Displeased at having his authority challenged, a snarl darkens his face, and he snaps the whip forward. It slithers between the bars, the tip slicing across my stomach. It happens so fast that blood soaks my shirt before the searing pain registers.
“Mouthy bitch.” He shakes the whip threateningly, murder darkening his dull green eyes. “You’re just like the witches—thinking you’re better than everyone else. You don’t know your place, but you’ll learn.”
A sinister smile crosses his face. “It will be a pleasure to give you your first taste of what the rest of your life will be like.”
I snort at the idiot and lift my chin, refusing to be intimidated by a lowly goon. “A lot bigger, stronger men than you have tried to break me and failed. Do you think a little beating will have me falling at your feet?”
A moue of disgust curls my lips. “Geoffrey won’t be around to protect you forever. He’s barely able to keep himself sane. At the first sign of trouble, he’s going to cut his losses and leave you holding a bag of skeletons.”
Scar only shrugs at the claim, and I’m a bit disappointed that he’s not as stupid as he looks. I brace myself for retribution, because how dare a woman talk back? Except, instead of going after me, a triumphant smile spreads across his face, and he gestures to one of his henchmen.
Two goons disappear farther underground, chuckling to themselves, and dread tightens my throat. Keys jingle in the silence, then rusty hinges creak so loudly, it sounds like a dying squawk of a pterodactyl. A slight scuff ensues, then the men emerge, dragging a badly beaten Tyler between them.
All my bravery evaporates at the sight, the fox so bruised and battered that bile rises in my throat. His face is a mess, his eyes nearly swollen shut, his nose broken, his lips busted, while blood drips from the many nicks and cuts littering every exposed inch of skin.
They didn’t just beat him with their fists—they used fucking silver. Not only does the metal hit harder on shifters, but the wounds are deeper, ensuring slower healing. From the raspyway he’s breathing, it’s obvious they didn’t keep their blows to his face.
Tyler haphazardly tries to keep pace but fails spectacularly when his legs refuse to hold his weight. The fox is barely aware of anything happening around him. A deadly quiet sweeps through our tiny cell, Garth and Dante silent as they watch the mages parade their injured packmate in front of them. Even with the cuffs containing their beasts, the sharp peppery scent of their alpha rage burns in the confined space.
“Step back,” a guard barks, and keys jingle as he reaches toward the lock on our cell. No one says anything as we crowd against the far wall like silent witnesses as they open the door and toss Tyler at our feet.
Even as we surge forward to catch him, the door slams shut with a resounding bang, and the locks engage. The guys drag him to the back of the cell and out of danger, leaving a bloody trail behind in the dirt. I stare at the streaks of bright red blood, then stalk toward the door, every ounce of my soul demanding retribution.
I wrap my hands around the bars, uncaring when my skin protests the amount of silver coating the metal. The stench of burned flesh lingers in the air, and I swear rotten pieces of charred skin remain embedded in the bars, where some poor soul ripped their hands away when the pain became too much, leaving behind a layer of skin and flesh.
Bile rises in my throat as I think of all those who have died at their hands, and I vow, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to kill every single one of them.
Scar swaggers forward, his whip twisting at his side like it’s a living beast. The leather slithers ominously against the stones, like a snake waiting to strike, and a sense of dread creeps over me. It takes all my courage to stand my ground.
That’s when I feel it—the tingle of magic no heavier than a snowflake.
No item is sentient, not without magic to boost it, and I shake off the insidious spell trying to worm its way into my skull. When I blink, I spot the subtle magic coiled around the weapon, and I snort that the fucker has to resort to such tricks. Sure, the pain is very real, but I’ve never been afraid of a little pain. “It’s rather pathetic that you must rely on magic and weapons to instill fear in those weaker than you.”
“It’s effective, and that’s all that matters in the end.” The self-righteous fucker smirks, unbothered by my challenging his manliness. “You think you’re something special because they’re offering an obscene amount of money for your capture, but you’re no different than any other species. We’re going to have so much fun together. After a week or two, you’ll be just as broken as the rest.”
“Unlikely,” I mutter, my eyebrows rising at his audacity. “Once your masters learn of my capture, they’ll retrieve me.”
“Unless no one tells them.” Geoffrey steps out of the darkness, giddy excitement sparking in the wizard’s soulless eyes. Dark magic twists around him like a whirlwind of teeth and claws, slowly siphoning magic from anyone it touches.
Yet even the influx of additional magic isn’t enough to stem the amount he’s hemorrhaging.
He’s dying, which means he’s desperate…which means we’re fucked.
Scar is nothing more than an annoying gnat compared to him.
Darkness billows into the sclera of his eyes at the prospect of having me at his mercy, turning the orbs pitch black. The people in the other cells whimper and scurry to the back of their prisons, as if they can escape detection.
Any humanity he might have once possessed is gone, rotted away when he first dabbled in dark magic. How do I know? I’ve seen the same thing slowly happen to the council members. They try to wear charms and illusions to cover their deterioration, but when you see through magic, it’s impossible to hide.
I think that’s the main reason they want me gone.
It wouldn’t do if their secret got out.
I’m a threat to their reign.
The only reason they don’t kill me outright is that I might prove useful, not to mention they’ve spent centuries scheming. They’re not ones to let an opportunity to claim more power slip through their fingers.
When they discover I’m a kismet, my life will be over.
