Page 115 of Hell Fae Captive

Which had led me to rounding up troublemakers outside.

And demanding they fight me.

Some had refused.

Others had been eager to face the Warden.

But none of them had been good enough.

None of them wereAz.

I’d considered shooting him a message, to ask him when he’d be back. But that had felt needy. And I didn’t want to explain why I wanted him here. He’d figure it out soon enough when he realized Camillia was dead.

My blood iced over, my jaw aching from clenching it so hard.

I hadn’t been able to finish watching the games. I’d turned off the screen and left.

Lucifer would be pissed, especially if he needed me for something.

But I couldn’t just sit there and keep watching. Not while knowing a girl had died because of me.

Because I’d brought her to this fate.

Personally.

After she’d proved herself to be more capable than every other candidate.

And now she’s dead.

I was wrong. Last night hadn’t been enough to absolve myself of my guilt. I’d helped her, yes. But it had been a half-hearted attempt.

“You can underestimate me all you want, but I will survive this. And I will not become a bride. I choose my fate, and no one will ever take that away from me.”

Well, she’d been right about one thing—she wouldn’t become a bride.

I stepped through the LethaForest portal and entered my dungeon quarters, furious and frustrated all over again.

Definitely seeking out Clarence,I decided, moving through my living area toward my front door.

Only to hear whistling coming from my bedroom.

My brow furrowed.What the fuck?

I followed the irritating sound to find Melek standing over my bed with his hands on his hips. “Now, if I give you fresh linen, that’s a tangible gift to you only, yes?”

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I demanded.

His multicolored irises looked bluer today as he met my gaze. “I really am beginning to question your ability to hear me, dear Warden. Have you been spending too much time with the Sirens?”

I gaped at him. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

His expression shifted from polite concern to severe lines, the look one I’d never seen on him before. “I am giving you a gift.” He pointed at the black comforter and silky sheets. “These are the highest quality imaginable. And I added some pillows.You’rewelcome.”

He sauntered out of my room and into the living area, then backpedaled into my bathroom.

I followed him, flabbergasted by his presence. “What are you doing?”

“Givingyousome hygiene projects. If you were to share them, that would beyourprerogative, thereby making them a gift from you to the other person. Thus, I am not breaking any rules.”