Everyone stops in their tracks, looking to me for guidance. My heart thunders, and breath rushes out of my mouth in heavy exhales. The changeling dips its head low and flicks out its forked tongue, licking Esmerelda on her neck.
“You’re fucking dead if you let go of me,” she spits.
Anger surges through me like poisonous gas. It sets all my nerves on fire, and I clench my jaw. My wolf wants to strike, to tear the changeling’s flesh from his bones, but for once he is silent, waiting for me to strike.
The helplessness I felt after the petrification attack comes at me tenfold. We collectively hold our breath. Esmerelda meets my gaze. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but I know she’s going to make a move. It’s like our thoughts are one. I have to act the moment she does or this isn’t going to work. Instead of struggling, she dips to her knees. The changeling clearly didn’t expect that, as shock claims his face.
Esmerelda rolls forward and springs up. Kicking out, she sends the changeling stumbling back.
“Min, the rope!” I shout.
Minerva whirls the glowing, magic-soaked rope. The changeling leaps upward like a monkey, but Min is faster. She lassos it mid-air, yanking it to the ground.
“Everyone!” Esmerelda calls.
She and I flank it, striking together, while Leonard grabs hold of the rope beside Min. The changeling morphs wildly. Changing to half-wolf, half-demon, a grotesque mix of our faces. The rope burns against its flesh. It screams, thrashing harder, flickering from one creature to the next in rapid succession. It’s terrifying to realize creatures such as this live among us.
Belvedere tackles it, pinning its legs. He smashes another potion vial across its face. The liquid hisses, burning into its mouth. The changeling convulses, unholy sounds ripping from its throat. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, it collapses, unconscious.
I tie the rope tighter, double-knotting until I’m certain it can’t break free. Then I collapse beside the others, dragging in ragged gulps of air. We look like we’ve been dragged backward through the forest.
Belvedere groans at his ripped sleeve. “That bastard plucked my coat.”
My eyes snap to Esmerelda. Blood streaks her cheek. I’m at her side in an instant, brushing it with my thumb. “You’re bleeding.”
“So am I,” Leonard grumbles. “But I don’t see you rushing to my aid.”
Esmerelda scowls. “Yeah, everyone’s bleeding.”
She’s right, but it doesn’t matter. Not when the sight of her blood makes my vision a haze of red. The changeling drew bloodfrom my wife. I’ll rip its teeth out one by one if it touches her again.
“How the hell are we getting it into the hotel without anyone noticing?” I mutter.
Leonard shrugs. “Anyone got a plan?”
Belvedere grins, eyes glinting. “I do.”
On the wayto Belvedere’s, we call Serafina, telling her to meet us there. My nerves coil tighter with every passing block. When we arrive, Belvedere doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He ushers us inside and down a narrow staircase that I’m sure wasn’t there last time.
The basement he leads us into is… interesting.
The air is cool, tinged with the scent of leather and lemon. My gaze takes in the space, catching on every piece ofequipmentI’ve only ever read about. Chains and cuffs gleam against concrete walls, a four-poster bed stands pride of place with restraints built into the headboard, and a wooden St. Andrew’s cross looms from the corner.
Whips. Paddles. Floggers—instruments I recognize from whispered stories, late-night research I’d never admit to, but never thought I’d see up close. Don’t judge me, you know you’ve done it. And gods help me, the place is spotless. Every piece polished to a gleam, as if Belvedere actually dusts his collection of naughty toys like one would dust ancient artifacts.
“Seriously?” I mutter, my voice scraping against the silence. “You want us to tie it up here?”
“Leather can be sterilized,” Belvedere replies matter-of-factly, as if we’re talking about countertops instead of cuffs.
I shrug. It’s his playroom.
Minerva and Leonard drag the changeling over to the cross and deftly secure the leather cuffs. No sooner has it been tied up than Esmerelda gets in its face, fierce as fire. For a moment, I can’t tell if I’m turned on or terrified. She pulls out a knife. “Start talking or I start carving you a new face. One you won’t be able to escape from.”
The ropes and cuffs glow faintly where they touch its skin, but the changeling lounges against them like they’re silk sheets instead of restraints. Its face flickers constantly. First to my scowl, then Leonard’s grin, then Minerva’s arched brow until it settles back into an androgynous mask that smiles too wide.
“So this is the plan? Tie me up in your… oh, my. What is this place? A sex dungeon?” It chuckles, shifting into a caricature of Belvedere, wagging its eyebrows. “Kinky. I like it. Who gets to play bad cop, who gets to play naughty cop?”
Esmerelda steps closer, her jaw tight. The changeling leans forward, voice turning mock-serious. “Ooh, don’t look at me like that. You’re giving me ideas.”
