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Crimson’s eyes turned to slits. “Brochan is a male with a single purpose. The salvation of his brother. Nothing and no one can stop him from pursuing his goal—except you. Why?”
“He loves and adores me. Why else?” Viola had done her due diligence and asked around. Rumors suggested her monstrous stalker had been a highly decorated Sent One, with more demon kills than any other. “If he blamed me, he would have attempted to kill me at least once.”
“Brochan will never desire his brother’s killer,” Crimson said. “He despises you with the whole of his being. Try again.”
Despised her? Viola winced, so sorry for this oblivious creature. “Wow. This is awkward. One of us is dead wrong, and it’s clear to everyone in the room it’s you. How embarrassed you must be.”
Crimson came up out of his chair and slapped her. Pain exploded through her cheek, the blow packing enough power to whip her head to the side. As she straightened, blood leaked from the corner of her mouth.
Calm. Steady. She breathed deeply, her heartbeat harmonizing with the click-clack of Gangrene’s claws as he paced at a faster clip. When Viola’s temper got the better of her, she shifted into a horrifying combination of Narcissism and…something else. Her other half.
She cringed. The most wretched abomination in all the lands…a common feline shifter.
Oh, how she burned with humiliation at the thought! Why had her mother cheated with a common alley cat? Why couldn’t that fact remain hidden from Viola?
“Do I have your attention?” Crimson asked, getting more comfortable in his seat. “You requested my theory. Well, here it is. When Brochan isn’t chasing you, he’s questioning others about you and a key to Nevaeh. I suspect you own one, and Brochan intends to steal it. So. What do you think? Is my theory correct?”
“Are you referring to the rumor started by me—I mean, someone other than me—claiming my body is a key to Nevaeh? Because it is.”
“Give me the key, goddess.” Crimson stated the words with enough fire to burn down an entire planet.
“Since you asked politely…no, thanks.”
He bared his fangs at her. “Give me. The key. Or you will suffer.”
“Oh, good gracious,” she said, simpering at him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were serious until just now. Sure, I’ll give you the key. I hid it in one of my fingers. Free the cuffs, and I’ll show you.”
He swung at her, his palm meeting her cheek for a second time. Her head whipped to the side with more force, her body jerking, pulling the shackles tight. The sharp sting set off a high-pitched ringing in her ears.
When she settled, she smiled at him. In a sing-song voice, she said, “You’re going to die screaming.”
“Enough!” Gangrene strode over and punched her with a balled fist. “Give us the key!”
This time, her brain butted up against her skull, searing agony radiating across her jaw. Dizziness swept in, and nausea surged as blood soaked her tongue. Did she back down? Not even a little. She spit at Gangrene, delighting as scarlet rained over his features.
He geared to strike her again, only to pause when electricity charged the air. A strange, wild wind blew in, snuffing out a torch with a soft pfft. Viola sat up straighter. Brochan?
First, excitement swept over her. Can’t stay away. Wants me too intently. All too soon, trepidation crept down her spine. What if she had maybe, possibly, perhaps…misread his feelings for her and the Fallen were right? What if Brochan despised her?
Not everyone was smart enough to realize her amazingness. If Brochan did hate her, he might attack the moment he learned the truth about that nonexistent key. A ludicrous idea, yes, but sometimes she must entertain even the most farfetched notions to discover a truth.
As Viola worked stealthily to unfasten the metal binding her wrists—yes! success!—she maintained a composed façade on the outside. “If Brochan plans to steal my key, as you suggest, he’ll do everything in his power to rescue me, yes? Even slaughter his kinsmen. Do you think he’s here now?”
Crimson ran a forked tongue over an incisor. A revealing tell. He feared Brochan greatly. “Go up. Ensure we remain alone,” he told Gangrene, who flashed seconds later, vanishing from view. Scowling at her, Crimson grated, “Want to keep your pretty face? Reveal where you’ve hidden the key.”
“Pretty face? I knew you desired me. Lust is practically seeping out of your pores.”
Growling now, he unsheathed a serrated blade. “I’ll start with your tongue. It’s coming out, one way or another.”
A strange noise quieted him—a heavy thud and roll. In unison, Viola and Crimson glanced to the side, watching as Gangrene’s head trundled into the cell—without his body.
Brochan was here.
She jolted, the urge to free her ankles and flash to the nearest safe house too strong to disregard. For Fluffy, she found the courage to resist. A good scheme always cost a bit of sanity. She’d put a plan into motion, and she would see it through.
