Page 62 of Twisted By Darkness

The Collector pauses and looks at me from over his shoulder. “Giulia. I believe you’re referring to Giulia Tofana, the witch.”

“Yes. The books Prince stole belong to her. She knows a lot.”

“That she does.” He turns slowly, his gaze fastened on me. I have his unwavering attention. “What did she tell you that you thought was so interesting?” The corner of his lips tilts into a cruel smile. “Did she mention your pretty bracelets are, in fact, explosives? A nifty spell, if I could say so.”

“That I figured out earlier.” I shrug, as if that didn’t matter, as if losing my hands wasn’t on my top three fears right now. “She said you’re an angel. I almost couldn’t believe her. Couldn’t believe someone like you was an angel.”

“Angelic beings are very different from what your shallow human mind can picture,” he says, and I think this is the first time he insults me. A soft spot? I love that.

“She also said you fell. And that not even the Devil wanted you, so you skipped Hell, too. Do your guards know that?”

Silence falls, and it grows so thick it presses into my ears. I shoot a glance at the surrounding guards. Three of them don’t react, so they either knew or don’t care. The others grow tense, shoulders tightening, and they glance at each other, wondering if they should believe me.

Good. I want that doubt. I want them questioning themselves, disbelieving the Collector. And I want them to falter when my men burst in, so maybe, just maybe, some of them might change sides.

I want to corrupt each one of them. Maybe that’s the shadows in me. And I don’t mind the darkness.

CHAPTER32

CASSANDRA

The Collector’s face changes, and he loses his composure, the mask he always keeps on. Baring his teeth, he takes two steps in my direction and raises a hand to point at my face.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, human,” he roars, and his eyes darken, his irises enlarging. It’s a nauseating effect, to watch the black bleed into the white, and I take a step back. “And my guards don’t need to know anything, because they’re here to serve me. This,” and he juts his forefinger closer, “is why I will never understand humans. You see me, and you think we’re equals when we’re anything but. I’ve treated you with cordiality, Shadow Mage, because you’re worth something. Don’t make me change my mind.”

Lifting my arm, I dangle the bracelet in his direction, glaring right back at him. “This is what you call cordiality?”

“This is merely part of commerce. I had to ensure I knew where you were.”

“Because I’m an asset.”

“Of course.”

“And you don’t mind if my hands blow up? That’s very generous of you.” I scoff. “Angels are weird.”

He takes a breath, reining his temper in. The black in his eyes disappears, and he almost looks human again. “The explosives are a desperate measure.Icould heal your hands if it came to that. So, if you want to keep your fingers, you better maintain your end of the bargain and behave.” And he smirks.

It’s the smirk that does me in. Honestly, I can’t take another one of his smirks. Not ever. Rage bubbles inside me, a cauldron about to tip, and the shadows in the room race to me. It comes naturally, without needing to call them. They rush in my direction, and my body absorbs it all, my chest filling with their presence. Warmth trickles down my arms and my fingers, and I watch the guards wince, jerking away, seeing how the room has become bright as day, no shadows in sight.

The Collector’s smirk drops. He gapes at me. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses between clenched teeth.

“I might go down,” I hiss back, stepping closer, “but I’m taking you with me.”

Raising my arms, I shove the darkness in his direction, that puff of dark cloud I did with Prince and his fae. It hits the Collector head-first. He cries out for his guards, and it’s my turn to smirk.

Plus, it’s all the distraction my men needed.

The door behind me bursts open, the sound almost breaking my focus. I wince once, then shoot a glance over my shoulder to see Donatello stepping into the room, then becoming a blur as he runs to Ren. The guard holding the wolf shifter has no time to react. Donatello shoots out a hand and grips the hand holding the knife. Not missing a beat, the vampire punches the guard, and the man’s head snaps back. Tristan follows Donatello out of the hidden corridor, his heavy steps making the ground itself shake. He also latches onto the same guard, launching at him and holding him in a chokehold as Donatello punishes him. Ren slips away from the guard’s relaxing fingers and shits into his wolf. The guard is so screwed even I pity him. Almost.

The other door in the room, what I believe is the main entrance, bursts open too and more people flood the place. Apollo takes the lead, and his gaze combs the place until it finds me. His shoulders relax as he makes sure I’m unharmed. Then he turns to the guards, gun nestled between his hands, and he shoots. One, two, then three guards fall to their knees, screaming in pain. The Special Division in Apollo doesn’t let him kill them this easily. He shoots them in places that are going to slow them down, but are not fatal.

My men came after me. Of course they would. My heart grows two sizes, and I know I can count on them. I know I can trust them with anything, and this feeling beats strong in my chest. I watch all the people crowding the room, the ones we rescued and more. People in simple clothing, like the sweatpants and shirt Tristan wears to this day. They have kitchen knives and pitchforks in their hands, rage on their faces, and I know these are the Collector’s servants, the people seeking their freedom.

A growl makes me turn, and I see Oreo marching in, rushing into a guard to latch onto his pant leg. Somehow he knows who to attack, and though his jaw is still that of a puppy’s, the third eye and the paws on fire make the guard scream out in a panic. Behind Oreo comes a girl, slick black hair hanging down to her shoulders, a dress so poor it could have been made of a potato sac. She grips a knife in a hand and, unlike Apollo, she doesn’t think twice before sinking the blade into the guard’s neck. The sight is so violent it jerks me to reality. Blood gurgles from the wound, and the guard’s eyes go round. He reaches up just as she slides the knife out, but the wound is too deep to give him time. He drops to his side and Oreo moves on, the girl shooting me a glance before following him.

Mei. It’s Mei. And she shakes from head to toe, but fear doesn’t stop her. No, it doesn’t hinder her in the least.

Pride fills my chest. We made it. We’re giving these people a chance to fight, to struggle for their freedom. And they’re taking it with both hands. We rescued Mei, and rejoined her with her brother, and I can’t wait for Ren to tell me how it happened. He must be so happy.

---