by Katie May
The guard kneeling in front of me glances up toward a man just in his peripheral.
“You can stop now,” he directs. When the guard stares at him completely, I get my first look at someone who is obviously powerful. A mage or warlock, if I had to guess given my limited supernatural knowledge. His white hair is blowing in an invisible wind, and his violet eyes emit a strange inner light. Power. The man exudes power.
Heck, it almost appears as if he is power.
The strange man stops chanting instantly, dropping his hands to his sides. Immediately, Kai and Bronson begin to murmur and shift.
“Now that I stopped the spell, they’re not going to remain down for long,” the white-haired man muses almost lazily.
“Good. We have what we need anyway.”
Two guards grip both my arms, pulling me up to my feet, and propel me out of the room and into the throne room. I’m too weak to walk on my own, so I’m forced to hang between them, my feet hovering just above the ground. The pain has ebbed, but my stomach somersaults repeatedly, threatening to expel the contents of my breakfast.
In the throne room, I can see Abel lying unconscious at the foot of the chair. Damien is leaning against the wall, head lolled, with at least a dozen guards surrounding him, weapons drawn. Even unconscious, the man is capable of evoking fear in guards and prisoners alike.
Is it strange that I feel a flurry of pride?
The guards move as one through the Labyrinth, only stopping when they reach the first fork in the hall.
“She needs to be unconscious,” one of the guards insists snidely. The same asshole who had poked and prodded me.
“She’s blind,” a different guy protests. “It’s not like she’ll see anything.”
“You know the rules.” The guard grabs a syringe dripping with a strange, undefinable liquid. Leaning toward me, his smile grows exponentially as if some sick, twisted part of him gets off on inflicting pain. “Nighty night.”
I pull out of the mind I’m residing in just as the needle pierces the skin of my neck.
Kai.
Bronson.
Visitor.
Compound.
Nighty night.
Darkness pulls me under.
I really need to stop passing out.
As awareness enters my body, I try to piece together where I am and how I got here. I remember talking with Bronson...
And Kai running inside, telling us that I had a visitor.
And then...pain. Agonizing pain lighting up my bones like an incandescent flame. That man—that strange white-haired man with purple eyes—must’ve cast a pain spell on the others. For some reason, whether intentional or not, the spell hadn’t rendered me unconscious, the injection had.
Where am I?
I’m sitting with my hands handcuffed to something cold in front of me. A table? Yes, it feels to be a table made of metal, my hands latched to something protruding from it. There’s a kink in my neck that I can’t remove no matter how many times I twist my head from side to side.
A door opens and closes, alerting me to the approaching figure. I tense, back going ramrod straight, as he approaches the table.
“You must be Nina,” a breathy voice exclaims as the chair across from me is pulled back with an audible screech.
Not a he.
I push into the female’s head to get my bearings. It’s similar to the one I was interrogated in for weeks on end after I was arrested. Masculine white walls without a splash of color. Silver metal table in the center of the room. Two plastic chairs.
The woman turns her face away from mine, toward the one-way mirror, and I’m able to see her clearly for the first time.
She’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Her chestnut curls cascade down to the middle of her back. Brilliant blue eyes, the exact shade of the core of a blistering hot flame, stand out on an already arresting face. She’s slim and tall, and I know without having to see her move that she would be graceful and elegant. Her teal dress clings to her body like a second skin—tighter around the bodice and bedecked with jewels before sweeping outwards at her waist.
When she turns back toward me, I see my mouth parted slightly and white eyes wide. Gaping.
Regaining my senses, I clamp my mouth shut and try to remember her question.
“Yes, I’m Nina,” I stutter.
Who is this woman, and why is she here to see me? My first thought is that she’s from the Compound, but I’m positive I’ve never seen her before in my life.
“You don’t know me,” she begins softly, “but my name is Alyssa Timmer.” She waits, as if expecting a reaction from me. Her name rings absolutely zero bells.
When I don’t immediately reply, she shifts in her seat, staring down at her flowing skirt.
“Councilwoman Alyssa Timmer,” she corrects, and I stiffen even further.
As in...? The same Council that Raphael was on before he was killed and I was convicted of his death?
Oh god. I’m dead. So, so dead. She’s here to kill me. Avenge her friend’s death.
Goodbye Kai.
Goodbye Abel and Cain.
Goodbye Bronson.
Goodbye Damien.
Goodbye—
“I don’t believe you killed him,” Alyssa finishes at last, and all coherent thoughts flee. I blink at her like an imbecile. “Raphael had a lot of enemies,” she continues at last, “and he was an extremely powerful vampire. I find it hard to believe that a little girl like you could be behind his death.” Almost as an afterthought, she adds, “No offense.”
“Um...none taken.” Her words slam into me like a sledgehammer, stealing the breath from my lungs. “You believe me? That I’m innocent?”
What does this mean? Am I free? Can she get me out? But what about Kai and the others? I can’t leave him, not after I just found him. And though I don’t know the others well, a part of me feels like I need to. Know them, that is. It’s almost an instinctual need, like crying when you’re in pain or laughing when you’re happy. I need to know them.
“I believe you, but there’s nothing I can do.” She sighs, the sound forlorn, and I wonder what kind of relationship she had with this Raphael guy. Come to think of it, I know next to nothing about the man I supposedly murdered. Is he young or old? Handsome or ugly? Compassionate or evil? His entire existence before his death is a mystery to me.
It’s ironic, in a demented sort of way, that I know more about the man’s death than anything else.
“Nothing you can do,” I repeat numbly.
“The judge ruled you guilty,” she explains, not unkindly. She looks down at my locked hands, almost as if she wishes to reach across the table and put hers over mine. Instead, she balls them into fists and keeps them stubbornly on her lap. “In this world, you’re guilty until proven innocent. Since you’ve already been convicted, the authorities don’t feel the need to investigate further.”
“But you don’t believe that,” I surmise.
“No, I don’t. It just doesn’t add up.” She glances toward the window once more, a frown turning down her thin lips. “I’ve started my own investigation into things. Raphael was charismatic and kind, but he was also extremely ruthless and vicious. He had friends, but he also had enemies. I’m just trying to narrow down which ones wanted to see him dead.” She turns toward me. “Most of them are already in this prison.”
I keep my lips pressed into a thin line, unsure if she wants or is even expecting an answer.
“The Council controls this area of the United States,” she begins before snorting delicately. “I’m sure if we could, we would control the world.” Shaking her head ruefully, she focuses back on me. I’m leaning over the table, entirely entranced by the snippets of information she’s tossing at me. “The Council is made up of supernaturals from each of the main species. There’s seven of us in total. A mage, a shifter, a vampire, a demon, an angel, a werewolf, and a druid. There are other supernaturals out there, of course, but these are the ones who predominantly live
in this area. We maintain the peace, create laws, and run a structured system. Raphael was one of the main proponents of peace between species—supporting things like interspecies marriages and breeding, among other things. Other supernaturals were not as progressive as him.”
“And you think that’s what got him killed,” I guess, piecing the puzzle together with the minimal clues she gave me. She’s offering them like breadcrumbs and it’s my job to follow the trail.
“I do.” She nods once before gracefully moving to her feet, staring down at me. “I’m going to try to get you out of here, Nina, but I need your help.”
“Anything,” I answer immediately, and not just for my freedom. A man is dead. I want to help her find the true murderer before he or she can hurt someone else.
“There’s a man in the prison that I think might have some information about Raphael Turner’s murderer,” she says candidly. “Ask him some questions, and I’ll do what I can on my end. Together, we’ll uncover the truth about what happened to my friend, and we’ll get you out of here.”
I clear my throat, shifting nervously in the uncomfortably cold chair. “What’s his name?”
“Damien Gentry,” she says. What little warmth I had leaves my body in a swooping whoosh. “He was one of the men sent to assassinate him.”
Chapter 16
Damien
The girl intrigues me.
Knives intrigue me. Dead bodies intrigue me. Blood staining my hands intrigues me.
Girls—even pretty ones—should most definitely not intrigue me.
My tumultuous feelings for her are bordering on obsessive. When I close my eyes, I see her face. When they’re open, I seek her out. My body is an epitome of contradictions: I want her close, yet I want her as far away as possible.
My magic flares brilliantly as my thoughts continue to circulate around little miss Nina Doe. A flaming ball of fire heats up my palm, threatening to devour the entire godforsaken world.
Not that I would shed a tear. The world can burn for all I care.
Blade’s dragon roars, wings flapping as it remains dormant in the throne room. Fortunately for our king, the room is big enough for him to shift comfortably. His long, sharp claws dig into the cement floor leaving behind jagged gashes.
Bronson is pacing, the wolf wild and untamed. Feral. It almost gives me a giddy thrill. What will it be like when his monster is finally set loose in this world? I can close my eyes and visualize the destruction and pain left in his wake. The streets will be bathed in red...
Smile grim, I focus once more on the handle of my favorite dagger. Narian Teres had given it to me when I first arrived at the guild. A present, he said, for his favorite assassin.
God only knew what being his favorite entailed.
Narian was a lot of things—most of them sick and depraved—but he had a keen eye for weapons. This one has struck its target every time since I was ten, first sent out in the world to do a powerful man’s bidding. A little monster unleashed.
Now, look at me...
My thoughts, as always, circle back to Nina. I can’t help but wonder where she is, if she’s hurt, if she’s dead. The damn girl is a distraction—a mold that has spread to encompass an entire wall—and try as I might, I can’t remove her.
A demented part of me wants to kill her. It would be so easy. A slash of a blade against her fragile little neck. Then, all of my fears will be eliminated. I will no longer have to worry about this slip of a girl because she will no longer exist.
On that same wavelength, I try to envision a world without her in it. It’s almost inconceivable.
As a mage, I’m capable of sensing powers in others. Most are a dull, monochromatic gray. Some shine a little brighter than others, but not by much.
And then there’s her.
She’s a flame. An actual, brilliant flame that sets my skin on fire. I burn, but I welcome the pain. All I ever see is darkness—every corner, every crevice, every hallway. When she steps into a room, it’s like she’s bathed in her own personal light. Or maybe she collects the light of every person in the immediate vicinity because at that moment, all I can see is her. She descended in my life like an angel, haloed in light, and that is what she is to me: my angel. My personal angel.
If those asshole guards harmed her in any way...
“You need to calm the fuck down and start talking,” Cain snaps at Blade, and it shocks me to see the normally stoic demon lose his cool. Unlike the others, he doesn’t have any...warm feelings toward the strange female. I can see heavy suspicion in his eyes and something resembling fear whenever he speaks of her.
“Seriously, man, you can’t help her when you beast out,” Abel adds. The twins’ words finally seem to resonate inside the dragon’s thick skull.
In a flash of blinding light, Blade returns to his human form. Wordlessly, Abel hands him a pair of pants and waits for him to get dressed.
Bronson, the undignified savage, remains in his wolf form, snarling in the shadows. I’m not sure he could even control his shift if he wanted to. It must feel like a knife in the gut to be separated from his mate so soon after meeting her.
The others may be oblivious, but not me. I pride myself on knowing the ins and outs of every mechanism in this facility, including the people. They’re like machines with cogs and wheels that I’m able to skillfully turn and twist to do my bidding.
Leaning against the wall, I cut the dagger against the flesh of my wrist, watching with rapt interest as blood wells. The red color looks beautiful against my pale skin. Fuck, sometimes I wish I was born a vampire just to be able to lick it clean. Taste it. Taste the power and pain.
What would Nina taste like?
“You’re right,” Blade says, panting. He hasn’t fully regained control of his beast. Reptilian eyes peer back at me in a face contorted from rage. “If Nina’s in danger, you deserve to know the truth.”
“We don’t care about the blind slut,” Cain snaps, and Blade bristles at the derogatory term. Even Abel glares at his brother. With anybody else, I’ll have their tongue already on a fucking silver plate, but I know Cain’s anger stems from something much, much deeper. Fear, for one. Pain, for two. Torturing him would be like kicking a downed puppy. As sadistic as I am, I’m not about to kill an already beaten man.
Though it’s tempting. Very tempting.
Blade takes a deep breath, gathering his wits, before focusing on a water stain on the wall. “She was at the Compound with me.”
“What the hell is that?” Abel queries. We’ve been acquaintances for years, but I don’t think I know anything about these men. I know what they did to arrive here—I make it my business to know—but I don’t know about their lives before they were placed inside these walls. Maybe I should rectify that.
“I was taken there when I was a young boy. Ten, maybe. Nine? I don’t remember.” Blade’s eyes take on a hazy, distant quality as if he’s reaching for a memory only he can see. I can’t help but think about how vulnerable he is currently. About how easy it would be to render him immobile with my powers and cut out his heart.
But alas, I’m too interested in his story. I hate how curious I am about Angel’s life.
“It...wasn’t a good place.” He glances worriedly at Bronson, as if anxious for his reaction, and scrubs a hand down the back of his neck. Silly little boy. It’s not the wolf he should be worried about.
“What do you mean?” Abel asks, his eyes already tinted with red.
“It was run by humans who tested on supernaturals,” Blade admits at last, exhaling. My blood turns cold as I understand the implications behind his words.
What happened to my Angel?
I want to kill Blade for no reason at all except the fact that he’s the bearer of bad news.
“What do you mean tested?” Cain asks darkly. Abel puts a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder as the two exchange inscrutable looks. Interesting. What secrets are they hiding?
“She was tortured,” Blad
e says bluntly, and Bronson lets out a wounded cry that quickly transforms into a growl. Abel, standing closest to the beast, takes an automatic step back, pulling his brother with him. “She was sent to the torture chamber every day. They would burn her, skin her alive, shoot her...”
Cain runs to the corner of the room and vomits out a black, smoky liquid. Abel’s face is shockingly pale as he leans against the wall, sliding down until he lands on his ass. Bronson’s whining increases.
Pathetic. All of them. Instead of cowering, they need to take action. Already, I’m planning the deaths of all the miserable cretins involved in Nina’s torture. It will not be quick and painless. No, not at all.
I will make them scream for mercy.
If Nina is an angel, then I will have to be her devil. I will be her darkness, her fighting hand, her killer.
Hers.
“How long was she in this Compound?” Abel asks softly, dropping his head into his hands. At least he’s doing better than Cain who is close to losing it. Tiny horns sprout from his blond hair, and his skin crackles with waves of heat. Long lines zigzag down his cheeks like a canyon forming.
“Her whole life,” Blade answers miserably.
“And you left her there!” Bronson roars. At some point, he has shifted back to his human form and is now towering over Blade, ass naked. The dragon drops his eyes almost guiltily.
If he left her there, I would have to kill him. It’s in the rule book.
Death to all assholes.
I take a step closer with my knife drawn, and Blade’s eyes snap to mine. He doesn’t stop me, though, which makes it even sadder.
“I don’t know what happened,” he says softly. “We had been planning our escape for months. I would have her look through the guards’ eyes and describe exactly what she saw.”
Look through the guards’ eyes? What did he mean by that?
Blade continues to talk, unaware of what he had given away. “I planned out an escape route. When we had the chance, we would run. Run straight until you reach the tree cut in two. Then, turn left. Run until you see the road. At the road, make sure you go right. Do not stop. Do not look behind you. Do not allow yourself to be seen,” he recites, voice distant. “I remember one night we were talking—we had cells right next to each other—when I heard footsteps. No one was supposed to come down for at least a few hours. I was terrified they had discovered our plans.”