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I glared at Johnny. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but even though Johnny didn’t seem any happier than I was about being here, he was still a coward in my eyes. If we got out of this alive, I would find a witch, or maybe even return to Dessi, to inquire about the merits of cursing a wolf.
He deserved to feel every moment of petrification that I had endured on the way here. Further than that, he deserved to feel the way his betrayal had hurt me.
A butler opened the doors for us. I was immediately upset that my first glance at this perfectly meshed vintage and modern masterpiece was under duress. I couldn’t properly appreciatethe marble floors or the ostentatious floating crystal chandelier that hung in the entry, and I barely registered the dual staircase to the second story as I was dragged beneath it to huge double doors.
When opened, the handles were carved angel wings that revealed a crouched angel similar to Sariel’s paintings.
This was Azazel's study. Sariel was in here.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls on either side of a flamboyant mahogany desk. The floors were covered in red carpet, the walls, beige paint. The room itself smelled like wildflowers, and held a bitter, irony undertone that was… similar to blood.
I glanced down at the carpet quickly. I guess red flooring was a wise decision for someone like him. Cleaning bloodstains out of the floor every other day would likely become a problem for the staff.
“Nice carpet,” I blurted when my eyes finally raised to his.
His brows furrowed in confusion. “Thank you?”
He leaned against the desk, legs crossed at his ankles. He was dressed in an exorbitant white linen suit and wearing slides on his feet.
It took me a while to realize he’d gone silent and was waiting for me to react to something. The wolves who’d brought me in were gone, leaving only Johnny, Tyler, Azazel, me and…
I sucked in a ragged breath when my eyes landed on the person kneeling next to the desk.
Sariel looked half-dead. His wrists were bound behind his back, and chains circled him, restricting his ability to shift. If he tried right now, they would rip through his wings and hurt him.
His hair hung sweaty, limp, and matted with blood. It covered one eye, and I hoped he could see through that one, because the other was swollen shut. His clothing had been torn up, and what remained reeked of vomit and blood. There werelacerations running horizontally across the exposed skin of his chest, raised and puckered, looking like whip and belt marks.
His nose was bent at an odd angle, and his lips were busted and bleeding. My gut churned as he let out a rattling breath at the sight of me.
Bile rose in my throat at the smug smile on Azazel’s face.
“Don’t cry for the boy,” he said dismissively. “He needed to be reminded of his place.”
I recalled vividly what he’d said about his progeny who didn’t know their place. I swallowed down any vile response to his words, fearing he’d take the insult out on Sariel.
“Besides…” He smiled evilly. “You hybrids heal remarkably fast. Faster even than I.”
Johnny tensed when Sariel groaned in pain. His head had jerked up, revealing that one eye was, in fact, working just fine. He was currently using it to glare at Johnny.
Azazel rounded the desk and took his seat. He didn’t offer any of us a seat, since there were none.
We stood as he pulled open a cigar holder.
Sariel mumbled something, and Johnny’s eyes flickered to him quickly.
“Don’t look at him,” I snapped before I could stop myself. My wolf and I agreed that Johnathan Hart didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as our mate.
Azazel’s eyes gleamed at my reaction, and I realized I’d fucked up. “So, you were right, Bastille,” he mused.
“I told you I could smell her on him,” the wolf said. I’d forgotten he was in the room; I’d become desensitized to the smell of rot from being in the presence of fallen-blood wolves for so long. “They’re definitely soulmates.”
“Is that right?” Azazel reached for Sariel, and my entire world zeroed in on his hand. If he laid a single finger on my mate—
I was suddenly yanked back by my ponytail. Tyler had wrapped my hair in his fist and halted my subconscious movement towards where Azazel was about to hurt Sariel.
“Maybe we can use this to our advantage,” Azazel said to Tyler as he snipped the end off a cigar and placed it between his lips. “Imagine how aggressive he’d be at full strength if we poked at her a little.”
He pointed to Sariel, who was struggling valiantly in his chains.
