Page 147 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

CHAPTER 36

The Cost of Silence

Brynleigh would never leave this dungeon alive. Her immortal life would end here. She was certain of it.

The guard’s powder was a mix of silver and prohiberis. She recognized it the moment it hit her skin. Like the black stones on the wall, it stole her magic. And the silver? It fucking burned. It ate her flesh. It was fire, and she was dying from its flames.

She tried to shake it off, but there was too much.

The fae stepped towards her, and she kicked at him weakly. Her leg hit his shin, and he cursed, “Vampire bitch. You won’t escape what’s coming for you. You’re going to pay for what you did.”

Brynleigh attempted to scramble away from him, but her body refused to respond to her commands.

A cruel, humorless laugh burst from the guard as he watched her struggle before seizing her roughly. He slammed the cuffs on her wrists before grabbing her head with both hands.

“Hold still,” he snarled. “Or this will hurt even worse.”

“Fuck. You.” Even while she burned alive, Brynleigh wouldn’t listen to him.

She raised her leg despite the pain running through her and aimed for the precious bits between his legs. She missed, her knee connecting with his thigh.

“That was a fucking mistake.” He knocked her head into the stone wall behind her.

Once again, darkness claimed her.

“Wake up, leech.” That same cruel voice taunted her, pulling her from her painful nightmares.

Brynleigh moaned, shaking her head as she tried to remain asleep. At least then, the evil guard couldn’t bother her.

A woman laughed. “Try this.”

A grunt of approval came from somewhere to the right, and someone thrust a wet rag against Brynleigh’s nose. An astringent, slightly sweet scent infiltrated her nostrils, swiftly followed by a bitterness that had her choking. Her eyes flew open, and she coughed as though she were hacking up her insides.

The moment her lungs felt somewhat normal, she looked around.

Oh, gods.

This was bad.

Worse, if possible, than the cell she’d first been in.

They’d put her in an iron chair in the middle of an otherwise empty stone room. The air was frigid. Suspicious rust-colored stains painted the cracked stones. A putrid stench that made her want to gag came through the air vents. One wall featured a black mirror, which she assumed was a double-sided window.

“Good morning.” The soldier from before crouched in front of her. “Did you sleep well?”

Brynleigh snarled and lurched forward. Or at least, she tried to.

In reality, the moment she opened her jaw wide, her skin connected with the silver muzzle. Flames exploded within her. Fire burned around her mouth. She screamed. And her hands? They clawed at the iron chair, manacles binding her to the seat.

“I’ll take that as a no.” The guard stood, watching her carefully as he stepped back. “That’s alright. It’ll only make this more fun.”

It was not the kind of fun Brynleigh enjoyed; she was certain of that.

Then she noticed they weren’t alone. Two people stood behind the first guard, and their gazes were also trained on her.

The man on the left was clearly an elf. His curling black ram-like horns rose above his head, making him nearly as tall as Ryker had been. He wore fighting leathers on the bottom and a black t-shirt, highlighting the red swirling tattoos running up his arms.

A Death Elf, then.

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