Chapter 23

Darkness. Cloying, intense, absolute darkness.

It’s the type that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and your hands tremble. It’s the type that sends insidious fear slithering down your spine like a snake, though you don’t know why.

I’m used to darkness, having lived my entire life embracing it.

But this…this is different.

Mainly because I know I’m not alone.

I can sense the eyes on me, the softest of caresses, and goosebumps ripple up my arms. Every hair on my body stands on end, saluting the world, as I attempt to orient myself to the stomach-churning darkness on every side of me.

“Hello?” My voice wavers ever so slightly, fear clogging my airways. Where am I? The last thing I remember is…falling asleep with Rion, his arms constricting tighter around my waist than a python. And then, nothing. Is this a dream? It has to be, though my dreams are usually vibrant with color and light. Dreams are a place for me to escape, after all, and why would I ask for more of the darkness?

Heart hammering, I take another step forward in the pitch-black abyss. Anything could be lurking, waiting, lying in wait. A monster. A killer.

Anything.

Or anyone.

“Hello?” I feel stupid, like one of those girls in the horror movies Abel makes me watch. One of those heroines who knows all of her friends have been murdered, but still goes into the creepy, abandoned house and screams, “Hello,” as if the murderer is going to pop up around the corner and reply.

That’s me.

I’m the stupid girl.

But I can’t seem to stop myself.

“Nina…” The voice floats all around me, the noise seeming to echo. Instantly, I freeze, my hands trembling by my sides.

“W-Who are you?”

Silence reigns as I spin in a wide, desperate circle. Those invisible eyes, those penetrating eyes, seem to be burning a hole through my skin in order to peek at my very soul. The sensation is unnerving and sends nausea swirling in my stomach.

“Nina.” This time, the voice comes from directly beside me, only a hair’s breadth away, and I yelp, jumping backwards a few feet. “You are here.”

“Who are you? And where is here?” My head scrambles to put together everything I know, but try as I might, the memories evade my grasp, shattering on the floor in thousands of irreparable pieces.

“You may call me…Nick.” He stumbles over the word, almost as if that isn’t his real name and he made it up on the spot. My hackles raise as I continue backing away from the masculine voice.

“Nick,” I repeat. Can he hear the way my heart is racing? The way it threatens to grow limbs, rip apart my rib cage, and then crawl its way out? It suddenly feels too heavy for my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found it on the ground, beside the broken shards of my memory. “Nick, where am I?”

“You are in my home.” Once more, his voice sounds from directly beside me. He says each word slowly, carefully, as if he isn’t used to speaking. I can dimly make out a posh accent, though I can’t decipher the origins. “You have been injured,” he continues, and I feel the slightest pressure of fingertips against my cheek. There and gone in a breath.

“Injured?”

Once more, I focus on my splintered memories, struggling to recall what happened. I was with Rion in bed…

And then…

And then the voice! The song! The lilting music that was impossible for me to resist.

I cling desperately to those memories, my metaphorical knuckles turning white and the veins popping, as the rest of the scene replays in a loop.

The hands on my body. The voice instructing me to bang my head against the wall. The pain.

And then…

And then Logan arrived and snapped the siren’s neck. Kai told me once that they were some of the only paranormal creatures capable of luring people to their deaths with just their voices. Once you were under their thrall, it was impossible to resist.

“Nick, where am I?” I repeat. My heart races, and sweat beads on my forehead.

“You are with me,” he states simply, his soft, melodic voice washing over me the same way the siren’s did. Only, unlike the siren’s, I don’t sense any malice from this man. Just curiosity. Confusion. Warmth.

“Your home?” I try to feel my surroundings, try to gauge how far away I am from my men, but my searching hands feel nothing but air. Now that I’m thinking about it…

It almost feels like I’m floating. There’s nothing tangible or solid beneath my bare feet.

Just wispy air.

Panic settles in, a heavy pressure on my chest, but I’m able to breathe around it as I turn in the general direction I heard Nick’s voice.

“Where is your home?” I begin carefully, regarding him like a fuse that can explode at any moment. I need to tread carefully.

“Everywhere.” His voice resonates from every direction. “And nowhere.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” My brows furrow together as another feather-light finger brushes down my cheek and pauses on my pulse.

“Did you like the gifts I have bestowed upon you?” he asks suddenly, before I can probe him further for information.

Bestowed upon?

“Gifts?” I choose to ask instead, ignoring his weird, formal language.

“The note,” he explains, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “And the rose.”

“Those were from you?” I distantly remember the creepy, borderline possessive note someone slipped into Damien’s jacket pocket. And then the rose on my pillow after my night with Rion…the rose I thought came from him.

I try to ignore the unease that crawls up my spine like millions of fire ants. First, he left a note in my pocket that conjures images of serial killers and stalkers and crazy murderers—I may have been watching too many horror movies—and then, he went to Rion’s cell while we were both sleeping and naked and left a rose.

Who does that?

“You are upset.” Nick sounds baffled, if not a little bit hurt.

There are a thousand things I want to ask, but I settle on, “Why did you do it? What do you want? Tell me the truth.”

Why go through all of this trouble for me? I’m not oblivious. I know that a lot of the guys in the prison find me attractive, mainly because of my status as the unofficial Queen of the Labyrinth and because of my overprotective mates. People want what they can’t have.

But no one has ever taken it to the extreme “Nick” has. Maybe because most people know they’ll be ripped to shreds if they lay a finger on me. That’s enough of a deterrent as anything.

“Soon, little one,” Nick says softly. There’s a lapse in conversation, and for a moment, I think he’s left. But then his voice reaches me from all directions, making it impossible for me to pinpoint an exact location. “I will try to protect you, but my power is limited. It has only recently become active again.”

“I don’t understand what you mean?—”

“You need to wake up now, little one.” His hands touch my shoulders, and for a horrible, nauseating second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he shoves me.

I spin wildly around, tumbling through wave after wave of air, before darkness mercifully claims me one final time.

I wheeze,my lungs constricting with panic and my pulse thundering in my ears.

The first thing I’m aware of is pain. My head is throbbing as if…

As if I hit it repeatedly against a cave wall.

“Careful,” a growly voice reprimands, and I feel a hand touch my chest, guiding me onto my back.

“Bron?” I reach with shaky hands for my lover, and he nuzzles my palms, a low whine leaving his throat. “Where am I? Where is everyone?”

“We’re here,” Abel says softly, his voice sounding from the other side of me. I can’t help but notice how subdued he sounds. He’s normally so upbeat, full of life and energy, that this drastic change leaves me reeling. I must’ve been in pretty bad shape for him to sound like that.

“Everyone?” I reach with my free hand, and someone—my guess is Abel—immediately takes it.

“Damien and Blade are with Logan, helping to dispose of the…err…” Cain trails off as Abel gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“The body,” I finish for him, once more attempting to sit up. Wincing, I bring a hand to my forehead, unsurprised to feel a fresh bandage over the wound.

“And Rion is…” Cain’s voice tapers off again, and he swallows audibly.

“Where is he? Is he hurt? Is he okay?” I rapidly fire off question after question as my mind imagines the worst possible scenarios. Did the siren hurt him? Did I hurt him while I was under the siren’s thrall? Is he alive?

I search for the big ball of energy inside of me that I’ve come to associate with Rion and find him alive and well, just a few feet away. It doesn’t seem as if he’s in the room with me, though. Why would he be sitting just outside of it?

My confusion must’ve been plain to see on my face, because Cain rushes to explain, “He feels a lot of guilt over what happened.” Darkness coats his words when he speaks next. “As he should.”

“Don’t.” I remove my hands from Abel and Bronson, ignoring the latter’s growl, to whack Cain gently. “Don’t blame him for what happened. It wasn’t his fault.”

“He was supposed to be watching you, Goddess,” Bronson says in a calm voice. Too calm. I know my wolf shifter well enough to hear the fury lacing his words.

“It was my fault,” I defend immediately, hating that they’re putting the blame onto Rion. And worst…that he’s accepting it. “I got out of bed to go to the bathroom. Rion didn’t even know I was up. And besides, if the siren’s song made me…um…” I allow my words to fizzle out when Bronson begins to growl and the smell of sulfur permeates the air. Taking a deep breath for courage, I add, “What I’m trying to say is, if Rion was under the siren’s spell, he wouldn’t have been able to resist. It could’ve happened to any of you, so please don’t blame him for something he had no control over.”

I need to go to him, to check on him. He’s hurting. I can sense that as sharply as I can feel my own pain.

“Easy there, Bambi.” Abel wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I can see the wheels in your mind turning.”

“But you’re still injured,” Cain adds, his voice rough with emotion. “So you need to be resting.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Abel takes over one more.

“I remember…”

Cuddling with Rion.

The siren.

His horrible, unwelcome, nauseating touch. One that even now sends bile racing up my throat.

Pain.

And then…

Darkness.

But I feel as if there’s something I have to remember, a tiny piece of the puzzle I need in order to understand everything bombarding us. Try as I might, I can’t hold on to it longer than a second.

“The siren…” I bring my thumb to my lower lip and pull on it gently. “You said he’s dead?”

“Logan took care of him,” Cain answers in a dark tone. And then, almost under his breath, he adds, “Though I wish he left the fucker alive. I would’ve liked to get my hands on him.”

“Same, brother,” Abel murmurs.

I nod once, hating the immense wave of relief I feel at knowing the siren is dead and can’t hurt me ever again. It’s a strange thing, to be targeted by a man you don’t even know. I’m almost positive I never talked to this person before, someone so blinded by greed that he would be willing to kill an innocent female.

Is it wrong that I’m glad he’s dead?

Does that make me a horrible person?

Why is it so hard to differentiate right from wrong? When did that line become blurred?

“What was his…?” I swallow, trying again. “What was his name?”

“Brett,” Bronson growls out, and I automatically bring my hand up to his hair, trailing my fingers through the short blond strands. He whines low in his throat and leans against me. “He’s been in this prison for almost five years now. We thought he was a good man.”

“Though how good can anyone be if they’re down here?” Abel laments with a harsh sounding chuckle.

“We found the hit list in his room,” Cain tells me, putting a hand on my foot and rubbing gently at the sole.

“It’s scary,” I begin, trying to wrangle the moan that wants to escape as Cain continues to massage my foot, “the power money has over people. And it’s even scarier what my life is worth.”

Cain freezes, his hands closing around my ankle, and Bronson emits a fierce growl.

“No one is going to get to you, Trouble. You know that, right?” Something dark and broken, something made up of shadows and nightmares, fills Cain’s voice. “Not again. We let it happen one too many times.”

“Things have to change,” declares Abel resolutely. “We can’t stay here any longer. Not with the list against you.”

Before I can ask him to elaborate on what he means, I hear the sound of a door opening and closing and nearly inaudible footsteps stopping just at the edge of my bed. Only one man moves that silently.

“Angel,” Damien says gently, and a second later, I feel his fingers on my calves. “How are you feeling?”

“I hurt,” I confess, “but it’s not horrible.”

“Good. That means your natural healing is kicking in. You should be back to normal soon,” Damien explains in his soft, melodic voice. “Would you mind if I used my magic to check the progress of your healing?”

I can’t help but note that I’m the only one Damien will ever ask permission from. Usually, he takes what he wants without remorse, without thought to the people he might hurt. But not with me. Everything is my choice with him. It’s been like that from the very beginning, when I sauntered up to the blue-eyed man and fed him.

“Of course.” As he leans over me, I bring my hand up to cup his cheek. He pauses, twisting his head to kiss my palm, before placing his own hands on both of my shoulders. I can’t see his face, but silence descends as he does whatever magic he needs to do. I can feel heat emitting from where his hands touch my skin, but besides that, I feel nothing.

One minute turns into two. And two turns into ten.

I don’t think I’m the only one becoming concerned when Abel asks, “Damien, man. Are you broken? Do we need to reset you? Did someone unplug you?”

Damien pulls away from me with a gasp—a gasp that is completely unlike my stone-cold assassin. It’s broken and raspy.

“That’s impossible,” he breathes, horror lacing his tone.

“What’s impossible?” I fidget on the uncomfortable bed I’m sitting on. I haven’t gone into anyone’s head, so I’m not sure where I am, but my guess is the small bedroom located in the back of the throne room.

“I need to… I need to talk to Kai.”

Before any of us can comment on Damien’s abrasive, uncharacteristic behavior, the door slams shut, signaling he already left.

“What was that all about?” I ask, anxiously chewing on my lower lip.

“I don’t know.” Bronson touches my cheek. “But I don’t like it.”

I agree. Anything that ruffles my apathetic assassin…

It can’t bode well for me.