Does she know that I’m watching? That others are watching? Is she in on this plan?
Gabreal leads her toward the edge of the rooftop, and my betrayal-fueled anger shifts to fear. The danger she’s facing is much worse than the prospect of watching him fuck her.
“Isn’t the view beautiful?” he asks her.
“Very.”
“Get up on the ledge,” he says. “You can see even better from there.”
She looks at him with questions in her eyes.
“You said that you trust me.”
She raises a trembling hand to brush back a lock of her hair.
“Don’t you trust me?” he asks.
Her expression shifts. “Of course, it’s just that we’re so high off the ground. Almost as high as when I ride you.”
His expression darkens. “Obey me, and you’ll earn the right to ride my cock soon.”
The room erupts in chuckles and lewd noises.
Gabreal helps her onto the narrow ledge of the rooftop, more than fifty-four stories above the street below.
Once up there, she wobbles, and her hand reaches forward as if hoping to grasp onto the air. My chest freezes in fear, but she steadies herself, with her arm extended to the side as if she’s holding something. If demons could cast illusions, I’d think he’d made a railing for her.
Gabreal lets her go. “Walk in a straight line. Take your hand off the railing.”
Railing? There is no railing. I turn toward Kestra, but her rapt attention is focussed on the screen.
“Can Gabreal create illusions?” I ask her.
Kestra shakes her head. “Demons don’t have that type of magic.”
“Are you certain?”
She turns toward me. “Demons can alter the appearance of things, but they can’t create elemental illusions out of nothing. Only you mages and some of the fae can do that.” She says this as if explaining to a child.
Turning back to the screen, my throat closes, and my hands tighten on my thighs as I watch Rosomon take two slow steps along the narrow ledge at the side of the barren rooftop. Why would she take such a risk?
My heart blocks my throat as she takes more steps—five, six, seven. Then Gabreal jumps up, wraps his arms around her body, and turns her to face outward, toward the drop. Widely bracing his legs, he straightens his arms, lowering Rosomon forward at an angle, extending her over the edge.
“No!” I yell at the screen, earning several hushes from various demons in the room.
Kestra squeezes my arm. “He won’t let her die.” She turns back to the screen. “That’s not what he wants from her.”
My heart has risen to block my tightened throat, and my entire body seizes in fear. Gabreal is holding her waist, as she stretchesher arms, leaning out. One small slip of his fingers, and she’ll plummet to the street below.
But he pulls her back and jumps down with her onto the roof’s gravel-covered surface.
Taking her hand, he leads her across the roof, and she trails her other hand beside her, as if touching something. Ifdemonscan’t create illusions, thensomeoneelse is doing it, because Rosomon is clearly seeing and touching things that aren’t there. And while my wife is adventurous, she wouldneverhave taken the risk she did on the edge of the rooftop. Not unless she believed she was safe.
The camera angle changes, and the entire room breaks out in oohs and ahs.
A stone table, more like an altar, has appeared. Around it, thirteen women stand, holding hands and wearing deep red hooded robes that shadow their faces.
“Rootbound mages,” someone says.
