by Lexi C. Foss
“Not at all.” Adrik stroked his chin, fresh stubble dotting his jaw. We both looked like hell after three days of not shaving. I’d barely even taken the time to steal a shower today but had needed the water to help wake myself up again.
Poor Zaya had been without a shower since the incident.
She probably still wore Yakariah’s blood.
“I need to talk to her,” I decided out loud.
“Did I not just say that sixty seconds ago?”
“Not helping,” I drawled, shoving away from the monitors.
“Technically, I was helping; you just didn’t listen. But glad my subliminal messaging worked out.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t let anyone near my tapes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone,” I added.
“Shall I also make up your bed for you? Fluff your pillows? Add some of those chocolates I know you like?”
I narrowed my gaze at him. “You’re the reason I’m in this fucking mess, dick. You just had to save the girl for your sweet star, hmm?”
Adrik snorted. “Your complaint means shit to me. We both know you want her. You’re just afraid I’ll kick your ass for it.”
“First of all, you can’t kick my ass,” I informed him. He’d tried to on multiple occasions and almost always lost. “Second of all, I’m not afraid of anything. I know you’ll try to punch me if I touch her.”
He grinned. “I totally could, and it wouldn’t be me trying to kick your ass, G. It’d be Valora.”
“And she might actually have the power to hurt me.” She was Lucifer’s daughter, after all. Power ran in her blood.
“Yep, so if you decide to touch Zaya, I suggest you make it a long-term arrangement. Because I really don’t like it when someone upsets my wife.”
“Can we focus on the bigger issue at hand, please?” I asked him. “Zaya murdered Yakariah.”
“Yes, and you were finally on your way to talk to her after moping for three days.” Adrik stood and gave me a shooing motion with his hands. “Now go before you lose your balls again.”
“My balls are just fine.”
“Prove it,” he challenged. “Go talk to Zaya.”
“Dick,” I muttered, leaving him in my suite. His quarters connected to mine, my mother choosing not to repurpose them or allow visitors to stay in those rooms. They would forever belong to Adrik. She’d raised him as her own, something I thought she’d done out of the goodness of her heart until I learned of her ties to Valora. Then it became evident that my mother had raised him to be the perfect suitor for her daughter.
Such a fucked-up and twisted game.
Then again, that was my mother’s preference.
The Underworld royal community thrived on schemes meant to test their opponents. Hence, I was living within my own rights now.
I knew deep down my mother didn’t want me to marry Napia. This was all some messed-up test, one I appeared to be failing at daily.
I growled under my breath and moved down the corridor, ignoring my guards along the way. They all bowed in reverence while staff hurriedly moved out of my way, my quick strides informing them wordlessly that I was on a mission. Disturbing me right now would not go over well, and hopefully my face gave that away.
When I reached the entrance to the dungeon, the two guards outside shared a quick look, then opened the gates.
I descended to the first level of the underground, making my way toward the holding areas.
“Sir?” Alaric stepped into my path, his eyebrows drawn down. “Is there someone you wish for me to pull for you?”
I stared down at him, having a good half a foot of height on the demon. “I want to talk to Zaya. Which cell is she in?” I’d planned to just check each one along the way, but this would be faster. Even if it did irritate me that he’d boldly moved into my path.
“Um.” He cleared his throat. “Let me check the logs.”
I frowned at him. “You need to check the logs?” We barely had any prisoners in holding. “Never mind. I’ll just look for her.” Because apparently that was the faster route. Imbeciles.
I began to move around him, when he replied, “There’s no one in holding, Your Highness.”
Okay, now I was seriously questioning his ineptitude. “What do you mean, ‘there’s no one in holding’?” I cocked a brow at him. “I sent Zaya to holding three days ago. She should be in one of the cells on this floor.”
“She’s not up here, sir.” He visibly swallowed. “I… I haven’t seen anyone taken to holding.”
“Then where the fuck is she?” I demanded.
He jumped back to his desk and started typing on his keyboard.
My patience began to melt with each passing second. If this jackass didn’t give me an answer in the next five—
“She’s on level f-five,” he stammered, the color leaking from his complexion.
“Level five?” I repeated, sure that I’d heard him wrong.
“Y-yes, s-sir.” He appeared ready to pass out now.
“Who the fuck put her on level five?!”
His fingers began to fly over the keyboard, but I shoved him aside, needing to see this bullshit for myself.
“Byron,” I seethed. “Page him immediately. I want to have a word with him after I’ve secured Zaya in the right fucking cell.”
Fuck!
How the hell had something like this happened? I’d been explicit in my request. Why the fuck would he take her down to level five?
I grabbed the keys from Alaric’s shaking hand and practically ran down the spiral staircase, furious with both Byron and myself. Had I just come to talk to her sooner, I would have known about her circumstances.
Lucifer’s nutsack.
He’d put her on the level where vampire prisoners were left to starve. No blood. No food. Barely any light. The cells down here were rarely used and saved for those who seemed to have lost their touch with sanity.
Very few ever made it out alive.
And Byron had locked Zaya up in a cell down here.
She killed a visitor, yes. But I hadn’t given her a sentence yet, and it sure as shit wouldn’t have included sending her here.
I grabbed a torch from a wall on the fourth level before descending to the bottom. “Zaya?” I called, using the flames to illuminate each cell along the way until I finally found her curled in a ball in the room at the end of the hall.
Grime, blood, and unmentionable fluids covered her from head to toe. She’d wrapped herself up in a filthy blanket, her eyes closed in slumber.
The stench of fish caused my nose to curl, but I had no idea where it was coming from. I used the master key to unlock her cell and stepped inside. They hadn’t even cleaned up the space from the last prisoner, his ashes littering the ground just behind her head.
Which explained the soot in her hair.
“Hellfire,” I muttered, setting the torch in an old holder beside the door. The fishy odor seemed to be coming from her clothes. I frowned at the green smear of something inedible on her shirt. Had someone tried to feed her? Or had they left her here to starve in isolation?
Un-fucking-believable.
I would have Byron’s balls for this.
How could he even begin to think this was okay?
“Zay,” I murmured, trying to stir her from her slumber.
She didn’t so much as budge, her weakened state breaking my heart. She’d definitely not eaten anything, which wouldn’t cause an issue in most demons, but her human side required regular sustenance. Just as my essence running through her being exacerbated her need for fresh blood, too.
Zaya wasn’t a Noxia demon, but rather something distinctly other. I’d essentially made her mine when I fed her my life energy. It was what connected us in our dreams. It could also link our minds, but only if I allowed the association.
I scooped her petite frame into my arms and stepped out of her cell. We’d both need a shower after this, but
that was the least of my concerns. The fact that she didn’t even stir bothered me much more.
I rushed down the dark stone corridor, then took the stairs two at a time on my way up. It left me slightly winded by the time I reached the holding level, but my anger spurred me onward and directly to Alaric’s desk. He took one look at Zaya and blanched.
“Were you aware of this?” I asked. “And don’t fucking lie to me.” I would be able to hear it in his pulse.
“No, Your Highness.” His heart rate amped up slightly, but I sensed fear in his scent, not duplicity. “I wasn’t on duty the evening she came in.”
“Who was?” I demanded. I would be verifying everything he told me. So, for his sake, I hoped it was the truth.
“Erie,” he replied, swallowing.
“Do you like your job, Alaric?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then you’ll have no problem escorting Erie and Byron to the fifth level and putting them in Zaya’s former cell.” I turned toward the main stairs, then paused to look at him. “If they’re not in that cell when I come back here, you’ll be going into that cell for a month. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” he repeated, his eyes widening in fear.
Satisfied that he understood my threat, I carried Zaya upstairs and past several stunned guards. They all smartly remained silent.
When I reached my quarters, I found Adrik talking at the door with Cyprus. They both glanced at the bundle in my arms and immediately fell into action.
“What the fuck happened?” Adrik demanded.
I growled, unable to suppress the angry sound dying to escape. “Byron put her on level five.”
“What?” That came from Cyprus, who followed me into my room.
“I want him and Erie found and locked up. Alaric is supposed to be handling it, but he probably needs some help.” I kept him around for his technical abilities, not his brute strength. “Can you send a few guys to assist him?” I asked, acknowledging inside that I might have been a little hard on Alaric. He should have alerted me to Zaya’s placement, but I hadn’t exactly spoken to him about my intentions for her.
“On it,” Cyprus said, his gaze flicking to Zaya briefly. “Is she going to be okay?”
“She needs blood,” I replied, laying her down on my sofa—a sofa I would need to burn after all this. Because now that I could properly see her beneath my own lighting… Fuck. “She’s covered in shit.” Literal shit. Like a bathroom had exploded all over her. “What the hell were they thinking putting her down there?”
Adrik shook his head, his dark gaze holding a myriad of concerns. “I need to make sure Valora doesn’t come in here and witness this.”
I nodded. “Go distract her.”
He didn’t argue, just left with Cyprus at his side.
I looked down at Zaya, taking stock of her dire state. “Forgive me, sweetheart. But you need a bath.”
“Zaya.” Grigory’s deep tones penetrated my head.
I groaned and tried to shift away from him. The nightmares refused to leave me alone, still haunting me even after I defeated them. It was a perpetual circle of emotions within my head that I couldn’t seem to break.
“Zaya,” he repeated.
Please not now. I’m so tired. All I want to do is sleep.
“Come on, Zaya. You’re better than this.”
I nearly growled at him. Better than what? Napia? Your new wife? Because I had no doubt in my mind that they were officially together now.
When was the last time I saw light?
Felt warm?
Ate food?
“Three days,” Grigory replied, causing me to frown.
What?
“You were in that shithole for three days.” He sounded angry. Because I’d failed him? Because he hated me for killing Yakariah?
But I don’t even remember doing it, I thought. Not that he could really hear me. This was all some convoluted nightmare made worse by the realistic quality of it.
“Open your eyes, Zaya.”
No. I refused to open my eyes.
“Fine. Then tell me about Yakariah.” His palm met my cheek, his minty scent surrounding me. “Why did you kill him?”
I don’t like this dream.
“It’s not a dream.”
I snorted. Right. He’d probably turn into Necros soon, and I’d have to kill him and all his guards again. I sighed. Why is this my life?
“Because I’ve shared my energy with you,” Grigory murmured. “Now tell me about Yakariah.”
I can’t, I thought at him. Not only did I have no memory of what happened, but I also didn’t want to speak. Just let me sleep.
“No.” His palm slid to the back of my neck, squeezing. “Look at me.”
I ignored him, not ready for this devastating game. Necros would be waiting for me when I finally gave in to the pull to see Grigory one last time. It was inevitable. Some part of me yearned for my savior, the male who had linked our lives together on some plane of existence that I didn’t quite understand. Even now, I swore he was in my mind, hearing every word I said to myself, seeing all my thoughts, plowing through my memories.
He tried to pull up the day of Yakariah’s attack.
I felt the intrusion.
Or perhaps I imagined it.
Was I in some sort of simulator? Being interrogated without my consent?
I sighed. All you had to do was ask, I muttered to myself.
“I did,” he replied.
I don’t know what happened, I told him, aware I was giving in to the delusions of my nightmare. But I was too exhausted to keep fighting this.
Hell, I might as well open my eyes and get this over with.
Piercing black eyes stared down at me when I did, set in a handsome face only meant for my fantasies. Maybe I really did defeat my demons? Maybe this was my reward?
You’re here, I breathed, both elated and sad at the same time.
“Yes,” he whispered. “And you’re not dreaming.”
I knew better than to believe that. We were in his bed, surrounded by silk. My hair was freshly washed and combed. Cotton shorts and a tank top clothed my body. He wore a T-shirt and shorts, too, his hair damp as if he’d joined me in a shower.
Definitely a dream.
“I miss you,” I told him, my voice a rasp of sound and a startling reminder of my true location in the cells deep inside his dungeon. “You left me here to die.”
“I didn’t know,” he said, his expression darkening. “I told Byron to put you in holding, not in a damn cell.”
I lifted my hand to his face, my fingers tracing his cheekbone. “I can feel your warmth,” I marveled, enthralled by his presence. “I’ve missed our dreams.”
“You’re awake, Zaya.”
I smiled. “Okay.” I didn’t believe him, of course. How could I possibly be awake and clean?
“I gave you my blood.”
Mmm, his blood. Yes. It heated me even now, keeping me alive instead of allowing me to wither and die.
What if this is my last dream of him? I wondered. What if I never see him again after this?
“Zay,” he whispered. “Don’t do that. Please. You’re killing me.”
A little laugh threatened to bubble out of me. I was the one dying here, not him.
“Zay,” he repeated, more sternly now. “Stop this.”
But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted more instead. I wanted to feel one last time. To live. I leaned into him, my hand skimming up his side. So strong. Hot. Hard. I explored him the way I wanted to, without a care as to whether or not he agreed. Because this was my dream, not his. My will, not his. My fantasy, not his.
“Zay…” His tone had deepened to a bedroom-appropriate level, exciting me inside.
“Grigory,” I replied, ignoring the hoarse quality of my voice. “Kiss me.”
“This isn’t a dream.”
I hated that phrase. It was meant as a trick, a way to subdue my mind, and I no longer wanted to play. I n
eeded control. I needed him.
“Kiss me,” I repeated, pressing my lips to his in a gentle brush meant to entice more from him. “Kiss me, Grigory.”
“Fuck, Zay,” he breathed.
“Yes.” I arched into him. “Make me feel.”
His palm against the back of my neck squeezed, his body tensing against mine, causing the air to still in my lungs.
If he rejected me now, I’d break. I could feel it in my very soul. This was my fantasy. He couldn’t refuse me unless my mind had truly broken.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Grigory.”
“This isn’t a dream, Zay.”
I wanted to scream. To cry. To demand his submission.
This was a dream. My dream. And he kept fighting me in some wicked form of torment. Was this supposed to represent my final moments? Had I been trapped in that cell so long that I’d well and truly lost control of my mind?
I refused to believe that.
I was a fighter. A warrior. I’d survived so much. I had to survive this, too.
My fingers drifted up his neck to his hair, locking in his thick, dark strands and forcing his mouth to meet mine.
He didn’t kiss me back, but I didn’t care.
In my dreams, he was mine, and I intended to show him exactly what that meant.
His lips parted, perhaps to speak. I didn’t let him, instead slipping my tongue inside to taste him. He jolted against me. Fear had me latching onto him, terrified he might push me away for good.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his grip on my neck turned into a brand, his searing heat melting into me as he rolled me onto my back, his leg parting mine.
And then he started kissing me.
Really kissing me.
Oh, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
I’d won, yet somehow, he’d seized the moment, dominating me in a single sweep of his tongue. He made me his. Claimed me. Owned me.
Nerve endings tingled throughout my body, igniting pleasure sensors I never knew existed. This felt darker than our usual entanglements, more real, more powerful. Like he’d completely and utterly possessed me from the inside out, his intentions to devour me clear.
I trembled with a growing need, my skin on fire from his touch. He flexed his thigh, the muscles contracting against my sensitive center and stirring an inferno inside me.
