he’d done to her under the demon’s influence.
“Rabbie…” The demon tutted sorrowfully. Even now, with him imprisoned and the charade unnecessary, she stayed in character. She might not be able to get inside his head anymore—his mental powers had vanished along with his magic—but she knew it was a bitter reminder to see her like this. Cruel enjoyment gleamed in her eyes as she leaned in close, brushed her fingertips along his swollen jaw, and whispered, “My poor, poor Rabbie. Why are you making me do this? You’re hurting us both, you know.”
His flesh quivered in muscle spasms that had him twisting away and then swinging back when he hit the ends of his chains. The scraping of the stone along his flayed back tore a groan from his throat.
Her eyes lit, though her voice stayed a purr. “Just give me what I want, and all of this stops and I set you free.”
If he’d been another guy, in another place and time—some other Rabbit who lived in a parallel universe that wasn’t a few weeks away from D-day—he probably would’ve taken the deal; anything had to be better than this, even death. But he knew that wouldn’t put him out of the demon’s reach. And he knew that if he couldn’t escape from his shackles—been there, failed that—he could at least stall by pretending he still had what they wanted. Better for them to carve him up trying to gain access to Nightkeeper magic than have them go after one of the others.
It was his sacrifice, though they would never know about it. He did, though, and it brought him a spark of grim satisfaction to dredge up bloody saliva and spit in her face. “Kiss my ass, bitch. You want what’s inside my head? Come and fucking get it.”
She hissed, her eyes briefly flaring demon red as the air around them crackled with the oily rattle of dark magic. The magic was useless against him, though, at least for her purposes. She bit off a vicious curse and waved to the camazotz. “More. I don’t care what it takes—I want him broken, damn you. We’re running out of time.”
Rabbit braced himself, knowing the first few blows were going to hurt like a bitch. He didn’t close his eyes, though—he’d learned it was worse not knowing when the whip was going to hit. Instead, he glared at the demon bitch.
But as much as he hated her, he was far from innocent in his sins. She had whispered, suggested, seduced… but he was the one who had failed to tell his teammates about the visions. He was the one who had listened when she said Myrinne wanted him only for his power.
The lash cut through the air, then into his shoulder and chest. And it turned out this was one of the times when he welcomed the pain, baring his teeth and riding it out with a sick sort of relief, one that said, Yeah, old man. I’m getting what I deserve. Not that it made up for what he had done, but at least he was being paid back some.
By the tenth blow, the hot agony of each whip strike had turned cold and his body was shaking with chills. By the twentieth he was nearly numb, his eyes going unfocused as his consciousness threatened to take a hike.
And then the weirdest fucking thing happened. He saw his father.
It wasn’t like he’d been imagining, either. It was more like Red-Boar was really there, planted in the doorway, wearing brown fatigues and a camo green T-shirt, with a machine pistol on one hip and a ceremonial knife on the other. He didn’t register the blood or the beating, but instead scanned some distant horizon with a frustrated scowl on his battle-ax of a face. The vision was so real that even knowing his old man was dead and gone, Rabbit sucked in a ragged breath to call his name.
But then the image wavered and disappeared. Rabbit’s struggles brought new pain searing as the shackles bit into his wrists and ankles, giving only slightly against the pins that held them in place. He wanted to roar and threaten. That would only please her more, though, so he just hung there, panting, while the nausea-inducing agony of the beating flooded back through him.
“There’s no point. He’s useless.” The demoness waved away the lash. “Come. We’re going after the girlfriend.”
“No!” Rabbit bellowed, slamming to the end of his chains. “Don’t you fucking touch her!”
Eyes gleaming red with excitement, the demon bitch shot a vicious look in Rabbit’s direction. “Don’t worry; she won’t remember you by the time she gets back here. If she even makes it.”
He roared incoherently, crashing at the ends of his chains as she left the cell, with the camazotz tossing the blood-soaked whip to the ground as it passed. Hatred pounded through him, would have consumed him if it hadn’t been for the guilt and fear, the knowledge that they were going after Myrinne because of him. Even from there, he could still hurt her, it seemed. “No,” he groaned, rattling the syllable up from the depths of his chest. “Please, gods, no!” But the gods didn’t hear his prayers anymore, leaving it up to him to save her.
So, hooking his toes into the slimy stones for purchase and twining his numb, fumbling hands in his chains, he started climbing. He cursed when the rocks bit deep and then slid with blood, and again when pain made his stomach heave, but he kept going, pushing himself upward until he had a little slack in the chains. Before, he had found that it was just enough for him to get one hand near his face, and he had tried to tear the pin loose. Now he didn’t bother with the pin. Instead, heart hammering a frantic beat of Hur-ry, hur-ry, hur-ry, he jammed his thumb into a link of the chain as high up as he could get it… and jumped.
There wasn’t even enough free fall to register before the chains snapped tight and the full force of his body weight hit that thumb with a sickening crack that echoed inside his skull. He howled, jerked his mangled hand out of the chain and against its shackle. Pain hammered through him, hazing his vision, but by the gods his broken hand folded and went partway through the iron! His consciousness fought to waver, but he didn’t let it; he couldn’t—wouldn’t—fail now.
He pictured Myrinne—not as he had last seen her, but back when things had been good and right between them, and he’d known for damn sure he was the luckiest bastard on earth to have her. He imagined her dark hair falling loose to her waist, mismatched stones glittering at her ears, and her brown eyes laughing up at him in challenge.
He didn’t remember any smell or sound beyond those of his cell, didn’t remember what it felt like to be touched with love rather than punishment, but he remembered that look. And it gave him the strength for another wrenching pull, one that dragged his hand the rest of the way free.
Gasping curses, he fumbled, struggling to get the pin free from his other wrist, then from his ankles. He tumbled to the floor, landed hard, lay there dazed and disoriented by pain and weakened by captivity. Maybe there was some part of his warrior self left inside him, though, because he somehow found the strength to force himself to his feet. Grabbing the fallen whip and holding it in his good hand, he stumbled through the door and into an unfamiliar tunnel lit by a string of bare bulbs. An echo of sound told him which way the demon bitch had gone, and he set off after her with murder in his heart.
He didn’t have any magic, backup, or even a freaking clue where he was, but he knew one thing for damn sure: He was going to do whatever it took to reach Myrinne and protect her this time, or die trying.
Praise for the
Nightkeepers Series
“This series goes right to your heart! Jessica Andersen is a must read for me!”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author J. R. Ward
Storm Kissed
“A superb thriller… fast-paced and character-driven.… Fans will relish this exhilarating tale.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
“Thrilling.… With this tale of prophecy and curses, Andersen really shakes up her series. Love, loss, passion, and drama are all here. You won’t be able to put this one down.”
—Romantic Times
