Chapter 36

“Cain.” Abel shakes my shoulder. “Cain, we have to go.”

I drowsily lift my head, turning towards my brother. His eyes are wide, frantic, and his hands are stained with blood. It slides in rivulets onto the floor, blending into the red carpeting.

“Where am I?” I ask, attempting to clear the fog from my head. The last thing I remember is getting pulled out of my cage by one of Boris’s bastards. Dragged into the familiar heart bedroom, where I spent hours pleasuring Phillip Manning, an assistant to Councilman Draco. He had given me something to drink, something sour, and I had slipped into unconsciousness.

Had he drugged me?

Nausea swirls in my stomach like acid at the thought. Anything can happen when you’re not aware of your surroundings.

“Cain! We need to go!” Abel grabs my arm and heaves it over his shoulder. My head lolls, giving me a view of my naked body. Blood cascades down my thighs from where Phillip obviously…

Well, I don’t want to think about that.

My gaze lands on Phillip lying on the floor. Blood pools around his flaccid body from a slit across his throat. Dead. He’s dead.

And there’s blood on Abel’s hands…

We move into the hallway, where absolute chaos reigns.

Prisoners are running down the halls, screaming, crying, and fighting. Guards attempt to corral them back into their cells, but if there’s one thing I know about prisoners, it’s that the second they scent freedom, they’ll grasp it with both hands.

“What the fuck?” I slur, relying on my brother to carry half my weight. Each movement is slow and sluggish, like I’m wading through knee-deep murky water. As the fog in my brain recedes, I become aware of a deafening siren and bright red lights flashing intermittently.

“Uprising,” Abel explains as we turn at a fork in the hallway. “But we need to run. If they discover who I killed…”

“They’ll kill us,” I fill in.

His eyes turn distant, hazy, as he no doubt thinks about the paranormal prison rumored to house the worst of the worst. And us…two pretty boys with a reputation for sex.

“We need to keep moving,” Abel says at last. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, fuck,”I grumble, my head pounding. I move to place my palm against my forehead, only to discover my wrist is restrained.

Fucking great.

“Abe?” I inquire, cracking open my crusty eyelids. Bright, artificial lighting pierces my eyes, and I immediately snap them closed with a groan. Fucking light. Taking a deep breath, I peel open first one eye and then the other.

I’m in a fucking interrogation room.

There’s a floor-to-ceiling one-way mirror against the far side of the room. No doubt, there are a dozen armed guards peering in from the other side, safe and cozy. A single table sits directly in front of me, with a plastic chair opposite it. My hands are cuffed to the metal legs of the table, the manacles rubbing into my skin. A bottle of water taunts me from its perch on the table. Fucking assholes. My throat is always parched after their bitch mage uses his magic on me.

The door to the room clicks open, and a timid man scuttles forward. My heart drops to my stomach as a ball of lead and nerves forms around the organ—like thorns protecting a rose.

The man is unassuming. Small, with light brown hair, glasses, and a triangular mustache. I recognize him immediately as Henry Miller, one of the clients I serviced. My hands ball into fists as I stare at the sinewy man, but I force myself to relax. I won’t get any information out of him if he’s dead.

“Henry,” I purr, flashing him a sultry smile. On the outside, I’m calm and collected—sex personified. On the inside, I’m a trembling mess of nerves and fear. Where is Abel? Why isn’t he here with me?

Henry’s body notably deflates with relief at my welcoming greeting. No doubt he thought I’d be pissed, seeing how he’d practically raped me for many years.

I daydream every day about turning his ugly ass into a lobster, roasting him over hot coals, and then eating him limb from limb. My imagination is quite vivid, thank you very much.

“I got your message,” he says, perching himself on the seat opposite me. Already, I can sense his arousal and excitement. His pupils dilate, breaths coming in pants.

My palms are unbearably sweaty. I hate this man with a passion, and I especially hate that I have to flirt with him. That I have to tolerate his disgusting presence.

But then I think of Nina—her soulful white eyes, obsidian black hair, and lilting laugh that always serves to bring an instinctive smile to my own face. For her, I’ll do anything. Be anything.

Even if it’s a monster I don’t recognize in the mirror.

“I have some questions for you, Henry,” I say, infusing each word with a wave of lust. Already, he’s nodding his head like a damn bobble head.

“Anything.”

“I missed you, you know,” I continue, voice husky. He gulps audibly. “I missed your cock in my mouth.”

Vomit churns in my stomach, but I push away the queasiness. They’re just words, and if my time as a slave taught me anything, it’s that words can’t hurt you. Still, the mere prospect of flirting with someone other than Nina has my stomach in a knot.

“Yes,” he agrees readily. The poor man is smitten. Fucking rapist shit.

“So, tell me what I want to know.” A slow smile blossoms on my luscious lips. I purposely lick my bottom lip, and his eyes track the movement. “Raphael Turner. Did you hear the news?” My voice raises in mock sincerity as I cock my head to the side.

His eyes lower to the table. As an assistant to Draco, he would’ve had to hear about it. “Yes, it’s quite sad.”

“Do you know what happened?” I ask innocently, batting my lashes at him. “How did he die?” I lean forward as far as the chains allow and lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as if we’re telling each other a secret, something just between the two of us.

His breath hitches at my proximity, and his eyes flicker to my lips before lifting.

“I heard…” He casts a glance in both directions before leaning across the table. This position puts his face near mine, and I instinctively back away. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice my slip. “I heard he was murdered by a little blind bitch.”

A growl escapes me before I can stop it. If I didn’t have the magic-dampening cuffs around my wrists, I imagine my eyes would’ve been red and black as my demon came out to play. No one, fucking no one, calls Nina a bitch.

Except for me. But I was a little shit back in the day.

“I met her,” I drawl with a lazy smile. “What makes the council think she did it? Because of the blood on her?”

“That’s part of it, yes.” Henry leans even closer, until I’m forced to smell his rancid breath. Fuck, I’m going to need to burn my nose off after this. “But it’s also what they found on him.”

Well, this is interesting. I haven’t heard anything about the dead body itself.

“What did they find?” I try to keep my curiosity to a minimum. Men like Henry thrive on dangling information over your head like a tasty morsel you can’t help but chomp down on. Only then do you discover it’s attached to a double-edged sword.

When Henry doesn’t immediately answer, I send a wave of lust towards him. He releases a guttural groan, his hand sneaking to his pants. My eyes flicker to the mirror, but I know that whoever’s in there won’t stop this sick man if he decides to take his infatuation a step further.

Even with the table obscuring my view, I know Henry is jacking himself off.

“Henry…” I trail off with another trademark smile. “Did you get distracted, darling?”

Sweat beads on his forehead as he begins to stroke himself faster and faster, his breathing gradually becoming more erratic. With a sigh, I release another wave of lust, and Henry comes with a groan.

If I have cum on my shoes, so help me…

“Why are we talking about this?” Henry questions at last, regaining his senses. He stands, flaccid dick still hanging out of his pants, and walks towards me.

Fuck, no.

“Because I’m curious,” I say indolently. “Is that a problem? Are you jealous I’m asking about another man? You know you’re the only man for me.”

The only man for me to kill. I may have conveniently left that last part out.

“Apparently, they found a picture of Nina in Raphael’s jacket,” Henry divulges at last.

“Wait, what?” I don’t even bother to hide my shock and disbelief. Raphael Turner, the oldest vampire in this area, had a picture of Nina on his person?

“And her blood was beneath his nails,” Henry adds finally.

My thoughts are circulating rapidly, unable to settle for more than a second. What. The. Fuck?

Was Nina’s blood actually on Raphael Turner’s body, or was she framed after the murder was committed? And how did he get a picture of her? Was that another attempt to frame her? My thoughts continue to swirl like smoke, so much so that I don’t notice Henry until he’s directly behind me, his hands on my shoulders.

Darkness coats my vision, my thoughts. It’s a fucking ghost that hovers just over my body, never touching but making its presence known.

No. No. No. No.

No!

“Cain, hurry up, you heavy bastard,”Abel pants. He props me against the wall as he rushes to open the door.

Sunlight blinds me. I can’t remember the last time I felt its natural heat on my skin. I squeeze my eyelids shut, pressing my forehead against the wall. I have spent years underground with little to no sun exposure.

I haven’t even realized how much I missed the light until now. Fuck, I need it. I’m tired of this darkness, this pain.

“Let’s go, brother.” Abel helps me stand, and together, we hurry outside. The frigid wind and subdued sun hints that it might be late fall or winter. Dark clouds speckle the sky, not quite obscuring the sun completely from view.

The moment we take a step forward, armed guards swarm us. I count at least thirty, if not more.

“Get on your knees!” someone demands, pointing a gun at my head. “Get on your fucking knees!”

I exchange an anxious glance with my brother, noting the strain on his face and the circles beneath both his eyes. He’s tired of fighting, tired of this life we’ve been unwittingly thrust into. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time we gave up.

Maintaining eye contact with the person I love most in the world, I drop to my knees, placing my hands on the back of my head. Abel copies my movements, mouth a grim line.

Wherever we’re going has to be better than this.

Anything is better than fucking this.

I’m wrenchedfrom my flashback as pain erupts down my spine. I roar, back arching, as I come back to the present.

A lone cuff dangles from my wrist, no longer connected to the table. Claws have broken through all ten of my fingers, and I know that my skin is black and crispy from my demon fire.

At my feet, a burning mess of flesh, is Henry.

Oh, fuck.

It’s the last thought I have as the guards converge on me.