Page 47

A genuine smile briefly touches my lips. “No, not like my Bellamy.”

Up ahead, where the cobblestone drive opens into the lower stone fountain plaza, Gregory stumbles to a halt. The ancient marble fountain is off, its basin pooling with rain and fallen pine needles.

Gregory collapses against the edge of the stone basin, his boots slipping in the mud. He raises his right hand, staring hysterically at the magical item in his palm. The rusted artifact, which had spewed sparks down earlier, is now completely dead. The dark magic I allowed it to channel has burned out, leaving it nothing more than a useless lump of scrap metal.

“No… no, no, no,” Gregory whimpers. His voice cracks as he slams the iron piece against the fountain. A few sparks fly out, but nothing more. “Work, you piece of shit! Fucking work!”

He slams it down again, harder this time, until the artifact cracks in half, leaving a sharp, exposed edge of metal that slashes deep through his skin, gushing dark blood over the stone.

I step out from the tree line, letting my shadow-form part just enough for the faint glow of my crimson eyes to pierce the fog behind him. The falling rain suddenly turns into sharp, stinging sleet that whips against the back of his neck.

Gregory freezes.

A violent shudder that wracks his frame tells me he knows I’m here.

I lift my left hand, making a lazy, sweeping gesture toward the forest paths behind him.

Dense, impenetrable walls of shadow surge up from the dirt, blocking off the driveway, the garden trails, and the forest descent. The shadows churn, filled with the low, vibrating growls of the Devil Dog echoing directly inside his mind. Every possible escape has disappeared right before his eyes.

There’s only one direction left for him to take.

At the top of the terrace steps, the estate’s heavy oak doors stand open. Warm amber light spills across the wet stone, looking like a beacon of safety to a coward.

Such a fool.

Movement just inside catches his eye. “Bellamy?” Gregory gasps. It’s as if he forgets all reason. Forgets that a predator lurks behind him. His sole focus in one of a crazed man, obsessed. He doesn’t even care that he’s bleeding, or realize my shadows are guiding him into my home, not Bellamy. Gregory shoves the broken relic into his pocket, his hand darting to the small of his back to draw a small silver pistol.

He scrambles up the grand stone steps, his wet soles slapping loudly against the wet granite, his chest heaving as he lunges toward the threshold.

“He’s carrying a gun,” Killian notes softly, standing beside me at the base of the plaza steps. “A small pistol.”

“Let him carry whatever the fuck he wants,” I say, stepping onto the first stone stair. “The firearm is useless here.”

Gregory reaches the top of the porch. He shoves his way forward, tumbling into the grand foyer. The moment his muddy boots cross the threshold, I close my hand into a tight fist, commanding my shadow magic to do its thing.

Behind Gregory, the massive oak doors slam shut with a deafening boom that rattles the entire estate. A series of sharp, metallic snaps ring out as the ancient deadbolts shoot home, sealing the entrance tight until I command otherwise.

Gregory spins around, screaming as he hurls himself against the solid doors. He grabs the deadbolts, yanking on it with all his weight, but the doors do not budge. He is locked inside.

“No! Open the damn door!” he shrieks, pounding his fists against the wood until his knuckles bleed. It doesn’t take long considering how desperate he is. The human’s mind is truly failing him.

The Devil Dog pushes his excitement down the bond, and to my shock, Bellamy does the same.

“How does it feel to be the helpless one, Gregory? Trapped with nothing but blood on your hands.”

My voice echoes around the room, never originating from one point. It rolls off the vaulted ceilings, vibrating through the paneling, and ricocheting off the windows. Gregory snaps his head around, his back slamming against the locked door. He draws the silver pistol with a trembling, bloody hand, pointing the barrel frantically at the tendrils writhing in the foyer.

Readjusting my wolf pelt, I step out from the darkness, dropping my shadows completely.

I stand before him in my full, undisguised demon form. My pale blue skin gleams under the flickering light of the fire burning in the stone hearth. My wavy dark hair makes way for my sweeping horns, and my crimson eyes burn like crimson fire. I loom over the space, allowing the human to take in my full presence.

Beside me, liquid shadows pool across the marble. The Devil Dog glides up from the floor, its obsidian body coiling around the base of the massive marble pillars. Its eight glowing blue eyes ignite one by one, fixed entirely on Gregory’s chest, looks like my cryptid is also tired of hiding this form. Its jaws unhinge slightly to let out a wet, rattling growl of hunger.

Killian materializes on the opposite side of the foyer, leaning his hip casually against a carved stone pedestal, his amber eyes glowing with bright, merciless amusement as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Gregory stares at us, his jaw hanging open, his face draining of of color until he looks like a damn corpse. The silver pistol in his hand shakes so violently he almost drops it.

“What… what are you?” Gregory chokes out, his eyes darting wildly between my glowing face and the shadowy nightmare coiling around the pillars. “Where… where is Bellamy?! What have you done with him?!”