Daemon Grudge

by Stacey Brutger

  There was no chair or bed, just a small ridge of stone and rock that could barely be described as a bench, and scarcely large enough for her to perch on it like a damn bird.

  Not one to sit and do nothing, she concentrated on her magic. Something happened when she touched those bars. Instead of having her powers siphoned off, her magic decided to fight back. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but her magic was stronger. It would be an excruciating pain in her ass to do it, but she should eventually be able to overwhelm the system.

  While she was confident she could escape, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do it before any alarms were triggered.

  Magic she could defeat, but not an entire army.

  As she inspected her magic, she realized it was kind of like a cat in some ways. It rubbed against her, eager to be petted, but the moment she tried to capture it, it struck with fangs and claws.

  It had boundaries.

  She held out her hand, surprised when magic wove between her fingers, waiting to do her bidding. She opened her eyes, feeling air dance around her hand like she was holding her arm out of a moving vehicle.

  She could make the magic rise and fall at her command. Needing more practice, she sent the magic skipping along the floor, where dirt and pebbles slowly lifting in the air.

  It was like she was trying to bench press a truck.

  The tiny rocks dropped to the ground with a plink, and she curled her hands into fists.

  As the hour passed into two, she practiced over and over again, working the magic like a muscle. Each time she drew on the power, it became a little bit easier. Exhaustion pressed down on her, but using the magic kept her alert.

  She practiced with air, water, strength, but she couldn’t do much in the limited space. Determined to push harder, she reached beyond the bars and focused on Travers. He was reading on his phone. Curious to see if she had the ability to influence others the way Warrick could, she sent Travers a short message over and over.

  Your nose itches.

  Five minutes passed and she’d almost given up when he rubbed his nose.

  Delight danced along her nerves, and she tried it again.

  Your foot burns.

  It was easier this time. He only lasted three minutes.

  It was like once the connection was forged, he became susceptible.

  The scuffle of feet and the smell of food reached her, then a male called out. “Supper.”

  “About damned time,” Travers grumbled and got to his feet.

  Her young champion Aldrich came into view carrying a tray, and Octavia stood cautiously, wondering if he, too, believed she was a traitor. That’s when she saw a young girl carrying a second tray. When Travers went to reach to take it from the girl, the tray fumbled and the contents somehow ended up smeared down Travers’s front.

  “You bumbling fool!” He swiped at his clothes, but only succeeded in smooshing the gravy and potatoes across his shirt. Bits and pieces plunked to the floor, and he grimaced. The girl cringed away, big tears shimmering in her eyes. He looked ready to smack her, but cleanliness won out and he plucked at his shirt to keep it away from his skin. “The kitchen will hear of this! You will owe me a set of clothing, too.”

  He stormed away, cursing up a storm as he disappeared down the hall.

  “Thank you, Gloria.” Aldrich gave the cowering woman a smile.

  Octavia watched in amusement when the girl straightened, her tears disappeared, and a bright smile beamed back. “My pleasure. I’ve never had so much fun with someone who so totally deserved it.”

  With a little wave, she grabbed the tray and a few of the scattered items and skipped away with a little cackle.

  Aldrich shuffled closer toward the cell, then hissed in a sharp breath and stepped back, rubbing a hand across his shoulder. “I guess opening the cell and letting you out won’t be so easy.”

  “You came to rescue me.” Octavia was floored.

  “Of course.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “You spend your life helping daemons. You have too much honor to turn your back on someone in trouble, or even think of betraying your team.”

  He bent and shoved the tray of food through the slot near the bottom of the door. She stood and walked toward the bars. Now that her adrenaline had worn off, her aches made themselves known. Her body was healing, her ankle still throbbed, the gouges in her back were scabbed over, but the process was slow going. She was still a little off-balance, and she cursed herself for not being on the top of her game when the guys needed her.

  But she would be.

  She just needed to figure out how to access her full abilities.

  She didn’t give a fuck if whatever she tried burned up her insides, as long as it gave her enough time and power to save the guys.

  She crouched, gazing at Aldrich through the bars while she picked up the sandwich. “And how do you propose to get me out?”

  “I’m still figuring that part out.” He gave a what-are-you-gonna-do shrug and flashed her an impish smile. “We have a way out of the compound. One of the lesser daemons is a null. While he’s taking down the power grid, I’ll grab the key.”

  “Can you be ready to move after dark?” Octavia took a quick bite of the sandwich, suddenly starved. She promised to wait for nightfall, but she couldn’t afford to stay longer, not with the lives of her men—her mates—on the line.

  Aldrich frowned in thought, then nodded. “That might work best. They don’t notice us lesser daemons. We’ll move right before shift change, an hour before midnight, and get lost in the commotion.”

  Urgency sizzled along her veins, and she fought against the need break the fucking door to the cell now and run. She shoved another bite of food into her mouth before she could demand they move up the timetable.

  One thing held her back—she refused to put more people at risk.

  “I’ll be waiting. I—” Boots thudded against the floor, and she twisted to peer down the darkened hallway. She whirled toward Aldrich and shooed him away with her hands, bringing her finger up to his lips and mouthed one word.

  Hide.

  He didn’t hesitate, darting away, not even a whisper of air giving away his presence, leaving a tiny string of energy trailing behind him. Octavia reached out and swiped her hand through it, then watched it disintegrate, leaving her fingers tingling from the brush of magic.

  She crammed the last of her sandwich in her mouth, her body starved for calories, then rose to her feet.

  She froze, the air whooshing out of her lungs when Darren stepped into view.

  “You survived!” She rushed forward, barely stopping before she grabbed the bars, elation making her giddy. She scanned the darkened pathway, spotted the shadows dancing along the walls and nothing else, the hope in her chest almost painful. “Where are the others?”

  She grabbed the bars, then grunted when the magic in them seemed to tug at her very bones. Darren shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “We got cut off from them. They seemed intent on targeting Warrick and his men, so I managed to escape with two of my team, and we lost them in the tunnels. After a few hours, they gave up the chase. I didn’t realize the others didn’t make it out until we returned to the compound.”

  Her world bottomed out, and she staggered away, the news delivering a mortal blow. She glanced down, expecting to see blood, her heart crushed on the unforgiving ground, but the gaping wound was inside, one she didn’t think would ever heal.

  “They were taken.” Darren began pacing back and forth. His clothes were stained with black tar, torn and bloodied in spots. Exhaustion slumped his shoulders, but he appeared relatively unharmed thanks to his enhanced healing abilities. “I need your help to get them back.”

  The world rushed back into focus, and her back hit the wall with a thump. She slid down, her tailbone jarring painfully against the crumbling bench, then she launched herself to her feet and raced toward him when what he said registered.

  “They’re alive?” The question emer
ged as a croak, the tiny flame of hope painful.

  “Of course.” He scowled at her in frustration. “Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said? They’ve offered to make a trade…you in exchange for your men and mine.”

  “Does the pantheon know?” Too many thoughts rushed into her head all at once. She plucked at her bottom lip, pacing as she tried to process the news that the guys were alive…and at the mercy of Kronos. “You have to tell the pantheon. When they release me, we can take an army and free all the prisoners, including the guys.”

  Darren was already shaking his head. “It will be much too late by then. The pantheon moves too slowly. It could take days or longer before they would free you…if they free you.”

  Her gut churned with dread, because he was right. While Cassandra might release her from the prison, Octavia’s chances of being allowed to leave when she held the Pythia Stone were slim. She knew she was being reckless, no doubt being manipulated by the one who betrayed them, but she couldn’t leave the guys to die.

  No matter what she did, Kronos had always been her fate. She ran, she fought it, but she would not sacrifice the guys only to delay the inevitable.

  “I agree.” She expected to see triumph in Darren’s gaze, but his expression remained grim. Any doubt that he might have a hand in this mess vanished.

  “I want to go with.” Travers stepped out of the darkness, his stance belligerent.

  “No.” She and Darren both answered at the same time, then shared an aggrieved look.

  “I go, or I ring the alarm.” He narrowed his gaze when Darren took a threatening step toward him. “If I don’t report back every twenty minutes, they’ll know she escaped.”

  With a huff of frustration, she prowled around her small cell, practically able to feel Travers’s neck snapping in her grip. She gritted her teeth and spit out a simple question. “Why?”

  “So you don’t fuck anything up.” He strutted forward, running a hand down the front of his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles. “I don’t trust that you’ll go through with your end of the deal. Taking me with will ensure that you do.”

  She wanted to laugh in his face at his absurd conviction that he could force her to do anything. She had no doubt the only reason he volunteered was for the recognition and the privilege he would earn if he survived.

  The urge to refuse danced at the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t risk it. “If you fuck this up, you won’t be coming back.”

  He sneered at her threat. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Dammed if this asshole wasn’t going to get them killed.

  Blowing out a breath, she ignored Travers and turned toward Darren, leaving it up to him. He gave a resigned nod and spoke. “Let’s go. Two of my team are waiting by our truck.”

  It didn’t take long for Travers and Darren to free her. As they wove through the dank prison, she realized that she’d been locked up in the luxury suite. The rest of the place deteriorated with every step, water trickling down the walls, the air stale with a hint of mold, every breath feeling like she was inhaling dirt and grime.

  Instead of heading toward the elevators as she expected, they wound deeper into the earth, and she began to worry that they might be walking her to her grave. They turned a corner and came to a dead end, the walls chipped and crumbling.

  Darren placed his hand on the wall, muscles bulging when he pushed, and a tiny crack gaped open. He stepped back to let her go first. When she moved forward, Travers elbowed her aside and disappeared into the darkness. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, took a deep breath for patience, then followed the jackass.

  The pathway was narrow, the rocks gouging and scraping against her as she edged past. The incline was steep, almost like stairs, the stones a combination of moss and slime that squished and slid under her shoes, trying to suck them back down into hell.

  The cool air was damp, almost clammy, and her shirt clung to her as they followed the never-ending spiral passageway ever upward until her legs burned. After what felt like hours but could only have been twenty minutes, they emerged into the small weapons room. She blinked in the dim light, feeling like a mole emerging from a long winter underground.

  A phone rested at the corner of the desk, and she quickly snatched it up and pocketed it. “Is there a bathroom where I can wash off the prison stink?”

  Travers opened his mouth to snark at her, but became distracted when Darren entered a code into the armory and waved her toward a door on the opposite side of the room.

  Travers harrumphed in her direction as she scurried off, then began to squabble with Darren about weapons. She carefully shut the door and pulled out the phone. Her fingers hovered over the keypad, indecision making her hesitate.

  Things were moving too fast, slipping out of her control, and she didn’t like it. Too many things were being left to chance. No matter what happened between them, Thomas had been her friend since before they became cadets. He might have betrayed her, held her at gunpoint only a few days ago, but he still deserved a warning. Despite everything, she didn’t want to see him hurt.

  Her internal debate might not even matter. She wasn’t even sure if he kept his second phone after their friendship imploded. They got it when they first entered the service to use in case of emergencies. After everything that happened between them, she doubted if he would even check the messages. But she had to try. Even if he hated her, he wouldn’t wish her dead—she was literally betting her life on it.

  Turning on the water, she dialed the number, then bit back a sigh when she reached his voice mail.

  “Thomas…” She hesitated over his name, tempted to hang up, when she remembered the boy who protected her when they were conscripted into Kronos. “I know you told me not to contact you again, but trouble is coming your way. You need to get out. I know you don’t trust me, but I don’t want you to get caught up in it. I…I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”

  She ended the call, then took a fortifying breath before turning off the phone and dropping it in the trash. She splashed water on her face, staring at the stranger in the mirror, and prayed she didn’t just get them all killed by trusting the wrong man.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Warrick

  As they drove closer and closer to Kronos headquarters, dread gathered in the pit of her stomach like she’d swallowed a bunch of knife-wielding pixies who wanted out. They parked the vehicle in a small clearing about a mile from the main medical building, a frequent drop-off location.

  She followed the men when they exited the SUV…only to stop dead when Darren stood in front of her with a set of heavy-duty manacles, the magic in them vicious and biting even at a distance. Travers waited behind Darren with a smirk, the other two guards standing watch and surveilling the tree line.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, bracing herself for what was to come, then thrust out her arms. She tipped back her head and studied the star-studded night sky as the heavy manacles were clamped around her wrists. Pain snapped up her arm, the magic like railroad spikes were being pounded into her flesh.

  Her magic rose up in retaliation, hissing like a cat ready to attack. Claws pierced her flesh, as if it was staking a claim on her, ready to fight. It took everything in her to calm the magic. It prowled under her skin like a very large, pissed-off panther.

  The metal hadn’t been on her more than a minute, but already, her wrists were numb, the deadening sensation spreading up her arms and creeping across her fingers, consuming her a tiny fraction at a time, like a carnivorous bug.

  “Sorry.” Darren gave the manacles one last tug to make sure they were secure, refusing to look at her. “They insisted.”

  “I understand.” She could only imagine the alternative. The last thing she wanted was to be handed over to them unconscious.

  The Kronos medical team was very unforgiving where it concerned their experiments. Subjects ceased to be human as soon as they were admitted to the medical bay. She’d been a fool for ign
oring her instincts when she was a cadet. Since it was normally how orphans were treated, she didn’t sense anything wrong. She thought it was standard military care until she learned the truth and saw the cages.

  “Come.” Instead of tugging on the chains, Darren placed his arm around her, his hand resting against her lower back.

  Uncomfortable with the sensation, she took a step away. No, she would face this on her own. Darren gave her a nod, then took the lead, heading toward a clearing halfway between them and the military base. Travers trailed after them, taking pleasure in shoving her when she lagged behind Darren’s fast pace.

  When she glared at him after the second shove, he just gave her a toothy smile. “We need to keep up appearances in case anyone’s watching.”

  She bit back a growl, because he was correct. Going against her need to rip off his arm and beat him with it, she turned back around and picked up her pace to avoid his ever-so-kind helpfulness.

  As they entered the clearing, she saw no less than twenty guards waiting for them. A dozen guns were immediately trained on her. Movement in the trees indicated at least a dozen more soldiers were waiting.

  They were surrounded.

  Darren reached back and roughly grabbed the chains and pushed her forward, then kicked her behind the knees with his heavy boots, sending her crashing to the ground. She barely had enough time to catch herself before she face-planted.

  “Here is your precious Valkyrie.”

  Octavia stiffened at his cold tone.

  Something wasn’t right.

  She looked around the clearing, unease crawling along her skin like spiders. “Where are they?”

  Darren didn’t even bother sparing her a glance. “We had a deal.”

  “A deal?” Foreboding bloomed in her chest. “What deal?”

  Darren’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh, a warning for her to keep quiet. “I want Eldon’s body.”

  Blood drained from her head…it was him.