“I only look to the present.”
“Then you may die in the here and now.”
“Your bullets can’t pierce my skin.”
“Perhaps not.” A flash of orange light glances off the stone by Max’s feet. “But morning sunlight will, and we have mirrors.”
Oh no.
Max retreats to the shadows. The reflected light dances just out of reach. I only half see him. He is calculating, pondering the risk of a direct attack. I don’t know the numbers behind me. At least three. “The gargoyles will not be your allies,” he says. “It is not our way, and no amount of coercion will change that fact.”
“I actually expected as much. I do not want your help, only your word.”
Max’s eyes flicker to me, and back up to Kelsa. “As part of what agreement?”
“Complete neutrality in all matters. You will do nothing and say nothing about this to the Triads. You will report nothing you witness to the humans or the Fey Council. They are off limits.” Another kick jostles me. “Talk to no one.”
Max is silent for a ponderous eternity. I want to scream, beg him not to agree, but can say nothing.
“What of her?” he asks, pointing to me.
“She is not your concern. She is wanted elsewhere, and will be paid handsomely for.”
Her tone sickens me. If I could move, I would vomit. Kelsa and her goblins are not here for Max or Istral. They were tracking me. I led them to Max. It’s my fault Istral is dead. But why do the goblins want me? Who will pay for me? I am a rogue. I have—
“She has no value,” Max says.
“On the contrary.” Kelsa’s feet move into my line of sight. Black boots, soft soles. Silent and deadly. “Your word?”
“What do I receive in return?”
“The same,” Kelsa says. “Non interference. Your people will be allowed to continue as you are now under our rule.”
Max laughs—a deep, grating sound that vibrates the floor. “You assume too much, goblin, but I agree to your terms. You have my word that I will not interfere with the humans or your plans.”
“Good.”
I am lifted up and slung over someone’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry. All I can see is sideways. The bricks of the tower as we pass out of Max’s lair and onto the roof. Then something is tied over my head, and I see only darkness.
I wake with no memory of passing out. Dark engulfs me, thick and oppressive. I am on my back, with something soft beneath me. Cold metal encircles my wrists and ankles. I pull. Chains rattle on both sides of my head, more at my feet. Fear twists my stomach. I’m not dead, but this is so much worse.
The dark turns to dimness. A thin line of light peeks from beneath what could be a closed door. The room is small. I can see the outline of the mattress I lay upon, flat on a dirty cement floor. The walls are bare. Handcuffs bind my wrists to chains, which are studded to the wall above my head. Shackles hold my bound ankles, similarly anchored.
I tug. The cuffs bite into my wrists. I rock my lower body and push/pull with all of my strength. Nothing. The chains are solid. I collapse, panting. My body tingles—probably a side effect of the numbing drug.
In the dark, bound to a mattress in a dark closet of a room, I realize something else—I am completely naked. My clothes are gone, nowhere to be seen. I go through a mental checklist, testing various parts of my body, but nothing aches. Nothing feels violated. The torture hasn’t begun.
Gooseflesh prickles my arms and stomach. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Is Wyatt worried yet? Has he started looking for me?
He won’t know where to start. I only told him I was going uptown. He doesn’t know Max, and Max won’t go to Wyatt. He gave his word to not interfere.
Betrayal stabs my heart with its icy knife. Max owes me nothing, but it still hurts. He let the goblins take me. If what Kelsa said is true, they are going to sell me to someone. Or have sold me.
I watch the line of light beneath the door, searching for shadows. Movement. Any indication of life outside of my little prison that smells of mildew and dust. I swallow, but my mouth is dry.
Time passes.
Bright light startles me. I squeeze my eyes shut against the glare sending bolts of pain into my head. Feet shuffle. The pain lessens, but never quite dissipates. I slit one eyelid open, testing. The light is bearable. Both eyes this time. I want to rub them, wipe away bits of sleep, but my hands are still bound.
A goblin female crouches next to me. Her black hair is loose and wild, framing red eyes and crimson lips that pull back in a snarling smile. I don’t recognize her. I’ve only ever fought and killed males. Goblin society is matriarchal for two reasons—females are born one in every fifty, and species procreation requires the death of the male. Only the strongest, battle-proven warriors are allowed the honor of mating and continuing the goblin lines. Like a bee and its stinger, fertilization is fast and deadly. Females are revered and honored, and rarely venture out in public.
They certainly don’t do their own dirty work.
“Evangeline Stone,” she says. It is a challenge as much as a greeting.
I don’t know her face, but I know her voice. “Kelsa.” It comes out somewhat garbled. I’m thirsty and my throat is tight, but I won’t ask for water.
“The great Evy Stone,” she says, as though I haven’t spoken. “Murderer of goblins and vampires and those you think beneath you. I’ve long wanted to meet you.”
“Lucky me.”
She arches a slender eyebrow. Long-nailed fingers slip into her stylish leather coat and produce a straight razor. She opens it with careful precision. I curl my hands around the cuff chains. My stomach flutters. She runs one fingertip down the sharp edge of the razor. I tense, but there is nowhere to go. The cuffs dig into my wrists and ankles. I grunt.
Kelsa smiles. “There is no escape from this, child.”
“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Why what?”
Coy bitch. I won’t give her the satisfaction.
“I’ve seen what your kind does to mine,” she says. She trails the tip of the razor down the center of my abdomen, too light to pierce the skin but hard enough that I feel every centimeter of her touch. I look at her, not at her hands.
“I’ve seen the way you kill, slitting them open from groin”—she presses just below my belly button, slicing the skin, and I cry out—“to sternum.” Swiftly her hand moves, drawing another fiery line straight down between my breasts. I hold my breath. Don’t make a sound. “It’s a shame, really. You humans have such spunk.”
Agony spears my left thigh, matched immediately on my right. Tears spark in my eyes. I bite down hard on my tongue, concentrating on that self-imposed pain. I try hard to ignore the inflicted wounds. I feel blood, oozing hot and thick from every cut. I won’t scream. I can’t.
She must be taunting me. If I’m to be sold, why damage me now? It makes no sense. Collectors rarely pay for broken merchandise.
Kelsa leans down, too far away for me to head-butt her, but close enough to smell her breath—moist and sharp, like metal. “We will have fun, you and I.” Fire bursts across my stomach and I wince. “Oh yes, Evy Stone. Two days of fun … for me.”
Two days? Until my buyer shows up? Until she gets bored and lets me go? Until her vampire alliance hits its boiling point? Questions without answers, agony without relief—this is my life now.
She holds up the razor, its edge coated with my blood. As red as her eyes. She presses the blade to my cheek and, in time, I do scream.
