Page 8

Chapter

Eight

S erenity

I was finally strong enough to sit in the dining room with Julienne. I had on a pair of pink pajamas and matching slippers that she had loaned me. The bite marks on my leg still burned like acid, but I couldn’t tell you if the hellhound’s attack happened days ago or years. Time slipped through my fingers here like smoke. Had I screamed for hours or centuries when the venom turned my blood to fire? Julienne had held me through it all, her ancient vampire blood fighting back the poison while I thrashed in fever dreams.

Now she’d set this normal breakfast before me—bacon and eggs, such a painfully ordinary thing in this place of eternal torment. I stared at the yellowed centers wobbling on the plate. What if it was an illusion? What if beneath the mundane appearance was something worse—raw meat like the hound had tried to make of me? But Julienne sat across from me, her immortal eyes gentle, patient. She’d given me her blood when the venom was killing me, marking moments with soft words and cool hands when time itself had become another form of torture. She was the only real thing in this place of lies.

The door opened and Balthazar walked in—no, he sauntered in. Once again, he didn’t have on a shirt. Did he even own any? His black leather pants hugged his muscular legs, and despite the casual stance, every movement screamed predator. He was as handsome as Angelo, but where Angelo’s beauty made my heart ache, Balthazar’s beauty was a weapon aimed at my throat. “Ah, breakfast.” He looked at Julienne, lips curving into a mock pout. “You didn’t make me any? Tsk. Tsk.” He put his hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

Julienne put her fork down as she was about to take a bite. “You can have mine. I’ll make some more for me.”

Without hesitation, he seized her plate. “That’s kind of you, Julienne. I haven’t had a chance to talk with Serenity since she’s gotten out of bed.”

My stomach clenched at his words. The way he said my name made my skin crawl—like he was savoring it, tasting it. I could still remember his voice during the fever dreams, whispering things I couldn’t quite remember while the hellhound’s venom burned through me. Angelo’s name almost slipped from my lips, a prayer, a plea, but I caught it before it could escape. Balthazar would love nothing more than to use that weakness against me. Instead, I stared at my untouched eggs, trying to look too weak for whatever game he wanted to play.

Julienne headed back into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Balthazar.

He poured me a cup of coffee. “You haven’t touched your eggs.”

“I’m not hungry.”

I watched Julienne leave. When I turned back, Balthazar was studying my face intently. “Does this mean you’re hungry for blood?”

I tore my gaze away. “No. It means that I don’t trust the food.”

He frowned. “Trust the food?” His eyes lit with something that might have been amusement or cruelty—in hell, they looked the same. He picked up my fork and cut into the eggs, yellow yolk bleeding across the plate. “You think I’d poison you after going through all the trouble of keeping you alive?” He brought the fork to his lips and took a bite, never breaking eye contact. “See? Perfectly safe.” His smile turned sharp. “Though your paranoia is... fascinating. Tell me, what did you think it really was? I’m curious what horrors that pretty little mind of yours has conjured up.”

I pressed my hands into my lap to hide their trembling. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I’d imagined human flesh, wouldn’t let him see how the hellhound’s attack had broken something in my mind. Angelo would have understood my fear without making me say it. But Angelo wasn’t here. I had only my captor, watching me with eyes that hungered for my pain.

“It doesn’t matter what I saw or what I smelled,” I said finally, gripping the edge of my chair. The half-truth felt bitter on my tongue, but revealing my weakness to him would be worse. Much worse.

He laughed. “I assure you it’s eggs. I wouldn’t feed you anything that grotesque. There are lower-class demons here who do feast on human flesh, but the higher-class demons like myself, we don’t engage in such primitive behavior.”

Was that supposed to make me feel better? His casual mention of demons eating human flesh made the eggs in front of me look even less appetizing. Everything in hell was tainted with horror, even his attempt at reassurance.

“I have a proposition for you.” His words screamed of darkness, dripping with the same silky menace as when he’d first dragged me to hell.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my forehead, trying to ease the headache building behind my eyes. “What kind of a proposition?”

“To protect your precious Angelo, I want you to do something for me.” He said Angelo’s name like it was something rotten.

My heart squeezed at the mention of Angelo, but I kept my face carefully blank. “Proposition? That doesn’t seem like a choice. What is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to use your powers to cloak someone.”

“Cloak someone? I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know even know what that means exactly.” My voice wavered as cold dread pooled in my stomach. Sweat broke out across my skin despite the chill in the air. Failing Balthazar wasn’t an option—I’d seen enough of his cruelty to know what happened to those who disappointed him.

“Cloaking means you’ll make someone invisible.” He lifted his coffee cup, eyeing me over the rim as steam curled between us like serpents. “Just picture wrapping them in shadows, like pulling a dark curtain around them. Simple as that—they vanish.”

I carefully studied him, searching his face for any hint of his true intentions. His expression remained calculated and serene, but something flickered in his eyes—a hunger, a need that went beyond simple instruction. My skin prickled with unease. Every request from Balthazar came with hidden motives, costs he never revealed until it was too late.

“Why do you want me to do this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the apprehension in my chest.

He gestured toward my plate. “In order for you to learn how to cloak someone, you need to eat something.” The command in his voice was velvet-wrapped steel.

If I wanted to get out of here, I had to learn to be compliant, then maybe when Balthazar wasn’t watching, I could escape. The thought of eating made my stomach turn, but survival meant playing his game—for now. Angelo would understand. He’d want me to stay alive, even if it meant pretending to bend to Balthazar’s will. I picked up my fork, its weight like an anchor in my hand.

He reached over and clasped my hand. His touch was cold, proprietary, like he was handling a prized possession rather than a person. “You need to eat before our special guest arrives.”

I forced myself to not yank my hand away, though every instinct screamed to break contact. “Special guest?”

“Yes. He will be here in an hour. I expect you to have eaten breakfast and have changed. Our lesson will start shortly.” His words were casual, as if he was discussing a normal tutoring session rather than whatever nightmare he had planned.

Tears pushed against the back of my eyelids, but I blinked them away. The last time he gave me a ‘lesson,’ he had tortured Shannon, shredding her throat with calculated cruelty then forcing me to heal her. I doubted cloaking someone would be any better. The memory of Shannon’s blood, of her screams, of my power surging helplessly through my hands—it all crashed over me like a wave. But I couldn’t let him see me break.

Not again.

Julienne returned with her eggs and bacon. She picked up her fork and quietly ate her eggs, but I caught the concern in her glance. Her presence should have been reassuring, but Balthazar’s catlike attention made everything feel like a trap. I closed my eyes and forced myself to take a bite. It tasted like an egg—the familiar texture, the bland warmth—but I was terrified it wasn’t, especially when Balthazar gave me a catlike smile. His expression screamed that he was enjoying my fear, savoring each moment of doubt like a rare vintage of terror. Was this part of the torture too? Making me question every bite, turning even the simple act of eating into psychological warfare?

Like he commanded, I got ready for my lesson. I reluctantly took off Julienne’s pajamas—the last comfort I had—and put on a pair of jeans and a red T-shirt. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and waited for my next trial, each heartbeat feeling like a countdown. I thought about calling out for Angelo again to warn him that Balthazar wanted me to cloak someone. Maybe if I did what Balthazar wanted, he would let his guard down and give me a chance to escape.

Our connection had always been strong enough for that, but would Balthazar sense it? Would he punish me—or worse, punish Angelo—if he caught me reaching out? The words burned in my throat, desperate to be spoken, but I swallowed them back. I couldn’t risk it. Not when Balthazar was already planning something that involved both my powers and a “special guest.”

I waited in the living room, sitting on the couch, my stomach tied into double knots. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten anything.

Julienne sat opposite me and put her hand on my thigh. “You know, if you do this, you’ll lose a little piece of your soul.”

I clutched my hands tight, knuckles turning white. “I will?”

“Yes. The demons, especially Balthazar, want you to use your power so they can control you or turn you into one of their minions.” Her ancient eyes held centuries of witnessed corruption. “Each time you use dark power, it leaves a stain that’s hard to wash away.”

Julienne’s warning settled like a stone in my stomach. What choice did I have? If I refused Balthazar, I’d remain trapped here forever—or worse, face whatever punishment he devised for disobedience. But if I followed his instructions, I might be surrendering something more precious than my freedom. I thought of Angelo, of the others who needed me. Would they even recognize what I became if I let darkness seep into my soul bit by bit? The power might start as a tool, but tools change their users as much as users employ tools.

I swallowed hard, the weight of impossible choices pressing down on me. Survival now versus salvation later. Freedom versus purity. There had to be a middle path—a way to appear compliant without truly surrendering.

“Julienne, the only way to get out of here is to convince the jury that I am compliant. I have to play the game.”

“Well, it’s a dangerous game you’re playing. Just be careful that you don’t find yourself the loser.” Her voice was gentle but her grip on my thigh tightened with warning. “Sometimes the price of survival is higher than we expect.”

“I know.” Besides my soul, what else would I lose before this was over?

Balthazar opened the door. “Our special guest is here.”

The moment Steve walked in, my world cracked. I wanted to burst into tears. Steve DuPont—my big brother, my heart’s guardian—stood there with his usual scarf over his head like some motorcycle gang member, but the dark suit he wore was all wrong. Steve never wore suits. It was like seeing a wolf in a collar. His blue eyes, usually sharp with laughter and mischief, were glossy and vacant. Obviously, he was still possessed, still a puppet in Balthazar’s cruel game.

My throat closed up as memories flooded back—Steve appearing at Shadowmoon Plantation where I was held. Balthazar had forced him to use his magic to lure victims there, each one dying because of Angelo’s supposed bloodlust. But this wasn’t Steve—not the man who’d stood between me and danger more times than I could count, who’d shared blood and brotherhood with me throughout my childhood. Now Balthazar was using him again, twisting him into something unrecognizable just to force me to learn cloaking.

The question burning in my mind was why? What game was Balthazar playing? If I could just figure it out, maybe I could get another message to Angelo. But looking into Steve’s empty eyes, seeing the hollow shell of my brother, my protector—it felt like someone was carving out my heart with a dull blade, twisting deeper with each passing second.