Chapter 21
WHATEVER DRUGthey’d given him wore off as soon as the pain broke through it. When Max came back to his senses, it was to his back on fire and the taste of blood in his mouth.
He didn’t know who they were or what their goal was, but he was no stranger to pain or torture. If his father had failed to break him for years, he refused to give in now.
The tenuous connections he had with Caius, Quinn, and Lukas flickered in his mind’s eye, where he could almost see the threads of magic. Instinctively, he reached for them, holding them close so they wouldn’t break. He may not be a decent mage, certainly not good enough to be claimed by a pack, but they were the best family he’d ever had.
Even if they wouldn’t be able to save him, if they even tried to find him, the connections between them wouldn’t break unless he was dead.
He lost track of time as the torture continued, burning, searing pain washing over his back and through his core for countless minutes. By the time the agony faded, he was left as a shivering, panting bundle of raw nerves huddled on the floor.
This couldn’t be happening. Itshouldn’tbe happening. His amulet should have protected him, but as he regained his senses and looked for Rían’s amulet, it was gone. No. That was impossible, unless they’d burned through all the protections while he’d been unconscious. A soft whimper escaped his throat when he reached for his flames and found they were all but gone too. They simmered beyond his grasp, sluggish like they were drugged.
“Much more of this and he’ll die,” a woman said, the voice vaguely familiar. The mage who’d helped abduct him.
“You said you could break the bindings.” That sounded like the man from the car.
“I said they could be broken if he was bound by force.”
The man scoffed. “Mages don’t consent to bindings.”
“Why don’t you put your own binding on over them? You’re planning to kill your nephew anyway.” That voice was worse than the others.
Max’s lungs seized, and he forced his eyes open, unable to believe Maurice was there. There was no reason for him to be there. Except his sister had drugged him. Which meant his father was in on this.
Maurice noticed him staring and stepped closer with a lecherous grin.
Max tried to shrink away, but his hands were tied behind his back.
“Is that possible?” the man asked.
“Technically,” the mage answered.
Max didn’t pay any more attention to what they were saying, his entire focus on Maurice. One of his father’s trusted men and the bane of Max’s existence since he was twelve. When Maurice crouched in front of him and stroked a finger down his cheek, Max cringed, fear, anger, and disgust twisting inside him.
He focused on the anger and quickly turned his head enough to bite the offending finger. That earned him a backhand to the face, but it was worth it, especially when Maurice stood with a wary sneer.
That victory didn’t last long. The other man grabbed Max’s arm and hauled him to his feet, nearly ripping his shoulder out of its socket.
Max stumbled, dizziness sweeping the room at a wrong angle until his back slammed into the wall and a hand squeezed his throat.
“It needs your blood,” the mage said, stepping up beside them and lifting a small bowl of dark liquid.
“No.”
They both ignored him as the man let the mage cut his finger, then dripped blood into the bowl. It flared with Max’s soft orange magic. Then he swiped his fingers through the liquid and pulled the neck of Max’s sweater down to spread it across his throat.
There was no brush or artistic touch, and for a moment nothing happened. No pain. No magic. No chill. Nothing.
“Fuck you,” Max hissed, spitting blood in the man’s face. He wouldn’t be bound to anyone else.
The man bared his teeth, his eyes glowing as he clamped a hand around Max’s throat, pinning him against the wall again.
“Know your place.”
Max bared his own teeth in a mockery of a grin. “You some 1800s villain? I’m not a fucking slave.”
“You will be.”
