The first thing I notice is the heat.
I haven’t been this warm since we left Vegas and stepped into the sabotaged gateway.
The next thing I notice is the pain.
I’m used to hurting, so I push it aside and brace to sit. Except I can’t. I’m strapped down, three heavy chains bracketing my waist, thighs, and ankles. It’s enough to fully wake me up.
I open my eyes, and fury overrides my fear.
The veydra stands to one side, his face—if he even has one—angled toward the wall. Wherever we are, we’re alone, and that pisses me off. “Where are they?” I hiss.
He turns to me with a smile. Banded lines flicker across his face. One second, I see the amber, mask-like material that coats his skin, and the next I see Luca.
“Do you mean the basilisk?” he asks.
I try to recoil, but I’m strapped down. There’s nowhere for me to go.
More bands roll over his features, then he’s Alistair.
“Perhaps you like the vampire best,” he says, shaking his head before warping into Malach. “Or is the overgrown fiancé your favorite?” His hair turns white-blond next, and he snaps his fingers as familiar lips curl into a cruel, unfamiliar smirk.
“No, I know—you’re asking about the nightmare demon, aren’t you? I’ve got to admit; his appearance was unexpected. One of Earth’s enclave heirs doing an angel’s dirty work? You constantly surprise me, darling.”
I try to summon my wings, but nothing happens. They won’t come out. I can’t even sense them. I push harder, searching inside myself frantically.
A chill rolls through me.
I can’t access my magic at all. Even the itch that warns me when something bad is going to happen is gone. I never thoughtI’d miss it, but now—strapped to some table while my face-stealing captor gloats in the firelight—I’d kill to have it back.Kill him.
“Where are they?” I repeat, refusing to consider the possibility that they might already be dead. This veydra works for my father. He’s almost certainly the one who warped the gateway to bring us here. This was all a trap, and I fell for it.
“They’re fine. For now.”
He turns away. By the time he pivots to hover over me again, his face has been replaced by the same disturbing mask I saw before we hit the ground. Amber-toned, resin-smooth, and fleshy, it clings to him like a second skin—thin and translucent, as if something ancient is trapped inside it.
“Let them go,” I demand. “You’ve got me; you don’t need them.” A sliver of panic worms past my resolve. I don’t want to be alone. Magicless. Defenseless. I need them with me—but I need them to be safe more.
Is the veydra even telling the truth? I can’t use my magic to test him, and I saw Malach fall. Heard Luca’s basilisk scream. Ciprian and Alistair were half-frozen. If they’ve been hurt because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.
My captor studies me silently, peeling back more layers of my bravado the longer he stares. I’m screaming on the inside, and I think he can tell.
“You’ll be reunited with them soon,” he says softly. “Maybe. It depends on how far you’re willing to go to get them back.”
My stomach churns.
“I’m not a whore.” I sneer at him, doing my best to communicate complete disgust with my expression alone. “And I don’t fuck faceless monsters.”
His mask flickers—lines of static rippling through the smooth surface. Is there even a real person beneath it? It belongs in amuseum: the preserved shell of an extinct creature, suspended forever in amber. Unliving. Unchanging. Waiting.
Amber burns.The thought slips in, and I cling to it desperately, using it to fuel my rage. Amber lights up like a candle when you set it on fire—fuel that burns slow and sweet. When I confront my father, I’ll turn everything he values to ash. And I know just the accelerant I’ll use.
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t offering,” the veydra murmurs. “You’ll be fighting in the arena, darling. If you perform as I know you can, you’ll be offered perks. Better accommodations, better food, even a face to fuck, if you’re in the mood.”
I hear him, but he’s not making any sense. My father wants me dead. Why bring me to the monster realm and force me to fight in an arena? Either the veydra has his own agenda or he’s lying to me right now.
“Why haven’t you killed me?” I demand, taking note of my surroundings for the first time.
We’re in a circular room made of rough-hewn wood. The floor—what I can see of it, at least—appears to be made of something similar to slate. It’s flat enough to be a decent choice for flooring, but rough enough to make the cabin seem carved from the realm itself.
