She whipped her head over her shoulder at the whine of the circular door handle. It came to an ominous, clanging stop, and as the door groaned open, two cobalt wings angled into the room.
August approached calmly with a broad, horrifying grin, then bent down to unlatch her chains. He dug his fingers into her scalp and pulled her to her feet by her hair.
She swallowed her terror, refusing to give him an ounce of it.
August sniffed at the air, groaning. “Your fear has such a lovely bouquet. My favorite appetizer.”
He dragged her to the metal table as she pulled at the chains, digging her bare toes against the stone floor in a futile attempt to gain traction. Her feet slipped out from underneath her and she crashed to her knees.
August chuckled as he yanked her up, then slammed her onto the table, attaching her wrist and ankle cuffs to the edges.
Disgust, rank and oily, slithered through her as he trailed his cold hands over her arms, her stomach, and she writhed, desperate to escape his clammy touch. “Such a pristine surface. Pity I’m going to ruin it.”
His gaze caught on the crescent-shaped mark on the top of her shoulder and he traced it with a soft finger. No calluses. Lazy bastard had probably never done a minute of manual labor his whole life.
“He didn’t…” August laughed, a low, menacing rumble. “Tristan’s always been such a fool when it comes to you mortals.” He twisted towards the cart, returning with a scalpel that glinted in the moonlight. She flinched as he ran its blunt edge down her cheek.
“You took a drop of my blood at that party the other night. I think it’s only fair that I take some of yours in return.” He snarled, bringing his fangs so close to her cheek that she could feel them prick against her skin. “I don’t know what you saw back there in my office, but I guarantee it’s not what you think.” He angled his face directly above hers, his espresso eyes shimmering with manic glee. “It’s so much worse. I’ll bleed you dry, feed on your terror, then cut you apart and send the pieces to yourmaster.”
A howl of impotent fury shredded Cassandra’s throat.
August breathed in her scent and she wished she wasn’t at eye level with the bulge tenting his pants. “Fear peppered with anger.There’sthe meal.”
She bucked off the table as August pushed the scalpel into the supple skin of her stomach, dragged it in a curving line just below her belly button.
She panted through gritted teeth as he pulled away to examine his work, then tensed her stomach muscles as he brought the scalpel down for another pass.
He paused, his brows furrowed as he watched the wound scab over. Not a full healing, as it would’ve been if she were Fae, but certainly quicker than any mortal was capable of. An effect of Tristan’s lingering magic in her blood.
A blazing sear of pain followed the second line he carved underneath the first. Warm trickles of her blood flowed onto the table, soaking through her panties. She chomped down on her tongue to keep from crying out.
August trailed a finger through the stream, then brought the red tip to his mouth and his eyes flew wide. “Tristan’s not only a fool, he’s a criminal,” he guffawed, with not a trace of irony.
Though Cassandra supposed, in the eyes of the Empire—and Eamon especially—what August was doing to her was far more forgivable than Tristan sharing his magic with a human.
A tear tickled the hair at her temple.
“Don’t waste your tears now, Ker,” he crooned as he switched out the scalpel for a sharp tool with a flat, blunt edge. “There’ll be plenty to cry about as our night progresses.”
He plunged it into her side.
And her tears began to flow in earnest.
* * *
Throbbingpain radiated through Cassandra’s body, the loss of blood dulling her senses and fuzzing her brain.
Every time she was on the brink of passing out, a tempting surrender to blissful darkness, August stabbed or sliced again, yanking her back into this waking nightmare.
She tucked her chin to examine her torso, a red-smeared canvas of half-healed slashes and scabbed holes oozing coagulated crimson. Blood drenched the table, soaking through her once-yellow bra and panties as her life slowly dripped away into the trough beneath her.
Tink.
Tink.
Tink.
She’d lost all sense of time. Had no idea how long August had spent carving her up, letting her heal, and then starting again.
