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But I don’t regret them, not when his poor, abused face lights up like the Fourth of July.
He slides his arm down around my waist, then moves behind me so that he’s holding my back flush against his front. He feels good, so good. Warm and safe and definitely sexy. Even before his laugh tickles my ear and he murmurs, “You didn’t happen to get any other tattoos I should know about, did you?”
“Other tattoos?” I twist around enough to see the wicked glint in the swollen eyes that are already beginning to heal. “Such as?”
“I don’t know. A flower on your hip, maybe?” His hands skim the body part in question, and heat flares along my skin.
“A pair of wings on your shoulders?” He moves his hands up and rubs muscles I didn’t even know were sore. I melt against him in response.
“A heart with my name on it on your ass?” There’s a hint of humor in his voice as he moves his hand down my back to—
“If you slap my ass,” I warn, “I’m going to make you suffer.”
He laughs, then holds his hurt ribs with a groan. “It might be worth it. Especially since you didn’t deny having the heart.”
“Why should I deny it? Where else would an ass like you belong?”
Hudson chuckles, but Flint groans. “Jesus. Could you two just do it and get it over with already? Some of us are sick of suffering through your sexual frustration.”
“That’s not frustration, dragon,” Hudson growls, but there’s no heat behind the words. “It’s foreplay. Do I need to give Luca a little direction in that area?”
“Luca’s doing just fine in that department,” Flint tells him. “But thanks for the offer.”
Hudson starts to say something else, but Remy beckons us forward into the corridor before he can bust Flint’s balls any more. “We’ve been granted an audience.”
“By Charon?” Vander asks. He sounds astonished.
“By Charon,” Remy confirms.
“I hope you’ve got an escape route.”
Remy’s smile is grim. “This is my escape route.”
“Yeah.” Vander sighs. “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”
Déjà Doomed
I expect the windigos to lead us down the hallway, but they just let Remy go—like he’s got the run of the place or something. Then again, maybe he does.
Either way, we walk down a really, really, really long corridor until we get to a pair of gold double doors. At first, I think they’re simply painted that way, but as Remy holds one open for the rest of us, I realize it’s not paint. It’s real gold…which is really, really gross.
Because who’s got the money to do that? And who chooses to spend their money on solid-gold doors inside a prison instead of helping someone with it?
It gets worse when we walk in the door. The room itself is royal purple and gold, loaded with plush furniture, the most expensive electronics, all the bells and whistles anyone could possibly imagine.
But the pièce de résistance, in the center of the room, is a solid-gold throne covered in purple pillows. And sitting on that throne is a kid, no more than ten or eleven.
He’s decked out in a fancy suit, with rings on every finger and a big, fat Rolex on his wrist. I’ve never seen anything like it. Part of me thinks he must be a prisoner like the rest of us, a young kid stuck in this hellhole through no fault of his own.
But nothing here speaks of him being a prisoner, not even the two giants on either side of him who I’m pretty sure are his guards. Still, he’s a kid, and I have to ask.
“Is he okay?”
“Am I okay?” he repeats in what might be the snottiest prepubescent voice I’ve ever heard.
“Meet Charon,” Remy says, his tone as ironic as I’ve ever heard it. “When people are finally granted their freedom from the Aethereum, Charon is the one who carries them across.”
“So he works for the prison?” Flint asks, and I can’t tell if he really thinks that or if he’s just trying to piss this kid off. If it’s the latter, it definitely works.
“Excuse you, dragon. I own this prison, and no one does anything in it without my say-so. And they definitely, definitely don’t leave unless I. Let. Them. Go.”
“Which you don’t,” Hudson says, and I’ll hand it to him. When he puts on the bored-prince voice that used to get so far under my skin, he can go head-to-head with this guy for who’s the biggest douche.
“Why should I?” Charon counters.
“Because it’s supposed to be the whole point of the prison?” I suggest. “Complete your punishment, atone for what you’ve done, and be set free.”
“Yes, but who can actually tell when someone has been adequately punished? Been truly repentant?” Charon says with a shitty little shrug that looks particularly awful coming from a ten-year-old. “One can’t be too careful.”
“Especially if one wants to rule his own kingdom,” Hudson comments. “Rules are so boring and unnecessary.”
Charon’s eyes narrow, as if trying to figure out if he’s being made fun of or if he’s found a kindred spirit. “Who are you again?” he finally asks.
“This is Hudson Vega, my liege,” Remy says with a false obsequiousness that practically screams that we’re not in Kansas anymore.
Charon chooses to ignore the impertinence and instead focuses on my mate. “Ah yes, the vampire prince back from the dead. Welcome to my humble abode.”
Hudson glances around, and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing I am. That there’s nothing humble—or tasteful—about this place.
Charon pauses the conversation, waiting for him to answer, but Hudson isn’t giving him the satisfaction. After more than a minute of awkward silence has passed with the prison owner getting angrier and angrier, Remy asks, “Can we talk about the price now, Charles?”
“Charon!” he rebukes. “How many times do I have to tell you? My name is Charon!” The only way he could sound more obnoxious is if he threw himself on the floor and had a full-on tantrum.
“Excuse me. Charon, can we please talk about the price now?”
“We could,” he says with a gleeful yawn. “But you don’t have enough.”
“Bellamy set the price today at one hundred thousand per person. We have enough.” He gestures to the bags full of gold coins that Hudson is carrying.
“That was the price. The new price is much higher.” Charon gives him an oops look.
“Since when?” Remy presses. “It was the price an hour ago.”
Charon shrugs. “A lot can happen in an hour.”
“Such as?”
“An additional wire transfer from the vampire king, assuring that his son remains in prison, for one.” Charon flicks a speck of imaginary dust off his shoulder. “He already paid a king’s ransom to get him here. But today’s payment… Let’s just say it’s enough to keep him housed for at least a hundred years—or three.”
He glances at Vander for the first time. “And can you imagine what would happen if we lost his favorite blacksmith? And our little gargoyle queen?” He mock shudders. “There wouldn’t be enough people for him to kill in the world if you slipped through his fingers.”
“You’re really that afraid of him?” Remy asks.
“I’m afraid of no one!” comes the immediate response. “I am an addonexus, and we fear no one!”
“An addonexus?” I whisper to Hudson, who mutters back under his breath, “An immortal tween with a god complex.” Sure. That explains it all. Is it really too much to ask that someone might want to share with me if this child is capable of smiting us all with a sneeze?
“Then what are we bickering about? We all know you love money. We have a lot of money.” Remy motions to Hudson, who dumps one of the sacks on the ground. Thousands of coins pour out. “Let’s make a deal.”
Charon’s eyes light up with greed, and for a second, I think it’s going to work. But then the kid tears his eyes away from the money and shrugs. “It would cause a mutiny. My men have been complaining for the last hour that the young vampire prince fleeced them.”
“Every fight I was in tonight was a fair one,” Hudson tells him coldly.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out for sure, isn’t there?” His smile is evil. “I think it’s only right that you give my men a chance to win back what you took from them. Double or nothing. If you can beat Mazur and Ephes, you walk away with double the money—enough to buy your freedom.”
“And if I don’t?” Hudson raises a brow.
“I get you and the money, obviously.”
“Obviously,” is Hudson’s snide response. “I’m o—”
“That’s a sucker bet, and you know it.” I jump in before Hudson can do something ridiculous—like actually agree to this plan. The guy can barely stand as it is, and he thinks he’s going to fight two giants? There’s no way. “Look at him. You could never call it a fair fight.”
Charon sighs. “Of course it’s the gargoyle causing trouble. You’ve always been such troublesome creatures.”
“I wouldn’t say sticking up for someone is troublesome,” I tell him.
“Yes, well, everyone is entitled to their opinion, I suppose.” He focuses his cold gray eyes back on Hudson. “Do we have a deal?”