Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(34)

Delara huffed. “Let him be pissed.”

Danni’s brows rose. “You guys fighting?”

Delara shrugged as she urged me to the stairs at the back of the gallery.

The apartment was quaint with warm, inviting soft green walls and a few of Danni’s paintings hanging. But it was the worn furniture and throw blankets and abundance of pillows that I really loved. Nothing really matched, but each piece told a story, had history. It was kind of messy, which I liked, too.

A jacket lay on an old armchair. Worn magazines and books were scattered on the glass coffee table, and two cat dishes sat on the countertop in the kitchen by the old green fridge. Nothing was in order, making it the complete opposite of what Anton liked.

It was perfect.

“Splat, that’s the fat cat, is Danni’s. He lives here as the gallery cat. She tried to take him to their new place, but all he did was cry, so she brought him back. The regular clients of Danni’s bring him treats all the time. You good with cats?”

I had no idea, never had a pet. But he looked cute. “Yeah,” I said.

There were two small bedrooms in the apartment, each with windows. Mine overlooked the back alley, not much to look at, but it had an escape route and I could see the sun, the moon, and the sky. That was more than I’d ever had.

Delara threw a navy blue T-shirt onto the bed. “We’ll go shopping when you’re up to it, but borrow anything of mine until then. You got dibs on the shower. Shampoo and stuff are in there. I have to make a call.”

“Thanks.” I half-smiled and Delara left the bedroom, closing the door.

It felt safe here.

Except one thing was missing, Kilter.





Year 1880

I groaned as my head cleared then pried my eyes open. I was greeted with blackness and the weight of a five-pound steel bucket on my head. I tried to move my arms, but they were chained above my head, and I felt the manacles around my ankles.

What the hell?

I yanked violently on my arms and biting pain shot through my wrists as the shackles cut into my skin. Blood trickled down my arms.

Intense, red-hot fury tore through me and my eyes blazed red, my Visionary abilities burning the steel bucket that blinded me.

But my ability ricocheted and the heat tore back at me and scorched my eyes. “Jesus Christ.” My body jerked against the chains and a loud roar ripped from my lungs.

I closed my eyes and tried to raise my Ink, even though I knew it was pointless. I felt the piece of metal covering it. Whoever had kidnapped me knew about my Ink and my vision.

A door creaked and I stiffened. “Ah, you’re awake.”

What the hell? Ulrich?

Something scraped across the floor; then footsteps approached.

“You look rather ridiculous, Kilter. Chained up like a carcass.” My brother clucked his tongue. “And look, you’re bleeding.”

“Get me the hell out of here, Ulrich.”

My bastard brother probably needed gold to pay off debts and planned on blackmailing me for it.

Tye often said Ulrich needed a good two years under Waleron’s thumb to straighten him out, and once I got the hell out of this, I’d make damn sure it happened.

Ulrich laughed. “Let you go? You think I’m letting you go after all the planning? No, you’re going to suffer, dear brother. Suffer and then one day, maybe, I’ll let you die.”

What the hell was he talking about? “You’ve gone too far. Free me before I call the others. They won’t be kind when they discover what you’ve done. If you let me go before the Wraiths find out, I will convince Waleron to put you in Rest instead of killing you.”

His fist plowed into my stomach, and since I couldn’t see, I hadn’t been ready for it and it knocked the wind out of me. It took a few seconds before I managed, “Ulrich, you bastard.”

Another punch.

Then another and another until I could no longer breathe and my abdomen twisted with agony.

I hung by my wrists, shackles taking the weight of me as my legs gave out.

“They think you’re dead, you know. They’ll never come, and we’re too far beneath the earth for you to use telepathy. This is your life now, brother. Here in this dungeon with no sight, no light, and your dear, sweet Gemma in my arms.” What? My stomach twisted. “At least until I get tired of her. Don’t worry, I intend to let you watch when I kill her.”

The last words sent me over the edge as my mind screamed with despair. Gemma? Sweet, innocent Gemma was here? My soon-to-be wife.

“Noooo,” I exploded, body raging against the chains, tearing open my skin around my wrists and ankles. My eyes burned with fury, and my Ink, trapped within me and desperate to be free from my body, joined me in my roars of outrage.

Ulrich chuckled.

The door opened and closed.

Then nothing as I became the madman.





“Beer?” Delara asked.

My expression must have given away my uncertainty because Delara turned to the waitress and ordered a round of beers. “You can try it and, if you don’t like it, I’ll finish it and we’ll get you something else.”

Balen sat kitty-corner from me, Delara beside me, and Danni directly across. We were at a table near the bar that had every stool taken by men who stared at the television. Loud cheers or groans rose on occasion along with slaps of palms on the bar top.