Desperation made her hands shake as she clutched the two knives. If Samael got a hold of her, he would uncover whatever unknown glitch had allowed her to use the Stone—and then he would kill her. No one would ever find her body. Samael would never chance anyone finding out that he’d abducted the Head Consul’s daughter. He’d destroy all the evidence, including her.
Jamming the end of the towel under the back band of her bra to hold it in place, Piper grabbed the handheld showerhead and turned the taps to full pressure. Water leaked from the joints on the head, but until she pressed the button, no water would be released. Praying the line was long enough, she crept to the curtain, took a deep breath, and flung it open.
Aiming the showerhead right for the draconian’s face, she pressed the release button.
Water sprayed outward in a wild blast—and fell laughably short, showering the floor a few feet in front of her. Panic froze Piper in place.
With a wild cry, Zwi leaped for the draconian’s face.
Piper dove sideways, rolling under the grasping arms of the nearest female daemon and nearly losing her towel as she sprang to her feet. She grabbed a nearby rack of costumes and shoved it into the women. One of them swore loudly.
Piper ran for her life. The dressing room was a cramped maze, but it kept the two male daemons away—until she reached the door. One of them leaped over a box of headpieces and slammed full force into her. She crashed painfully into the doorframe before driving her knee into his gut. He wheezed and staggered back. The second daemon dove in. Remembering she had two knives clutched in one hand, Piper slashed with both of them, slicing the daemon across the face. He lurched back, a hand pressed to his bloody cheek.
Flipping one knife into her other hand, she stumbled into the hallway. As she turned to run screaming for Lyre, one of the women leaped out of the dressing room. Piper backpedalled. Her way blocked, she had no choice but to run in the opposite direction. The woman charged after her.
Piper ran past four doors before reaching a sharp left turn. Skidding wildly, she barely managed to make it around the corner. The woman tackled her, knocking her flat on her stomach. Piper rolled sideways, throwing the woman off her. As the daemon’s hand came up, magic sizzling the air, Piper made a split-second decision. The woman wasn’t trying to kill her, but it was still a life or death situation for Piper.
With her heart in her throat, she shoved her knife into the woman’s gut.
The woman felt back on her rear, the motion pulling the knife out of Piper’s limp hand. She stared at the protruding hilt and whimpered.
Tears of horror sprang into Piper’s eyes. “Oh God,” she gasped. “I—I—”
“No!” the second female daemon screamed from behind Piper. She flew down the hall, rage twisting her features.
Piper scrambled to her feet and bolted. She glanced back and saw the second woman kneeling over the first. Horrified guilt suffocated her; Consuls didn’t kill people. She’d never stabbed anyone before.
She ran away from the sight as much as from the danger. The halls twisted and turned until she found a staircase, and she took it up. She’d been in the Styx’s basement before and had no desire to return to that nightmare.
At the top of the stairs, she burst out into a dusty hallway. The top floor hadn’t been converted from its original warehousing purposes and the labyrinth of offices had been left in a half-demolished state. Not a safe place for bare feet. Gripping her remaining dagger in one hand and her towel in the other, she tiptoed through the debris. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
Her only warning was the crunch of broken glass under a booted foot behind her.
She whirled as one of the daemon men grabbed for her throat. Her knife whipped up of its own accord and opened the man’s arm to the bone above the leather guard protecting him from exactly that. He jerked back, teeth bared, as his partner caught up to him. They spread out, one on either side of her. Piper looked at the bloody knife in her fist. Her heart jumped into her throat.
The two daemons charged.
With her empty hand, she threw a punch at the first one. He blocked it. A fist slammed into her kidney from behind. She screamed. Spinning, she flung an elbow into the chest of the first one. The second daemon grabbed her hand, tearing the dagger from her grip. She kicked out and her heel hit his kneecap with a wet pop. His knee gave out.
The air crackled and a magic blow slammed into her back. She was thrown into the rotting wall of a cubicle and crashed through it. As she landed in the splinters of wood, a dozen stinging slices scored her bare skin. She sprang to her feet anyway and spun around to find the two daemons side by side, approaching in a slow prowl. Both were seriously pissed.
She was in major trouble. One half-naked, unarmed girl was no match for two well-armored daemons. Her bare fists and feet couldn’t do much damage, and she’d lost her dagger before she could decide whether she was willing to kill when the daemons weren’t actively trying to kill her back.
An idea occurred to her and she winced. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Gritting her teeth, she yanked her towel open. Their gazes dropped. They knew she wasn’t naked—her bra straps had been showing the whole time—but they had to check. Men.
They only hesitated for a second, but that was enough. Before they could recover, she threw the towel in their faces and dove past them. Ignoring the furious swearing behind her, she sprinted back the way she’d come wearing nothing but her bra and panties. This was the last time she ever took her clothes off at a club. So much for not flashing anyone.
The door gaped open, beckoning her. She was going to make it. She could outrun the daemons and then lose them on the crowded dance floor; she’d blend right in among the barely-clothed dancers.
She reached the doorway—and slammed into a body as it stepped in front of her. She bounced off and staggered.
The draconian looked at her with ice-cold eyes. Bloody scratches scored one cheek but Zwi’s attack hadn’t done any real damage.
Piper tried to punch him. He easily caught her fist. When she attempted to break his grip, he twisted her arm behind her back, forcing a cry of pain out of her. He pulled her mercilessly back against him and wrapped his other hand around her throat.
Magic tightened the air. Her skin tingled under his fingers. Numbness swept up her neck and filled her head. Dizziness rushed over her. She went limp and couldn’t fight it. The room spun and her skull felt hollow and heavy at the same time.
The draconian released her. As she crumpled, he scooped her into his arms and shrugged her head onto his shoulder. Her body wouldn’t move. Fear sucked at her mind, caught in the numbing fog spinning around and around in her head.
“Are you injured?” the draconian asked the other two daemons.
“We’ll live,” one replied. “She fights like a damn sphinx.”
Insult briefly flared through the fog. Hadn’t she beaten a sphinx? They weren’t that tough.
“Let’s go,” the draconian said dispassionately. “We’ve been here too long already.”
“Are you going to get her some clothes?”
“No. I gave her the chance.”
Piper’s thoughts spun hazily. Why wouldn’t the room stop spinning? She couldn’t tell which way was down. Only the daemon’s arms holding her and his solid shoulder under her aching, whirling head felt real.
Her dizziness increased tenfold when the draconian moved. She almost passed out while being carried down the stairs. Her fuzzy thoughts spun in endless circles. Where was Lyre? How had he missed the squad of henchmen sneaking past him? Unless they’d dealt with him first? Cloudy panic constricted her throat.
She quickly lost track of where they were or how long they’d been walking. Cold air hit her bare skin; they’d left the club. Nausea gripped her stomach. As terror twisted through her, one thought kept swimming to the surface: she would be dumped at Samael’s feet in nothing but her underclothes. That really bothered her, but she would proba
bly be dead by the end of the week anyway. She’d never see Quinn or Calder or Lyre again. She’d never get to make amends with her mom.
The draconian stopped. She hung limply in his arms, unable to move. Her half-lidded eyes revealed a violently tilting, blurred view of a dark alley.
“Going somewhere?”
She recognized that confident, melodious tone. Identification of the voice stubbornly eluded her fuzzy brain as the draconian stiffened, his muscles hardening.
“What are you doing here?” he asked coolly.
“Same as you. It seems there’s something of a waiting list for Piper’s time.” The dangerous, bantering note in the man’s voice tickled her memory and it finally clicked. Shock snapped through her, followed by trembling hope.
The draconian shifted her weight in his arms. “I got her first. You’ll have to wait your turn.”
“I suspect there won’t be any turns left after your master is done with her. You would be Raum, I assume?”
“I suppose I am. And you would be a Ra bastard. I can’t say I know your name.”
Piper wanted to scream his name to sky: Miysis. She also wanted to forcefully remind the Ra heir that he owed her one.
“Four against one, Ra,” one of Raum’s men sneered. Apparently, he didn’t count the woman Piper had stabbed. “Fancy your odds much?”
A moment of silence.
“Actually,” Miysis purred, “it’s seventeen against four. Do you like your odds?”
The sneering daemon swore under his breath.
“You don’t look surprised, Raum,” Miysis added.
Raum shrugged. Piper’s head rolled limply on his shoulder. “I knew they were there.”
“I can see you’re a smart man. If you give me the girl without a fight, we won’t kill you. The Consul Jury can decide your fate. I’m sure they’ll be lenient.”
Considering Raum had kidnapped the daughter of a Consul, “lenient” wasn’t the word that came to mind. Raum shifted her limp weight to one arm, his forearm braced under the backs of her thighs so his other arm was free—to fight.
“I thought you knew me, Ra.” He betrayed no fear, no frustration, no anger. “Seventeen against one are fair odds . . . for me.”
“Perhaps. But do you think you can defeat us all and protect the girl at the same time?”
“You won’t hurt her.”
“Are you sure? I’m not the one Samael will skin alive if she’s killed.”
The draconian was silent as he considered Miysis’s words. “Fair point, Ra. As I see it, we have two options: Kill each other. Or walk away. I’ll concede the girl in return for your vow that my men and I walk.”
“Let you walk so you can ambush us in an hour?”
“Twenty-four hour truce.”
Miysis mulled it over. “Deal.”
No way. Was Miysis was letting Raum go to save himself a fight, leaving her vulnerable to future kidnapping attempts? His men outnumbered Raum’s four to one. Why was he bailing?
Raum shifted her back into both arms and stepped forward. Everything spun like a whirlpool. When he stopped, she could barely breathe from the dizziness.
“Otir, give me your shirt.” Miysis’s voice came from right in front of her.
Raum passed her over. Miysis wrapped her in a warm, heavy shirt and tucked her against his chest. He smelled like cinnamon and something that might’ve been catnip.
“Lift your spell,” he commanded.
Fingers lightly touched her jaw. Tingles raced over her skin and the dizziness vanished like a popped bubble. Piper’s eyes flew open. Raum didn’t pull his hand away fast enough. She snapped her teeth down hard on his finger.
He hissed and jerked his hand free. She spat out the taste of his blood and squirmed in Miysis’s grip. “Put me down.”
“There’s broken glass everywhere,” he said, squeezing until her ribs creaked.
She glared at him, surprised by the uncanny brightness of his chartreuse eyes. She’d forgotten how eerie and intense they were. His tousled, honey blond hair was exactly as she remembered, his sculpted face just as striking. He smiled pleasantly at her.
“Good evening, Piper. Are you injured?” He flicked a glance at her shirt-covered near-nudity.
Her cheeks flushed. “No.”
He nodded. “Until next time then, Raum.”
“You’re letting him go?” she hissed furiously.
“Yes.”
“He’ll just come after me later.”
“At least you’ll be alive for it.”
Scowling, she twisted to glare at the draconian as he walked away. “Raum!” she yelled.
He stopped five paces away and turned.
She searched his cold face for any sign of life. “You don’t have to obey Samael. The Consulates can protect you.”
He didn’t immediately react. Disbelief touched his features before something flickered behind his eyes. When she recognized it, her blood chilled. Pity shadowed his gaze—pity for her.
“You’re a fool,” he said without emotion. He turned away again.
“Raum, where is Ash? Raum!”
The draconian kept walking.
“Raum!” She lunged forward but Miysis caught her, holding her tight. “Put me down! Raum, what’s happened to him? Where is he? Answer me!”
Her last desperate cry came out in a strangled sob of frustration as the draconian and his soldiers disappeared down the dark alley.
“No,” she choked. So close. The answers had been so close.
Too late. He was gone, along with her best chance at finding out what the hell had happened to Ash.
CHAPTER 4
PIPER slumped at the table, forehead braced in her hands. Despair made her want to cry but there was no way she was breaking down in front of Miysis.
The Ra daemon sat across from her, waiting politely while she regained her composure. It was easier to pretend everything was okay now that she had clothes on, but she wouldn’t soon forget that he’d seen her in her undies. He seemed disappointed with her lack of gratitude but she wasn’t going to worship him for saving her.
“I can’t believe you let him go,” she grumbled to the tabletop.
“We’re very lucky Raum left without a fight,” Miysis said.
She looked up. “Why?”
His eyebrows rose. He tugged down the collar of his casual turtleneck sweater. “I didn’t stand a chance against him.”
A heavy metal collar encircled his neck, ugly against his cream-toned skin.
She straightened in her chair. “You’re still wearing that? Why?”
The collar was a magic-dampening device used to control criminals and the preferred tool of prefects, the law enforcement body that policed daemons and haemons. It was suppressing nearly all of Miysis’s magic—which was a lot of magic. Weak daemons were not heirs to a ruling family’s seat.
“I can’t get it off,” he replied. “No one can. The Gaians must have the key, because we couldn’t find it in the wreckage of the building. Until I can track them down, I’m stuck with it.” He sighed ruefully as he adjusted his shirt to hide it again. “I haven’t had the leisure of pursuing that task yet.”
She blinked, bemused. She’d seen Ash break a collar off his own neck, not once but twice; it seemed Miysis lacked that skill. “Getting it off isn’t your top priority?”
“My top priority is finding the Sahar. Which brings us to the reason I came here tonight.”
She held his stare. Dropping her gaze would be tantamount to surrender.
“Heya,” Lyre said, breezing into the room and interrupting their staring contest. He thumped down on the chair between them. His left cheek was red and swollen; she’d been right about Raum taking Lyre out of the equation before confronting her. He was lucky to be alive.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
He grimaced. “Been better. How about you? I see you found some clothes.”
She glanced at the black skirt and sequined red top she w
as wearing with her usual boots. She’d taken the liberty of raiding the dancers’ dressing room for better clothes than what Lilith had offered.
Sighing, she turned back to Miysis. “So what are you doing here?”
“Ah, well, perhaps you’re unaware that I’ve been trying to speak with you for weeks.” His expression was perfectly pleasant but his eyes were slowly darkening. “I visited the Consulate to see you, but your father turned me away. In fact, he forbade me from setting foot on the Consulate grounds again. It was quite a blatant misuse of his power.”
Piper appraised him. His last sentence had sounded like a mild observation, but she suspected the Ra daemon was a lot angrier than he appeared.
“The longer the Stone remains missing,” he continued solemnly, “the slimmer our chances of locating it become. Yet Quinn seems remarkably disinterested in locating the Stone. I wonder why?”
Again, his stare cut into Piper. His irises had darkened to a shade of forest green that confirmed, yes, Miysis was angry. Very angry.
Darkening eyes was the clearest warning sign of a daemon on the verge of shading. By the time their eyes made it to black, a smart person would have gotten far away. Shading was the common term for a purely instinctual state of mind daemons entered when angry or afraid. Shaded daemons were unpredictable, unreasonable, and often explosively violent.
Piper met Miysis’s stare with a scowl, unwilling to let him intimidate her despite the danger. “Well, we’re all pissed at my father right now. How did you know I was here?”
He tapped one finger on the table. “I’ve had people watching the Consulate for three weeks.”
She opened and closed her mouth, speechless. He’d set spies on her?
“I began to wonder whether he’d locked you in the basement. I had imagined you would use your freedom more productively than,” he glanced around the room, “frequenting a disreputable nightclub.”
She glanced around the room too. It was the break room for the bouncers, on loan from Lilith. They were the only ones present. Miysis’s sixteen bodyguards/soldiers were spread throughout the club, keeping an eye on things, as was Zwi, although Piper had tried to convince the sore dragonet to take it easy; she hadn’t escaped Raum without some bruises.
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