Chapter 23
Brie
Iwoke up in pain, which was getting to be a pattern with me, but this time the pain was more honest about itself. No headaches, no sense of drowning. Just the raw, white-hot throb of my shoulders being wrenched nearly out of their sockets, and the stinging ache where cold iron dug into the thin skin of my wrists.
I hung suspended, toes barely scraping the slimy rock below, and for a minute I didn’t know if I was dreaming, dead, or in one of those fucked up movie scenes where they put you in a meat locker to cool off before the real torture starts.
The smell was the first clue: dank, fetid, with an undercurrent of something sweet and rotten. The air was cold but not freezing, the darkness close and thick, broken only by occasional flickers of blue lightning that skittered along the chains. My dress—the one Gunner had called “statement worthy”—was in shreds, the skirt hung loose at my ankles, the wide lavender wrap-around belt was tattered. My skin was streaked with grime and sweat, my legs undoubtedly spattered with dried blood from where the manacles had pinched. I didn’t even want to know what my hair looked like, but judging by the lock that hung in my face, the streaked blue was as filthy as the rest of me. He must have dragged me by my arm through Lord knows what to get me here.
My first thought was,“Well, this sucks.”
My second was,“I can feel Finn.”
Somewhere out in the darkness, far away but real, the mate bond hummed. It was a sickly, thin thread compared to the roar of it back home, but it was there. Not enough to speak across, but enough to remind me that my life—my real life—hadn’t ended. It made something in my chest clench tight and hot, and suddenly, the fear was second place to the anger.
I would not be a victim. Not again.
I forced myself to scan the room, eyes adjusting to the deep dark the best I could. It was a cave or a cell, with walls so rough and ancient they could have belonged to a volcano. The only “decoration” was a rusted iron ring set into the stone, the chain snaking from it up to the manacles that held me. I flexed my wrists, testing for weakness, but the cuffs were solid, heavier than anything I’d ever seen. He hadn’t intended on me getting out.
Footsteps echoed from the left—a soft, deliberate scuff, followed by a second, heavier stride. I froze, and the chains clinked softly.
Two figures came into view. One was unmistakable: Maltraz, demon king, in his demon form. He stood every bit of seven feet tall, his skin a translucent gray color; smooth and matte. His face was sharp angles and shadows; his cheekbones high with a nose like a blade, ridges from bridge to nostrils pierced with three gold rings. His hair was jet black and shaved on the sides with a long braid that started at the top of his head and ran mid-back. His eyes glowed red, but not like wolfs; the irises were vertical; monster eyes that shimmered when they caught the light. His mouth was wide and full of sharp teeth. His hands were massive and tipped with black, lacquered claws.
He wore a leather coat over what looked like a bulletproof vest, and he carried himself like a bodyguard, but his eyes flicked up to mine with an intelligence that said “Don’t underestimate me.” I did not.
Maltraz surveyed me where I hung with theatrical boredom, then focused on me, his lips curling into a smile that made my skin crawl.
“Ah, the artist awakes.” His voice was as warm as antifreeze.
“Can’t say I love what you’ve done with the place.” I was horse but my voice was steady.
He grinned. “It’s temporary. You’ll be moving soon. But it suits you, doesn’t it? The chains, the dirt, the little stage lighting?”
I looked him in the eye. “How’d you do it? Become Lysander Hale, I mean? I know they did background checks on you…or him.”
His laughter boomed around me.
Maltraz leaned against the obsidian wall, a cruel smile playing on lips that had once smiled at me with Lysander Hale’s warmth. “The real Lysander Hale,” he began, his voice a velvet nightmare, “died screaming in a Venice alley three months ago. I’ve worn his skin—his memories, his credentials, his entire existence—since.”
I remembered Wrecker’s thorough background checks—the bank records, the gallery certifications, even the childhood photos. All flawless. Maltraz chuckled. “Demons excel at forgery, little curator. Weinventtruths. When your tech genius dug, he found only Lysander’s impeccable history.”
The horror coiled in my stomach. Those three weeks flooded back: Lysander bringing me coffee during late-night cataloging, laughing with me over terrible modern art, confiding about his “boyfriend.” All lies. I was a damn fool.
“Every shared secret,” Maltraz purred, “every vulnerable moment you gifted me—was a stitch in the net to trap you.” He stepped closer, shadows clinging to him like loyal hounds. “I needed your trust to lower your wards. To make youwantme to follow you up to your office opening night.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering his speech—the beautiful things he’d said about me. The last thing I’d seen before darkness took me was Lysander’s concerned face melting into Maltraz’s triumphant grin. I remembered Gunner’s devastated look as I disappeared. Now, iron cuffsbit into my wrists. My dear friend had been the demon king, weaving my chains stitch by stitch, and I’d handed him the thread with a trusting smile.
“You should be very proud. You played me perfectly.” I hung my head. I may have appeared sad, but I was furious.
“Aren’t you so pitiful now, bestie?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy cataloguing everything I could about the room, the chains, and the men. Any clue. Any weakness.
Maltraz turned to the other demon. “Adramal, what did I tell you about Iron Valor? Every time you think you’ve crushed them, they get back up.”
Adramal grunted, unimpressed. “You said they were like cockroaches. Hard to kill.”
“Harder, even.” He moved closer, hands in his pockets, as if he’d just strolled into an art opening and was about to critique the drapes. “Did you know, Brie, that your little pack nearly cost me a year’s worth of planning in the past several months? And then, last night, you made it all worth it.”
