Chapter 3

T he aroma of cedarwood teased me out of sleep, and the heat of panic dragged me all the way out.

I scrambled to sit up, kicking at the sheets covering me to press myself to the headboard of the bed I was on. My bed, in my room in the castle.

Ezekiel sat in the armchair by the dresser, ankle crossed over knee, silver goblet in hand. His dark hair was pulled back from his face, but shadows cut across his features in such a way that only his eyes were clearly visible, glowing golden and rimmed in crimson.

Hungry eyes.

The bastard was insatiable.

Insatiable and a murderer.

Agatha’s terrified face filled my mind, and dark rage bubbled up inside me. He’d killed her. He’d fucking killed her. I flew across the bed toward him, chest lurching with satisfaction at the look of shock on his face, but the next moment, I was crushed to the mattress by his ironclad frame, his hands bands of steel pinning my wrists to the bed.

Wrath surged, twisting and bucking my body as I seethed and snapped in the grip of a primal rage that I didn’t understand while a part of me remained detached, watching and marveling at this expulsion of emotion that didn’t serve our purpose.

“Oh, look at that,” Ezekiel crooned. “How glorious.” He ground his hips against me, and even in the throes of rage, I met his thrust with an aching roar, body reveling in the pressure, the friction, the threat of invasion.

He laughed roughly and cruelly and gave me what I wanted, grinding into me through layers of restrictive clothing while I screamed at him to stop, to not stop, to fuck himself, to fuck me.

The small part of me, detached from the scene, ordered me to stop. To get a grip. That this wasn’t the way. That this wasn’t who we were.

But I was lost beneath waves of sensation and emotions that tangled and writhed together until they made no sense.

His breath kissed my cheek then my ear, filling my head with words. Whispering wicked, dirty things that spoke to the selfish darkness inside me.

I’d come back too soon.

Been forced back by him. The murderer.

Agatha. Sweet Agatha and all the rest. All the fucking rest.

Icy claws dug into my arm, tearing at the blessed mark that never failed to ground me, and pain shocked me out of the dark grip of fury. I surfaced on a gasp and forced my body to still. To calm.

He froze above me, pulling back to look down at me, golden eyes like fire blazing around inky dark pupils. “Well, hello there.”

“Get off me.”

He obliged instantly, slipping back into his seat by the dresser and picking up his silver goblet.

I took a moment to gather my wits before pulling myself up. “Why did you bring me here?” My voice was dry and raspy from all the screaming, and my pulse beat hard against my skin.

Ezekiel sipped from the goblet, the liquid staining his lips a deep scarlet for a beat before sinking into his skin. “It seems that you’ve forgotten your way home.”

Home? I swallowed the bitter fury attempting to crawl up my throat. “This isn’t my home.”

“It is if I say that it is. Besides, we had a deal. You were to stay here. There are those that wish me harm, and thus would do you harm in order to get to me.”

“Spare me the bullshit. This isn’t about me. It’s about you. You want me here so that I can protect you.”

“I can protect myself just fine, Miss Lighthart.”

“Like you did at the Exciatio? Or have you conveniently forgotten who saved your ass by donating her blood?”

“Which is the only reason I haven’t had you flayed for your many insubordinations.”

“Insubord…What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You disrupted the entertainment at my party. Caused a scene, then fled.”

A scene ? Entertainment ? Rage threatened to choke me, but letting it in would be opening the door to dark emotions that I wasn’t sure I could control. “You killed innocent women. You killed my friend.” I climbed off the bed, balling my hands into fists and locking my knees to stop myself from flying at him again. Instead, I paused to breathe. To calm my racing pulse into something steady and reliable. “It’s my fault. I wanted to see good in you. I needed to see it to make my job easier. But I was wrong. You showed me good and proper how wrong.” I blinked back angry tears. “I’m done pretending. I’m done playing games. I’ll stay in Dracul territory, and I’ll do my job in protecting the innocent people from the monster in their midst the best I can. But the last place I want to be is anywhere near you. You make me si?—”

His hand was around my throat, his body vibrating with the lethal intention before I’d finished. “Let’s get one thing straight, Miss Lighthart. I don’t give a fuck what you want or what you think. Your feelings don’t matter to me. You’ll stay here, in my castle, because I say so. Because I will it.”

I glared up at him, eyeballs sizzling. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

“ I wasn’t asking .”

Blessed wrath bloomed in my veins, spilling through my blood like ribbons of warm honey. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to the fucking Order.” The markings on my arm tingled, and I didn’t have to look at them to know that they were glowing, while the amulet around my neck stained my skin with heat. Ezekiel’s gaze flicked to my arm, then back to my face. “You can’t kill me, Ezekiel. Hurt me if you want, I don’t give a shit, but you can’t control me. Try to, and I’ll fight you. I’ll fight you every step of the way, and trust me when I say I can be fucking exhausting. So you have a choice. You can either lock me in your dungeon and throw away the key or back the fuck off and let me do my job. My way.”

His eyes flinched, and his grip on me tightened a fraction, but I held his gaze, defiant in my indignant rage.

Finally, he snorted softly and released me. “You’re no use to me locked in a dungeon.”

Of course not. He couldn’t play his cat and mouse game with me if I was locked away. I smiled, thin and humorless. “I’d like Godor to take me back to the chapter house now. I’ll be back once I’ve managed to lock away the urge to kill you.”

He slow-blinked, then smiled. “A small respite? I can allow that.”

I hated his magnanimous tone. “Allow? You still think you’re in control of me?”

His smile widened into something predatory and rakish. “Oh, little Silver, you can nip and bite, you can thrash and strain, but you’re in my web now.” He snagged me around the waist and hauled me against him, all taut muscle and power, and much to my disgust, my traitorous body reacted by softening against him before I could assert control over my errant senses and shove him away.

He released me easily with a full-bodied chuckle that betrayed his delight. “What is it like to have your mind and body at war, little Silver?”

I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but I’d be damned if I gave him the satisfaction of showing emotions. I kept my expression unreadable and my tone impassive. “What is it like being a murderous monster with no real friends?”

“Answer mine and I’ll answer yours.”

I replied through gritted teeth, my patience wearing thin. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s what I’m trained for.” I arched a brow, waiting for his answer to my question.

He picked up his goblet from the dresser, where he must have placed it before rushing me earlier, and took a thirsty sip before replying. “The beauty of being a monster is not having to answer to anyone.” He strode for the exit. “Have a safe flight, Miss Lighthart. But don’t stay away too long. Us monster types can wreak havoc if left unchecked.”

“I’m sorry,” Godor said over the whistling wind.

“I know.” I watched the world below, silver-kissed and silent as we coasted high above. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I’m sorry for Agatha. Nice woman. Kind heart.”

His words made my throat ache. “She was.”

“Master was wrong. He was bad.”

“Isn’t he always?”

“Sometimes Master can be…kind.”

Godor’s concept of kindness was probably Ezekiel allowing him a blanket in the freezing cold, not realizing that his master was simply protecting his investment.

We passed the silver forest and flew over the road that split toward New Town, then past the intersection, turning toward the chapter house.

A lone carriage was visible far below, driven by a hooded figure. There was something familiar about the carriage. Was that a silver emblem on the side?

“Godor, how’s your eyesight?”

“Godor can see far.”

“Can you get a look at the carriage and its driver?”

He dove and banked to the left, fighting a gust of wind that attempted to push us back up, but it also snagged the hood of the figure below, whipping it back to reveal dark locks bound high on the crown.

“I see her,” Godor said. “It is Padma.”

It was almost midnight. Where was she going? It was time to find out. “Follow her.”