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Chapter Fourteen
Willow
The cry is muffled, as if it’s coming from a closed room deep inside a house, but it’s clearly a man’s scream.
And I would bet my right hand I know who it belongs to.
Maxim.
Terror and rage and a panicked helplessness flood into my bloodstream as I drop the bucket and run toward the sound. Logic insists I won’t be able to save Maxim alone even if I can find him, but the cosmic connection tying us together demands I try.
And there’s something else there, too, something that reminds me of the way I felt every time I saw my father snubbed or pushed around by Victor and his men. My feelings for Maxim may be complicated as hell right now, but I do care for him, and nothing makes me angrier than seeing the people I care about trapped under some bully’s boot.
Senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I’m able to pinpoint the source of the screams—and a large, grate-covered vent hidden beneath the fallen leaves—just a few moments later.
Heart racing, I drop my ear to the vent just as the scream comes again.
I cringe and my throat squeezes tight.
It’s definitely Maxim, and if my control-obsessed Alpha is howling in pain, he must be enduring something unspeakable, something I can’t allow to continue for another fucking second if I can help it.
Ignoring the voice in my head shouting that if I go down that vent, I’m never coming out again, I shift the heavy grate to one side, strip off my clothes so I’ll be ready to shift at a moment’s notice and lower myself into the tunnel.
It’s slanted at about a forty-five-degree angle and with my bare feet braced on the top of the metal tube, I’m able to control the rate of my descent. I ease down as quietly as I can, taking advantage of the moments when Maxim is crying out to move a little faster.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity trapped in the dark, but is likely only five or six minutes, the tube flattens out a little and I see a light up ahead. It’s a tight fit, but I have just enough room to shift from my back onto my belly and military crawl the rest of the way to another grate-covered hole.
I peek over the edge into a small room carved into the bowels of the earth to see Maxim strapped to a stone table, naked and broken. Another man stands over his legs, slowly and methodically breaking the toes on his left foot with a metal device that resembles a large garlic press while mad-sounding cries of agony gargle from the back of Maxim’s throat.
A sob of shock and revulsion rises in my chest, but I swallow it down.
There’s no time for having feelings about what I’m seeing. I have to focus on finding a way to make it stop.
Pulling in a quiet, bracing breath, I will myself to calm down and think rationally. I’ll only have one chance to use the element of surprise to my advantage and I have to make the most of it.
I’m still concocting and dismissing various avenues of attack when Maxim’s closed eyes suddenly fly open and he cries out, “Willow! Willow, run, he’s going to hurt you. Leave me and run! Run!”
I freeze, my heart stuttering in my chest.
And then the other man murmurs, “Your continued concern for your mate is admirable, but misplaced. You’re the only one who’s suffering, Alpha. Take comfort in that if you can.” And then he crushes the torture device in his hands around Maxim’s last unbroken toe while simultaneously smashing a fist into the mangled wreck that is his other leg.
Maxim makes a sound no being should ever have to make—a sound of such agony and hopelessness that it shatters my heart—and then mercifully loses consciousness.
Fighting the tears pressing at my eyes and the exceedingly stupid urge to rip off the grate, shift, and do my best to tear my mate’s torturer apart with my teeth, I force myself to remain still. I watch the man calmly collect his tools, wiping them down with a cloth that smells of alcohol before placing them neatly back on a shelf on the other side of the room from the stone table.
I listen as he pulls his cell phone from the pocket of his simple black jacket and places a call.
Whoever’s on the other end takes their time to answer but eventually I catch a murmur of sound too faint for me to make out and the man says, “He’s unconscious again. Now would be a good time to establish the connection.”
He pauses, listening for a beat before he adds in a tighter voice, “I understand that you would prefer to wait until tomorrow night, but this will take time. The connection must be formed and the seeds planted before the ritual can be successful. Fail to lay the groundwork and our efforts will have been in vain.”
He falls silent and I strain to hear what’s being said on the other end of the line, but all I can glean is that it’s a feminine voice, which is surprising.
I don’t have time to think more on that, however, before the man adds, “Drug her now, instead. I can make him look presentable enough that she won’t realize he’s been tortured while she’s under the influence and an injection will get him hard enough to get the job done. Once she sobers up, you can clean up the aftermath with whatever lies you need to tell to convince her to cooperate tomorrow.” The voice comes again, but he cuts her off. “The future of the entire world hangs in the balance. If he rises to power, he intends to destroy the barrier between Human Side and The Parallel. He’ll throw the entire balance of creation into chaos and despair. He will literally turn the world upside down, woman. I know she’s your sister, but if Bane goes through with his plans, she and everyone else will suffer and maybe even die. This is the best course.”
My ribs squeeze and my mouth floods with the acrid taste of bile.
“Better a little betrayal now and a happy ending for our people than to let tender feelings doom us all,” the man continues. “We can’t afford to have a conscience right now, Kelley. The end game is all that matters.”
