Just how long was Delphine planning on leaving him down here? He had no phone, no shoes, and no hope of escape. From the rumors over the years, Delphine Perdue didn’t believe in barristers or trials. She was judge and jury.
“Delphine!” Raising his voice to a shout, he continued, “Let me out of here! I did nothing wrong.”
His curses echoed off the walls, but the High Priestess either wasn’t within earshot or didn’t give a damn.
“You’ll never see daylight again,” a woman said from another cell. Her voice was weak, and Killian heard the rattling of chains as she moved.
“Who are you?” He strained to raise his head a fraction, and as he did, searing pain lashed across his chest again and he stifled a groan. Looking down in the dim light, he struggled to breathe as another long, curved black burn mark appeared underneath the first.
Fucking curse.
“I don’t remember my name,” the woman said. “I only know it was stolen by dark magic. Magic I helped Thea bring into this place.”
“Thea? Who the fuck is she?” Killian could barely get the words out. Between the pain of Jezebel’s magic and the weakness from the iron, he desperately wanted to pass out, but feared he’d be unable to.
The woman—the witch—coughed, wet and rattling, and then the chains scraped across the stone floor. “She’s the reason Delphine will never let you go. The curse…it plays on your deepest fears. Mine was not being remembered. By anyone. Now, I can’t be. No one knows my name. Or anything about me, other than what I’ve done.”
“Why does the curse mean I will never get out of here?” Killian stopped fighting his bonds, unable to muster the strength any longer.
“Because I know Delphine’s greatest fear.” The witch coughed again, and her next words were faint. “She fears admitting her mistakes. Even if you did nothing wrong, she’ll still keep you here forever.”
“Witch? Witch!” No further noise greeted him. The nameless woman had either passed out or no longer wished to speak to him. With nothing to distract from the constant agony of the spell eating away at him, Killian sank into the pain. The dungeons were cool and damp, and the rack hard. His entire body ached, and he needed food and water.
He floated from memory to memory, Oliver screaming, the stench of burnt werewolf fur, his would-be lover’s last breath, the fear as Jezebel and the townspeople came for him.
Every time one of the marks on his chest flared, he snarled and jerked against his bonds, but it was no use. Even at full strength, he’d be unable to escape them. Squinting in the dim light, he managed to croak, “Fuck me,” as he glanced down at his shirt. Wherever it had been touching the marks, it had burned, half a dozen arcs and whorls now clearly evident on the light blue material.
What had Delphine said to him? The burns were marks of someone burdened with guilt? Was this his curse? To relive the worst day of his life while trapped in iron and Jeze’s spell? Alone and powerless?
Closing his eyes, he called up the memory of Oliver’s face, trying to focus on his smile. “I’m so sorry. I was careless. A complete tosser. And you…you were everything I was not.”
If this was his fate, he would accept it. He’d done the unforgivable. Killed the one man he was supposed to protect above all others. The first and only man he’d thought he just might…fall in love with.
Despite the burning in his chest, he was so tired, and the iron weakened him every minute it touched his skin. A burst of pure agony washed over him, but it wasn’t Oliver’s name he screamed...he could utter only one word.
“Maddox!”
C H A P T E R S E V E N
MADDOX
I n the middle of the menswear dressing room two blocks from the hotel, Maddox’s head exploded in pain. Something was very wrong. Not with him. As he sank down on the little bench in the corner and closed his eyes, he saw Killian. Bound to a rack. Writhing in pain. Deep, blackened burns across his chest. Where this morning, Maddox had only seen three or four odd lines marring Killian’s sculpted muscles, now, there were more than a dozen.
A wave of dizziness overtook him as he tried to stand, but Maddox fought it off long enough to zip up the new pants, yank off the tags, and thrust a handful of bills at the confused human behind the counter. He’d probably just overpaid by half, but he didn’t care. He had to get to Killian.
Maddox lurched down the street with no idea of where he was going. More than once, he pulled out the celestial token, so desperate, he was willing to ask Azrael for help. But after almost an hour, the pain in his head muddling his sense of direction, he felt a pull so strong, it was like someone had tied a string to his heart and yanked on it.
He had to go back to Magnolia House. Maddox tried to stop, but his feet had a mind of their own, and soon, he found himself outside the fence, hiding behind a row of bushes.
A group of three witches exited the mansion, one obviously in charge. She was beautiful. Long, dark hair fell over one shoulder, and she walked with an air of superiority while the other two flanked her.
“How long will you leave him down there, Delphine?” the witch on the left asked.
“Until midnight. If your spell permanently damages him, you will find yourself in the dungeon with him. I have indulged your desires too often, I think, for your own good.”
“But my brother—“
“Your brother drained that werewolf’s mate. Killian was reckless and wild, but Oliver would have died that night no matter what he’d done, witch. Now focus. We have to get into Killian’s hotel room. Perhaps the sand is there.”
