The knife digs deeper and I cry out, despite my resolution to be stoic. “You can cut me all you want, but it’s not going to make me change my answer. I don’t know how Declan does what he does. And I don’t know who killed Viktor Alride.”
“So it looks like we’re back to the beginning then. What do you know?”
My throat stings from the little—and not so little—cuts he’s inflicted on me while my body aches from how rigidly I’m holding it. Even worse is the sudden knowledge that no matter what I say, this isn’t going to end well for me.
When I agreed to come with them, I figured Declan would find me pretty easily. And even if he didn’t, I didn’t actually think they would harm me. Not when my parents sit on the most powerful Hekan throne in the world.
But somewhere along the line I miscalculated—either about how afraid the ACW members are of this unknown killer and how desperate they are to apprehend him or about their feelings for my parents. For all I know, it could be both.
I’ve spent the last week and a half scrambling, trying to keep my parents from figuring out exactly what went down here with Kyle and the Council. I wanted to protect them, to keep my coven and my family out of war. But maybe all I did was make them appear weak, like they couldn’t mount a challenge against the ACW even after their youngest daughter was tortured and nearly killed.
“Alride was bled out. Which means someone plans on doing some pretty dark magic to tap into his powers.”
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” The knife lifts a couple of centimeters away from my skin. “And this dark magic. Is it something your boyfriend is planning on doing?”
“No. Goddess, no.”
The knife is back. “You sure about that?”
“Declan didn’t kill Councilor Alride and neither did I.”
“I thought you didn’t know who killed him?”
“I don’t. But it wasn’t Declan.” As I say the words, the last little doubt that haunted me drops away. I don’t know where Declan was last night and why he came home scratched and bloody, but he wasn’t here.
“I’m sorry, but I’m just not as certain as you are. Maybe if we could talk to Chumomisto, we’d be convinced, too.”
My entire body recoils at the thought of telling them anything about Declan, or where to find him. They must feel my resistance, because the knife disappears—only to be replaced by John’s hand stroking slowly down my arm.
My throat tightens and my heart beats wildly inside my chest as I begin to panic. I jerk away, but he follows me. Continues to rub his hand up and down my arm in a way that is so much more terrifying than the knife to my throat.
I know he’s doing it on purpose, know he’s going there to bring back memories of the rapes Kyle committed, but rationalizing it doesn’t make being touched by him any easier to handle. Because while I wasn’t physically raped by Kyle, every time I relived one of those women’s attacks, it certainly felt like I was.
John’s hand trails up my arm to the back of my neck. I know I shouldn’t react, but before I can stop myself, I shrug him off. He grins and brings it right back. Only this time, his fingers creep up my scalp, tangle in my hair, and tug until my head is tipped back and my face is only inches from his.
“Tell us more about Chumomisto and I’ll stop.”
“And if I don’t?”
“If you don’t, you’re going to end up getting much more closely acquainted with Larry and me.” He reaches out with his free hand and swipes at a trickle of blood running down my neck. Then lifts the finger to his mouth and licks my blood off it as his other hand tightens in my hair.
I lose it completely. Screaming, I jerk away from him, ignoring the pain of pulled hair. He follows me, trying to keep his grip, but I lash out and catch him in the nose with the heel of my hand. At the same time, I drive my booted foot straight into his groin.
He sinks like a stone.
But I’m not free yet. His hand is still tangled in my hair, dragging me down with him, and Larry is right there, too. Frankly, I’m not sure which one of them looks more pissed off, and I brace myself as Larry cocks a fist and plows it straight into my jaw.
Pain explodes through my skull, knocks my head back so hard that it smacks right into the wooden edge of the couch. Dazed, I look up just in time to see Larry’s fist coming at me a second time. If he hits me again, I’m done. I know it—already the cartoon birds are circling around my head.
Ducking just as his fist comes toward me, I spot the discarded knife lying next to me on the floor. I grab it in my left hand and slash out at Larry with it. I catch him right across the upper thigh and he screams as blood spurts everywhere.
“You bitch!” John growls, his hand once again tightening in my hair. I don’t let myself think. Instead, I jerk the knife through my hair, chopping off inches of hair and making some powerful slices into his fingers as well.
It’s his turn to howl and before he can recover, I’m lashing out at him again, driving the knife straight into his bicep. Then I’m clambering to my feet and running full tilt for the door.
Twenty
Once I make it out of the room, I turn right and keep running. I don’t know where I’m going, don’t know if I’m heading toward the exit or if I’m just getting myself deeper into the tunnels. And I don’t care. All that matters right now is putting some distance between them and me.
I think I have a couple of minutes—I’m pretty sure I sliced into Larry’s artery and I’m hoping John will stop to save his life instead of immediately coming after me. But I’m not sure, so I lay on the speed. If he catches me now, I know there’s no way I’m getting out of here alive.
The hallway I’m in dead-ends in a few feet and I’m going to have to go left or right. Again, I don’t know which way to turn, but I don’t want to take the time to puzzle it out. So I turn left and hope for the best.
I hear footsteps behind me now, John calling my name as he pounds through the underground passageways looking for me. I keep running, praying that I’ll run into a staircase, an elevator, anything that might get me to the surface.
But there’s nothing. No matter how far I run, no matter how many corners I turn, I can’t find anything that might point me to an escape route. I’m gasping for air and though I can normally run a lot longer than this, fear is making my chest ache and my breaths come in choppy little bursts.
I turn another corner and nearly scream in frustration as I realize it’s a dead end. I’m trapped.
Afraid, angry, determined, I turn so my back is to the wall and prepare to fight. I don’t have much of a chance against his magic, I know that. But I have to try.
Less than a minute passes before he appears at the end of the hallway. He’s bleeding pretty badly from where I stuck him with the knife, but it doesn’t seem to be slowing him down much. He’s got a crazed look on his face and a gun in his hand—a gun that’s pointed straight at the center of my chest. Suddenly this whole back-to-the-wall thing doesn’t seem like a good idea.
He advances slowly, and I can tell from the look on his face that he wants me to beg. But I’ll be damned if I’ll plead with the sick fuck for anything—even my life—and I tilt my chin up. Refuse to back down.
“Don’t be stupid, Xandra.” His voice rings down the corridor. “There’s nowhere for you to go. The only chance you’ve got is to give up Chumomisto. Tell me where he is and I’ll let you live.”
Not for one second do I believe that. And I wouldn’t give Declan up even if I did. But before I can tell John to go to hell, there’s a flash of light in front of me. Suddenly two strips of fire are racing down the hallway straight at John. He stares at them, shocked, then stumbles backward. But it’s too late. The fire’s already on him, flames climbing up his legs, wrapping themselves around his calves, his thighs, his waist.