by Zandria West
Fingers fumbling, I pull my t-shirt over my head then undo my jeans and step out of them. The demons have already taken my boots and put them somewhere. Lord knows what dangerous shit I could get up to if they let me keep my boots. Probably they’re worried I’d try to hang myself with the laces and ruin all their fun. Seems like a good idea about now.
I’m standing in just my bra and panties now in front of this terrifying monster of a man, and a wall of watching demons.
‘Everything,’ he says, his eyes on mine. ‘Take it all off.’
Shivering, I reach around and undo my bra and let it drop then step out of my panties. I don’t look down to see the mark on my chest. If I could right now, I’d tear it off. I don’t want to be bound to this man who’s about to torture me. It’s fucking sick. It’s wrong, a perversion of Gabriel’s magic.
But I see his gaze flicker down for a moment, whether taking in my body or looking at the sign, I have no fucking clue. I feel a sudden burn of warmth between my legs as he looks at me, and that’s the final straw. Damn this fucking bond. That I could feel drawn to him at all, that even a single cell in my body could want him right now is a horror beyond imagining.
‘Lay down on the bench,’ he says, his voice flat.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I ask, my voice coming out in a whimper. ‘Please, you don’t have to do this…’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Lana. I do.’
He knows my name. Something in me breaks.
His firm hands guide me onto the bench and then I feel the cinch of cold leather straps as he tightens them around each ankle and each arm. His movements are quick and practised. He’s obviously done this before. In a few seconds I’m splayed there, my legs held apart, my arms away from my side. Naked and totally helpless. I hear appreciative jeers from the other side of the glass. I close my eyes and wish I was anywhere else in the fucking universe but here.
‘This is who I am. This is what I do,’ he says, so quietly that I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to himself. He moves away from the bench so for a few moments I can’t see him and I don’t know what’s going on. Then he comes back with something fucking terrifying. It’s an implement that’s somewhere between a cork screw and a switch blade. I feel cold. I feel really, really cold. I’m seeing what he’s holding and I know he’s about to do something terrible with it and my mind refuses to comprehend that this is actually happening to me.
I’m not going to scream. I’m not going to cry.
‘The skill of torture,’ he says, ‘is in causing pain without excessive injury. Avoid damaging sensitive organs and arteries. Maximise sensation and minimise blood loss.’
He places the implement against my thigh and presses and turns it.
I scream. The sharp point of the tool is piercing my skin and twisting below it, the movement in my flesh is sheer agony. My torturer looks into my eyes. His expression is still cool and utterly impassive. And then, something happens. I hear a strange buzzing fill my head and feel a moment of the most intense cold and then I gasp. The pain is gone. He’s taken the pain from me. I feel it, almost like a physical substance, travelling from myself to him. His expression doesn’t change, but I sense the pain humming in his nerves and his blood, the agony that should be mine. I know that it’s still there, but I don’t have to bear it. Because he will.
I whimper and bite my lip in horror. What is he doing? What the fuck is he doing?
Over the course of what might have been an hour, though it feels like an entire fucking lifetime, he cuts and tears and stretches and breaks my poor body. I bleed, but not too much. I feel, but not too much. I scream my fucking lungs out, scream until my throat is raw, and beg and cry, but not for myself – for him. I know he is carrying all that pain.
At the end of it all, he unstraps me from the bench and I roll away and then tumble over the edge to land awkwardly on the floor. I rest my forehead on the cold white concrete and sob.
He kicks a bucket of water and a cloth in my direction.
‘Wash off the blood and get dressed. We’ll do this again tomorrow.’ His voice is hard and emotionless. I look up at him.
How can he do this? How does he bear it?
‘You’ll learn in time that we all have different parts to play. This is mine.’
Then he turns, and walks from the room, leaving me shivering on the floor.
EPILOGUE
REUBEN
I followed Lana’s scent all night. It might have been a dream or a hallucination but in my wolf-mind I could smell her and that was the only thing that meant anything to me. I chased her scent so far and so hard that my paws bled and my muscles ached. When the morning caught me and I turned again I found myself naked, sobbing and human far outside of Grey Pack territory just on the outskirts of the city.
Was there even a plan or were we each just crazed by losing her? If there was a plan it’s gone from my mind. Gabriel is somewhere in the forest still. Alex is either ahead of me still or collapsed somewhere, burnt out by his effort. And I’m here, fucking wrecked. And none of it has gotten us any closer to saving Lana.
I think back over everything that’s happened and try to think what I might have done differently. I should never have trusted Andreas. I should never have accepted his help. He’d been antagonistic from the moment he laid eyes on us, and he’d shown that he was willing to betray his own pack to get what he wanted. I was a fool, blinded by my love for the little girl I’d only just got to know.
Briony.
As I think of her I feel a pain that I’d never even imagined before now.
I can’t go back. I don’t know if she will understand, and she might hate me for it, but I can’t go back. If I do, I will find myself in the middle of a power struggle that I can’t be part of. It would be bad for the Pack and bad for me. The only thing I can do now is try to find Lana. The thought of what Lana must be going through is agonizing. And the bond is merciless. The pain and guilt of her loss tears at my every breath. It will drive me mad, I know, if I can’t get her back. I will lose my mind entirely. I wonder if Gabe and Alex feel the same way?
My hands and feet are blistered, bruised and bleeding from the night’s running. If only when I changed it healed the injuries I took as a wolf. All it does is take my strength and dull my thoughts. I stretch for a moment, missing the feeling of power, the speed, the raw energy of the wolf-form.
I look at the city below me.
I need clothes. I need bandages. I need food and drink. Then I need to find Lana.
I stand gingerly and begin to limp my way down the hillside. I see a small farmhouse at the bottom of the hill. Perhaps whoever lives there will help me?
Then I think about their location, on the edge of the forest and the edge of the city. A dangerous spot. More likely they’ll put a bullet in my brain then cut my body up for their cooking pot or use my blood and bones for some dark rite. Discretion might be the best approach.
I make my way silently through the forest to the outskirts of the farm. I see washing on the line. A dog tied to a chain, lying asleep. Chickens pecking in the dirt. All looks normal enough. I creep closer, enough of the wolf still in my blood to allow me to move soundlessly and quickly. There’s no sign of any occupants. The house itself is dark and silent, windows and doors tightly shut.
I take another step closer, then the dog raises his head and lets out a low growl.
Fuck.
I drop to my knees and inch towards him, out of the undergrowth. The dog sees me and I catch his gaze and hold it, putting all of the feral power of my wolf-form into my eyes. The creature whines and drops his head to the dirt, submitting.
I stand, dust myself off, and make a direct line for the washing. Quickly, with fumbling hands, I grab a shirt and a pair of pants. Shoes, I need shoes, but of course there are no shoes on the line. I hate the way the transformation leaves me like this, lost and naked, a beggar or a thief in human form. It doesn’t seem fair. I take a quick look around the o
utside of the house, near the back door, in case someone has taken their shoes off and left them on the doorstep. Nothing.
I pull the clothes on quickly, my senses all on high alert for anyone approaching or any hint of movement within the house. I feel better when I’m dressed, more human, readier for the next stage of my journey. The next thing I need is sustenance. I’m fucking starving. A night spent running and not hunting is exhausting and draining. It was only one night, but already I feel leaner.
I look around the yard and spot the chickens. As silently as I can, I make my way towards them. A plump brown hen is pecking around beside a trellis trailing a leafy vine. It is easy enough to corner it. I grab it, and in a single, easy move break its neck.
Looking around one last time to make sure there’s nothing else of value that I can take, I give the dog a nod where he lies watching me distrustfully. Then I stride away from the house and back into the forest, warm chicken in hand.
First, I will eat. And then I will run. Without a plan. Without any real hope of success. Without any fucking idea where Alex or Gabriel are or what they are doing.
The city is before me and my binding to Lana calls with a desperate urgency that I could not ignore, even if I wanted to.
****
BOOK THREE
TO DARKNESS BOUND
Broken Angel
1
LANA
The door to my cell swings open. After so long in darkness, even the dim lamplight from the corridor is blinding.
‘Up!’ A harsh voice calls.
I stagger to standing, using the wall beside me to help me keep my balance. It’s hard to track time given the lack of light, but I’d guess a full day has passed since I was taken prisoner. I haven’t eaten anything, and the only liquid I’ve had to drink is foul stuff the guards have given me. My head is spinning and my mouth is acrid and dry.
‘Out!’
I make my way, blinking, out of the cell and into the corridor. As my eyes adjust, I look around. The other cell doors are still closed. Two well-armed guards flank the giant demon who’s giving the orders. What the hell do they think I’m going to do? Try to take him out in the weakened state I’m in, unarmed and single-handed?
‘Eyes down!’ the big guy barks. I hear a hissing noise and feel the sudden, too-familiar bite of the whip across my back. I bite my lip hard to stop myself from crying out, drop my gaze to the floor and stand, waiting.
‘And move!’
I turn and start walking, trying to maintain a steady pace, not too fast and not too slow, keeping my eyes to the floor just in front of me. I don’t want to give them any excuse to use the whip on me again.
I know exactly where we’re going. I just hope to god it’s Grayson who’ll be waiting for me when we get there. There’s no guarantee that it will be. He could be having a morning off from the hard work of torturing people. Maybe he’s popped out for a coffee and a pastry. I’m sure it gets very tiring, keeping track of all those weird pointy instruments.
Okay, so maybe I’m getting hysterical, but not unreasonably so.
I’m helpless and hungry, locked in a demon prison known to be an impenetrable fortress that none can escape, about to be tortured by a man I’m magically bonded with. I think I have cause for hysteria.
We reach the end of the corridor too quickly and before I know it, a door is swinging open and I’m confronted by an onslaught of whiteness. White walls, white floor, white everything. It makes me want to throw up. I know why they keep it so white. It’s because it sets the brightness of the red blood off nicely. I keep my eyes low, but I feel his presence before I see him, standing silent and motionless in the corner.
Grayson.
Another demon stands in front of him in the centre of the room, waiting for me. There’s something different about him. He wears a look of authority – from the sharp lines of his clothes, to his confident posture and alert gaze. He smiles at me.
I hear the guard behind me drawing back the whip with a soft, ominous hiss.
‘Arfak, what are you doing?’ boss demon says smoothly. ‘That’s quite enough.’
‘If you say so, Councillor,’ the guard says.
Councillor?
‘I do. Lana, please, take a seat.’
I look around for a second, wondering if there’s anywhere to sit other than the torture-table I was strapped to naked yesterday. It only takes a moment to confirm that, nope, that’s it. Grayson keeps his eyes on the ground and waits in the corner, next to the wall. He doesn’t look at me, even for a moment, or give any sign that he’s aware of my presence. I feel the Bondmark on my chest starting to burn and glow, and I’m sure he can feel it too.
I make my way across and sit as instructed.
‘My name is Darian. I’m pleased to have the opportunity to speak with you today. How are you feeling Lana?’
I swallow. Who does he think he’s kidding? We’re not here to make polite conversation. Suddenly, I’m fucking furious.
‘I’m great, thanks. Never better. Being locked up in a small dark cell and tortured sporadically is doing wonders for my general wellbeing.’
I see Grayson twitch. I know I shouldn’t have spoken like that, I just couldn’t help it. I shut my mouth and swallow and wait for whatever horrible repercussions are coming my way. Regret turns to fear in the moments of silence that follow my words.
‘Well, that is… refreshing to hear…’ The demon, Darian, tilts his head to one side and a small smile curves his thin lips. ‘So, tell me more about yourself, Lana. It is unusual for one such as you to end up in a place like this. How did it happen?’
Good question. How the hell did it happen that I’m trapped in a demon prison in an alternate universe to my own, my home destroyed, on an urgent, world-saving mission that I’m now unable to complete…
‘I used to work as a barmaid at Hell on Earth,’ I say.
He smiles. ‘I believe you may have served me there once, Lana. I never forget a face as… delicate as yours.’ His voice makes my skin crawl. ‘But that’s not what I’m interested in hearing about. Tell me about your father. I understand that Professor Paul Schofield had a deep fascination with our culture?’
I start. He knows my father’s name? In that case, he knows more about me than I expected. I glance across to Grayson again. What does Grayson know? Could he have told his bosses about me? Other than knowing that Grayson and I are bound and that he can take away the pain he causes me, I have no idea if I can trust the man.
‘My father was an archaeologist,’ I say carefully. That much at least is general knowledge. ‘His area of expertise was pre-Accord ceremonial objects, but he was interested in everything really. Demon, human, he didn’t care much. He just liked to explore old places and learn about the past.’ I sit up straighter as I talk about my father. Remembering him makes me feel stronger.
The demon walks closer and leans in. I stay as still as I can and try not to flinch. He’s looking at my chest, where the sign is. As he studies me, I glance across to Grayson. For the first time he meets my gaze. A shock of power surges between us and I watch as his eyes widen momentarily, then he frowns and looks away.
‘Tell me about this.’
Darian steps back. I think he means the sign on my chest, but then I see that he’s pointing to the amulet that I wear. The amulet my father gave me.
‘It’s nothing,’ I say quickly. ‘Just some junk I picked up from a second-hand store years ago.’
An eyebrow rises. ‘Nothing, you say? And there we have it. Lana’s first lie for the day. Now, one thing I haven’t explained to you yet, because we’ve been getting along well so far, is that for every lie you tell, our friend here will break one of your bones. Isn’t that right?’ He looks across to Grayson, who’s eyes suddenly darken to almost black. Grayson nods, his face a tense mask. An icy wash of fear rushes through me.
‘I wonder which bone will make up for that lie?’ Darian ponders. ‘A finger, maybe? Though it wasn’t such a sma
ll lie. To be in possession of a valuable artefact, imbued with powerful magic, and to call it nothing… that might be a rib or a nose even…. What do you think? Shall we smash her delicate face?’
Grayson meets his gaze without flinching. ‘Whatever you want,’ he says in a low voice. The sound of his voice is a soothing balm my soul is longing for, but his words make me want to throw up.
‘Hmm. No, I think just a finger for the moment. Let’s allow Lana the opportunity to contemplate what she’s done wrong and learn from her mistakes. Grayson?’
The demon steps back and Grayson steps forward. He turns and studies the wall of instruments and takes down a large mallet. My mouth goes dry. I feel like I’m not getting enough oxygen. I can’t breathe. I can’t believe this is happening.
Grayson approaches where I sit. My heart pounds faster. I look away. I can’t bear looking at him – he’s so goddamn beautiful and so cold and I’m terrified of what he’s going to do to me. And as scared of him as I am, I understand on some deep level that he’s here for me. His entire purpose has been directed to this moment, to my presence, to protecting me when I am at my most vulnerable at some unfathomable cost to himself. If it was anyone other Grayson torturing me right now… a shiver moves through me.
‘Go ahead,’ Darian says, and I hear the tinge of eagerness in his voice.
Grayson takes my left hand gently. At his touch it feels like sparks are erupting through my fingers and burning up my wrist and arm and into my chest. I try not to gasp. Pleasure, pain, I have no idea what the sensation is, but it’s fucking intense and part of my wants more of it, wants it to never stop.
Then he loosens a strap, feeds my wrist through it and tightens it, so I can’t move my arm.
‘Spread your fingers wide,’ he says, and his voice is cold. So cold.
