Chapter 14

"Isay let her bleed for a while," the woman said as they threw me into the carriage, pain racing through my abdomen. "Let her suffer."

"We aren't barbarians, Paesha," Orin said.

"You just stabbed your wife in the Scarlet District, and now you're dragging her ass home for the second time in so many hours. I'd define barbarianism to you if I thought it would matter."

Each breath I took was a rise of strength countered by complete loss. If I thought I could hurl myself out of the carriage and escape, I'd still try. But they'd only hunt me, and three assholes against one injured person with absolutely nowhere to go didn't seem like a safe bet. I hoped my scream of rage was enough to keep Ro at bay.

I checked for weapons first. Chaos was gone, though I'd bet my death, the pouch of coins, and the rubies that remained in my pocket that Orin had taken her. I still had a small throwing knife in my sleeve, but, lying on the rattling bed of the carriage, I couldn't tell if they'd emptied my boots. If I shifted at all to check, I'd give myself away.

"We'll clean it," Orin said, answering a question I hadn't heard.

"I'm confident a little Maiden blood is probably the least of the vile things that have leaked into this carriage," Paesha added.

"I'll take care of it," the giant man answered.

"If you feel so inclined, Jarek," the dancer said. "I won't stop you."

When they'd thrown me into the carriage, I'd clenched my teeth in pain, but I hadn't moved again, pretending to be knocked out by the blow of my head crashing into the opposite door. Curiosity drove me to peek an eye open.

Jarek's voice carried through the space like a growl. "We send it back like this, the Maestro's going to take it out on one of you."

I couldn't see Orin, but I could feel his boot on my spine as we traveled down the road. The low rumble of his words still jarred me. "He's right. We return the carriage how we found it."

If they hadn't stolen Chaos from my side, I would have dragged her sharpened edge down the leather seat on my way out. The cart came to a halt, and I wondered for only a moment who'd driven it before everyone jumped out. Orin was gentler than I'd known him to be as he maneuvered me toward him. I remained limp, eyes almost closed. He was a blur, but there was no mistaking his build or the darkness that seemed to consume him. He ran a finger over my rib where the knife had gone in, then reached for my face, swiping the hair away.

My skin crawled at his gentle touch. It took everything in me to hold still. To lie and wait. But as soon as he lifted me, wound be damned, I snatched Chaos from her stolen sheath at his waist and jumped free of him, hissing as my body protested.

"Don't be foolish, Nightmare. You can't escape."

"You don't…" I stumbled, pulling my fingers from the gash to see the blood was still running. "Don't call me that."

"I'll call you whatever the hell I want to call you, Maiden." He lunged, tossing bulky arms around my waist just to throw me over his shoulder, with no concern for my wound.

I screamed in pain, piercing the night as I hauled the knife back and would have buried it into his ass had Paesha not been there to catch my arm and take the blade from my weakened hands.

"I'll never stop fighting you," I growled.

"I'd be disappointed if you did," Orin answered, his voice far calmer than I would have liked, as I struck him over and over with a fist.

As we neared a door of the odd, towering home, I lost my will to fight and pleaded, hating the way it sounded, but I was desperate. "Please. Please don't lock me in. I can't stay here. I have to go. You don't understand."

He dropped me into the empty room, and my hip cracked on the bare wood floor. "You can't be allowed to roam free, either."

The second I was shut in the room, the walls moved in. Closer and closer they inched. I crawled, banging on the locked door. Pounding on the ground. Screaming as loudly as I could. Adrenaline mixed with fear as I became consumed by space. Every bit of air in the room grew heavier, a chore to drag into my lungs. I struck the wood until my gloves wore down, and after I removed them, beating until my knuckles were bloody and the skin on my palms raw. Until the tears no longer fell, and I had no voice remaining. I could handle a lot. But the single thing that would end me, that would turn me into the monster they feared... the monster I feared, was captivity.

I was born to be the most powerful person in the world, and it was crushing me.

When I woke, lying in a pool of my blood, weak and defeated, I stared at a half-filled glass of water and a sandwich set on the floor just inside the room. I wasn't proud, lifting the water to my lips, forcing myself to sip instead of gulp. I reached for the sandwich. The immediate pain from the movement was severe. And defeating.

"Would you like some more water?" a high-pitched feminine voice asked from the hall.

"Yes, please," I rasped, desperate for the door to open.

"Move back against the far wall. If you do, I can help you."

There was no way in hell. If not because it might be my only chance at escape, then because I could hardly lift my head to finish the last swallow of water.

"I can't," I whispered, clearing my throat before trying again. "I can't."

The door inched open, and a woman with short red hair and rosy cheeks popped her head in, the soft smile on her face fading away as she saw me lying on the ground. "That's… that's a lot of blood."

"Sorry."

"Did you just apologize for bleeding?" She knelt down before me, but as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted.

"Godsdammit all, Althea," Orin roared from behind her. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

The door swung open, slamming into my feet. I groaned from the jarring pain stabbing through my abdomen. Orin's golden eyes scanned me from head to toe, his fist clenching before he rested a hand on Althea's shoulder. "Go get my mother's medical kit and meet us in the kitchen."

I hissed in protest when he hoisted me from the floor and carried me through the house, the eyes of several strangers falling on us as we passed. He laid me on a sturdy wooden table, fully clothed, and though I could barely open my eyes, I still managed to glare.

Gripping the edge of the table, Orin eyed my stomach. "You remove the shirt, or I do. Your choice."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You have three seconds to decide. One."

My eyes fell shut.

"Two."

"Two and a half," I groaned.

"You and I both know you aren't going to die. I could just leave you to suffer."

Fire surged through me. I didn't need a thing from him, especially insinuated mercy. "Then do it."

"I can do it, Orin, if you want me to," that soft voice said. "It might be better if I?—"

"Leave us," he barked, and the door snicked shut.

"Eager to get a peek at your handy work?"

A line formed between his brows. "You've never had to fight you, and it shows. You left me no choice, Nightmare."

"Stop calling me that."

He ignored me, eyes pinned to mine as he grabbed the cowl neck of my hood, pulling it carefully over my head before dropping it onto the floor. He studied the leather buckles and straps across my chest.

"I can do it. Just leave me."

Orin's eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and malice as he towered over me, deep brown hair falling into his brow. Ignoring my demand, he started on the intricate harness that once held my weapons and now concealed the stab wound. With each strap he unbuckled, I winced in pain.

"You can't be left alone. You'll be off murdering some poor, innocent soul by night's end."

I turned to my side and tried like hell to haul myself up, but blood began dripping like crimson tears on the scuffed kitchen floor.

"Don't pretend you know anything about me, Orin Faber."

He crossed his arms over his chest, scanning my body until my heart rate quickened. "I'll just sit back and watch you struggle until you pass out."

"Are you mocking me for bleeding when it's your fault?"

"Had I known you were so fragile, I would have been more careful."

"I think we both know I'm anything but fragile. Now get out."

"Make. Me."

Though it hurt like hell, I rolled to my side, gripping the table and shifting until one leg touched the floor. Only with monumental effort did I get the second leg down.

He smirked, studying me as he took a single step forward, grabbed the final buckle, and said, "Not sorry about this," before ripping it free.

My vision turned white. My legs gave in. The harness dropped to the ground, shredding away what was left of the fresh scab on my abdomen. Somehow, he managed to catch me before I hit the floor.

"I hate you," I mumbled.

Orin's hot breath curled around my ear as he leaned close, the deep timbre of his voice causing the hair on my arms to rise. "I hate you, too."

He laid me back down on the table, pulled up the remnants of my shirt, but left my breasts covered, and then yanked off my boots. His hands burned into me. His touch was like a thousand needless as he worked. I wanted to protest again, to tell him to leave me alone. But I knew the wound needed to be cleaned. I knew few things sounded better than washing away the layer of dried blood on my skin, and I knew, above all else, he wasn't going to fucking listen to me, anyway.

I couldn't figure him out. I hoped eventually I'd stop trying. Every word he'd spoken on that roof felt so sincere. The way he'd looked into my eyes had stripped me bare. But then what did I know of genuine sincerity? He'd merely played the part well. And when we fought, he hadn't held back. He'd taken and given every blow as if it might be his last. I didn't miss the darkness in his eyes when he stabbed me. He'd meant to. I could see how much my pain had brought him happiness.

Yet, now, I lay before him, hardly able to keep my eyes open, weak from blood loss, and he'd insisted on caring for me. He'd carried me out of that prison himself. His prison. I didn't understand.

There was a pause before he removed my leather pants, but when I looked up at him, expecting those fiery eyes to be staring at my undergarments, I was surprised to see him looking at my face. As if he watched the wheels of my mind turning, trying, and failing to figure him out.

"You've got blood in your hair, and I have to rinse the wound before it can be bandaged. Hot or cold water?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. But no one in the house slept last night with all the racket, so I'm hoping this wears you out."

I laid my head on the table, too tired to keep it upright. "Maybe you shouldn't lock people up. Then you wouldn't have to bother at all."

He went with the cold water, which matched his icy exterior as he let it drip. I gasped, but he pinned me down without much effort, keeping me from ripping the skin around my abdomen any more. Orin used a cloth and proficiently cleaned, his knuckles grazing my skin, fingertips constantly touching as he worked while I wished to be anywhere else.

"Here," he said, offering a metal flask.

"I'd rather die."

"Suit yourself, but this is going to hurt."

I counted three blinks, staring at a patched ceiling. "I'll survive."

His eyes didn't leave mine as he took the flask and poured its contents into the open wound, the alcohol every bit as excruciating as I imagined, and then some. He held my shoulder down, but my stomach roiled, and I wanted nothing more than to turn over and vomit. Another basin of lukewarm water later, and it took every ounce of strength I had to sit up so he could wrap the bandage while holding eye contact, daring me to show weakness at his touch. But this was a silent war, and I was very good at his game.

"The blade went all the way in," Orin said. "It's going to take days to heal."

"Longer," I rasped. "Your giant friend hit the handle, and I think the blade nicked something."

"We contemplated asking nicely, but it didn't pass the vote. Lie back."

"How fucking generous." I waited a beat before adding, "Prick."

"Not the worst thing I've been called. Pretty sure that's not even the worst thing you've called me. Now, lie back."

"Can't. I'll throw up."

He gripped my bare arm, staring down at me. "You'll be fine, Nightmare."

I laid slowly, his grasp never faltering as I rested my head on the table. "I prefer Maiden."

"Maiden," he drawled, refusing to look me in the eye. "So eager for a battle, even when you're broken."

The corners of his mouth fought the grin as he moved away, that beautiful, brutal face full of cocky indignation.

The scent of lavender filled the air as he dipped a cloth into a basin of warm water, wringing it out before carefully wiping away the blood that matted my hair. His touch was surprisingly tender, each stroke soothing the ache in my head. He smoothed a finger over my neck, pulling my collar down, no doubt gazing over the tattoo that crept up from my back.

Warm water seeped into my scalp, and he buried his hands into my hair, massaging every inch, applying more soap, and scrubbing. Those fingers got lost, digging every discomfort from my mind.

I looked up to see him staring into my eyes and immediately snapped mine shut. Whatever this was, he was still my enemy. I'm sure he didn't want me staining the floors of his massive house with blood. He didn't want me screaming in despair either. If he locked me in that fucking room again, well, it was just going to be round two. But for now, all thoughts of rebellion and all the ways I should make him suffer went to the wayside as he scrubbed until I fell asleep.

"Hello, my beautiful Deyanira."

Falling into Death's court would never be something I got used to. Setting my jaw, I shifted into the silent but obedient servant I'd learned to be with him. He curled a finger toward me, his magic drawing me closer. I'd killed my father only days ago, and while I thought that might, at the very least, win me some time, Death was never predictable.

His dark eyes held mine. "Tell me you're playing hard to get with your new husband. Do you want his name, my beauty?"

I said nothing, hardly daring to blink as he leaned closer, near enough to whisper in my ear, sliding his hand down my arm to take my wrist and turn my palm. His intentional touch sent shivers down my spine as he dragged a finger over my sensitive skin.

My breath hitched.

He whispered, "I could mark this perfect skin with his name. I could take you to your knees with desperation to kill him, my Deyanira."

The way his voice purred was an illusion compared to the lethal darkness in his eyes. His eager drive to reap and hunt, to pluck another soul from our realm of two cities was insatiable. This was not a man who saved our world. No matter what the historians would have had us believe, he just wasn't. But that was a speculated truth that would never leave my lips.

"Speak. Say his name and it will be done."

I wanted to. The old gods knew I did. But that would be an indirect way of choosing someone else's fate. The single thing Orin had accused me of. There was still a kernel of goodness in me, something deep that kept me sane and proud. I would never take a life. The woman who killed for Death was a separate part of me. A beast and a monster, but she wasn't all of me. So, I held my tongue.

"Come, my darling," he said, stepping away, though he clenched my hand until the bones ground together.

He led me down the dark stone path outside of his infamous gates. Two moons cast a hue of blue across his haunted eternity. The closer we stepped to his towering hellhounds, the more my sleeping heart raced. Their ruby eyes pinned me down, turning my feet immobile until their master chuckled.

"Stand down. She isn't a threat to you." He winked at me. "They will not harm you as long as you draw no weapon and I do not command it."

I wondered if he would lead me beyond the swirling iron gate to the castle and court. I wondered for only a moment if he would keep me here. And worse, I did not loathe the thought. One day, I would return and never leave, embracing eternity in hell. One day, I would stand before my mother and find the words to apologize. I would see my father again and stand or break before him.

"Touch him," Death commanded, the power in his voice potent.

Though trembling, I did as I was told, burying my fingers into short, coarse hair. When the hound jumped at my contact, a low growl rumbling in his chest, it took every ounce of strength to keep from running.

"She is mine, Aetherius. There is no need to fear her."

And though I knew Death had gotten it wrong, that it was not the hounds' but my own dread filling the air, I remained silent, stroking the animal while Death moved away, giving attention to the other beast before turning to study me, to watch the way my hands moved over his beloved pet. I met his eyes without shame, but I couldn't say it was without fear. There were chords wound tightly within me that Death knew how to strike.

"You are different, my beauty," he said, inviting me to his side with another gesture. "Why do you not crave the death of your enemies?"

A breath in. A breath out.

"One day, I will break you." His promise filled the air as he snatched my hand and burned the name into my palm. His handsome face showed every bit of delight as pain overtook me. "I have a good feeling about this one," he purred, seconds before everything vanished and I opened my eyes.

Though covered with a blanket, I lie on the floor of Orin's prison room once more, Death's magic pulsing through me, begging me to claw my way through the walls to hunt my newest target.