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“Kharion, the ferryman.”

The ferryman?

“You mean the guy that transports the dead?” Back on earth we had human myths about that. I hadn’t realized that at least in the Otherworld, the afterlife really worked this way.

“Just when I think your only redeeming quality is your face, you surprise me with your infinitesimal intellect,” the Thief says.

My gaze thins.

“Why is he shackled?” I ask.

“We don’t see eye to eye.”

Before I can ask any further questions, the Thief drags me out of the room, and onwards we go.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

I’m getting impatient. My siren is still whispering her dark deeds, and I’m not acting on any of them because I’m afraid that nothing will stop the Thief—nothing but patience and surprise.

“I assumed you’d want to see where you were staying.”

I’m not staying. I’m leaving here with Des as soon as I see a good opportunity to do so—or else Temper is coming down here for all our asses.

The two of us arrive at a Gothic door, and I glance at the Thief, an eyebrow raised. In response, he flashes me a sly smile.

With an ominous creak, the door opens.

“Welcome to our rooms.”

Our.

My blood chills as my eyes sweep over the space. Even though I’m brave and angry, I still quake at the sight in front of me. The bed, with its crimson sheets, has iron cuffs and chains affixed to the four posts. It’s obvious they’re meant for me.

There’s an iron maiden in the room, a human-sized cage hanging from the ceiling, and a breaking wheel. There are chains dangling from the walls and ceilings, and just about every surface has iron or leather braces affixed to it.

It looks like a BDSM dungeon met the Inquisition and they had some fucked up kids together.

My hand edges for my thigh holster.

Kill him, kill him now before he can chain us.

The Thief leaves my side and wanders over to the wheel. “Care to test this one out?”

“That’s not my kink,” I say.

Watching you die is.

“Have you ever tried it?”

Obviously not. I don’t dabble in light torture on the weekends.

“What do you think?” I say tartly.

“I think you won’t know what you enjoy until you’ve tried it.”

“I didn’t realize my enjoyment mattered to you.”

His hand leaves the wheel, and he walks over to me, stepping in close. “You better hope it matters to me, enchantress. Otherwise, the next two hundred years of your life could be very, very bleak.”