“Table,” Azazel continued with his single-word commands, slapping the metal table for emphasis. Iyana jumped at the sudden noise echoing through the room and clambered out of the tub, trying her hardest not to slip on the slick floor. He did not offer her a towel; she didn’t ask for one. Teeth chattering, she hoisted herself onto the metal table, the cold biting into her, instantly numbing her skin. Azazel motioned for her to lie back. She worried her skin would fuse to the table, leaving some behind when she tried to stand. Arms hugged to her chest, Iyana’s entire body was shaking uncontrollably, the iron manacles biting into her breasts. Crossing her legs in an attempt for warmth and modesty, she searched for the magic inside her. If she were warm, she’d be able to withstand this ‘session’ much easier. The cold was torture on its own, even without any of the instruments employed. Iyana was certain that was purposeful. But the magic became slippery again, sliding through her fingers. Panicked, she grasped wildly at it, only for it to retreat further. Hoping it was her distraction and the freezing cold causing the magic to disappear, and not because she’d lost the ability, Iyana gave up. Lying back, she awaited her fate.
Azazel seemed disappointed by her easy acquiescence, and she reveled in the win for a moment. But then he was yanking her legs apart, strapping her ankles down and anchoring them to the table, leaving her exposed. It was the first time in her life she felt uncomfortable with her own nudity. Next, he pulled her arms above her head. She was short enough that in order for both her legs and hands to reach; she had to be stretched to the point of her joints straining. Bowing her back from the table, she attempted to keep her shoulders from dislocating.
A ticking clacking sounded near the top of her head, creeping around the table. Azazel came into her line of sight, tapping his long, yellowing nails slowly, methodically against the metal. His eyes grazed her body, breasts taut, nipples peaked in the cold air. A sense of dread washed over her. The man studied her, not sexually, but as something to be dissected and learned. He ran one of those nauseating fingernails between her breasts, down her abdomen, to just above her pubic bone, where he stopped but kept his finger on her. Iyana shuddered.
Cocking his head, he said, “Tell me about your Kanaliza, Iyana.” She refused to allow this old, cachectic rat of a man to get the better of her. So she said nothing, staring at the ceiling, focusing on the patterns in the stone instead of the pressure building within her shoulders. Then a sudden, sharp pain jolted through her lower abdomen, causing her to cry out. Looking down, Azazel had stabbed his disgusting fingernail into her skin so deeply the inch-long nail was no longer visible. Smiling wickedly, he slowly withdrew his nail, wrenching a gasp from Iyana’s lips. He studied his bloodied finger for a moment. Licking his nail, decaying crooked teeth on display, he consumed her blood, closed his eyes and moaned. She wanted to vomit.
“Delicious,” he purred. “Please, continue to resist me. It’s what I live for.” Azazel walked to the wall with medical instruments and other tools of torture, perusing his choices as though they were articles of clothing or the finest cuts of beef. Eventually, he chose a simple pair of pliers.
Walking to Iyana’s hands, he tapped the pliers menacingly against the table. Metal against metal rang out in the space. Stinging pain continued on her stomach where he’d cut her, and she was suddenly grateful for the pre-torture scrub.
“Do you want to tell me about the Kanaliza?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know what a Kanaliza is.”
“Tsk, tsk, such a little liar you are. We’ll have to teach you some manners.” Iyana couldn’t see what he was doing up above her head, but the pinch of the pliers clamped onto her left little fingernail.
Her mind blanked. “No,” she whispered, unbelieving of what was about to happen next.
“Oh, yes,” Azazel said. Then he ripped her nail from her hand. Iyana screamed, feeling warm blood pool on her hand, hearing it drip onto the floor. Her hand spasming, she collapsed back against the table, breathing heavily.
“This is me going easy on you,” said Azazel. “We’re only dipping our toe in at the moment. Now, you say you don’t know who the Kanaliza is. Fine. Tell me about the star.”
“Never,” Iyana gritted out between panting breaths.
“I’m going to like you, I think,” he said, this time yanking out her right little fingernail. She screamed again, the sound bouncing off the walls and ceiling before reverberating back into her body.
Iyana endured three more questions, and three more ripped nails, before the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness enveloped her.
Chapter 21
Emmeric
His hands were on fire.
It was close to midnight, nearing the end of Emmeric’s shift. He had followed Prince Zane up to his quarters, where the door slammed shut in his face before he could ask for any information. Iyana had marched into the throne room so confidently and then didn’t leave. Emmeric had pressed his ear to the thick doors in an attempt to eavesdrop, but he only heard muffled voices. There were no screams, so he assumed Iyana was relatively safe, but then Zane strode out without her in tow. Emmeric had tried to get a glimpse to see if she was still there, but he couldn’t locate her before the doors closed. Zane began walking away swiftly, and Emmeric had no choice but to fall in line.
Since then, he’d been standing guard outside the Crown Prince’s quarters, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Talon had stationed himself on the other side of the doors. The urge to discuss things was palpable between them, but this area was full of open ears. One never knew who was on the emperor’s payroll. So they waited, two statues held together by the unknown.
About an hour before midnight, the tips of Emmeric’s fingers had begun to tingle. Letting go of his sword, he’d shaken out his hand, attempting to divert the feeling, but no matter what he tried—loosening his grip, stretching, cracking his knuckles—the stinging only intensified into a deep burning sensation. Gritting his teeth, he counted down the minutes to his shift change.
Finally, Geoff and Gordon came to relieve them. The lucky bastards had gotten to sleep the entire day. Emmeric wanted nothing more than to tumble into his bed,but he and Talon needed to have a conversation first. Walking as casually as possible, affecting the exhausted gait of two men getting home from work, they entered the quarters they shared on the opposite side of the castle. Once the door firmly shut behind them, Emmeric let loose.
“Fuck,” he cried, shaking his hands out. Finding the bucket of water they used to wash their face, he plunged his hands into the frigid water. It only dulled the pain. The burning was inside, burrowing into his bones.
“What in the nine hells is wrong with you?” Talon asked.
“I don’t know,” Emmeric said. “My hands…they’re on fire.”
“Did you get into some stinging nettle somehow? Maybe a prank by the twins?”
Emmeric shook his head. “It’s Iyana. Something’s wrong.” Gut instinct alone told him this was correct. The area in his chest where the connection between them lived strained. It had been lying dormant, the tugging and pulling feeling quieting down since he and Iyana had reunited. Even a few hours earlier, when they were apart in the castle, it didn’t seem any different. But now…the bond suddenly stretched taut, causing Emmeric to gasp.
It snapped.
Careening backwards, his hands flew out of the water to clutch at his chest, drenching the front of his tunic. He dropped to his knees, curling in upon himself.
The sharp pain in his chest eventually ebbed, as did the pain in his fingers. The bond curled around his heart, sleeping. It had returned to the strained feeling as it was before. Only then did Emmeric realize Talon was shaking his shoulder and calling his name. Unfurling, he patted Talon’s hand, letting him know he was okay. Words were too difficult. He had barely enough energy to lie on his back against the floor, even though his bed was only a foot away.
