City of Thorns (The Demon Queen Trials #1)(9)
Chapter 6
I woke in total darkness to the sound of dripping water, my back pressed against a cold stone floor. My dress had ridden up around my hips, exposing my legs, and my right thigh lay in freezing cold water. My teeth chattered.
Down here, the air smelled stale and mildewy, though not wildly different from the basement where I lived.
Shivering, I sat up straight, my mind whirling.
From what I’d gathered, the Lord of Chaos had kidnapped me, and he’d locked me in a basement. I hadn’t expected an amazing birthday, but this certainly fell far below my worst expectations.
My heart thundered in my chest. I shot to my feet, searching for my phone. Only then did I remember that one of the frat boys had smacked it out of my hands.
Swallowing hard, I wrapped my arms around myself. “Hello?”
My own voice echoed back to me. The only other noise was the sound of dripping water.
After a few minutes, I started feeling around in the darkness. My fingertips brushed over a slimy wall, moss, ivy, and then iron bars.
Okay, I wasn’t in a basement. I was in a jail cell. Or a dungeon, perhaps.
“Hello?” I called again.
As I stared into the darkness, flames burst to life in the torches on a stone wall across from me, making me jump. But since no one was around, I could only imagine that magic had lit the torches. Now, warm light wavered over my cell, illuminating the iron bars that locked me in.
I surveyed the dim space. Vines grew over three of the walls around me, and across from my cell was a crude stone wall with the torches. That was about it.
As my heart raced, I crossed to the bars and gripped them, waiting. Down here, it was cold enough that my breath clouded before my face.
A few moments later, I heard the sound of footfalls.
Then the Lord of Chaos arrived before my cell, his perfect features gilded in the torchlight. It was too bad he was a demon and an unrelenting asshole because he was heartbreakingly beautiful. He stood with an eerie, demonic stillness that made goosebumps rise on my skin. The amygdala—the part of my brain that assessed a threat—instantly picked him out as predator, not human. My brain was telling me to get the fuck out of there, and it didn’t seem to care that there were bars.
“There you are, love,” he purred.
I stared at him, trying to remember how to form sentences. “Don’t lock someone in a dungeon and then call them love.”
He chuckled softly, taunting. “Sorry, is that bad manners?” His smile faded fast. “I guess I don’t give a fuck, Mortana.”
“Why am I here?”
“Because I loathe you more than any other living person, and I’ve always wanted to see you on the other side of these bars.” His cruel gaze brushed slowly up and down my body. “It’s fucking delicious. Especially seeing what a sad little life you’ve been living among the mortals. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
I pointed at him. “You need to understand that everything you’re saying is wrong.”
He stepped closer, his eyes piercing in the gloom, and gripped the cell bars. “This night has been delightful. I never quite imagined it being this good.” Despite the fact that he was threatening me at every opportunity, his voice felt like a soft, seductive caress. It brushed over my bare skin, sending a hot shiver through my body—a deeply confusing sensation. “This might be the greatest thrill I’ve ever experienced. Don’t you remember what it was like when you used to come see me?”
Panic was stealing my breath. “I’m not the person you think I am. How can I make you see that?”
An ice-cold smile. “Oh? Have you had a change of heart in the past few centuries? Are you nice now?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Shall we have a bake sale to fund sports for underprivileged mortal children?”
“I’m not two centuries old. I’m mortal. Can’t you tell the difference? I’m from Osborn. I went to Osborn High School. I was Lady Macbeth in one of the plays junior year, and I fell off the stage. Jared Halverson asked me to the prom as a joke, and I got dressed up in a black gown, and he never showed up.” I blurted these last few tidbits of information in a desperate attempt to explain how utterly nonthreatening I was.
His smile only deepened, his beauty making my chest ache. “Well, this is a rather sad display. You’re really going to play it this way? The night before your execution, Mortana, and you’re going to pretend to be a mortal who’s pathetic even among the other humans? This is fascinating.”
I ignored the degree to which he was insulting me and focused on one word: Mortana. There, I had a name. I pointed at him. “Okay. Let’s start here. Mortana. That’s not me. My name is Rowan Morgenstern. If you’ll check my wallet, you’ll see my ID. I’m twenty-two years old. It’s my birthday tonight. I gave a presentation about repressed memories today, and I fucked it right up. I live in a basement with spiders.” It seemed I was unable to stop spewing irrelevant information.
What were the chances an ancient terrifying demon would accept a Massachusetts license as proof of identity? Not great, I thought.
My heart was racing out of control. “There’s got to be some way that I can prove I’m not Mortana.” Never before had I felt so desperate to be back in that spidery basement.