Page 2 of Broken Shadows (Corrupt Shadows Duet #2)

CHAPTER TWO

Evie

I should have stayed with my demon. The thought trickles into my mind unbidden. The grimoire, the truth of his history with my family, suddenly seems insignificant compared to the evil I face now. Memories of my final days in the Shadow Realm offer some comfort as I lay strapped to the hospital bed in the basement at The Order’s Headquarters.

I close my eyes and my stomach flutters when I recall how Lorcan’s arms tightened around me when we’d danced in the library. He’d removed his mask that night, unveiling his true name inked into the skin blow his right eye.. I’d never seen him so vulnerable, laid bare for me in the physical and mental sense. Until that moment, any intimacy was fleeting between us, lost somewhere between hate and lust.

The moment plays repeatedly in my mind as the soundtrack to Blossom in the Dark plays like an eerie backtrack, Lorcan’s voice deep and smooth, as if he were still singing the lyrics in my ear. My lips curve when I recall how his dimples deepened when I giggled as he spun me around.

It was the first time things felt easy between us, and it was cut so damned short. I didn’t even get a chance to kiss him without his mask before he found the grimoire pages and then Ezra came, punctuating our time together.

I knew it had to end. He loved my great aunt. I shudder as thoughts of them together make me cringe. I shouldn’t care. I’d left him behind and now it was over. Everything Lorcan said was a lie. He never cared for me. It was pretend. So why can’t I stop thinking about him?

The wooden steps creak, disrupting my mental torture. Edward’s loud footsteps protrude into the basement of the church.

Thinking about all the depraved things I plan on doing to my father once I get free keeps me from succumbing to the relief that death promises.

Tears line my lashes as the word father echoes along my brainwaves. Rosa never understood why I continue to call Edward that, but only a parent can inflict the brand of pain that burrows deep in my bones.

Despite the hatred fueling my desire to stay awake and not give them the satisfaction of knowing they’ve broken me, I continue to toe the line of sanity. At times I stumble, pinwheeling my arms to regain balance as I fight the dangerously weak hold on my lucidity.

Exhaustion coats my entire body with unbearable heaviness. I inflate my lungs with an inhale, the abhorrent scent of ammonia and ethanol lingering inside my nose.

I take in my surroundings through slitted eyes as I wait for whatever new suffering Edward has come up with in his attempts to exhume my magic. Candlelight flickers around the room, casting shadows over blood splatters, chunks of muscle, and pieces of flesh coating the walls.

How many more will die before my father is satisfied? It’s for the greater good , he said when he realized murder was the key to enhancing my magic.

I plan on spitting those words back at him when I bury him alive.

With every surge of death magic that left my body, there was a new person dragged from the streets to take the blast of my magic until I was depleted. I tried to control my power, but here, my death magic is too unsteady and reactive to my emotions and the living, and unfortunately Edward knows exactly how to provoke it. Through torture and hurt, he pulls out the fatal power and uses innocent people to absorb the shocks of it. After all, my death magic requires sacrifice in blood to grow stronger.

The victims are so-called godless people living on the fringes of society—the people no one would miss, as he justified it, when he went with the demon brothers to bury what was left of another one.

I wonder if my self-proclaimed saint of a father realizes he’s also a damned serial killer.

I wish more than anything that I could use my powers on him. I’d do anything to feel that deadly hum buzz through my veins, then watch him explode and splatter against the walls. Unfortunately, the damn cross hanging around his neck—gilded, and upside down—is his protection against me. Against all magic.

My father comes into view as he stands over me. “Are you ready to succumb and release your magic?”

“Never,” I spit between clenched teeth. My gaze drifts to the remnants of dirt clinging to his fingernails, and his eyes follow my trail. “Does burying the bodies yourself bring you some peace?” I question, lifting my stare back to meet his. “Does it make you feel better about killing them?”

The muscle in his jaw twitches. “You murdered them, not me.”

“We’ll see what your God has to say about that,” I spit.

“You will not bait me with your words, whore of Satan!” he yells, losing the scrap of composure he dons like a second skin. His hands—once used to tuck me into bed and hold me when I cried—wrap around my throat, his fingers constricting. His wide, blue eyes fray into a smoky gray, as if my defiance has sucked the life out of him. The lines around his mouth deepen with each twitch as a battle of wills plays out in his expression.

His grip tightens, blocking any air from reaching my lungs. I squirm against the cheap foam mattress, wondering if I’ve pushed him too far this time. His fingers loosen when I attempt a dry scream, and he lets out a heavy sigh before releasing me. Spluttering a little as the pressure against my clavicle eases, I struggle in a shaky lungful of air.

His eyes drift to my chest, transfixed by the visible swells exposed by my poorly fitting hospital gown, realization filtering into his hard stare as his gaze shifts to the word tattooed there. His throat bobs before he turns away.

Lorcan’s claiming tattoo remains unblemished, the shadow ink a rich onyx despite Edwards' many attempts to flay it from my skin. I hold on to that miniscule spot of light in the darkness. It’s one of the few things this asshole can’t take from me.

I clear my throat, swallowing a few times before spluttering, “Nothing’s changed in all these years. You still covet my body with your eyes like a fucking pervert.”

He spins to face me, cheeks red as spittle flies in my direction when he shouts, “I don’t covet you. Everything I do is only to punish you!”

I grit my teeth. “I’m your daughter, you sicko.”

“You were never my daughter.”

An unhinged, muted chuckle rolls from my lips as he turns his back to me. “I am, and your denial doesn’t change that.”

“Enough,” he commands before grabbing a scalpel from a metal tray. “You will learn to obey. I’ll pull this evil out of you until you serve your greater purpose. I won’t kill you, no matter how much you try to bait me into doing so.”

I’m sure the words are intended for him more than me. I’ve lost count on how many times he’s come close to killing me during the time he’s kept me captive. After the fourth time, I stopped trying to keep count. The nights easily bleed together without sunlight or clocks.

He brings the scalpel to my fingers, facing the sharp edge into my palm. “Squeeze the blade, Evie. It’s time to serve your penance.” My father scowls at me. “Unless you want me to bring you another victim?”

I crack open my eyes as best I can as I slowly squeeze the blade tightly in my palm while glaring at Edward.

The steel bites into my skin, a sharp sting that blossoms into searing pain radiating down my wrist. Hot blood trickles down my fingers. Each thick drop lands audibly as it feeds the steady pool of blood on the stone floor beneath the bed. His lips purse, exaggerating his wrinkles, as he glowers down at me, anticipation tugging at the corner of his thin lips.

I force my gaze away from his face, allowing them to linger on anything other than the pain as agony slashes through me. The iron deeply embedded into the stone wall grabs my attention, each piece evenly spaced apart, likely part of the original foundation.

The pain sharpens my focus as tears flow freely, streaming down my temples and saturating my hair.

Burning prickles over my palm, the sensation heightening with each throb of my heartbeat. I repress the scream building at the back of my throat as my skin yields to the blade. A whimper escapes my lips, barely audible as I fight the urge to let go, knowing if I do, my father will drag another innocent in for my death magic to tear apart.

Another sharp intake of breath follows as I hiss through clenched teeth, the metallic tang of blood filling my nose.

“Good,” he says. My fingers uncoil slowly one by one as I release and drop the blade with a shuddering exhale. Every shiver running down my spine, jolting my body, strengthens my resolve not to scream. I refuse to let him see how much pain I’m in.

My death magic stirs weakly in my chest, then falls silent. I’ve lost track of time, utterly trapped in the abyss of all too familiar torture.

Edward plucks a pair of medical scissors from the tray and cuts a clean line down my gown to my naval. “Do you repent your evil ways, Evie?”

“Not to you.”

“You will learn,” he spits, placated by my act of squeezing the scalpel. “Do you remember what I used to tell you when you were a child? How we must bear all to God.”

“How could I forget? I wonder, though, if it’s God who wishes to bear witness to my body or if it’s you.”

Edward's eyes spark with fury. “It’s an age-old punishment.”

“You can’t humiliate me,” I say, moisture pooling in the corner of my eyes. Dammit. Why the fuck won’t my tear ducts listen to my command not to cry right now?

He focuses on my glossy eyes and smiles weakly. “Another lie.”

The final snick of the scissors severs the gown, unveiling my breasts. My nipples harden as the cold air circulating the room explores my skin with icy fingers. Panic swarms through my body and I gasp.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Not this. Please Gods, not this. I can barely catch my breath when his fingertips graze my cleavage. My lips tremble and I want to cry, regressing to my childlike want to tantrum and panic, to scream for help until someone comes.

But there’s no one here to save me.

Goosebumps prickle over my arms as nausea swarms with every press of his hand against the swell of my chest.

“This is for your own good,” he states, excitement pinching his words.

His mouth moves, but I can’t hear beyond my stammering heartbeat. My pulse pounds like a little hammer drumming against my eardrums as everything falls into slow motion. His hands are on me again, the cut gown trapped beneath me trembling with my shaking body.

My eyes flutter open to the ceiling as the room around me fades into a dull hum.

I lie quietly in the numbness, a place of absence and purgatory, where only the simplest bases of my senses exist. My thoughts wander aimlessly, each one falling into the other like nonsensical waves—maladaptive daydreaming with no sense of beginning or end. Control over my nerve endings lapse, the weight of my limbs meld into the bed. Time holds no power over me as I float in numb bliss, the pain and anxiety thoroughly banished.

A distant conversation filters into my awareness. I groan as a wave of pain radiates through my chest reaches into my subconscious.

Another slap lands against my stomach and my eyes fling open to reveal Edward, landing his palm against my naval as he shouts. Vomit rises to the back of my throat when I realize his hard dick rests on my bare belly. A gasp leaves my mouth as I take in the tall, demon brother covered in tattoos with thick dark hair, the top half braided back from his face, standing in the doorway. Ezra? If he’s here, then… Lorcan. They must have found a way out.

“What the Hell am I interrupting?” Ezra asks and side-eyes my uncovered chest.

Edward steps away from me. “Gideon. I’m in the middle of a session. You can’t ju—”

“We’re speeding things up,” he states, cutting Edward off. “We can’t wait anymore.” His eyes travel over me for a moment. Gideon glowers at Edward, his nose scrunching.

Gideon? My hope of seeing Lorcan deflates like a led balloon. I forgot Ezra has an identical twin. I wiggle my fingers, wincing as a sharp sting radiates through my palm.

Edward swallows thickly. He touches his throat and twists his torso from view. “I’ll continue once she has served her penance.”

Gideon clears his throat. “ This is not penance, and you clearly cannot wield the results we need. I’ll take over.”

“No,” Edward says shakily. “I know her better than anyone. I can get it out of her.”

A shiver travels the length of my body as the cold air circulates around my bare torso.

Gideon grits his teeth, then turns toward the stairs. “You have until tomorrow, or you’re being replaced. Remember, human, if you fail, The Order will have your head for harboring her for all those years when she was a child.”

Edward swallows thickly. “I won’t fail.”

Gideon glances at me. “I’m sending Asher to oversee this experiment.” He doesn’t look back when he leaves. Once the door closes, Edward bows his head, his shoulders slumping as he looks over the gore spattered torture tools on the metal tray. “Looks like we’re out of time, Evie.”

My fingers sink into the thin foam padding as I focus on him, hatred spilling through my expression until I’m clenching my jaw so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t shatter. I eye his cross, the very thing protecting him from my magic, and imagine strangling him with it. I can still kill him if my magic isn’t involved.

He continues, unaware of my glare boring into the side of his head. “You refuse to open yourself to me and release your magic. I was going to wait to do this, but it seems The Order requires us to hurry things along.”