by Kyra Quinn
But Zeke is the worst monster of them all. He doesn’t lurk in the shadows and drink human blood to survive. With the face of an angel and more charisma than a politician, mortals never sense the darkness lurking beneath his boyish grin and perfectly chosen words. Or witches, apparently.
Mother Miscreance told Kane she isn’t sure why my powers haven’t manifested. But I figured it out the second I spotted Zeke in my mother’s memories. I place a hand over the spot where Zeke injected me the night before my abduction. The nightmares weren’t the only thing his concoction suppressed.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since Kane took me. The injection should wear off close to the next full moon, whenever that might come. A seed of hope blossoms in my chest. Maybe I don’t have to curry favor with the demons. If I stall long enough for Zeke’s poison to leave my body, maybe I can still save myself.
But even if I inherited some of my mother’s abilities, I have no idea how to channel them or make them benefit me. Mother Miscreance said my mother’s powers often came at a great personal cost. But I’m already a prisoner in a demonic lair, stripped of my name, clothing, and dignity. What do I have left to lose?
As the minutes crawl by, the pile of food on the floor turns rancid. My insides twist thinking of how Kane threatened to force me to clean it up with my mouth. Lashing out was a mistake, but it’s too late for regrets. I need to prepare myself for whatever twisted torments Kane dreams up to punish me with this time.
I push my face into the pillow and scream, hoping to release some tense energy settled in the center of my chest. It doesn’t help. Neither does pacing circles around the unsoiled parts of the floor or pounding my fists against the mattress until my arms ache. Nothing takes away the bitter ache of betrayal but vengeance.
If I ever escape this place, killing Zeke is the first item on my to-do list. I’ve never hunted a fallen angel before, but I welcome the challenge. He taught me most of what I know, and I’ll use it to steal the last breath from his lungs. I’ll slaughter him without a second of hesitation, just like he did my mother. It won’t fill the growing void inside of me, but it’s a start.
It’s not fair to still hate Kane as much as I do. He had nothing to do with my mother’s murder, and he’s the only reason I now know the truth. Is anything he’s done to me since kidnapping me worse than Zeke murdering my mother and manipulating me into joining his cause? I’d take a thousand more lashes if it could somehow give me back the last two years of my life.
The door swings open. Kane stands in the doorway and glowers at me. He’s changed into a pair of baggy sweatpants and a tight black hoodie. My heart flutters as he slams the door shut behind him.
“You’re more trouble than you're worth,” he says, voice icy. “Whatever Lilith wants with you, let’s hope she does it soon. If you keep testing my patience, I’m not sure how much longer you’ll last in my home.”
“So kill me,” I say, lifting my chin to lock eyes with him. “What do I have left to live for?”
Kane rolls his eyes. “Humans and your melodrama. Where’s the determination and fury you directed at me for so long? Your mother’s true killer is still out there.”
“And what am I supposed to do about that from here?” I snap. “Even if I escape, Zeke never taught me how to kill an angel.”
“Fallen angel. Archangel, in Michael’s case.”
I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on top. “How does one kill a fallen angel?”
“Good question.” Kane frowns. “But you won’t like the answer. Or the price it comes at.”
Of course. Demons do nothing out of the goodness of their hearts. “What’s your price?”
He steps around the pile of rancid food and leans in inches from my face. “I’ll answer your question, after you clean this mess up without bitching the entire time.”
My stomach lurches. “I’m not licking that off the floor. You can’t make me.”
He laughs. “Don’t lie to yourself. I can make you do anything I want.”
A chill spreads over me and into my bones. The protection rune tattooed to my ankle isn’t strong enough to shield me from a demon as powerful as Kane. Against him, all the Dark Hunt’s tricks and tools feel like useless children’s toys.
“But I had something else in mind,” he says. “Arachne is on her way up with cleaning supplies. After you’ve finished here, we’ll proceed downstairs for your punishment.”
My throat tightens. “Why downstairs?”
“Because that’s where my instrument of choice is. Don’t worry, there’s no crowd waiting for you. Only Dagon and Arachne will join us for this one.”
I don’t know if that’s better or worse. “I’m sorry—”
He holds up a hand and shakes his head. “It’s far too late for apologies now, pet. Spare the rod, spoil the slave. It’s my fault your behavior is so out of line. I’ve shown you far too much mercy.”
Cold sweat coats my palms. There’s no talking my way out of trouble. But at least whatever pain he inflicts on me will provide a welcome distraction from the mess of emotions Mother Miscreance left me with.
Arachne arrives a few minutes later with an armful of paper towels and trash bags. She leaves them at the foot of the bed and mouths ‘good luck’ before scurrying from the room. I clean the mess without a peep of complaint, too tired to fight. The cold, mushy food soaks through the paper towels and onto my hands.
Kane watches me work in silence. He perches against the bed and scowls, arms folded over his chest. I try not to let the intensity of his glare make me uncomfortable, but it’s hard when his glowing red eyes feel like they’re burning a hole through me. I can sense the fury radiating from him as if it were my own. He may not kill me yet, but whatever he has in mind will likely make me wish he had.
“Not perfect, but better,” he says as I shove the last paper towel into a trash bag. “I’ll send someone in to clean up the rest. In the meantime, I think it’s time we move on to your punishment.”
He snaps his fingers. A puff of black smoke springs from his fingertips. He swooshes it away to reveal the same collar and lead I wore to the party.
“Not without your best piece of jewelry, pet.”
I grit my teeth and push my hair to the side, offering him my neck. His fingertips sizzle against my skin as he secures the collar around my neck. He clicks the tiny padlock into place. His hands drop to my shoulders.
He leans close enough for me to smell the booze and marijuana on his breath and says, “Do you know the cure for pain, pet?”
“Morphine?”
“More pain. When you think you’ve taken all you can endure, take on a little more. You’ll build up a tolerance to it until nothing can hurt you.”
My throat tightens until my voice becomes a faint whisper. “And if it breaks me?”
His hand slides around my throat and pulses. “You rebuild yourself into someone stronger. Unbreakable.”
He yanks on the chain attached to the collar and pulls me to the door. He leads me down the stairs and through the dark, twisted hallways. I pin my elbows to my sides and follow silently behind.
Even shrouded in shadows, the house doesn’t fit where I’d imagined Kane living. Priceless artworks in swirling gold and silver frames cover almost every inch of the hallways. Statues, books, and jeweled trinkets line the tables and shelves. Anyone who wandered inside would assume the place belonged to an eccentric billionaire or an art collector, not a lair full of bloodthirsty demons.
“Do you like art?” Kane asks, noticing my eyes flicker between distractions. “That one is an original Dali. Posthumous.”
Confused, I lift a brow.
Kane laughs. “Where do you think artists go when they die? Well, the good ones, anyway. God’s a bit of a control freak, so Heaven has no use for their talents.”
Goosebumps cover my arms. “So Hell torments them for all eternity instead?”
“The unruly ones, sure. But in case you’ve forgotten
your Bible stories, Lucifer’s vital sin is his vanity. He commissions most of them to create works in his honor. Portraits, ballads, sculptures, dances. The Dark Lord delights in them all.”
The way Kane talks about Hell in such a casual way makes my skin crawl. There’s no fear in his voice when he mentions Lucifer. Only respect.
“Does it ever bother you?” I ask, careful with my words. “An eternal life in service to Satan?”
Kane laughs. “Should it? God and Lucifer aren’t as different as your father preaches. Except when God created mortals, he intentionally made them weak. He wanted them to worship him. To need him.”
He pauses. “Lucifer craved reverence, but he’d witnessed the flaw in God’s plan with humanity. There’s a difference between true adoration for something and co-dependence or fear. God’s pets only worshipped him for want of Heaven and fear of Hell. Their mortality left them with an obsession with the afterlife, not God. When Lucifer crafted us, he made us strong. He gifted us with powers and a reason to worship him.”
“So demons don’t fear Satan?”
“Never said that. Anyone in power can tell you it’s easier to seize control than it is to maintain it. Hell runs on a careful balance between respect and fear. Much like our relationship after tonight.”
My muscles tense. Kane leads me into a spacious den in the back of the house. Dagon and Arachne wait on a wrap-around leather sofa pushed against a burgundy wall. Despite the summer heat outside, a fire crackles in the stone fireplace.
“What—”
“Kneel,” Kane orders as he yanks my chain towards the ground, all illusions of affability gone.
I drop to my knees, pressing my palms against the polished hardwood floor. My heart pounds against my ribs until an ache settles into my chest.
“It may hurt less if she’s on all fours,” Arachne chirps with a warm smile.
Kane shakes his head. “Her flesh is weaker than ours. I need to ensure the placement is perfect the first time.”
“We could smoke her out first—”
“No. Perhaps after, if she behaves herself. But it’s important we get this out of the way.”
Dagon rises to his feet. He comes to stand in front of me, his lips curled into a sadistic grin. “You won’t like this. At least, not now. But you’ll thank us for it later.”
Kane reaches into the fireplace and retrieves a long metal rod. A red-hot pentagram enclosed by a circle waits at the end. He wiggles the star in my direction and grins.
“Any idea what this is?”
“A branding iron,” I say, my voice small. “Farmers use them to mark their livestock.”
“And Masters to mark their slaves. But tonight’s ritual is about far more than ownership. I need not scar your skin to stay burned in your memories.”
“It’s a protection rune,” Arachne adds. “Deceptively simple in design for how powerful it is. It won’t save you from everything, but it should make it more difficult for Michael and Ezekiel to suppress your powers or control you.”
I glance at the small tattoo on the inside of my ankle, a small sigil intended to protect me from evil. Lot of good it’s done so far.
No part of me wants to let Kane permanently mark my skin no matter what benefits they promise. The brand is probably some demonic tracking device or something. But it’s impossible to fight off even Kane in my weakened condition, let alone three of them. If I resist too much, I’ll lose any chance of convincing him to trust me.
I’ve endured worse pains. I may not like this, but I can do it.
But Kane is a sadist. Half of his enjoyment will come from my fear and pain. I whimper, “Isn’t there another way? A tattoo or something?”
Dagon shakes his head. “Ink isn’t difficult to remove, if you’re willing to slice a piece of skin off. But they made this iron from steel forged in the fires of Hell. The mark—and its effects—will last until your time on this Earth runs out.”
“Move your hair to the side,” Kane orders, gesturing with the tip of the branding iron towards my shoulder. “Resist me and I’ll brand your ass instead.”
I do as he instructs, my hands trembling as I pull my hair over my other shoulder. The fire crackles a few feet away, but cold sweat covers my body, I shoot a desperate glance towards the door, but I don’t allow myself to make any stupid moves. I can’t outrun or outmatch them. I can’t do anything but accept the perverse gift Kane plans to bestow on me.
“Try not to tense up so much,” he scolds. “Your muscles will tense more when the brand hits.”
“Easy to say when you’re the one holding the fire stick,” I grumble.
He chuckles behind me. “Close your eyes and relax, pet. This won’t take long.”
I close my eyes just as he presses the star into my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt at first, and I find myself hoping the demons only exaggerated the pain to scare me. But then burning flesh assaults my nostrils as a fiery pain consumes my entire back. I scream, but Kane digs the iron into my skin more with a savage smile.
“Easy, love. Just a few more seconds.”
The searing pain dulls to a throb until the smell is worse than the actual pain. The brand is removed, and Kane leans in to inspect his handiwork. His nails trace the tender skin surrounding the wound.
“Arachne, take her upstairs and help her wash and bandage this,” he says. “I’ll bring something up for the pain soon.”
It doesn’t hurt as much as I’d expected. I expected to spend hours in agony. But there was only a brief, exquisite pop of pain followed by the dull throbbing in my shoulder. I’ve taken hits on the job that caused more suffering.
Still, my legs turn to jelly the moment I push up to stand. My head swims as I crash back onto the ground with a thud. I’d blush or swear under any other circumstances, but I can’t muster the strength to do anything more than groan.
Kane crouches next to me. Wordlessly, he swoops me into his arms and cradles me against his chest. He carries me in his arms and follows Arachne up the stairs. This close, his cologne and dark musk flood my nostrils. His flesh radiates heat that spreads through me like wildfire. Nothing beats in his chest beneath my ear, but it doesn’t surprise me. I’ve seen enough of Kane’s cruel side to know he doesn’t have a heart.
I want to tell him to put me down, but I can’t bring myself to speak. My mind swims as his movements gently rock me. Even if I escape this place, Kane has forever scarred my body and mind. Killing him won’t save me now. His mark will stay with me until the day my heart ceases to beat.
* * *
Something rustling in the room's corner pulls me from a blessedly dreamless sleep. I open my eyes to find Arachne arranging a tray of food, muttering under her breath about mortals and their picky diets. She stops mid-sentence, her eyes wide as she notices me watching her.
“You’re awake,” she breathes. “We were worried.”
We? I almost ask her to elaborate, but quickly think better of it. No one here cares about my well-being, no matter what they say to manipulate me. Hell, I doubt anyone alive gives a damn about what happens to me. I’m nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s war.
“Kane asked me to bring you something to eat,” she continues, gesturing towards the silver tray on a wheeled cart next to her. “Since the last few meals didn’t go well, I placed an order with The Golden Rose. I’ve overheard the mortals in town say it’s the best steak in Miami. Here.”
She lifts the tray from the cart and shoves it towards me, beaming. A fat steak oozing with juices sits in the center of the plate. Asparagus wrapped in bacon sits to one side, a loaded baked potato on the other. A small bowl off to the side holds a leafy green salad. I gawk, unsure how to respond to such a feast after surviving on scraps for so long.
“Well?” she prods. “Are you going to eat it or stare at it?”
I don’t need another invitation. Snatching the tray from her, I dive into the meal with an animal-like ferocity. Arachne backs away, her eyes round as she watches
me eat.
“Sweet Lucifer,” she says as I practically inhale half the potato in one bite, “I’ve met werewolves with better table manners.”
Minutes later, the plate is spotless. Arachne takes it from me and grins. “At least we finally found something you’d eat. Are you strong enough to walk? I promised Kane I’d help you wash up.”
My stomach rolls at the mention of Kane. A hot pain spreads through my shoulder as if to remind me what he did. Not that I could ever forget. “What does he want with me now?”
Arachne shrugs. “That’s between you and him. Wait here for a moment. I’ll run the bath for you.”
Kane returns to my room a few minutes after Arachne sits me in a steaming hot bath. Foamy lavender bubbles reach almost to my breasts, stopping short of the open wound on my shoulder. Arachne washes me tenderly, avoiding my back all together.
“I have an Oxy tab in my pocket when you’re finished,” he says, his onyx eyes glued to the bloody burn on my back.
Small silver lining. At least the drugs might help me steal a few more hours of sleep. My bizarre dreams are still safer than my current reality.
“You did well yesterday,” he continues after an awkward silence. His fingers comb through his inky hair. “That mark should protect you.”
“Does it do anything against demons?” I ask with as much bite as I can muster.
“The lesser ones, sure.” Kane smirks. “Are you girls enjoying yourselves, or can I finish here?”
Arachne shoots me a panicked stare, but she can’t refuse her commanding officer. She flashes a weak smile and places the sea sponge into Kane’s outstretched hand. “Careful with her shoulder. It’s still insanely tender.”
“Relax.” He rolls his eyes. “She isn’t the first I’ve gifted a mark of protection to. I know a thing or two about the aftercare process.”
I don’t know why, but the revelation makes me bristle. He’s branded other women. Maybe even kidnapped them, too. He’s touched other women the same way he touches me. There’s nothing special about any of this to him. But where are any of those other women now?