who was that sorcerer bastard?”
“His name is Richter Collins.” It smiled, then reached for him.
The goblin squeezed Quinn’s head between its mottled green hands. Quinn could feel the scaly skin on his cheeks. It leaned down and looked him straight in the eyes.
“I will not kill you. She would hate it and I will not do that to her, although you have done worse to her, I think.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“You know who. The one you wronged. The one you loved, once upon a time. I am one of her loyal servants.”
“And she sent you to get her revenge?” he spat.
The goblin shook her head. “No, to save you, stupid man.”
Before Quinn could respond, everything went dark.
“Who has the key?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Daeva pulled at the brown leather straps binding her to the iron chair. They were secure and she didn’t think any amount of wriggling was going to get her out of them. The torture room—there really wasn’t any reason not to call it that—was small and stifling, with no color anywhere except the dark brown stains on the stone that could be nothing but old blood.
Her torturer loomed over her, a maniacal gleam in his inky black eyes. “Don’t bother. You can’t escape. Where would you go? Topside?”
“Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying, now, can you?”
He circled the chair that was bolted to the stone floor, leering at her, cleaning under his talons with the tip of the silver blade clasped in his hand. She wondered when he was going to use it on her. Likely after the theatrics. Lord Klaven did enjoy his drama.
“You’d like to go back topside, wouldn’t you, Daeva?” he sneered. “To live like a human.”
“Better than living like an animal like you, Klaven.”
He chuckled, and it chilled her to the bone. “But you are like me, Daeva. I remember the fun we used to have together.”
“That was millennia ago.”
“True.” He leaned into her face, and she could smell the rotten meat on his breath. “But they were so deliciously twisted that I remember them like it was yesterday.” He licked his lips. “You were one depraved woman.”
“Were is the operative word here. I’m not that person anymore.”
“True.” He straightened and regarded her with contempt. “Now you are weak and human tainted.” He sniffed the air. “You still smell like the exorcist, even after all this time. Did you steal some of his clothing when he sent you back?”
She winced inside at the mention of Quinn. It still hurt to think of him.
“Although he didn’t want you, now, did he?”
She glared at him. “Come closer and say that.”
He laughed again, then twirled the blade between his fingers. “Oh, poor Daeva. Exorcised by the man you loved. At least, that’s what I heard. Is it true?” He leaned down into her face.
She turned away. She didn’t want to look into his vacant eyes, didn’t want to see the total lack of empathy or emotion there.
“Oh, you’re not going to cry are you?” He drew the blade tip across her lips. “I do so hate to see a lady shed tears. Especially over a man who tossed her away like the heathen she is.”
Klaven took a step back, and the air shimmered around him until it was Quinn standing in front of her and not the demon lord. The fake Quinn image smiled.
“It must’ve hurt when he banished you.” He took a step toward her.
She didn’t look at him, she stared at the stained floor. She couldn’t see Quinn looking at her like that, not again. As if she was an animal. As if she wasn’t a woman but pure filth.
“Did he torture you first? Did he sprinkle holy water on you? Burning your flesh, burning your soul.”
She didn’t rise to the bait, although she remembered that night three years ago when Quinn exorcised her as though it had just happened. It was still fresh and raw in her mind. And being reminded of it by the horrid Lord Klaven didn’t help matters. Her stomach churned at the memory.
He moved closer to her again, gripping her chin with his long, bony fingers. He lifted her head up, forcing her to look upon him. She wanted to scream at seeing Quinn’s face with black eyes and fangs poking out between his full lips. Lips she used to kiss for hours on end.
“Does the exorcist have the key?”
She spat at him.
Klaven wiped the spittle from his cheek, then grinned down at her. “Does he have the chest?”
“You’re wasting your time, Klaven. I won’t tell you anything. You can’t kill me, so you might as well let me go.”
He wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. Leaning down, he slammed his mouth on hers, kissing her fiercely. She bit his tongue when it invaded her mouth. His sulfur-tainted blood filled her mouth.
He jerked away, his crimson-stained lips pulling back into an evil sneer. “I might not be allowed to kill you, Daeva. But I certainly can have my fun.”
He drew his knife down her arm, slicing open her skin. She bit down on her lip to stop from crying out at the pain. She looked down at her damaged flesh, knowing his demon-cursed blade would leave a scar and that she would use that as a reminder of this day. Of Klaven’s betrayal—and that of all of the demon horde.
“Do your worst. I do not fear you or anything that you can do to me.”
Klaven, still looking like Quinn, clapped his hands, and the heavy metal door opened. The two guards that had brought her here marched in.
“Grab her and tie her to the rack.”
When they came to unbind her, she kicked and struggled and lashed out at them, but they were twice her strength. There was nothing she could do when they dragged her across the room to the ancient wooden rack that was once owned by the Marquis de Sade, a close personal friend of Klaven’s.
Her torture was going to be savage. She’d seen Klaven’s artwork before. But she swore to herself she would hold out as long as she could. No matter what Quinn had done to her all those years ago, she still didn’t want to see him harmed. And if the demons knew he possessed the key, he would not be safe. His death would be her fault.
When
