Page 102 of Bitten By the Basilisk

He snatched her wrist in a brutally tight grip and yanked her toward him. She attempted to punch him with her other hand, but he caught her fist.

In the next instant, he latched his widened jaw onto her forearm and sank his fangs into her flesh.

She cried out in both pain and despair, trying to pull herself free even as ice began flowing up and down her arm. She lost the ability to move her fingers, then her shoulder.

Even after her attacker released her from his bite, the icy paralysis continued to spread. Her head lolled forward, as she could no longer control her neck. Soon, she could hardly move her legs.

What would he do to her once she was completely helpless?

She could try summoning her fox fire, she realized. She wasn’t very practiced with it yet, but perhaps it could deter him from whatever he was planning next.

Eric laid her down on the floor, then retracted his fangs and pulled his jaw back together. She tried to move any part of her, but she couldn’t even twitch a finger.

“By the time you can move again,” he said, straightening his coat, “Lance should be the new Basilisk of Indigo Cove.” He leaned down, bracing his hands on his knees. “What do you want to bet that Silas will agree to lose on purpose once he learns your safety is in Lance’s hands?”

She could only scream inside her head as a hot tear trailed down the side of her face, too panicked to concentrate on tapping into her new power.

Her attacker straightened to his full height. “I’m betting he won’t. Lance bets he will.” He smiled as he backed toward the door. “For you, it’s lose-lose no matter what. Whether he dies or refuses to surrender for your sake…it’s over either way, right?”

He left without further comment, chuckling to himself as he closed the door. She had expected him to take her somewhere else, but why would he bother, she realized, when she couldn’t move?

While she was relieved he hadn’t touched her again, her relief was short-lived, as she was about to spend the next hour, at least, lying here helpless while Silas waited in vain for her to arrive.

And when Lance made his threat to harm her if Silas didn’t lose to him—if he didn’t literally die for her—she would still be right here, the minutes slipping by…

Chapter Thirty-Two

Silas

The Den was a vaulted marble chamber beneath the Nest, accessible from each building via elevators and tunnels, its domed walls carved with massive snakes. The enchanted ceiling projected the night sky, including the full moon rising in the east, still hours away from its zenith. Crystal and titanium lanterns hung from the starry void, their heights random and slowly changing.

From the outside to its center, the enormous stone room stepped down to a flat central floor. Silas, his father, and the other Basilisks were settled upon a dais contiguous with the north wall. Nic and Bruno remained near, mingled with the other guests below.

Food and drink were available, but many of the hundreds of serpent-folk ringing the room cared far more tonight about satisfying a different hunger.

For some, it was sex. For others, they were anticipating blood, as news of Lance’s challenge had spread to everyone in attendance.

One of the first mating displays was already taking place, accompanied only by a single, large drum. The serpent-folk flexed and undulated for their desired mate, their white-gold accessories sparkling beneath the lantern light, their tail gleaming.

Silas had already given his drum score to the serpent-folk elder who would be accompanying his mating display for Alice. He wore his gala finery, including his circlet, although he anticipated removing most of it for the inevitable melee against Lance.

Though he held a glass of red wine, he drank none of it, needing the clarity to maintain control over the urgent cravings of his territorial instincts, which demanded to sink his claws into Lance’s face and rip through his arrogant smirk—almost as much as they demanded to rut and claim his mate.

One had to come before the other, and not in the order he wished. Silas expected Lance, currently on the other side of the chamber, to declare himself any moment now, just as soon as his ego had soaked up enough of the ambient anticipation.

Perhaps futilely, Silas had hoped that Alice would arrive shortly after seven, but she had yet to appear. She had been viewing his texts throughout the day, but the latest one he’d sent remained unread.

Every time he locked eyes with Nic, who awaited a message from the driver of the car sent to pick her up, his lieutenant subtly shook his head to signal she wasn’t yet on her way.

In a short moment, the car was scheduled to leave without her.

While he knew it was his own fault she had rejected him, the pain of his self-loathing only fueled his rage at Lance. The other male was currently peacocking, figuratively, for a female who appeared poised to accept him if he actually delivered on his boasts.

His rival’s second, Eric, slithered over to join him, having been absent up until now. Perhaps soon, Silas would have the opportunity to vent his aggrievement upon Lance’s ability to smirk ever again.

“If you’re not going to drink that, I will,” his father said, taking the glass of wine out of Silas’s hand. His mother was chatting some distance away, the two of them having arrived together, for appearances, only to separate a moment later.

Two years ago, she and Silas had watched from almost this same spot as Lance and his father had clobbered each other, lashing and clawing and biting. Silas had never seen his mother so frozen with fear.