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I lie frozen and in shock, my whole body begging me to rest and catch my breath. Because if I get up now, I’ll fall back down. My adrenaline washes away with the blood, tears, and sweat, leaving me a sobbing mess. I don’t understand what’s going on and who these men are—what these men are—but I’m not even sure I want to know. I just want to leave and spend my last twenty bucks getting anywhere else in the world.
If a deep, guttural roar didn’t filter through the door, I would. The lights flicker and the awful smell of something rotting wafts through the air. Strange black smoke trickles from beneath the door. I panic at the sight and force myself to get up. There’s a fire somewhere, and I didn’t go through complete hell just to die in this dark bathroom with two psycho monsters plotting my imprisonment.
Without drying off, I rush to the door and press my hand to the wood, feeling the warmth radiating from the other side. I run the basic survival skills my parents instilled in me growing up and grab a towel, wetting it in the sink. I cover my mouth and nose with it and use the other end to cover the doorknob in case it’s hot.
I try to twist it open, but nothing happens.
The smoke grows thicker in the bathroom, and an orange and red glow fills the room.
“Help!” I yell, pounding my fist on the door. “Help!”
No one responds.
I’m locked in.
There’s nothing I can do as I wait for my world to burn.
Chapter 3
Monsters and Madness
RAVEN
I COUGH AND spit into the towel, trying to rid my lungs of the billowing smoke. Heat radiates from the door, and I scramble back, climbing into the tub. Twisting the knob on the faucet, I adjust the temperature as if a cold shower could possibly save me. Even if the fire doesn’t eat away this room, the smoke will suffocate me.
I lower myself down and clutch the drenched towel, covering up with it the best I can. I’ve always had a fear of burning alive after one of my childhood next-door neighbor’s houses burned down, but I never truly believed something like that would happen to me. I was just afraid it would.
And now it is.
Closing my eyes, I lace my fingers together and tilt my head toward the ceiling. I’ve never prayed more than I have tonight in my life, and a part of me fears speaking to the universe, hoping that some almighty power might listen and help me, because of Dante’s threat. He’s made it quite clear that he’s not human. Even if he hadn’t, a deep-seated part of me knows that the two guys are far from mortals. What they are exactly? I have no idea. I doubt I’ll ever find out.
An explosion shakes the room, and I scream and clutch onto the tub as the walls around me split and open. Fire eats away the walls of this small bathroom and drifts across the ceiling. Smoke and red and orange light fill the room and I kick my heel on the drain plug, pushing it into place. Water begins to fill the tub. Scooping it into my hands, I fling it at the walls, hoping to put the flames out before they reach me. My chest tightens with each of my breaths, and I try my best to breathe slowly instead of gulping for air that’ll only be tainted by the smoldering room.
I blink through the haze, staring at the fiery ceiling. Soft chants call my name, inviting me to join them in the burning world appearing above my head but looking as if I look down on it instead of looking up. It’s disorienting and terrifying. I can’t process what I’m seeing. Fear clenches my heart, and I squeeze my eyes shut, so I can pretend to be somewhere else. I’m hallucinating, seeing the vision of the damned and burning. The smoke’s getting to my head.
“Hurry up, pretty soul,” Dante snaps, the door creaking open. “You should’ve been done by now.”
I bolt upright and splash water everywhere, the bathroom empty and clean with no signs of fire or smoke anywhere. What the fucking shit? I scramble to pull myself from the blood-tinted tub and roll over the edge, crashing to the floor. I gasp and feel across the floor, the heat that was clinging to the air nothing more than the steamy warmth of the still-running shower.
“Fuck,” he says, clomping into the bathroom. Stepping over me, Dante turns the shower off and pulls the plug, draining the tub before more water cascades over the edge. “What the hell are you doing? We don’t have time for you to take a damn spa day.”
“There was a fire,” I say, groaning with my confusion, my thoughts refusing to let me think clearly. “I was going to burn alive. Why did you lock me in here?”
Dante’s brows lower on his forehead, and he combs his hand through his dark hair. “You saw the gateway.” Surprise lines his words. He remains expressionless as he studies me like I will confirm he’s right about whatever he’s referring to.
“The what?” I ask, shifting onto my side. I struggle not to give in to my body’s need to rest. I’m so achingly tired.
He tightens his jaw and shakes his head. A muffled rumbling noise sounds through the door. It trembles on its hinges, jerking Dante’s attention away from me. “Never mind about that. It’s not imperative information for you to know.” Swiveling, he motions to the robe hanging on a hook. “Get out of those wet clothes and put on the robe. Lucian is ready to see you.”
“Lucian?” The name sounds harsh coming from my lips. He keeps mentioning this man like he might be his boss or something. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
“You don’t have a choice, pretty soul. If you don’t, I’ll carry you out like the unruly mortal you are. Lucian likes that, but only because the disobedient are that much more fun to break,” Dante says gruffly, grabbing a towel from the cabinet. He throws it in my face, not giving me a chance to take it from him. “Now don’t make me help you get undressed. You made it clear you don’t like that right now.”
Right now? He’s delusional to imply that I might eventually like it. Because fuck.
I shudder at the thought, imagining him transforming into his monster façade. This guy is crazy. Psychotic. He’s out of his damn mind if he thinks he can just drag me out of here and force me to meet—
Dante steps forward and looms over me, his arms folded across his broad chest. He starts to kneel, staring at my boobs with more intensity than any man has ever looked at my chest. But it’s not sexual. It’s in determination. He plans to follow through with his threat, reaching his hand out, ready to rip my bra right off me. He stops short, his fingers open and waiting to strike like a snake if I give him an opening.
