Page 141 of A Debt of Darkness

I lean forward and invade the desk, demonstrating he doesn’t own this fucking space. The coward shrinks back at the slight infraction and I press my point, smirking as he pales.

“I never cared about the money.”

His skin turns sallow and sticky as the pressure mounts and the man who never fathered my wife approaches the limit of his endurance.

“I’m well aware of what you wanted, Henry,” he says, staring at me like a man who’s trying to snatch a last victory before the jaws of defeat clamp down on him. “A friend of yours made it abundantly clear to me. I say friend, although you’d probably use another term to describe Rowan.”

If I had a beating heart, it would have skipped a beat, but I don’t miss a single fucking one as I round on Ivy’s father.

“He’s already suffered the extent of my wrath, Charles. You’re achieving nothing but increasing the chances of joining him.”

His eyes scream in terror as his throat turns dry. “I know, Henry. About all of it. About vampires and the fucking prophecy you’re all losing your fucking minds over too. There’s nothing special about the slut who thinks she’s my daughter. She won’t be missed.”

Ryan’s eyes widen as I realize far too fucking late the game he’s been playing. I’ve wasted time here when I should havebeen protecting Ivy and every second counts.

“It’s too late,” he says, grinning as he takes what he’s certain is his last moment of glory. “She’ll have found the fucking necklace by now and as soon as she does, she’s gone. Rowan won’t give her back, Henry. And if you do get her back, he’ll make sure she’ll never be the same again.”

I race to the door, turning to see Ryan hauling him out of his chair by the hand wrapped around his throat. Feet kick and hands claw, all useless. All as pathetic as the man who owns them. The man Ryan’s showing no mercy to as his grip tightens around his throat, crushing his larynx as he stares in horror at Ryan’s face.

“Make it hurt.”

Ryan doesn’t need the instruction and agonizing cries sound out behind me as I race through the mansion. I’m fast and for a second time, I pray I’m fucking fast enough to reach Ivy. I know this house as if I own it and I race into the unfamiliar room that was Ivy’s bedroom, staring at the aftermath of whatever fucking happened.

Matt’s down. Emmanuel’s down. Both prone. Both unconscious. The room’s a fucking bombsite, its contents decimated as if they were worthless. Meaningless. Reduced to broken pieces of shattered dreams.

In the center of it all is a clear, calm space. A circle untouched by the devastation wrought on reality. The cream carpet remains clean, and the jewelry box in the middle is untouched. A drawer is open and there’s a fucking gap where I imagine the trinket was sitting before Ivy touched it and released the curse or enchantment that took her from me, leaving only destruction in its wake.

39

AN AGONIZING WAIT

IVY

My chest aches and my hips cry out in agony, protesting that something’s digging into them. I’m sore, I'm bruised and I’m fucking freezing. Every joint aches and the cold makes it worse, adding insult to the considerable injuries I’ve sustained.

The muscles I rely on barely work, unable to contract as pain rips through my body, and my exhaustion renders them too weak to take my weight. It’s a fucking disaster and I can’t let it stand, not if I’m going to survive whatever fucking hellhole this is.

My head pounds as I try to remember what happened, ignoring the urge to open my eyes before I’ve had a chance to figure out what I’m likely to see. I remember my room and my jewelry box, the necklace with the golden book far too big to be a pendant, and the burst of light blinded me before I lost consciousness.

“You may as well look around,” a harsh, amused voice snarls. “You’ll have to sooner or later.”

A shiver rolls down my spine as footsteps sound beneath me and adrenaline pulses into my veins. My core tightens and my muscles cry in pain at the minor insult that’s left them reeling.

“Henry’s pet is pathetic,” a second voice calls out, echoing around me.

I don’t need to open my eyes to know I’m somewhere unpleasant and the thought of realizing how bad it is fills me with dread. I know I’ve heard that fucking voice before, and its condescending, arrogant, and trickly tone sends another pulse of horror through me.

“Rowan.”

“She’s not stupid,” the other voice says. “And her memory is working fine. How’s the head, darling?”

I groan as my head tries to break apart again. “Fuck off and die.”

Laughter rings out and the mocking sound reverberates through the air and every fucking bone in my broken body. I’m physically shattered, but that’s not the game they’re playing here, and whoever’s taunting me has a different aim in mind. One leaving me a shell of the person I used to be.

They’re trying to do what Henry failed to do.

They’re trying to break my spirit.

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