He’s confident our goal is to discover as much as we can about the massacre. He’s as tight-lipped about that as he can be, so we’ve switched up our tactics to make him feel like he’s winning, like he’s outsmarting us while still saving himself from as much pain as possible. From the outside looking in, it seems as though we’re attempting to soften him. That we don’t want to kill him in our efforts to get the information we’redesperatefor.
Verus thinks we’re now focusing on getting him talking in general. Why else would we be asking inane questions about his favorite food, why he looks the way that he does, which season of a year he likes the most, what activities he did as a child? It throws him off. We slip in the occasional massacre question to keep his focus there and to make him suspect that we’re trying to trip him up for answers, but it’s actually the little details abouthimthat we really want.
He throws out a bread crumb or two, thinking he’s stringing us along. Lies, I’m sure, but a lot can be pieced together from the simplest and most innocent untruths.
“Is your coloring from your mother’s or your sire’s side? Is it some kind of malady?” I ask casually, resting my ankle over my opposite knee and settling back into my chair as though I’m getting comfortable in preparation for a long day. “Do your light eyes make it difficult to see at night or during the brightest part of the day?”
Verus doesn’t respond.
“Anyone ever refer to you as moon blessed?” I inquire, and this question gets me a reaction.
He glares at me as though he’s fed up with my prodding, but we both know that’s not it. He was surprised by the term. He responded and then realized his mistake and is now trying to bury it in anger and frustration.
I study my nails, inspecting them as though I didn’t just catch every blaring detail he just gave away and once again try to recall where I saw that term. I recalled it when we met Auset at the Bidding, something about her unique coloring brought it to mind. I know I’ve read it somewhere, but I’ve searched my entire library and can’t find it. I had a hunch Verus might find it familiar, and I was right, which makes the elusive text that contained the phrase all the more infuriating because I can’t recall where it might be.
“What time do you usually rise to start your day?” I press.
Verus’sfuck youmask is once again in place. Curio sets a small incubator on the far table with a small percussive thump. Verus tries not to turn his head toward it, but his eyes swiftly glance over and then away. He knows what’s coming. His breaths pick up with a hint of panic before he tightens his control and forces them back to the even inhales and exhales he works hard to maintain.
I pull the dagger currently sheathed at my ankle. It’s the one Auset filched from me that first night, and I debate between giving it to her as a gift or hoarding it like the prized blade it’s become to me. Slowly, I begin to flip it around my fingers, expertly twisting it between my digits as though I couldn’t slip and relieve myself of one of them at any moment. It could be seen as an intimidation tactic. Really, I’m just bored. We have big plans for our captive today, but Riall went overboard on breakfast, which means Auset probably won’t be done eating for a bit longer.
Riall knows she’s learning to pace herself, but that’s warring with the instinct to provide, which his new Blood Bond is driving through him. Auset can’t walk away from a single crumb left on any plate. She’s feral when it comes to food, which is an adorable sight to behold, but when I think aboutwhyshe’s that way, I start to feel a little fucking feral myself.
By some miracle, Auset doesn’t blame us for what happened to her anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for it though. I’ve learned a priceless lesson on complacency and negligence. It’s definitely changed what we allow to be done in the name of the Order of Scorpions and what we’ll stand for. But the damage has been done, and there’s not much we can do other than ensure it doesn’t happen again and make what restitution we can when Auset is ready.
I hate the circumstances around the discovery of our mate and what she went through at the ludere. As grateful as I am that we even found her, it’s a crushing blow to know that the other piece of your soul was stripped raw and irreversibly scarred by soulless monsters, and it’s your fault.
I focus back on Verus and the room. Now’s not the time for me to get broody, no matter how much I wish I could fix what we fucked up. I can give her Verus though, give her access to what’s in his head, and that will have to do for now.
“What did you eat before you ambushed us the other night?” Curio asks as he unlatches the locks on the lid of the incubator. “What time do you usually eat dinner?”
Verus’s nostrils flare in an effort to pull in more oxygen while he clamps his mouth tighter, and his lips thin into a stubborn line.
“Do you prefer a cold day or a hot one?” I chime in.
Sweat starts to bead on Verus’s upper lip, and his breathing grows louder as he keeps his eyes trained on the small alcove of shadows that blanket the door and the only entrance and exit to the room.
Curio dips a hand into the incubator. “What’s your favorite weapon, the one you reach for first when you’re scared?”
Black swells until only a thin ring of the silver is visible in Verus’s gaze. His unusual eye color is notably darker than Auset’s. His has shards of gray hidden in the hue instead of the chips of pale blue and violet found in our mate’s stare.
Curio turns and Verus’s pale skin grows even paler.
“You remember Danes and Gilmore, right?” Curio queries as he sets two small bolt scorpions on Verus’s pale chest.
Curio moves to reset and lock the lid on the rest of the nest in the incubator and then drops into his own chair as the two small scorpions start to get comfortable. Verus tilts his chin up as though he’s trying to get as far from the painful little beasts as he can. They cautiously crawl in opposite directions, Gilmore heading for Verus’s shoulder while Danes skitters to the opposite armpit. Danes always picks the most painful places, a trait, sadly, none of his offspring have shown the same penchant for. I grin as I think about the tiny beast. I’m pretty sure the gifted little crawler enjoys this as much as we do.
“What’s the first sound you hear when you wake in the morning?” I press as our ghost’s chest starts to rise and fall faster and faster and goose bumps rise on his bare arms and chest.
Verus stays silent, but I can tell it’s a struggle.
Curio smiles as he picks up a tuning fork from the table next to him. His eyes never leave Verus as he knocks the fork against the leg of his chair before lifting it up in front of him. As soon as the resonant sound begins to ring in the room, Verus tenses, but both bolt scorpions have already seized his skin with their pincers and struck with their tails.
A low keen spills out of Verus’s clenched teeth as pain from the stings works to overwhelm his senses. Bolt scorpions—aptly named for a sting that feels as though you’ve just been shot with the bolt of a crossbow—have the useful ability to cause maximum pain without being dangerously toxic. It makes them the perfect little helpers when it comes to this kind of work. A handful of days spent with the bolts and the scorchers that we breed for this exact purpose, and we usually get what we want out of someone. The Empress always joins in too, but we like to save the best for last.
Silencing the tuning fork with his hand, Curio sits back, and the bolts relax, creeping to new spots on Verus’s body like they’re ready and waiting for the next signal. He growls, spittle breaching the seam of his closed lips as he tries to shake the scorpions off his torso with a distressed whine that quickly morphs into a roar that rings with agony and frustration. Gilmore almost loses her hold, and Curio holds up the tuning fork in warning. Verus immediately sags against his bindings, sweat now dripping down his neck as he looks around wildly, his enraged stare now steeped in suffering.
“Be a good boy,” I taunt. “Answer some questions, tell us what we want to know, and maybe, just maybe we’ll let you spend some time with the moon tonight,” I offer nonchalantly, and Verus’s head immediately snaps in my direction. “I thought that might get your attention.”
