“And Kane?” Amber asked softly.
“Kane had to balance all of us. He became my confidant, Talen’s reason, Conn’s conscience, and Jase’s protector. As the smartest and probably the most responsible, Kane took us all on.” Dage exhaled slowly. “I didn’t realize how very much he’d taken on until the demons kidnapped Jase.”
“Kane blames himself.”
Dage shook his head. “Jase’s disappearance isn’t Kane’s fault.”
“It isn’t your fault, either.”
Dage smiled, flashing twin dimples. “I have no doubt this is premature, but welcome to my family, Amber Freebird. You’re a very pleasant addition.”
Warmth flushed through her. “I’m not joining your family.”
“Ah, sweetheart. Fate has a way of kicking us where we need to go. At some point, Kane’s going to fall in line. Although he took on way too much through the years, he deserves something for himself.”
That might be a bit presumptuous. Amber tried to clear her head. “How am I supposed to deal with this?”
“Well, I guess, first off . . . you should make a decision.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “Meaning?”
“When we go get your grandmother, are you really ready? If so, how will you contribute?” Dage asked blandly.
Adrenaline shot through her veins. She jumped to her feet. “Oh, Mother Earth. You want me to mate Kane.” He would be very dangerous to the demons if he mastered her gifts. Her powers would greatly increase as well.
Dage stretched to his feet. “You might want to consider the idea.”
“Why? I mean, you can’t possibly want your brother to mate for eternity with someone he doesn’t love.”
“Now that’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you.” Dage loped toward the exit, pausing at the doorway to look over his shoulder. “Who says Kane isn’t in love?”
CHAPTER 25
Jase crouched next to the cell door, the knife heavy in his hand. He kept his grip loose so his palm wouldn’t cramp. The idea of his hand cramping from holding one small knife would’ve made him laugh four years ago.
When he laughed.
Closing his eyes, he dug deep for a hint of his power. Spiraling out from his core, he tried to freeze the air around him.
The oxygen didn’t even sputter.
For centuries he’d taken for granted his ability to mess with the elements, often sending a steamy slap to burn one of his brothers. Now he missed the gift with a sharpness that made his gut ache. The ability was probably lost forever.
The weird faces in the rock nodded solemnly.
“Who are you?” Jase whispered.
As usual, the bastards refused to answer.
Whistling sounded from beyond the door, slowly becoming louder.
He stiffened in preparation. Seconds passed. Then more. Finally, keys jangled against the steel door.
The door swung open.
Shooting forward, he jabbed the knife into a guard. Blood spread over his fingers. Eons ago he’d learned to fight with cold, hard logic. Now a grunting desperation filled him, elation at striking out clamoring through his veins for more. More blood. More pain. More death.
An animalistic need to survive, to destroy, ripped panting noises from his gut.
The demon inhaled in pain, struggling to retreat. He roared in anger, grabbing the knife handle and trying to twist the weapon away from Jase.
Suri stepped to the side.
Barbs of mental pain slashed into Jase’s brain. Screeching followed the pain—some sort of high-pitched animal lived in his skull now. He dropped the knife, both hands clapping his ears. The agony pierced his eyeballs from within.
The crack of a metal pole against his rib cage registered in sound but not sensation, so great was the devastation going on in his head. His skull pounded.
Blood cooled his ear canal and slid down his neck.
The crack of the pole sent him flying into the wall. He chuckled, eyes closed, knowing the wall faces hadn’t caught him. “Jerks.”
Air swished and a fist impacted his temple.
He dropped to the ground, darkness just beyond reach.
Time passed.
More attacks came. Some physical, some mental, but he floated beyond them, feeling nothing. He wandered in the haze between reality and dreams, not unconscious, but not really there.
More time went by. Minutes, hours, maybe days.
Coldness coated his skin, but not enough to wake him completely.
His vision remained black. Odd, but a sadness lingered somewhere inside his gut that he couldn’t see the wall faces. Did they miss him, too?
Hard hands grabbed his armpits. His feet dragged on the ground. More haze fell.
Something soft cushioned him.
Warm, healing liquid slid down his throat. Blood. Female and strong. A very healthy human.
More time passed where he tried to ignore reality.
Finally, his eyes opened.
Willa leaned over him, her scent of spiced oranges wafting along his skin. The pale mounds of her perfect breasts spilled over the top of her chemise. Against his will, his body flared to life.
She frowned, wiping off his head with a silk scarf. “I thought they’d damaged your brain.”
What brain? He took several deep breaths, glancing slowly around. Wearing just a clean pair of black silk boxers, he lay on his back, stretched out on a velvet bedspread softer than any dream. “You finally got me into bed,” he croaked.
She laughed, the sound full of mirth. “Yes. All it took was my brother beating you into a coma with a steel pole.”
Jase shoved up on his elbows. His body was one continuous purple bruise, but the open gashes had closed from whatever blood he’d taken. An internal inventory revealed mangled organs, ripped blood vessels, and torn muscles.
The blood he’d taken would slowly help him mend.
For now, he needed to get out of hell. Without question, this was his last chance.
The bedroom remained the same as last time he’d visited, except for a new Brenna Dunne oil painting on the far wall. Splashes of red and deep blue colored the view of a rumpled bed—a bed lovers had just vacated. “Interesting piece.” He’d had no idea Brenna harbored such sexuality, but he knew her work well. The painting was definitely Brenna’s.
“Yes. I bought the work off a gallery owner in Dublin.” Willa tossed the bloody silk onto the floor.
“Hmm.” Jase forced himself into a seated position, biting back a wince as his head all but blew off his shoulders at the pain. The thought of sweet Brenna’s sexy painting in a demon hellhole bothered him a lot more than it should. “You probably stole it.”
Willa lifted a shoulder. “Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room spun, and his stomach lurched. Several deep breaths later, and he could finally focus. “How did I get here?”
“I have some loyal followers.” The demon sniffed. She eyed his body with interest, her small nostrils flaring.
“And the silk boxers?”
“Consider them a gift.”
Jase flattened his feet on the thick carpet. Standing was going to be difficult. So he focused on the painting, trying to imagine pretty, soft Brenna Dunne in his head. The woman was proof that goodness and purity still existed. Cutting his gaze away from the painting, he wavered to his feet and studied the demon. “Suri will kill you if he finds out you just rescued me.”
“I know. That’s why you need to lie back down and let this happen.” Willa tugged off the chemise and revealed high breasts with light pink nipples.
“You’re beautiful.” He spoke without thinking, his fangs elongating. She truly was stunning. He’d bet almost anything in the world that her pretty nipples tasted like raspberries in the thick of summer. Man, he was hungry.