by Katie May
Sean had been a part of the guild with me. Plucked off the streets at sixteen years old, he has always been a condescending prick. I don’t understand why Narian chose him. Maybe because he was small and could get into locations the average man could not.
Narian.
Just his name sends anger coursing through me, seeping into my bone marrow. The air around me lights up in a red sheen.
Fucking Narian.
I hate him with an intensity and passion that leaves me breathless. The fucker was the one who gave me a home, a purpose. Trained a ten-year-old boy how to be a lethal killer. He’s also the same man who took that ten-year-old boy’s innocence away.
And yet, he’s the man I’m desperate to find.
“Come on, Sean. I know you still talk to him.” I dig my blade into the werewolf’s neck, and blood sputters out, staining my favorite pair of shoes.
“Go to hell, Damien,” Sean pants before another scream cuts him off. I could use my magic on the simpering fool, but I much prefer getting my hands dirty. Well, bloody.
Twisting the second knife beneath his ribcage, I listen to his satisfying gurgling as more blood erupts from his mouth.
“You’ll set up a meeting with Narian for me, won’t you, Sean?” I pat his bloodied cheek. “I have some questions I need to ask him about a particular job.”
“The Raphael Turner job?” Sean spits, face creasing with pain. “I heard you’re shacking up with the bitch that killed him—”
Before he can finish whatever vulgar thing he’s going to say, I reach a hand into his chest and grab his still-beating heart. His face goes slack, wide sightless eyes staring at something just above my shoulder.
I really hadn’t meant to kill him.
“Oops,” I murmur, dropping the organ onto the ground. He shouldn’t have referred to Nina as a “bitch” then. Just hearing that degrading term causes snakes to come to life in my gut, slithering and hissing.
Using my knife, I cut the ropes that are holding Sean up, and he falls to the ground with an audible thump. While he may not be able to physically deliver my message for me, it’ll still be heard. I had just killed one of Narian’s men. That’s a call to war if I ever heard one.
And this time, I’ll be ready.
Using magic, I eliminate the blood coating my body and run a hand through my slicked-back hair. I shove both my knives into my sleeves before walking briskly down the hall, toward the throne room.
While Blade had instructed me to reach out to my old connections in the guild, he has been working tirelessly to get answers out of the batshit crazy Rion, Lionel Green’s old assistant.
What can I say about Lionel Green? Hmmm.
He’s a self-righteous asshole who believes that all species should be segregated, humans should be slaves, and women should be demoted to the kitchen. He’s a shifter, a powerful one, with four forms, a feat that is nearly unheard of. A wolf, a dog, a human, and a hyena.
What role did he play in Raphael’s death? What does that have to do with Nina?
“Oh, hey, buddy!” Rion lifts his head from where it’s lolling against his chest. Both his eyes are swollen shut, and blood coats his dark skin. His hands are raised above his head, held immobile by magical chains. He swings back and forth like a pendulum.
Blade stands in front of him with an indolent, almost tired, expression. Cain and Abel are leaning against the wall, whispering amongst each other.
That means Bronson is with my Angel.
“Has he talked?” I ask without preamble, stalking forward.
“I’m always talking. All the time. Talk. Talk. Talk. My momma says I have an asshole for a mouth, that I’m always spewing out shit,” Rion says, offering me a deranged laugh.
Crazy fucker.
“In answer to your question, no.” Blade forks his fingers through his thick black hair, looking as if he wishes to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else. Particularly, a certain blind female.
“I told you.” Rion spits some sweaty hair out of his mouth. “I hate Lionel. Yeah, I worked for him. Yeah, I was his little bitch boy for a couple of years.” His laughter increases, cutting off abruptly when a pained cough shakes his body. “But I don’t know anything about his feud with Raphael. Did he hate the guy? Hell yes. But murder him? No fucking idea. Look, I’m only putting up with this shit for my little cuddle buddy. I can easily free myself and kill you all.”
“Please.” I roll my eyes, removing one of my daggers from my sleeve. My hand stumbles across the swath of fabric still wrapped around my wrist—Nina’s dress, from when she bandaged me. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you now.”
“You won’t,” Rion protests with the utmost confidence. “Because you know my snuggle buddy will be sad without her Mr. Scruffles.”
“I want to be Bambi’s snuggle buddy,” Abel whispers to Cain.
Ignoring them, I turn to face Blade. “We have to get going.”
Blade lets out a ragged sigh, stepping back from Rion with a pained expression. The dragon shifter looks tired. Weary. In a span of seconds, he has aged years, maybe centuries. Lines crease his once flawless face.
“Nina still with Bronson?” Blade directs at the twins, and Cain nods once. “Good. She can’t witness this.”
“Ohhh...we’re talking about my snuggle buddy, aren’t we?” Rion rambles. “If you’re going to see her, tell her I miss her boobs. But, like, not in a creepy way. In a cat way. They’re fun to sit on. And tell her that I’m a nice, generous person willing to share her with all of you assholes. Oh! And tell her about the turtle dove. Wait...don’t tell her that. I repeat: do not tell her that.”
A gag is placed in Rion’s mouth before he can verbally run himself into a brick wall.
“Watch him,” Blade instructs the twins, and Abel’s eyes glint mischievously. It’s a dangerous, scary look.
The guys like to act like I’m the most psychotic here, and though that may be true, the others aren’t far behind me. I’m willing to bet my nut sack that the twins will engage in questionable torture techniques while we’re away.
Without another word, Blade stomps down the hall, waiting only a second for me to catch up. We move quickly through the ever-changing passageways, only having to backtrack once when we make a wrong turn.
The tunnels are vast, but we are as familiar with them as we can be.
Finally, we stumble into an immense gray room surrounded by bleachers, all of which are currently occupied. I can’t remember the last time someone cleaned this place, but it doesn’t bother me. It actually adds something to the animalistic environment. Blood stains the cement floors and walls, and a musty smell barrages me, intermingling with the pungent stench of sweat and copper.
Two men stand in the center of the room, in the makeshift clearing the arena-style bleachers create.
Blade’s face could’ve been carved from stone as he walks forward, stopping directly between them. The raucous cheering cuts off immediately when the prisoners set eyes on their king. For the longest time, I thought you could either be vicious and brutal or respected, never both. Blade has proven me wrong.
“A challenge has been issued!” Blade roars, and the crowd cheers, thirsty for blood. Animals. All of them. They live off of the blood and death that occur within these very walls. “Timothy Rojas has challenged Michael Joel to a duel!” The crowd’s noise ratchets up a notch, the energy infectious. I almost want to crack a smile at the bloodlust permeating the air.
We have these dumbass duels once every week in a brutal fight to the death. It’s the way we can maintain control of the prison and everyone inside it. Once a challenge has been issued, you can’t refuse. You either fight...or die. And if you decide to be a little bitch and run away, then it’s open hunting season.
Timothy raises his fists into the air, basking in the crowd’s enthusiasm. Michael, on the other hand, looks as if he wants to shrink into his shell and disappear.
I’ll give him a few minutes.
No words
are spoken as Blade stares between the two men. A silent conversation is exchanged until the dragon shifter steps back, arms crossed over his chest. I stand just to the side of him, in his shadow.
Always his fucking shadow.
The fight begins.
There’s no declaration. No announcement starting the fight. The second Blade steps back, the men charge at each other, throwing punches and kicks.
For such a scared man, Michael is a surprisingly good fighter. Fast. He easily sidesteps every punch thrown his way.
For the first time since the fights have begun, Blade doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself. His eyes are shadowed, haunted, and his tattooed hands are clenched into fists.
“She doesn’t have to know about this side of things,” I murmur, easily able to read him.
“This will break her,” he replies, and I can’t help but agree. My Angel doesn’t do well with violence.
The crowd begins to chant when Michael is knocked down to his knees. Blood leaks into his eyes, but he doesn’t let up. Instead, it only makes him fight harder and faster, the need for vengeance and retaliation the driving force. The sight of his own blood makes his attacks feral and unhinged, each movement gradually becoming more and more chaotic. He delivers a punishing blow to his opponent’s ribs, and the larger man falls to the ground, blood splattering everywhere.
Chest heaving, Michael crouches down, grabs Timothy’s neck, and snaps it.
The cheers and roars are nearly deafening.
Blade steps forward, his frosty persona once more in place. Ignoring the blood still coating the other man’s skin, he interlocks their fingers and holds their hands up in the air.
“We have a winner!”
I stare at the faces in the audience salivating for blood. For death. For pain.
No, my Angel can definitely never learn about this.
Chapter 24
Nina
“I want to see Mr. Scruffles,” I say abruptly, grabbing the dice off the table before Cain can roll them. Through Damien’s eyes—standing sentry in the corner of the room—I see Cain quirk a blond brow.
“You know his name isn’t actually Mr. Scruffles, right?” He leans across the table, opens my closed fist, and takes the dice.
We’re having a “game night”, as Abel calls it, in the twins’ cell. The demons have procured a significant collection of various games and cards. Abel had insisted we play “Pretty Pretty Princess,” calling it the best party game of the century. When Damien took a knife to Abel’s throat, the trickster demon quickly retracted his claim, and we settled on some random board game that was missing more pieces than it had.
“Now, Bambi,” Abel cuts in, and I turn my pleading gaze toward him, my lower lip trembling. He breaks off abruptly with a curse. “Fuck, I can’t say no to that. She’s doing the face, brother. The face. You can’t say no to the face.” To me, he adds, “I’ll give you anything you want. Jewels? A crown? A majestic steed to ride...? And I don’t mean a horse. It’s yours.”
“You might not be able to say no to her, but I can,” Damien retorts, his vision shifting as he lunges forward with long, elegant strides. He tenderly caresses the side of my face before pulling his hand back as if I burned him. For a moment, he merely stares at me, both our hearts pounding in tandem. With a petulant shake of his head, he turns away. “Never mind. I can’t.”
“For fuck’s sake...” Cain leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Princess, that’s a fuck no.”
“Is he...” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Is he dead?” Panic swirls in my stomach, a hurricane, and I absently rub at the spot. I haven’t known Mr. Scruffles for long, but I have come to care for the cat...shifter...thing. He’s my friend, and he saved my life more times than I care to admit. He saw me when I was at my most vulnerable, and he healed me. It might’ve been unintentional, he might’ve had malicious intentions, but he saw the cracked pieces within me and he diligently repaired them. Comforted me. Allowed me to break down in a semi-safe environment.
“Shit, Trouble, what type of people do you think we are? Murderers?” Cain asks in exasperation, but I notice his lips twitch slightly. Abel definitely begins to smile before quickly masking his face.
“I want to see him,” I insist, and I prepare myself for another denial. Instead, the cell gets abnormally quiet, and Damien’s attention swivels toward the man now entering the room.
Kai looks tired—dark shadows outline each eye and his face is paler than usual. Still, he smiles when he sees me. A brilliant smile that cleaves his face in two and makes butterflies dance and flutter in my stomach. My own lips curve up instinctively.
“Hi,” I say shyly.
“Hi.” He kneels down, placing his hands on both my knees. “Are you sure you want to see him?”
I don’t even hesitate, nodding my head adamantly. “Yes.”
“He’s... he’s not a nice man,” Kai continues, seeming to choose his words carefully. He removes a hand from my knee to rub at the dusting of hair on his chin. “Remember how we talked about our friend group? Me, Damien, Abel, Cain, Bronson, and some of the others?”
“The prison whores?” I ask for clarification, and Abel begins to choke. I swear I see Kai’s lips twitch.
“Yes, among others. The men and women in our group.” I nod to show him I understand. “Well, your friend, Mr. Scruffles—” Another snort from Abel. “—he’s a part of a rival friend group, okay? A group that doesn’t quite get along with ours.”
“For shit’s sake, she’s not a child!” Cain interrupts, and for the first time ever, I agree with him. I don’t like the way Kai’s speaking to me. It’s not abrasive or cruel or anything, but it makes me feel like a stupid kid. It makes me feel like I’m back at the Compound where the men and women considered me less than them, different. I already know that Kai is Blade and he’s the king of the Labyrinth. The gang leader. What else is there to know?
Kai opens his mouth to protest, but Cain forges ahead. “We’re part of a gang, sweetheart. A prison gang. Blade’s group and Rion’s shifters. You see, there are probably one hundred shifters in this Labyrinth, and all of them bow to Rion. The rest of the supernaturals? They follow the ruling of your man, Kai, here. Right now, the shifters are being quiet, but we have no fucking idea how long that’ll last. Rion isn’t telling us shit.”
My brain struggles to process his words. It feels as if I’m wading through tar: each step forward takes considerable effort and patience.
“And this Rion person...” I begin, my tongue snaking out to lick my top lip. “He’s the leader of the rival gang? The one fighting with Kai’s? And he’s Mr. Scruffles?”
My head threatens to explode, but not because of the lack of information but because I’m suddenly threatened with too much of it. Cain had just lit the tinder, and we’re all waiting for the inevitable explosion.
Why haven’t they told me this sooner?
My hurt and betrayal must’ve been evident, for Damien takes a step closer and Kai tightens his hands on my knees.
“Rion is dangerous,” Kai explains, his voice near pleading. Pleading for forgiveness? Acceptance? Something else entirely?
“He’s my friend,” I protest feebly. I suddenly feel just as tired as Kai looks.
“We also know that Rion was the assistant to Lionel Green before he was arrested,” Abel breaks in, and for the first time, none of his usual mirth and cheer are audible. He sounds almost subdued and resigned, like a prisoner facing the executioner block. Which, come to think of it, isn’t a horrible analogy.
“And we believe Lionel might’ve been behind Raphael’s murder,” I deduce. “But why do you think Rion is involved? Hasn’t he been at the prison for a while? I was only arrested and convicted recently.”
Cain blows out a breath as if my incessant questioning is annoying him. “He might not be involved directly, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good guy. He still has information that could be helpful in discoveri
ng the truth.”
“Shouldn’t I talk to him then? See what he knows?” It may sound crazy, but I know in my heart that Mr. Scruffles—Rion—will never hurt me. If anyone is capable of getting information out of him, it’s me.
The men exchange an eloquent glance, a glance I’m not intended to see, before Kai sighs in defeat.
“You have twenty minutes. And you’re not getting within two feet of him.”
Kai leads me down the twisting, curving hallway until we stand in front of the throne room door. Two unfamiliar men stand guard in front, hastily crafted knives held at the ready. I have to wonder how much damage something so little can do, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Bronson still inside?” Kai asks the one on the left. The man nods once, casting sly glances in my direction. “Send him out and then leave.”
Without having to be told twice, the men skitter inside and return only a few moments later. They lower their heads submissively before slinking away. Bronson exits shortly after, face twisted in irritation.
“What?” he rasps, scowling. That scowl diminishes when he catches sight of me, replaced by something sweeter and softer. He reaches for me, and I willingly step into his arms. The scent of sweat, musk, and pine surround me, the smell uniquely his. “What are you doing here?” He pushes me back slightly to inspect my body, searching for injuries.
“Visiting Rion,” Kai answers for me. Something in his tone gives me a pause, and I slip out of Kai’s head and dive into Bronson’s. The giant man is staring intently at Kai over my shoulder, and I’m able to see Kai give a barely perceptible shake of his head. “I’ll be going in with her.”
Bronson immediately grunts and begins to argue, but Kai cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “You stand guard out here.”
The air between the two men seems to crackle and spark with electricity. They’re two magnets with the same pull repelling against one another. It’s not like I expected anything different: both Kai and Bronson are alpha males in their own unique way, especially when it comes to me. I don’t quite understand it, but I know that my safety and needs surpass everything else.
