Preston peeked inside Vaughn’s bedroom when no one answered, praying he didn’t witness any hanky-panky. He was already pushing his luck. His mate had told him to leave Vaughn and Newt alone right now, but that forlorn look on the fairy’s face had bothered Preston deeply.
He knew what it was like to run from something, and he not only wanted to offer Newt friendship, but—holy freak!—the guy was an actual fairy. Who wouldn’t be excited to hang out with one?
But it was mostly for friendship.
Nobody was in the room. Maybe that was a sign he really should leave Newt alone, for now. He started to close the door until he caught sight of Vaughn’s cell phone lying on the floor in front of the closet. Why would anyone leave their cell phone to get stepped on?
Calling himself a Nosy Nellie, Preston crossed the room and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. He wasn’t sure why, but something told him to tell Zeppelin about this. It might not be anything, but with what was going on lately, Preston wasn’t taking any chances.
Chapter Eight
The pain radiated throughout Newt's entire body, but he couldn't allow Vaughn to put those shackles on. Raw terror flickered across his mate's face. A look Newt never wanted to see again. If Vaughn submitted to save him, that look would become permanent, etched into his features like a scar that would never heal.
“Don't you dare,” Newt hissed through clenched teeth, yanking against his restraints until metal bit deeper into his wrists. Fresh blood trickled down his forearms, warm and sticky against his skin. “I mean it, Vaughn.”
His mate hesitated, caught between the wall with its waiting chains and Newt's pleading gaze. Even if Vaughn hated him forever for running away that morning, Newt would fight like heck to make sure his mate never wore those shackles again. Some scars ran too deep, and Vaughn had enough of them already.
“How touching,” Vex drawled, twirling the knife between his fingers with casual menace. “Perhaps I should take you both. The wolf can watch while I experiment on his pretty little mate.”
“You’re a piece of poop,” Newt snapped, glaring at the demon. “A festering, rotten, moldy piece of poop that even dung beetles wouldn’t touch.”
He really needed to work on his trash talk if he was going to taunt a demon.
Vex barely spared him a glance, attention locked on Vaughn like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. The demon's anticipation filled the air with an oily, suffocating presence that made breathing difficult.
Under his breath, Newt began chanting. The room might’ve been dampened against powers, but Newt couldn’t just lie there and do nothing. Even if he wasn’t bound to a table, he couldn’t physically fight Vex, so he was doing the only thing he knew how to do. Wield horrible magic.
He whispered the oldest, meanest words he knew. He dug past fear, past shame, down where his dark magic dwelled. The restraints bit into his wrists with each syllable.
“Release,” he whispered, pouring it all into the cuffs. “Release, release, release. Let go. Unbind.”
Metal groaned. Hope flared.
It died immediately under a barrage of exploding color. Fire bloomed overhead, huge, reckless blossoms of violet and gold erupting across the low ceiling. Sparks rained in cheerful arcs, popping against stone and hissing out on damp patches. Fireworks roared in the confined space, blooming into fountains that spat glittering comets. One squealed past his ear and fizzled in his hair. Smoke stung his nose, sugar-sweet and choking.
“Fantastic,” he croaked, blinking through sparkles. “I love decorating the scene of my impending doom.”
The fireworks bathed the dungeon in a carnival glow.
Vex finally looked at Newt. Mildly annoyed, he lifted a device from the table. A black rod with studs, the thick shaft wrapped in leather, coils along its length. The tip was crowned with wicked prongs that crackled blue-white. Newt had no idea what that thing was, but if Vaughn’s hitched breath meant anything, Newt was right to be terrified.
“Touch me with that and I’ll hex your toenails to grow inward,” Newt snapped, even as bile climbed his throat. He yanked at the cuffs until metal tore skin and blood slicked his palms. His wings pushed uselessly against the steel table. “Forever. Both feet.”
Oh god! Vex is going to use that thing on me!
Newt changed his mind. He couldn’t take the pain, couldn’t withstand the torture Vex was about to unleash on him.
Newt kept chanting, voice gone hoarse, scraping the bottom of his magic like it might cough up one more miracle. He would even settle for a bad spell. Whatever his magic wanted to give him, he would take.
The prod lowered toward Newt’s chest, close enough that the hair on his arms stood on end from the electrical charge. He braced for agony, tears filling his eyes.
Vaughn moved.
He hit Vex like a battering ram, shoulder slamming ribs. The prod clattered to the stone floor and slid away, sparks spitting until it died. They crashed, rolled, hit the table. Tools skittered, rang against the floor. Vex’s arm snapped wide as Vaughn wrenched it at the elbow with a sound that turned Newt’s stomach.
“Vaughn,” he rasped out, not even sure if it was a plea or a prayer.
Claws slid out of Vaughn’s hands. Not a full shift, just enough to make his fingers into weapons. He raked them across Vex’s ribs, making the demon shriek. Newt’s hands jerked to cover his ears, but they were still bound.
