Page 31 of Possess Me at Midnight (Doomsday Brethren #4)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ice

H ard, measured footsteps echo against the chilled concrete, alerting me that I’m no longer alone in this dungeon.

It reeks of old blood, bodily waste, and something else—the metallic tang of dark magic that makes my skin crawl.

Water drips steadily somewhere in the darkness, each drop echoing like a countdown to hell.

The stone and concrete surrounding me is slick with moisture and God knows what else, freezing against my bare chest where they stripped away my shirt.

My broken wand lies in two pieces at my feet—useless.

Whatever binds my hands prevents any movement, stripping away my ability to perform even the simplest magic that might allow me to escape.

Or at least turn to face whoever approaches.

Not that Mathias will let me leave this dungeon alive.

The pain of being hoisted off the ground and hung by my bound wrists until my shoulders dislocated from their sockets is a bitch.

But not the worst of what the Anarki can or will do.

Since Zain has failed at extracting the diary’s location from me, it’s only a matter of time before someone more brutal appears.

Right on schedule, footsteps draw closer.

“Mr. Rykard.”

Mathias himself. The evil wizard’s patience must be running thin to appear so quickly. The thought makes me smile.

“Mr. d’Arc,” I shoot back.

“I understand you killed eighty-one of my best. Impressive. But it quite puts me out, particularly after your friend Caden MacTavish destroyed my means to quickly convert strong humans to Anarki. I’m sure you can understand why I’m unhappy to lose so many new recruits.”

“A thousand pardons. When your ‘best’ tried to capture me, I quite naturally defended myself. I suspected that allowing them to take me would lead to my death. Am I wrong?”

“Not at all,” Mathias quips. “Unless…you reconsider your loyalties. It’s a disgrace to Deprived everywhere that the head of one of their most established families is openly supporting a Privileged cause. And why? Are you still hoping to curry favor with Bram so he’ll give you a modicum of power?”

“No. I’m mostly hoping to kill genocidal, scum-sucking shitholes like you.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Still angry about poor little Gailene?” Mathias’s voice drips with mock sympathy.

Every muscle in my body locks tight. Her name hits like a physical blow, bursting wide open mental wounds that have festered for two centuries.

My sister’s face flashes in my mind—young, trusting, laughing as I taught her to cast her first spell.

I grind my teeth so hard I taste blood, but I fall silent, refusing to give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing how deeply his words carve into my soul.

“I sense you are. As you said so sincerely, ‘a thousand apologies.’ My actual purpose for this visit, I’m sure you know, is not ancient history but the Doomsday Diary. Where is it? Which female currently possesses it?”

I stare straight ahead at the concrete wall and decline to speak.

“You want me to guess? A game. How quaint. Let’s see…

Olivia has experience with the book and, of course, a familial connection, being Morgana’s descendant.

Her magic, once she transitions, will be very strong indeed.

The younger MacTavish’s tasty new treat is another possibility.

Despite being human, she’s both sassy and strong—and clever enough to hide it.

And then there is Bram Rion’s very elegant sister, Sabelle.

She is quite one of the most beautiful females ever.

I would very much enjoy having her bound to my bed, screaming my name. ”

That’s my potential mate he’s blithely talking about raping.

White-hot rage explodes through my chest, so intense I nearly black out.

The image of Mathias touching even a hair on Sabelle’s head makes me want to tear my restraints apart with my bare hands and rip his throat out.

To quell the murderous threat on the tip of my tongue, I bite the inside of my lip so hard I draw blood.

Anything I utter in Sabelle’s defense or if I tell him that she has my heart will only paint a target on her back.

“Nothing to say?” Mathias prods.

I close my eyes. Regardless of what the evil wizard says or does, I will not talk. I will not put my princess in further danger.

“Hmm.” Mathias sounds put out. “I understand from Zain that withholding oxygen made you pass out briefly but did little to loosen your tongue. He advises me that he spent an hour nearly crushing your stones to get you to talk.”

Though I grimace at the memory, I still remain quiet.

My bloody balls still throb. Every breath sends fresh waves of pain through my ribs—at least two broken, maybe three.

My left eye has swollen shut, and dried blood crusts the corner of my mouth where Zain’s fist split my lip.

But I’m still breathing. Still conscious.

Still defiant. I know I’ll never get to repay the favor.

But I hope another of the Doomsday Brethren soon will.

“Impressive. You’ve remained infuriatingly loyal in the face of agony.

Pity you won’t reconsider your allegiances.

” Mathias pauses, as if he hopes I’ll now plead for mercy.

When I don’t, he sighs. “Unluckily for you, I can be quite good at extracting details from someone’s mind, and it isn’t very pleasant.

My methods are especially effective once the subject has been weakened by pain.

Spare yourself the torment. Tell me where the book is and which female is its guardian.

Then we’ll put all this strife behind us. ”

After I’m dead, he’s abducted Sabelle, and he’s confiscated the diary so he can begin his genocidal rampage? “Fuck off.”

“Determined to be defiant, I see. Must run in the family. It took a great deal of effort to hold Gailene down so I and the others could take our pleasure until her death.”

I try to stop the mental picture of my little sister’s vile, savage murder, but images come at me like a jet barreling down a runway.

Gailene…so young, so innocent, her tiny form spread wide open for Mathias and his minions’ brutal pleasure and her utter pain.

The regrets and recriminations I’ve lashed myself with for the past two hundred years haunt me anew. Why hadn’t I guessed what would happen?

Still, I swallow down my fury, refusing to give Mathias even the slightest new way to torture me.

Mathias creeps closer. I can tell from the brush of air at my back and the stench of evil. I tense, bracing myself, certain the wizard has more torture in store.

Instead, Mathias whispers in my ear, “You will tell me how to get my hands on the Doomsday Diary. I have more ways to ply you with pain than you have stamina to resist. And I have patience. If you insist on being difficult, you should know I’ll very much enjoy breaking you.”

I don’t doubt that Mathias can find limitless ways to cause me pain.

But no matter what, I will never put Sabelle in this madman’s path.

My own life is all but over. But my princess…

She’s essential to magickind, and I need to know she lives on well and happily.

I hope Duke and the others are already planning a rescue.

Or that Sabelle is safe with Helmsley Camden or Sterling MacTavish, far from this nightmare.

The thought gives me strength to lift my chin and meet Mathias’s gaze with renewed defiance.

“Fuck off.”

“Let’s see how brave you are in, say, a half hour. I’ve found the most interesting human, with the most deliciously twisted mind. I tested this one on MacKinnett before I burned him. Such gratifying screaming. You’re far stronger, so I’m hopeful you’ll prove even more entertaining.”

With a snap of his fingers, the heavy metal door swings open on creaky hinges.

More footsteps. Heavy ones. Whoever enters is bulky.

And he drags something light but solid on the ground.

I’ll find out what soon enough, but I have no doubt it will prove excruciating.

Humans rely on torture since they have no magical means to coerce cooperation.

“This one?” a rough male voice asks.

“Indeed. Don’t bother with mercy,” the evil wizard goes on. “He’s particularly troublesome.”

The newcomer says nothing, but simply laughs, the sound like gravel rattling in a metal cage.

In the next moment, I hear a whoosh, followed by the snap of a whip.

Then a line of fire breaks out across my back.

Agony. In seconds, blood seeps from the wound and drips down my back.

I barely have time to assimilate the impact of the first blow before the second comes, then the third.

Sweat breaks out across my forehead and shoulders despite the bone-deep cold.

My vision blurs, but I blink, forcing myself to stay present and endure.

Each breath rattles in my chest, and I taste copper where I’ve bitten my tongue.

But, oh fuck, I can’t escape the whip ripping through skin, tearing into muscle, seeking bone.

One breath at a time. I focus on drawing air in, out.

I turn my thoughts to Sabelle—not just her beauty, but her intelligence, moxie, and compassion.

Her little gasp when I first touched her.

The memory of her naked beneath me, trusting and open, saying my name like a prayer.

The way she felt so perfect in my arms, as if she was made for me.

Those brief moments are sacred, untouchable.

But I’m gratified for one reason: I wouldn’t be suffering this torture if Mathias knew my princess has the book.

Desperate to focus on anything but the next lash, I clutch my mental images of her.

But the whip is inescapable, wrapping around my waist, its coil snapping just below my navel and drawing fresh blood.

The blow after opens the sensitive flesh at my nape.

In my thoughts, I draw Sabelle closer, wrap an arm around her, protect her with my body, and bury my face in her neck to find imaginary comfort…

For a precious moment, the strategy works…until I feel Mathias’s hands on my shoulder and the bastard working inside my head, probing my thoughts. In the blink of an eye, I erase them completely.

“What were you thinking just now, warrior?” Mathias demands. “Of whom?”

Fuck off. I send the thought to Mathias, a pained grin spreading my dry lips.

With a mental roar, Mathias shoves his way inside my head, just as the lash of the whip lands on my shoulder and around my biceps, tearing my flesh open.

Blood runs in rivulets down every inch of my back, which soaks into the waistband of my trousers.

Without Sabelle to focus on, fresh pain rushes in, and the flaying from the whip ambushes the front of my consciousness.

I miss the mental escape that thoughts of her bring, but I won’t risk her.

My knees threaten to collapse, but I force myself to stagger to my feet. The whip bites me again, this time across my hip, tearing my pants, my skin. Still, I won’t cry out or give in.

Mathias’s mental claws rake through my consciousness like razors, seeking the memories I guard most fiercely. I slam every barrier I can muster around thoughts of Sabelle—her taste, her touch, the way she surrendered to me completely. I’ll die before I let this monster defile those moments.

I shove at the evil wizard, barring him from every memory possible, judiciously protecting the events of the last few days. That joy is mine and mine alone.

Undeterred, Mathias attacks my mind like a demon, serrating my shields with determination.

I divert my energy to my mental defenses and allow my legs to crumble.

I stop pretending I’m immune to the pain and let out a rough howl of agony.

Pride means nothing if it keeps Sabelle safe.

Instead, I focus my remaining energy on locking down my thoughts, trembling with the effort to bar Mathias.

Thankfully, I still have pools of powerful energy generated from our night of passion.

And the knowledge that, somewhere beyond these walls, Sabelle is alive and free.

That knowledge burns brighter than the agony tearing through my body.

As long as she’s beyond his reach, I can endure anything.

The snap of the whip lands again at the small of my back, slicing through skin and tendon, straight toward bone. I gasp out, then roar, doing my best to dodge the next lash and more pain.

Mathias steps back. My tormentor falls still. What the devil is going on now?

I lift my head. Blood. Lots of blood oozes out of my pores, runs down my face—the cost of my effort to resist Mathias’s mental invasion. But at least without Mathias’s hands on me, the fucker can’t get back into my head.

I manage to stumble to my feet and lurch.

But dizziness assails me. My energy flags.

Since breaking would doom Sabelle, I put everything I have into protecting my thoughts.

My knees crumple to the ground again, this time sliding toward the black void of peace.

Here is a shitty place to die. But to defend my princess is the most valiant reason to do it.

As darkness claims me, the whip bites into my flesh one last time, but the pain feels distant now, muffled by the approaching void.

Blood pools beneath me on the cold concrete, my life seeping away with each labored breath.

For two centuries, I’ve carried the crushing weight of failing Gailene—my little sister’s screams echoing in my nightmares, her death a constant reminder of my inadequacy.

I hope she’ll forgive me when I see her in my nextlife.

But tonight, bloodied and broken in this godforsaken dungeon, I’ve finally done something right.

I’ve protected the woman who owns my heart, kept Sabelle safe from the monster who destroyed my family.

I’ll never hold her again, never see her smile or hear her laugh, but she’s alive and free, carrying the strength of magickind in her soul and the memory of our night together burned into mine.

I’ve given her my devotion, my protection, and now my life.

When my final breath tastes of her name, I pray that’s enough.