Page 39 of Hellfire

“Wrong guy.” Gable got up to go to his kitchen. “You want the hotshot in the cashmere coat.” He poured a pot of tea, stacked mugs on a tray, and carried it over to us, distributing it.

The biker turned his amber gaze on me. “You don’t look so good, hotshot.”

That damn name.

“Been a while.” I didn’t bother to shake his hand. My heart pounded so hard, my chest ached, and gray patches took shape in my vision.

My brothers and bonded sipped at their drinks and gave the floor to me.

Mary’s wary gaze stuttered about the group as she clutched her mug to her stomach as if protecting her middle.

“Why don’t you tell me your story?” Castor motioned to me, and I blinked at the symbols on his fingers.

“What does that mean?” I rubbed my thumb to hint what I meant.

Castor smiled, a cunning expression that said this wasn’t the kind of man to cross without consequences. “These are the symbols for Maat, the cosmic law of balance and order.” He stroked the ink reverently. “I’m the Earth’s enforcer, so to speak, the same role I play with the Jackals. And I punish those who break the law.”

The symbols prompted a sharp ache in my temples and a searing light in my skull, and I rubbed my forehead.

Castor’s eyes narrowed. “These bother you?” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, and the pain subsided.

“Thanks.” I had to sit down before my trembling legs gave out and I fell back into the recliner seat on a forty-five-degree angle to him.

“Tell me how this started.” Castor scrubbed his chin as I recalled my story and showed him the remaining stain of the serpents on my forearm.

The enforcer set aside his mug and climbed from his seat.

The darkness crawled under my skin as he approached, and I sank into my seat, wanting to keep my distance. Not because I was frightened of him. The darkness feared his examination and touch.

“Give me a look at your arm.” He flicked his fingers at me, and I gave him what he wanted.

Gable leaned forward in his chair with avid interest, and I got the strong impression of kindred souls at work.

Castor recited a few words and ran his palm over the top of my forearm. Light flashed in my skull, scorching my eyes, and I blinked. Fire etched marks into my skin, and I jerked my arm to my chest.

The Jackal snatched my wrist and jerked it back. “There are letters here.”

I blinked to clear my vision, catching hints of pink, scarred flesh, bubbled up like worms on my skin, shaping the dark language of the serpents.

Castor traced one with his thumb, the motion agonizing, like he branded me with a red-hot poker. “We have to get this off you.” His alarmed voice sounded like he called to me from the end of a tunnel.

“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Talon, also far away.

Luna whimpered, and I heard Cole whisper to her.

Another swipe of Castor’s finger burned holes in my skin. “It says he belongs to the Dark Lord.”

Snakes hissed in my ear, and I felt them coil over my shoulders, a solid weight, constricting my movement and air intake. I scratched at them to get them off, but there was nothing there.

“Fuck. Get the writing off him!” Thudding footsteps suggested Talon paced the length of the sofa. “We can’t take him back to the Academy like this!”

“Stop!” I croaked, unable to bear the pain or the rising wailing in my head, thousands of dead souls begging for freedom.

Castor set a palm on my shoulder. “It’ll only hurt for a moment.”

“Get it off!” My throat hurt to raise my voice.

“I’m not letting go until this thing is cleared from your skin.” Castor recited the language of the angels first, intensifying the fire in my arm, spreading it throughout my body, torching my heart, turning it to ash. Over this, he laid a matrix of white magick I wasn’t familiar with, the lines flooding the darkness embedded in me.

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