“You shouldn’t have come here.”
My blood ran cold. Bentley James.
38
ASHTON
The voice was low, guttural, and carried the weight of something inhuman. It reverberated through the room, bouncing off the walls and sending a chill down my spine. I froze, the flashlight trembling in my grip as my pulse hammered in my ears.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” the voice repeated, each word dragging through the air like a blade scraping against stone.
“Bentley,” I growled, his name feeling like poison on my tongue.
The shadows shifted, and a figure stepped into the faint, flickering light. He was tall—towering, even—with a frame that seemed carved from stone, his presence filling the room like a storm. His dark eyes gleamed like black holes, empty and consuming, pulling every ounce of warmth from the air. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones sharp, his mouth twisted into a grin that made my stomach churn.
He was dressed in black, his clothes stained and tattered, as though he had crawled his way out of some abyss. But it washis hands that drew my attention—large, calloused, and covered in faded scars. They flexed as he stepped closer, as if he were imagining wrapping them around my neck.
“Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “The great Ashton Riley. I’ve read about you. All that power, all that control. And yet, here you are, stumbling into my little kingdom like a lost child.”
I clenched my fists, every muscle in my body screaming for action, but I forced myself to stay rooted. Dove’s face flashed in my mind—her smile, her laugh, her tears—and the thought of losing her fueled the fire in my chest.
“Where is she?” I demanded, my voice sharp, barely controlled.
Bentley tilted his head, his grin widening. “Ah, Dove. You’re here for her, aren’t you?” He chuckled, a low, menacing sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “She’s quite the fighter. Reminds me of her parents.”
My stomach turned, the memory of what I’d read in his files clawing its way to the surface. The blood, the bodies, the nightmare he had created. And now he had her.
“Where is she?” I repeated, stepping closer, my voice a growl.
Bentley’s grin faded, replaced by something darker, colder. “You think you can take her from me? After all these years, after all the time I’ve spent searching for her, waiting for her?” He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “She’s mine, Riley. Always has been.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken, every breath feeling like a struggle. I could hear the faint scrape of Lilith’s boots as she shifted behind me, but she didn’t speak. For once, even she seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.
“She doesn’t belong to you,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “She never did.”
Bentley’s grin returned, but there was no humor in it. “And she belongs to you? Is that it?” He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You think you’re her savior? Her hero? Let me tell you something, Riley. Men like us don’t save people. We destroy them.”
I felt the rage bubbling to the surface, hot and consuming. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms as I fought to keep my composure. “I’ll ask you one last time,” I said, my voice low, deadly. “Where is she?”
Bentley stopped, his dark eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, there was silence, the kind that pressed against your ears and made your heart race. And then he smiled.
“She’s where she belongs.”
The words hit me like a blow, and before I could stop myself, I lunged at him. My fist connected with his jaw, the impact sending him stumbling back, but the grin never left his face. He laughed, the sound echoing through the room like a taunt, and when he straightened, his eyes burned with something primal.
“You’ve got fight,” he said, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “Good. You’ll need it.”
The room seemed to darken, the shadows creeping closer, and for a moment, I thought I saw movement—something slithering just out of sight. Bentley’s grin widened, and he raised his arms, as if welcoming the darkness.
“Let’s see what you’re made of, Ashton Riley,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Let’s see if you’re willing to bleed for her.”
The shadows surged, and the room erupted into chaos.
The shadows lungedtoward me as if alive, clawing at the edges of my vision. The room seemed to pulse with darkness, an unnatural force pressing down on me, making the air thick and suffocating. Bentley’s laughter rang out, low and guttural, echoing off the crumbling walls like a twisted symphony.
I darted to the side, narrowly avoiding something—a chair or debris—that flew past my head, shattering against the wall. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as I tried to make sense of the surrounding chaos.
“Come on, Ashton,” Bentley taunted, his voice cutting through the darkness. “You came all this way. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
