse appetites, but her beauty is only part of the prize.” He paused for effect. It seemed to work, as many demons leaned forward in their seats to gain a closer look at the woman in white on the crimson carpet. “This woman is the lover of none other than George Draconis.” A chorus of hisses erupted. “Slayer of Demons, Stalker of Dens, Destroyer of Spawn. This human woman is the object of his most dear affection. What satisfaction might one of you enjoy when you take her as your own and keep her in your realm?”
Murmurs among the damned spread around the room as they drank her in more eagerly. Calliban continued.
“This is not a human auction, so money is useless. We will barter for territory only. The bid I deem the richest with the most valuable realms on earth will be the winner of this…delectable treasure.”
Calliban clapped his hands twice. The violinists began to play. Katherine did not know what it meant until Lorken, the slippery demon who had gotten away from George, stepped up to her with his hand offered to her.
“Let us dance, my lady.”
She would’ve laughed at the absurdity of his gallant gesture if terror weren’t gripping her throat in a vise. She glanced toward Calliban, who said nothing at all. His hard expression sealed her fate with the threat of torment and death to her loved ones should she fight him. To think of Jane in this pit of vipers was nearly enough to make her double over and lose the contents of her stomach. She had no choice.
She took Lorken’s hand. With the other, he gripped her waist and pulled her tight against him, whirling her over the black-stained dance floor, giving the bidders a view of her at every angle.
“My territories in south Persia,” came one voice.
“Mine in northern Italy and the island of Cyprus.”
Lorken whisked her into another turn, leering down like the spider to the fly. The violins lilted a somber, romantic tune, adding to the bitter irony.
“My entire realm of Asia will I give for her,” said one with a grating voice that sent shivers down her spine.
The room spun, mirroring Katherine’s inner turmoil. What creature would own her at the end of this harrowing auction?
“I would like to bid,” announced a sonorous voice at the entrance.
The violins stopped. Lorken halted midturn. Lord Radcliff, the one George called Damas, stood at the edge of the dance floor, devastatingly handsome in his finest evening attire, his gaze on Calliban. At his back stood Alexander Godfrey. Why would Damas bring him here?
“Damas.” Calliban rose from his throne. “We were not expecting you. And your friend. I did not think this would amuse you.”
“It more than amuses me, brother.”
Calliban chuckled. “I almost forgot. You and the Slayer have quite a history.”
Alexander didn’t move, stoic behind Damas, like a child at his father’s back.
Damas glanced at her, a tenderness in his expression she did not expect, before he glared back at his brother. “Despite the fact you excluded me from the party, I have come all the same. And I offer all my holdings on earth.”
An audible gasp filled the room, the weight of his offer sparking tension in the air. And something else. There was no denying that these beings cast an eerie energy.
“All?” questioned Calliban, an expression of genuine surprise marking his hard face.
“All.” His declaration was firm and final. “You know that I, among everyone here, hold the most territories on earth. I have holdings in every corner of every continent, altogether more advantageous than any bid they could offer.”
Calliban let the offer linger in the air for just one moment before dipping his chin. “Done.”
Damas held out his hand toward her. “Come, Katherine.” He did not enter the room any farther, which put Katherine on guard. He held himself in a defensive stance with Alexander watching his back.
Though she understood Damas to be one of these high demons, she couldn’t help but sigh a sense of relief as she walked swiftly across the floor under the hard gazes of so many. He had been kind to her and didn’t leer at her like a feast waiting to be devoured as the others did. When she reached Damas, he draped his coat over her shoulders, took her hand and led her swiftly toward the exit.
“Look! Over there.” Jude pointed to a carriage half in a ditch, where the sweating horses shuffled in the traces. One whickered at the approaching riders. George whipped his horse to greater speed, recognizing the Thornton crest, his sight well-adjusted to the dark.
From the moment he returned to Thornton, he’d been mad with fear and anxiety. When he received the letter from Father Abney at breakfast, stating that Emily Farrell had finally come round to herself, George was needed to talk her down from hysteria. George was good at calming anxious souls, bringing them to understand the difficult truth, especially after the use of demon essence to possess the soul. He and Jude had escorted Father Abney and Emily back to her home but let the priest enter the gates alone to deliver Emily to her father. George had been happy to see the older man’s face crack with relief and love at the sight of his daughter, wrapped in blankets and the arms of a priest—alive and well. Or as well as could be expected.
He’d arrived home after dark, anxious to return to Katherine, hoping she was feeling better than this morning when she hadn’t come down for breakfast. He’d been so concerned about her well-being, knowing he couldn’t visit her room with her maid there, that he hadn’t noticed the behavior of Lady Mable and her daughter. It wasn’t until his return after a short, terse conversation with Duncan and upon reading her letter that his heart fell from his chest.
George’s carriage was no longer at Harron House, and the Blakely butler, Edmund, did not know what had happened to the brute of a coachman. The last Edmund knew, Lady Katherine had asked the servants to meet her in the kitchen. But she had never come down from her bedchamber. When Edmund had gone in search of her, he found nothing in her room but a book and letter on the floor. Edmund produced the book and the letter, which amplified George’s fear tenfold.
The Deepest Well Page 17