Page 8 of Secrets of Ruin

But then a prickle of unease ran up her spine, causing the hair on her nape to rise. It can’t be, can it?

Slowly, her head turned toward Brokk. Her lungs burned for oxygen, but she couldn’t breathe. It was impossible as shock held her body in its vice.

Am I his consort?

The possibility had never occurred to her before; vampires rarely found their consorts, and while they were supposed to recognize it instantly when they did, Brokk was only half vampire. His dark fae nature would probably rebel against being tied to another in such a way.

Has the possibility occurred to him?

She finally sucked in a breath of air as she searched Brokk’s face for some reaction to the emperor’s question, but his face remained far more impassive than hers. Then, it hit her… his lack of a response was more of an answer than if he’d spoken.

He wasn’t astounded by the man’s question, which meant he had considered the possibility. This possibility made her unbelievably sad, and her shoulders slumped as her fingers itched for him.

She fisted them to keep them at her sides. Her nails dug into her palms as she tried to sort through her tumultuous emotions.

During their time together in the Valley, she’d grown to respect and admire him, and yes, though she didn’t understand how it was possible, she’d grown to love this brave, selfless man with a heart of gold. He’d become her friend, lover, and salvation in a place where little good existed.

But she could never give her heart to him as completely as he deserved. Part of her heart still belonged, and always would, to Fabian.

She could never change that, and she didn’t want to. Fabian deserved to still be loved; his memory continued to live on, and she would never deny him that.

But if she was Brokk’s consort, he could never let her go. He had a deep, instinctive need to keep her with him… always. It also meant he would love her with everything he was and never get the same kind of love in return.

No. She inwardly wept for him as she outwardly tried not to fall apart in front of these assholes.

“I don’t know,” Brokk replied.

The emperor tapped his chin as he studied Brokk. “But I think you do.”

“Take me instead,” Brokk grated through his teeth.

“Do you really wish to take her place, Brokk of the house of the dark fae? Think about it before responding because you will go on the spikes.”

Brokk glanced toward the rack with the spikes before focusing on the emperor again. “I have no doubt. Take me instead.”

The emperor shrugged. “As you wish.”

“No!” Kaylia finally managed to find words again. “No! I won’t let him sacrifice himself for me. It’s my turn!”

No one paid attention to her as they opened the door to Brokk’s cell. Before the ophidians entered his prison, they jabbed him with the end of one of those poles.

Brokk went rigid; his arms slammed down against his sides, and his teeth clamped together before he fell over. One of them slithered into the cell, grasped his foot, and dragged him out.

“No!” Kaylia screamed.

Without thinking, she threw herself forward, and her fingers stretched toward him. As soon as she touched the bars, she shot backward across the small space and into the far wall.

Her legs shot out, something in her back cracked, and stars danced across her eyes before gravity took over, and she fell to the ground. Cool dirt filled her mouth and nose; the smell wasn’t crisp and refreshing like the earth she loved to plunge her fingers into when gardening. It was stagnant and stale, and instead of flooding her with vitality, it filled her with sorrow.

Her fingers jerked as she planted them on the ground and turned her head toward the front of her cell. The figures there jumped and swayed as her vision blurred, but she saw enough to watch as they strapped Brokk onto the table of spikes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kaylia had vowed these monsters would never break her, but she wasn’t the one on the table. She wasn’t the one with her back against the spikes as the ophidians turned the chains, locking Brokk’s hands and legs to the table.

Every twist of those chains pulled Brokk’s arms and legs a little further apart. They also pulled him further down onto the spikes.

As the metal pierced deeper into his flesh, blood seeped out to flow down the metal, turning it a darker shade of red. The muscles in his throat and arms stood out as he fought against being stretched and impaled further, but the machine was stronger than him, and when the emperor waved his finger, his minions twisted the chains again.