Wicked Bite (Night Rebel #2)(62)

Ian led us downstairs to a solid concrete room that looked like a new vampire holding cell. Its door was the length of my forearm in thickness, and it had no windows. It should have been more than enough to hold Ereshki, but the chair that was bolted into the floor was empty of everything except heavy chains.

Ian bent near the chair, then straightened so abruptly, he nearly ripped it free from its welds. “What is this?”

The room’s two bloody guards gave a guilty glance at each other before the black-haired one replied, “Pen and paper.”

The look Ian gave them should have sent them to their knees begging for mercy. “Why did you give her that?”

“She was crying about how she wanted to write a good-bye note,” the other guard said, hunching as if feeling the blows that were certain to come. “We only loosened one wrist. Her arms and legs were still chained. What could a human do with only one wrist, some paper and a pen?” he added defensively.

I closed my eyes. Ian heard my heartbeat, Cat had said about their first fight. And like all vampires, the sound lulled him into believing I was far more fragile than I appeared.

Ian had warned his guards about Ereshki. They still hadn’t listened, and she’d used that to her advantage. But how?

I took the piece of paper Ian had had clenched in his hand. Then my jaw tightened until I heard cartilage snap as I recognized the symbols. “She drew a knockout spell and a teleporting spell.”

That’s why Ian couldn’t feel her any longer. The teleporting spell might only work once, but it would be enough to take her far away from here.

Ian inhaled sharply. “She shouldn’t have known either, if her memories were limited to only what she knew thousands of years ago as a Mesopotamian peasant.”

He was right. Moreover, a teleporting spell normally required a high-level practitioner and potent spellbinders such as magic-infused gemstones to anchor it. Ereshki had only a pen and paper. Even if she somehow knew magic of that caliber, it should have been impossible for her to perform, unless . . .

Once again, Cat’s words rang in my mind. Being underestimated in a fight gives you the best advantage ever.

All at once, I knew how she did it, and my rage made every water pipe in the house instantly burst. “That fucking bitch!”

Ian looked more concerned over how I’d started to tremble than he did over the water that immediately began to stain the walls outside this cell. “What is it?”

“She was never one of the other resurrected souls.” I could barely get the words out past my fury over how completely Ereshki had deceived me, again. “She only appeared to have your spell confirm that because she does have some of Dagon’s power in her. She’s had it ever since Dagon branded her when she sold her soul to him, but unlike you, Dagon never collected on that debt. He didn’t have to. This whole time, Ereshki’s been on his side as his demon-branded servant!”





Chapter 35


Ian hustled me upstairs after ordering his friends and staff to evacuate. Private, demon-proof residence or no, we were no longer safe here. We’d seen what had happened to Yonah’s island. Now, we couldn’t be sure if that was Dagon’s doing or Ereshki’s. Dagon’s power had been growing in her for thousands of years, all while keeping her as youthful as the day I’d met her.

I should find it comforting that Ereshki’s resurrected-human-amnesiac-act hadn’t fooled only me; she’d also fooled an eons-old former demon prince. But I wasn’t comforted. Yonah hadn’t known what Ereshki was capable of. I had, yet I was the one who’d refused to kill her when Ian had given me the chance.

How many people would now die because of that?

I was so burdened by the thought that it took a moment to notice that Ian had hustled me into a bedroom. It was a huge space with dazzling white woodworking covering the walls and inlays that showed off paintings by Michelangelo and Edvard Munch that were supposed to be in a museum. Eighteenth-century Chippendale settees were stationed around a modern crushed-glass fireplace, and the skylight above was decorated in a stained-glass motif that looked ripped right from the Vatican.

But the room’s most impressive aspect was the bed. It looked hand-carved from one enormous tree, with a canopy that was easily three times my height. Naked nymphs adorned the domed top; then more gorgeous carvings curved down the elevated sides to end at gargoyles, where thick, turquoise silk draperies flowed from their extended wings. Mischievous-looking cherubs perched on either corner of the foot of the bed, holding the draperies’ tasseled ends off the floor. Not that those tassels were in danger of touching the floor. The bed’s base was almost a meter tall and was adorned with so many intricate carvings that it reminded me of wedding-cake decorations.

“My bedroom,” Ian said, a casual swipe indicating the magnificent space. Then his brow arched. “Not what you were expecting?”

“Unless you have a sex dungeon hidden behind one of these walls, no,” I replied bluntly.

He let out an amused grunt. “This room is for privacy and sleeping. I have other rooms for those activities.”

I bet he did. In another mood, I might have even wanted to explore those, too. But rage and a sickening sense of guilt made me want to beat these walls down while simultaneously throwing up. Even at Ian’s kinkiest, I didn’t think he’d be into that.