Page 64 of Till Death

I shoved away from him, my hood falling with the motion. Instead of answering, I dug my fingers under the stone to push the door back up. It didn’t budge. Spinning away in frustration, I ran back the way we’d come, only to find another stone wall covering the door.

Orin held a cocky grin on his face, hands in his pockets, the dim blue lamp in the tunnel casting a halo around him. “Life lesson. Never push every button. One is always a trap. And the Maestro loves catching mice in his tunnel.”

I glared. “How do we get out?”

“We don’t.”

“What do you mean, we don’t?”

“Althea designed this with mechanisms at the doors. She doesn’t make mistakes. Neither of us will be getting out of here until someone retracts the stone at either end of the tunnel.”

“And how long will that take?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

“Two days, if we’re lucky. Three, if rehearsal is canceled before show night.”

Trapped. Gods. The walls began to move, inching inward. This couldn’t happen. I’d paint this tunnel red with his blood if Death came. He had no idea of the danger. I swallowed the rising anxiety, keeping the fear from my face.

“Three days? I’m not staying down here with you for three days.”

He scanned me slowly, dark hair falling across his brow, the murky light framing his sharpened jaw. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. You’re far better off asking what’s going to happen when we’re found.”

I stormed forward until I was close enough to see those rare gold flecks in his eyes. “I’m not afraid of your master. Nor his lackeys.”

He was so swift, I hardly registered the movement until his fingers were around my throat, pressing me up against the wall, the darkness I’d become so accustomed to baiting me. “Then what are you afraid of?” His touch was like fire against my skin. He squeezed, his grasp threatening.

“Being trapped underground with the vilest human I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Orin leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine, stealing my breath as my body reacted to him, unraveled for him, until he bared his teeth and practically growled. “Then I guess we have something in common.”

I snatched Chaos before he could make another move against me and brought her to his throat. “If I press hard enough to slice your esophagus, you’ll drown in your own blood before you have a chance to bleed out.” I moved the blade to his ribs. “If I thrust with enough force, I can open the chambers of your heart and cause excruciating pain before you die, writhing on this sodden ground.” Down and to the side, I pressed hard enough to snap the beautiful threads of his lovely suit. “But if I really wanted you to suffer, I’d take my time, immobilizing you before removing each organ while it was still warm and attached, sending you into shock long before you passed out and never woke up. I do not fear the Maestro because he is not worthy. Not when I’ve stared Death in the face and denied him. But do not tempt me, husband.”

“Yes, Nightmare,” he purred, moving his hand down my throat until it rested on my sternum. “We’ve established the fact that you can kill. But can you live?”

Chapter 28

He was beautiful. Fueled by anger and frustration, he sat against the door, with his head tilted back and eyes closed. I wanted to hate every last thing about him, but that was one thing I couldn’t do. Still, I knew there had to be good in there. I’d felt a shred of kindness when we’d stood before that mirror, and he’d stared into my eyes. His words were lies, though. And maybe he truly was nothing more than a performer.

The chill from the evening settled into my bones. The dark tunnel didn’t provide an ounce of warmth as I clutched my knees to my chest, avoiding the damp wall. The tall ceiling had been an obvious choice to move their contraptions back and forth, but trapped in the bowels of the cold earth, I loathed them all the same, knowing the heat, what little might reside down here, was likely lingering along the stone ceiling.

I turned my face away from Orin, staring instead down the long prison, wondering when the sun would rise, replaying all the moments that led us to this point. The second I’d laid eyes on that prick, my entire world had spiraled out of control. Now, essentially homeless, as poor as a drifter on Beggar’s Row, perhaps eventually he’d push me so far that I’d become the villain he believed I was.

“Here.”

It took every bit of self-control not to flinch at his proximity when I hadn’t heard him move. I couldn’t look at him. His suit jacket plopped down over me, and, out of the corner of my eye, I could see him planting his feet, as if waiting for the battle of wits to recommence.

“It is customary for a gesture of kindness to be followed by a thank-you. No rush, Deyanira. I’ll wait for you to discover manners.”

The sharp tang of metal filled my mouth as I bit my cheek to save him the tongue lashing. But when that fucking boot began to tap, when that cheerful whistle left those pouty lips, I leapt to my feet and shoved his jacket back at him. “I don’t want your pity.”

The coat fell unceremoniously to the damp floor.

He didn’t move an inch. “I preferred you more when you thought I was groveling at your feet, promising love and an eternity of affection. You should smile more.”

Rage—unbridled, cold, feminine rage exploded from me. I planted a palm into his chest, shoving him away. “You are the most selfish, infuriating, hypocritical, misogynistic pig I’ve ever laid eyes on. And that’s saying something, considering I’ve prowled Requiem, stood in the grime of Beggar’s Alley, hunted the Silk Road, and spent too many long nights in an opium den when I was younger. You’re worse than the Maestro. I hope you know that. Gods. You’re worse than the king.”

“Which one? Alive or dead?” he asked with a smirk, as if he’d taken so much pleasure in my anger.

“You’d be worse than all of them if they crawled back from their graves as fucking monsters.”