Isahn heard their footsteps thump across the floor before the door opened and slammed shut again. The orchestra ceased.
Sighing into the dry basement, devoid of any strange sensory images at present, Isahn reassured himself it was all a facade. When he focused on that, the pain, the confusion brought on by the sensory magic hardly registered, because it wasn’t real. And with his mind clear-ish, he could have some fun with them.
Afterafulldayof failed attempts, they’d blindfolded the prisoner and tried to get a good night’s sleep. Today, with Hildy still furious they’d abducted a man without her permission, George didn’t really have a choice but to get involved in the questioning, not if she wanted to assuage some of her guilt over roping everyone into her wild scheme. When Hil told George she’d earned herself the role of lead torturer their next time downstairs, she agreed, as long as she could go in as George-the-man.
Disguised as a lumbering, six-foot-tall warrior sporting a beard that rivaled their prisoner’s, Georgie followed her friends to the basement, steeled herself with a deep breath, and forced her eyes from the captive’s muscled thighs to his mussed hair. She could do this.
Ignoring the group standing behind her subject, she ripped off his blindfold, and he blinked up at her through stunning blue eyes. Silently, she thrust a glass of water into his face, tipped it to his mouth, and spilled half down his dirty tunic as he drank.
Then they brought out the brand.
It wouldn’t leave a mark, being a mirage, but the man before her didn’t know that.
“What’s your name?” George growled, her voice impossibly bassy as she held up the glowing metal spike.
The prisoner remained silent, and if she wasn’t losing her faculties, she could’ve sworn his brow lifted a smidge.
“Who do you work for?”
His eyes darted to the poker, then returned to her face, his lips quirking to the side.
Couldn’t he just answer and make this easier? She jabbed him on the upper arm—Dunstan’s touch magic piled onto hers, adding the sensation of heat. A sizzle crackled in the air, compliments of Hildy, and the stench of burning flesh singed her nose—Burke’s work.
The prisoner jerked back, grunting through clenched teeth, and George nearly vomited. Guilt scrambled her guts as the stranger gripped the wooden chair handles, veins popping from his tense hands. He inhaled slowly as his fingers relaxed, then hemoaned.
It was not a sound of pain, and it was so soft she could barely hear it.
More unanswered questions and a second jab to the arm led to the same reaction. His soft groan, almost a whimper, bottomed out George’s stomach as her chest, shielded by the mirage, rose and fell rapidly.
“He’s not going to talk,” she announced abruptly. Maybe he was and she was wrong, but what shedidknow was she wasn’t built for this, and neither were her friends. No one else was stepping in to take up the poker and have a go. Fates, theonlyperson they wanted to harm was her father.
“Keep your convictions close,”Mamma’s words slipped through her mind, firming Georgie’s resolve and amplifying her guilt.
“Feed him and clean him up. I want his face shaved by the next time I see his sorry ass.” Maintaining character, George-the-man scoffed as George-the-woman sagged behind her mirage, a frown tugging her lips.
“Good call, never trust a man with a beard,” Burke muttered, his voice higher than usual.
“Never,” Dunstan and Hildy agreed in a new monotone.
Ignoring their jokes, ignoring the glossiness in their captive’s eyes and the flush on his cheeks, she swept around thebefuddled, silent man and thundered upstairs, dropping the mirage as she entered the kitchen. George scrubbed her hands through her messy curls and grabbed a glass of water from the table to chug it while panting.
Fuck.
three
George and Isahn are up a creek.
Thepleasantsoundscapeofa rushing stream deep in a forest glade awoke George. Or that’s what she imagined as water trickled, birds chirped, and leaves rustled. With a sigh, she rolled onto her stomach and snuggled into the scratchy mattress.
The nature sounds shifted to the most obnoxiously loud squawking she’d ever had the displeasure of hearing.
“Oh, what thefuck!” Rolling from bed, her legs tangled in her sheet as she smashed into Hildy.
“Get up, the guys went out.”
“Deiwa nekami.”
“You don’t want the goddess to kill you, sleepy head.” Hildy went so far as to ruffle George’s sleep-rumpled curls.
