Page 49 of Hated By the Gargoyle

“He stole you. Only the depraved steal women from their homes,” Xavir explained.

“Yeah.”

“He stole you?” Nazzar pressed.

“Um, yes. He… he didn’t want me. He wanted Carlota. But then he took me and…” I trailed off.

“He can no longer hurt you,” Nazzar assured.

“No, no, no. He didn’t hurt me.”

They looked at my wrists. At the blood. At the skin rubbed raw to the muscle.

I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head. “No, no it’s not like that. He was angry. He was…” Not himself.

“He was depraved,” Xavir said in a hiss of anger. “To harm a human is a violation. To harm someone he thinks is his wife…” He trailed off, shaking his head back and forth. “Despicable.”

“He didn’t mean it.” My voice sounded weak, even to my own ears.

The truth was, I didn’t know shit. But I did know that he wouldn’t have done what he did if he’d been in his right mind. And it didn’t matter what I said to them about it, or how fiercely I defended him. It would sound as though I were making excuses.

“He will receive punishment according to the crime. Now, come, L-L-Lucero.” Nazzar held out his hands. “Gather your things. We will take you somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. Somewhere…” He looked around. “Away from here.”

There was nothing else to do, really, except obey. I slipped into a dress that Qanek had laid out, feeling heartbroken over the care he’d used to lay it out against his chest. I slipped my camera around my neck and then turned to the two gargoyles and took a deep breath.

“I’m ready,” I announced.

And then they whisked me away.

The flames of The Pit licked at my skin. All around me, I could hear the screams of the tortured, their agony nothing more than a melody that haunted this place of punishment.

For so long, I had looked at this place and watched the souls of the dead be flayed apart by demons and the Lord of Torture himself.

Now, I found myself on the other side. Strung up with magic I could not break free from, with the king himself glaring up at me with unbridled hatred in his eyes.

Lord Kane di Morte was a king I had received a great many deal of my own traits from. His penchant for violence, shadows, and death. His cruelty was my inheritance.

And now, it would be my end.

“I expected nothing from you and still you found a way to disappoint me,” Lord Kane drawled. He appeared bored, though I could see the hatred, the anger, in his dark eyes.

It was a reflection of my own.

“Nothing to say?”

I could not reply.

“That’s fine.” Lord Kane shrugged before he began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “You’ll be screaming in a moment. And I’m going to make you pay for kidnapping and chaining that poor woman up.” A whip materialized in his hand. He unfurled it, jerked it back, preparing to strike…

I finally found my voice.

“She is my wife.”

That gave Lord Kane pause. He stared at me incredulously. “Your wife?” he echoed, shaking his head. “She is no wife of yours.”

My nostrils flared and I jerked against the bindings that kept me on display, but came up short.

“She is my wife,” I repeated. “Mine.”