Brown, watery eyes blink up at the man snarling beside her. She grits her teeth. They don't look sharp, but there's still a wolfishness to her, something predatory. She wants him. Red splotches across her cheeks, skin chaffed from fighting or fucking, I don't know. Her clothes are torn off. She's covered in bruises and scratches.
She's panting.
And then she cries out again, slamming her hands into the ground, like she's in agony, before launching at the man. His roar is so big and deep I feel it, even in the dream.
The nightmare.
Because as he wraps one hand around her throat, the other against her chest, holding her snapping teeth back, the point of view pivots. But I know it's him before I even see him. The citrus and rain scent hit me first.
Silas.
Chapter 20: Silas
Witch fire sizzles out of his fingertips. He's not as skilled with the fire element as Deidre, but up close, it doesn't really matter. The zap fires out of his fingers, tracing up my leg.
I could kill him. Deidre hasn't reinforced the directive in a while. And Pierre no longer has any magical power over me, not like in the beginning when I was first taken. They threw so much magic at me, it was like they pumped me full of heroin and I complied—I didn't resist, anyway—with whatever they wanted to do to me.
I could snap his neck. Snuff out his life forever.
But I'd still have to get out of here. I can leave the basement, the spelled barriers are weak to me. But the last time Deidre sent me on a mission—to meet my honey-sweet mate, who I likely will never see again—she still needed to lower the barrier for me to cross the property. It's flexible down here, but there are enough setbacks that I'm not prepared to make a break for it. Not yet.
And not without Lily.
She's put up a hell of a fight for a delta. I can't just… let her die.
I keep seeing my Mona in her. Physically small, pathetic, weak. Mentally, an absolute powerhouse. I don't even know Mona, but I keep asking myself what she'd want me to do. And I like to imagine her as a kind person. Someone who doesn't take the easy route. She couldn't, not with that man who pretended to be her father, or Deidre, pumping her full of drugs her entire life to suppress her wolf.
Mona would want me to protect Lily. And since I'll probably die soon, I'll do it protecting her.Bothof them.
As long as Deidre is busy with me, trying to figure out why I won't—can't—impregnate Lily, she's too busy to hunt down my omega.
It's impossible to ignore Pierre, so I do the opposite. I smile wide, letting my sharp teeth hover close to his neck. He smells of magic. Sulfur and anthracite. Stones and deep earth, like a musty root cellar. It's tinged a little sweet. He gets turned on when he's scared. He's a total simp, begging me to snap and have my way with him. He loves my teeth so close, even knowing I'm dreaming of the day I sink them in and tear out his carotid.
Pierre sits on my chest, tearing holes in my flesh. The witch fire leaves a trail of that burnt-flesh stench, and the acrid, oily scent of fire. He cuts through layers, and in some ways, I'm immune to the physical pain, but with every cut, it feels like he's making my heart a little smaller, a little darker.
When I met Mona, the finest sliver of humanity ripped through me—a flash of light after years of darkness. But she's gone, and that light is fading. I still dream of her—my Mona, free from Deidre's grip, finding Orion and my brother, living a happy life somewhere safe—but I have to bury the dream deep, protect it from all this misery, hide it where I don't have to confront the painful truth: I will never be a part of her future.
For now, I survive to kill all these people. And to free Lily. That is my goal.
I let the darkness twist my black heart. Pierre's weight shifts as he shimmies down my legs, fingernails carving runes into my flesh. Blood wells up in thin lines across my abdomen before the skin stitches back together. Pierre fuckingdelightsin a shifter's ability to heal. I tense when he moves lower, closer to my pelvis, hating myself more than him in that moment—hating that after everything, my body still remembers how to fear.
But Pierre doesn't touch my cock. He's not allowed to, not anymore. Not now that Deidre has decided my only purpose is to impregnate a wolf—any wolf, apparently. Pierre pouts before climbing off me. And I lie there, perfectly still, counting all the ways I will kill him.
"Pity." He gets up and wanders to the cell door, still swung open. He spares Lily a glance. She's passed out, thankfully. Or maybe in a coma. That would be better.
It's been a while since she's spoken.
The air is damp and musty, but her sunny, beachy scent cuts through the stench. She's naked except for the torn shirt I draped over her body. She shivers even in her sleep. Not from cold, but from terror.
Pierre's eyes glitter in the dim light. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. "You would make a beautiful child. I don't know what the hold-up is, but I will figure it out. You'll impregnate the girl, and then I can have my toys back. And when she gives birth…" he sucks air through his teeth. The bulge in his pants throbs, but he doesn't touch himself.
I grin wide.
Wider, still.
More feral.
More psychotic.
