by S. D. Grimm
The worst of it was that they never asked him any questions.
There was no point to the torture except for him to endure pain until Belladonna told Butch to stop. Then she pulsed healing into him.
But never fully healing him. Just gave him enough to make him feel grateful, which he always did.
And he hated himself for it.
Nothing he said or did had any bearing on the amount of torture. He was powerless to stop it. He had no control.
He slid off his pallet, strode up to the cell bars, and clutched them in his hands, even though his left still throbbed from being only half healed. She looked at his hand and frowned as she reached her delicate fingers up to touch it. The warm, familiar caress of healing started to soothe him, but he jerked away.
She cocked an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes. “You don’t need my healing?”
Ryan glared at her. She made him need her healing. Made him yearn for her touch. It was sick. He stilled the urge to spit in her face.
“Let’s see how you fare if you have to spend a whole night without a Healer, pet.”
The cell door opened, and Ryan walked out. Struggling was only a waste of energy at this point. The three men in the doorway would make sure of it. The familiar stench of blood and vomit met Ryan at the door to the torture chamber. Heat pulsed through his whole body, making his fingers tingle and his chest tighten. He couldn’t breathe. His knees shook.
Meaty hands grabbed him. “Don’t fall over.” Butch thudded his back, and the sting of pain shot through every gash.
Ryan leaned over, but Butch steadied him. Phlegm gurgled in Butch’s throat as he laughed. “This one’s almost broken. The light in his eyes has nearly winked out.”
Belladonna’s whip clicked as she pulled it from her belt.
Ryan trembled. Focus. Strong and stoic seemed so far from reach now. Serena’s angelic face filled his thoughts. The only thing he could think about that took him away from here.
Ryan sucked in air, able to breathe again. He thought of her sweet-smelling hair and deep blue eyes. He would not dwell on Belladonna. He would not become her Cain.
Fire pulsed through his veins.
Butch pushed him into a chair. Splintered wood pricked against his open wounds. Rank breath heated his face. Ryan turned away as far as he could in the wooden seat.
Belladonna stood on his other side with her arms crossed. “I think it’s time for the bronze bull.”
“That’ll kill him.” Butch secured a metal cuff around each of Ryan’s wrists, anchoring them to the chair’s arms.
“Make sure it doesn’t, and I’ll heal him.”
Ryan glared at her. “I thought you said no healing today.”
Belladonna’s nostrils flared. Her arm thrust out to her side and a long finger pointed at the bull. “Do it.”
Butch shrugged. “I like to hear their screams in that one, but don’t expect pretty boy to survive.” He strapped Ryan’s ankles into metal shackles.
“Good, I’d rather die.”
The whites of Belladonna’s eyes flashed, and she lunged for Ryan, pressing her hand against his neck and pushing against his throat. “I think it’s time for you to understand something, pet.”
This time he didn’t still the urge. He spit in her face.
“You will pay for that.” She glared as she wiped the saliva from her cheek. The dark spark in her eyes sent a shock through Ryan. He struggled to breathe. Her fingers tightened around his neck. “Remember; all the pain you’ve ever felt is buried in the memory of your body.” She tipped her head to the side and released some of her hold. He gulped in air. “Last time I made you feel my power, it was only a slice of the pain I can pulse into you. I’m your worst nightmare.”
He tried to move away, pressing his back into the chair, but he was trapped. A whimper escaped his throat as her fingers glided over his cheek.
“That’s right. Fear me,” she said.
Ryan trembled.
Belladonna gently stroked his ear. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. Then her smile turned wicked. “My, my, my. It seems you’re familiar with something black and . . . venomous already.”
Heavy paws pressed against his chest again. He couldn’t breathe. Pain slammed into him. The fire flared through every vein. Creator in heaven. It was as though the black lion was attacking him again. He struggled to free his arms and legs to no avail. There was no escape. His back arched and he screamed.
Belladonna chuckled. “And all those whippings?”
No. No, Creator, please. Tears dripped out of his eyes as everything slammed into him. His back seemed to rip open again and again and again all while the venom pulsed in his blood. He screamed so loud he wasn’t sure he was still screaming. Black spots covered his vision and then nothing.
Nothing but black and dark and . . . golden hair. Dark blue eyes. “Hold on, Ryan. I’m coming.”
Hold on? To what? Pain. There was nothing here to hold on to.
Water splashed over his face, and he woke with a start, coughing. He flinched, pulling against the bindings and finding that he was still trapped to that chair. His heart sped and he whimpered, so ashamed of himself.
“Well, that got your attention.” Belladonna grabbed his face. She touched the tip of his ear and he braced himself, holding his breath. A trickle of the pain crashed into him again. He writhed as he felt the pain of his back tearing open repeatedly. “Make it stop! Please!”
Her laughter mocked him. And she leaned closer. He braced for her touch. Yearned for the relief. As her hand cupped his cheek, the pain turned off.
“Th-thank you.” His voice trembled. He opened his eyes, tears leaking out, to see her wicked grin. Something about it sent a shiver through him.
She laughed and released him. “That’s better.”
He couldn’t get air in his lungs fast enough.
“Now that you know what I can do anywhere, anytime, maybe you’ll start behaving like a good pet.” She leaned closer. Her lavender scent churning his stomach. “I also have the power to take all your pain away . . . if you stop denying my healing.”
He nodded.
“What, pet?”
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked.
She stood. “That’s better. Butch, I think you’re right. The bull may be too much for him today. What else did you have in mind?”
Ryan rested his head against the back of his chair and tried to will moisture back into his mouth. Every exhale shook. Belladonna would kill his resolve if she ever did that again. He’d have to make her believe he was her pet. Fast.
Butch rubbed his hands together, then he strode over to the fireplace. He pulled out a metal rod. It glowed red and orange and bright yellow. “Think he’ll scream?”
Ryan’s heart melted.
“Oh, Butch.” Belladonna clapped her hands together. “We’re going to brand him?”
Ryan trembled.
“I was thinking the right side of his chest is the perfect place for the muzzled-dragon seal.”
“It’s perfect.”
Tears leaked out of Ryan’s eyes as Butch brought the brand closer. “No. No, don’t. Wh-whatever you want—whatever you want, I’ll—”
Butch thrust the iron into Ryan’s chest. The hard-backed chair didn’t yield under Ryan’s frantic push. His hands would not free to block him. White-hot iron pressed hard against his skin. It sizzled. Heat warmed his skin. Still Butch held it there. Ryan would be burned clear to his lung. Wait. No scream. He wasn’t screaming.
The scent of hot metal—so familiar and comforting—surrounded him. Dull pain pricked his back where the splinters embedded in his skin. He couldn’t be dreaming. Yet he wasn’t screaming.
Butch pulled the iron away. Where Ryan expected to see his skin dangling from the metal rod, he saw the orange heat of the brand only. He looked down at his chest. There was a raised, red area but that was all. And it faded fast. Belladonna and Butch stared back at him, eyes wide.
Ryan glan
ced at the indelible scar on his left arm, the one that fire had left when he’d played with the flames as a boy. He’d never been burned by fire again after that night, but he thought it was because he’d been more careful.
Belladonna reached out and touched the iron, lingering no more than a second before she pulled her hand away with a curse. An ugly blister bubbled on her finger, healing fast. Her dark eyes met his. “How did that not hurt you?”
“I told you this boy had thick skin, didn’t I?” Butch pointed to him. “I told you I have to whip him harder than any other.”
Belladonna nodded slowly. “He is special.” She tore her gaze away from Ryan and turned to Butch. “Put him in the bull.”
“The Mistress gave me instructions to make sure you don’t kill him.”
“You will not speak a word of this to her. Put him in the bull.”
Butch lumbered over to the fire and placed the metal iron back in.
Ryan stared at the fire. Whatever kind of special gift they thought he had, he didn’t. Maybe he should have screamed.
Butch placed hot coals under the huge statue of the bull. “If this kills him, it’ll be your head.”
“It will be both your heads.” A sickly, deep voice filled the room. The Mistress of Shadows.
Ryan shivered as he felt her presence, cold and clammy. He turned his head toward the bony woman. She looked stronger now, but more pale instead of less. She hunched over as she walked near them, and lowered her hood. At least her hair was no longer stringy.
“Your Majesty.” Butch and Belladonna bowed.
The Mistress motioned to the bull. “Let’s have the demonstration.” The same words she spoke aloud echoed in Ryan’s head. It was as if she was asking him to give his own demonstration. Of what? These people were crazy!
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Butch’s meaty hands gripped a shovel. He thrust it into the hot coals of the fireplace and grunted as he heaved out burning embers. He placed them in the tray under the bronze bull.
Knife my bloody heart. Ryan’s pulse sped. His hands wouldn’t stop sweating. That would kill him. More and more coals piled into the tray. The bull’s belly turned a golden color.
Butch wiped sweat from his forehead. “It’s ready.”
Ryan struggled against Butch and Belladonna as they tied his hands together behind him.
Belladonna laughed. “Got some bite today, pet?”
When his life was on the line, absolutely. Ryan glared at the Mistress, and her voice hissed in his head with a satisfied threat.
He shrugged. “You sure you want to do this? You could lose something very valuable.”
“Really?” Her lips spread in a smile. “I know what you are.” Her laugh resounded in his skull. “You are mine as soon as she breaks you. The transformation will be complete. I will bond to you, Deliverer. And I will have your whole heart.”
A shock of heat jolted through Ryan’s bloodstream. “I’m not a Deliverer.”
“Keep screaming, and I’ll know you’re alive.”
The scent of heated bronze wafted closer as Butch opened the door. Sweltering air poured out. Slammed into his face. Butch and Belladonna’s men tossed him inside. The black lion might as well have been suffocating him; this fear felt the same. He closed his eyes, focusing on Serena’s face, as the heat consumed him. Pushed against him from all sides, trying to melt his bones. His skin. The air he tried to breathe. Sweat dripped down his face, seeped through his clothes, and heated the ropes around his hands as he lay curled up in the belly of the bull. Strange, the heat comforted him, reminded him of being in the forge back home. Muffled voices outside expressed worry.
“Your Majesty, it’ll kill him. He’s not screaming.”
“Patience, Belladonna. Give him a few more minutes.”
Minutes? His heart jolted. Wasn’t he supposed to be playing the dragon in a lair? Ryan screamed. He stomped on the bull’s side and slammed his elbows into the beast’s stomach, all while screaming his throat raw. No one did anything. The voice in his head remained eerily quiet. All at once he stopped and lay still, silent.
“He’s dead?” Belladonna’s voice sounded strained. Could she actually be worried? Could someone without a heart care? No. She just wanted her leverage. So did he. And it was getting hot in there. If they didn’t get him out, he might start screaming for real. The door opened and cool air rushed in, hitting his sweating face and chest. Guards pulled his legs. Ryan kept his eyes closed as they dropped him to the floor. They really could have taken more care with his head.
A hand smoothed his hair. “Pet?”
Fluttering his eyelids for good measure, he looked into Belladonna’s face.
Butch towered above him. “He isn’t even blistered.”
The Mistress studied him with lifeless eyes. “Think you can outwit me?” She turned her gaze to Belladonna. “I want him broken by morning.”
Belladonna smiled and the sight made his stomach churn. “There is one thing that always has him begging for healing.”
Begging? He didn’t beg. He screamed. He . . . yes, he closed his eyes. When they whipped, he always screamed. First, he focused on Serena. Eventually, even the memory of her face wasn’t strong enough for him to ignore the pain. When he screamed her name, Belladonna whipped him harder. But when he pleaded with Belladonna to stop, to heal him, that’s when she let up. If he needed to play that card now, he would. It was time. This dragon would lie and wait until they were close enough to devour. Which meant it was time to play a tame pet.
The guards hauled him to his feet and released his arms. His knees weakened the moment Butch grabbed the whip.
Ryan shook. “Not today. Please, Belladonna.” His eyes pleaded with her, and it was less an act than he wanted to admit.
“Remember, I promised you no healing because you denied it earlier.”
His heart sped so he thought it might burst. “N-no. I’ll do whatever you want.”
They placed his shaking hands into the cool, iron shackles.
“Belladonna, please don’t do this.” His voice quaked.
Belladonna’s warm hand touched his back and he flinched. She chuckled. “I think just one more. If you’re a good pet.”
“I’ll be a good pet.”
She cocked an eyebrow. The whip clinked like a chime in the wind. A whine escaped his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps he was broken after all. He glanced at the Mistress, not caring if she saw fear in his eyes. I’m no Deliverer.
“You are. And your allegiance is almost mine.”
For some reason, he believed her. He looked nothing like his father or mother or sisters. His thirst for adventure had always driven him. And he’d been home with Ethan and Jayden and Serena. Ryan hung with his arms in the metal cuffs as they pulled his arms up to the ceiling. Despite all the fear tugging at his insides, he managed to smile at the Mistress. She could try and break him, but he’d never let her break his friends. That push gave him the strength he needed.
She sneered in return. “I hear you have a delightful scream.”
The black-snake of a weapon danced in his periphery. Strong and stoic.
The first lash struck him, biting into his skin. He would not scream in front of the Mistress.
“I’ve heard you scream before.”
His body jolted forward again. Weight pulled against his shoulders. Another lash stung him, tore away his flesh. Another. He hung his head, unable to hold in another scream. How long it went on he didn’t know. All he knew was he’d never be able to erase the Mistress’s smile from the insides of his eyelids.
He’d never be able to forget the sound of his own anguish echoing off the stone walls.
At last Belladonna put the whip away and they lowered him. He wouldn’t cry, not in front of the Mistress. Two men picked him off the ground and dragged him to her. He hung in their arms, unable to support himself on his own wobbly legs. Sweat dripped off his nose. Every inch of him groaned at the slightest movement. But he met her
gaze.
Her eyes creased in the corners from her satisfied smile. “I think you are ready to serve me.”
He kept his voice soft, and his face meek, but his heart pulsed with hate. He locked it away so she wouldn’t sense it. “Yes . . . Your Majesty.” His own voice scratched his burning throat.
She arched an eyebrow. Maybe she would think he had broken after all. Maybe the dragon would win this round.
Chapter 17
Deep and Sorrowful
Cool autumn air brushed Jayden’s cheek as she woke to morning light trying to break through the clouds. The steady rise and fall of Ethan’s warm chest against her back comforted her. She’d hardly slept. Today they moved closer to the palace. To war.
War.
Something she’d been fighting for months and still wasn’t ready to be a part of.
It seemed everything she’d fought for so far, everything she’d lost, was a strange memory. That she’d wake when this was over and see everyone who had died again. That she’d be with those she’d met since and loved now. As much as her heart wanted her to fight for that, it could never happen. When this was over, she didn’t know what to expect. Except death.
Thea’s warning still haunted her. Ethan wouldn’t be able to handle her death.
Jayden stared at the sky. A storm churned. Thick and drenching. Her storm. She swallowed her emotions to keep them from filling the sky. If they all died, it better not be for nothing. She’d make sure the Mistress went down with her.
No more mistakes.
The sun tried to peek out from the clouds but failed. Yet it never stopped shining. Serena would say something about hope shining through—hope Jayden would want to cling to but find herself unable to grasp.
Because war always brought casualties.
Anna had been sure of Jayden’s purpose in all of this. Her mother had told her to survive. Was she the right Child? Was she willing to die so the others could live? So they could be free of the Mistress? Of course. Besides, Ethan had told her not to let Thea’s prediction claim the time she had left.
