Another turn. Had he been here before? Everything looked the same in the bouncing light from his phone. Same rotting wood, same mysterious stains, same feeling that the walls were getting closer together just to mess with him. His shoulder scraped against something rough, and pain flared hot and immediate.
Isaac’s heart forgot how to beat. Eyes caught his phone’s light and reflected it back like a cat’s, if cats were six foot eight and made of elegant murder. Whichello stood perfectly still in the passage, not even breathing hard, like he’d materialized there through sheer force of will.
Isaac’s phone slipped from nerveless fingers, clattering on the floor but somehow still casting its light upward, turning Whichello into a monster of shadows and angles. Those eyes weren’t just gray, Isaac realized, his heart trying to escape through his throat. In this light, they looked like winter storms rolling over a graveyard at midnight.
Every instinct screamed at Isaac to run, to fight, to do something other than stand there frozen like prey. But there was nowhere to go. Whichello blocked the path forward, and going backward would just lead Isaac deeper into the maze.
His muscles tensed, preparing for whatever came next. Whichello had never hit him before, but there was always a first time, especially when someone had embarrassed him in front of his staff.The demon stepped closer, and Isaac’s body made the decision for him, pressing back against the wall like he could phase through it if he just tried hard enough.
But Whichello didn’t move. Just stood there, jaw clenched so tight Isaac could hear teeth grinding. The demon’s hands stayed at his sides, though his fingers twitched like they were imagining all the creative ways they could rearrange Isaac’s skeleton.
This controlled fury, this deliberate choice not to touch him, made Isaac’s skin crawl with anticipation of something worse coming later.
“Marcus,” Whichello called without looking away from Isaac, his voice carrying through the passages with unnatural clarity. “Our wayward guest has been found. East wing servant corridor, third level.”
How the hell did he know exactly where they were? Isaac hadn’t even known there were levels to these passages, let alone which one he’d stumbled onto.
Marcus appeared from another passage, because apparently everyone knew this maze except Isaac. The enforcer’s expression managed to be both apologetic and firm as he took Isaac’s arm, grip gentle but unbreakable.
“Come on,” Marcus murmured, already steering Isaac back through the passages. “Don’t make this worse.”
Worse? How could it possibly get worse? Isaac wanted to ask, but his mouth had finally,finallydecided to stay shut. Probably about five minutes too late to do any good.
“Take him back to his room.” Whichello stepped aside just enough to let Marcus through, but those gray eyes never left Isaac’s face. “Take him to the tower room. Double the locks. Post guards.” Each word came out precise and measured, like he was afraid if he spoke any faster he might lose control and paint the walls with Isaac’s insides.
Marcus led him back through the passages. Isaac could feel Whichello following, that presence at his back like ice sliding down his neck.
They emerged from the passages into a hallway Isaac didn’t recognize, all dark wood and portraits of people who looked like they’d died angry about it. Up a spiral staircase—not the spine-shaped one, though this one went on forever—Marcus’s hand never leaving Isaac’s arm until they reached a heavy wooden door with enough locks to secure a federal reserve.
The tower room was round, windows on all sides showing the eternal twilight of the demon realm. At least it wasn’t blue. More of a dusty rose, like someone’s grandmother had decorated it in 1952 and then died, leaving her color choices to haunt future prisoners.
Marcus guided Isaac inside, still weirdly gentle about it. “There’s food in the mini-fridge. Bathroom through there. Try not to escape again, yeah? He’s already at DEFCON One, and I really don’t want to see what DEFCON Zero looks like.”
There was a mini-fridge in the tower of a medieval gothic castle? Isaac couldn’t have made that shit up even if he tried. The door shut with a definitive thud. Locks clicked into place, one after another, a symphony of “you’re not going anywhere.”
Isaac stood in the middle of the room, arms limp at his sides, trying to process what had just happened. No violence. No threats. No hands around his throat. Which somehow made everything feel…pending. Like the bill hadn’t arrived yet but you knew it was going to be expensive.
Before meeting Whichello on that cursed night, Isaac had known him only by reputation.
A powerful, principled demon who valued loyalty and was unforgiving of betrayal. He was dangerous but lived by a code. Which contradicted what Isaac had also heard. The demon loved coming up with creative ways to torture poor, unsuspecting victims.
Not a stellar quality for a guy who owned you.
Every muscle in Isaac’s body locked up when the locks disengaged twenty minutes later. Whichello filled the doorway like architecture had rearranged itself to accommodate him. Those gray eyes studied him with an intensity that caused a strange emptiness to fill the space where anger should have been.
“Why do you keep running from what’s inevitable, little panda?” Whichello’s voice was as smooth as aged liquor and cold as winter moonlight.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” Isaac said, even though his voice shook and his panda cowered inside him, trying to make itself as small as possible, which was saying something since red pandas weren’t exactly known for their intimidating size. “People aren’t property you can just buy and keep.”
“And yet here you are.” Whichello paused. “You belong here, Isaac. You’ve belonged here since the moment I bought you. Almost two years of freedom doesn’t change that. Twenty years wouldn’t change it. You could run for centuries, and you would still be mine.”
The words hung in the air like a curse waiting to activate. Isaac didn’t answer, because what could he say? That he ran because staying meant admitting that maybe, possibly, he felt that pull too? That terrifying attraction to someone who could destroy him on a soul-crushing level? That for the past sixteen months he’d snuck into the demon realm just to catch glimpses of Whichello because the need to see the demon had become too overwhelming at times?
Isaac been running from Whichello while simultaneously running to him.
No. Better to stay silent and figure out how to escape from a tower room with no secret passages.
When Whichello left, he secured the door with enough locks to make Houdini weep, leaving Isaac just standing there.
