by Tarra Blaize
“Yes. Swear.” She shoved the paper back into her bra, watched his eyes follow the motion greedily. “Swear it, you bastard, or I’ll—”
Whatever she was about to say choked in mid-sentence as the portal lengthened and broadened as it grew to accommodate the air demon storming through. She backed up so fast she nearly tripped, but Vyn’s hand lashed out and struck her across the face. Her head met the wall and sparks the same color as the air portal danced and swam sickly. She fell to the floor hard, ankle screaming, as Vyn bent over her. Feebly, she kicked and shoved, baring her teeth to sink them into his restraining arm. But he was too strong. He batted her away as if her fists were no more than flies and roughly yanked the piece of paper out of her clothing. Mission accomplished, he struck her once more, and as she lay there stunned, he turned to head back into the portal.
“No!” she cried as she struggled to her knees. “No! No!”
He ignored her, the life of her brother securely in his fist as he stepped back through the portal.
“How dumb do you think I am?” she screamed. “Those aren’t the real names!”
He froze at her bluff and turned around. His cold eyes were nearly pulsating. “Then where are they?”
“In my head.” She could make up names, recall names she’d looked up for Gethin, anything. She could do anything, everything. She had to. “I’ve memorized them. I don’t trust you, Vyn. And with damn good reason.”
With a frustrated sound, the portal around Vyn began to widen. Layla got to her feet and was heading towards it when Vyn gasped sharply and the portal stopped growing. His gaze went past her shoulder.
“He’s blocking the portal,” he breathed. “Get here, fast. Give me those names or I assure you, Nathanial will die long after you do.”
Layla looked over her shoulder to where Vyn’s gaze was riveted in horror. Her shocked stare collided with Gethin’s astonished one as he froze in mid-stride. A rent in the air went right by his ear, but he didn’t even flinch.
“Layla!” Vyn bellowed, and she looked at him blankly. “You need to crawl through this.” Sweat beaded his brow as he struggled against the unseen force that prevented him from getting to her.
Nathanial. She had to save Nathanial.
She started to crawl towards the air demon, not even trying to get to her feet, as a roar that nearly shook the ceiling down drowned out every other sound in battle. Terror filled her mouth with hot sand, and she looked behind her to see Gethin charging towards her. His eyes—God save her—the entire orbs were a vicious blood red, focused on her, murderous rage radiating from every pore. An air demon tried to block Gethin’s way—he simply collapsed, blood dotting out of his pores and pouring in rivulets from his nose.
“Layla!” Vyn called out, desperate, reaching out for her, but it was too late. She felt all of Gethin’s powers crash over her. Her blood raced, raced so hard that her heart stuttered. Blinding pain flashed through her head and set her limbs on fire. She felt her arms give way, the distant slap as her cheek hit the ground beneath her.
She had to get to Vyn. She had to get to Vyn, or Nathanial would die. But as her vision faded and someone flipped her body over roughly, the last thing she saw was a closing portal transition into a snarling face with hard, red marbles for eyes, eyes in which she saw her own death before darkness mercifully swept her under.
Chapter Three
The pain in Layla’s head was the first signal that something was wrong. The sharp stabs at the base of her skull were unrelenting in their rhythm. She shifted in an attempt to avoid whatever was causing it. Instead, she made it worse.
Her mouth felt dry, her skin clammy. Was she sick? No. She would have been in bed, at her apartment. Upon opening her eyes, she realized that being home with the flu would have been, by far, the better scenario.
She was in a tiny room so blindingly pure and devoid of color that she closed her eyes as soon as she opened them. Her body was lying on something hard, lumpy and uncomfortable.
Gethin. The air demons.
Nathanial.
She forced herself to open her eyes and get up, panic fueling the adrenaline rush that coursed unfettered through her body. Aches and bruises screamed in protest, but she ignored them, sitting up straight and forcing her tired eyes to take in her surroundings, analyze what the hell had happened.
Speaking of hell—had she died? Apparently not. She was in a room with white walls, white ceiling and a white floor. She was lying on a small bed, there was what looked like the most primitive of toilets in the corner, and the only exit was a large white door marked only by hairline cracks.
She got up, wincing when she tried to put weight on her ankle and failed. Hopping to the door revealed what she already suspected—the door certainly could open, but not from her side. This was a cell in all sense of the word—and come to think of it, she didn’t even know if it could open. Perhaps Gethin had buried her alive in this small tomb. Or perhaps he was just going to hold her here until she went insane.
He wouldn’t have to wait long at all for that to happen, she thought grimly. Because he’d stuck her in here, utterly helpless with Nathanial in dire danger. And there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all.
She let her back hit the wall, and then, with a muffled scream, she slammed into the wall. Her whole back stung, but it didn’t help. It didn’t change anything except prove how thick the walls were—she didn’t even hear a muffled thud when she hit it.
But chances were someone was either watching her or guarding her. Keeping quiet might keep her alive longer, but she had to get out, had to get to Nathanial somehow. In the meantime the air demons would probably soon realize the document they’d taken from her was indeed the real deal—hopefully that would keep them absorbed for a few days, long enough for her to get out of there.
“Hello?” she called tentatively.
Nothing.
She knocked firmly on the door. Then she pounded it with her fists until tears poured unchecked and her breath exploded out of her lungs in huge, violent gasps. After what felt like hours, she let her hands remain pressed against the cool surface and placed her forehead between them. “You have to let me out,” she whispered. “You don’t understand. You have to let me go.”
The words were spoken to herself, but to her surprise, she heard a distinct click-slide-whump of several locks being opened. The door swung open so fast she didn’t have enough time to catch her balance on her injured ankle.
She fell flat on her face, stunned.
“Get up,” a familiar voice said harshly.
Startled, she scrambled clumsily to her feet, reaching out a hand without thinking. “Todd! You’re alive!” She could have wept in relief. She’d managed to save one person, at least. But any possible happiness was dashed as he shifted to avoid her touch, his sweet face set in angry, unforgiving lines.
“Don’t touch me, traitor,” he snarled. “Don’t even talk, because whatever you’ll say will be nothing but a falsehood. And I assure you it is in your best interest to be very honest in the next few hours, because the boss isn’t going to let himself be fooled a second time.”
Stunned, she let him bind her hands behind her. She couldn’t escape. She could try. She still would. But Todd had a hand clamped over her restrained arms and was roughly hauling her down the hallway, turning into another… She felt what little calm she had left in her drain away when she recognized some of the rooms.
She was in the basement.
Without any conscious decision, she jerked her body hard in the opposite direction. His hand slipped with a surprised grunt, and Layla tore off, trying to lean as much weight as she could on her other leg. Her ankle threatened to buckle with each step. Knowing what she would face gave her the strength to keep going until Todd caught up.
“No!” she screamed. “You’ve got to let me go! You don’t understand! I-I—” She choked on the words as Todd simply tossed her over his shoulder and carried her kicking and screaming un
til he opened a door and dumped her on the ground beyond it. She got one look at his set jaw before he untied her hands and locked her in yet again.
Wishing she could wipe her nose, Layla wearily sat and scooted around until she had her back to the wall She didn’t even feel anything but vaguely nauseous when she realized she’d seen this bloodstained table before—on one of her unofficial building tours in her first week.
This was Gethin’s playroom, and she was soon to be just another broken toy.
Indeed, she felt like a broken toy as she sat there and wondered miserably how much she could tell Gethin without risking him going after her brother as well.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the door right next to her opened slowly. She didn’t need to look at his face to know who was walking in—the weight of authority lay heavily in the air about him.
She didn’t know what she expected him to do. Cause her blood to leak from her ears. Pick her up and break her bones. Unleash his bloodlust and drain her.
He certainly seemed to be in the right mood. His entire body was clothed in soft black material. His body seemed tense, coiled and braced for action. He simply stood there, the leathery material of his boots a mere whisper from her bloodstained feet and smudged, grubby legs exposed by huge tears in her pantyhose.
Her skirt was ripped too, high enough that she would have normally turned bright red in embarrassment. But all she felt was a dull pain in her chest. Nathanial.
Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched and spun out endlessly. All the unspoken emotions clouded the air between them as she sensed his stare boring into the top of her bent head as she studiously examined the neat stitches in his black jeans.
And then, as if someone had flipped a switch, he snapped. An unearthly roar ripped from his chest, and the heavy metal table flew into the wall with a mighty heave. The ceiling shook, the ground trembled and a dent the depth of her head appeared where the furniture had landed. The two chairs were next, hurled over and over again as he took out all his rage and frustration on the inanimate objects in the room. She curled up into a little ball and waited.
He finished abruptly, his heavy breaths amplified in the deadened air. On the periphery of her vision, she watched those boots stalk closer, closer, until he was next to her. She didn’t have the courage to look up, to see if his hands were reaching for her next, his eyes glowing with a lust soon to be sated with her very own life.
Should she tell him she was blackmailed? If she did he’d ask her what leverage the air demons had over her. She couldn’t know for sure if he would save Nathaniel or kill him—and just because she thought Gethin might be a demon she could trust didn’t mean she was ready to stake her brother’s life on it.
She’d been betrayed enough to know that those closest always stabbed the deepest. A husband? He’d see right through that. Money? That was begging to be murdered where she sat. A threat to her own life? But then there was that gaping hole of why she hadn’t just begged him for protection—especially as she had the nagging suspicion that he would have kept her safe, and not only out of sexual attraction.
As she struggled to come up with a believable story, she looked up at him. And flinched.
If she had ever wondered if demons could have anguished souls, her answer would have been found in his eyes.
“I had to,” she whispered as he dropped in a fluid harmony of muscle to kneel at her side, one hand stroking her neck almost lovingly.
“I know you’re going to kill me. And I accept that. But you have to believe me. I had to do this.”
He was silent for a moment. “I don’t have to believe a single damn word that comes out of your pretty little lips,” he finally whispered huskily. He made no movement to wipe away the sheen of perspiration that coated his bare arms and face, or to brush at the trickle of sweat that slowly traced the hard line of his jaw before dropping down his neck. His eyes were sharp as knives and only inches from her face as he leaned forward. “And what makes you so sure I’m not going to keep you alive?”
She briefly shut her eyes, unable to face his probing assessment. His breath fanned over her averted face, stirring tendrils of her hair. “You have to believe me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m telling you the truth. How can I prove it to you?”
“You can’t, of course,” he chided her gently. “Many traitors start off by telling me that they’re innocent. I must admit, you did a good job. With your nervous attitude, pretty blonde hair, understated appearance… You must have laughed so, having me wrapped around your delicate little finger.” His fingers surrounded one of hers and tightened around the joint, demonstrating just how delicate it really was. “And when I start snapping these, you’ll scream out how it wasn’t your fault. And when you start bleeding, you’ll be too busy screaming to lie anymore. And after half your body’s mangled beyond recognition—be that in the next hour or the next week—then I’ll start taking what you have to say seriously.”
“Fine.” She was broken. Dull and broken and so tired of it all.
“Fine?”
She didn’t have to look at him to see his sardonic expression.
“You’re accepting of this being your fate?”
She laughed, her throat dry and hoarse. “I don’t really have a choice, do I? But you need to promise me something.”
Gethin stiffened, and she grabbed his leg. It was unyielding iron beneath her pleading fingers. “You have to promise me to protect someone. From the air demons. That’s all I ask.” She expected a refusal, a denial, for him to laugh in her face. Any reaction so that she could launch into a sob story about a false child, to gauge whether he could truly help her.
But instead, he got up, jerked his leg from her grasp and left the room, leaving her shaken and bewildered.
Chapter Four
After being escorted back from a bathroom by a granite-faced Todd, Layla found food waiting for her. Clearly, Todd didn’t think she deserved the respite, and slammed the door on his way out. Not knowing when the next meal would come, she ate, and she ate fast. When she had finished the last of the toasted garlic bread layered with cheese, salami and prosciutto—surely Gethin wouldn’t kill her while that was still in her stomach—Todd appeared again to silently remove the empty plates and lock the door behind him. She was alone again with nothing to keep her occupied.
She’d gotten bored of limping about, was tired from the random bouts of weeping, and had just finished mentally prepping herself for many more hours of misery when the door opened and Gethin strode in, his face just as blank as Todd’s. Damn them both. But what small part of her rejoiced at any kind of company soon faltered and dropped dead at the…thing Gethin so casually dragged behind him into the room.
“Is he still alive?” She leaned away nervously as Gethin reached the table where she sat.
Gethin raked the bloody air demon with a contemptuous look as the roped muscles of his arms grew taut with the effort of hauling the dead weight to dump on the table like some sort of grotesque feast. “I damn well hope so. He was screaming just a few minutes ago, and I’d be really fucking pissed if the bastard managed to drop dead before I finished with him.”
“You’re going to kill him here?” Layla gasped. She didn’t recognize him beyond being an air demon, but a living thing was a living thing. She scooted her chair away as fast as possible.
“Well, that depends on you, Ms. Gills.” He grinned, almost rakishly. The charm didn’t spread to his eyes. “I’ve gotten quite a bit of information from him, and while I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean anything to you, I bet you’re just…virginal enough in this whole demon business that you’d let me see if your story syncs up enough to his to give him a peaceful end.”
She slumped in her chair, defeated. “Very well. What do you want to know?”
“What happened then, Layla?” Each time he said her real name he let it roll around his tongue as if it were some kind of foreign delicacy, a sort of morsel
he wasn’t quite sure if he liked yet. The injured air demon was breathing shallowly, but steadily. She kept her eyes focused on a dent in the wall just over Gethin’s left ear.
“I—they told me what to expect from you, what I needed to look for and what data I needed to decode. The air demons told me you’re trying to find someone important. I don’t know who, or why. They want to find this person first, and Vyn’s been trying to catch up to whatever information flow you get, but I didn’t give him too many names—”
Gethin was silent for a long minute before transitioning to the previous subject. “I want a list of each name you were able to pass on. What were you taught to expect from me?” From his slouched pose to his crossed legs, Gethin might have looked almost careless to the stupidest of observers. Layla wasn’t sure what answer he was looking for, so she caught her breath before telling the truth.
“Vyn told me—Vyn being the one in charge of me—he told me that you liked blondes.” She saw his eyebrow rise and hurried on. “He said that you were very violent, and very—um, potent.”
Gethin chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees as if watching a particularly intriguing television show. “He actually said I was potent?”
Vyn had told her bluntly that when Gethin wanted to fuck her she’d better go willingly to his bed, but she didn’t dare relate that to him. “Something along those lines. I don’t quite recall.”
“Don’t start lying now, Layla,” Gethin drawled. His crimson eyes were sensuous and mocking. “I’m pretty sure you remember everything you were told word for word, but if you’re too shy to admit you were ordered to play the naughty secretary, then that’s fine with me.”
Anger made quick work of embarrassment, and Layla straightened in her seat with a glare scorching enough to wither a lesser man. “I assure you, Gethin, that there is nothing I want more than this whole ordeal to end. So please, can we conclude this as soon as possible?”
His face became unreadable, blank where there had been a gleam of laughter before. “I believe I’ve told you this can only end in one way.” Quiet reproof stroked across each of the heartless words he uttered.
