Time passed, or maybe it just circled the drain, and eventually the cell door opened again. This time it was a lesser demon, one I hadn’t seen before. He was built like a man, but his skin was the slick, pebbled black of an alligator, and his jaw looked like it could bite through bone. He carried a glass vial in one hand, and a wickedly sharp knife in the other.
He crouched beside me, set the vial down, and pressed the blade to my throat.
“Open,” he said, his voice a hiss.
I bared my teeth. “No, thank you.”
He pressed the knife in just enough to nick the skin. I could feel the heat of my blood as it ran down to my collarbone.
“Open. Or I will open it for you.”
I considered spitting in his face, but my mouth was so dry there was no spit to spit. I opened my mouth, and he dumped the contents of the vial straight down my throat. It tasted like bleach and old pennies, andI immediately convulsed, gagging it back up. He held my head steady, forcing my jaw shut until I had to swallow or choke.
As soon as he let go, I puked a stream of bile onto the floor. It burned all the way up, leaving me retching until nothing came out but a dribble of saliva.
The demon made a disappointed sound, then licked the blood from his knife. “Ruining the product is not wise,” I rasped. I was gonna kill that fucker when Finn got here.
He laughed, then turned and left without another word.
I slumped in the chair, shaking, wiping the vomit from my chin. My wolf healing fought to keep up with my inquiries, but I think these iron manacles slowed it down. I wanted to scream, but my vocal cords felt like sandpaper, and even the thought of making noise seemed too exhausting. Instead, I let my head loll back and watched the flicker of green slime on the ceiling. I tried to save up energy.
If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine Finn. The way he held me after those nightmares, his arms so solid and safe even when the world went sideways. His smell—leather, sweat, the faintest tang of cattle. His voice, deep and low, telling me to “hang on, Maverick.” Sometimes I let myself believe it was real, that he was already on his way.
Sometimes I just wanted to die and be done with it.
I was dozing—drifting in and out—when Adramal crept back in. He waited until the door had swung shut, then knelt beside me, just out of reach.
The next time the cell door opened, it didn’t creak or groan or scrape; it rattled like an announcement; the handle twisted hard enough to snap. I braced myself, spine straight, hands limp in my lap, like a dignitary awaiting the gallows.
He entered in shadows, his shape too tall and too still for a normal man. His face was as I remembered it: Lysander’s sharp jaw, the unruly white-blond hair, the navy three-piece suit like something off a GQ cover.He moved with a dancer’s grace, and when he smiled, it was perfect—so convincing, for a second, I almost believed it was him.
“Bestie,” he said, voice soft and sweet as Turkish delight.
The word hit harder than the knife earlier. Every humiliation, every moment of stupidity and hope, bunched together and clawed up my throat until it burned. I forced myself not to look away, not to show him what it did to me.
“Maltraz,” I managed, making the name a curse.
He placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “You wound me. After all we’ve shared?”
He drifted closer, feet gliding across the floor. There was a kind of beauty to it, the way he stole all the light from the room and used it to frame himself. Even in this pit, even after everything, I couldn’t look away.
He leaned down, putting his face inches from mine. His breath was warm, sweet, and cold all at once.
“Did you really think Finn would save you?” he whispered, the words sliding over my skin like oil. “Did you imagine a rescue? A knight in shining fur?”
I felt my insides twist, but I clamped down on the feeling. I wouldn’t give him the pleasure.
He switched tactics, morphing his face in subtle, horrifying ways. First, it was Finn’s face: the wild eyes, the sun-baked freckles, the smile that could still my heart. He leaned in, voice deeper, familiar.
“Brie,” he said, and for a split second, my heart stuttered. “It seems Otero is suddenly not interested in you, little girl.”
I wanted to scream, but I wouldn’t.
He grinned wider; the mask slipping as horns curled out from his hairline and his teeth lengthened, turning the Finn I loved into a cartoon monster.
I laughed, a dry bark that surprised even me. “Guess your network isn’t as big as you made out, huh?”
His face fell, just for a heartbeat. The power in the room shifted. I’d seen this before; the moment when the predator realized the prey could bite back.
