Page 12 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

I flick the cigarette out the window and watch the endless line of trees pass by.

One tiny jerk of the wheel and it would be over. I would not have to go back. I would not get beaten up by the bloodhounds and thrown into the dark cell for days in a row. It would just stop.

Iwould just stop.

I take another, steadying breath.

I’ve always believed dying for someone you love would be a beautiful way to leave. At least it would have a purpose then, my death. Now no one cares. Lyrian would lose a tool, but nothing more.

So I shove it down and steel myself.

It will pass,I tell myself. The punishment will be bad. But it will pass eventually, and you will survive.

I keep telling myself that over and over, ignoring how hollow it sounds to my ears as I pull up in front of the huge mansion. Nothing but night-shrouded nature and trees covered with moss and lichen around me. I cringe as the tires of the sedan behind me slither to a halt on the gravel and Kayne and Hunter get out of their car. Their faces are sinister, their lips slim lines, promising violence.

I don’t even try to resist when they drag me out of my car. Don’t try to kick or land an elbow strike when they grab me by the arms, pulling me, not toward the mansion, but toward the inconspicuous, gray concrete building a little off to the side of the impressive Victorian building.

“Enough fun for tonight. And that bitch is already dead, sweetheart,” Hunter grunts into my ear.

Horror runs down my spine like icy water. “How do you know?” I snap at him.

He gives me a grin, drinking in my shock before he points to a tiny little device in his ear. I’ve never seen him wearing it before. “Radio frequency. You think we’re the only ones on Lyrian’s payroll? Ask yourself whether it was worth it, Melody—infuriating him like that. Because I’m telling you: it was for shit.”

I hiss at the last part, snapping my teeth at him, ready to rip his throat out. I would, if I was any closer, I realize with a kind of shock.

Hunter stares at me, a little wide-eyed, before he growls, “Wicked little thing.”

Then he hurls me inside the bare, windowless room. The door closes fast, leaving me in total darkness once again.

***

It’s the same. The same I’ve survived a hundred times before.

I keep telling myself that as the walls close in on me, as they always do. When the trauma I’ve come to know so well over the years flares up again. The anger. The desperation. The fear. It all washes over me in a feverish deluge. So achingly familiar.

And still, its effect never ceases. It always leaves me strained and exhausted.

The bitch is already dead, sweetheart.

Those words play over and over in my head. So I hadn’t been able to save her, but led them right to her. All had been for nothing.

Moonlight leaks in through the tiny window, falling on the ground. Sometimes the night sky is the only thing that lets me know I’m not yet dead.

That there is still beauty out in the world.

Even if my body and soul feel like falling apart and I can’t piece them back together.

I lean my head against the wall, curling my knees to my chest, trying to calm my ragged, uneven breathing.

I jolt up as the halogen ceiling light flicks to life. A second later,the door opens, and Kayne swaggers in, grabbing me roughly and pulling me up, handcuffing me to the metal chair. Lyrian comes striding in after him, and I wonder whether I will ever get used to his strange look, his strange clothes, the inhuman coldness on his face.

Today, he’s wearing a blue silken damask tunic that reaches almost down to his ankles, the sleeves and collar embroidered with golden ornaments, the color matching his pale blue eyes. Lyrian is exceptionally tall and lean with long, almost white hair that falls far beyond his shoulders. A heavy chain and various bulky, golden rings shimmer on every spindly finger.

He loves extravagance. It is obvious everywhere, from the house to the eccentric furniture to his bizarre clothes. I’ve never seen any other human walking around in attire like his. Oddly enough, though, no one else seems to pay much attention to his strange appearance.

He stares down at me as if I’m a cockroach that’s just crawled out from under the fridge. I feel the urge to spit at him.

“Where is the woman?” His voice cuts the air like a knife.

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