Page 11 of Dare

I lurched upright, alarm blazing a path across my flesh. The group’s arrival triggered mayhem through the block, an eruption of noise shattering the silence. Manacles scraped across the ground, and my tower mates cried out.

A fleshy arm—Pyre’s—popped through the shadows, his finger pointing at me. The word dropped from him like an anchor. “You.”

Me.

“You. Stand.”

My jaw locked. I curled my knuckles into fists.

“I ain’t saying it again,” Pyre warned. “Stand up or I’ll make you.”

Hellfire. I knew what that meant and had the proof of it across my back.

I spun toward him and crouched on all fours. If this son of a bitch wanted me to obey, he’d have to work for it, because he had evidence of me on his body too, including a few well-placed bites.

“Have it your way,” he grunted while unlocking the door.

This incited more chaos. Lorelei played the child today, clapping her hands in excitement. Dante narrated the scene to his ghost. Pearl scuttled to the corner of her cell like a crab while mumbling, “Get away, get away, get away, get away, get away.”

The bolt unlatched. The door groaned open.

Walking toward me, Pyre licked his chops, his teeth flashing like rotten fruit. Because these bastards were bored up here, they didn’t chain me like they did the others. They liked entertaining themselves by taking wagers on how long a match against me would last. They enjoyed my temper, and I relished the chance to pound into them. Though I would lose the brawl eventually, because the men were bigger than me. Because anyone was bigger than me.

Afterward, I’d be forced to wipe my blood off the floor. But at least it would distract the wardens from taking their stresses, depressions, and resentments out on my kin.

Despite the lack of windows, the distant roar of an ocean filtered through the tower. That faint but miraculous echo clutched my heart, stalling my attack.

Pyre seized the moment, lunging and grabbing me by the ear, then hauling me off the floor. Twisting my lobe, he launched me into the bars, where my cheekbone smacked into iron, pain exploding across the side of my face. Before I could turn around and kick or scratch, he pinned my arms. The clunky weight of manacles bound me to the railing, putting me on display like a prized tuna.

Wiping his hands, Pyre exited my cage, his key twisting inside the lock.

Elated with himself, he leaned toward me, his eel breath beating against my mouth. “There we go,” he taunted. “Nice and comfy. Thought you’d learn by now, but then you half-baked half-wits are too stupid for that.”

While he was too stupid to stay back. My wrists might be bound, but my fingers weren’t. Catching the back of his neck, I yanked the fucker forward, slamming his nose into the grille.

“Motherfuck!” Pyre howled and staggered back, calling me the usual names as he covered his snout with one hand. “Filthy fool bitch!”

With the opposite hand, he ripped out a mallet. Then he vaulted forward, raising the weapon toward where my fingers hooked around the bars.

Like a switchblade, a male hand flicked out of nowhere, the backs of his knuckles intercepting the guard. “What. Is. This?” a baritone voice murmured.

Although the words formed a question, it wasn’t one. It was a demand, a dispassionate thing polished into a threat.

Foreboding soaked into my pores. I glimpsed him in a reflection, in a puddle on the ground, from a leak in the ceiling. On the water’s surface, those crystal eyes sharpened on me.

The villain prince stared back, his inscrutable features peering down through the same puddle. Despite his stoic expression, those pupils glittered with long-suffering anticipation. Though unlike King Rhys, this prince didn’t verbally gloat.

My head swung from the puddle, my gaze colliding with his, our eyes fusing like something about to detonate. He may have found me, but that didn’t mean he’d caught me yet. To illustrate that point, a low growl skidded up my throat.

His orbs tapered, then scanned my appearance as well as the cage, appraising everything from my matted hair to the rusty chamber pot. The cold gratification he’d shown now vanished. With his hand still hovering to block the guard—a casually demeaning gesture—the prince angled his head in contemplation. Only then did he lower his fingers like a bluff, his words from moments ago lingering in the muggy air.

His inquiring silence got Pyre’s attention. The guard hastened to recover from my blow to his nose. He wasn’t bleeding or broken, but he was swelling up quickly. Because of that, it took a moment for him to respond.

Pyre batted his fingers my way. “As you see, Sire. It’s the mad fool you requested.”

“I’m aware of what it is,” the prince drew out while fixating on me.

I glowered. They’d reduced me to an object. To them, my kind didn’t warrant being referred to as human.

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