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“You could really use a bath.” Something close to disgust flickers across his face, but it vanishes as quickly as it came.
“And some rest wouldn't hurt either.” He brings his arms up, crossing his chest like he has grown bored with the conversation. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”
I meet his stare, my voice surprisingly steady despite my trembling body. “I have been through hell!” I snap with a sharpness that surprises me.
Without thinking, I grab the closest object I can find, my fingers curling around the cool metal of a lantern, seconds before hurling it at him with all the force I can muster.
He moves fast, too fast, deflecting it with an almost lazy flick of his wrist. The lantern clatters to the ground, the flame within flickering wildly before settling.
He lets out a breathless chuckle that holds no humor.
Unfazed, he closes the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. I can feel the heat from his body, a warmth that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. He leans in so near that I am swallowed by his presence, his dark form consuming the space until he is all I can see. My heart slams against my chest, my breath catching as my back presses against the cold window behind me.
His scent, sharp and intoxicating, curls into my lungs, making my head spin.
The shadows he commands slide around us, their movement threatening but somehow elegant, dancing through the air with sinister rhythm. His sudden closeness overwhelms my senses. My skin flushes, heat flooding into my face at the proximity.
He leans in close enough that his breath ruffles my hair. For just a heartbeat, I think I might drown in the weight of his focus. His smile, dark and full of wicked intent, makes my stomach tighten with fear. His voice is a soft command, laced with something that makes my blood run cold. “Get yourself cleaned up and get some sleep. I’ll be back soon enough.”
As quickly as he appeared, he vanished. The room grows colder in his absence, his scent lingering in the air as dread and something else tighten my insides.
Chapter three
Sliver Of Hope
The cold seeps into my skin, the metal table beneath me as unyielding as the chains biting into my wrists and ankles. My breath comes in short, panicked bursts, but it isn’t enough. The air is too thick, too stale, tainted with the metallic tang of blood, my blood. I pull against the restraints, knowing it’s useless. The iron cuts deeper, slicing into my skin, a cruel reminder that there is no escape.
“Awake already?” a voice muses, smooth and taunting. “Good. It’s no fun if you sleep through it.”
A second voice chuckles in agreement, low and cruel. “She’ll scream for us soon enough.”
The clatter of metal sends a sharp spike of dread through me. My stomach twists as one of them unrolls a sleeve of tools—glinting, wicked things designed to carve flesh apart with deliberate precision. Blades honed to razor edges, hooks meant for tearing, needles so fine they could slip between muscle and bone.
Fingers trail over the collection, deliberate and savoring. “Let’s start small,” the first male says, selecting a thin scalpel. “No need to rush the fun.”
I barely have time to brace before the first cut comes, slicing clean and shallow across my forearm. A gasp catches in my throat, but I refuse to give them the reaction they want.
He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. “Tsk. You’re holding back.”
The blade presses deeper before twisting.
A ragged scream tears from my lips as white-hot agony flares through my arm. Blood wells up, warm and slick, spilling onto the table. My body convulses against the chains, but the more I fight, the more they bite into me, unrelenting.
“There it is,” the second male murmurs, stepping closer. Magic pulses in his hands, black veins of energy slithering up his arms, writhing like hungry things desperate to burrow beneath my skin.
I barely have a second to breathe before he slams his palm against the fresh wound.
Fire explodes through my veins where his touch lands.
It isn’t just pain, it is something deeper, more insidious, magic forcing itself into me, spreading like a disease. It slithers through muscle, wrapping around bone, burrowing into my very marrow, searching.
I choke on my scream.
“She’s resisting,” the first male observes, his amusement palpable. “She still thinks she can fight it.”
Another blade. This one is lower, my ribs. The cold metal slides torturously slowly between them with sickening ease, cutting through sinew and scraping against bone.
“Tell me,” the second male murmurs as his fingers press firmly into my arm, sending another surge of burning magic through me. “How long do you think before she breaks?”
