Page 47 of Touched By Death

“I have information on the angel that you’ll want to know.”

His eyes narrow, cutting me to the bone. Suspicion sneaks into his expression. I scratch my jaw, blowing out a stiff breath through my nose. “Aurelia is gone. That girl, that monster, is not the girl you’re in love with.”

A snarl starts up in his chest, but I hold my hand up in a soothing gesture. “Just be careful, is all. Sleep with your eyes open.”

After he’s left, I turn around and kick over my nightstand. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I don’t owe Daemon anything. I don’t even fucking care about him. But maybe it’s true that blood runs thicker than water, because the thought of the wolf entering the lamb’s paddock makes my stomach coil tight.

They don’t even know the shitstorm that they’re bringing into their fold.

The Trojan horse.

I let out a frustrated roar, clasping the short strands at my nape in such a tight grip that it borders on torture. I need to do something. I can’t just stay here and watch the girl destroy Hell.

My home.

Fuck the treaty. Fuck the contract. Fuck the damn throne. Who the hell cares?

Swiping up my leather jacket from the end of the bed, I slide it on and stride out of the room. If Daemon wants me gone, he’ll have to challenge me for the girl. Until then, I’m here to fucking stay.

Chapter Seventeen

AURELIA

Any moment now, the lone candle in the corner will burn out. It’s almost to the bottom, the dying flame flickering low. I don’t know how long has passed, but I do know that if darkness descends to swallow me whole, I’ll break. I can’t face it again, the oppressive silence that seems to scream to be heard over my thundering heartbeat. Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself and rest my chin on my knees. My eyes fall closed as I exhale a rattling breath. I need to wrangle the panic that has its talons in my ribcage, as if it wants to pry me open any moment now.

A whimper escapes me when a soft hiss alerts me to the candle’s demise. Darkness descends on the room. I shoot my head up and push to my feet. As I take a small step back, the chain drags across the damp concrete floor. I’ve tried everything to free my ankle. Nothing works. I’m stuck here—a prisoner of the darkness, chained and broken.

My breaths saw out of me as I press my palms flat against the wall behind me. Inside my chest, the panic flares, throbbing and pulsing with its own heartbeat. I curse myself for succumbing to it.

Just then, a silent creak has my head whipping to the side, ears pricked for any sound. There’s a rustle, followed by a small flame that flares to life, dancing and flickering on my stalker’s fingertips while he watches me from behind the mask. Bending down, he lights a new candle on the metal tray, and I stiffen when he straightens up.

Black wings peek up from behind his shoulders. As I inch further away, they flex restlessly.

“Please, let me go. You can’t keep me here.”

The way he stares at me from behind the mask has me breaking out in a cold sweat. His gaze probes, slithering over every inch of exposed skin like a slick tongue.

Crossing the room, he grabs my chin in a bruising grip and shoves my head hard against the wall. My skull explodes with pain, and blinding, white spots dance and swirl before my eyes. I let out a cry. The world spins in and out of focus, the floor tilting up to greet me.

Holding up a vial with a blue liquid, he flicks the cork lid with his thumb, sending it scattering across the floor. I clamp my mouth shut when he puts it to my lips and keeps me frozen with his other hand. Nostrils flaring, I fight him the whole time. With a hard yank, he forces my eyes to his, then digs his fingers into my cheeks to pry my mouth open.

I try to knee him in the balls. He sees it coming and dodges out of the way before ramming my head into the stone wall once more. I let out a pained whimper, the world spinning around me. I’m vaguely aware of a bitter taste in my mouth as the liquid slips down my throat, followed by intense burning. My soul has been set on fire. At least, that’s what it feels like when my body begins to jerk and convulse.

As I slide down the wall and collapse in a heap on the floor, drugged and dazed, he strokes my hair away from my brow and says in a voice that’s vaguely familiar, “So pretty.” His fingers stroke and stroke. “So very pretty.”

I try to sit up, but my body won’t obey. I end up sprawled on my side instead.

“Shh, don’t fight it. We can’t let you set fire to the place.”

More whimpers escape past my lips when his touch trails a path up my bare thigh. Pausing at the short hem, he stares down at me. Nausea churns my stomach. I’m going to be violently sick if he doesn’t get his filthy hands off of me.

His fingers slip underneath the fabric, burning a path across my mud-streaked skin. With the skirt pooled around my waist, he takes a moment to study me.

“Please, no,” I whimper.

He bends over me and pulls at the ropes holding my wings to ensure they’re secure. Then his hand returns to my hip, exploring me in ways I don’t want to think about. The haze in my brain is a welcome one as his hand dips between my thighs.

He mumbles something incoherently and pulls my hair with his other hand. While he takes and steals, I swim in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the flickering candle’s hazy glow. Dark, ominous shadows dance across the concrete walls, threatening to smother the only light source in the room. My heavy arms feel like lead as I drag my fingers through the grit on the floor. No matter what I do, they refuse to obey.

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