Chapter 1

Chapter

One

~ Nate ~

D amp earth. Sweat. Sulphur. The pungent smell of rotting eggs combined with the stench of unwashed bodies thickens the air, and for a moment, I think I’m in the dungeons of Kanzepes, the beast realm. The sense of familiarity is shattered when a musky scent I can’t place reaches my nose, the unusual odor mixed with the distinct smells of oil, blood, and something nutty. My instincts shout a warning at me, and when my eyes fly open, I find a strange creature towering over my form.

The being’s bottom half is that of a winged stallion, with four muscular legs and massive feathery wings folded at its sides, but its top half is that of a man with long, dirty-brown hair, and an array of weapons secured in a belt around his waist. Grimy plates of battered armor cover the male’s otherwise bare chest, and he glares down at me with disgust. The shape of his face already gives it a squashed look, and the curl of his top lip only highlights those features.

“Well, you’re the fuckin’ ugliest demon I’ve ever seen,” I comment with a grin, even though it’s obvious we never made it to Seral, the demon realm. Princess Blake isn’t anywhere around me, a fact I’m certain of seein’ as her honey and cinnamon scent is absent from my nose, and while knowing this has my anger rising, I maintain my focus on the immediate threat in front of me. I’ll be useless to her if I’m dead. I’ve never heard of beasts with half-animal forms, so somehow, when we stepped through the portal and tried to return to Seral, we ended up somewhere else entirely. Prince Callan and Dante are still unconscious nearby, and going by the throbbing in my skull, we’d been knocked out by something strong. Which is just fuckin’ great. It had already been a journey making it through the demon king’s competition, and I’d been lookin’ forward to a nice bed and some proper food. Looks like I’m gonna have to wait a while longer.

As expected, the creature’s face flares with anger at my comment, and he rears up on his hind legs, his large hooves rising into the air. Before he can strike, I attempt to shift, knowing I’ll easily be able to gut this beast while in my agile jaguar form, but when I try to bring on the change, a sharp, searing pain shoots up my right leg. I’m caught off guard, and I snarl in surprise, struggling to my feet. I only just manage to glimpse the silver enchanted cuff around my ankle before the beast’s front hooves slam hard into my chest. I’m sent crashing back to the ground, the air violently stolen from my lungs, and before I can lift to my feet again, a large pickaxe lands heavily on my chest.

Cursing, I glare up at the male creature. “What the fuck is this?”

I’m referring to the cuff that’s stifling my magic, but the male replies, “A mining tool. Get to work or I’ll report your refusal to the king.” His voice is rough and scratched like something damaged his vocal cords, and he sneers down at me like I’m nothing more than the dirt beneath his hooves. “Something tells me he’s just looking for an excuse to end your miserable life.”

The king? I wrack my brain, wondering if any of the rulers from the allied realms could be responsible for this, but it’s too early to tell. Lowering my brows, I finally let myself assess the vast cavern I’m in. The space is connected to a network of narrow tunnels, and I assume these lead to more caves and caverns. The structure reminds me of an ant nest, but of course, it’s much larger in size. The only light I can detect comes from a few sparse glowing crystals embedded in the rocky ceiling high above, and going by the thick, stale air, I’m guessing I’m far underground.

Around me, dozens of figures mine the cavern I’m in, but unlike the creature before me, they appear almost human. Standing on two legs, some of them are around my height, except their filthy bodies are wiry and gaunt, and their backs are arched as they continue to hack at the stone, making them appear smaller. The steady tink! tink! of metal colliding with rock echoes in my ears, and aside from a few furtive glances, the other prisoners ignore me completely.

That’s right, prisoners . Because given where I am and the cuff on my ankle, it’s the only conclusion that makes sense. Somehow, I’ve been captured, but by whom and why, I have no idea. Given his armor and commanding attitude, it's obvious now that the half-horse creature in front of me is some kind of guard, and more guards like him are spread throughout the space, watching over the other prisoners with matching stern expressions.

A female prisoner collapses on the other side of the cavern, the pickaxe slipping from her grip as she falls hard to the ground, and a guard steps forward, shouting obscenities at her. Pulling out his whip, he uses it on her bony back, not stopping until the female crawls forward, struggling again to her feet, blood dripping through her torn clothing. Pain shines in her murky eyes, but she doesn’t cry. Her gaze briefly finds another prisoner before she hastily starts mining again, her thin arms straining as she lifts her pickaxe.

Well, fuck me.

“Move it, or you’ll get the same treatment,” my guard growls with a cruel twist of his lips.

I eye the whip tied to his belt, but I’m not dumb enough to test him. Not when my magic has been barred from me, and I have no idea what the fuck he’s capable of, magically and physically. Begrudgingly, I find my feet, grabbing the wooden handle of the pickaxe and turning to the wall of rock behind me.

That’s when I notice Alaric is already there, chipping away with his own pickaxe. I should have scented him, but I was too distracted by whatever fucked up place this is. Raising a brow, I give him an incredulous look. Bastard could have shouted a warnin’. The Drozac assassin ignores me, but I notice his left cheek is red and swollen like he’s just been smashed in the face. Well, that makes me feel a little better.

“What are we minin’ for?” I ask the guard, my muscles bunching as I swing the axe and drive the steel pick into stone. The rock cracks, and a small section pulls away from the cave wall, stones tumbling near my feet.

“Crystals go in there,” the guard points to a metal cart on wheels not too far away. “Make sure it’s full before the end of the day, or you’ll learn the hard way that dead weight doesn’t survive in this place.”

I glance up at the glowing crystals high above before bringing my pickaxe down again. “And how will we know when it’s time?”

“Because I’ll tell you,” the guard replies with a yellow-toothed smile, and he laughs like he’s just said something funny. His laughing soon turns to coughing, and he spits on the ground beside me, leaving a glob of yellow phlegm. I narrow my eyes, but otherwise, I don’t react. He’s not the first disgruntled guard I’ve had to deal with, and until I can get this cuff off me, I’m better off spending my energy working out how this place runs. Prisons, like most places, have their own systems and hierarchies of power at play. Once you can figure it out, you can find a way to make it work in your favor. At least, that’s how it was in the prisons I’ve had the pleasure of visiting in the past.

Groaning sounds to my left, and I turn my head as Prince Callan and Dante both regain consciousness. Our guard gives them the same treatment he gave me, and Prince Callan is livid when he realizes he can’t use his power. Dante’s tail flicks in agitation as he repeatedly asks about Blake, but the guard only shouts at him, dropping a pickaxe at the demon’s feet. Leaning down, Dante grabs hold of the axe, and just when I think he’s going to attack the guard again, he turns, slamming the pick into rock rather than the guard’s body.

Glowering at us, the guard watches from close by, but aside from a few shared glances, the four of us find a steady rhythm, excavating crystals. Keeping silent, we add to the echoes of clanging steel and grunts.

Time blurs as we work, but I’m sure hours have passed when a commotion starts up some distance to our right. “I said keep your eyes to yourself you bastard,” snarls a guard with a bald head and small eyes that look too close together. Careful not to slow my pace, I keep working as I snatch glances at the unfortunate prisoner who was caught staring in our direction. Our guard leaves his post, joining the other guard as they berate the prisoner.

“Where’s Blake?” Dante asks in a low voice now that our guard’s attention is finally elsewhere. The demon’s words are steady, but there’s a dark gleam in his eyes that betrays his emotions.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I reply, instinctively scanning the cavern again, even though I already know she’s not here. The cuff around my ankle might be blocking my ability to shift, but my heightened senses remain, and I still can’t detect my mate’s delicious honey and cinnamon scent. I try not to think about how it’s making me want to tear the limbs from the guards as they scream in agony.

“They took her,” Alaric growls under his breath, his massive muscles bulging as he slams his pickaxe into rock again.

Prince Callan’s eyes are as cold as ice. “Who did?”

Alaric’s muscles tighten. “A foreign king. It’s all they’ve given away.”

My nostrils flare as I think of my unbonded mate, and the urge to shift and hunt her down has my skin itching uncomfortably. Without thinking, I try to change into my animal, and I snarl under my breath when pain radiates up my leg, spreading from the cuff. Fuckin’ thing. Steeling myself, I check that our guard is still busy, then I peer at my cuff and take aim with my pickaxe.

“Don’t,” Alaric warns, but it’s too late. As the steel pick connects with the metal cuff, an intense wave of pain crackles through me. I hiss through the agony, only managing to keep my pained howl contained as my muscles contract and then release again. My breathing becomes labored, and I sag against the rocky wall to keep myself standing.

The three assholes stare at me in amusement.

“Could have warned me earlier,” I grumble to Alaric.

The assassin doesn’t look the least bit remorseful. “You wouldn’t have listened,” he replies bluntly, and the matter-of-fact way he says it has me flashing him a grin.

Prince Callan works at prying a crystal from the rock in front of him, and he holds up a green crystal that sparkles in the dim light. Had we been in a different situation, I would have attempted to rescue some of these crystals for myself, but even I’m not a big enough fool to try anything right now.

“So, Blake’s not here, and we’ve been imprisoned and neutralized by an unknown magic,” Dante comments, his expression hard as he continues to mine. “Could this be the work of the witches?”

“These beings ain’t witches,” I point out, my gaze flicking to our guard who still hasn’t returned.

“They could be working with them,” Prince Callan says. “Like the giants we fought in the ruins of Perstalia.”

Alaric’s brows lower, and we’re all silent for a moment as we contemplate this.

“Whoever’s behind it, we have to find her,” Dante says, his dark eyes fixed on the rock in front of him.

None of us argue with that, and it’s obvious we’re all thinking the same thing. That we aren’t going to be able to rest until we know the demon princess is safe.

I tell myself that her disappearance shouldn’t bother me. After all, my goal when I attended the ball in Seral had been to hunt down the treasure in the demon castle and head back to Kanzepes. But the princess has gotten under my skin, and now my every instinct is telling me to find my mate. If I don’t find her soon, I’m going to lose my absolute fuckin’ mind.

“The guards have been paying extra attention to that prisoner,” Prince Callan says, his head cocked as he listens to the guards still shouting insults.

The archangel’s comment jolts me from my thoughts, and I turn my attention to the guards and the prisoner not far from us. Torn strips of clothing barely cover the prisoner’s scarred back, and thick layers of dirt and crystal dust coat his tattooed brown skin. His hair is a tangled mess of black knots, and his face is sunken and pale, but even as the guards hurl obscenities at him, he doesn’t cower. I’ve been in enough prisons to know how hard it is not to break when you’ve been there for long enough and every day is designed to test your will to live, so a trickle of respect goes through me at his defiance.

“You’re a bloody disgrace,” our guard spits out as the prisoner continues to work like this is an ordinary day for him. “Defender of the realm? You couldn’t save any of us when they came.”

I frown, my curiosity piqued by the guard’s comments. Nearby prisoners continue to mine, but a few of them cringe, their backs curling over more when the second guard detaches the whip from his belt.

“You think the newcomers are going to change things, don’t you?” our guard mocks. “No, when they’re gone, you’ll still be here. Even when I’m the one in the king’s crystal palace, enjoying the life he’s promised us. Oh yes, you’ll still be toiling in your own filth where you belong.”

The prisoner’s face remains passive as he uses his fingers to clear away the crumbling rock, and he leans down, blowing the dust from a cluster of crystals. It’s not until the other guard unfurls his whip that the prisoner speaks. “You’ve been here as long as I have, Javier. Tell me, who’s the bigger fool? The prince who knows exactly why he was betrayed, or the guard who, even after all these years, still doesn’t realize he’s been forgotten?” The prisoner glances our way then, and there’s a spark in his glowing blue eyes that doesn’t fade, even when the other guard snarls and brings the whip down on his back. The crack is loud enough that it makes me wince, but the prisoner doesn’t cry out. Not even when the force of the strike makes him fall against the stone. He clutches at the mound of rock, his gaze never straying from the four of us.

“He’s a fuckin’ prince,” I comment to the others.

“And he could be our way out of here,” Alaric growls. “We need to find a way to speak with him.”

I keep watching, unable to take my gaze from the prince as another crack of the whip rings in my ears.