Page 1 of Secrets of Ruin

\CHAPTER ONE

Light didn’t often come to the bowels of the pyramid; when it did, it never brought relief or joy. In this dark pit of despair, light meant the return of their captors and pain.

After their arrival, when the first torches lining the walls burnt out, they remained that way until the ophidians returned to reignite them. And when they came back, it meant only one thing… they’d returned to have fun… or at least it was fun for them.

For the prisoners trapped in this endless loop of suffering, filth, and misery, it meant only agony.

Everything here brought discomfort from the captors who so loved to torture them, even the dirt floor that dug into Kaylia’s increasingly protruding bones while she tried to sleep. The bucket in the corner held her waste and cast a foul smell, but this whole place consisted of awful smells she’d somehow adjusted to; however, it was adapt or go insane in this place.

They were in Hell, but instead of burning in that fiery place, a chill encompassed the damp air of the dungeon. It had crept into her bones until she was permanently cold, and the ophidians didn’t provide blankets or warmer clothes to ease the ice inside her.

Kaylia had no idea how much time had passed since the ophidians confined them—time meant nothing here. It was endless but steady as it ebbed and flowed like the ocean’s waves that she feared she’d never see again.

Without the sun or moon to mark the passing days, there was no way to track them, and she wouldn’t if she could. Why did she want to know how much of her life was wasted here?

The only thing that gave her hope and kept her sane was holding Brokk’s hand. Lying on her side and reaching through the bars of their cell, she could stretch her hand far enough into his cage to clasp his.

Night after night and day after day, she sought Brokk’s solid presence in this place that reeked of waste, anxiety, sweat, and death. And so much death had occurred since their arrival; far too many of their group had perished in this pit.

More would soon follow; she did not doubt that, as the ophidians enjoyed their demise. They loved their torment, too, so they drew out their deaths, but it was only a matter of time before those monsters destroyed them all.

As time passed, Brokk became a shell of the man he used to be. The ophidians brought them shitty food, and she supplied him with blood, but it had been….

Well, she had no idea how much time had passed since they were last together and he’d nourished the dark fae part of himself. It could have been a month or a year.

Now, in the dim glow of the torches the ophidians left behind after their last visit, she studied Brokk as he lay, staring at her, his hand encasing hers. They were all weakening in this place, but the toll of their inadequate nourishment had been toughest on him.

Dirt marred cheekbones that were far more prominent than before he entered this place. His once lively, aqua-blue eyes were duller, and their twinkle had vanished.

The ophidians sometimes brought in buckets of water and soap for them to wash, probably when they could no longer stand the smell of them, but it had been a while, and grime had turned his dark blond hair brown. A thick, brown beard obscured his handsome features and grew an inch or two past his chin.

Sometimes, the twinkle in his eyes would return when he looked at her, but not today. It hadn’t been there since they watched the ophidians torture and kill another amsirah.

That man’s death wasn’t too long ago, as the torches remained lit. They’d soon go out and plunge them back into darkness. Until then, she planned to savor seeing Brokk again.

Kaylia turned her hand over and lifted her wrist toward Brokk. He shook his head as his thumb traced the two puncture marks there. A matching set marked her other wrist.

Sometimes, he’d feed on her, but he never took enough. Her blood helped keep the vampire part of him nourished. However, the dark fae part of him was starving as, without sex, he grew weaker.

At first, dozens filled the dungeon cells; now, only a fraction of that number remained. Hopelessness swelled amongst the survivors; it permeated the air and came out in muffled sobs or whimpers.

No one looked at those who broke down in tears; they all required their moments in this place. So far, no one had completely cracked and slipped into madness, but Kaylia suspected it was only a matter of time… if any of them lived that long.

Eventually, the ophidians would destroy what remained of them. Until then, the hideous monsters would continue torturing them until their spirits broke.

To her right, Ryker shifted in his cell. His movement drew her attention from Brokk to the large man standing in the center of his small cell.

Before coming here, he’d been bulkier with thickly corded muscle on his arms and chest; he’d shriveled in size while here. He hadn’t lost as much as Brokk, but he was barely recognizable as the man he once was.

Fresh marks from a whip marred his chest and back; while the ophidians had flayed him open, he hadn’t made a sound. He’d stood there and took it while they tore away his skin.

Beneath the fresh marks lay faded white scars. Some of those scars had come from his time at war, but judging by the shape and size of them, Kaylia suspected many of his scars came from other beatings. Those beatings must have been brutal if he still bore their marks.

Ryker stared relentlessly ahead; his beard-covered jaw moved back and forth as he ground his teeth together. His hands fisted at his sides while he glowered at the locked door where the ophidians entered and exited.

He’d barely moved since the ophidians left after killing another amsirah. During their time here, his dark brown hair had grown past his shoulders, and his silver eyes shone with a coldness that wasn’t present before his imprisonment.

Beyond him, more of Ryker’s men remained in the other cells stretching into the shadows until Kaylia couldn’t see the ones at the end. Most of those cells used to be full, but not anymore.