I hold her hand the entire way through the tunnels, up the steps and all the way to the food line. She doesn’t pull away, which makes me stupidly happy. “I’m guessing the shifts change in the early morning hours, so that would probably be the best time to slip out unnoticed,” I tell her. “We’ll need to stay awake tonight, keep an eye on their comings and goings, especially when they’re changing shifts. That’ll probably be the trickiest part.”
“Why do—” She freezes, and it takes me a second to realize everyone else has gone silent too. Following Katya’s line of sight, I turn around to find six guards surrounding a high-ranking blood fae—if his white robe and long, blood-red nails are any indication—standing just inside the camp entrance. The blood fae’s blue eyes pop against his powder-white skin, as they scan the gathering crowd. Instinctively, I step in front of Katya. His gaze lands on someone else—thank the mother—a pretty girl with limp,ash-brown hair, and grayish skin. “You,” he says, pointing at her. She doesn’t even flinch, just lowers her head, clasps her hands together, and crosses to him. “And you,” the blue-eyed fae says again, this time pointing to the healer, Jael. He chooses another girl, then another, all young and pretty.
I think I know where this is going, and I’m not at all happy about it.
I’ll kill a man in a heartbeat, if need be, but intentionally harming a woman or child because they’re too small or too weak to fight back, that’s just plain cowardice.
“And you,” he says, pointing toward me. I blink in confusion, then I feel Katya’s hand move across my shoulder as she steps around me, and things become suddenly clear.
“No,” I say, grabbing her by the arm.
She wraps a hand around mine and gives me an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “It’s not the time,” her eyes say, but gods dammit, I can’t let them take her. I can’t let her do this. “I’ll be back. I promise,” she says. She peels my fingers from her arm and crosses to the white-robed male. My chest is tight, my heart pounding so hard I can hear the blood thrum in my ears. I have to stop this. I have to protect her. I promised I would protect her.
Mind made up, I move to take a step toward her, and two sets of arms grab me from behind, while someone else steps in front of me and slaps a hand over my mouth. I buck and twist and jerk my arms, hoping to wrench them free from where they’re pinned at my side, but it’s no use, and I’m dragged deeper into the crowd. My eyes burn and my throat feels about two sizes too big. I scream, but the sound is muffled by the man’s hand. “Don’t do it,” he says, leaning in to whisper in my ear, and that’s when I realize, it’s theold man from the fire, Rand. “You’ll just get yourself killed, boy. What use will you be to her then? She’ll come back.” He pats my chest. “She’ll come back.”
37
Raiden takes a total of six girls—including me and Jael—down the river, and we all get off in a populated part of the city I don’t recognize. The fact that these ladies are all young and pretty, coupled with the way they follow Raiden with all the exuberance of a death march, has my mind bursting with possible scenarios as to what is about to happen, each one more terrifying than the last.We’re being auctioned off as sex slaves or blood slaves or both, sacrificed as part of some ritual nonsense, thrown in the arena to be eaten by some giant lizard, bull, cat, whatever.I want to ask one of the others if they know what’s going on, but I can’t catch their gazes. Every single one of them keeps her head down, eyes on her feet, as she walks.
I imitate them—head down, hands clasped in front of me—but my eyes take in every rock and flower, every building we pass and turn we make, just in case I get a chance to run. It’s probably a useless effort, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment. We haven’t gonevery far when Raiden takes a sharp right turn and leads us into a cave. The air is hot, suffocatingly so, and wet. It soaks my clothes almost immediately. Three women await us in front of a steaming pool. They each stand unnervingly still, their backs straight, eyes forward, towels and garments stacked in their arms. They look ready for war, not bath time. Under any other circumstance, I might have found that funny, but today I’m in no mood to laugh.
The six of us are ushered poolside, where we’re told to take our clothing off, in full view of the guards, and jump into the water. I try my best to be discreet, covering myself with my dress and hands, but I’m sure they all get an eyeful. I slip into the water. The heat feels amazing, but we aren’t here for a pleasant soak. The three women jump in with us—fully clothed, I might add—and proceed to scrub us raw. Finally, I manage to catch Jael’s eye. I’m afraid to speak, so I pointedly glance over at where the guards and Raiden wait for us near the entrance, praying she understands my unspoken question.“Are they going to hurt us?”
Lips pressed tight, she gives me a thin smile that I’m hoping means we’re going to be all right.
Once they’ve finished scrubbing off our first few layers of skin and washing our hair, we’re doused in a flowery perfume that makes me sneeze and clothed in those same flimsy dresses. We’re led from the cave to another building, this one tall and imposing, with spires that rise from the rooftop like a king’s crown to merge with the cavern ceiling. There are no scary sculptures climbing the walls like at Raiden’s house, but the giant metal doors are etched with the same thorny vines and flowers that seem to grow everywhere down here. It’s surprisingly beautiful, and I’m hopingthat’s a good sign, like bad things wouldn’t happen behind such pretty doors. Right?
A little delusion never hurt anyone.
The doors open to a massive space crowded with fae. They sip from flutes while crystal chandeliers glitter above their heads and marble floors shine beneath their feet. They all wear elaborate masks that conceal the upper half of their faces. It’s a monstrous, yet beautiful, collection of hooked beaks and feathered brows, long-toothed muzzles, and golden scales and fangs, all decorated with sparkling jewels and silver and gold thread. The most sinister are the skulls that, even painted and bejeweled, look a little too realistic for my comfort.
The females are elegantly dressed in skintight gowns colored various shades of black, blue and purple and layered with flowing gossamer so long it puddles on the floor around their feet. Instead of corsets, their bodices are sheer with plunging necklines and decorated with gold and silver appliqués strategically placed across their breasts to maintain a small measure of modesty. The males are decked out in simple pant and shirt combinations beneath magnificent cloaks adorned with jewels and stitching to rival the ladies. Regardless of their finery, every single blood fae in the room has one thing in common: the ashari they wear on their index fingers.
My belly churns with trepidation, even as my stupidly hopeful mind works to come up with reasons for us being here that don’t involve massive bloodletting or gang rape.
We’re going to serve food.
We’ll dance and sing.
We’ll be placed on an altar, our throats slit, and our blood passed around in goblets.
My stomach rolls. I think I’m going to throw up.
Raiden starts toward the crowd, and they part for him, bowing in deference as he passes, while we scamper along behind him like baby chicks. Hundreds of eyes follow as Raiden leads us through the mass. He stops at a long table and directs one of the girls–a brunette I don’t recognize–to get up on it. Without a word of argument, she climbs onto the table and lies down. Raiden snaps his fingers and one of the guards hurries over to her, while Raiden leads us on. But I’m not looking where I’m going. I’m looking at the guard, who’s strapping the girl’s arms and legs to the four corners of the table.
My blood turns to ice. They’re going to strap us down so we can’t fight back. We’ll be completely at their mercy. They could touch us, bite us, bleed us and we wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop them. No, no, no, no. I’ve got to get out of here. I spin around and run headfirst into another guard. He grabs my arm and forces me to continue forward.
I try to scream, but all that comes out are gasping sobs. My throat’s closed up and swollen. My chest is squeezed tight like there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around it, and my heart is a freight train plowing into my sternum over and over.
I drop my weight the way Maxim always did when he was having a tantrum, but it’s no use. The guard just sweeps me into his arms and carries me, as one by one, the girls are made to lie on a table. They obey without question, their expressions passive as the guards come round to strap down their arms and legs. They’re all so calm, I wonder for a moment if maybe this isn’t going tobe as bad as I think it will be. That all flies out of my head the moment the guard holding me turns for a table. This is too familiar, too much like the time at the palace—the chair, the straps, the blood dried into the wood. And I’m back there now, fighting the guards as they try to sit me in the torture chair. No, not a chair: a table, and there are not two, but three guards wrestling me onto it. My spine cracks against the marble top. I try to shout, but a thick piece of cloth is stuffed into my mouth. Now there are four guards, each of them holding down an arm or leg while I kick and thrash.
Raiden steps up beside me, and I plead with my eyes for him to stop this.
He backhands me across the cheek and pain explodes through my face and skull. Shock quiets my thrashing for a split second and the guards take the opportunity to tie me down—my arms and feet spread into a giant X. The fae descend on me like a murder of crows. Hands rove my legs, arms, belly, chest. Fingers tear into the delicate fabric of my dress, shredding it to bits. The cool air kisses my skin, raising gooseflesh. A sharp pain pierces my thigh, shoulder, bicep and breast, then wet heat soothes the pain as multiple fae drink from me all at once.
A tingling warmth builds in my wounds, then spreads throughout my body and into my sex. I moan into my gag as the pleasure builds and builds. It grows hotter and sharper—the red, hot edge of a knife. My moans turn to screams as it tears through my body, searing my skin and turning my blood molten. It’s too much, too much. I am lost—sight and sound blurred and muted as though I’m underwater, and all that’s left is the pain.
Then I shatter.
