by Lexi C. Foss
“What do you think, dear?” Osiris asked.
Sierra was dressed in black slacks and a tank top, by far the most conservative of all the women she’d seen here tonight. Something about the short, plump woman was familiar. Her short blonde spikes and the metal bar through her nose were memorable traits. She must have seen the woman enter earlier while looking for her parents’ murderer.
Her hand wavered a little, belying her confident stance, as she touched the brunette. Blonde lashes fluttered, closed and reopened, her stare blank.
“I sense nothing, Sire.”
“Really?” His expression indicated surprise to the crowd, but something about it was wrong. A slight flattening of the mouth, imperceptible to the back of the room but noticeable to those in the front, indicated he was holding something back.
“She’s not a fledgling, Sire.” Sierra gave a slight bow of her head and turned to leave, a flush creeping into her cheeks. In two seconds she would spot Stas. Would she recognize her for what she was? Her birthmark flared. She fought the urge to scratch it, knowing it wouldn’t ease the burn.
“Stop.” One word, lined with power. It reverberated around the room, but was directed at Sierra. “Don’t move until I tell you to.”
Unease skittered a path down Stas’s back, touching every nerve. She felt the urge to obey once before tonight. To feel it again contradicted coincidence. She wasn’t the only one in this room with the gift to persuade, and it appeared Osiris wielded it far better than she ever could.
“Carl, join us.” Another demand, tightening her stomach into knots. For years she hated her ability to compel, yet this man used it without conscious thought. He wielded it like a whip, controlling the room with mere words. It was her deepest fear that she would one day become like him. That was why she fought her gift. She refused to force her will on others because it was addictive, and some part of her, a very dark part, enjoyed it.
A dark skinned man stood up, his stony expression didn’t falter as he strode down the stairs. He didn’t look at Sierra as he stepped onto the stage. All he did was raise a single bushy eyebrow in question at his leader, his head bowed in respect.
“Are you aware of your progeny’s evening activities?” Osiris asked.
“Sierra bartends at Louie’s.”
Stas’s stomach dropped at Carl’s mention of Owen’s favorite bar. She went there with him a few weeks before he died. Was that why she recognized Sierra?
“Yes, indeed she does. And do you know who was a frequent visitor of the establishment?”
She was starting to suspect where this conversation was going, what all of this was about. A Hydraian masquerading as a graduate student. An Ichorian assisting him. The same Ichorian bartending at her dead friend’s favorite bar.
“Owen Angelton.” Two words confirmed what she already knew. She focused on her breathing, keeping it steady despite the deepening urge to hide. Her life depended on it.
“You see,” Osiris continued, “I’ve been trying to piece it all together, and how shocked was I when I learned he frequented your progeny’s club on a weekly basis? Yet she never mentioned a word to me. Interesting considering her ability, is it not?”
Carl’s stony mask didn’t falter. His beady black eyes still refused to acknowledge the now trembling Sierra. She suspected if the woman wasn’t frozen in place by Osiris’s command, she would have tried to run. But she was trapped on the stage, facing a crowd of murmuring demons. They were growing angrier by the second, having come to the same conclusion as Stas about Sierra. She was the one who aided and abetted Owen’s stay in the city. The brunette on the floor was just for show; an innocent found at the wrong place and time.
“Jarod, you’re a telekinetic, right?”
The scrawny man’s nod was unsteady. “B-but only with objects of a c-certain weight and within d-direct line of s-sight.”
“Right. Useless. Go back to your seat.” A cold assessment that almost made her feel sorry for the man, until she looked at the dark haired woman again. Seeing her cowering in her own filth made it impossible to pity her accuser. He deserved the set down and worse.
He was halfway up the steps when Osiris stopped him. “Oh, and Jarod? Good prostitutes are all hypnotic. That’s how they make their money. Try not to waste our time next time.” She half expected him to use the fiery redhead to underline his statement, but he flicked his wrist in dismissal instead, his focus going to the woman on the floor. The meek man slunk back to his seat, his posture publicizing his humiliation. He would think twice before making ridiculous accusations in the future. Asshat.
“Now, what do I do with you? It’s possible you’re gifted, but how will I know for sure? Can’t trust anyone these days. Decisions, decisions.” Movement from her right startled her. Aidan’s hand waved just once, low over the armrest, but enough to draw notice. “You have a suggestion, Aidan?”
All eyes turned in their direction, making her uncomfortable. The lack of response in Issac’s posture indicated he wasn’t surprised by Aidan’s boldness. Osiris seemed to share the sentiment, his expression showing mild interest.
“An auction,” Aidan announced.
Stas’s stomach revolted at the calm way he said it. Some stupid part of her hoped he would play savior to the poor girl, but those two words implied something else entirely. He was just as evil as the rest of them.
Admiration glimmered in those ancient green depths, a smile playing over his lips. “When?” Osiris asked.
“After the trial. To lighten the mood and perhaps inspire the famished?” Anya seemed to approve as she nipped Aidan’s lip when he was finished speaking. He gave her an indulgent smile before redirecting his focus to the center stage.
They were talking about auctioning off an innocent woman as if she were property, not a living, breathing human being. Who does that?
“Excellent. Mike, give the girl to Aidan. He’ll watch her until the auction.”
“Happily.” His harsh tug on the leash caused the woman to choke. Dark hair swept the floor as she crawled along behind him, muttering epithets and threats along the way.
Stas felt a measure of respect and kinship for the woman. Being beaten, starved, and dragged around by a metal leash hadn’t dampened her fire. If she ever found herself in a similar position, she hoped to maintain the same spark and derision.
“Charming.” Issac remarked, his tone cold. It sounded nothing like the man who held her up against the wall a short while ago. Nothing like the man the treacherous part of her trusted. He was just as unaffected as the rest of the room. No remorse at all. No soul. Why did that upset her? He called her a pawn. He was using her and admitted he might get her killed. Of course he had no remorse. He was a demon just like the rest of them.
“Anya?” Aidan prompted when Mike held out the leash. She gave her lover an openmouthed kiss before reaching out and taking the rope into her hand. She leaned down to pet the girl, running gloved fingers through her dark hair and down her neck. It was sickening.
“Do try to contain your gift, yes?” Osiris’s gaze was affectionate as he addressed Anya.
Mischievousness glinted in her dark irises as she gave him a little wave. “I’m wearing protection.”
Several chuckles vibrated around the room, including one from the demon under her. His hold around her abdomen loosened just enough for him to draw his fingers up and down her side. She hated that it comforted her. Hated more that her pulse fluttered when his thumb brushed the underside of her breast.
It went against logic to feel secure with him, yet her body was at ease against his despite the murderous tone in the room. Instinct urged her to cuddle closer, lean her head against his shoulder, while her brain fought against it. The internal conflict left her confused.
All thought shut down the moment Osiris wrapped his hand around Sierra’s throat. He dragged her backwards and tossed her unceremoniously into the chair. Carl watched with dead eyes, his arms crossed over his chest.
�
�Let the trial begin.”
Trial meant torture.
Osiris started by calling three mindreaders down from the audience. Then he used them only to confirm Sierra’s responses to his question. If one of the telepaths expressed an inkling of doubt in her answer, he would ask the question again. It wouldn’t have bothered her so much if he wasn’t peeling off Sierra’s skin each time he spoke.
He stripped the woman first. Something Stas thought was meant to humiliate her, until he requested Mike hand him a razor. Sierra’s eyes had gone wide at the sharp instrument, her head shaking back and forth in denial.
Before the trial started, Issac shifted Stas on his lap to make her more comfortable. Or maybe to better control her reactions. She wasn’t sure. Her legs were draped over the arm of the chair while her back rested against the opposite armrest. His palm was on her exposed thigh, his thumb drawing circles just under the hem of her dress. The other hand hung near her side, his arm wrapped around her back.
He nibbled and kissed her neck at various times throughout the proceedings; a way to distract her from the violence radiating off the floor in front of them. It gave her the excuse she needed to look away and meet his reassuring blue gaze. Whenever he started to make her feel safe, Sierra’s screams would bring her back to the present.
She looked nothing like she did an hour ago. Osiris had started on her head, scalping her short blonde spikes, before moving down to her breasts and lower. The room was tense as he started on her left leg.
“Why was he in New York?”
He left most of her face untouched, to make it easier for her to speak, he said. Her words still came out too garbled for Stas to understand, but she gathered the answer was something along the lines of “I don’t know.”
“Truth,” all three telepaths spoke at once.
“A pity he didn’t tell you why he was in New York.” Osiris commented as he wiped the razor on a towel Mike handed him. The only real information he coaxed out of her was that Owen paid Sierra handsomely to keep his presence a secret and also to give him crucial intel on when the Conclaves were scheduled. She said he liked to get out of town before all the Ichorians arrived.
Otherwise she didn’t know much. She couldn’t even confirm if the dark haired woman was of an immortal bloodline or not because she never used her gift to read her. The latter infuriated several observers in the room, causing Osiris to raise a hand and request patience. He was making an example of the woman, making sure no one else defied him. He would entertain no disruptions, not while carrying out his lesson.
Stas wondered if the violence would persuade her demon to tell everyone the truth about her immortal bloodline. Probably not. It would take more than a lesson to break him. He seemed at ease with her lounging in his lap as he watched the proceedings with a bored expression, an indication that torture wasn’t new to him. Osiris said earlier he was fond of Issac’s proclivity for punishment. Did he conduct himself in a similar manner? Using razors to tear off pieces of flesh? She didn’t want to know.
A leathery bit of skin fell to the floor, coming from the woman’s thigh. Another question hung in the air, this one about anyone else she knew in the city aiding Hydraians. She responded in the negative between shrieks while the hive of telepaths confirmed her truthfulness.
Satisfied, Osiris stood and traded the razor for a clean towel from Mike. Carl picked up a bottle from the side of the room and walked over to help rinse the blood from the older man’s hands. It was all seamless, as if rehearsed. Was this a normal meeting occurrence?
“Tristan, would you mind?” Osiris asked while placing a ring back on the index finger of his freshly cleaned hand.
“Of course, Sire.” Tristan responded, the room falling quiet. She didn’t understand at first, thinking everyone was still because of whatever Osiris meant for Tristan to do. Then the real reason for the silence registered. Sierra’s agonized screams were no longer piercing the air. She was alive, shrieking, but no sound escaped her bloody lips. Tristan silenced her. Holy shit.
He was lounging behind her, petting Clara’s arm. His hazel eyes twinkled devilishly at her. “Impressed, pet?”
Yes. Not that she would admit it out loud. He could control sound. What a terrifying and powerful ability. No wonder Issac tolerated him.
“I’m assuming no one else has any final questions or last words for the accused?” Osiris’s voice carried an ominous chill, making her shiver.
With some reluctance, she managed to turn back around. Sierra couldn’t move, not because of any straps, but because Osiris commanded her to stay still while he skinned her. He could have demanded she stop screaming as well, but her reactions were all part of the show. His engaging Tristan only added to the theatrics.
“Well, hearing none, I think it’s time to deliver punishment.” Right. Because skinning the woman alive wasn’t enough. “Sierra, Ichorian daughter of Carl, I find you guilty of breaking one of our most sacred laws. Consorting with Hydraians is a crime punishable by death. Carl, as is custom, I leave you the honors. You know what to do.”
The tension in the room said it all. This wasn’t just about punishing Sierra, but him as well. Osiris referred to her as Carl’s daughter and progeny. Did that make him responsible for her actions?
Carl left the room, returning several minutes later with an archaic sword and a bottle of clear liquid. The sight of it had tears falling from Sierra’s eyes. She was pleading with him, but he appeared unmoved. Holding the bottle over her head, he showed the overproof hard liquor label to the audience before upending the contents.
Issac caught her hand before she could bring it up to cover her mouth. An instinctual reaction, the same as the gasp that fluttered passed her lips. It was lost to the murmurs of excitement in the room as the sadists took glory in the woman’s pain. Stas’s stomach churned at the sight of her silent screams. She couldn’t even imagine the pain of alcohol hitting raw flesh, but the woman’s face was a mask of agony.
Carl exchanged the sword for the woman’s discarded shirt before pulling a lighter from his pocket. Flicking it to flame, he held it under the cloth and watched as it started to burn before tossing it onto Sierra’s lap. It ignited with the alcohol, engulfing her in a blue and orange flame. Through it all she remained still despite the agony she must have felt, a true indication of the power in Osiris’s persuasion.
The realization unhinged Stas. Despite sharing a similar ability, her nerves would never allow her command to hold such power. She was too caring, too empathetic. Torturing someone with her voice would break a fundamental part of her. It would be irrevocable.
Carl watched her burn, his expression never changing. Memories assaulted Stas as she remembered her parents dying in the flames. The acrid scent coming from the middle of the room made her eyes burn. She blinked away her tears, resolved not to react, but her heart ached.
This is what happened to Owen. Did the Conclave do this to him? The crime scene resembled the acts unfolding before her, but Osiris said he wasn’t aware of her friend’s presence in the city. So if the Ichorians didn’t kill Owen, who did?
Carl picked up the sword and swung the blade at her neck with a skill and swiftness not many possessed. Her fiery head toppled onto the floor, landing near Osiris’s foot. He eyed it with distaste before addressing the executioner.
“Let this be a lesson to you, Carl. I allowed you to clean up your mess this time. I won’t be so lenient on your next offense.”
“Thank you, Sire.” He bowed before leaving the room, sword and bottle in hand. The body continued to burn in his wake.
“Now, let’s have some real fun.” Osiris clapped his hands twice and smiled jovially at the audience. This man was the devil. There was no need to explain the lesson to the crowd. It was all part of the show. Overstep the rules and receive Sierra’s fate. What was Issac thinking keeping her alive? If anyone found out, he would find himself in that chair.
She met his blue gaze and he gave her the subtlest of nods.
Was that an acknowledgment of the risk he was taking every day to keep her alive, or a compliment to her remaining calm throughout the proceedings? She couldn’t tell. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“You all know how this works,” Osiris was saying from his place on the stage. The dark haired woman was by his feet again, Mike having dragged her away from Anya. “If you’re interested, step forward.”
“Wish me luck.” Anya said as she stood on her stiletto heels, and strolled onto the stage. Her long legs and torso were clad in black leather, as were her hands and arms. She proceeded to peel off the gloves that went up to her elbows and placed them with great care on the floor beside her. Several Ichorians who were making their way down to the stage took one look at her and went back to their seats.
“She decided she wants a new toy.” Aidan explained when Osiris raised a dark eyebrow his way. “You know I can’t say no to her.”
“It’s going to make this a very short auction.”
“It’s not my fault no one wants to play with me, Osiris.” She lifted her nails, studying the ruby tint before feigning a yawn. “It’s been so long since my last challenge, I’m starting to get bored.”
He chuckled, his expression softening. “I think everyone got tired of dying, dear.” If he weren’t a sociopath with no respect for humanity, Stas might believe he liked the girl.
Anya shrugged, her hands going back to her hips as she took in the empty stage. Only the human girl and Mike remained. His hands were held upwards in a gesture of surrender. Too bad. She would have enjoyed watching him die.
“Does this mean I win?”
“It would appear so.” He sounded disappointed, but he grinned as Anya skipped over to the woman on the floor. She crouched down to trace her finger over the woman’s mouth.
“Ow!” She yanked her hand back and waved it in the air. “She bites!” Her dark head swiveled in their direction. “Oh, Aidan, she’s perfect.”
The fond smile he gave her belied his shaking head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”
