The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(41)

Luc knew that smile.

The bottom fell out of his stomach. The alpha tapped the butt end of her toy against one thigh. She moved closer, stiletto heels tapping on stone. When she passed to the left of him and circled behind, Luc kept his eyes trained forward.

“I don’t know where Cybele went.” He was ashamed of his trembling voice. He tried to force a semblance of confidence into his tone. “She’d hardly cozy up to me, now, would she? We’ve hardly even spoken in months.”

“You don’t need to talk to her, sugar, to know what she’s up to.”

The hairs on the back of Luc’s neck rose. Mab stood directly behind him now. From the sound of her tapping whip, she wasn’t more than a few steps away. A sound like whistling wind caused his entire body to tense. In his mind’s eye, he saw a hellfire lash erupt from the jeweled whip handle. His body went even more rigid as he waited for the first blow to fall.

A flash of crimson hellfire whizzed past his right arm, raising hairs on his skin, missing his body by what felt like millimeters.

Her voice was deadly soft, inches from his left ear. He felt the heat of her all along his back. “When did Cybele sister leave? And, sugar? Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

He swallowed thickly. “Wednesday. Just after sunset.”

“That was three days ago.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you said nothing to Evander. Or to Draven.”

“No, ma’am. They...they noticed it themselves, the next day.”

“And yet none of y’all saw fit to call me.”

“No.”

“How long?”

Luc licked dry lips. “I...I don’t understand.”

“How long have you known about Cybele’s magic? How long have you known how strong she is?”

How long? He stuttered over the answer, dreading what she’d do when it emerged. “Five years. Or thereabouts.”

“Five years.” Her quiet rage made him flinch. “Five fucking years. And you didn’t tell me.”

It wasn’t a question, so he gave no answer.

“Oh, sugar. You’re gonna be so sorry. Take off your shirt.”

He obeyed, shucking the garment over his head and dropping it to the floor. His back hunched. He knew damn well what was coming.

Even so, the first lash took him by surprise. It was a stripe of pure fire, laid across his upper back. Hellfire, formed by demon magic, enhanced by Mab’s rage. A bullet or knife was like a whisper next to the pain of Mab’s whip. Luc’s body jerked with the shock of it. His spine arched. Air hissed through his teeth. His legs folded. He pitched forward, arms outstretched to break his fall. His palms slapped on the stone floor.

Laughter came from the doorway. Rand’s malicious chuckle, Hunter’s amused snort. “Pay attention, boys,” Mab drawled. “Maybe y’all will learn something useful.”

Luc tried to gather his wits and struggle to his feet. Before he could do either, Mab delivered a second blow at right angles to the first. The third strike scored his flesh from the top of his spine to his buttocks. On the fourth lash he collapsed completely, a strangled sob in his throat.

The cold caress of her voice, licking his skull inside and out, was worse than any pain in his body. “Tell me, sugar. Tell me all about it.”

“Cybele practiced,” he gasped. “For years.” He nearly gagged on the betrayal. “Arthur...Arthur encouraged it.”

“And you didn’t stop it.”

“No, ma’am. I did not.” It’d been foolish to keep their secret, he knew that. But whatever the distance between him and Cybele, she was still his sister. More than that, his twin. He didn’t have it in him to betray her.

At least, he hoped he didn’t.

“Roll over, Lucas. Look at me.”

There was no question of defying his mistress’s command. He rolled, hissing when the open wounds on his back struck the cold floor. He bit down on a moan, his teeth sinking into his tongue. He propped his upper body on his elbows, the taste of his own blood in his mouth.

Mab’s eyes had gone red. They bored into his own eyes, looking past them into his mind. Her magic was like an icy finger stroking his brain. She can’t read my mind, he reminded himself. But she could, as his mistress, read his emotions.

“You knew Arthur meant to go rogue.” Her brows lifted slightly. “Did he try to talk you into doing the same?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t. Well. At least you have some sense.”

Mab’s shoulders went back. She widened her stance, long legs splayed like a threat. Dark opal lights flowed under her skin. Black wings, feathers sharp as blades, emerged from her back. They snapped out to full length above her head.

Luc watched his mistress’s transformation with increasing trepidation. The stolen gems embedded in the whip handle blazed with each tap against her palm. The single hellfire thong thickened and split in two. The process repeated itself twice more. Eight strands of fire danced before his eyes. The stone at his throat burned hotter with each pass. Luc’s apprehension turned to panic.

“What have you to say for yourself, sugar? Do you beg for mercy?”

Luc opened his mouth and gave the reply he knew she expected. “No. No, ma’am.”