Page 54

I awoke to the sound of screams. Hellbent, piteous, grating howls muffled by the walls around me, forcing my eyes open and launching my heart to my throat.

Garroway’s head lifted from my lap, his eyes alert and narrowing from the sounds of danger. Evidently, he had dozed off as well after getting his fill of me and Skartovius.

We shared a look—his concerned, mine afraid—and then he was on his feet, helping me up.

I stumbled into him as I stood, blinking sleepiness from my eyes.

Our naked bodies slid together for a moment and the entire torrid affair we’d partaken in flooded back to me in a torrential, alarming wave.

We . . . just did that. I fucked my first fullblooded vampire and made love to a half-blood dhampir all in one night.

The screaming continued nearby, battering against the walls. I inhaled sharply.

Garroway took my hand, squeezing, and then our bodies separated. He rushed to the closed door of the jail where it sounded like the screams were coming from.

I hurried after him, not wanting to be alone and naked and scared in this vast manor. Goosebumps ran along my arms and legs.

Garro plodded through the chilly corridor to Dimmon’s cell—the site of our unhinged sex—where the door was swung open. He stopped and backpedaled in front of me, gasping. As I rounded the grayskin, he held an arm out to keep me back. “Sephania, no—”

It was too late. I’d already slipped behind him to look over his shoulder.

When I gazed into the dark cell, a wave of dizziness hit me and threatened to bring me under all over again. I swayed as an intense coppery scent flared my nostrils, mixing with sharp odors of human filth and piss.

It was perhaps the most startling discovery I’d ever made.

Dimmon Plank lay prone on a wooden table, on his back and writhing.

He was chained to it by large shackles along his burly gut and legs.

His upper half squirmed. Blood spilled in rivulets down every corner of the table—so much fucking blood.

It practically splashed on the ground, pooling around the legs of the table.

But that was not the worst of it. No, it was the gory sight of what lay within those bloody pools, scraped away ever-so-delicately with an expert scalper’s touch.

Human skin.

Skartovius Ashfen stood over Dimmon’s body with a dagger in hand. His cloak discarded, he was shirtless—smooth, blood-spattered, ivory skin stared back at me out of the dreary darkness.

As he hummed to himself and lifted the blade, another strip of skin fell from its edge, joining the leathery pile at his feet.

Skar glanced over his shoulder, feeling our presence in the doorway.

Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth and his eyes were unhinged and crazed.

“Ah, for shame. I was hoping not to wake you with the fool’s squawking.

Alas, I suppose it can’t be helped. He has seen better days.

” The vampire gave an easy, casual shrug and then turned and bowed his head to resume his grotesque ministrations.

Skar was skinning Dimmon’s flesh from his body . . . while keeping him alive so he felt every torturous nick of the blade.

When my eyes narrowed, focusing on the table, I could make out the splotchy, ribbed outline of pink muscle staring back at me. Dimmon was completely naked, his large wobbling gut hiding the rancid thing he had once used on me.

He went limp, unconscious from the agony of his torture. The hand I had burned black in a fit of lunacy was gone completely, soldered closed by a flap of burnt skin to create a disgusting stump. The rest of the skin along his arm had been meticulously peeled away to reveal the muscle underneath.

Bile rose up in my throat. The dizziness only grew worse the longer I listened to that snick-snick-snick of Skartovius stripping away Dimmon’s flesh like it was the skin of an apple.

I turned and violently retched on the ground.

Garroway yelled, “Master, what in all that’s Damned are you doing?!”

Skar ignored him and frowned once I’d straightened and wiped the vomit with my forearm. “You’ll need a stronger stomach than that, little temptress.”

“This . . . this is . . . pure madness !” I choked out. My voice was raspy and the words burned as they sizzled up my esophagus.

“No, not madness.” Skar crossed his arms and tapped his bloody dagger on his forearm.

“This is revenge. As I understand it, you were having difficulty exacting retribution on this wretched waste of a man. I have no such reservations.” He licked his bloody lips, brow furrowing in thought.

“After what he did to you, well, death is far too easy an outcome, no?” He hummed to himself, still lost in the throes of whatever insanity ailed him.

Pacing toward us, he muttered, “So I concocted a way to make sure he feels everything . . . for eternity.” He smiled then—wicked and lost. “Consider this my gift, Sephania. My aftercare for such a glorious evening.”

Garroway looked up at the nobleblood with an expression that saddened me. It was fear, when I could almost guarantee he had never shown that face to Skartovius before—at least not because of Skartovius.

Garro didn’t recognize his master in that moment.

“Skar . . . you didn’t ,” he breathed. “Why is your mouth bloody?”

The nobleblood clapped him on the shoulder. “That is the best part of the whole thing, cub. Look closely.” He pointed at Dimmon, a disgusting lump of bloody, pulpy flesh.

I staggered forward, leaning closer from the doorway and narrowing my eyes in the darkness.

Garroway gasped first. “ No .”

“Oh yes, my pet.”

My eyes became saucers when I finally noticed what dazzled Garroway so horribly. It was the edge of Dimmon’s shoulder, a ragged, torn bit of flesh was beginning to coil around itself and thread together as it inched down his bicep at a glacial pace.

Dimmon was healing before my eyes.

My hand went to my mouth to prevent me from vomiting again.

“You see,” Skar said, waltzing toward the table, “I quickly realized a weak husk of a thing like this would not live long without any skin. Infection, blood loss, and the like.”

“So you turned him?” Garroway mewled.

Skartovius gave us a small nod. “His mind is just as miserable and weak as I assumed it would be. You needn’t worry, Garro—he is not my new pet. Just my subject. This way, he can heal and I can flay him all over again. Without end. Ingenious, no?” He beamed at us, oh-so-pleased with himself.

I shook my head. I was going to pass out if I stayed here any longer. “You’re fucking insane.”

Skar frowned. “That’s no way to talk to your king, Sephania.”

I locked eyes with them, shaking my head incessantly as I backed up.

In that moment, all I saw were monsters.

Just when they had shown me unimaginable pleasures of the flesh—a very human interaction that made me start to think I could have a future with these creatures—they now showed their true colors.

The colors I’d always known were there but had hoped I could mask long enough to make this make sense.

I fled down the hall, stumbling as I ran.

Garroway cursed and came running. “Sephania!”

I reached the carpeted hallway, glancing down at the soiled rug where we’d done our deed, and continued on to the barred double doors at the back.

There, I stopped, doubling over and putting my hands on my knees. I was still naked. Outside were servants who hated me. I had to think rationally, even in this irrational time.

Garroway was there a moment later. I turned and shook my head. “Take me away from here, Garro. I’m begging you. I can’t be here.”

He held out a bundle in his arms—my clothes from the cell—and nodded firmly. “Then you’d best get dressed first, little honey badger. I’ll get the carriage.”

“Tell me why, Garro,” I asked from the bench. The bitter cold of the wind against my face felt welcome. The fresh air was necessary. It rejuvenated me after being trapped in that stuffy cell with pure evil.

I leaned back on the bench, closing my eyes and sighing. Garroway struck the two black horses with his whip, guiding us down the country road away from Manor Marquin. We headed for Olhav proper, the glittering city shining in the dark distance.

He grimaced. “I believe it’s Skartovius’ twisted version of looking after you, lass. As morbid and macabre as that was . . . I do think he has, in some fucked-up way, good intentions.”

I cackled an incredulous laugh. “Surely you’re jesting.” I thrust a thumb over my shoulder. “ That lunatic has good intentions ?”

Garro pursed his lips. I couldn’t forget I was talking about his master. “You remember what happened when Master Skar learned you’d been defiled by that brute?”

I nodded slowly. “He lunged at him. You restrained him. Skar wanted to kill him immediately.”

“Yes, which is precisely what I’m saying.

Don’t you see, Seph?” The moonlight cut a handsome glint across his face.

“Skartovius Ashfen would not just kill to protect you . . . he would torture, maim, and destroy for you. He has been a vampire for a long time, lass. He doesn’t have the same morals or compunction humans do. They fled his body ages ago.”

“He doesn’t have any morals, far as I can see.”

“That may be true. But I’m begging you . . .” Garro trailed off. His eyes were imploring this time, begging. “Give him another chance.”

“I . . .” I didn’t have an answer. Not then. Not when things were so fresh and raw. I made a face, thinking of that word “raw” and how it related to the carved body of Dimmon Plank.

Garroway cleared his throat. “Do not forget what that human did to you, Sephania. Skar is making sure he never forgets and will always regret it. A life of torment and pain is what awaits Dimmon Plank. Nothing more.”

“Skar turned him, Garro, just so he could recuperate and torment him all over again, day in and day out. Yes, I want Dimmon dead, but does that not worry you? He’s taken a new thrall—one he only wants to inflict unfathomable pain upon.

” The words made a black pit open in my stomach as it dawned on me just how psychotic Lord Ashfen truly was.

“I know,” Garro sighed. “It’s . . . not helping build any favorable opinions about Master’s sanity, I’m sure.”

I snorted an ugly laugh, shaking my head. “I’ll say.”

“Just remember, he did it for you. Because of what was done to you. Does that not show he cares, in his own twisted way? He is a man obsessed.” Garro gave me one of his crooked grins.

Somehow, against all odds, he managed a tiny smile out of me. “Obsessed? More like possessed. Don’t push it, cub. I know why Skartovius did it. But I don’t need him fighting my battles for me. Not like this. Fuck.”

Garroway laughed and lashed the horses. “There’s still a few hours of night left, lass. Consider me your escort. Where would you like to go?”

“Not the safehouse,” I blurted.

“I imagined. It’s not much better than a jail cell.”

I thought for a moment, tapping my chin. I stretched into a more leisurely posture on the bench. Garro had managed to soothe my tension running amok. He had a knack for doing that even at the most anxious of times.

“The Chained Sisters,” I said. “I’d like to see Iron Sister Keffa, Jinneth, and the rest. Get some humanity back in my bones.”