Page 140 of The Silversmith

“I want to make a trade. Myself for Smyth’s wife.”

The raven-haired woman scoffed. The men beside her looked at each other and laughed. She held up a slender hand to silence them. “You would sacrifice yourself for Smyth?”

I gritted my teeth, not deigning to answer, and said, “I want to speak to Molochai.”

The brunette sidled up to me and stopped before me, too close. Her nostrils flared with a deep inhale, and something hungry flashed in her black eyes. “So young,” she crooned. “So… willing. I can smell your desire on you.”

“No games,” I gritted out. “Take me to Molochai.”

The woman ran a finger along my jaw as her pale lips curved into a vacant smile. “You’re no fun,” she sighed.

She struck a sharp blow with her fist to the center of my jaw.

I hit the ground and saw dark.

***

I woke up tied to a tree and stripped of my clothes, the ground beneath me frozen. I sat at the base of the tree, arms spread fully open, bound by rope—unyielding around each of my wrists—stretched around the trunk of the tree. I could use the strength of my core to stand but couldn’t turn, hide, or cover a single part of my naked body. The icy forest floor, at least, numbed the soles of my feet and bare bottom.

The cold burned the rest of me.

My vision cleared to reveal at least ten Insidion men admiring my naked form, a few of them… rubbing their erections over their leather pants.

I screamed and fought against my binds. As I jerked, silky warmth brushed against my bare nipples. I glanced down to see my long hair was loose from its braid and covered both my breasts and most of my chest and shoulders. One small mercy.

“Where is Molochai?” I demanded, crying, spitting at them. “I’m here for him.”

They laughed at me.

“For me?” purred a deep male voice. A tall, middle-aged man, flanked by shadows, emerged from behind the wall of lechers. “Don’t mind them. They can look, but they can’t touch.” I blinked back my tears and remained still as he approached. “That’s enough, gentlemen.”

They scattered on command but watched from afar, leaving me alone with a man whose darkness flowed behind him like a celestial cape. For just a moment, it reminded me of Nyxar’s soothing midnight, only this darkness was no glittering onyx, no companion to light. This darkness suffocated and devoured everything good.

It felt corrupted.

He wore a black tunic jacket embossed with gold on the lapels. Elegant designs—nothing like his Insidions’ sinister blood-red, bull head sigils. His eyes were a deep, beautiful brown, and his black hair—thick and streaked with gray—was slicked back over his head. A perfectly groomed goatee framed a disturbingly handsome smile.

“I’m Simeon’s daughter,” I rushed out through chattering teeth. “I can prove it to—”

“You don’t need to prove it to me, Ary.” His hands were tough and attractive, had they not belonged to the devil. Had those long fingers not been tipped with black talons and his skin ice cold. I sucked in a sharp breath when he reached for my face. “Somehow, you’re even more beautiful than my Christabel.” He gripped my chin between his clawed fingers. “And the resemblance is… uncanny.”

My stomach lurched with terror and relief in equal measure. Because if that was true, then this would probably work.

“It is a shame I’ll have to kill you,” Molochai sighed.

I refrained from pulling away. For him to agree, I needed to be compliant. “You don’t want to kill me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I have an offer I think will interest you.”

He smirked and tightened his grip on my chin. “I’m listening.”

“You loved my Aunt Christabel.” I flinched when he brushed his nose against my temple and inhaled my scent. “I look like her, like you said. I’m young. I’ve never even been with a man. I can be what you want.”

His lithe shadows danced around us, hungry and thrashing.

“And what would you require in return?”