The threat was subtle but present.
“Threaten me again and I’ll rip out your tongue.” There was no mercy in Whichello’s tone, just the promise of annihilation. “If anything happens to Isaac, I will erase you from the fabric of existence.”
Azariah’s smile faltered.
“Get out.” Whichello’s voice dropped lower, ice crawling across the floor toward his brother’s feet. “And understand this. Isaac is under my protection. Anyone who moves against him moves against me. That includes you.”
Azariah walked toward the door, pausing at the threshold, glancing back with that infuriating smile back in place. “You know what I find most interesting about this situation? You’ve survived fourteen hundred years by being ruthless, by eliminating threats before they could materialize. But now you have a furry little soft spot.” His gaze held Whichello’s, and the expression in his eyes turned cold. “That weakness will cost you. Whether through my actions or someone else’s remains to be seen.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Whichello alone in an office coated with ice that continued to spread despite his attempts to rein it in. His brother’s words echoed in the frozen air, each one a carefully placed barb designed to fester.
Azariah had admitted nothing. Denied nothing. Given away nothing except the certainty that he knew more than he was saying, making Whichello want to tear down the castle stone by stone.
* * * *
Dimitri had escaped.
Isaac watched Whichello walk out of the room, leaving him by himself. The door closed with a soft click that echoed louder than it should have in the sudden silence.
Panic tried to claw its way up from his stomach, but Isaac shoved it down, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He was safe here. The guards were right outside. Whichello had promised no one would touch him again, and despite everything, that promise felt solid in a way few things in Isaac’s life ever had.
He moved to the door, pulling it open just enough to peer into the hallway. Both guards turned immediately, hands moving to weapons before they recognized him.
“Just checking you guys are still alive out here,” Isaac said, leaning against the doorframe with false casualness. “Wouldn’t want you falling asleep and letting the boogeyman sneak past.”
The guard on the left smirked. “We don’t sleep on duty. But if the boogeyman shows up, we’ll make sure to wake you for introductions.”
“How considerate.” Isaac managed something close to a real smile before closing the door again, engaging the lock from inside, even though he knew it wouldn’t keep anyone out who really wanted in.
The room felt too large now, empty in a way that made the walls seem farther away than they were. His body still hummed with the aftermath of sex, the bite mark on his shoulder pulsing with a dull ache that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. But the quiet pressed down, magnifying every small sound in the stillness.
Television. That was what normal people did when they were alone and didn’t want to think too hard about psychopaths on the loose. Isaac had seen a massive screen mounted on the far wall earlier, partially hidden behind a decorative panel. The remote sat on a small table near the door.
He crossed the room, his bare feet silent on the plush carpet. The remote was sleek and modern, completely at odds with the gothic aesthetic of everything else in the castle. Isaac pressed the power button and the screen flickered to life, showing what appeared to be an old western.
He flipped through channels, looking for anything that would capture his attention.
A click echoed from the wall to his left.
Isaac’s thumb froze on the remote. He turned slowly, watching as a section of wall he’d examined earlier swung outward with the smooth motion of well-oiled hinges. Darkness yawned beyond the opening like an invitation.
Not a chance in hell.
He’d already had his fill of secret passages for one lifetime. Isaac moved toward the panel, ready to slam it shut and maybe shove furniture against it for good measure, when he heard a voice drifting from the darkness.
“Isaac?”
His hand stopped inches from the panel. That voice. He knew that voice like he knew his own heartbeat, had heard it through hangovers and late-night confessions and every significant moment they’d shared.
Danny.
But his best friend wasn’t here. He was in Crimson Hollow with Ash, living his best life with his mate who actually wanted him around. There was no possible way Danny’s voice was coming from a secret passage in a demon castle.
“Isaac, are you there?”
The words were muffled, distorted by distance or maybe by the passage itself, but the tone was unmistakable. Isaac’s rational brain screamed that this was wrong, that he should close the panel and back away and maybe call for the guards. But he moved forward anyway, drawn by the sound of the one person who’d never abandoned him.
“Danny?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
