“Where is he?” I groan in agony.
“I’d be more worried about your lovely neck.”
I can’t stop shaking. I portaled us to Selene’s room. This isn’t it.
“You’re in the dungeons.”
That voice… “Violet?” I groan. I’m still face-down on the floor. It’s damp and musky, filled with ghostly whispers of tortured souls.
I twist my neck. I’m in a cell. I pivot to see the violet-eyed man. His face assaults me—cold, hard, sharp, emotionless at first glance. His hair is lightning, wicked, and scary, yet enchanting. He’s dressed in fighting leather, covered with weapons on his back, hips, and tucked in his boots.
His arms are more muscled than most warriors. His knuckles are covered in scars as he pours out more ointment into his palm. His hands move over my scarred back, applying the ointment.
As if sensing my stare, he stops and flashes me his fangs. “That doesn’t scare me,” I mutter.
“The chains on your wrist should,” he retorts.
Mage cuffs. I huff, “Not all chains are made of iron.” I wiggle my wrist. “This is a comfort. Sometimes my magic is so consuming, I find a dark, lonely corner and scream.” Oops, did I say that out loud?
Hooded eyes narrow, causing the violet to look more amethyst. My favorite color. “I’ll find out what scares you.”
His smirk doesn’t reach his eyes. I’m not sure eyes like his can smile.
I melt into the cool floor. “I’ll save you the time and just tell you.”
His mouth twitches, but before I can answer, he asks, “Can you open another portal?”
“What?”
“When I slip these pretty little cuffs off your hands, can you open a portal? Or are you nothing but a deceitful, scarred mage?” Scarred. The ointment helps with the burns, but I’ll need another cream within the first hours to erase the scars, or they will be permanent.
How many hours have passed?
He leans closer, “And before you ask, your brother talked; he had an odd story to tell. One I don’t buy.”
“Stories are not meant to be sold. They are intended to be listened to.”
His hand slides under my chin, twisting my neck so I can see him fully. He says nothing, which is more unsettling.
“Why would I portal us here?” I break the tension. “We had the Vitalis. I could have grabbed it and run. Instead, I came here. We’ve been on your side. We’re still on your side.”
A cold wind presses my face back down. He lets go and steps back. “Answer me.” His tone sounds like a war hammer swinging down.
Closing my eyes, I tug at my magic trapped under the cuffs. I’ve always been different. Unlike other mages, my magic has much larger reserves. My father found out and tested me brutally. At most, I opened twenty portals in one day.
He pushed and pushed until I almost died. I listened, because I craved death; I wanted his teachings to stop.
But I always woke up. Always. Just as I did now.
Sighing, the man kneels, places his hands on my hips, turning me gently onto my side. Air flows where clothes should cover. My dress is gone!
“You changed my clothes.” I gasp. How long was I out? I have on loose pants and that’s it. A thin cloth was laid on the floor.
He presses the fabric to my breasts, keeping me covered until I’m stable on my side.
“Changed?” he grunts. “They were burnt away.”
“You still covered me.” My throat thickens. Terrible memories plague me. I’m not horrified he saw me naked; so many others have.
