Page 154 of House Ignis

Panic clawed at my throat as I realized my position.

My arms were yanked brutally behind my back, my wrists bound so tightly I could feel my pulse hammering against the hemp.

My legs were anchored just as firmly, my ankles strapped to the heavy iron legs of the chair.

I tried to summon a spark—a flicker, a coal, anything—but my veins felt like they were filled with lead. Nothing.

I reached for Aether first, desperate for the warmth of the panther who had been my shadow since I was a child.

Empty.

The absence hit like a plunge into freezing water, stealing my breath.

I bit back a scream. Aether. I couldn't feel his heartbeat. I couldn't feel his sass or his strength.

My stomach flipped over itself in a sickening roll. He can't be dead. I would've felt the snap. I would've broken with him.

I reached deeper, past the hollow place where Aether should have been, searching for something darker.

Asher.

There.

Faint. Distant. But furious.

The blood bond pulsed beneath whatever poison they'd pumped into me, a thin thread of shadow and rage that told me one thing with terrifying certainty.

He was coming.

"Well, well… look who finally decided to join us."

The voice was oily, slithering through the damp silence of the cell. My heart dropped.

Zorian. The red-haired bastard was leaning against the rusted bars on the far side of the room, casually twirling a jagged dagger between his fingers like a schoolyard toy. He looked far too pleased with himself.

"Princess," he purred, the title sounding like a slur. "Good to see you again."

The cell door creaked open with a groan of protesting metal. He stepped inside, flanked by two taller males I didn't recognize—guards or mercenaries, both wearing the same twisted, predatory glint in their eyes.

“Started a club, I see,” I said, my voice dry and raspy, masking the terror curling in my gut. “What are the requirements? All psychos welcome, or do you have to be especially pathetic to join?”

Zorian chuckled darkly, the sound echoing off the wet walls. "Still got that mouth on you, huh?"

He crouched in front of me, the scent of stale sweat and cheap ale rolling off him.

He dragged the flat of the blade slowly down my thigh—not hard enough to break the skin, just enough to let the cold steel threaten.

“Since you got me expelled, you little bitch…” He pressed the tip in, drawing a thin line of crimson across my skin.

"I figured I'd return the favor. Start by ruining that pretty little body of yours."

I winced as the metal bit in, but I didn't flinch.

Instead, I gathered what little moisture I had left and spat directly into his face.

He didn't even wipe it off. He just smirked, a sick, hollow expression that made my skin crawl.

Then he moved.