Kingdom of Fire and Fae, page 4
“Perhaps you should head home with your husband, Lanae.” Faide’s tone left no room for debate, his voice as cold and unyielding as a glacier.
Lanae opened her mouth, the faintest breath of protest escaping her lips, but Faide’s icy glare silenced her immediately.
“Go home. Now. We will discuss your situation as soon as we have a solid plan of attack.” His words struck with the finality of a judge’s gavel.
Lanae’s shoulders sagged for a moment, but she quickly composed herself and strode to the door, her footsteps echoing in the tense silence. As she passed by the trio, her eyes flicked to Caelum, fury reflected in her irises, and Caelum felt sorry for Draven and the fireworks that were sure to go off the moment they entered the house. Nero squawked loudly, his keen eyes daring anyone to challenge them further, his feathers puffing up in agitation.
“Come on,” Caelum muttered, grabbing Draven by the arm and steering him away from the hostile stares that bore into their backs like daggers. “Before you get me in trouble, too.”
Draven’s jaw was clenched so tightly that his teeth might have cracked under the pressure, but he allowed himself to be led away. An unmistakable tension charged the air, thick enough to choke on, and the magnitude of every unspoken word pressed down on them.
Nero gave one last indignant squawk, as if to say, “This isn’t over,” before following Lanae, his claws clicking ominously against the floor.
Lanae remained silent, the tension simmering just below the surface, a powder keg waiting for a spark.
A BONE-WRINGING CHILL ran through Lanae as the room grew darker, the shadows creeping across the polished marble floor like grasping fingers. She sat in the middle of the cage, her knees drawn to her chest, utterly exposed and on display. The chill in the air seeped into her bones, making her tremble uncontrollably. Her gaze flicked to the empty bucket in the corner, a stark reminder of her humiliating predicament.
As the day wore on, the growing pressure in her lower abdomen became impossible to ignore. She glanced around the room, her eyes lingering on the motionless figures. None of them moved a muscle, all still trapped in the mind-control coma, just like her parents. The eerie stillness was both a curse and a relief; at least no one was watching her every move.
With a resigned sigh, Lanae gave in to the inevitable. She slid her pants down to her ankles and squatted over the bucket, closing her eyes as her urine emptied from her bladder. The sound of the liquid hitting the metal echoed in the silent room. She bit her lip, fighting back tears of frustration and humiliation.
As she buttoned her pants back up, her stomach let out a loud, rumbling protest. The hunger gnawed at her insides, a relentless ache that refused to be ignored. She wondered how long she would be subjected to this silent torture, deprived of food and water, with only a bucket to relieve herself in. Each passing minute crawled like an eternity, the gnawing fear and uncertainty growing stronger with every second.
Desperation clawed at her as she tried to summon her magic. She focused her thoughts, willing the vines to burst through the marble floor to give her some semblance of control in this nightmare. But just like the last time she was in this hellish place, nothing stirred. Her magic lay dormant, unresponsive to her pleas.
The cold, unyielding marble beneath her seemed to mock her efforts, its smooth surface a vivid contrast to the wild, untamed power she sought to unleash. The room remained deathly silent, save for the faint rustling of her clothes and the distant drip of water. The oppressive darkness pressed in on her, magnifying her sense of dread.
Hours passed, and the gnawing sensation of hunger took hold. Her stomach growled incessantly, the sound echoing in the silence like a beast demanding to be fed. She pressed her hand to her belly, trying to quell the growing discomfort. Her throat was parched, each swallow painful as if she were trying to gulp down shards of glass. The metallic tang of the stale air hung heavy in the cell.
Deep-seated dread crept over her, curling around her thoughts like a dark, suffocating fog. Her mind raced with questions and fears, each one more terrifying than the last. What was happening outside these walls? What plans were being made? The uncertainty was maddening, and a knot of anxiety tightened in her chest.
She tried to reach out to Caelum telepathically, but there was nothing but an empty void. The lack of connection was disorienting, rendering her more isolated and vulnerable. She closed her eyes, trying to center herself, but the darkness only seemed to magnify her fears. Every creak and rustle in the cell clanged like a harbinger of doom, making her heart launch into high gear.
Draven’s image floated into her mind. His determined eyes and fierce love made her hope flare. But even that hope was tinged with fear. What would he do to get her out? What would he sacrifice? The questions swirled around her mind, each one adding to the growing sense of dread.
She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to find some warmth and comfort in the small gesture. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, and she fought to keep her emotions in check. The cell closed in on her. The walls pressed tighter and tighter until she couldn’t breathe.
Lanae had faced countless battles and dangers, but this—this waiting and uncertainty—was a different kind of torture. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the mental and emotional agony of not knowing what lay ahead. And as the hours ticked by, her situation pounded down, threatening to crush her spirit.
The hours dragged on, each one more torturous than the last. Hunger, thirst, and fear gnawed at her, wearing down her resolve. The silence was maddening, every sound amplified in the suffocating darkness. Lanae closed her eyes and tried to block it all out, clinging to the hope that somehow, some way, she would find a way to break free.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Encroaching Darkness
DRAVEN FOLLOWED LANAE’S POUNDING footsteps, each step echoing through the dark corridors like a drumbeat of impending doom. He kept a safe distance, not daring to approach her while the anger radiated from her like a lethal poison.
Caelum and Nero stepped in line with Draven. The griffin’s golden eyes, usually filled with mischief, were now narrow slits of suspicion. “She’s still blocking me,” Caelum whispered, his voice audible over the echoing footsteps.
“She’s pissed.” Draven glanced at Caelum, his brow furrowing. “I guess I can’t blame her. I acted on impulse and emotion and spilled our secret.”
Draven’s gaze shifted to the griffin next to him. Nero’s gaze was locked on Lanae as she walked a half a block ahead of them. Normally, when they were out, his preference was to walk with Lanae, not him and Caelum. His usual open and mischievous eyes were narrowed, his ears pinned back against his head. His nails clicked on the cobblestone, a sharp, rhythmic sound that added to the tension.
“That wasn’t your finest moment, but at least they know,” Caelum said.
Draven sighed, his irrational actions pressing down on him. “The last time she didn’t heed the council’s directives, she was tried for treason.” He slashed his gaze to Caelum, the memory of that debacle still fresh and painful.
Caelum nodded, his expression grim. “The last time, there were some members controlled by Xoltan Firetwill.”
Draven grunted an acknowledgment as they rounded the corner to their street. The familiar sight of their house should have been comforting, but Lanae walked right past it, her mind clearly elsewhere.
“Where are you going?” Draven called as he stopped at the walkway leading to their place. Caelum and Nero headed inside, their footsteps fading into the background.
Lanae turned, her eyes darting around before she backtracked to the house. She bypassed Draven without a word, her face a mask of frustration and distraction. The minute he closed the door, she spoke, her voice sharp and accusatory.
“You interrupted the meeting before we could settle on a plan.” Her gaze bore into him, hard and unyielding.
He cocked his head, studying her. “That’s why you are mad?”
“Yes. Why else would I be?” she snapped, her tone defensive.
Draven glanced over her head at Caelum and then met her gaze. Something unsettling gnawed at him. “No reason.” His skin prickled with unease.
Nero squawked from the kitchen, pulling her attention away. “What is that thing doing inside?” she demanded, her voice tinged with disdain.
Draven couldn’t believe those words tumbled out of his wife’s mouth. Hell, he no longer believed this was his wife. There was only one sure way to find out. He reached for her and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. The expected tingling sensation of their bond was absent. No electric connection sparked between them. He narrowed his gaze, suspicion turning to certainty. “You are not Lanae,” he growled.
She twisted her wrist and moved her arm down, breaking free of his grip with a fluid motion. Then she spun around him and delivered a swift kick to his lower back, sending him off-balance. He stumbled, catching himself on the couch, but by the time he reached the front door, she was gone, with only the echo of her footsteps and the lingering sense of alarm in her wake.
MOVEMENT OUTSIDE HER CAGE jerked Lanae from her stupor, and she lifted her gaze. The cold iron bars prevented her from leaning closer. Shadows danced under the dusky haze outside her cage. Her heart stuttered at the green eyes studying her from the other side of the bars. A flicker of hope ignited within her, pushing back the despair that had settled in her chest. She shot to her feet. “Draven.”
“Hello, love. It’s time we get you out of there. Don’t you think?”
His voice soothed her frazzled nerves, and for a moment, the damp, musty air of the cage seemed to lift.
Lanae’s heart soared and she stepped forward, reaching through the bars for him, but he moved away. The lack of contact left her fingers tingling with a desperate longing.
A key turning in the lock caught her attention, the metallic click echoing through the stone chamber. She glanced at the metal positioned in the lock, blinking in surprise. “How did you get the key?”
“I found Granger and beat it out of him.” His eyes glinted with a hint of satisfaction. He opened the door, using it as a barrier between them before he spun on his heels and headed toward the hallway. “This way.”
A gnawing itch surfaced in Lanae’s mind, but she was not about to complain about his no-nonsense attitude. She followed him down the stairwell and into the dungeons without question. The air grew colder, the stink of mold intensifying with each step. When he stepped into an open cell, she hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to be cautious.
“Draven?” she called. Her voice held the slightest of trembles.
He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, though it lacked its usual warmth. “The exit is hidden somewhere over here.” He ran his hand over the rough stone wall. “Come help me find the lever to open it.”
Alarms sounded in her head, but she stepped to the wall next to him, running her hands over the cold, uneven surface. As her fingers got close to his, he snapped an iron cuff around her wrist. The metal bit into her skin, and she cried out, blinking at the iron singeing her wrist and then up into those familiar green eyes.
His hand grasped her throat with a vise-like grip, pressing her against the wall.
The cold stone sent racking quakes down her spine, and she blinked at his feral sneer, her brain clearing enough to note that there was no tingling from his touch. “You aren’t Draven.”
“Funny, your husband said the same thing earlier.” His voice dripped with malice as he pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall.
The stench of sweat and decay filled her nostrils, making her gag.
She swung with her free hand, but as swift as a lightning bolt, that wrist was bound in iron as well. The cuffs burned against her skin, leaving angry red welts.
When her captor stepped back, his form altered, shifting from Draven to her own image, to Granger, and then to eyes that were frighteningly familiar. His nearly black eyes stared at her with the same contempt as Xoltan had. Although this fae’s form was more muscular and powerful than Xoltan’s. His hair shone bright with a weave of silver and white threaded with midnight, and his complexion was a pleasant golden tan, as if he spent days in the tropics. If she had been single and this was a bar, this fiend would have caught her attention.
His lips twerked into a grin, and he glanced around the dungeon with an air of disdain. “This is a much better place for you than on display in the main hall.”
Rage flared within her, and she kicked out, her foot connecting with his shin. The impact sent a jolt of satisfaction through her, but it was short-lived.
He struck as quickly as a snake, his palm leaving a sting so hot on her cheek that her vision blurred with bright lights from the impact. The force of the blow made her ears ring, and she fought to stay conscious, her heart gunned into overdrive as she faced the twisted fae before her.
“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling as adrenaline pumped her muscles full of fury. The dank air of the dungeon closed in around her, amplifying her sense of urgency.
“Allow me to introduce myself. Spric Firetwill. Shapeshifter extraordinaire.” He bowed with a flourish, his movement fluid and almost graceful, close enough to tempt her. The dim light glinted off his hair, casting an eerie glow on his features.
She kicked out again, her foot slicing through the air, nearly connecting with his face.
He jerked back just in time. His sudden motion sent a surge of satisfaction through her. His hands balled into fists, and his gaze darkened, becoming a storm of malevolent intent.
She braced herself; her heart jackhammered in her chest, and she parried the incoming swing with a desperate burst of strength.
She deflected his first hit, but the second landed squarely in her abdomen. The impact was like a sledgehammer, yanking all the air from her lungs and doubling her over. Pain radiated through her torso, and she gasped, fighting to stay upright.
He stepped out of reach, his breath coming in heavy huffs, his anger drilling into her as hard as his fist had. The air crackled with tension. He grabbed her face with a rough hand, his grip bruising, and tilted it up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “While I would love to spar with you and see what type of damage you could do, this is my domain, and you will show me some respect. Especially since your life is in my hands.” His low, dangerous growl crusted ice over her backbone.
She spit at him, her defiance unfiltered, and received a backhand to the same cheek. The force of the blow sent her reeling, knocking her to the ground. Her cheek throbbed with pain, and her vision blurred with tears. The cold, hard stone bit into her skin as she lay there, struggling to regain her bearings. The tang of blood filled her mouth, reminding her of her vulnerability.
The dungeon’s oppressive silence closed in around her, broken only by the rasp of his heavy breathing and her own ragged gasps. She forced herself to look up at him, her eyes blazing with defiance. She knew she couldn’t afford to show any weakness, not now, not in front of him.
“Respect?” She spit a wad of blood on the floor, the metallic taste lingering on her tongue. “You’ll never have my respect.” Her voice was insolent, though her body trembled from the pain and exhaustion. The stone floor beneath her seemed like ice against her skin, and the dim light cast eerie shadows on the damp, moss-covered walls.
He smiled with a calculated expression that jellied her spine. “Then I’ll have your life.” His words dripped with menace, and the surrounding air seemed to grow colder, amplifying the dread settling in her chest.
An artic chill started in her stomach and spiraled outward, sending goose bumps up her arms and down her spine. She tried to mask her fear, willing her muscles to stay steady, but the way his smile widened, she knew he saw the brief flash of terror in her eyes. The air suddenly thickened, and her heart beat against her sternum like a drum.
“After some much deserved torture, of course.” His words dripped with sinister delight, echoing off the stone walls.
He turned and left her lying on the cold, damp floor, the pain of his fists still fresh and throbbing in her body. Mold and decay filled her nostrils, and his receding footsteps reverberated in the eerie silence, leaving her alone in the darkness with her fear.
CHAPTER SIX
Ties of Blood
DRAVEN RAN BOTH HANDS into his hair as he paced their living room. The soft glow of the lanterns cast long shadows on the walls, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. “What in the ever-loving afterlife was that?” he exclaimed, his desperation and confusion ringing through the room.
Caelum blinked incessantly, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he tried to telepathically reach his sister. The strain caused his temples to pound, and the silence in his mind was maddening. Not a damn thing was coming through, and he was just as frantic as Draven. A sudden thought jerked his head up, and his eyes widened with realization. “Granger.”
Draven spun toward him, his movements abrupt. “What?”
“We need to speak to Granger. They said he never showed for work. Maybe he saw that thing’s actual face.” Caelum’s voice was filled with urgency as he headed for the door, still dressed in his uniform.
Draven followed without hesitation, his steps echoing loudly in the quiet room. He put his hand up at Nero, who was watching with anxious eyes. “If she comes back, have her let you out and find us. Okay?”
Nero nodded, his feathers rustling softly.
Caelum waited impatiently for Draven to lock the door before he headed to the neighborhood of upscale homes near the Citadel where the elite officers lived. The frosty night air bit into their exposed skin, and the cobblestones beneath their feet seemed to reflect the tension in the air.
The minute they stepped into the neighborhood, the sound of a commotion drew their attention. A gaggle of guards were milling about, their voices raised in anger. A hulking figure threw a punch at another guard, the impact resonating with a sickening thud. His rambling curses reached Caelum’s ears, and even under the shadowy glow, he could see the bruise on the fighting man’s temple.
