The panda had to be his mate. There was no other explanation for the way Whichello felt. A millennium of power and ruthlessness and here he was, undone by a small creature with defiant eyes and an iron will. Centuries of calculated control shattered by something as simple as loneliness recognized.
It was incomprehensible. Absurd. And yet undeniable. Whichello almost laughed at the middle finger the universe had given him.
“Only use guards you trust completely for Isaac’s room.” Whichello forced himself to focus. “Ones you’d stake your life on.”
Marcus gave him a look that suggested Whichello had just stated the obvious, like he’d told him water was wet or fire was hot. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“I’m the better planner.” Whichello smirked. The enforcer didn’t need basic instructions on how to protect someone. If he had, this place needed to fire its HR department, which consisted of a single employee. Whichello Annunziata.
“You want me to assign guards who won’t mysteriously develop amnesia if someone offers them a wad of cash or threatens their families more than once?” Marcus’s mouth curved without humor. “Preferably ones who remember that attempting to harm your property results in creative ice sculptures.”
Property. The word felt wrong on a hundred different levels, but Whichello couldn’t correct it without revealing too much. Marcus was loyal, but even loyal demons talked, and the last thing Isaac needed was the entire castle speculating about why Whichello cared so much about one small shifter.
Like the entire demon realm hasn’t figured it out already.
Whichello’s gaze swept the corridor, taking in the shadows that seemed too deep, the corners that felt too dark. The castle had eyes everywhere, ears in the walls, and too many demons with nothing better to do than gather intelligence to use as currency.
His skin prickled with the harsh reality of his existence. Information traveled through these halls faster than frost spread across glass.
Maybe it was time to clear out his castle and reclaim what little sanity he had left.
“I have a meeting with Dottori,” Whichello said, tempted to reschedule. “Keep your head on a swivel while I’m gone. Climate’s deteriorating, heading into unfavorable temperatures.”
“I’ll make sure I’m dressed for hostile weather.” Shadows stretched unnaturally behind Marcus, the light from the doorway framing his silhouette like a harbinger of chaos. “Know how long you’ll be gone?”
“Few hours at most.” Whichello glanced at Isaac’s door, that thick wood shielding someone who’d been through too much in too short a time. Part of him wanted to stay, to plant himself outside that door like a guard dog and dare anyone to come near.
But a target was already sniffing at Isaac’s heels from his association with Whichello. Going savage over his little panda would only invite trouble Isaac didn’t need.
Walking away felt wrong, like leaving a piece of him unguarded. His feet moved anyway, carrying him down the corridor while his mind stayed behind that door with the small shifter who’d somehow become the most dangerous thing in his life.
Not because Isaac posed any threat. But because of the lengths Whichello was more than willing to go to keep him safe.
Chapter Five
How complicated was it to find a hidden latch in a room overrun with vertical planks with a gazillion beaded grooves? Isaac had been searching for an entire hour with no luck. For once, he wasn’t planning an escape, not outside the castle. He just wanted a back way to the kitchen. Marcus would bring him what he wanted, but Isaac wanted to see what was in their cupboards, and if he didn’t get out of this room, he might go stir-crazy.
Isaac was used to working, to freedom, to feeling the sun on his face. Not trapped in a bedroom inside a gothic castle that didn’t even have a television. Who didn’t have a television in every room of their home these days? Unheard of. If he was in forced confinement, Isaac wanted to rot his brain and fill up on as many empty calories as possible, damn it.
Isaac’s fingers traced yet another groove, pressing and prodding at wood that refused to do anything except be wood. Maybe there wasn’t a secret passage in this room. Maybe Whichello had specifically chosen quarters that lacked an escape route because the demon wasn’t as trusting as he pretended to be.
Stay put. Just stay in the room like a good little prisoner and wait for someone to bring you food like you’re five years old.
But staying put meant staring at walls until his brain started melting out of his ears. Already he’d counted the ceiling beams twice, organized the books on the shelf by color, then by size, then alphabetically because, apparently, he’d lost his mind somewhere between lunch and dinner.
This is what happens when you promise not to run. You turn into a restless raccoon with nothing to tear apart.
Another panel. Another disappointment. Isaac’s palm slapped against the wall with more force than necessary, frustration building like pressure in a sealed container. He wasn’t looking for an escape route. Not really. Just wanted to raid the kitchen, maybe find some cookies or chips or anything that didn’t taste like loneliness.
You’re making excuses to leave. You know that, right?
Isaac paused, hand still pressed against the wall. Yeah, he knew. Knew he was manufacturing reasons to wander the castle when he’d promised to stay put. Knew the smart thing was to wait for Marcus to bring him whatever he needed. Knew that wandering around a demon castle after nearly being assaulted was possibly the worst idea he’d had all week, and that was saying something considering the week he’d been having.
But the walls of this room pressed in like they were breathing, getting closer every time he blinked. Beautiful as the quarters were, they still functioned as a cage, and Isaac had spent too many years in cages of various kinds to feel comfortable in another one.
Just stay here. Read a book. Take a nap. Do literally anything that doesn't involve sneaking through passages like you’re starring in your own terrible horror movie.
His fingers drummed against the wall panel, a nervous rhythm that matched the argument happening inside his skull. The rational part of his brain laid out excellent points about safety and promises and not being stupid. The other part, the one that had spent sixteen months running from everything and everyone, couldn’t sit still for another second.
