“Stay here,” he told Isaac. “Don’t open this door for anyone except Marcus or me.”
Dimitri loose in the castle. Isaac vulnerable. The timing felt too convenient, too orchestrated.
He turned to the guards posted outside Isaac’s door, his voice low and commanding. “No one enters this room. No one. I don’t care if the castle is burning down around you. You stand here, and you keep him safe.”
Both guards straightened, understanding the weight behind those words. They’d seen what happened to demons who failed him.
The walk to the dungeon took longer than Whichello wanted. Each corridor stretched endlessly, his footsteps echoing off stone that absorbed sound and gave nothing back. Marcus kept pace beside him, his expression grim in the torchlight that flickered along the walls.
“There’s no way he got out on his own,” Marcus said, his voice carrying an edge that Whichello recognized as carefully controlled fury. “The locks were intact. No signs of forced entry. Someone let him out.”
Whichello’s jaw tightened. He’d suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made ice spread through his veins. “Who had access?”
“Three guards on rotation. I handpicked them myself.” Marcus’s frustration bled through every word. “I’d stake my life on their loyalty.”
“You might have to.” Whichello took another turn, descending deeper into the castle’s lower levels where the air grew colder and the darkness pressed closer. “But loyalty can be bought or threatened. Someone wanted Dimitri free.”
They passed through an archway that led to another staircase, this one spiraling down into sections of the castle that predated Whichello’s ownership. The stone here felt older, heavier with centuries of violence and secrets.
Marcus remained silent for several steps before speaking again. “What do you want me to do?”
“Pull together every guard you trust completely,” Whichello said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Have them bring Azariah to my office.”
Marcus’s expression shifted into something darker. “You think he’s behind this?”
“I think my brother has a gift for being exactly where chaos begins and nowhere to be found when questions get asked.” Whichello paused at the entrance to the dungeon corridor. “And I think he’s the only demon in this castle with both the power and the motivation to stage something like this.”
“You want me to arrest him?” The question held eagerness that Marcus didn’t bother hiding.
“I want you to invite him for a conversation.” Whichello turned to face his enforcer fully. “Politely. With enough guards that he understands declining isn’t an option but without giving him ammunition to claim persecution.”
Marcus’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Polite but firm. Got it.”
“And Marcus?” Whichello waited until the enforcer met his eyes. “If anything happens to Isaac while I’m dealing with this, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
Marcus nodded, peeling off at the next junction to gather the necessary demons while Whichello continued toward the holding cells. Every last one stood empty. Checking the lock on the door of Dimitri’s cell, Whichello confirmed Marcus’s statement. There wasn’t any signs of tampering. No splintered wood or dangling parts.
Someone had opened the door for Dimitri.
Pivoting on his heel, Whichello headed to his office. The route took him through sections of the castle he rarely visited, past rooms that held memories he’d rather leave undisturbed. But his mind kept returning to Isaac, to the mate bond that now hummed under his skin like a second heartbeat.
He hadn’t gone to Isaac’s room planning to claim him. The thought had been there, lurking in the back of his mind since the auction, but Whichello had told himself he could wait. Could give Isaac time to adjust, to accept the situation without adding physical intimacy to an already complicated dynamic.
But then he’d walked in and seen those amethyst eyes looking at him with a mixture of fear and defiance, and all his careful control had evaporated like morning frost under sunlight.
Whichello reached his office and pushed through the heavy door, moving immediately to the window that overlooked the eastern grounds. Darkness pressed against the glass, eternal twilight that never shifted into true night or day. Dimitri was loose and his brother was playing games that Whichello couldn’t yet see the edges of.
He pressed his palm against the cold glass, letting the chill ground him. The mate bond pulsed, telling him Isaac was safe, still in the tower room where Whichello had left him. The connection felt strange, foreign, like suddenly having a limb he’d never possessed before but somehow knew how to use.
No regret touched him for what had happened. He should probably feel something about claiming his mate so soon after nearly losing him to assault, should question whether the timing had been appropriate. But Whichello had lived too long to waste energy on should-haves and could-have-beens.
Isaac was his now. Officially, undeniably, in a way that went beyond auction purchases and forced proximity. The bite mark on his shoulder would heal, but the bond would remain, tying them together for eternity.
Footsteps approached from the hallway. Multiple sets, moving with purpose. Whichello turned from the window as Marcus entered first, followed by four guards who flanked Azariah like an honor escort.
This was anything but.
His brother looked amused rather than concerned. That slight smile played at the corners of his mouth, the expression that meant he knew something Whichello didn’t and was savoring the knowledge.
