Jonas (Darkness #7)(6)

She’d proven that in this place.

She climbed the next set of stairs, continued down the corridor and finally turned into the sanctuary of her own room. Her sigh of relief was cut short. Sitting in the corner at her desk was the fair-headed Nathanial. When he heard the door open he stood with utter grace and fluidity.

Her hand twitched, missing the solidity of the whip in her hand. With that thought, she glanced at the far wall and found it there, hanging where she’d left it.

“Be at ease. You shall not need to defend yourself.” He walked toward her in slow, even steps. A condescending smile tweaked his lips. “Yet.”

“Yes, sir.” She stared at the far wall as his body came within inches of hers. His breath fell across her face. Cold fingertips trailed across her cleavage.

Her body tightened up, but she did not flinch. She did not try to shake away the crawling sensation of those disgusting fingers. Instead, she kept looking straight ahead at that wall. Waiting for it to stop. Waiting for him to go away. Or waiting to make herself numb if he chose to progress his touch.

“You no longer recoil from me.” He took his hand away and sauntered toward the whip. He caressed it. “You are learning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you make any strides with our captive?” His tone was light. Mocking.

“I took to him with three times the pain. Most men would’ve passed out. He smiled. He is not like most men that come through here. I need to come up with a different strategy for breaking him.”

Nathanial turned to regard her slowly. His short-cropped blond hair framed a stony but handsome face. His eyes, which could be mistaken for beautiful with their sunburst of color, burned with a cold viciousness she’d seldom seen in another. He was a ruthless killer with absolutely no regard for life and less regard for humans. He’d smile at his oldest friend and then stab a knife in his gut.

That had happened when Nathanial had learned his favorite spy was taken by a mere human. And this right after his pet dog—a shifter—had been killed.

“Have you received any information?” Nathanial asked in a soft voice.

The small hairs along Emmy’s arms rose. “Not yet. Like I said, he is—“

He moved with incredible speed. Before she could flinch away, his fist smashed across her cheek. Her head whipped to the side and her body followed, crumpling to the ground. She knew better than to get up.

“I did not ask for excuses,” he said in the same soft voice. “I need results. We cannot get close to their encampment. Their dogs smell us and their mage has been able to unravel all of our most intricate spells of illusion—”

“The human?” Emmy asked with a sneer despite herself.

His foot cracked into her ribs with unreal force. Pain blistered along her side. Her breath came out in fast pants as she struggled with the tide of pain.

“Get results, or I will let you become a blood source again.”

“No,” she wheezed. “I’m only half human. The rules are that you cannot enslave your own kind!”

“Your human side negates any ties to us. Your mother was a fool for allowing you to be raised among our kind. It has put silly ideas in your head.” He stepped closer and leaned over her. “Get answers. Or I will start taking you again before I pass you around.”

Emmy couldn’t help the shuddering breath as the door closed a moment later. She thought of running. She was in America, now. She had an American passport for the human world—her father had made sure of it. She could escape and blend in here. Start a life as a human.

Her mind drifted back to the last time she’d tried to run. She’d made it to France. To the airport. And then someone had grabbed her from behind and dragged her into a corner. They’d beat her bloody, drained her of blood nearly to death, and carted her back to Nathanial. To her master.

He hated her. He had stopped using her sexually, but he never let go of his pets. Never.

At least she was off limits to everyone else.

Tears drowned her eyes before overflowing down her cheeks. She had to get information out of that man. It was time to up the stakes again.

* * *

The next morning Emmy opened the heavy door with grim resolution. She walked in with her usual calm indifference and selected the heavy whip from the back of the rack. She let the cool leather slide through her hand and then fall to the floor. The soft sound had the man glancing back. His gaze touched her weapon of choice before he turned back. She thought she heard a huff of derision.

I realize I didn’t hurt you with the other whip. I won’t make the same mistake this time.

His large broad back showed the welts and wounds from yesterday. They scored his back in angry red marks. Crossing to his front, to stand directly in front of him, she looked down at his defined chest. It had the same welts and wounds, already starting to heal. He was a large, robust man with heavy cords of muscle. He knelt as he had for the last three days and didn’t complain once. He didn’t shift. He didn’t try to get more blood to his legs. He endured.

This was a man who endured.

His gaze rose to meet hers, unflinchingly. Strength and power burned in his eyes. Also a knowledge in himself and a viciousness that made her knees weaken and her hand tighten on her whip. He’d be trouble if he challenged her. She’d fight him as best she could, but if he were free, she didn’t have much faith she’d be left alive. He’d charge through the slices of her whip and break her neck. It’d be over in moments.