Hunting Fiends for the Ill-Equipped (The Guild Codex Demonized #3) - Annette Marie Page 0,65
could get to safety, I could call Zylas to me in an instant. The sorcerers wouldn’t attack me on a busy street. Clutching the precious binder, I ran as hard as I could.
“Ori impello potissime!”
An invisible force struck me in the back. I fell for a second time, hitting so hard the elbows of my leather jacket tore. Pain burst through my limbs and my vision blurred.
Thudding footsteps, then rough hands grabbed me and hauled me up. An arm clamped around my throat, my back against my captor’s chest. He squeezed, cutting off my air.
“We do carry a few extra spells,” he whispered mockingly in my ear.
My mouth gaped, sparks flashing in my vision. I yanked on his arm, my fingers biting into the metal bands under his jacket sleeve. My lungs screamed. Where was Zylas?
Daimon, hesychaze! I cried silently.
Red light blazed in my blurred vision. The formless power streaked for my chest and hit the infernus, making the silver disc vibrate and glow.
And that’s when I realized the sorcerer was holding my infernus.
In the instant before Zylas could bounce back out and take physical form, that one instant where his power was contained inside the pendant, the man spat his incantation.
“Ori octo!”
Sparkling green light appeared, forming a perfect cube around the infernus. Demonic power filled it, making the whole thing glow with hideous brown streaks, but Zylas didn’t reappear. Not a single spark of his crimson magic could break through the green cube.
Zylas was trapped in the infernus, and it was my fault.
Blindfolded and gagged. Hands tied behind me, the hard back of a chair digging into my elbows.
My frenzied heart palpitated in my chest, my terror so consuming the organ was on the verge of complete collapse. My breath whistled through my nose, too fast, but I couldn’t slow my lungs.
I couldn’t stop seeing the red stains under the bridge. Couldn’t stop hearing Ezra’s disgusted description of Yana’s death. Couldn’t stop picturing the faces of the other girls who’d looked so much like me: young, petite, dark hair.
“Scared, payashē?” a man whispered in my ear.
I jerked away so violently I almost toppled my chair.
A hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me straight. His breath washed over my cheek as he chuckled.
“Try to be brave. I like it better when they fight.”
My stomach jumped, threatening to expel its contents.
Fingers brushed across my forehead, combing my hair back. “You’re perfect, Robin. You look so close.” Another quiet laugh. “You think I’m delusional, don’t you? You’re thinking, how could he know what a payashē even looks like? I’ll admit, I’ve never seen one … who has? But I’m very familiar with their descriptions.”
He caressed my jaw. “Compared to demon males, they’re tiny—five feet, maybe a bit taller. Slim. Big, beautiful red eyes.” He ran a fingertip up my temple and into my hair. “They have horns just like the males, but more delicate. More curvy.”
I cringed from his touch, panting through the gag. The stale air, reeking of dirt, didn’t have enough oxygen. My head spun.
“They don’t have wings or scales. But they do have …” He forced his hand behind my back and slid it down, pressing his fingers into my lower spine. “… tails.”
He dragged his hand back up and took a fistful of my hair. Damp lips pressed into my ear. “When I paint you red, payashē, you’ll be too beautiful for words.”
A violent, terrified sob shook my body. He tsked in disappointment.
Something thudded against the ceiling, then the clack of boots on the ladder as someone descended into the hidden basement.
“Get off her, Jaden. Fun’s over.”
“What?” Jaden snapped. “The fun is just getting started.”
“She’s too valuable.”
“I wasn’t going to kill her.”
“Accidents happen when you get carried away,” the newcomer sneered as the ladder creaked again. “Besides, I’m not the one saying no.”
“If Dad thinks he can deny me the most perfect—”
“It isn’t your father’s decision,” a different voice interrupted. “It’s mine.”
My entire body went numb with fresh panic. No. No, it couldn’t be.
Not now. Not here.
Heavy steps drew closer, and the blindfold slid up my face. I squinted in the dim light of a lamp in the basement’s corner, terrified of what I would see. My gaze stuttered across broad shoulders in a dark jacket, darted up to a clean-shaven jaw, and halted on an ugly scar that ran from the man’s chin up to his distorted lower lip.
Claude’s familiar dark eyes assessed me, cold and merciless. “We meet again, Robin.”