by Zandria West
And perhaps it isn’t that sort of torture anyway. Not the information-extracting kind, just the kind that causes immense suffering for no particular reason.
So even if I break, it won’t make it stop.
We pass through a series of gates. Each time the car stops, I hear murmured conversation outside, then the clinking as some heavy locks are opened and then the car moves forward again at a crawl. This happens four or five times. Tight security. Finally, we pull up and the engine is turned off. The silence the moment after the engine is killed is awful.
I hear the front doors open, more murmured conversation, then the crunch of footsteps walking away from the car. I’m sure the kid is as hungry and thirsty and exhausted and terrified as I am, and now we’re just left in the back of the car like unwanted luggage.
I slouch back against the wall and close my eyes. I can hear the kid rattling at the cage, testing it for give, then checking the back door, jiggling the lock to see if it will open. It doesn’t. No surprise there, but points to him for at least trying. No points to me for being a useless sack of sore, tired bones.
Then I hear footsteps again, headed in our direction. These footsteps sound purposeful, rhythmic.
The back door opens, and I blink against the flood of light that pours in.
‘Out!’ a harsh voice calls.
The boy goes first, clambering carefully, head down, not taking more than a glance at whoever is waiting for us out there. I follow. My legs seem to have fallen asleep from the position I was sitting in; getting them to move at all right now is a feat. I stagger as I slide out of the car and onto the ground. I almost fall, the agony of pins and needles moving through my body, making me want to cry.
I’ve just arrived at a demon prison and I’m worried that pins and needles hurt too much? Fuck.
‘Move!’ the demon yells.
I take a quick glance at our new guard from the corner of my eye. The demon is tall and well built, and wears a neat uniform of shiny black leather, much fancier than the uniforms of any of the demons that raided the werewolf camp. The jacket even has some kind of golden symbols on the shoulder. He has the air of someone adjacent to importance. He’s probably not that big of a deal himself, but he sits in the office next to the big guy and has got a big head about it.
The direction he wants us to move in is made crystal clear when I hear a sudden whistling movement through the air beside my ear and then a sharp, biting crack as a whip hits my right shoulder. I cry out, the shock too sudden for me to stay silent. I start to walk. Not too fast, not too slowly. I don’t want to give him an excuse to use the whip again. The place where he struck me is throbbing and stinging. A warm trickle of blood is running down my outer arm.
We’re heading for a building. It’s imposing. From my eyes-downcast perspective it seems to occupy the whole of the horizon. Grey stone – now there’s a surprise. Not many windows. The roof is draped with loops of razor wire, for just the right festive-prison look. Okay now I’m officially delirious. We enter through a heavy door and are commanded to wait once we’re inside. I turn and watch as the demon slams the door closed behind us and then bolts it and locks it with an air of finality. I swallow and wonder whether I’ll ever see daylight again.
‘Prisoners… march!’ the guard yells.
The boy and I glance at one another awkwardly, and then try to comply. I haven’t had much practise at marching. In fact, I haven’t marched ever. I’m one of those people who tripped over their partner in dance class and could never quite catch the beats. My marching lives up to my expectations of bad timing and poor execution. Luckily it doesn’t seem we have to go very far. A little way down the corridor two doors stand open, the dark gaps they make in the row of closed doors like two missing teeth in a rotten smile.
‘In!’ the guard yells. ‘Human into the first cell. Wolfboy into the second.’
I follow the instructions, stepping into what is about to become my world. It’s small and dark and smells like shit, literally. I have a moment to look around and see that it’s empty. At least I’m not sharing it with anyone. Then the door slams shut behind me and I’m engulfed by the dark.
I lean back against the door and my legs give way beneath me, so I slide down to sitting on the ground. I hear the door of the next cell slam. The kid is locked in too now. I wonder how long they’ll keep him for and what they plan to do with him? He can’t even be twelve years old and he’s handled this whole thing better than I, a supposed grown adult, have. I close my eyes and listen as the sound of footsteps and the jangle of keys recede down the corridor.
I’m alone. There’s a small grate at the top of the cell – the only thing preventing me from being in absolute darkness. It isn’t an exterior grate, there must be another level above us that this opens on to. The light is muted grey and the air is dank and stale. I try not to breathe too deeply. I feel like every breath I take here is contaminating my body.
As my senses adjust, I find that it’s not as silent as I thought it was either. I can hear whispers and moans and cries from other cells. The occasional clanking banging in the distance.
A sudden rush of claustrophobia grips me; I want more than anything to get out of here. But I’m locked in a cell, surrounded by thick walls of stone, in the midst of a heavily secured demon compound, in the middle of a city that isn’t even in my own fucking world.
I’m not going anywhere.
Not even to the goddamned toilet, my bladder reminds me. I remember what the guard said about a pot to piss in and I look around. I can just make out in the dim light that the cell is mostly bare. There’s no mattress, no blankets, no water, no food. The floor is a darker stone than the walls, though that’s probably just because it’s stained with blood. In the far corner there is, as promised, a small pot. I hope to god that it’s been emptied since whoever was in here last used it. I try not to think about the cell’s previous occupant, who they might have been and where they might be now.
My bladder isn’t going to give me any choice. I stand and make my way over to the pot, shift it with my foot. It’s empty at least, which is a relief. I wriggle my pants down and squat awkwardly. My legs are so tired from the climb that they start wobbling crazily as I try to hold the position. If I’m not careful I’m going to piss all over the floor. I place a hand on the wall to try and steady myself. I’m glad when I’m done and can stand back up and shuffle away from the pot, pushing it as far away into the corner of the room as possible.
That’s my most immediate need dealt with. Everything else is going to be harder. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m tired, I’m sore. I’m terrified. I’m trapped. The litany of discomfort seems to swoop round and round in my mind. I’m going to have to be tougher. If I keep thinking about how I feel, I’ll go crazy. I lean back against the door and try to distract myself. I think about what happened in the forest when I healed myself. I haven’t even had a chance to really wonder about it yet. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. And the most amazing thing was: it worked. My body is aching and heavy but the ankle that I’m sure I sprained badly is completely fine.
I wonder if there’s anything else I can do that I’m not yet aware of?
I close my eyes and try to visualise the magic as I’d sensed it in the forest. It was like a shining, glowing, golden thread. It doesn’t work though, and I instantly know why: because that was Gabriel’s magic, not mine. I’d just hitched a ride on it, so to speak. I don’t feel like I can generate even a tiny spark without Gabriel beside me.
I give up on the golden glow and just think about my men instead. Alex – his cheeky, mischievous, sexy smile fills me with the best kind of warmth. Gabriel. I’m in awe of him, I realise. His knowledge and his power. He’s so serious, always looking to dangers I don’t even sense, to destinies I struggle to believe in. And when I’m with him, I feel like he’s cast a protection over me. Nothing can touch me.
Reuben. I imagine his huge arms around me, the safety I feel when he
’s near. He’s the wildest and gentlest of the three of them. He shared his heart with me, and I know how much that means.
Will I ever even see Reuben again? Will I see any of them?
Alex told me he was coming, he told me not to despair, but now I’m here and I see how huge, and brutal, and secure this prison is, I know he’ll never reach me, let alone get me out.
My efforts at distracting myself have failed because my mind has looped back around again to the inescapable horror of my situation. I trace where the signs of the binding are on my inner arms: Gabriel’s raven. Alex’s snake. I feel the shimmer of Reuben’s wolf on my back. I never did get a proper look at it, I realise. It feels like I’ve just been running for months. I can’t even remember what it’s like to feel safe, secure, unafraid. As my thoughts return to my lost home, I steel myself. I have to let the past go now. There’s no point in even thinking about it anymore: safety, family, hope. It doesn’t matter, none of it does. The best I can hope for is to survive the night, and then the next day, and then the next night and then the day after that.
And as I think it, it’s like a little light within me flickers and blinks out.
25
LANA
I’m woken by the heavy thud of footsteps and the clatter of keys in the corridor outside my cell. I sit up quickly, and run my fingers through my hair, and straighten my clothes, then realise what a ridiculous fucking thing it is that I’m doing. Like they give a shit if I look dishevelled. Like it even matters.
I straighten my spine, stretch my arms and legs, and wait, a tingling buzz of fear starting in the pit of my stomach.
‘This one,’ I hear a gruff voice call just outside my door. The footsteps stop. There’s another clanking noise as a key turns in the lock. Then the door swings open. I scramble up to standing.
Two demons are in the doorway. One is the guard that I saw earlier, his uniform still shiny and trim. The other is older, paunchy, with a receding hairline and grey hair and horns that look chipped and battered.
‘Tonight’s the night,’ he says to me. ‘Boss wants to hear you sing.’
I swallow the sour taste of bile that fills my mouth. I will not show them I’m scared. I’m sure my determination won’t last long, but right now I refuse to let them see my weakness.
‘Come on then,’ he says, opening the door wider and gesturing for me to step out.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, my mouth so dry it’s difficult to get the words out.
‘A very special place that you’ll never forget,’ he leers at me.
‘Do you have any water?’ I ask thickly. My head is spinning and my legs feel weak. I’m having trouble standing, let alone walking.
The demon laughs. ‘Water? You think this is a fucking hotel?’
‘She’s a human, remember. They’re weak. Get all antsy when they don’t eat and drink for a while. Next thing you know, poof, they’re dead,’ the older demon says. He reaches to his belt and unhooks a flask, takes the cap off and passes it to me. I don’t make any attempt to find out what it is before I take a few big swallows. It’s bitter and rancid tasting, and it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to throw it back up again. It’s liquid. And I know even if it’s disgusting, I need some kind of liquid in me. My blood feels thick from dehydration and my thoughts are getting slow and confused.
‘Thank you,’ I say as I pass the flask back.
The shiny demon snorts. ‘Don’t thank him. He’s only giving it to you because it would be a shame if you passed out before the fun started. We want to hear you scream.’
I shudder. I feel too hot all of a sudden. I’m sweating and I can’t get enough air.
‘Move!’ shiny demon yells at me.
I turn and start trudging down the corridor in the direction they’ve pointed me. I can’t think further than each step. Time feels slow but not slow enough. It’s carrying me towards something that is terrible and terrifying and there’s no way out.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead. It’s starting to trickle down and sting my eyes. I definitely feel hot. Maybe I’ve picked up a bug from the cell? Demon-hygiene appears to be trapped in the Dark Ages. I could have caught the fucking bubonic plague for all I know. I feel shivery and hot and cold, and my legs are weak and wobbling beneath me. Somehow, I manage not to fall. The dozen steps to the end of the corridor feels like a journey of a million miles. Sounds are strangely amplified in my ears and yet distant and faint all at the same time. There’s definitely something wrong with me. When I reach the end of the corridor there’s a locked door. I stop before it. I get the weirdest feeling. A tingling sensation moves through me, prickly at first then growing stronger like pins and needles, but over all my skin.
Is this the moment before I pass out?
Shiny demon opens the door. I hear him say some words, though I can’t make out what they are. I step through the door into another corridor and gasp. The tingling turns into a sharp, burning pain across my chest. For a moment I think I’m having a heart attack. And then, in a shocking rush, I understand. I know that feeling. It’s the fourth sign! A sign is forming on my chest.
Grayson. I look down the corridor and see another long row of dozens of locked doors.
Grayson is behind one of those doors. My heart beats faster and I do my best to keep my expression composed and hide the excitement and pain and fear and hope that are rushing through me.
Hope, the sweetest feeling of all. I’ve found the final member of my binding in the last place I’d have ever thought to look. Now I just have to figure out where the fuck he actually is and how we get out of here. I suddenly want to laugh.
‘Move!’ a flick of the whip startles me back to reality. ‘We’re almost there…’ I can hear the leer in the shiny demon’s voice. I start walking again, my new energy and sense of clarity helping me to stand taller.
Maybe somehow some part of me knew that Grayson was here? Maybe that’s why I was so determined that we had to pursue the demons who’d taken Briony? I can’t help but feel there is a remarkable symmetry to what has taken place, and I know that the magic of the bond works in strange ways, nudging and sometimes shoving us in the right direction until we find one another. I was always certain I’d find him, even when the others seemed so doubtful.
I hold my head higher as I feel the burning on my chest. That’s where his mark will be. I wonder what it will look like? I wonder what he will look like? I wonder if he can feel it too, if he has any idea what’s going on? I wonder if he’ll have a plan already for how to get us out? If he’s been here for a while, he’ll know a lot more about the prison than I do. My mind is spinning with so many questions.
‘Stop!’ The harsh voice breaks through my thoughts. ‘We’re here.’
Oh fuck.
Shiny demon opens a door to a room that is shockingly bright. Lit by electricity, unlike what I’ve seen in the rest of the prison. And as well as being brightly lit, it’s so damn white it hurts my eyes. White floor, white walls, white ceiling. A heavy chair and some kind of flat table like a massage table in the centre of the room. Except it’s not for massage, it’s for torture, I guess straight away. And then I see the implements – a whole wall of them. Like a dentist’s surgery in your worst fucking nightmare.
‘In,’ shiny demon yells at me.
I take a step forward and double over, the pain in my chest becoming suddenly unbearable.
What the fuck?
‘Stand up!’ I hear the demon yelling at me as though from far away. There’s a faint thwack. He’s using the whip again, but I can barely feel it. The pain in my chest is so intense: burning, stabbing, shearing… I don’t remember it ever being like this before.
For a moment I wonder if I’m wrong, if maybe it’s just a plain old garden variety heart attack? Then as heavy hands on my shoulders pull me back up to standing, I find myself face to face with a man.
He’s tall and powerful, and his silver hair is close-shaved. His eyes are a pale grey, his
cheeks are rough with stubble and marked with scars. He looks cold. As I look into his eyes, all I can think is that he looks so fucking cold, like every ounce of feeling has been frozen inside him. He doesn’t look like a demon but he sure as hell doesn’t look human. I don’t know what he is. The pain in my chest bursts into a sudden fierce crescendo and then, in an instant, it’s gone. I see something deep in his eyes – the tiniest flicker – but otherwise he gives no indication that he recognises me or understands what is going on between us.
But I know. I’m sure beyond a shadow of a doubt.
This is Grayson. We are bound.
‘Human,’ shiny demon says, ‘meet the Angel.’
26
LANA
He’s my fucking torturer?
I swallow. This is not going to plan. I think back over everything that the guys said about Grayson. I always had the sense they were keeping something back from me about him. They said he was damaged, a mess, but the strongest of all of them. But a torturer working in a demon prison? That part they most definitely left out.
I stand frozen in horror. I look to one side of the room and realise that what I had taken for a brilliantly white wall was in fact a window, and that half a dozen uniformed demons have now filed into the room on the other side to watch whatever the hell is about to happen to me. I swallow again, though my mouth feels intensely dry. My face is flushing.
‘Strip,’ the man they call the Angel says to me. His voice is cold, hard and dead, just like his eyes. Just like everything about him. I’m so confused for a moment that I don’t move, then I feel the lick of the whip on my back. ‘It will be easiest for you if you do what I say,’ he whispers, leaning closer to me.