Chapter 38

This time, I’m not shocked when I wake up cuffed to a metal table in the center of an interrogation room.

I push myself into the nearest eyes, unsurprised to see Alyssa’s face in the reflection of the mirror. Like last time, she’s a picture of elegance and grace. She walks over to the table with a casual gait, her shimmery gown cascading around her like fire. A slow smile blossoms over her luscious lips before they lower into a frown. Sitting across from me, her vision shifts so I can no longer see her reflection in the mirror.

Instead, I see the room for the first time. There’s a dark stain on the floor—almost as if the cement had been burnt—and the air smells heavily of bleach. I practically gag on the pungent scent perfuming the air. The table itself looks brand new, not a mark insight.

“It’s good to see you again, Nina,” Alyssa says softly. She sounds tired, forlorn, and her eyes drift down to her hands in her lap.

“I wish the circumstances were better,” I reply with a self-deprecating laugh. Instead, the circumstances consist of me imprisoned for the murder of her close friend.

“I’ve been talking to some of my colleagues,” she begins, getting directly to the point. “Did you know that Lionel Green’s assistant was arrested many years ago for murder and theft?”

“Rion?” I question before I can stop myself.

Her eyes snap back to my face in surprise. “You met him.”

I take a deep breath to control my suddenly erratic heartbeat. “I’ve been asking around,” I settle for at last. I don’t know Alyssa, and I don’t trust her; I have no idea how she would react if she discovered Rion was my friend.

She bobs her head once, resuming her inspection of her long, slender fingers. The nails have recently been clipped and polished, the ruby red matching her dress.

“I’m sure Rion told you that Lionel was enemies with Raphael,” she states after a moment.

“Did you discover something?” My heart still pounds in my chest, and I struggle to keep the jittery shivers down.

“As we suspected, Lionel has an alibi for the night Raphael was murdered. He was seen at one of the clubs he owns until early the next morning, in a town a few hours away from where Raphael was found.” She sighs, slumping forward.

“So, Lionel wasn’t involved in Raphael’s death?” I deduce hesitantly. The one lead we had…shattered. Disappointment swirls in my gut like a thousand shards of glass.

“I didn’t say that.” She sits up, suddenly eager. “It just means that he found someone to do his dirty work for him. Have you had a chance to talk to the mage Damien?”

I nod warily. “Yes. I don’t think he’s heard back from his contacts yet.”

“I have it on good authority that Raphael was killed by the guild your…friend…worked for.” Her voice twists with disgust at the word friend.

“I’ll talk to him,” I assure her.

Alyssa drops her gaze to her hands currently fisted on the silky fabric of her dress. At my words, she relaxes them incrementally—one finger at a time—until they’re flat against her thighs.

“You probably wonder why I care so much,” she says softly, distantly. Her gaze focuses on a spot above my shoulder, lost in a memory I can’t even begin to understand. Instead of answering, I remain silent, giving her the opportunity to share with me if she wishes. There’s pain inside of her. An undeniable pain that calls to me. I recognize it because I experience it myself. It’s the pain that hints she’s been shattered, broken, and is struggling to reconnect the pieces.

It’s a pain that speaks of loss and hurt.

“I loved him,” she says at last, voice wobbling. “For hundreds of years. He was my everything.”

Hundreds of…?

“Yes.” She chuckles at my flabbergasted expression, the jubilant noise momentarily breaking her out of her melancholy. “I’m three hundred and sixty-seven years old, as of January.”

“Wow,” I breathe, unable to hide my shock in a quick enough manner. She doesn’t look older than thirty. Shaking my head, I manage to add, “You sound young.”

“I feel young.” She chuckles good-naturedly before sobering. “I met Raphael when he had first been turned into a vampire. He was charismatic, idealistic, and the light of my life. He saw something in me that many others didn’t. We’ve been together ever since.” Her voice is low and distant, stuck in a memory invisible to my own eyes. “We weren’t a traditional male and female couple. We both had our fair share of lovers on the side, but we always came back to each other.”

“I don’t know how you could deal with that,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. There is no way to scoop the words out of the air and put them back into my mouth. “I would get jealous.”

“It doesn’t work for everyone,” she agrees, not at all offended by my intrusive statement. “I know that I would prefer for him to be loyal only to me, but all relationships are different. Some are conventional and others aren’t. Some require delicate maneuvering and others allow you to forge ahead.”

I think of Kai and Bronson. Damien. The twins. Rion. I don’t know how I would feel about them with another female. Does it make me selfish? Wanting them all when they can’t have anyone except me? Do they even care for me like that? Do I care for them in that way? A romantic way? I already suspect that our relationship is…odd. One moment, I’m on a date with Bronson, and the next, I’m in bed with Kai. And the very next, I’m cuddling with Damien and being called Bambi by Abel.

One thing is painfully clear: I care for them all.

Alyssa sighs once more, glancing to the side and staring at her reflection. Anxiety clouds her beautiful face. “I want—no, I need—to uncover the truth about what happened to Raphael. I don’t have proof yet, but I know Lionel is behind it.” Her voice is frigid, colder than even Damien’s, and causes ice to skate down my spine. “I want him to pay for killing my lover.”

“I understand,” I whisper, fidgeting in the cold plastic chair. If anything happened to my friends, I would go insane. I care for them all immensely, in a way I have only ever cared for Kai before. My stomach knots uncomfortably.

“I’ll come visit you again,” Alyssa says at last, rising gracefully to her feet. She brushes at a strand of hair grazing her eyes. “And Nina? Thank you. Between the two of us, we’ll uncover the truth.”

Her eyes focus on me before she turns on her heel and leaves the room. I stay in her head as she turns at a fork in the hall, waving at one of the guards present. It’s only then that I notice the bloody heap lying unconscious on the ground. Blond hair, matted with blood. Bruises marring his face. Eyelashes feathered shut.

My heart leaps to my throat as panic fills me.

Abel? Or Cain?

I try to search for any definitive characteristics, but Alyssa turns before I can get a good look. I’m wrenched out of her mind as she steps out of range.

Tears cascade down my cheek, wetting my lips.

When the guard arrives to take me back to the Labyrinth, I don’t bother to struggle. My mind is consumed with worry for the twins. If one is lying unconscious in the hallway, where is the other? Did he already get led back home?

And when did I start thinking of the prison as home?

Stomach somersaulting, I allow the guard to stick a needle into my skin.

I’m notin my own mind.

I know that immediately. It takes me a moment to pinpoint whose mind I’ve slid into.

His eyes are focused on his hands, naturally tanned and freckled. When he finally lifts his gaze, I see that he’s in an interrogation room similar to the one I just left.

“Hello!” he calls, banging his cuffed wrists against the table. “Cain?”

Abel. This must be Abel.

That means the unconscious man is my dark twin, Cain.

“Motherfucker,” Abel curses as he inspects the barren room. He begins to kick his feet, humming beneath his breath.

After a long, potent pause, the door to the room is thrown open. A large man with a potbelly, receding hairline, and sweaty lower lip enters the room.

Abel freezes, staring at the man. His heart rate skyrockets the longer he gazes at him.

“Lionel,” he breathes, his voice heavy with fear.

Fear. It’s an emotion I’ve never heard from my sunshine twin before.

The man, who I’m assuming to be none other than Lionel Green, enters the room with an imperious set to his chin. Instantly, I hate him. I don’t even know why. It could be because he’s framing me for murder, but there’s something more to it, something entirely instinctual. I have the irresistible urge to punch him in his pudgy, smirking face.

“Abel, my boy!” Lionel says enthusiastically. Abel tenses under the older man’s scrutiny, his knuckles turning white from how tightly they’re clenched.

“Where’s my brother?” Abel whispers softly. “Where’s Cain?”

“I didn’t ask for Cain.” Lionel waves his hand dismissively. “I wanted to see you. I hear you’ve been asking about me.”

He steps around the table and presses a kiss to Abel’s hair. That gesture is…strange. Off. What the heck is going on?

Abel, if it’s even possible, goes even more rigid, back ramrod straight.

“I’ve missed you,” Lionel continues, either oblivious or choosing to ignore Abel’s reaction. When the trickster demon doesn’t immediately answer, Lionel steps away and sits in the chair opposite him. “I take it you missed me as well. My sources say you’ve been asking questions about my whereabouts.”

“I…I…l…” He’s speechless. Abel, the flirty, teasing demon I have grown to care for, is unable to utter a coherent word.

Who is this man to him?

“You should be thanking me, you know,” Lionel continues, leaning back in his chair and placing his clasped hands on his protruding gut. “A little while ago, your brother ran into some issues.”

That declaration finally penetrates whatever funk Abel has found himself in. He leans across the table desperately. “What happened? Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

Lionel chuckles with a derisive wave of his hand. “He’s fine. Got into a fight with his visitor, apparently. Guards wanted to put him down, but I convinced them to give him another chance. You’ve always been my favorite, Abel, but I can’t forget about the good times I had with your brother.” A shark-like smile spreads across his face. “Don’t look so sad, my love. There’s no need to be jealous.”

My love? Is Lionel Abel’s lover?

The thought causes acid to churn in my stomach like lava.

If they’re lovers, then why does Abel appear so skittish? Why do his hands shake and knee bob?

“I wanted to, um, ask you about Raphael Turner,” Abel stutters out, lowering his gaze to his clenched fists.

Lionel’s laugh is capable of slicing glass. “Why? Were you fucking that man too?” Abel doesn’t answer, continuing to study his hands intently. “Did that Alyssa bitch put you up to this?” Lionel demands at last. “She seems to think I murdered that bastard.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Did you?” Abel queries softly.

“Of course not! I may have hated that asshole, but I’m not fucking stupid. Killing him would be a declaration of war. Besides, didn’t his murderer already get arrested?” There’s a pause during which Abel flicks his eyes upwards. “Now that I think about it, that bitch has been placed here, hasn’t she?” When Able remains silent, Lionel continues with a curl to his lips. “She’s the reason you’re questioning me, isn’t she? My dear Abel, are you in love with her?”

Abel doesn’t respond, meeting Lionel’s frigid gaze without blinking.

“You know, I’m curious to meet the girl capable of killing Raphael Turner. Perhaps I should inquire about a meeting?—”

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Abel explodes, his tenuous hold on his temper splintering.

Lionel smiles, as if he got exactly what he wanted out of Abel. His smile reminds me of a lion staring at a gazelle. There’s something predatory about it, all sharp teeth.

“I have to leave,” Lionel says abruptly, pushing back from the table and getting to his feet. “You and your brother will be taken back to your cell.” He pauses in front of Abel, expression unreadable. When he speaks next, his voice is dark and threatening. “Your heart may belong to that whore, but your body belongs to me.” Lionel ducks down and claims Abel’s lips in a harsh, aggressive kiss. When he finally pulls away, Abel’s trembling from head to toe.

Fire lights in my belly at Lionel’s display, but I push down the rage before it can manifest.

“You be a good boy, Abel. And remember, you’re mine.”