Page 30

WHATEVER DRUG they’d given him wore off as soon as the pain broke through it. When Max came back to his senses, it was to his back on fire and the taste of blood in his mouth.

He didn’t know who they were or what their goal was, but he was no stranger to pain or torture. If his father had failed to break him for years, he refused to give in now.

The tenuous connections he had with Caius, Quinn, and Lukas flickered in his mind’s eye, where he could almost see the threads of magic.

Instinctively, he reached for them, holding them close so they wouldn’t break.

He may not be a decent mage, certainly not good enough to be claimed by a pack, but they were the best family he’d ever had.

Even if they wouldn’t be able to save him, if they even tried to find him, the connections between them wouldn’t break unless he was dead.

He lost track of time as the torture continued, burning, searing pain washing over his back and through his core for countless minutes. By the time the agony faded, he was left as a shivering, panting bundle of raw nerves huddled on the floor.

This couldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t be happening.

His amulet should have protected him, but as he regained his senses and looked for Rían’s amulet, it was gone.

No. That was impossible, unless they’d burned through all the protections while he’d been unconscious.

A soft whimper escaped his throat when he reached for his flames and found they were all but gone too.

They simmered beyond his grasp, sluggish like they were drugged.

“Much more of this and he’ll die,” a woman said, the voice vaguely familiar. The mage who’d helped abduct him.

“You said you could break the bindings.” That sounded like the man from the car.

“I said they could be broken if he was bound by force.”

The man scoffed. “Mages don’t consent to bindings.”

“Why don’t you put your own binding on over them? You’re planning to kill your nephew anyway.” That voice was worse than the others .

Max’s lungs seized, and he forced his eyes open, unable to believe Maurice was there. There was no reason for him to be there. Except his sister had drugged him. Which meant his father was in on this.

Maurice noticed him staring and stepped closer with a lecherous grin.

Max tried to shrink away, but his hands were tied behind his back.

“Is that possible?” the man asked.

“Technically,” the mage answered.

Max didn’t pay any more attention to what they were saying, his entire focus on Maurice.

One of his father’s trusted men and the bane of Max’s existence since he was twelve.

When Maurice crouched in front of him and stroked a finger down his cheek, Max cringed, fear, anger, and disgust twisting inside him.

He focused on the anger and quickly turned his head enough to bite the offending finger. That earned him a backhand to the face, but it was worth it, especially when Maurice stood with a wary sneer.

That victory didn’t last long. The other man grabbed Max’s arm and hauled him to his feet, nearly ripping his shoulder out of its socket.

Max stumbled, dizziness sweeping the room at a wrong angle until his back slammed into the wall and a hand squeezed his throat.

“It needs your blood,” the mage said, stepping up beside them and lifting a small bowl of dark liquid.

“No.”

They both ignored him as the man let the mage cut his finger, then dripped blood into the bowl. It flared with Max’s soft orange magic. Then he swiped his fingers through the liquid and pulled the neck of Max’s sweater down to spread it across his throat.

There was no brush or artistic touch, and for a moment nothing happened. No pain. No magic. No chill. Nothing.

“Fuck you,” Max hissed, spitting blood in the man’s face. He wouldn’t be bound to anyone else.

The man bared his teeth, his eyes glowing as he clamped a hand around Max’s throat, pinning him against the wall again.

“Know your place.”

Max bared his own teeth in a mockery of a grin. “You some 1800s villain? I’m not a fucking slave.”

“You will be. ”

Fear skipped through his chest as the fingers tightened around his throat, cutting off his ability to breathe.

He twisted his arms and wrists, but the restraints held tight, tearing his flesh and drawing blood.

He thrashed and kicked, but it was like hitting granite.

Desperate, he reached for his flames again.

Heat sparked and flickered around his fingers. The answering call of fire was still muted and dulled, but it answered. His lungs screamed for air. He felt when the flames caught on the ropes around his wrists, his desperation yanking it into a bigger and hotter fire.

The ropes snapped and his arms dropped, muscles aching and threatening to go out after being held in the wrong position for too long. But he pushed through the numbing agony, shoving the flames in his hands into the man’s chest.

They never connected.

The binding around his throat snapped into existence with a rush of burning heat.

This was nothing like when his pack put their marks on him. That had been an overwhelming surge of power, like he could set the entire world on fire with his breath.

This was a thousand blades slicing through his neck and into the core of his magic itself.

He stumbled when the man released him, clawing at his throat, but there was nothing there. He hit the floor, screams dying in his useless throat. A bright red-orange glow filled his vision as fire circled his neck.

A moment later everything stopped, the pain nothing but a sense memory that left his entire body raw and oversensitive. The skin around his throat stung, and he’d seen enough movies to know exactly what mark had just appeared on him.

A collar.

“Fucker,” he gasped, clasping a hand to his throat, but he still couldn’t feel anything there aside from the faint pulse of magic.

He flexed his fingers, warmth igniting between them.

He stumbled to his feet, blinking against the dizziness, and threw himself at the nearest target as flames erupted in a fireball around his fist.

“Stop.”

Max screamed. Lightning crackled through him and snuffed the flames. His body froze against his will and he stood, gasping for air, his muscles zinging and refusing to move .

He couldn’t lift his arms. Couldn’t run. Couldn’t even turn.

“I’ll kill you,” he hissed, but he couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice as terror threatened to drown him.

“You won’t be doing much of anything,” Maurice said with a leer.

“He’s yours for now,” the man said with a dismissive flick of his fingers. “Try not to kill him. I want Caius to see him suffer first.”

“Sure.” Maurice sauntered closer to Max. “Just order him to obey me and we’ll be fine.”

“Obey Maurice,” the man said, sounding bored. “Do not fight. Do not resist.” Then he turned and left.

Max looked for the mage, but she’d disappeared in the chaos. He was alone with Maurice. And for the first time he couldn’t get away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” Maurice said, grasping Max’s chin and tipping his head back.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Maurice hummed, not concerned in the least. And that was almost as terrifying as the fact that Max still couldn’t move. “I have a better idea.” He pressed his fingers into Max’s jaw and forced his mouth open, before sliding his thumb inside.

Max gagged, trying to bite Maurice’s finger off, but the binding magic tightened its hold and kept him still. He couldn’t stifle a whimper, which only seemed to encourage Maurice.

“On your knees.”

He hit the ground before he could even think to resist. His eyes watered when Maurice fisted a hand in his hair and yanked. This couldn’t be happening. He wished his father had killed him if this was going to be his future. Bound against his will and forced to service his father’s men.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to tune out the sound of a zipper. Revulsion twisted his stomach, but nothing came up, which was a shame. If anything might stop this, it would be vomiting on Maurice’s shoes.

“Open your mouth.”

Max whimpered again, his mouth falling open. He closed his throat, drawing sharp, shallow breaths through his nose as he braced himself against one of his worst nightmares.

Glass shattered beside him, and Maurice let out a surprised hiss, jerking Max forward as he fell.

Max yelped as he hit the floor, his eyes flying open to the sight of a bullet wound in Maurice’s head, his eyes and mouth open in shock .

“Fuck. Oh fuck,” he gasped. The binding magic on him fizzled and died and he was finally able to move again. He scrambled away from Maurice until his back hit a sofa. He pulled his legs up, tearing his eyes away from the blood pooling beneath Maurice to the window with a hole in it.

Maurice was dead. Someone shot him. Or had the bullet been meant for him?

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of him, quickly turning to a shriek as something exploded with enough force to rattle the windows. The already-broken pane shook loose and shattered across the floor.

He clamped a hand over his mouth and scrambled farther towards a corner.

He might be free from Maurice, but he was still bound to the other man.

Caius’ uncle? How far would he have to run to break it?

If he could find Rían, he knew he’d be safe, but as far as he knew, Rían was halfway around the world.

A soft squeak caught his attention, and he looked up in time for Aradia to fly into his face.

His manic laughs turned to sobs as he latched on to her, burying his face in silky fur. “How did you find me?”

When she chirped, he had the distinct impression she was calling him a dumbass, but he didn’t care.

“Is Caius here?” he asked, hope blossoming in his chest for all of a few seconds before panic took over. “Where is he? He’s gonna get killed!”

Aradia squeaked and lifted into the air, flying for the door and circling in front of it until he opened it. Then she took off down the hall, leaving him to follow.